The Heart Has Reasons (16 page)

Fascinated,
he continued to watch.  Every graceful, controlled movement synchronized
with a long, slow breath.  Each pose flowed seamlessly into the
next.  She repeated the same series of movements for several minutes,
before altering the routine.  From the standing, bent-over position, she
placed her palms flat on the floor, to either side of her feet. 
 Springing off her toes, she launched her lower body — seemingly in slow
motion — back into the pushup position again.  After going through several
new poses, she bent her knees, bounced off her toes and her lower body floated
through the air, with her feet landing softly between her hands.

“How
do you do that?”

She
rose to a standing position and paused.  “Do what?”

“Move
in slow motion like that.”

She
shrugged.  “Lots of practice.  Good balance.”

“It
looks amazing.”  He finished his squats, then lowered himself to the
ancient carpet and began doing crunches, watching her all the while.  When
he had done two hundred, he rolled over and finished his pushups.

She
was still going.  A light sheen of sweat covered her face, and damp spots
showed on the sport bra.  Drugs or not, Keswick was a fucking idiot to
have cheated on her.  Unwilling to cut her workout short, he settled back
against the bed’s headboard and turned the television back on, pretending to
watch some crime drama.  Finally, after nearly an hour, she finished and
came over to sprawl on her back next to him, breathing heavily.

“How
long have you been into yoga?”

“Four
or five years.  It’s great for stress reduction.”

“I
can imagine.”  With great reluctance, he said, “I need to take a shower.”

Rolling
her eyes, she extended her arms out toward him, wrists together.  “Go ahead.”

* * * * *

As he bent over her to fasten the
handcuffs about her wrists, Larissa’s eyes roved over his chest and arms,
reluctantly admiring his physique.  Trying to imagine what the face
beneath the mask looked like, she tried to convince herself that he was
probably ugly enough to sour milk.  However, his nonchalant
self-confidence and extraordinary self-control while sharing a bed with her
signified
he was a man who never lacked for female companionship.

He
turned around to secure her ankles, his shoulders and back so muscular they
appeared carved from stone.  Like a vagrant wind, a vision blew into her
mind — an image of her hands clutching that back.  Overcome by a wave of
disgust and guilt, she reminded herself that he was delivering her to Sparrow.

When
he picked up the gag, she pleaded, “Please don’t put that on me.  I
promise
,
on this one thing you can trust me.” 
Right up until the moment I hear
someone outside the door, and then I'm going to scream my head off.

“We
both know that’s a lie.  Open your mouth.”  With an exasperated sigh,
she complied.  Once he had the gag fastened into place, he promised, “I’ll
be quick.”

With
predatory grace, he strode into the bathroom, leaving the door open. 
Moments later, she could hear the sounds of him brushing his teeth. 
Twisting her head to the left, she stared unbelieving at the top of the bedside
stand.  Immediately upon their arrival at the motel, he’d unplugged the
room’s phone and stowed it on the top shelf of the closet.  But when he’d kicked
back on the bed to eat pizza and watch television, he’d emptied his pockets and
placed their contents on the stand.

Contents
that included his cell phone.

If
she could somehow reach it, she could dial 9-1-1.  Although she couldn’t
speak, she could moan around the gag, and the operator would send emergency
responders to investigate.

Since
most cell phones now came equipped with a GPS chip, the dispatch center would
be able to pinpoint the phone’s position to within a few feet.  However,
this phone appeared to be a cheap, pre-paid type.  But even if it lacked a
GPS chip, by triangulating with the nearest three cell towers, the dispatch
center should be able to narrow the phone’s position to within several-hundred
meters.

The
water came on in the shower, and metal shower curtain rings slid along the
shower curtain rod as he opened the curtain, then again as he closed it.

Barely
daring to breath, she inched herself up toward the headboard, until the ropes
cut painfully into her ankles, then scooted toward the edge of the bed, until
all the slack in the rope attached to the handcuffs was gone.  Rolling
onto her side, she balanced halfway off the edge of the mattress, and stretched
her neck forward.

Her
head barely reached the edge of the stand and the cell phone rested near the
center.  However, his black plastic comb was within reach.  Shoulders
shrieking with pain, she set her chin on the comb and pulled it toward her
until one end extended slightly over the edge of the stand.  Opening her
mouth as widely as possible, she grasped the comb between the rubber ball and
her upper teeth.  Biting down on it while tipping her head to the side,
she stretched forward until the tip of the comb touched the phone.

If
she pressed too hard, it might shoot off in the opposite direction.  Holding
her breath, she set the tip of the comb into a shallow groove in the phone and
pulled back a tiny bit.  The phone moved a half an inch closer, until the
comb slipped out of the groove.  She carefully found the groove again, and
this time she gained over an inch before again losing the groove.  Her
heart started to pound.  This was actually going to work!

But
it was progressing slowly and, in addition to the pain in her wrenched
shoulders, a cramp was forming in her neck from having to hold her head at such
an awkward angle.  Growing impatient, she pressed a little too hard. 
The comb abruptly slipped off the curved side of the phone and set it to
spinning.  She held her breath, terrified it would fall to the floor.

It
came to a rest two inches closer than before.  The pain in her twisted
neck was growing unbearable as she again found the groove.  As she pulled
it up to the very edge of the stand, a huge shadow moved over her. 
Startled, she jerked so hard the phone shot off the stand.

Wearing
nothing but the ski mask and a towel, water droplets glistening on the
sun-browned skin of his chest and broad shoulders, her kidnapper deftly caught
the phone in one hand.  He seemed more exasperated than angry.  “You
would have needed the password to unlock the phone.”  He rolled her back
onto the mattress, gently plucked the comb from her mouth, and returned to the
bathroom, taking the phone with him.

Tears
of frustration prickled her eyelids, and she angrily blinked them back. 
She’d
been so freaking close!

After
finishing in the bathroom, he removed her bonds.  She sat up and massaged
the side of her aching neck.  “Before you say anything, it’s my
duty
to
try to escape.”

“It’s
a
soldier’s
duty to escape.  You’re not a soldier.”

“It’s
everyone’s
duty to escape when they’re being wrongfully held captive.”

“
Are
you being wrongfully held?”

Taken
aback by this enigmatic question, she stared up at him, bewildered.  “Of
course I am.”

“Play
stupid all you want, but I’m not falling for it.”

Confusion
flared into a smoldering anger.  “What the hell are you talking
about?  Are you implying that your actions are somehow
justified
?”

“We
are not having this conversation.”  His narrowed gaze said he’d brook no
argument.  “If you want to shower, do it now.  Otherwise, your next
opportunity will be tomorrow night.”

She
turned and stomped into the bathroom, wishing a thousand horrible deaths upon
him.  She understood nothing about his motives but, while she showered,
his words kept echoing through her head.  Did he believe there was some
sort of justification in her kidnapping?  What the hell had Sparrow told
him?

In
any case, even if she couldn’t convince him to let her go beforehand, she would
once they arrived at their destination and were face-to-face with
Sparrow.  Her kidnapper was an asshole, but he was
not
evil. 
She
would
be able to convince him, and he
would
let her go. 
This frantic self-assurance raced around her mind like an amphetamine-pumped
gerbil on an exercise wheel.  When she’d finished bathing, she aimed the
showerhead at her neck and simply stood there, letting the hot water ease her
strained muscles.

“What’s
taking so long?”

She
let out a small shriek and, pressing a hand to her thumping chest, snapped,
“I’ll be out in a minute.”

When
she finally emerged from the bathroom, he seemed to have already forgotten the
incident with the cell phone.  A glass of water and a sleeping pill were
waiting for her on the bedside stand.  With a great effort of will, she
arranged her features into tranquil lines and picked up the capsule.  As
he carefully watched, she placed it on her tongue, took a drink of water, then
opened her mouth and raised her tongue to show she’d swallowed it.

He
looked almost disappointed.  “I think I liked it better when you fought
not to take it.”

“Pervert.”

With
a mischievous gleam in his eye, he shot back,
“You wish.”

CHAPTER
11

“Time to wake up.”

Larissa
stretched and pried her eyes open.  Unable to distinguish any details in
the darkness, she closed them again, and snuggled tighter.  Even with the
blanket over her, her back was cool, but the body beneath hers radiated such
heat that the rest of her was toasty warm.

She
uttered a sound of protest when the strong arms jostled her.  “Larissa,
it’s time to get up.”

There
was a brief moment of confusion, and then she jerked fully awake as memory came
rushing back.  Oh,
crap!
  Not only was she actually on
top
of him with her head pillowed on his chest, she’d insinuated her lower body
between his legs.  As if that weren’t enough, his erection was sandwiched
between them, pressing insistently against her abdomen.

The
son-of-a-bitch had deliberately turned the air conditioner on high so that
she’d get cold and seek out his warmth.  Fisting her free hand, she dug
her knuckles into his ribs as she roughly shoved herself off him, provoking a
pain-filled grunt.  She could tell by his movements that he was
one-handedly donning the ski mask, and then the bedside lamp came on.  She
refused to meet his eyes as he unlocked the handcuffs.

Twenty
minutes later, she stumbled from the bathroom to find him standing before the
dresser stirring something over an electric hot plate.  In a sleeping-pill
induced stupor, she ate a bowl of hot oatmeal, then noisily slurped a cup of
instant coffee.

Despite
the caffeine, she fell immediately back to sleep in the back of the van.

She
awoke a little before ten.  As they made small talk through the curtain
that separated them, she was immensely grateful he didn’t mention how she’d
slept on top of him.

Around
noon, he pulled off the highway onto another remote side road.  As they
sat in the open doorway of the van, eating peanut butter on whole wheat and
cold pork-and-beans straight from the cans, she kept stealing sidelong glances
as him.  The man had a confidence, an ease with himself, which made him
very attractive.  Unfortunately, it made
her
very
uncomfortable. 

His
thigh was disturbingly close to hers, and she was sorely tempted to squeeze it,
to see if the muscle beneath the denim was hard as it looked.  His
forearms and hands were very large, and she was startled to find herself
wondering what those hands would feel like on her body.

Holy
freaking crap.  What was
wrong
with her?

When
he abruptly leaned into the van, his thigh brushed against hers.  A ripple
of heat like static electricity sparked through her, rendering her oddly
breathless as she jerked her leg away.  Catching the movement, he raised
his brows at her.  Refusing to meet his eyes, she accepted the napkin he
offered with a muttered “Thank you.”

An
apple apiece rounded out their lunch menu.  To the west of them, dark
clouds billowed, and the air was heavy.  Trying to look anywhere but at
him, she remarked, “It’s going to storm.”

He
glanced up at the sky.  “I’m afraid so.”

She
looked around at the distant sound of a vehicle approaching.  Without
warning, he shoved her back into the van and leaned over her to brush aside the
curtain.  Looking out the windshield, he muttered an angry, “Fuck!”

The
sudden surge of elation made her heart pound so hard that the sound of it
echoed in her head.  “Who is it?”

“State
police.”

When
he grabbed the .45 from the front seat, she recoiled and tried to scramble back
away from him, frightened by the intense resolve in his eyes.  He shoved
the weapon into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back and tugged
his shirt down over it.  Grabbing two handfuls of her tee shirt, he pulled
her so close their faces were only an inch apart.  “Before you go getting
any ideas, I want you to listen to me very carefully.  In the next few
minutes, your actions will determine if this man lives or dies.  Draw
attention to yourself and I put a bullet in his head.  It’s as simple as
that.  I don’t
want
to kill an innocent man, but if it comes down
to him or me, I’ll choose me.  The
instant
you do something stupid,
he’s dead.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”