The Heart Has Reasons (6 page)

Keeping
a close eye on her, he transferred the rest of the food from the cooler into
the small refrigerator, then seated himself across from her and took a bite of
his sandwich.  Ignoring her own, she occasionally took a sip of water,
while her eyes constantly flicked from the scarred tabletop to the room’s
solitary bed.  Realizing the implications, he sought to allay her
apprehension.  “I’m not a rapist, so you needn’t worry about that.”

She
lifted her eyes to his.  “Then why am I here?”

He
took another bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed.  “I was hired to
deliver you somewhere.”

“Hired
by Brian Sparrow?”

“I
don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Then
who?”

If
he replied that he wasn’t at liberty to divulge that information, it would
simply lead to more questions.  “I never met the person.”

“Where
are you taking me?”

“You’ll
find that out when we get there.”

“I
hate to tell you this, but you’ve kidnapped the wrong person.”

Jesus,
that southern accent was sexy.  Rather than the motel clerk’s backwoods
twang of trailer trash, his target had the elegant, modulated voice of a
southern belle.  “Are you Larissa Santos?  Before you answer, keep in
mind that I have your driver’s license.”

She
raised green eyes to his.  “Well, someone’s made a mistake.  I have
neither money nor family to ransom me.”

“Not
all kidnappings are about ransom.”

“Then
what’s this one about?”

He
shrugged.  “Not my concern.”

“When
I don’t show up for work tomorrow, my coworkers will know something’s
wrong.  Someone will go to my house to investigate.  One of my
neighbors will have seen your vehicle, and the police will put an APB on it.”

“You
watch too many cop shows.  Anyway, my vehicle was never at your
house.  I guarantee you, no one saw anything.”

Apparently
realizing she wasn’t going to get any useful information from him, she returned
her gaze to the table.  When he finished his sandwich, hers was still
untouched.  “You should eat.”

“I
can’t.”

“All
right.  We’ll save it for later.”  While he shoved the untouched
sandwich into a plastic sandwich bag, she sat there gazing dully at the table,
hands clasped in her lap.  He turned away for a mere instant to put the
sandwich into the battered refrigerator.  When he turned back, she was
still sitting in the exact same position, but the steak knife had vanished.

His
muscles tensed instinctively.  “Put the knife back on the table.”

She
slowly raised her eyes to his, all wide-eyed innocence.  “What?”

“Put
the fucking knife back!”

Her
chair scraped back as she got to her feet, steak knife clutched in one
hand.  As if they were two gunslingers about to draw down on each other, she
squared off with him, body rigid and coiled for action.  “I don’t think
so.”  Brandishing the knife, she backed toward the door.  “I’ll be
leaving now.”

When
he started toward her, she quickly reversed it in her grip and raised it over
her shoulder, ready to throw.  When he came to an abrupt halt, she
taunted, “Come on, you bastard.  I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Still
backing away, she made it to the door.  Not taking her eyes from him, she
reached her free hand behind her and fumbled with the lock.  When she
turned the knob, the door opened several inches before catching up short on the
security chain.  Anger and frustration flashed in her eyes as she closed
it again.  Stepping slightly to the side, her glance flicked to the door.

The
soft
snick
of a safety going off jerked her eyes back to him and her
pupils dilated wildly at seeing the Colt .45 aimed at her chest.  “Touch
that fucking chain and I’ll put a round in you.”

Her
throat worked hard to swallow.  “If you shoot me, someone will hear.”

“They
probably will,” he agreed.  “But you’ll be dead and, before anyone has
time to investigate, I’ll be gone.”

When
he took a cautious step toward her, her entire body tensed as she prepared to
hurl the knife.  He kept his voice calm and steady.  “The blade’s dull
and the knife itself doesn’t have the weight required for sufficient
penetration.  Even if you actually manage to draw my blood, all it’s going
to do is piss me off.  But in the meantime this forty-five will have blown
a great big hole in you.”  He slowly continued toward her, his eyes locked
on her throwing arm, his muscles tense and ready to dodge the instant she
threw.  When he was nearly within arm’s reach of her, he slowly extended
his left hand.  “Are you that eager to die?”

Losing
her resolve, she reluctantly lowered her arm and placed the wooden haft on his
palm.  Pitching the knife onto the table, he returned the .45 to his
waistband in the small of his back, backed her against the door, and relocked
it.  Leaning one forearm on the battered wood, he loomed over her. 
“Never bring a knife to a gun fight.”

Simmering
fury brought a flash of color to her cheeks.  Up close, he could see that
her eyes weren’t the solid green he’d originally assumed.  The background
color was green, but twin starbursts of luminous golden rays ringed her pupils,
extending almost to the iris rims, which were a darker blue-green.  Her
spirit and courage were so goddamned sexy that he had the sudden urge to press
her against the door and taste those sexy lips.

Then
a pair of tears spilled over to trickle down her cheeks, dousing his
ardor.  Jesus, what the hell was he thinking?  Not only was this
woman his prisoner, she was Keswick’s wife.  Slightly chagrined, he took a
step back and slipped a hand under the ski mask to rub his jaw, hearing the
rasp of whiskers against his calloused palm.  “Don’t cry.”

She
angrily dashed tears away with the back of one hand.  “I’m not crying!”

“Everyone’s
entitled to one mistake, so I’ll let this one go unpunished.  Don’t do anything
else stupid, and everything’ll be fine.”  When he reached up to brush a
stray strand of hair from her face, she slapped his hand away, pushed past him,
and stalked toward the bathroom.

Unable
to suppress a smile, he called after her, “Leave the door open.”  When she
paused in the doorway, her back to him and shoulders visibly tense, he added,
“I won’t watch, but I need to be able to hear if you try to open the window —
and I
will
hear it.”

Muttering
what sounded like aspersions on his character, she disappeared into the
bathroom where, in a blatant challenge to his authority, she left the door
cracked a mere two inches.  Ah, hell.  Women were sensitive about
such matters, so he decided to let it pass.  As he lowered the volume on
the television, he thought about how she’d threatened him with the knife. 
No doubt, if given the chance, she’d have used it.

Despite
her obvious fear, she was handling the situation much better than he would have
expected.  In a similar predicament, Cheyenne would’ve been in complete
and utter hysterics.

Of
course, there was still time for that.

CHAPTER
6

Larissa kept her eyes on the door’s
narrow opening, expecting her kidnapper’s ski-masked face to slide into view at
any moment, but maybe he turned on by watching women urinate.  More
likely, what turned him on was slicing women into pieces.  He didn’t
seem
like a sadistic murderer, but then, apparently neither had Ted Bundy.

And
what the hell had happened?  One moment he was unarmed, she’d glanced away
for just an instant, and when she’d looked back, he’d been pointing a big-ass
gun at her.  After his little speech about knowing how to administer pain,
she was surprised he hadn’t hurt her.

Maybe
she should have forced him to shoot her, since a quick death from a bullet
might be preferable to whatever lay ahead.  He claimed someone had paid
him to deliver her.  If true, then that someone could only be Sparrow, in
which case she’d prefer a bullet.  However, she didn’t know for certain it
was Sparrow and, until she did, she’d do everything in her power to stay alive.

As
she stood up and flushed, she checked the window.  Multiple layers of
paint sealed it shut, so she’d have to break out the glass. Opening the faucet,
she glanced toward the open doorway.  There was no sign of him so, while
water ran into the rust-stained sink, she squinted through the grimy glass at
the darkness beyond.  Silvery moonlight barely illuminated a brushy
field.  Trying to run barefoot through it in the dark would be arduous,
not to mention painful, while his booted feet would find it much easier. 
He’d catch her, kill her and, leaving her there for the scavengers, get in his
vehicle and drive off.

In
any case, hearing the glass break, he’d be in there before she could scramble
out the small opening.  She stuck her hands under the running water, shut
the faucet off, and dried off on a threadbare towel before returning to the
room.

Two
kitchen garbage bags now sat upon the bed.  When she cast a questioning
glance at her kidnapper, he explained, “Before we left your house, I took the
liberty of packing for you.”

Crossing
to the bed, she opened one of the bags.  At the sight of her purse lying
atop assorted clothing, her heartbeat suddenly accelerated.  Might he have
overlooked her phone?  If so, she’d have to wait for a window of
opportunity to use it.  With deliberate casualness, she sat the purse
aside.

Almost
as if he’d read her mind, he remarked, “I removed your cell.  You’ll find
it and your two handguns in the drawer next to your kitchen sink.”

Goddamn
the asshole.  In the bag, four cotton sport bras lay on top of a stack of
cotton panties.  In addition to the underclothes, he’d packed multiple
pairs of yoga pants and tee shirts.  Her athletic shoes were on the
bottom.  “You went through all my drawers?”

“Would
you have preferred to wear the clothes you have on for the next four days?”

No,
she wouldn’t, but that was beside the freaking point.  Well, at least he’d
brought comfortable clothing.  And the absence of sexy lingerie was
marginally reassuring.  Of course, he might be saving those as a future
surprise.

In
the second bag she found an assortment of toiletries, comb, brush, toothbrush,
and blow dryer.  A flood of relief made her go weak in the knees. 
That he’d gone to the trouble of bringing these things was yet another
indication that he wasn’t planning to kill her.

“Grab
a change of clothes and go into the bathroom.”  When she simply stood
there, he locked a hard, unblinking gaze on her that accelerated her
heartbeat.  Even if he didn’t intend to kill her, that didn’t mean he
wouldn’t hurt her, so it would be prudent to pretend submissive compliance
until an opportunity for escape presented itself.

Carrying
the bag of toiletries, handcuffs, and a length of cotton rope, he followed her
into the tiny bathroom.  “Turn around.”

“Is
it really necessary to tie me up?”

The
corner of his mouth quirked up.  “Unless you’d like to shower with me.”

Asshole. 
In order to escape, she might have to attack and disable
him. 
Although the mere size of him made such an event seem to lie within the realm
of the impossible, in class she’d sparred with men nearly as large.  She
was a green belt.  If she caught him off guard and unarmed, she could take
him.  She had to.  Her very life depended upon it.

However,
now was not the
most opportune time.  She still felt slightly
woozy from the drug he’d slipped into her wine, and the bathroom was much too
small in which to maneuver.  Needing him to believe she was too frightened
to offer any further resistance, she obediently turned and put her hands behind
her back.  In the tiny room, the sound of the handcuffs ratcheting closed
was frighteningly loud.  He passed the rope around the short linking
chain, had her take a seat on the toilet lid, then knelt down to tie the rope
around the base of the toilet.

Once
satisfied she was secure, he stood and peeled his shirt over his head. 
She tried not to gawk but …
Oh.  My.  Freaking.  God
. 
Broad shoulders rippled with thick muscle.  Washboard abs appeared carved
from wood.  Numerous scars crisscrossed his chest and, on one shoulder, a
small, round, silvery scar looked to be the result of a gunshot.  Had he
bulked up while serving time in prison?  If so, what crime had landed him
there?  Maybe that was a question best left unanswered.

When
he unzipped the black jeans, she looked away and, from the corner of her eye,
watched as he slid the jeans down narrow hips, stepped out of them, and draped
them over the top of the door.

Oh,
crap.  He was now totally naked and standing only feet from her.

Unbearably
uncomfortable, she turned to face the wall below the window, sitting as rigid
as stone.  Expecting any moment for those huge hands to begin groping her,
she involuntarily twitched at the sound of his voice.  “Do I need to gag
you?”

“I
remember the speech about how you’ve been trained in dealing out pain.”