Her brain clicked along at a mile a minute as she tried to come up with a plan. She just needed to find the right moment, then she’d strike back. Right now though, the hard butt of the gun in the waistband of his pants kept pressing against the small of her back, reminding her that the danger she was in was serious. Despite what she had said earlier, she hoped it was his gun doing the poking and not something else.
He moved her at a fast pace, not allowing her time to go for anything in her pockets or to try for one of the consoles. Before long, they were in the last corridor, and she could see the darkness of the night outside through the window. There was movement behind her, and the pressure in the small of her back became harder, more focused, as he pressed the muzzle into her back, just over her spine.
“Remember what I said,” he whispered in her ear as they headed for the last door. “No funny stuff. My employers don’t give a crap whether you walk again, and I’ll do whatever I need to.”
Rollie had never responded well to threats. Sure, she was scared, but she didn’t like the fact that she was being bullied and couldn’t do anything about it. It reminded her too much of growing up.
“Who would your employers happen to be?” she asked. “Blackwell? I know he’d love to pick my brain to get some of the inventions he can only dream of. Or are you some sort of terrorist? I have to tell you, Guantanamo Bay isn’t exactly at its best this time of year, and the locals aren’t that friendly to your kind.”
Reaching past her to push the door open, he hustled her through, and all but shoved her out into the darkness.
“If I was a terrorist, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he said shortly. “I’d have just wired the place to blow and watched it burn from afar. Now, the truck. Move.” He motioned with his gun, the metal glinting dully.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she retorted. “If you were a terrorist, you would actually know just how much more I’m worth to a Jihadist cause than burning down a lab I can have rebuilt in a few weeks. And what kind of a kidnapper are you? Aren’t you supposed to have an ominous black van with tinted windows and ski mask?” She turned to look at him, her feet slowing to prolong the inevitable.
His lips quirked a little, amusement in the depths of his eyes. “Quite the little expert on kidnapping, aren’t you? I’ll make sure to get it right next time,” he assured her and nodded toward the fairly innocuous looking truck sitting next to the dumpsters. The one she was trying like hell to avoid. Once he got her in that, it was all over.
“I don’t think that’d be too easy to pull off, since you’ll be locked in a jail cell before I’m through with you,” Rollie promised, treating him to a disdainful glare as she finally sidled next to the door. So much for prolonging the inevitable. “As much as I hate clichés, I’ve got to say, you’re not going to get away with this.”
“Sweetheart, I already have.” He flashed a grin, teeth white in the dim light as he shoved the gun back into his waistband again. His hand closed hard on her arm, holding her in place as he opened the truck door. Her heart pounded; if she was going to do something, it had to be now.
While he was distracted by the door and looking around to see if anyone had spotted them, Rollie took the chance to twist from his grip and deliver a move as old as time. She drove a justified knee to his groin.
There was an, “Oomph,” as the air left his lungs. He doubled over for a second, clutching at his abused gen**als. Either he had balls of steel, or she hadn’t caught him full on. Within a second, he was after her. She didn’t get more than three steps before hard hands closed over her upper arms, spinning her around and slamming her hard against a broad chest. Eyes glittering with fury clashed against hers, his hand fisting in the hair at the nape of her neck to drag her head back painfully.
“Don’t try that again,” he warned, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would burst out of her chest. She tried so hard not to be afraid of him, but it was getting more difficult as he looked at her with cold lethality. She recognized the look. This was a man who had killed before, but she wasn’t one to admit defeat so easily.
“No point,” she ground out. “I don’t think there’s anything to hit.”
“I wouldn’t be very good at my job if a pretty little thing like you could bring me down, would I?” he asked, his eyes warming up as he stroked a finger down her jaw-line. “Now behave before I start thinking on just how pretty you are. My employers don’t care what sort of condition you’re in, so I don’t think they’d be opposed to me having a little…fun.”
She tried not to shiver as he dragged his finger over her face. Damn it. She swore at her sex-starved mind and susceptible body. It didn’t help that her br**sts were flattened against his chest and she could feel the vibration from his low-timbered voice through them every time he spoke.
Here she was being kidnapped and threatened by a goon, albeit a good-looking one, and all her body could think about was sex. She had to keep her mind in the game and her wits with her, or she might not survive this.
“If you want to know what a stiletto boot jammed in your gut feels like, just try it, buddy,” she retorted.
He shrugged. “Been there, done that, got the scar to prove it. Now are you going to be a good girl and get in the truck, or am I going to have to get rough?”
“They probably didn’t know how to do the job right,” she retorted as she reluctantly got in the truck. She didn’t see any other option, and the only time she had seen eyes that were that cold and determined was several years ago when she stared into a mirror. She knew better than to doubt his threats of harming her to get what he wanted. Just because she knew she didn’t have a way out didn’t mean she had to go through with this happily. “Don’t worry, when I get the chance, I’ll do a better job. I promise,” she told him through clenched teeth.
Chapter Two
She was a feisty little thing, all right. Day slid a glance at the sleeping form in the passenger seat. She was half-curled in the seat, his jacket thrown over her to keep her warm and to cover the zip ties that tightly secured her wrists. She’d stayed awake longer than he’d thought but, despite the adrenalin granted by fear, she’d given into exhaustion a couple of hours ago.
He shifted in his seat and tried to ease the ache in his thigh. He’d had less than a second to react when she’d kneed him, enough to try and deflect a blow that should have had him on the floor retching his guts up. He’d only managed to deflect the blow, so he was going to be sore for a while in the old tackle. Ignoring the ache, he concentrated on the road ahead.
She’d been quieter after he’d gotten her in the truck. He assumed the threat of being raped had kept her quiet; it subdued all but the feistiest. Unlike pain or violence, that particular threat played over and over in their minds, keeping them quiet in a way other threats didn’t.
Not that he would ever stoop that low. All he had to do was snatch her and keep her out of the picture until some conference or other she was supposed to be attending was over, and that was all. Despite his earlier comments to her, he didn’t intend to leave any permanent damage.
He wasn’t being paid to hurt her, so he wouldn’t. He didn’t do that sort of job. He was independent now, so he picked and chose what sort of jobs he would take. Like this one, which was just up his alley. A nice cushy job: snatch a female scientist and baby-sit her for a while. Easy money.
A few minutes later, she started to wake. Sitting up straight, she awkwardly brushed the hair out of her face with her hands and tried to see where they were. She blinked a few times, as though getting the fuzziness from her sight. When realization set in, she viewed the landscape outside the window. Her voice was sleep-laden and husky when she asked, “Where are you taking me?”
He reached over and pulled the jacket back over her hands. They were moving at a fast clip, but one never knew what people would manage to get a glimpse of through a window. He knew better than to leave it to chance.
“Some place quiet and out the way for a few days.” His voice was non-committal, although from the scenery through the windshield it was obvious they were heading into the mountains.
He had a small cabin in the foothills. Far enough out of town that he could keep her presence quiet for a few days, but near enough not to be completely isolated. Plus, he’d be able to drive down into town and grab a six-pack and other essential supplies.
“Well, at least you know where you’re headed. For a second there, I thought you got us lost.”
Apparently this woman was just as feisty waking up.
“So why did you kidnap me? Ransom?”
Her voice was sharp and as inquisitive as the look in her eyes. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit, even in a situation like this. Kidnapped and bound in the passenger seat of a truck with a guy she didn’t know from Adam, she was still demanding answers.
“No, I’ve already been paid,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. He didn’t need to be talking to her, shouldn’t talk to her. She was a job, nothing more. Trouble was, she was a damn pretty one, as his body kept reminding him. He shifted in the seat again, ignoring the very physical reaction to her presence and the delicate perfume that filled the cabin.
She was quiet for a while, as if she were contemplating his answer.
“Look, the least you can do is tell me.” She continued to look out the window. “You’re going to kill me, anyway. At least let me know why.” Her words were a dispassionate statement, as if she expected the worst and tried to brace herself for the inevitable.
He slid a sharp glance at her, surprised. “Why on earth would you assume I’m going to kill you?” he asked, curious despite himself. Wasn’t that why he was schooling himself not to talk to her, not to get close to her? In case the order came through to kill her after all?
Grimly, he reminded himself that he’d been paid for a job, this job, and only this job. He didn’t take orders anymore, and certainly not that sort. He had once, and the black stain on his soul would never go away.
“You said you’ve already been paid, and you’re not even thinking about ransom, so this isn’t about money. Not from me at least,” she rationalized. “Your face was on the surveillance cameras, and your biometrics were recorded in the lab the second you set foot in it. Someone from my company will check you against all known databases when they realize I’m missing. With our systems, it won’t take them long to find you. Though, the real point here is that I’ve seen your face, and I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you I wouldn’t go to the cops to ID you if you let me go.”
He didn’t look at her, maneuvering into the other lane on the highway. “You’re assuming that those systems were actually working,” he commented mildly. It was an attitude he’d come across before. Because of the way he looked, people assumed he was more beefcake than brains. It used to irritate him, but now he found it mildly amusing. He was—had been—an infiltration specialist. That he wouldn’t have known what the security setup was and found a way around it was, well, laughable.