Talk Me Down (24 page)

Okay, murder was off the table, but she just wasn’t up for torture, either, even the spanking kind. She was weak. Screw bravery and defiance. She’d grovel and beg. She’d sob and moan and bubble with snot.

Just as she was feeling hopeful that her runny nose might put Cameron off completely, Molly heard a faint concussion, a little thud that floated around her consciousness, promising to reveal its meaning if she could just get it together.

Probably just the fridge door closing. She strained her ears, trying to hear something more past the bedroom door and the foot of floor between them. She thought Cameron uttered a curse, and then he confirmed it with a shout.

“Where the hell are your wineglasses?” he yelled, as if she could answer.

Idiot.
Watching him drink pricey wine out of a juice glass would be a small revenge, but she’d take it.

He slammed a few more cabinets and grumbled, but his complaints were interrupted by a faint stutter of sound, sharper than the others.

Molly’s heartbeat kicked into overdrive. She tried to breathe deeply and slowly, because she couldn’t hear a damn thing with her pulse pounding in her ears. Then it came again.
Knock, knock, knock.

Ohmigod, ohmigod. That hadn’t been the fridge closing, it had been a car door slamming. Or a truck door. A big, black police truck door slamming behind a big, strong policeman! Please, please, please let that be true.

Molly sucked in a deep breath and started screaming.

Still, there was every chance that he was about to make a huge fool of himself, the very reason he hadn’t just called one of his officers and sent him over.
Hey, Frank, could you run by my ex-girlfriend’s place and see if she’s willingly entertaining a gentleman caller?

So here he was.

Just as he raised his fist to knock for the third time, Molly’s front door opened, letting free the sound of a loud TV show. At the sight of Cameron, Ben felt a shiver of violence crawl over his skin. The man looked very at home, shirt untucked and sleeves rolled up. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, juice cup of wine in hand.

That should be my cup of wine,
Ben thought, then wanted to punch himself almost as much as he wanted to punch Cameron.

“What can I do for you, Chief?”

You can fuck off and die.
Ben took a deep breath. “I’d like to speak with Ms. Jennings, please.”

Cameron flashed a wide smile. “I’m afraid she’s not available at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Go get Molly, damn it.”

Leaning a little closer, Cameron raised the cup like a pointed finger. “I’m trying to be subtle here. She’s unavailable.” The glass swirled in a slow circle as Cameron raised one eyebrow. “Not decent.”

“You,” Ben ground out, “got here less than an hour ago.”

“Yeah, well.” He raised the cup slowly and took a long sip of wine. When he met Ben’s gaze, he practically glowed with self-satisfaction. “You know how she is.”

Everything—the door, the porch, the smug dickhead—everything went scarlet red for a split second, and then just as suddenly, his eyes were crystal clear, as if this were a movie playing in slow motion.

“All right,” Ben said, the words echoing in his ears like ominous drums. “All right. But I’d really like to see her.”

“Sorry, Chief. But you know what they say. Easy come, easy go.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He waited, trying to force Cameron to turn away first, but he looked comfortable leaning against the door, sipping from his wine.

“I’ll come by later,” Ben said numbly.

“You do that.” Cameron gave him a half salute with the glass before he took another sip.

Ben backed up and stepped sideways down the stairs, not wanting to leave, but knowing it was the right thing to do. When he got back to his truck he scanned the windows, hoping to get a look at Molly, but the curtains stayed closed as he backed away.

Nerves shaky and screaming for action, Ben forced himself to drive down Molly’s block very slowly. As soon as he reached the shelter of the pine trees, he pulled to a stop, reached to unlock the glove compartment, and withdrew his handgun. Only then did he lift the radio.

“This is Chief Lawson. I need every available officer at twenty-five Pine Road. Code two. Sirens off. We’ve got a possible two-oh-seven. Suspect is likely to be armed and dangerous.”

What had seemed like a normal confrontation between two rival males had shifted as he’d stood there in the doorway. The scene had suddenly cracked into pieces, showing jagged edges that didn’t fit together.

Cameron hadn’t looked the least bit ruffled, hadn’t looked like a man who’d just had a passionate quickie. His shoes had still been on, his shirt not creased or wrinkled, every hair smoothly in place. The downstairs television had been on, blaring some nature program.

And there’d been scratches on Cameron’s hand. Deep scratches.

A picture of Molly—Molly fighting, crying, scratching—flashed through Ben’s mind, snatching the breath from his throat. He checked his gun, steeled his frantic nerves, and stepped out of his car into the cold, pale sun.

“Where the hell are your wineglasses, Molly?” Cameron asked as he opened the door. “You’re living like a damned bumpkin up here.”

What happened?
she screamed inside her head, trying to yell with her eyes, her face, but Cameron ignored her grunts and strolled nonchalantly to the bed.

“I almost forgot this,” he said, rooting around in the bag he’d dropped on the mattress. He pulled out a black satin mask with a flourish and wink.

What the hell happened down there?
She pushed both spiked heels into the carpet and tried to hop the chair around.

“Ooo, does that get you excited?” he laughed, raising his glass for a long draw. He licked his lips and looked her up and down. “I don’t have much experience with this, but I think I know just where I’d like to start.” His eyes lingered on her breasts as Molly tried to hunch over, curling her spine into the hardwood back of the chair.

It’s okay. I’ll survive.

If she could get through a few hours, he’d relax, pay less attention. He’d have to untie her at some point, if only to get her clothes off. She just had to play along. No problem-o.

Then Cameron toed off his shoes and started unbuttoning his shirt, and Molly lost all sense of calm. She was hyperventilating, couldn’t get enough air, wanted out of there
right this minute.
He didn’t even notice.

The shirt parted and he shrugged it off to reveal a slim, muscled chest and tight shoulders. He wasn’t as big as Ben, but he was strong and, more importantly, completely insane. He smiled serenely as he pulled a wine bottle from the bag and popped out the cork to refill his cup.

“Don’t worry, I’m just getting comfortable.” He sipped his wine and stared at her legs for a few long seconds, lost in thought. “I know I seem like a pretty confident guy, but it really tore me up when you left. Everything was so great between us at first. I couldn’t figure out why you got so distant, why you broke it off. But now I see it didn’t really have anything to do with me. It’s about you and your inability to open up. To tell your secrets.”

A faint smile overtaking the thoughtful frown, he shook his head as if she were an exasperating and adorable child. “You’ll share your most secret thoughts with strangers but not with the person who loves you. That’s just sad.” Cameron finished off his wine and shrugged. “But that’s done now. We’re working it out. How about we start with pictures?”

“Ghan?”
Molly groaned against the fabric.

“Pictures. When I was planning this trip, I thought maybe Lawson might still be hanging around. What better way to get rid of him than to show him exactly how involved we still are?”

He crossed to the bag and triumphantly drew out a camera. It was a big thing, silver with a professional-looking lens.

Molly groaned. Oh, God. This was just what she needed to add to the disaster of her life. He’d probably send them to her family, pass them around the station, post them on the Internet.
See, I told you she was still hot for me!

But what really made her heart lurch was the fact that she’d been asking for dirty pictures just a few weeks ago. But she’d wanted them with Ben, not Cameron! Not anyone else. Just Ben.

And in return, Ben had given her something beautiful.

The tears started again. When she sniffed, Cameron seemed to finally realize the state of her face. His smile froze.

“Jeez, Molly, you’re a mess! All blotchy and slimy.” He shuddered. “Is this part of the game? Because I don’t like it at all, and it is
not
going to photograph well.”

She tried to call up a storm of more tears, but her ducts petered out in the excitement. Cameron hurried away to get a wad of tissue from the bathroom, looking as if he wanted to thrust the paper into her hand when he returned, but of course she was cuffed. Forced to clean her up, he dabbed at her nose until he was satisfied, then retreated to pour another glass of wine.

“Not,” he continued as if the interruption hadn’t happened, “that I wouldn’t want to take pictures regardless of Ben and his persistence. In fact, I can’t believe we never did this before. Maybe if I’d had pictures of you, I wouldn’t have been so damned lonely these past few months. I really missed you.”

Molly watched him, growing wearier as the seconds ticked past. Her toes were throbbing in the pointy heels, her hands had ceased tingling and were now officially numb, but the tightness in her shoulders had crept up her neck and set off a wicked headache that wrapped around her head. Oh, yeah. This bondage stuff was hot.

Then again, maybe it was working. She’d almost rather have sex with him than be tied up in this chair for another hour. Boy, she would make a terrible prisoner of war. She’d be in front of a camera filming propaganda pieces within two and a half hours of capture.

“All right,” Cameron said loudly, startling her into a jump. He clapped the glass down onto the bedside table. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?” Mouth pursed in thought, he grabbed the bag off the bed and walked closer, cradling the camera in one hand as he studied her. “This might be a good place to start.”

Molly squinched her eyes into a glare as he dropped the bag and started snapping pictures. Her fear was almost gone now, replaced by anger and disgust.

Ben knew what lust looked like in her eyes. If he did see these pictures, he’d see the truth. Maybe Cameron was planning to e-mail them right away. She tried to cross her fingers, but was pretty sure that nothing actually happened below the cuffs. She glared daggers at Cameron.

“All right,” he murmured. “All right, we’ve got the preliminaries. Now…” Aiming a Cheshire grin at her, he set down the camera and reached into the bag. When he slowly drew his hand out, Molly was not happy to see a big pair of shiny scissors.

“First things first. Let’s see those beautiful breasts.”

The blades grew longer and more menacing the closer he came. Molly’s fear popped back in full force. She tried to shrink into the chair, but the wood refused to absorb her, and she could only pray over and over again that the scissors were not as sharp as they looked.

Cameron crouched beside her and, ignoring her alarmed squeals, began to cut through her brand-new sweater. Waiting to see the white cashmere begin to soak through with red, she was so absorbed in holding her breath and sucking in her stomach that she didn’t register the staccato sound drifting up the stairs.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cameron sighed. He took two more clips with the scissors and let her sweater fall open. “If that’s Lawson again, I’m gonna sue his ass for harassment. Unbelievable.”

Ben!
It had been Ben downstairs!

Cameron’s thumb grazed the top of her right breast, then slid across her cleavage with a more deliberate pressure. “He’ll go away,” he murmured, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her bra, the ivory lace she’d picked out for Ben. “God, you’re beautiful. I’ve always loved your breasts. I almost hate to share this pretty image, but I’ll do anything to keep you, Molly.”

The doorbell rang as he was sliding one cold blade of the scissors beneath the little bow between her breasts.
Snip.

Molly cringed. Her pulse leapt to furious panic. But when she opened her clenched eyes and looked down, her bra was still intact, or nearly so. It wasn’t some Wal-Mart special. This baby was reinforced.

“Shit!” Cameron shouted, throwing the scissors at the nearest wall. They gouged out the plaster and fell with a clatter to the oak flooring. “I’ll be right back. That racket’s gonna drive me fucking mad.”

As if that was a long road trip.

Cameron wrenched his shirt on before he tucked something into his waistband and raced out.

The knocking had turned to pounding below, and Molly felt certain to the bottom of her soul that it was Ben. Maybe she hadn’t pushed him too far, maybe he didn’t believe that she’d invite a smarmy stalker into her bed. Oh, God, if Ben was here to rescue her, she was going to love him for the rest of her life. He’d get his very own personal stalker, complete with unlimited booty calls any time, day or night.

Molly crossed her fingers—or tried to—and closed her eyes to wait for some promising sound to emerge from the silence below.