The Heart Has Reasons (10 page)

“What’s
in it?”

“Capers
and water chestnuts.”  He was watching her intently.  “Do you like
it?”

She
shrugged.  “It’s okay.”  It was actually the best tuna salad she’d
ever tasted, but hell would freeze over before she admitted it.  Taking
another bite, she rotated her shoulders as she chewed, wincing at the pain.

“Shoulders
sore?”

“Of
course they’re sore,” she snapped. “Why don’t
you
try sleeping with your
arms wrenched up over your head?”

He
moved around behind her.  When his hands came down on her shoulders, she
jumped and spun around to face him.  “What are you doing?”

“Massaging
your shoulders.”

“I
don’t want you touching me.”

“Really? 
I find that hard to believe in view of the fact that you slept practically on
top of me all night long.”

“I
did not!”

The
warm pleasant sound of his laugh startled her.  “You were wrapped around
me so tight I thought I was sleeping with an octopus.”

She
suddenly had a vague, drug-blurred memory of waking up in his arms, and heat
rushed into her face.  “It was that freaking pill you made me take! 
And you had the air conditioning cranked up too high!”

“If
you say so.”

Grasping
her shoulders, he gently but firmly turned her back around.  Her stomach
tightened as he began rubbing her shoulders.  She stood stiffly at first,
her body shifting slightly under his hands as the gentle pressure of his thumbs
steadily increased.  If this were about sex, he would have tried something
back at the motel, not out here along the roadside.  Startled to realize
that he was simply concerned about her comfort, she gradually relaxed and
resumed eating.

Oddly,
the emotion swirling through her was not the fear or horror she should be
experiencing.  The man was clearly not a bloodthirsty monster.  She’d
threatened him with a knife, kicked him in the ribs, and fought to avoid taking
the sleeping pill but, despite his threats, he’d been careful not to hurt
her.  The smack on the ass she didn’t count, since it was insignificant
compared to what he could have done.

He
had
choked her, but barely hard enough to cut off her air.  Not
only had he abruptly let go before she’d lost consciousness, the remorse in his
eyes had been plain.

She
finished the sandwich and her eyes involuntarily closed as his probing fingertips
chased the soreness from her shoulder joints.  Forcing back a moan of
pleasure, she sighed and relaxed completely as his hands worked their way from
her shoulders to her neck.

More
importantly, he hadn’t raped her, even though he’d obviously been aroused.

Ah,
god, the man had magic hands.  A memory of his chiseled, naked body,
glistening wet from the shower, flashed unbidden into her mind.  Startled
by the spark of warmth that flickered through her core, she shrugged his hands
off, and turned to face him.

“Better?”

“Yes.” 
She grudgingly added a belated “Thank you.”  He gazed down at her, his
blue eyes inscrutable behind the ski mask, and she forced herself not to waver
under his stare.

Finally,
his eyes slid away.  “We should get going.  Get back in the
vehicle.”  When she started to protest, he cut her off.  “
Now
.”

She
reluctantly climbed back inside.  Still deathly afraid of whatever awaited
her at the end of this trip, she found that, despite his threats, most of her
fear of him had dissipated.  Not only was he concerned for her comfort, he
obviously didn’t want to hurt her.  This knowledge caused a small measure
of hope to lift through her.  He was delivering her in four days, which
gave her that much time in which to dissuade him from doing so.  If she
could only convince him he was delivering her to her executioner, he’d let her
go.

When
he picked up the ball gag, she pleaded, “Please don’t make me wear that
thing.  I promise not to scream.”

“Do
I seem stupid?”

“It
makes me drool!”

“Then
lie on your back.”

“It’s
hard to swallow when I can’t close my mouth and, besides, it makes my jaws
ache.  And what if I throw up?”

“You
won’t.”

“I
feel sick to my stomach,” she lied.

“That’s
bullshit.”

“It’s
not
!  I’ll aspirate my vomit and die.  Did I scream last night
in the motel?  Did I scream earlier, when I woke up?  Please.  I
promise that on
this one thing
you can trust me.”

With
narrowed eyes, he silently appraised her for several moments.  Then,
shoving aside the curtain separating the cargo compartment from the driver’s
compartment, he leaned forward between the seats.  When he sat back on his
heels again, he had a small device in his hand.  Spotting the two
side-by-side metal prongs on the end of it, she flinched away.

“You
know what this is?”

She
nodded.  “A stun gun.”

“A
Taser.  Against my better judgment, I’ll leave the gag off.  If you
scream, I’ll reach back here and Tase you.  Not only will the
fifty-thousand volts of electricity be excruciatingly painful, you’ll go into
convulsions and probably piss yourself.  And then you’ll wear the gag
continually, even at night while sleeping.”

When
he picked up the cuffs, she said, “Can’t you leave my hands free?”

“Absolutely
not.”

“Look
how bruised my wrists are!  With my arms and legs stretched out, I can’t
brace myself and, every time you take a curve or turn a corner, the cuffs dig
into my wrists.  It hurts!”

Frowning
at the reddish-purple bruises, he muttered a curse.  “Turn around so your
feet are facing the front of the vehicle.  If I catch you trying to free
your ankles, the handcuffs go back on.  Don’t make me regret this
decision.”

“You
could leave my feet free as well.”

“I
could —
if
I were the idiot you obviously believe me to be.”

Since
she’d been victorious in talking him out of both the gag and the cuffs, she
decided not to push the issue.  One small step at a time.  Besides,
jumping out of a speeding vehicle onto the highway would be reaching for new
heights of stupidity and she simply wasn’t that ambitious.

As
he fastened the hobble to an eyebolt in the floor, she shifted slightly away
from him.  He was so overwhelmingly masculine that being forced into such
close proximity with him made her extremely uncomfortable.  Painfully
aware of the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she looked everywhere but at
him.  Her eyes came to rest on his duffle bag.

His
military
duffle bag.

Although
he could have purchased it at any army surplus store, he carried himself with
an obvious military bearing.  Not only that, he was extremely self-sufficient,
a quality he could’ve come by while serving in the military.  And the
scars?  Probably acquired in combat.  If she somehow survived this
ordeal, every tiny smidgen of information she gleaned would help to capture and
convict him.

One
chance at escape might come at night while he slept, assuming she could somehow
free herself from the handcuffs, but not if she were knocked out on sleeping
pills.  After the struggle she’d put up last night though, he’d make
doubly sure she really swallowed them.  Then, sudden inspiration
struck.  If she convinced him she
wanted
the pills, he might relax
his vigilance.  “Can I have a sleeping pill?”

He
blinked.  “After all that fighting last night, now you’re
asking
for one?”

“I’d
prefer to sleep through this entire nightmare.”

“If
you sleep all day, you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Then
tonight you can give me two.”

“No.”

Relieved
beyond measure by his refusal, she added a final, “
Ple-e-ease
.”

“No.” 
He handed her a bottle of water.  “Go easy on this.  I’m not stopping
every thirty minutes so you can relieve yourself.  For obvious reasons, I
don’t drive with the mask on.  Do you remember what I said last night
about the mask being for
your
protection?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t
touch the curtain separating us.”

“Believe
me, I have absolutely no desire to see your face.  No offense intended.”

Blue
eyes crinkled at the corners.  “None taken.”

When
they were back on the road, Larissa again examined the hobble’s knots. 
Tight and elaborate, they’d take considerable time to untie.  She eyed the
rear doors, measuring the distance.  With her feet tied toward the front
of the van, they were beyond her reach.

There
were no windows on the sides of the vehicle, but she
could
reach the
inner handle of the sliding-panel door.  Inching silently toward it, she
grasped it.

Locked.

At
least he wasn’t delivering her today.  As bad as this situation was, she’d
rather spend the next four days with the devil she knew, albeit barely, than
with the lord of all devils who awaited her.

Sitting
up, she propped her back against the interior wall of the van behind the
driver’s seat.  She was tempted to believe his claim of not knowing
Sparrow.  Still, no one else would have a motive to kidnap her and she
seriously doubted that someone had targeted her at random, so Sparrow
had
to be behind it.

Simply
thinking of Sparrow made her heart pound as a surge of adrenaline spiked into
her bloodstream.  Comforting herself with the knowledge that she had four
days in which to extricate herself from this situation, she forced the panic
down by resolutely pushing all thoughts of Sparrow from her mind.

Where
were they headed?  She’d never done much traveling, but it seemed that in
four days one could reach either Mexico or Canada.

Entering
into either of those countries would be risky as they’d presumably have to pass
through a border-crossing checkpoint.  The only direction left was
west.  They could probably reach the west coast in four days.  With
the Charleston police still searching for him, Sparrow would naturally have
wanted to be as far from there as possible.

She
said to the curtain separating them, “You don’t seem like an evil person, so
why are you doing this?”

“I’m
simply doing the job I was hired to do.”

“The
man you’re taking me to is going to kill me.”

Several
moments of silence greeted this statement.  “Why would he do that?”

“Because
I shot him.”

“You
shot your—”  He abruptly broke off, then amended the question to, “You
shot
who
?”

“Brian
Sparrow.”

“I
told you, I don’t know anyone by that name.”  His hand appeared beneath
the curtain to find her feet.  Locating the rope by touch, he walked his
fingers along the knots.  Reassured they were intact, the hand disappeared
again.  “Who is this Sparrow guy?”

She
took a sip of water, then screwed the cap back on.  “Two years ago,
someone started coming into my apartment and going through my stuff while I was
at work.  One of the maintenance men was downright creepy.  Since he
constantly ogled me and had access to the keys to my apartment, I naturally
suspected him.  I called the police but, since I had no proof, they blew
me off.  I was so scared I bought a gun and started sleeping with it under
my pillow.”

“I’m
guessing it was the little twenty-two caliber Smith & Wesson.”

“Is
no one’s privacy sacred to you?”

“I
like to be prepared.”

She
muttered, “You like to be an asshole,” and in the front seat, he
chuckled.  “Yes, it was the Smith.  Less than two weeks after I
bought it, an intruder broke in while I was sleeping and put a knife to my
throat.  Although I shot him twice, he was still able to flee.  I
never got a look at him.”

“And
because he survived the twenty-two caliber, you upgraded to a nine-millimeter
and Hydra-Shoks.”

“Yes.”

“Did
the maintenance man show up for work the next day?”

“No
one ever saw him again.  When a local surgeon failed to show up for work
several days in a row, the hospital notified the police.  They found him
dead in his home, his throat cut.  DNA from blood found at the doctor’s
house matched DNA Sparrow left in my apartment.”

“So
he forced the surgeon to treat his wounds, then killed him.”

“That
was the general consensus.”

“And
all this took place in Charleston?”

“Yes.”

Several
minutes passed in silence and she imagined she could almost hear the cogs
turning as he digested this information.  Finally, he asked, “What did
this maintenance man look like?”

“Chubby. 
Big nose, no chin.  Dirty blond hair, receding hairline.”

“That’s
not who hired me.”