The Heart Has Reasons (7 page)

Water
came on in the shower, metal shower-curtain rings scraped along the rod, and he
stepped into the shower.  The opaque white curtain slid closed, the ski
mask flopped over the shower-curtain rod, and then the fresh scent of masculine
bath soap filled the air.

Knowing
she had very little time, Larissa shifted her weight forward onto her
feet.  Lifting her rear end off the toilet lid, she arched her spine,
stretching her arms back and down, and worked her cuffed arms inch-by-inch down
her butt, forcing herself not to feel the burning scrape of the steel as it dug
into the bones of her wrists.  She bit back a cry of pain as the muscles
at the front of her shoulders stretched almost to the limit of her endurance.

As
the cuffs reached the top of her thighs, she bent forward at the waist and the
pain in her shoulders and wrists suddenly eased.  Sliding the cuffs down
the back of her legs to her knees, she lowered herself to the toilet and
stepped through her arms so that they were now cuffed before her. 
Kneeling before the toilet, she frantically tore at the knots.

She
had untied three, with two more to go, when the asshole abruptly yanked open
the shower curtain.  “Goddamn it.”

Ski
mask back in place, he stepped from the shower.  As he dripped all over
the cracked and stained ceramic tiles, she cringed away from the large penis
dangling at face-level.  Water from his wet hair soaked into the ski mask
as he bent down to untie the two remaining knots in the rope.  Blue eyes
lifted to hands were now cuffed in front of her.  “How the fuck did
you—?  God
damn
it!”

Snatching
his jeans from where they hung over the top of the door, he dug the handcuff
key from the pocket.  Larissa grimaced in pain as he grabbed the handcuffs
by the linking chain and pulled her to her feet.  He unlocked and removed
the left cuff, yanked her right arm into the air, and closed the left cuff
around the shower curtain rod.  “I should have done this from the start, but
I thought I’d be considerate and let you sit.  Well, now you can stand.”

After
a moment’s consideration, he bent down and set the handcuff key on the tile at
the junction of floor and wall, beyond her reach.  Blue eyes locked onto
hers, their chill sending a shiver through her.  “This mask is not for my
protection, it’s for
yours
.  If you see my face, I’ll kill
you.  I have no desire to do so, but you’ll leave me no choice.  Do
you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then
unless you wish to die,
don’t
touch the fucking shower curtain.” 
He stepped back into the stall and yanked the curtain closed.  A moment
later, the now-wet ski mask flopped across the shower curtain bar.

Crap!
  She’d been so close.  As
reddish bruises from where the cuffs had dug into her flesh began to slowly
flower, she grasped the overhead bar to take the pressure off her wrist. 
If she could somehow free herself from the handcuff, she was willing to bet she
could unlock the room’s front door and be out it before he caught her.

On
the floor at the far side of the stall, the handcuff key taunted her. 
Could she reach it with a foot?  On the opposite side of the curtain, her
kidnapper had a clear view of her hand gripping the shower rod.  Without
moving it, she shifted both feet to the left on the wet floor and stretched out
her left leg.  Setting the pad of her great toe on top of the key, she
slid it toward her.

When
her feet were again side-by-side, she tried to grasp the ring with her toes,
but it lay too tight to the ceramic-tile to get a grip on it.  The key
attached to a one-inch-diameter split ring.  With her left foot, she slid
the key up against the side of the ball of her right foot and, using the toes
of her left foot, flipped the ring up so that it leaned against her foot.

The
hand suspended from the shower curtain bar was starting to tingle from lack of
oxygen as blood struggled against gravity.  Ignoring the discomfort, she
grasped the ring with her toes, then bent her knee high so that her foot was at
waist height, and plucked the key from her toes.

In
that instant, the shower curtain opened.  For several seconds Larissa and
her masked kidnapper simply stared at each other.

As
she stood balanced on one foot, she realized it was time for two years’ of
karate classes to prove their worth.  She’d drive the heel of her foot
into his solar plexus, temporarily disabling him and, before he had a chance to
recover, she would stomp his head against the ceramic tiles until he was either
unconscious or dead.

Preferably
dead.

In
the fraction of a second that it took this decision to form, her kidnapper
apparently deduced her intent.  With a speed as impressive as it was
frightening, he assumed a defensive stance, arms coming up to block. 
Steel edged his voice.  “Kick me, and you’ll be extremely sorry you did
so.”

Her
throat seemed to close in on itself.  The asshole clearly had martial arts
training as well.  The sculpted muscles of his glistening physique gave
the impression that he could kick King Kong’s ass without even breaking a
sweat.

She
slowly lowered her foot to the floor.

His
stance relaxed.  “Have you given any thought to the kinds of things I can
do to you if you continue to piss me off?”

“We
both know you’re going to hurt me no matter what I do.”

Behind
the mask, blue eyes widened in surprise.  “Why would I do that?”

“Why
does a dog lick his own privates?” she asked.  “Because he
can
.”

“That’s
very funny,” he said, clearly not amused.  “Unless you
want
me to
hurt you,
stop fucking around. 
Hand me that towel.”

Leaning
her forehead against her suspended arm as he dried off in the stall, all sorts
of scenarios regarding what he would do to her in retaliation played through
her mind.

After
he dried off, he carefully spread the towel over the puddles he’d earlier dripped
onto the floor and stepped out onto it, unashamedly naked.  When he
extended his hand, palm up, she obediently placed the handcuff key on it. 
Why didn’t the asshole put some freaking clothes on, or at least wrap a towel
around his waist?  He removed the cuffs and, muttering a curse under his
breath, gently rubbed the bruises now ringing her wrist.

Being
touched by her kidnapper was bad enough.  Being touched by her
naked
kidnapper was excruciatingly uncomfortable.  Yanking her arm from his
grasp, she lowered it, then grimaced as the sudden return of circulation sent
tingling jolts pulsing through her hand.

“Would
you like to shower?”

Larissa
could smell her own sweat, made acrid by its chemical infusion of fear, but was
disinclined to make herself any more vulnerable than she already was by
removing her clothes.  However, the horrifying truth was that, clothed or
not, she was powerless to stop him from doing anything he wished.  “If I
say yes, are you going to watch?”

“I’ll
be just outside the open door.”

“In
that case, I would.”

Once
he’d vacated the bathroom, she undressed in the relative privacy of the stall,
dropped her clothes outside, and turned on the water.  While shampooing
her hair, he returned to the bathroom.  She tensed, but the shower curtain
remained undisturbed.

“I’m
taking the mask off,” he informed her.  “Do you remember what I said will
happen if you see my face?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t
open the curtain until I give the okay.”  She listened as, on the other
side of the plastic curtain, he brushed his teeth, then rinsed and spat.
 “I’ve got the mask back on now.”

Except
for the background noise of the television in the next room, it grew quiet on
the other side of the shower curtain.  She peeked out.  Dressed
solely in pajama bottoms and ski mask, he sat in one of the kitchenette chairs
before the television.  He was between her and the exit and, from there,
he could glance into the bathroom by simply turning his head.

Reclosing
the curtain, she leaned weakly against the stall wall.  She watched enough
television to know that, in real life, kidnappings usually ended badly for the
victim.  Now that she finally had a moment of privacy, she let go of the
small measure of courage to which she’d been so desperately clinging.  As
a small sob burst forth, she slid down the stall to huddle on the tile as the
tears gushed forth in an unstoppable torrent.

* * * * *

Chase flipped between news channels on
the battered relic of a television.  There was nothing about his captive’s
disappearance, but he hadn’t expected there would be, not this soon. 
Several days might pass before someone reported her missing and, even then, it
would probably only make the Charleston news, not the national.

Not
only was she proving to be more resourceful and courageous than he’d expected,
she’d actually been planning to attack him in the stall.  Of course, she
probably believed him to be a sadistic rapist and/or killer, which explained
her desperation to escape.  A certain amount of fear was necessary in that
it made a prisoner more tractable, but extreme terror could drive a person to
do anything, take any risk, to free themselves.  Occasionally, they chose
suicide as their means of escape.

A
sudden jolt of adrenaline had him on his feet and rushing toward the
bathroom.  She’d been in the shower an inordinate amount of time. 
What if she’d already hurt herself?

Yanking
back the shower curtain, he found her huddled in the bottom of the stall, arms
clasped around her shins as she silently sobbed.  Concealing his relief
behind a muttered curse, he shut off the icy spray, then hauled her to her
feet.  Teeth chattering and shivering uncontrollably, she wrenched free
from his grasp to press back against the stall wall.

And
of their own accord, his eyes just naturally dropped to the perfectly smooth
and hairless cleft between her legs.  Seeing where his gaze had fixed, she
yanked the shower curtain closed.  “Get
out!
”

He
thrust a towel behind the curtain.  “Dry off and get dressed.  And be
quick about it.”

After
brushing her teeth and blow-drying her hair, she finally emerged from the
bathroom clad in a black tee shirt and red stretch pants.  Her eyes were
red-rimmed, making them appear even greener in contrast, but she’d clearly
managed to restore her emotional equilibrium, something for which he was
immeasurably thankfully.

Anger
he could deal with.  Tears?  Not so much.

Still
apparently suffering the effects of the frigid shower, she shivered violently,
so he rummaged a sweatshirt from his duffle bag.  “Put this on.” 
Once she’d complied, he said, “Sit.”  Looking small and deceptively
fragile within the sweatshirt’s bulk, she perched the edge of the bed. 
Seating himself beside her, he broke one of the cardinal rules of dealing with
captives.  “I apologize for invading your privacy in the shower.  I
assure you, it wasn’t intentional.”

As
rigid and unmoving as a statue, she sat with arms wrapped protectively around
her chest, gaze locked on the carpet between her feet.  To assure that he
had her complete attention, he gently but firmly grasped her jaw and turned her
head toward him.  “Although I don’t
want
to hurt you, if you do
anything else stupid, I will.  Do you understand?”

When
she nodded, he reached across her for the glass of water he’d placed on the
bedside stand, thrust it into her hand, then produced a sleeping pill from a
pajama pocket.  “Take this.  It’ll calm you and help you sleep.”

“I’d
rather not.”

“I’m
not asking you, I’m
telling
you.  Take it.”

She
seemed to consider the matter for a moment.  Then, having apparently
reached a decision, she placed the glass on the bedside stand. 
“No.” 

Circling
one hand behind her neck, he leaned forward until his face was mere inches from
hers.  “Do you
want
me to hurt you?  Because that’s what’s
going to happen if you don’t comply.”

She
took a deep, shuddery breath.  “Is it the same thing you put in my wine?”

“No.
 This is merely a sleeping pill.”

She
reluctantly picked up the glass again and held the other hand out, palm
up.  He shook his head.  “Uh-uh.  Open up.”  When she did
so, he placed the pill on her tongue, then watched as she took a mouthful of
water, tilted her head back, and swallowed.  “Open your mouth again.”

“Why?”

“So
I can make sure you really swallowed it.”

She
was the very picture of innocence.  “I did!”

“Open
your fucking mouth!”

Green
eyes narrowing in anger, she puckered those sexy lips and spat.  The
capsule bounced off his chest to land on the carpet beside the bed. 
“Goddammit.”  Leaning down to retrieve it, he made the mistake of shifting
his attention from her for just an instant.  An instant was all she
needed.

With
the impetus of a pile driver, her heel connected with his ribcage just below
the armpit, knocking him sideways off the mattress.  As he hit the floor,
she sprang off the mattress and bolted for the door.  Managing to maintain
forward momentum, he tucked his shoulder, rolled, and came to his feet, all in
one smooth motion.  The door was partway open and her mouth was opening to
scream when he clamped a hand over her lower face.  Kicking the door
closed, he relocked it one-handed, and half-dragged, half-carried her back to
the bed.