The Heart Has Reasons (9 page)

Eyes
narrowed, she abruptly scraped her chair back and stood.  “I have to go to
the bathroom again.  May I close the door?”

He
gave her a prolonged stare.  “You’ve proven beyond the shadow of a doubt
that you cannot be trusted, and yet you have the audacity to ask me that
question?”

“You
promise you won’t watch?”

“You
have my word.”

“As
a
gentleman
?”  This time she made no attempt to blunt the sharp
edge of sarcasm.

“Absolutely.”

Rolling
her eyes, she headed for the bathroom.  While she relieved herself and
brushed her teeth again, he got the bed ready.

When
she exited the bathroom, her worried expression faltered into one of shock as
she spotted the handcuffs lying on the turned-down bed.  “I thought that’s
why I took the sleeping pill.”

“You
took the sleeping pill so you could sleep.  The handcuffs are so you don’t
escape.”

Her
shoulders slumped.  “Well, the freaking pill’s taking effect and I’m too
tired to argue with you.”

“I
wasn’t able to find any pajamas or nightgowns, so I’m assuming you usually
sleep in the nude.”

Under
her breath, she muttered something that might have been
asshole
. 
“I’ll sleep in my clothes.”

With
only the barest tightening of her jaw betraying her emotion, she lay down on
the bed.  Ratcheting a cuff around her left wrist, he silently cursed as
his penis sprang back to attention.  As he set the alarm clock, she
glanced up and her eyes widened in alarm at seeing the huge bulge in his
pajamas.

Embarrassed,
he blurted, “Some things a man can’t control.  I swear I have no intention
of molesting you.”

He
crawled into bed beside her, fastened the second cuff around his right wrist,
and locked both.  After turning out the light, he pulled off the ski mask
and slid it under his pillow, where he’d be able to find it quickly in the
dark.  “I’m a very light sleeper.  Every time you move, I’ll
awaken.”  They hugged opposite sides of the mattress, but merely an inch
separated their cuffed hands.  Her entire body was rigid with tension, and
she jerked when he shifted his hand to clasp her fingers.  “Try not to
worry so much.  Everything will be fine.”

Disengaging
her hand from his, she spoke slowly, the words slurring.  “That’s easy for
you to say.”

They
lay there unmoving in the darkness.  After a few minutes, she rolled
toward him onto her side, and he knew from her slow, deep, even breathing she
was asleep.  He lay awake for some time, acutely aware of every soft
breath she drew, of every twitch and shift of her body.

It
was going to be a very long four days.

CHAPTER
8

The windup alarm clock shrilled an hour
before dawn.  Coming instantly awake, Chase reached over in the darkness
to shut it off.

Sometime
during the night, his captive must have gotten cold, for she’d instinctively
sought out his body heat, draping a supple leg across his thighs and wrapping
an arm about his torso as she pillowed her head on his chest.  Despite the
unsettling and thoroughly annoying sexual distraction, he’d been content for
her to stay that way, for it kept him constantly assured of her whereabouts,
even while he slept. 

He
jostled her a little.  “Wake up.”  She stirred and murmured something
unintelligible, her breath stirring the hair on his chest.  He shook her
gently.  “Larissa.  Wake up.”

She
mumbled sleepily, “Hmm?”

“It’s
time to get up.”

“
What
—?” 
Stiffening suddenly, she shoved herself away from him.  The bed creaked
and groaned beneath him as she jerked around in the dark, presumably checking
the status of her person and clothing.

“Don’t
worry, you’re unmolested.”  Extracting the ski mask from under his pillow,
he tugged it on one-handed before switching on the bedside lamp. 
Shielding her eyes with her free hand, she shifted away from him as far as the
handcuffs would allow.  After removing the cuff from his own wrist, he
closed it around her free arm, grimacing at the reddish-purple bruises
there.  The sleeping pill had been a strong one and, before he’d even
finished securing her to the bed with a length of rope, she was asleep
again.  He decided to risk leaving off the gag while he showered.

Once
showered and dressed, he returned to the bed to hobble her feet with another
length of rope, then removed the handcuffs.  “Larissa, wake up.”  As
she stirred, he grabbed her legs and swung them over the side of the bed, then
pulled her to a sitting position.  She sat there blinking against the
light, hair all bedroomy.  When she seemed sufficiently awake, he pulled
her to her feet.  “Whatever you need to do in the bathroom, you’ve got
fifteen minutes in which to do it.  I’ve hobbled your legs, so take small
steps.”

She
trudged, grumbling and complaining, to the bathroom.  There was no
microwave, so he heated water for instant coffee on the ancient gas
range.  While the sound of running water came from the bathroom, he made
tuna salad for their lunch.  He’d just sealed the finished sandwiches into
zippered bags when she exited the bathroom and headed for the bed.

“Over
here,” he called.  With an irritated sigh, she turned and plodded over to
the kitchenette, taking small steps in deference to the hobble.  He filled
two bowls with milk and set a box of cereal on the table.  When she sat
there slumped and unmoving, eyes at half-mast, he opened the box and poured
cereal into the milk.  “Eat.”

She
blinked and focused on the cereal bowl.  After a moment, she picked up a
spoon and lethargically complied.  He took a seat across the small table
from her and ate his own cereal.  She clearly was unaccustomed to sleeping
pills for, halfway to her mouth, the spoon slipped from her fingers and
clattered into her bowl, splashing milk and cereal onto the table.

When
he chuckled, green eyes snapped to his, glinting with anger.  There was
something so feline in her direct stare that he imagined her with ears laid
flat, fur fluffed, and tail twitching.  He’d have to be cautious of the
extended claws.

Her
angry gaze shifted to the dark window.  “It’s the middle of the freaking
night!”

“It’s
five o’clock in the morning.”

“Why
the hell are we getting up so early?”

“I
want to be out of here before dawn.”

“This
is freaking ridiculous.  It probably won’t be light for another hour.”

“Are
you always this bitchy in the morning?”

“Only
after I’ve been drugged and kidnapped.”

Jesus,
even when she was bitching, that southern accent of hers was sexy as hell.

When
she’d finished the cereal, she stumbled over to the dresser and retrieved her
shoes from the garbage bag.  He quickly crossed to her and plucked them
from her hands.  “Since you won’t be doing any running, you won’t need
your running shoes.”

“I
need something on my feet.”

He
dropped the shoes back into the bag.  “No, you don’t.”

After
securing her to the bed, he transferred the food from the refrigerator to the
coolers, loaded the rest of their stuff, and checked the room to assure he
wasn’t forgetting anything.  He removed the ski mask, bought two bags of
ice from the machine by the office, and emptied them into the coolers.

She
grumbled when he woke her again, but allowed him to lead her out into the
still-dark parking lot.  Crawling into the van on hands and knees, she
collapsed face down in the cargo area.  By the time he had her hands and
feet fastened to the eyebolts, she was once again sound asleep.

The
morning air was cool, so he unfolded the cotton blanket he’d brought, and
draped it over her.  He briefly debated the necessity of gagging
her.  He had to make a quick stop for fuel, but it didn’t appear as though
she’d be waking anytime soon.  Once she did awaken, they’d be on the
highway where she could scream herself hoarse.  The gag was such a
horrible contraption that he decided to leave it off for now.

* * * * *

As Larissa slowly came awake, she could
feel every slow beat of her heart as it sluggishly pumped blood through her
veins.  Her mental processes were barely functioning and, for a few
blessed moments, she was aware of nothing beyond the fact that her bladder was
uncomfortably full.

Then
memory returned, and the resulting rush of terror almost caused it to let go.

She
was back in the van again and they were moving, the lack of stops and starts
indicating they were on a highway or expressway.  Normally the very idea
of traveling at such high speeds would have had her heart racing but,
everything considered, the danger an auto accident presented seemed
inconsequential. 

The
arms extended over her head were secured to the van’s floor.  When she
tried to bend her knees, she discovered her ankles were likewise secured. 
Beneath the lightweight blanket, she stretched as well as she could. 
Surprisingly, he’d not blindfolded or gagged her.  She struggled over onto
her back, blew the hair from her eyes, and looked about.

The
two coolers, the cardboard box filled with food not requiring refrigeration,
his duffle bag, and the two plastic trash bags containing her belongings took
up much of the space in the cargo compartment.  A thick coat of recently
applied white paint opaqued the rear windows.  Just behind the driver’s
compartment, a taut wire extended from one side of the van to the other, from
which depended a black sheet fashioned into a curtain. 

Her
kidnapper’s deep voice came from the driver’s compartment.  “Are you
awake?”

Although
her panic had subsided, residual fear remained.  “What time is it?”

“A
little past noon.  Are you hungry?”

“I
really need to go to the bathroom.”

Shortly
thereafter, he left the highway.  When he took a sharp turn, her weight
shifted with the inertia.  Unable to brace herself, she grimaced as the
steel cuffs bit into her flesh.  She waited and waited, but still he
wasn’t stopping.  “I really have to go!”

“Hold
on, we’re almost there.”

The
vehicle turned onto what was clearly a gravel road and, few moments later,
pulled to a halt.  He unlocked and slid open the cargo door and climbed
inside, ski mask in place.

“Please
hurry.”

He
quickly freed her, but left her hobbled.  Slowly lowering her arms, she
groaned as her muscles complained.  He helped her to a sitting position,
then backed out the door.  Somewhat hindered by the hobble, she stiffly
followed him out, blinking against the bright sun.  He bent down to pick
up a large stone beside the road and lobbed it far out of her reach, then handed
her several napkins and a small, white trash bag.  “Dispose of the napkins
in the bag when you’re finished.”

Oh,
god
, she had to pee.  The gravel dug into her bare feet while the
bastard just stood there.  “I can’t go with you watching!”

“I’ll
turn my back.”

She
frantically bounced on the balls of her feet.  “That’s not good enough!”

“I’m
not going anywhere.”

“I
can’t do it with you standing there!”

“Oh,
Jesus,” he exclaimed, clearly exasperated.  “All right, I’ll stand on the
other side.  Do anything stupid and you’ll permanently lose the privilege
of privacy.”

“You
call this privacy?”  As soon as he’d rounded the vehicle, she yanked her
pants down and squatted, lifting the rope out of the way.  While relieving
the nearly unbearable pressure on her bladder, she examined the elaborate
knots.

“Don’t
touch the hobble.”

Her
head jerked around, expecting to find him watching, but he was still on the
opposite side of the van.

They
were on a remote stretch of road.  As far as the eye could see, there was
nothing but rolling farmland.  Not a single farmhouse or outbuilding in
sight.  Even if she removed the hobble, to where would she run?  When
her bladder was finally empty, she deposited the used napkins inside the bag as
requested, then stood and yanked her pants back up.

When
he rejoined her, she handed over the plastic bag and stretched, trying to work
the kinks out of her shoulders and back.  “Do you honestly think someone’s
going to find used napkins on the ground and test them for DNA?”

He
rummaged in one of the two coolers.  “No.  I simply prefer that you
not litter.”

She
rolled her eyes.  “Let me get this straight.  You don’t balk at
kidnapping, but you’re concerned about littering.  Do you think your
conception of right and wrong might be a bit skewed?”  She took the
proffered sandwich, slid it from the zippered plastic bag, and took a cautious
bite.  Spread within the remainder of last night’s French bread was tuna
salad, but unlike any she’d ever before tasted.  “You made this?”

He
nodded.  “This morning, while you were in the bathroom.”