Fear for Hire

By Natalie S. Ellis

Jack Wylie is tall, dark, handsome and brave - he's everything you'd want in a kidnapper.

Ex-cop Jack Wylie is a born protector, tormented by the day he misjudged a criminal and his life took a tragic turn. Now he's on a mission to kidnap a woman to help her overcome a fear of being tied up.

He's been told by his psychologist brother to keep up the game until the woman gives him the sign. But there has been a big mistake. Jack has accidentally abducted the feisty and beautiful Molly Rhoades - a newly arrived local TV reporter who has secrets of her own. And she doesn't know the sign.

After a dangerous and unlikely meeting, Jack and Molly find themselves consumed by sexual tension, but things get even more complicated when Molly finds out that Jack is engaged to the local Councilwoman Amanda Everett, a ruthless career climber determined to succeed no matter what the cost.

But why did Jack kidnap Molly in the first place? Who is pulling the strings in this perverted puppet show? Jack vows to protect Molly until he finds out the truth, but the layers of deception and vengeance run deeper than he could have ever imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: May 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781460703007

Natalie S. Ellis

Natalie S. Ellis worked behind the scenes in TV news for sixteen years and will always miss the rush of a breaking story. But the seduction of writing a fiery romance with twisty suspense is even harder to resist, especially when she has a new curveball for the plot. Natalie enjoys living in her hometown of Fort Wayne, Indiana, and attributes her cheerful attitude to empty nesting, a supportive family, and way too many lattés.

Book preview

Chapter One

Fort Wayne, Indiana

Friday, November 25, 11.30 p.m.

Jack Wylie entered Laura’s apartment in under three seconds. The upper half of the duplex had an outside stairwell. Convenient. He glanced into the darkness one last time before guiding the door shut with a soft click. Holding his breath, he tilted his head toward a flicker of light to his right, and listened. Water splashing. The distinct scent of vanilla and burning candlewicks hung heavy in the air. A bath. Shit. Shower spray would have masked the sound of his movements.

Leery of creaking boards, he stepped lightly. His fingers brushed the back of a nubby couch as he felt his way through the darkened living room, careful to keep that crack of light beneath the bathroom door in his line of sight.

He slipped on newspaper strewn across the floor, and his flailing arm snagged a lamp. With a quick maneuver, he caught it before it shattered. When he raised his gaze, he faced a three-pot macramé plant hanger. The head-like shape of the pottery startled him into pressing the blade of his knife to the throat of a defenseless ficus.

Jesus. Calm down.

He took a deep breath and studied Laura’s studio apartment while his pulse rate decelerated. A double bed jutted from behind a bamboo screen on the far side of the room and he moved in that direction, dodging a narrow bookcase. He contemplated the closet as a hiding place, but suspected she might need something from it, so he squeezed his six-foot, four-inch frame underneath the bed instead. Most women stopped looking there around the age of thirteen. Just in case she hadn’t, he checked his wool ski mask. Satisfied with his disguise, he patted his jacket until he found the duct tape he’d stashed in his pocket.

Mentally, he crossed the items off the list Rudy had given him. He’d fulfilled three of Laura’s requests. One: He’d broken in undetected — if you called using a key breaking in. Two: He wore a mask. And three: He was hiding — a pointless gesture since Laura expected him. But why argue a simple point when this entire fiasco rated a ten on the loony scale?

Yawning, he focused on the remaining items on the list. He’d already fudged the first step by entering her apartment before midnight. He caught a break at eleven-thirty when the bathroom light went on, and his exhaustion goaded him into bending the rules. He’d keep Rudy in the dark on that score.

She turned off the bathroom light. Narrow, bare feet passed within inches of his face. The bedsprings pressed against his shoulders. He pushed aside dusty magazines, clamping his jaw against the urge to sneeze.

Step four: Wait until Laura falls asleep.

In standby mode, he considered his surroundings. Not at all what he’d expected. Luxury. Yeah, that would’ve been his first guess. Not this cramped, economical duplex. Hell, she’d offered fifty grand for a cure. Couldn’t she afford a one-bedroom?

Sleep apparently evaded her and the rolling motions above him became more violent. She groaned in obvious frustration. Nervous energy? Was she waiting for him to pounce?

The mattress shuddered and he assumed she’d pounded her fists on it. If he had the pleasure of a soft bed right now, he’d be dead to the world. She’d better settle soon, or he’d get started, regardless — to hell with the list. He’d never been one to play by the rules. Besides, the result would be the same.

The plan: Scare the shit out of Laura so she’d never fear her sadistic ex-boyfriend again. Apparently, the ass-wipe had gotten his rocks off playing kidnapper during their relationship. He blamed that damn Fifty Shades of Grey series for the upsurge of domestic violence. Sure, the books had provided a few kinky fantasies for the ladies, but lowlifes like Laura’s ex took the fantasy a step too far.

A whimper. Was she crying herself to sleep? He flexed his shoulder blades and relaxed. Wouldn’t be long now. He listened to her breathing slow … and slow … and blinked himself awake. Her sounds soothed him and he was so damn tired. He shouldn’t be attempting this job after an overnight security shift at the bank, but he wanted to get it over with.

Worried he’d fall asleep if he waited any longer, he slid out. Once he cleared the frame, he pushed up on his fingers and toes, then sprang to the balls of his feet. His right knee creaked. He froze, hovering above her, the paleness of her skin luminescent in the shadows. She lay on top of her comforter, a pair of white bikini panties and a gray tank top her only cover.

Nice body. Real nice body — strong and sleek. A cop? Military? Nah, with training like that she wouldn’t be afraid of an ex-boyfriend. But she sure as hell didn’t sculpt those mile-long sexy legs doing aerobics. Slim hips, flat stomach. He whistled softly through his teeth. Damn perfect breasts, fuller than he would’ve expected on someone so lean. Her long, straight hair fanned above her shoulders. He glanced at her face to verify she matched the woman in the head shot Rudy had given him. His chest tightened and he jerked his gaze away. Too late. Those puffy pillow-lips would haunt his dreams.

Time to go to work. He clasped her by the waist, tossed her onto her stomach, and pushed her face into the pillow just hard enough to muffle any screams. Startled awake, she bucked her curvy, near-naked ass in his face. Sweet Jesus! He sat on her legs, keeping one hand firmly planted on the back of her neck while he used his teeth to tear off a piece of duct tape. With the strip hanging between his lips, he caught her arms behind her and wrapped the tape around her wrists several times. He didn’t want to cut off her circulation, but she twisted her wrists and the bonds tightened.

He ripped another piece of tape, cupped this one in his palm, and rolled her over. She sucked in air, but he gagged her before the scream escaped. A hunk of hair stuck to her face under the gag, making her look like a rumpled kid. But the sparks of terrorized fury she shot at him were far from childlike.

Jack faltered. That kind of fear, he’d seen it before. He’d felt it before.

But he’d never provoked it.

Ignoring the sour taste in his mouth, he immobilized her thrashing legs with his body weight and bound her ankles. Confident the bonds would hold, he scanned the dim room for something to carry her out in. He spied a jumbo-sized laundry basket next to the front door. A tight squeeze, but adequate. It would arouse less suspicion than hauling her over his shoulder.

A thump sounded behind him as he dumped out the unfolded clothes. He turned. She’d rolled off the bed and scooted like a slug in the direction of the phone. Who was she gonna call? Rudy? Maybe this job would be over sooner than both of them expected. He smiled.

Bringing the basket with him, he stepped around her and yanked the sheet from the bed. He shook it out and settled it over the basket, pushing the center in and letting the rest flop over the sides. Balanced on her knees with her back to the nightstand, she’d actually managed to get the receiver off the hook. He scooped her up football style, then stuffed her sideways into the basket, tying up the excess material and neatly bagging her. She squirmed like a pillowcase full of puppies, so he tossed the striped comforter on top. Lack of air would deplete that excess energy in no time. Grunting, he lifted the heavy load. For a slender lady, she packed some dense muscle.

Step five accomplished: Catch and secure Laura. Heading for the home stretch.

A last glance around the apartment showed nothing out of place except the bedding and the pile of clothes on the floor. He balanced the shaky bundle against his hip and the wall, then swung the door open to a blast of cold air. Taking into account the first floor neighbor, he treaded softly as he descended the stairs along the south side of the building.

Jack glanced up and down the street. Not a soul in sight. No one taking their dog on a late-night walk. No Acme Bar drunks stumbling home. His boots crunched over packed snow as he made his way into the alley behind the duplex where he’d parked his rented service van. He caught a whiff of baking bread from Zinnia’s Bakehouse around the corner and wished he had one of their cupcakes, coupled with a scalding cup of coffee.

The van’s well-oiled double doors opened with ease and he pushed the basket to the middle of the floor, following inside before closing the doors. The yellow glow of the streetlamp filtered through the van’s front window, allowing enough light for him to see.

When he spilled her out, she tumbled on top of the comforter and immediately resumed struggling. Taped up, she was as threatening as a playful kitten, so he went to work on the knot in the sheet and soon had her free. Her hair was tangled like a rat’s nest and a fine sheen of sweat misted her skin, staining the tank under her arms and across her chest. The scent of her muskiness filled his senses and he’d bet she had damp panties too. From the heat — or did this submissive reenactment turn her on?

Rocking back to a sitting position, she shook her head until she could see him through a gap in her wild mane. He automatically lifted his fingers to check his mask, reassured it revealed nothing but his lips and eyes. Her narrowed glare contained enough rage to change his initial kittenish impression to one of more lethal proportions: wildcat. His knees ached, so he took her by the shoulders and spun her around. With her back pressed to his chest, he lowered his lips to her tiny ear.

Are you ready to give me the sign?

She stiffened and he dropped his gaze to her hands. She’d balled her fingers into tight fists.

Shit. So much for the home stretch.

Gritting his teeth, guessing sleep was still a long way off, he taped her thumbs to her fingers. He didn’t want her reaching down and freeing her ankles while he drove. Then he wrapped Rudy’s black scarf around her head, knotting it in back.

Time for step six: Transport Laura to a new location.

He locked the van and climbed into the driver’s seat. By now, he’d hoped this asinine therapy session would be over. He could hear Rudy’s lofty voice in his head: Don’t rush it, Jack. If you don’t provide the exact environment for Laura to reenact her fears, she won’t overcome them. Therefore, she’ll search for other means. Other means meant the criminal variety.

He shuddered to think what would happen if a professional came forward to collect the fifty grand. Laura would get much more than she bargained for. And her fear of being abducted — Rudy called it merinthophobia — would be a non-issue if she fell into the hands of lowlife scum who did this for a living. If she stayed alive long enough.

As he drove to the end of the alley, he glanced through a gap between the houses and saw a police unit turning onto Laura’s block. His heart screeched to a halt. Too close. How in hell would he have explained a bound and gagged woman residing in the rear of his van? His word might not be golden to the force any more.

He looked over his shoulder. She hadn’t moved from where she lay curled in the center of the floor. Good. Step six, underway. He’d completed the hard part. It’d be smooth sailing from here.

Ten minutes later, she rammed the back of his seat. His seatbelt tightened into a constricting vice. The van spun out of control on a patch of ice, heading straight for a thick oak tree.

Shit!

He wrenched the wheel to the left, pumping his brakes. The van slid two more feet, gripped a dry spot of pavement, and slowed.

Damn, lady. Are you trying to kill us, or what?

He forgot the gag kept her from answering. Good. Probably safer that way.

The van’s headlights exposed an abandoned parking lot. He grabbed the metal license plate under the passenger seat and strode to the rear of the vehicle to switch plates — in case a neighbor had seen him leaving Laura’s apartment with a squirming bundle of laundry and called the cops. When he opened the doors to check on his captive, he found her leaning over the back of the vinyl bench seat, her sweet ass in the air as she prepared to tumble headfirst up front. With a shake of his head, he hauled his weary body after her, wrapped a fist around her damp tank, and yanked her back against him. He was getting way too old to play the hero — or the villain.

He flipped open his knife and placed the flat side beneath her chin. The blade vibrated from her chattering teeth.

Don’t. Kick. My. Seat. Again. He moved the knife away. Got it?

She gave a few tiny nods, likely afraid he’d slice her skin if she made a bigger movement.

Good girl. Jesus, bullying a woman made him feel slimy. Why had he let Rudy talk him into this?

Doors locked once more, he returned to the driver’s seat. Before firing the ignition, he hit speed dial on his cell phone.

Rudy answered on the first ring. Jack? Is everything okay?

I got her.

He heard a relieved sigh on the other end. Any trouble at the apartment?

No.

Are you positive no one saw you?

Of course. Why do you ask?

A long pause. No reason. Did she give you the sign?

Not yet.

Do whatever’s necessary to finish it. I’m getting nervous.

Got it. Jack punched the OFF button, tamping down a swift burst of annoyance. Now he’s nervous? What did he have to be nervous about? He wasn’t carting around a wildcat determined to crash the van.

Rudy had wanted to do the job himself. What a joke. Even if his clumsy half-brother had managed to sneak into the apartment without alerting every neighbor within shouting distance, no way he could’ve caught and held onto Laura. And then Rudy would’ve made a phone call — to his lawyer, from the Allen County Jail.

A quick check in the back revealed a silent hostage. She’d tucked her knees to her chest, still shaking, maybe crying too. Gritting his teeth, he started the engine and pulled out to complete the last thirty minutes of the trip.

Thank God the fabric her captor had wrapped around her eyes absorbed her tears. If they’d dripped down her cheeks, the tickle would’ve driven her insane. Typical of her to find the positive in the direst of situations. Unfortunately, that was the only positive she could find. He’d bound her arms behind her back and her shoulders ached. Her stomach churned with fear, and nausea burned her throat, threatening to choke her.

She could wish for the end of her ordeal, but then she’d be dead, wouldn’t she? Or did he only plan to rape her? He’d been careful to hide his face, giving her hope he’d spare her life.

Every cell in her body shrieked to find a way out of the van.

As a news reporter, she’d read numerous articles and interviewed experts who warned against allowing an abductor to remove you from the premises. No matter what, don’t let him force you into his car. The abductor would have complete control if he chose the scene of the crime. She was doomed. And tied up like this, she couldn’t attempt one of the self-defense moves she’d learned while working on a rape prevention story.

Oh God. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d grown up on the outskirts of Chicago and traveled through the shadier parts of town to and from college classes for years. She’d never faced anything so terrifying. Not until she moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana. The landlord assured her the neighborhood around the Lakeside duplex she rented was fairly safe. Fairly? So, midnight abductions happened infrequently? Or most people survived the ordeal? Wait until she told her parents. Ha! They considered the Midwest safe.

If I ever see my parents again.

They’d had snow, the last time she’d visited. The entire family had gone sledding on the hill behind their church. Her eight-year-old nephew had a facemask just like her kidnapper’s. Oh God, she’d give anything to trudge up that snowy hill right now.

She whimpered as she imagined her devastated family. We shouldn’t have let her move away, her parents would say. She’s not the type to make it on her own.

Spurred into action, she scooted across the floor until she hit a wall. The metal, smooth and flat, had no weapons or tools hanging from it as far as she could feel. Maybe if she reached higher?

Rolling to her bottom, she pressed her back to the side panel, using it for leverage as she pushed to her feet. Her head struck the roof and she muffled a gasp. The van rocked, sending her sprawling with a loud crash. Her elbow smacked against the floor so hard, she couldn’t hold back a yelp.

Sit down, her captor yelled — unnecessarily, because she was already immobile. Not exactly sitting, but definitely not upright.

Trying to ignore the throbbing from her most recent injury, she concentrated on memorizing the man’s voice. She didn’t expect to recognize it, but she struggled to analyze it. The way a person spoke revealed a lot: danger, insanity, lust. She gulped and told herself she didn’t hear any of those qualities in his tone. His voice sounded level and stern — almost fatherly, but without the undercurrent of love — and brooked absolutely no argument. In control of his actions. A good thing. Right?

She stood again, more cautiously this time, propping herself in the corner. Once steady, she scooted her bound feet the few inches needed to reach the center of the double doors. She fumbled with her taped hands to release the bolt. Metal clanked against metal and she quickly tried to muffle the sound with her body.

The van decelerated, sending her tumbling forward. She collapsed to her knees to stop the propelling motion before she slammed into the windshield. Her shoulder hit the bench seat, wrenching her neck. At this rate, she’d do him a big favor by killing herself so he wouldn’t have to.

Do I have to pull over? he said, his voice threaded with a new timbre. Menace.

She sat. What did it matter? There was no escape without him seeing. Maybe when they stopped, if she moved faster than last time, she could get up front. Then what? Out-hop him? Oh boy, brilliant thinking.

While she fought panicked tears, the road’s surface became bumpier and the vehicle rolled to a halt. This was it. The quaking of her limbs surged to a bone-rattling intensity. The lock released, the doors banged open. She cringed, scrambling backward.

The tape around her ankles tugged hard and her body slid toward him. He grunted as he lifted. Breath whooshed from her lungs when her stomach bounced against his hard shoulder. The bite of a strong wind stung her bare thighs.

She hoped they didn’t have far to go. Oh God, how could she think such a thing? Whether she froze or not, when they got to his destination, she’d lose her chance to escape.

Terror threatened to smother her. In a blind attempt to overcome it, she focused on her surroundings and counted his footsteps. The snow seemed deeper here. She got the impression he lifted his knees over drifts as he plowed through frosty air. Keys rattled and boots stomped before they entered a room, warm and smelling of cedar. Her body dipped downward. A flight of one, two, three, four, five, six, seven steps.

She tipped backward, freefalling for one endless second. The gag muffled her scream. She landed with a soft bounce on something padded. A mattress? The familiar warmth of her comforter, settled over her head, was lifted off again, and the tape binding her thumbs to her fingers ripped away.

Are you ready to give me the sign? An underlying current of impatience vibrated in his words.

She didn’t know why he bothered asking. With her mouth covered, she couldn’t reply. Could it be a rhetorical question? It sounded cult-like. A sign from God? Or the devil? Maybe the phrase held some clue to her freedom.

Fine. Get some sleep. He yanked the tape from her mouth and she gasped at the sting. The scream welling in her throat sputtered to a disgraceful, dry croak. Was he leaving?

His weight lifted from the mattress, a door opened, and she heard a lock click into place after him. The darkness immediately felt denser, and she imagined the room to be windowless and seeped in blackness.

Afraid she didn’t have much time, she rocked off the edge of the mattress and landed on cold concrete. She tried to rise to her feet. Knees bent, she swayed, regained her balance, and straightened. Hop, hop, hop, stop; she bumped into the wall. Smooth surface, like painted plaster. Turn, hop, hop. Her hip banged a doorknob. Locked, of course. Holding her breath, she listened. Dead silence. But there had to be someone nearby. She screamed and then shuddered; the desperate sound in her dungeon unnerving her more.

Using the wall as a guide, she resumed her search. Hop, hop, scream. Hop, hop, scream. After several repetitions, the doorknob again. Full circle.

Hoarse, but unable to rest, she awkwardly lowered her body to the floor and rolled. No furniture; nothing to use as a weapon. The top of her head brushed the mattress. Inviting and warmer than the concrete floor, she dragged herself up on it, clutching the comforter to her freezing limbs.

Scream again; don’t stop. Someone will call the police, her friends, her saviors. Tears choked through her frantic cries, but she continued.

Her life depended on it.

Chapter Two

Sweet silence greeted Jack the next morning. As expected, he’d slept hard. Hell, he’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours before he’d crawled into bed. Exhaustion had generated a dream-filled night — ending with the one about Andy. The same nightmare he always had: His son bounding into Jack’s study, freckled cheeks rosy, reddish-brown hair sticking straight up. Know what day it is, Dad? Every Thursday they went to the park, then the library.

That Thursday, they never made it to the library.

He willed his mind back to the matter at hand — his prisoner. He stretched beneath a pile of blankets. How long had she screamed before calling it quits? Or had she lost her voice? He’d make her talk and find out which. One thing was true, she sure played the game. She should audition for a Stephen King movie.

Not in a rush to start what was sure to be a shitty day, he showered and slipped into a clean pair of jeans and a worn flannel shirt. Thick cotton socks warmed his toes. He moved to the kitchen and brewed a full pot of coffee, deciding his captive would kiss his feet for some of it if her throat was as raw and dry as he imagined. Maybe he’d give her a sip — if she gave him the sign.

He stared out the kitchen window, gazing at the lake. The tension in his neck slowly ebbed, and the knot in his gut loosened. Snow rested on top of the ice, a giant frozen block. Deceiving, that endless carpet of white. How far could someone make it out there before the fragile crust fractured? Before frigid water gushed around flailing limbs, immobilizing, stiffening fingers and legs, seeping into lungs. Silence forever.

Peace.

He took a deep, shaky breath. The glassy surface hadn’t been thick enough the last time he came to the lake. A two-hundred-pound burden would’ve collapsed it within a few steps of the beach — still in the shallows, safe from drowning.

Not today. All week the temperatures had hovered in the teens. Now, it’d take a great amount of force to crack the ice, to make falling in look like an accident.

His gaze lowered to the floor where Laura waited below. No sense in stalling any longer.

Fingers wrapped around a travel coffee mug, he unlocked the basement door and opened it a sliver. Now that he knew of her strength and determination, he half expected her to leap out and scald them both with the steaming brew.

As he peeked around the door, the light from behind him spilled into the room. Laura lay on the mattress asleep, or faking it. He stepped closer, watching her face, and for the first time noticed the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, making it appear crooked. Her red-rimmed lips looked even puffier than the night before. The skin below the blindfold seemed bruised, possibly from hours of crying.

Guilt stabbed him. Maybe he should’ve set the alarm and asked her to give him the sign in the wee hours of the morning. But he reassured himself that they’d be a lot safer driving home now that he’d had some sleep.

As he took in her stubborn, rounded chin, he noticed her resemblance to that blond woman who’d starred in The Princess Bride. Forrest Gump’s girlfriend, Jenny. ‘Run, Forrest, run!’ This woman’s hair was a shade darker than the actress’s, with more strands of copper and gold. Definitely a performer though — she deserved an Oscar.

Why would such a feisty, beautiful woman allow fear to invade her life? He’d asked his mother a similar question when he was old enough to know it wasn’t normal for the man of the house to beat his loved ones. His mother didn’t have an answer. She’d solved her problem by running away as soon as Jack’s dad couldn’t chase her. Laura — he didn’t know her last name — was tired of running from the nightmare and fought back by facing her fear. He admired that, but he thought her solution whacky — way whacky.

Squatting beside the mattress, he reached out to touch a strand of her coppery hair. She sensed him there and gasped, jerking up her knees.

Morning, he said, lifting the mug to his lips.

D-don’t. Her voice came out in a choked whisper, proving she must’ve kept screaming long after he’d succumbed to slumber.

Another jolt of guilt kicked him hard, making his coffee slosh in his stomach.

Don’t what? He sat beside her.

She used her bare heels to scoot away. Her rump slid off the end of the mattress and she landed on the floor with her feet in the air, her panties riding up like a thong. He gave her credit for a quick recovery. She rolled to a crouch in three seconds flat, convincing him she’d had special training of some kind. Her dexterity was phenomenal for a private citizen.

Don’t touch me, she said.

Extra points for bravery too. Want some coffee? Her pitiful voice sounded so raw he had to offer, although she hadn’t given him the sign.

She licked her chapped lips and he approached her from the side, not surprised when she flinched at his touch on her shoulder. He grasped the back of her neck to stop her leaning away from him and held the mug to her mouth. When he was sure she wouldn’t yank her head back, he tipped the mug, satisfied the coffee had cooled enough not to burn her tongue. Her swallow sounded strangled, but eager lips followed the rim when he moved it away, so he pressed it against her mouth again until she gulped more down.

I need to go to the … the bathroom.

He lifted her to her feet and sliced off the tape around her ankles. Holding the bonds at her wrists, he led her, stumbling, out the door and down a short hallway to the bathroom. He reached in and flipped on the light switch. Why had he bothered? She couldn’t see. He walked her to the toilet and turned her until the back of her legs were up against it.

You aren’t going to watch? Hmm. More question than statement. She must have lost some of her courage.

I don’t get my kicks like that.

She sagged and he let go to give her some privacy. Then he remembered his role. There’s nothing in here but a toilet and a sink. No razors, no tweezers, no weapons of any kind. So get the job done. Yell when you’re finished and I’ll come get you. If I don’t hear the ‘all clear’ in five minutes, I’m coming in.

As he walked away, she called out, Will you free my hands?

No. The door shut with a slam and he leaned against it, proud of his performance. He sounded damned scary, but he’d had loads of practice intimidating felons.

He’d listen to make sure she’d peed before he went in there again. After all these hours, she likely had a sore bladder. Shit, why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? If he couldn’t scare her into giving him the sign, refusing bathroom rights would work for sure.

He could hear Rudy’s chiding voice in his head again. That would defeat the purpose, Jack. She needs to get over a fear of abduction, not a fear of losing bladder control. Yeah, yeah, Rudy. Easy for you to say, back in your ritzy office at The Harrison with your feet propped up.

Relatively certain she was done, he opened the door and found her facing away from him, squeezed between the sink and the wall, in obvious search of an escape route or weapon. Her crooked panties revealed a fair amount of one rosy butt cheek. He itched to cup that soft, rounded flesh. Instead, he used the tips of his fingers to adjust the material, modestly covering her again.

Are you hungry? he asked.

She shook her head. Please, tell me why you’re doing this.

Jesus, she played games. Why didn’t she give him the damn sign? He had a disturbing thought. Could she possibly enjoy this? Could it be she didn’t want it to end, and was playing both him and Rudy for fools? Maybe the abusive boyfriend didn’t exist and she merely got off on bondage.

Nah, her fear seemed too real for that. So what was going on?

He yanked her out the door and back to her prison with more force than he should have.

Do I know you? she asked, her voice breathless as she jogged to keep up with his longer strides.

He wanted to get her back and gag her so he wouldn’t have to listen to her soft, pleading tones. He’d dealt with some crazy people before, but this one, oh, this one played on his sympathy big time and he didn’t like being manipulated into her kinks. This sicko therapy session needed to end right now.

He tossed her on the mattress, then snatched a piece of tape from the scraps he’d cut from her ankles. He pressed the strip to her mouth. It fell off.

Please, just let me go. I haven’t seen your face.

You know how to make it end. Give me the damn sign.

I don’t know —

He pressed his palm to her lips since the tape didn’t hush her. Shut up. I’ll bring some food.

She was ready for him when he came back.

After several frantic tries, she arranged the comforter on the bed, hoping it looked like she was lying beneath it. Now, she waited behind the door. The only weapons she had were her legs, but with five years of kickboxing under her belt, she knew the vulnerable areas to target on a man to overpower him. Groin. Throat. Nose. Finding those areas blindfolded would be the real kicker.

She inhaled a slow breath. The key jingled in the lock. She tensed, preparing