by LENA DIAZ,
Bryson blinked in the near darkness, a fog of confusion roiling through his mind. Where was he? How did he get here? And why was he lying on a couch that, judging by the lumps and musty smell, clearly wasn’t his?
He braced his hands on the cushions to push himself up but the tug of a cold chain against his right wrist had him stopping to look down. A small form lay curled up on the floor, her left arm propped against the couch. As his eyes adjusted to the dark and he was able to make out more details, he noticed the gleaming silver circle around both their wrists. They were handcuffed together. Still confused, he leaned down for a better look. Teagan. She was on the floor, without even a pillow for her head.
What was going on?
Her eyes were closed and she was asleep, albeit a fitful one, her elegant brows drawn into a frown. Having never seen her hair anything but perfect, he was surprised to see curls forming a halo around her face, escaping the tight braid that hung down her back. Even worse, there were dark splotches on her blouse. The color was lost to him in the darkness, but there was no mistaking the metallic smell.
Blood.
Memories slammed into him. Awful glimpses of the reality that had happened, and where those dark splotches had come from. He softly touched one to make sure it wasn’t wet, then pulled his hand back in relief. It wasn’t her blood. It was his. Thank goodness she hadn’t been hurt. But that would change the moment their captor returned.
Careful not to jostle their joined wrists, he managed to push himself to a sitting position so he could take stock of their situation. It didn’t look good. The front iron-barred door was closed, no doubt locked, but the glass provided a moonlit view of the gravel road and clearing out front. They were empty, the delivery truck nowhere in sight.
He studied all four walls in the main room as best he could in the limited light. Both of the front windows were covered in bars. He imagined the one other window that he’d seen in police photos, the one in the tiny bedroom down a short hall, was also barred. The adjacent bathroom didn’t have a window, unless that had been changed over the past two years.
The place was too small to be called a hunting cabin, which was what the owner had called it in the police reports. Had he been the one to install the bars and new door after what had happened here? Or had he sold the cabin, unknowingly, to the very killer who’d been using it all along as his own? Maybe the original owner was the killer, and the police had mistakenly cleared him.
Those were only some of the questions going through his mind. Along with the one that had been niggling him since the tragedy that had happened at the Brodericks’: How had the killer known that Teagan would be there?
“Bryson, are you feeling better?” Her voice sounded groggy.
She was shoving to her knees, already reaching up to check on him. He grabbed her hands in his and kissed them before letting go.
“I hate that I slept at all. But I needed it. I’m thinking more clearly.”
“What about the pain? Your head? Your hip? I could massage—”
He stopped her wandering hands and teased. “Boundaries, Teagan.”
She smiled, somewhat reluctantly. “I sure never thought our first time sleeping together we’d actually be, well, sleeping.”
“Maybe next time it will be different.”
Her eyes widened like an owl’s in the darkness. “If you really mean that, I’ll bust out one of these walls to get us out of here. And I’ll hold you to your word.”
He laughed, amazed that he could in a situation like this. “Now there’s the sassy, sexy, smart woman I remember. I think that sleep did both of us some good. But we can’t sit around any longer. We have to get out of here before he comes back.”
She moved her arm, frowning when the short chain between their wrists stopped her movement. “You had handcuff keys in your cane. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t even sure they were still there. It was a gag gift from Bishop, one of the Justice Seekers, after the shooting. He gave me a set of handcuffs and put the keys in the head of the cane, teasing that I could use them to keep my girlfriend at my side through my convalescence. That was after the nurses complained about how bad a patient I was in the hospital.”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “I can imagine that. I’ve seen how grumpy you are when your hip hurts.”
“I never thought about those handcuff keys again until I was lying on the floor in the Brodericks’ foyer and realized we were cuffed together. That’s the main reason I kept asking for the cane. But he kept us under such close scrutiny that I never got the chance to get them out. You have to twist open the top and tilt the cane up in the air. Not something you can do on the sly. Once he put us in the back of the truck and kept the cane, I figured I’d lost my opportunity so there was no point in bringing it up.”
“I don’t suppose there was a gun in there too,” she said. “I asked you in Gatlinburg if there was a gun hidden inside and you said there was.”
“I was joking. Being a jerk, really.”
“No. Never a jerk.” She squeezed their joined hands.
“We need to get these handcuffs off. It’s the only way we’ll have a fighting chance if he comes back before we get out of this shack.”
“You really think we have a chance?”
Her left hand clutched his right one so hard that his fingers started going numb. She was trying to put on a brave front. But inside, she was obviously terrified.
He leaned down and tilted her chin up, their eyes meeting with understanding, before he pressed a soft kiss against her lips. He’d only meant to distract her for a few seconds, to make sure she knew that he was here for her and would do whatever he could to protect her. But with both their emotions running high, touching her was like putting a match to gasoline.
Suddenly she was straddling him like she’d done in his rental car. And the temperature went up a thousand degrees as they tangled against each other like two horny college kids on spring break. It was only when she moaned into his mouth that he realized he’d slid his hands up her belly and was working on the front clasp of her bra. The logical part of his brain was yelling at him to stop this madness, that they were wasting valuable time. The rest of him, which seemed to be winning, was arguing that maybe this was exactly what he should be doing in case these were his last moments on earth. What better way to go out of this world than making love to the most amazing, interesting, adorably sassy woman he’d ever met?
“The back,” she whispered against his mouth. “The clasp is in the back.”
What few brain cells he had left registered what she’d said, that to take off her bra he had to slide his hands around to her back. But if that was the case, what was the hard part in the front of her bra he’d just felt?
Underwire.
He broke the kiss and stared down at her. Somewhere along the line, either she or he had discarded her shirt as best they could. It was hanging over his forearm caught in the handcuff chain. And in the dim light filtering in through the windows and front door, two perfect breasts sat in all their glory, exposed, freed from the cups of her bra that was still fastened beneath them. More than almost anything, he wanted to pull each nipple into his mouth, treasure those soft, warm, incredible curves. But, as impossible as it seemed, there was something else he wanted more.
Her underwire.
He slid his hands around her back and fumbled with the clasp. She sighed with pleasure as he pulled her bra off, but her eyes flew open in surprise when he sat back.
He held the bra up, felt where the underwire ended, then tore at the delicate fabric with his teeth.
She stared at him in confusion. “What...what are you doing? If you want to put your mouth on something, trust me, there are better places to put it.” She motioned toward her breasts.
He grinned even with the fabric in his mouth. She was definitely the type
of woman who knew what she wanted. If he could go back in time and keep her at his house instead of turning her away, he’d probably still be in bed with her days later.
“Bryson?” She was frowning now, obviously getting annoyed.
He made one last tear and the wire hit his teeth. He sat back, working at it with his fingers now, pulling it out of the fabric.
She gasped in dismay. “That bra cost over a hundred dollars.”
He hesitated. “You’re kidding. You wear hundred-dollar bras?”
“It’s my only hundred-dollar bra. I was saving it for a special occasion.” She arched a brow. “Why do you think I took a shower at my parents’ house? Who do you think I put that bra on for?” She waved her hand toward her shorts. “I have matching panties too.”
Boy oh boy did he want to see those matching panties. But more than that, he wanted her to live. He glanced toward the door, and the blessedly empty gravel road out front. “I’ll buy you another hundred-dollar bra, a dozen. And matching underwear. But right now, I need this.” He finally yanked the wire free and held it up. “Handcuff key.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Hold up your wrist. I’ll try your side first.”
She did as he’d asked, and he ran his fingers along the flat side of the metal circle until he found the little slot for the key, just where the metal was locked into the hole. He slid the end of the underwire inside, then carefully worked it back and forth. The cuff backed out one slot with a loud click, giving her a little more wiggle room.
“It’s working!” Her voice was full of awe.
“Long way to go. Give me a minute. I have to be careful or the wire will break.” He ratcheted the metal back one slow click at a time.
“I’m guessing our captor took Annie from you at the Brodericks’,” he said as he twisted the wire in the cuffs. “Otherwise you’d have shot him full of holes.”
“Annie? Oh, my gun?” At his nod, she shook her head. “I don’t understand it. I had so many opportunities to get away, to get help. But I just...froze. In that foyer. He took your gun and mine before I even thought about trying to use them. Or run out the front door to a neighbor’s. I can’t believe I just...stood there.”
The handcuff loosened another click. “It’s the trauma from before. If he’d been anyone else, I imagine that wouldn’t have happened. But your brain shut down the moment you realized who he was. That’s not your fault. It’s not something you could control.”
“Nice of you to say, but I’m not so sure that—”
Click. He pulled the handcuff off her.
She rubbed her wrist and grinned. “I’m free!”
“Not quite. That was step one. Step two is getting out of this shack. Step three is disappearing into the woods long before he gets back.” He slipped her end of the handcuffs over his still-cuffed wrist and clicked them loosely into place.
“What are you doing!” she exclaimed. “Why did you do that?”
“To save time. I can do whatever I need to do with both cuffs on the same wrist. I’ll worry about getting them off later.” He waved toward her shirt, which had fallen to the floor. “I’m having enough trouble focusing with this concussion without your gorgeous breasts distracting me. Mind putting your shirt back on?”
Her smile beamed at him, full wattage. “You think my breasts are gorgeous? What a sweet thing to say.” She winked and grabbed her shirt. “Let’s get out of here, Bryson. I want you to buy me those matching underwear sets so you can take them right back off again.”
He laughed and tried to shove himself to his feet, but his hip gave out and he collapsed against the cushions. His face heated with embarrassment as he cleared his throat. “Looks like I’ll need a little help standing. I should be able to walk but getting up off this couch is beyond my current abilities. I always get stiff after lying down for a while.”
“I sure hope you do.”
He glanced at her in confusion, then realized what she meant when she winked.
He shook his head, grinning. “You’ve got a one-track mind. Help me up.” He held his hand out to stop whatever she was about to say. “Without another sexual innuendo. We’re running out of time.”
Her smile faded and fear took its place. He regretted being so blunt, but even though her natural tendency to block out her fears and worries by flirting and teasing was adorable in most circumstances, they were a liability in this one. Especially since the blow to his head had him thinking far less clearly than usual.
She helped him up, and thankfully he was able to limp unaided to the door.
“What do we do now?” She settled her shirt into place. “Try to pull out the hinge pins?”
He was already sticking the underwire into the door lock when her innocent question had him glancing up in surprise. The hinges were on the inside. Because doors like these were intended to keep people out, not in.
Their abductor might have finally made a mistake.
Chapter Sixteen
“You, Teagan Ray, are brilliant,” Bryson told her. “I’ll try the lock first, but I was worried this metal will be too soft for this. The hinge pins will likely be our ticket out of here. But we have to find something to use to pop them out.” He motioned toward the stove, which was only about three feet from the door, and beyond that to the handful of cabinets that formed the tiny kitchenette. “Look through this kitchen, in the bedroom, under the couch. We’ll need something we can either wedge under the end of the pin to pull it or something to stick in the hinge on the bottom to push it.”
“I’m on it.”
She moved past him and started slamming open cabinets and drawers. He could follow her progress through the tiny shack by the sound of her cursing and the sounds of her either kicking or hitting walls.
He blocked all that out and focused on trying to pick the lock using the underwire.
After half a dozen attempts, he realized it wasn’t going to happen. The metal was just too soft and kept bending. He tossed it aside as she ran to him holding up a long metal rod and a foot-long piece of wood.
“Will this work?” She was breathing heavily from exertion. “I figure you can stick the metal up the bottom of the hinge and use the wood like a hammer to push out the pin.”
“Do I even want to know where you got the steel rod? And why it’s wet?”
“Probably not.”
“Were you in the bathroom?”
“Like I said. You don’t want to know.”
He grimaced. The rod looked like one of those old-fashioned toilet-tank float rods that controlled how the toilet flushed. As to the wood, it was either a piece of baseboard or a piece of the floor itself. Judging by the dilapidated shape of the building, neither would surprise him.
The steel rod was the perfect size and slid in place beneath the middle hinge pin with ease. Hope flared in his chest as he slammed the wood against it. He slammed it over and over and over, but the pin wasn’t moving. He finally stopped and leaned in close, trying to see if there was something keeping it in place. Then he took a closer look at the hinges in the door frame and cursed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Locking hinge pins.”
“Never heard of them. But I don’t like how that sounds.”
He tossed the wood and rod on the floor and wiped his hands on his dress pants. “I thought our captor made a mistake with the hinges on the inside. But he didn’t. There’s an extra screw that prevents the pin from being backed out. We’d need an Allen wrench and a screwdriver to get it out. No homemade tools are going to back out that screw. It’s drilled into the wrought-iron frame.”
Her shoulders slumped. “That’s why he didn’t try to drug us, or tie us up. He knew there was no way to escape.”
“Don’t give up on me now. I haven’t thrown in the towel just yet.”
She nod
ded. But he could tell she was rapidly losing hope.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me how you escaped the last time while I see what else is in here.”
“There’s nothing. Just the couch and a few aluminum pots and pans. The utensils in the drawer are plastic or rubber. There’s nothing we could use to stab or hit him.”
“He’s got a gun. Nothing much trumps that. We need to get out before he returns. We have to think outside the box.” He limped past the front door and the stove, then yanked open one of the cabinet drawers in the kitchenette. “Tell me about the shack, and how you got out.”
“It’s basically the same. Well, the bars are new. And the iron front door. There isn’t a back door. He tied me up when he left, with cloth. He didn’t use handcuffs. Mostly he used drugs to keep me docile. He’d knock me out for hours, and I wouldn’t wake up until he was back. I was in detox for weeks after I got away.”
He pulled the hardware, tested the corners of the drawer boxes. “Go on. What else.”
She sighed heavily. “I was blindfolded whenever it was light outside. And he wore a hooded mask most of the time. That always gave me hope, thinking he’d eventually let me go because he was keeping his identity secret. But I don’t know that he ever would have. He was just extra cautious, in case something happened and I got away. He’s not worried about us identifying him. He’s going to kill us.”
He’d just started into the bathroom but turned around when she said that. “Not if I kill him first. Do not give up on me.”
Her eyes widened, but he didn’t stand around talking. The sense of time passing was making him feel edgy and nervous. He couldn’t imagine that whatever their captor was doing would keep him gone much longer.
The bathroom was a total bust. It was pitch dark, for one thing, but tiny without even a cabinet under the sink to hide anything. No bleach or cleaners that he could toss in the gunman’s face. He didn’t know how Teagan had managed to think about the toilet rod or even how she’d gotten it out of the back of the tank in the darkness. He had to give her a lot of credit for ingenuity.