Caballo Security Box Set

by Camilla Blake

  He was nowhere to be found when I hobbled over to the door and peeked out into the hallway. I wished he was standing there, wished he could help me now, especially since the damn bandage on my leg was so wet that it felt like I was hauling around a ton of concrete with just my lower leg. I held on to the wall as I hopped my way to the bedroom door. The mattress looked so incredibly far away, and it was flat as a pancake. I put a little weight on the bandage, feeling water stream from it, but the bandage itself not giving any. I cursed under my breath, dropping to my knees and crawling to the mattress.

  “There’s a sight!”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Oliver was in the doorway, still dressed in the same jeans and T-shirt that he’d been wearing since the moment I first opened my eyes in this place, his stance casual, so similar to the stance I’d first seen him in that it felt a little surreal.

  “You weren’t there to help me.”

  “I didn’t think you’d need my help much more. Not now I’ve taken the key out of my pocket and stored it somewhere else.”

  “That’s not what that was about!”

  “Isn’t it? Weren’t you trying to get the keys so you could get out the front door? What were you planning? Were you going to knock me over the head? Wait till I was asleep?” His eyebrows rose even as his eyes moved over my hips and down along my legs. “Or were you planning on taking it all the way and then leaving while I was in the afterglow coma?”

  “What does it matter to you? You’re clearly only in this to make a few bucks—right? Are you just watching me for your buddies? Waiting for them to come to get me and take me to wherever they take women they want to traffic?”

  “Is that what you think this is?” He seemed truly amused by the thought. “Human trafficking? That’s a new one on me.”

  “Why else would you and your friends want me?”

  His eyes once again moved over my hips and along my legs. I immediately rolled onto my ass, tugging the skirt down over my thighs. He seemed a little disappointed, but that small smile remained on his lips.

  “Your father is a pretty wealthy man, isn’t he? Has it not occurred to you that someone might know about that bank account he keeps for the express purpose of paying out a ransom in the event that you’re kidnapped? Has it occurred to you that someone might be interested in getting their hands on the millions in that account? Money like that could really change a person’s life.”

  Disappointment rushed through me. I nodded in acknowledgment of his words, scooting back on my bottom to put as much distance between him and I as I could. My skirt had pulled up a little over my thighs. I pushed it down, wrapping it around my thighs, blushing as I realized what it was he’d been staring at while I was crawling.

  “You kidnapped me.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Not exactly. But you’ve been kidnapped.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  He straightened up, brushing a hand over the top of his head. I was beginning to recognize that as a nervous habit. It was almost adorable.

  Almost.

  “Look, Dr. Cole, it would probably be best for both of us if you’d just be a little patient. Things will become clearer later on. Until then, there’s no point in the two of us going back and forth like this.”

  “Like this? Like me trying to find out why the hell I’m not with my brother and my friends? Why I’m not where I’m supposed to be? Why you’re holding me hostage in this dirty, disgusting trailer?” I waved my hand around the dingy room, feeling a little snobby as the words tumbled from my lips, something I’ve never wanted to be. “While you’re forcing me to resort to childish antics to get what is my God-given right?”

  “Your God-given right?” He snickered a little. “That’s rich coming from a woman who’s never wanted for a damn thing in all her life!”

  “What would you know about it?”

  “I know you never had to work a day in your life! I know you didn’t have to wonder when your next meal would be. I know you don’t have debts dotting your credit report, don’t have to worry about how you’re going to make next month’s car payment. Hell, I bet you don’t even have student loans to pay for your extensive education. How many people in America can say that?”

  “So, I was lucky. So fucking what?”

  He snorted, turning away from me. “You see, lady, that’s the difference between you and me.”

  “Is that why you sprayed chloroform on my face and tore me away from my life? Is that why you brought me here? Do you think the fact that I grew up with money gives you a right to take my life away from me?” I struggled to my feet, needing to be upright to have this argument, if only for my pride. “I work for a damn living. Do you realize that? I have my own business, my own worries, and my own debts. And I worked damn hard for that! Not everything was just handed to me!”

  “Well, good for you!”

  “Maybe if you’d got a damn job instead of partying with your friends, instead of drinking and driving, you might not have had to go to jail. Maybe you’d have a life now that didn’t require kidnapping innocent people.”

  “Shut up!” he suddenly yelled, his face growing red as his hands balled into fists. “You don’t know shit about it!”

  “Just like you don’t know shit about me!”

  He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes moving in slow motion over the length of me, pausing briefly here and there, on my breasts, on my hips. A hungry look came into his eyes. “Maybe I should have let you play out your game,” he said finally, his voice taking on a slight huskiness. “Maybe I should have taken what you were offering. Then, maybe, we both might have gotten something halfway pleasurable out of this thing.”

  I blushed, the memory of his kiss coming back with such a rush that it threatened to knock me to my knees. I shook my head, turning partially away from him. “You’re an animal, you know?”

  “Isn’t that what you’ve thought all along?” He came over, grabbed my chin and forced me to look up at him. “Don’t you think we’re all just animals that exist to make you feel better about your circumstances?”

  “Don’t be a damn fool!”

  “You’re the one who’s a fool if you really believe I’m any less than you. Judging someone without the whole picture is a mistake, love.”

  I looked up at him, into those dark eyes that seemed to burn right through me, and I almost forgot why I was so angry. My lips parted slightly at the memory of his kiss, my eyes hooding slightly at the memory of his touch. He rested a hand on my hip, taking advantage of the access I’d granted him earlier by sliding his palm over the thin material of the borrowed dress, cupping my rounded ass in his hand.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he hissed close to my lips, so close that I could already taste his kiss. “Too bad I don’t make a habit of screwing rich bitches who think they’re so much better than me.”

  He pushed me away, but not before he squeezed my ass, getting as much out of this as he could. He actually chuckled as he marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A second later, I was positive I heard a lock turn. The asshole had just locked me inside!

  I screamed, more out of frustration than anything else. Stood there in the middle of the room and just screamed, my head turned up to the ceiling—not that I could see anything through the mist of furiosity with which I screamed—and just let it go. I’d never hated someone as much as I hated that man at that moment.

  I was not a snob. I worked damn hard! I didn’t have to be a doctor, didn’t have to work for a living. I could have sat on my father’s couch and eaten bonbons for my entire life. But I wanted something outside of my father’s wealth. And this is what it had brought me to.

  When my throat was sore, and I couldn’t scream anymore, I threw myself down on the nearly flat mattress on the floor. I threw myself back against the pillows and closed my eyes, my thoughts moving over things I didn’t want to think about. His hands on my body, his palm against my bare ass, his stomach
muscles touching a place that hadn’t been touched in so long I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be touched there by another person. Those were not the things I needed to be thinking about.

  I’d been kidnapped. That was what I needed to be thinking about.

  I wondered if my father knew. I was sure he did, sure that Scott would have contacted him. I was sure that Scott, Taylor, and TJ would have the federales after me by now, the local cops and the government cops, even the American authorities by now. It’d been, what, at least thirty-eight hours. Maybe more. It was hard to keep track of time inside this tin can of a trailer.

  If I could just get out of the thing, I could find someone who knew me, someone who could get me to safety. I just needed to get out of here and I could go home.

  I ignored the little voice in the back of my mind that said if I left, I’d never know what it was like to take things to another step with Oliver. I had to remind that voice that Oliver had kidnapped me. Oliver had taken me from the clinic and brought me here against my will. He was the enemy.

  But he didn’t feel like the enemy when he kissed me.

  I grunted, a little frustrated with myself. I wanted to go home. I had a life, patients and friends, and a condo that needed a fresh coat of paint. I had my dinners with my dad and shopping trips on the weekends with Leesa and a stack of paperback books waiting on my nightstand to be read. I needed to go home.

  Okay, so my life might seem a little empty, but it was a good life. Really. I knew I was lucky, knew I was living the kind of life some people dream of, a life that some people would never have. I knew that, despite the boredom with my routine, I was really well off compared to others. That was why I devoted so much of my time to charity, and why I was so proud of Scott for the work he did with GME. I did good things. Really!

  I suddenly felt like I was justifying something I’d never had to justify before. I hated Oliver for bringing me to that place, putting me in that position. It was his words dancing around in my mind, not my own.

  Anger rushed through me again. I sat up and looked around the room, wondering what I could do to get out of there. The piece of wood I’d broken free of the dresser was still lying on the floor, waiting to be used again. I half hopped, half stumbled to it and studied the edge of the window, wondering if there was a weak spot, something I could break free easier than the window frame in the living room. Maybe I could get out through this window.

  It was worth a try.

  The piece of wood was thicker than the knife I’d used on the window in the living room, so I wasn’t having much success shoving it under the edge of the window frame. However, as I moved around, studied the frame, I saw a teeny crack in the bottom edge of the plastic they’d used to replace the window glass. I almost laughed aloud when I realized that just a little pressure might be able to stress the crack, that I might be able to splinter the plastic enough to get it out of the frame.

  I pressed the end of the stick against the crack, bracing the other end against my chest, just below my collarbone. Both hands were wrapped around the end of the stick as I began to push, shoving all my weight against that one spot on the plastic window. Nothing happened at first. The stick began to slide a little to one side, but that was about it. I readjusted, bringing the chair Oliver had sat in the first time we spoke over to the mattress so that I could stand on it and have a little more height. This time, I held the stick at something of an angle, pressing the one end against my belly and the other against the crack. I pushed and less than a couple of heartbeats later, light filled the room. Not enough for me to get through, but enough to give me hope. I paused for a second, sending up a quick prayer that Oliver wasn’t sitting outside at that moment.

  I repositioned the stick and pushed again, putting everything I had into that little stick. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, all at once, the plastic gave up a big chunk and the stick jerked, ramming into my ribs before it suddenly ricocheted forward and flew out the huge hole I’d put in the corner of the window.

  I jerked back, my hands pressed to my ribs. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. Pain seared through me for a long moment, but it began to settle, becoming more of a dull throb. When I felt like I could catch my breath, I leaned forward to inspect the damage. There was a hole about the size of a dinner plate in the bottom corner of the window. My stick and pieces of the plastic sat on the ground outside the trailer. I strained to look around outside, searching for trouble. I could see the far side of the narrow porch that led to the front door. It appeared empty from here. There was nothing else to be seen.

  I had to break more of the window out. But I also had to be prepared to leave in a hurry.

  I took my clothes from the low dresser, intending to change from the borrowed dress into my familiar jeans and blouse. I wished that I hadn’t left my underwear on the bathroom floor, but there wasn’t much I could do about that now. I hadn’t tried the door, but I knew the distinctive click of a lock turning in place. I knew he’d locked me in here. He had clearly decided it was no longer necessary to hide the truth of the situation. I was his prisoner, for better or for worse.

  Problem, however: I couldn’t get my damn jeans on over the fake cast on my leg.

  I wanted to scream again, but I didn’t want to give Oliver cause to come check on me. I quickly tossed the clothes on the floor and searched around, trying to find something I could use to get the damn cast off. When I failed to do so, I searched for some sort of shoes. I’d been wearing sneakers when I was taken from the clinic, but they didn’t seem to have made the trip here. There was nothing more than the jeans and blouse.

  I returned to the window, determined to make the hole big enough to get myself out of there. I tugged at the edges of the hole, pulling and twisting, tugging with everything I had to give, finally breaking one large piece free from the top corner. That gave me some degree of hope that this might actually be possible. But when I went to pull on another piece, the sharp edges of the broken plastic cut a slice across my palm.

  “Damn!”

  I grabbed my blouse off the floor and wrapped it around my hand, deciding to worry about the cut later. When I realized the blouse cushioned my palm, I rewrapped it, making it something of a double wrap for my other hand, too. That took away any trepidation I might have had, making it easier to tug and pull at the plastic. Within a minute, I’d worked the bottom section of the plastic free of the window frame and the top was coming loose. I pulled and tugged, shoved and worked at it until suddenly, with a slight pop, the whole thing gave way and nearly took me with it as it flew to the dry ground.

  I glanced back at the door, waiting for the sound of footsteps, the sound of Oliver realizing what I’d done. But everything was silent outside this room.

  With a deep breath and another selfish prayer, I carefully lifted my casted leg over the edge of the window frame and pulled myself over. I was breaking free of this prison no matter what might or might not have happened between Oliver and me. It didn’t matter if I had a boring, excitement-free life. It was my life.

  Now all I had to do was find a way to put as much distance between me and Oliver as I could. That was going to be tricky with this soggy, heavy cast on my damn foot!

  Chapter 15

  Oliver

  I was dreaming. I knew it was a dream, yet my mind kept telling me it was real.

  The night of the crash. She was laughing in the seat beside me, telling me some story about a kid who’d tried to pass off an essay by Laura Otis as his own work. She found the story much more entertaining than it really was, especially since some guy who’d put four years into his college career was now facing possible suspension. I could hear my voice, the words begging her to slow down, to take it easy on the dark road, but she thought I was being a fool. That’s what she always said when one of us asked her to do something even remotely responsible: Don’t be a fool. Life is too short for fools.

  And then the scene shifted. I was standing inside the bay at the a
uto shop, watching the clinic across the street. I saw the man go around the side of the clinic, but I also saw her, sitting briefly on a stool that was just a few feet from the window, wiping a rag over her sweaty brow. She pulled her blouse away from her chest then, trying to move a little air against her skin. There was nothing more seductive than watching a woman without her knowledge. I watched her often, enjoying the sight of her moving and talking, interacting with her patients and her colleagues. But what I liked most was catching her in moments like that, catching her alone, watching her when she thought no one could see her.

  Once more, the scene shifted. Angry faces. Two women screaming in my face, telling me I was a fool for acting as I had. I didn’t mean it, but they seemed to think I’d done it on purpose. What had I done? And then I saw him, the boy lying on the ground, his body no longer recognizable as human. I killed him.

  I killed him.

  I sat up and gasped for breath, a part of me shocked that I’d fallen asleep at all. I was sweating through my clothing even though the one thing that worked well in this damn tin can was the air conditioning. I turned, resting both feet on the ground, and ran my hands over the top of my head, smoothing the sweat into each strand of hair. I stared down at the floor, but all I saw was that image that had haunted me for so long. I would never forget it.

  I wasn’t the only one. The boy’s girl stood beside me when we found him, stood there in silent horror before the screams came. I tried to turn her away, but she wouldn’t let me. She just stared at him, stared and screamed, burning that image into her mind forever.

  She wrote me in prison a time or two. She went to college. She dropped out of college.