Roark took the phone and pressed it gingerly against his ear. He didn’t think much of Earth technology—it was so clumsy and unsophisticated.
“Hello?” he said, frowning.
“Commander Roark?” It was Meg’s voice speaking to him. “Sammi’s phone and her purse and everything else is still up here on the Mother Ship,” she told him. “I got worried after you left and tried to call her on the think-me but I didn’t get any answer. So I tried her cell phone and it just rang and rang. I went to her suite and found that she’d left it here along with everything else. She must have been so upset she came down to Earth with nothing on her.”
Roark felt his throat constrict. He could just imagine Samantha wanting so badly to get away from him that she came straight down to Earth with none of her personal belongings—nothing to help her at all.
My fault, he thought, feeling guilty. This is all my fault! And meanwhile, the feeling that she was in danger was still growing.
“Where could she be?” he asked Meg, frowning.
“I don’t know.” Meg’s voice sounded like she might start crying in a moment. “But I tried her on the think-me too and she didn’t answer this time. Does that mean she…she’s dead?” Her voice cracked on the last word and Roark felt sick. But he tried to stay strong.
“No, not necessarily,” he said firmly. “She might be in a building that’s blocking the reception. Some kinds of metal and stone do that.” Which was true, he reminded himself. Besides, wouldn’t he somehow know if Samantha had been killed? Wouldn’t he feel it, the same way he felt that she was in danger?
Roark didn’t know for sure but he thought that he would.
“Okay, okay…” Meg took a deep breath. “I want to come down there but Berik won’t let me. So you have to find her! What if he’s got her? What if that awful stalker…” But her sentence ended in a choked sob.
“I’m going to find her,” Roark promised and handed the phone back to Aunt Vicky. “Do you know of anywhere else she might have gone?” he asked her.
Samantha’s aunt shook her head reluctantly.
“I’m afraid not. Oh, do you think she’s okay?”
“I don’t know,” Roark said grimly. “But I’m going to find out.”
“How, though?” Aunt Vicky’s eyes were wide with alarm. “How can you find her?”
“To start with, I’m going to retrace her steps,” Roark said firmly. “All the way back to the HKR building. Someone there must have seen her—must have seen where she went.”
He hoped. Because if not, Roark had no idea how he was going to find her.
Forty-Six
“Please don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!” Sammi’s voice came out in a choked whisper as her stalker brought the scissors down.
But instead of stabbing her, he only took a lock of her hair in his free hand and snipped it off.
“There, now.” He smiled down at her, his face only inches from hers. He was heavy as a mattress on top of her, and just as immovable.
“What…what are you doing?” Her breath came out in a relieved sob, her cuffed hands clutched to her chest as though to ward him off.
“Just taking a little souvenir. Something to remember you by after our date is over.”
He smiled down at her, his crooked yellow teeth so close she could see a shred of something green—spinach maybe—caught between them. His breath was sour—like old coffee.
“Please get off me,” Sammi whispered. “I can’t…can’t breathe.”
She thought about telling him she was pregnant and that he was squashing her belly, but she was afraid that might set him off.
“I’ll get off. For now.” He grinned at her, making no move to get off, though he had said he would. “But only so you can get ready for our date tonight. I brought you something to wear—something almost as gorgeous as you, Beautiful.”
“My name is Samantha,” Sammi said, her voice shaking. It was absolutely horrifying to have him so close—to have him actually laying on top of her like this. She could feel his whole, heavy body against hers and the sensation made her want to gag.
She fought the urge to buck wildly under him—anything to try and get him off. She was afraid if she made him angry he might use the scissors again—in a more lethal way this time.
“You really are—beautiful, you know. It was worth all the time and trouble I had to take to get to know you.” He stared down at her, his small black eyes empty of any pity or compassion.
“But you don’t know me,” Sammi whispered tightly. “Just because you kidnapped me doesn’t mean you and I are friends.”
It might be foolish to talk this way and risk making him angry but she couldn’t help herself—she wanted desperately to distance herself from this man in any way she could. Since he had her pinned to the bed, this was literally the only way open to her.
“Oh, we’re going to be much more than friends, Beautiful…”
Her abductor stroked the side of Sammi’s face. His big hand was hot and clammy and again she felt the urge to puke.
“Much more than friends,” he murmured. “After our date tonight.”
Forty-Seven
“Yes, Commander, I remember seeing her,” one of the guards on duty at the HKR building nodded when Roark pulled up a picture of Samantha on the monitor of his communications device. “She was here a while ago—at the start of my shift. I remember thinking she looked upset—like she’d been crying.”
The guard’s words felt like a nail in his heart but Roark struggled to keep his voice even.
“Did you see where she went? Did she leave with anyone?”
“Actually, yes she did.” The guard—a Light Twin of a Twin Kindred pair—frowned thoughtfully.
“She left with that little human male whose always hanging around here.” The other guard—the Dark Twin of the pair—came up to join the conversation.
“That’s right. What’s his name? I forget.” The Light Twin frowned. “He’s been in here a couple of times, asking about your female, though, Commander,” he added, speaking to Roark.
“Yes, he’s been hanging around for weeks,” the Dark Twin growled. “I didn’t know what to think of him but he never made any trouble so…” He shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling.
“He’s been here for weeks asking about Samantha and nobody thought to call up to the Mother Ship and tell someone about it?” Roark demanded, glaring at them.
The Light Twin shrugged sheepishly.
“He’s always been extremely friendly. He even waved to me as he and your female were leaving.”
“So she got into his vehicle?” Roark’s heart sank. “Where did they go? What’s his fucking name?” he growled, his frustration spilling over.
“Even if we could remember his name, there’s no guarantee he gave us the right one,” the Dark Twin said, frowning. “But we might at least have his license plate number.”
“His what?” Roark frowned.
“The number on the back of his vehicle. Humans use it for vehicle identification,” the Dark Twin explained. “Come on—we’ll look at the surveillance footage from the front of the building and see what we can find.”
“And this number—it will lead me to the male who took Samantha?” Roark asked.
“Certainly. We are cross referenced with the human system,” the Dark Twin said. “Once we find the plate number, we can easily find the address of his domicile as well.” He must have seen the worried look on Roark’s face because he clapped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Brother—we’ll find your female.”
“I hope you’re right.” There was a tightness in Roark’s chest that wouldn’t go away.
He only hoped he could find Samantha before it was too late.
Forty-Eight
“Put it on. All of it.” Her captor nodded at a pile of clothing he had dumped on the rose-petal strewn bed. He loomed over Sammi as she sat there on the edge of the mattress, her hands still cuffed in front of he
r.
Sammi looked at what he had brought. There was a red sheath dress made out of some kind of stretchy, shiny material, a pair of black fishnet pantyhose, and a pair of high black stiletto heels.
None of the clothing was in style at the moment—either on the Mother Ship or on Earth. It looked like something from a bygone era. Sammi wondered if her captor was fixated on something or someone in the past who had dressed like this.
Whatever the reason, maybe she could work it to her advantage.
“I can’t,” she said, looking up at him. “I mean, I can’t put all this on with my hands cuffed.” She held up her cuffed hands as evidence. “How would I get my arms through the sleeves?”
“Well…” Her captor frowned. His face was dark with heavy black stubble and Sammy thought the expression made him look like an angry bear.
“Please,” she said quietly. “There’s no way I can fight you—you’re way too big and strong. So what harm could there be in uncuffing me?”
Her subtle appeal to his vanity seemed to work because he smirked and nodded.
“You’ve got a point, Beautiful. All right, I’ll uncuff you but no funny business, understand?”
“Of course not.” Sammi swallowed. “I’ll just…just get ready for our date. That’s all.”
She hated to do it, but it seemed to her that her best chance of getting out of this alive might be to play to his fantasy. If she kept on denying it, it would only make him angry and mistrustful of her.
It seemed she had said the right thing because her captor nodded approvingly.
“I’m glad you’re starting to see things my way, Beautiful.”
He fished a set of handcuff keys out of one pocket of his ragged jeans and leaned down to unlock her. Sammi couldn’t help thinking that the dirty jeans and stained T-shirt he was wearing were in definite contrast to the fancy dress-up clothes he’d commanded her to wear.
After unlocking the handcuffs, he held them up.
“These will go back on if you’re not nice to me, Beautiful. Understand?”
Thinking of what “being nice” to him might entail made Sammi’s stomach do a slow forward roll but she only nodded.
“Yes, of course… Er…what should I call you?” she added, wondering if she would get his full name.
He frowned. “You don’t need my name. For now, you can just call me Sonny.”
“Sunny as in sunshine?” Sammi asked, frowning.
“No—as in son. You know—Sonny-boy.” He smiled at her, showing those crooked teeth again. “That’s what you can call me, Beautiful.”
“You can…can call me Sammi, if you want,” Sammi offered in a dry voice. She was still hoping to get him to see her as a human being—not just an object to play with. Maybe if he used her name it would help.
But her captor only shook his head.
“Nah, you’re Beautiful,” he said firmly. “Just like all the others.”
“All…all the others?” Sammi could barely get the words out. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know—all my other dates.” He winked at her. “But don’t worry, Beautiful—you’re the most important and special of all. I’ve never spent so much time trying to get to know a date as I spent on you.” He frowned. “Money too. Traveling from the West Coast to the East Coast and setting up a whole new hideout for dates isn’t cheap, you know.”
He said it as though it was Sammi’s fault that stalking and kidnapping her had turned out to be an expensive proposition.
“I’m, er, sorry,” she said, feeling both ridiculous and terrified.
“That’s all right—our date tonight will make it all worth it.” He jerked his head at the pile of clothes on the bed. “Now get dressed so we can start our date.”
“While you watch?” Sammi asked, feeling sick. “Can’t I please have a little privacy?”
He grinned at her.
“You forget, Beautiful, I’ve already seen you naked—many times. Remember those pictures I sent you?”
Sammi remembered the pictures that had popped up on her phone from the anonymous, untraceable number—pictures of herself naked in the shower.
“I remember,” she said, feeling sick all over again. “But, well…don’t you think it’s better if…if you’re surprised by how I look when I’m all dressed up? I mean, like a bride on her wedding day,” she explained, seeing the confused look on his face. “The, uh…the groom isn’t supposed to see her until she’s all ready to go.”
Comparing herself to a bride and her captor to a groom was awful, but she was desperate not to change in front of him—not to let him see her naked. Never mind if he had seen her before—at least then she hadn’t known he was watching. The idea of stripping in front of him made her want to vomit.
At least her words seemed to have done some good. She saw dawning comprehension in his small, black eyes.
“Oh, right—I understand. You want to get all pretty for me.”
“Right,” Sammi said, having an inspiration. “And since I’m going to get dressed up for you, don’t you think you should return the favor…Sonny?” she added, hoping that using his name would help convince him. “After all, when you go out on a…on a date, you want to look your best, right?”
For a moment she thought her words had backfired because his face grew dark with a scowl.
“You saying I’m not looking my best, Beautiful? Don’t you know you’re supposed to love me, no matter how I look? That’s the way good mothers do—they love their sons no matter what!”
For a moment Sammi just stared at him, processing the strangeness of this statement. Was he living out some kind of Oedipal fantasy here—was that why he had asked her to call him “Sonny”? And maybe the reason for the outdated clothes, too, she thought. They might have been in fashion back when he was a boy—maybe he had seen his mother wearing something like them…
“Well?” he demanded and she knew she had taken too long to answer.
“I’m just saying that you need to look nice and neat if you’re going to take me on a date, Sonny-boy,” she said, taking a chance. “A good mother will tell her son to take a shower and put on some nice clothes before he takes her…takes her out on a date.”
The words almost stuck in her throat but somehow she forced them out. What kind of a sick bastard was her captor, anyway? And would her new gambit work?
For a moment, the situation was in doubt. But then her captor’s scowl melted to be replaced by a look of grudging approval.
“You’re right, Beautiful. If you’re going to look gorgeous for our date, I should too—right?”
“Exactly.” Sammi put a hand on her hip and looked at him sternly, though her heart was beating in her throat. “So you just…go get cleaned up and dressed up for me. And…and I’ll do the same for you. So we’ll both look perfect for our…for our date.”
God, how was she saying all this? But the words seemed to work.
“Okay, Beautiful.” Her captor nodded his shaggy head.
“And do something with your hair,” Sammi directed, feeling bolder. “And shave too—I like my men clean-shaven,” she added. Basically she just wanted to buy as much time for herself as possible. If he took a shower and shaved and did something with his hair, that would take considerable time—she hoped.
To her relief, he nodded dutifully.
“Okay, Beautiful—I’ll do it.” He pointed a thick finger at her. “But you have to get ready, too.”
“Of course.” Sammi picked up the dress he’d brought her and stroked the shiny red material. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Her captor nodded, as though satisfied by her words.
“That’s good. And put on the perfume too—I got it just for you.” He pointed to the nightstand beside the bed which held a single lamp and a purple cut-glass bottle of perfume.
“All right.” Sammi nodded again, thinking he was definitely playing out some kind of fantasy here. The sense of smell was strongly linked to mem
ory—clearly her captor wanted him to smell like someone in his past. His mother, maybe? The thought made her want to puke.
“I’m going now,” he told her. “But I’ll see you soon. Be ready for our date. Oh—and I hope you’re hungry—I have something really special planned for dinner.”
“Yummy,” Sammi said faintly, rubbing her stomach with one hand. “I can’t wait.”
“You’ll see—I’m making your favorite!” He grinned at her and then, mercifully, left the bedroom.
Sammi heard his heavy tread on the stairs and then the creaking of the door. She was hoping desperately that he might forget to lock the door in his excitement over their “date” but unfortunately, she heard the snick of a bolt turning next.
She was trapped down here with only a limited time to think of some way to save her own life.
What was she going to do?
Forty-Nine
“Who’re you and whaddya want?” The human male who had driven Samantha away from the HKR building blinked owlishly up at Roark. He seemed to be either inebriated or drugged in some way.
There was a strange, bitter odor hanging around him, leading Roark to think that maybe he had been smoking a drug that humans used to relax or sometimes to ease chronic pain. The drug didn’t do anything for Kindred but it made humans stupid and slow—at least as far as he could tell.
“What I want is to know where you took my female?” Roark shoved his way into the small, dingy apartment. He looked around wildly. “Where is she? Where’s Samantha?”
“You mean Professor Grey?” The man frowned stupidly. “She’s not here. Why would I bring her here?”
“So you admit you took her?” Roark rounded on him and grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt. Dragging the male up so their noses were almost touching he growled, “Where the fuck is my female?”
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