Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 - Box Set 1 of 2

by Julie Anne Lindsey, Lena Diaz

  He’d just started to doze off again when she asked, “What are we going to do?” Her voice was a low whisper, as if to keep the driver from hearing them. “Please tell me you have a plan.”

  He didn’t have a clue. He tightened his hold on her hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together. Two against one. We’ve got this.”

  The truck hit a bump in the road, knocking them against each other. He scooted back against the wall, trying to keep from slamming into her. But she had no such compulsion. She moved closer, her body plastered against his side. But unlike earlier, there was nothing suggestive about her actions. He could feel the slight shaking of her shoulders and realized she was silently crying. Carefully, so he wouldn’t hit her face, he maneuvered their handcuffed hands so that he could put his arm around her, pulling their linked hands tight against her belly. She cradled her head against his neck.

  He tried to pay attention to the changes in road noise, traffic sounds, the turns the truck made. But everything was so muffled that he had no clue where they might be. Had it been an hour? Two? He had no idea. With his watch gone, and his mind a fog, time as he knew it didn’t exist anymore. His every moment was measured by stabs of pain that shot through his body with every beat of his heart. His hip had long ago gone numb. But, if anything, the pain in his head was worse than before. He felt every shift of the truck’s wheels on the pavement, every pothole, every slide of gravel.

  Wait. Gravel?

  “We’re slowing down,” she whispered.

  He nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see him. “Yes. We are. And we’ve turned onto a gravel road. Wherever he’s taking us, we’re close.” He carefully pulled their linked arms over her head so they were side by side again, instead of nestled against each other.

  The brakes squealed as the truck lurched to a halt.

  Her fingers clenched his. “Now would be a good time to share your plan.”

  Right. If only he had one. His thoughts were so jumbled. “Stay alert. Be observant. As soon as that door opens, evaluate your options and react. If he’s stupid enough to stand in striking distance, we tackle him. But I don’t expect he’ll do that.”

  “So we have no plan.”

  He sighed. “Pretty much. But that doesn’t mean there’s no hope. All it takes is one mistake on his part, one moment when his guard is down. Then we’ll get the upper hand.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I have to. We both have to. I’m not operating on all pistons right now, and my vision was blurry at the Brodericks’ house so I’m not expecting much better when he lets us out of here. I need you to fill in the gaps. Pay attention when he opens that door. Get a three-sixty view. We need to know what’s around us. Where to run if we get a chance.”

  “Okay. I’ll… I’ll do my best.”

  The driver’s door creaked open.

  “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s scoot to the end in case we can surprise him, take him down.”

  Getting to his knees was beyond his capabilities at the moment. Instead, he had to scoot across the metal floor of the truck. Thankfully, it wasn’t that large and they were soon positioned beside each other at the doors.

  The sound of shoes crunching on gravel came from outside. He was heading toward the back.

  Bryson could feel her shivering against him. He silently cursed the man with all the power right now, the man who’d hurt her more than most people endured in their entire lifetime.

  He gritted his teeth and braced himself, hoping she was ready to dive with him to tackle the man. There was no other option since they were still handcuffed together.

  The left door flew back. Bryson hadn’t planned on near total darkness and hesitated for a moment. But Teagan was already hopping out of the truck. He hurriedly followed and together they rushed forward, hoping to wrap arms around their attacker. They both met empty air and stumbled against each other before falling back against the closed right door. It was the only reason Bryson managed to remain upright.

  Laughter sounded off to the left. A powerful flashlight switched on, forcing them to squint and shield their eyes against the brightness.

  “Good try.” The man chuckled again. “But I assumed you’d pull a stunt like that so I stayed behind the door, out of reach.” He lowered the light to point at the ground, directly in front of them. Dirt and gravel mixed with pine needles and other debris. Since the only sounds were insects buzzing close by, it was a safe bet that they were somewhere outside of town, an hour, two, maybe more from Jacksonville if his judgment on how much time had passed was accurate. But he couldn’t be sure. Their captor may have driven in circles to disorient them and then drove to some rural part of town. Jacksonville was the largest city in the country by landmass, so they could easily still be in Duval County but nowhere near any homes or businesses.

  Teagan’s fingers curled around his. Perhaps she was beginning to realize how isolated they were, and wondering the same thing that he was—what happens next?

  Without the flashlight in his eyes, he was able to make out more details now. The moon and stars provided enough light to see that they were surrounded by trees and Florida scrub, mostly small thin bushes and sharp palmettos ready to skewer anyone foolish enough to go for a walk in the woods.

  The gunman stood about twenty feet away, out of reach, a dark silhouette with his arm extended, pistol gleaming in his grip. “Get moving.” He motioned with the flashlight to their right, aiming it at what was apparently their destination, a tiny cabin.

  “I need my cane,” Bryson called out.

  The flashlight swept back toward their captor. He aimed it up toward his own face, a slow smile spreading across his cheeks as he pulled something out of his pocket. “Let me guess. Because you wanted these?” He shook the two tiny keys on the end of a chain, making them click against each other. “Handcuff keys hidden in the cane’s handle. I knew you were awfully insistent on wanting that stupid thing. Took me half the trip fiddling with it to figure it out.”

  He threw the keys into the trees, then leaned down and grabbed the cane, which had been lying at his feet. “Afraid you’ll have to do without it. I’m not risking another trick in that thing that I haven’t figured out yet.” He tossed the cane into the woods behind him. “Now go on.” He swept the flashlight in an arc toward the cabin again. “Teagan, stop standing there like a statue and help your boyfriend before he falls down.” He chuckled.

  Bryson looked at her. She hadn’t moved since they’d tried tackling the gunman without success. Her fingers holding his were cold, stiff. Her body shook as she stared wide-eyed at the little house in the clearing. And then it dawned on him why. He’d seen it before, in crime scene photos.

  The killer had brought them back in time, two years to be exact. He’d brought them to the infamous shack where he’d once held Teagan captive.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The world had disappeared for Teagan. Everything had faded away the moment she’d jumped out of the truck and the flashlight revealed what she should have expected, but hadn’t allowed herself to believe. He’d taken her back to the dilapidated shack where she’d spent two weeks in a drug-induced stupor, drifting in a haze of pain from the torture that her captor had put her through.

  She pressed a hand to her belly, remembering that first night, when he’d slowly carved the X in her flesh. The pain had been excruciating. With her arms and legs tied and him straddling her, there was nothing she could do to escape the slow awful burn of the blade. She’d screamed so loudly that something in her throat burst and she’d almost drowned in her own blood.

  After escaping this hellhole, she’d charted a new path for her life. She’d focused her energies on becoming stronger, both physically and mentally. When the police seemed to be getting nowhere with the investigation, she’d taken it over herself, doing everything she could to try to discover the identity of the ma
n who’d reduced her to the broken woman she’d become for those fourteen days. And she’d thought she had. She’d been so sure that Avarice Lowe was the real Ripper, the man who’d branded her like a steer. The fact that no one else believed her didn’t dissuade her. Instead, it made her angry, and even more determined to find someone who’d help her put Lowe away. She’d thought Bryson was that someone, the one person who would read her file and finally tell her that she was right.

  But she wasn’t right. Bryson was right, had been all along.

  It was as if everything she’d done for the past twenty-four months and nineteen days was a sham, a waste, a farce. Here she was again, where it had all started. And she’d managed to condemn Bryson to share this hell with her. This time, both of them would die.

  “Sweetheart, look at me,” Bryson’s whispered words seemed to come to her from the end of a long tunnel. “Come back to me. Don’t give up. Don’t let him win.”

  She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anyone, or anything. Not the dark shapes of the trees, or the twinkling lights of the stars, or the moon, or even the gravel rocks at her feet. The devil himself, the one who’d brought them here, had faded too. All she saw was the little shack.

  Hovel was more accurate.

  Four walls covered in weathered gray wood that was splintered and warped. No electricity, which meant no air-conditioning, unless that had been changed. The inside consisted of a small bedroom and bathroom on the back left corner, a tiny main room and a kitchen up front. Although calling the cooking area a kitchen was being generous. It consisted of a handful of homemade-looking cabinets and drawers, a tiny refrigerator like those in hotel rooms and a compact gas stove fed by a propane tank outside. The bathroom, as she remembered it, was so filthy she’d had to close her eyes when he’d shoved her inside and stood guard at the open door, watching. Always watching. Or touching, hurting her in unspeakable ways.

  Dear Lord, please, let me die. Strike me with lightning, something, just don’t let him…touch me…not again. Please.

  “Teagan, look at me. Open your eyes.” Bryson’s gentle but firm voice cut through her terror, snapped her out of her semi-stupor.

  She openly stared up at him. The moon’s light wasn’t enough to see the blue of his eyes, but she remembered their beautiful color, and the kindness in them. She remembered how ruggedly handsome he was. He was so sweet and smart and…and he was going to die.

  A low keening moan slipped out between her clenched teeth. Her hands shook as she started to lift them. But her left hand pulled up short because of the cuffs. He bent his arm to allow her more movement, frowning, apparently wondering what she was doing, but helping her. Always helping her. She lifted her arms again and this time she was able to cup his face.

  “We have to kill him,” she whispered. “Before he makes us go into that horrible shack. He won’t shoot me, not right away. That would spoil his fun. We’ll refuse to go inside and he’ll have to come close. As long as you duck down in front of me, I can shield you—”

  “The hell with that.” His clipped tone brooked no argument. “I’m not using you as a human shield.” He grabbed her left hand and pulled it down with his, their handcuffs rattling against each other. “I don’t have a plan yet but putting you in the line of fire isn’t at the top of my list. It’s not even on the list. Forget it.”

  “Hey, you two. Get moving.” Bam!

  The warning shot kicked up dirt near their feet. Teagan threw herself against Bryson’s chest, desperately trying to shield his body with hers.

  He swore and shoved her as far from him as the cuffs would allow. His glare told her exactly what he thought of her attempt to protect him. But without her to lean on, he stumbled. She rushed forward and jammed her left shoulder beneath his right, bracing him again. The pained look on his face told her he hated that he needed her help. But he didn’t push her away again.

  “Next one goes in your head, FBI guy. Or Justice Seeker. Is that what you go by? Seems I heard that somewhere. You need to do what I say, when I say it. Or you can seek your justice six feet under.”

  Justice Seeker? Bryson probably mentioned that he was a former FBI profiler when he spoke to the Brodericks to lend him credibility so they’d agree to speak to him. But would he say anything about being a Justice Seeker? Not likely. It had taken her months of digging to track Bryson to the Seekers. How did this animal know about them?

  “I need my cane.” Bryson’s voice was hoarse, a testament to the amount of pain he was in after their little dance in the dirt. “I can’t walk without it. Unlock these handcuffs and send Teagan to retrieve it for me.”

  “So she can take off and escape? I don’t think so. Good try though. But I’m tired of waiting.” He aimed the gun at Bryson’s leg.

  Teagan rushed in front of him to his left side to better help him, their cuffed hands pulled awkwardly across his waist. He was really struggling, his left leg shaking as if it was about to collapse.

  His look of regret confirmed that he realized the same thing. He gave her a curt nod of thanks, then lurched forward.

  The thirty or so feet to the shack felt more like a mile trudging through wet cement. But finally they were at the two steps that led up to the tilted, rotting front porch. There was no railing, nothing for Bryson to cling to except her. But they made the climb together, pausing just outside the front door.

  Instead of the dry-rotting wood she remembered, this door was shiny and new, its glass front encased in a black wrought-iron frame with a network of vertical bars just like she’d expect to see on a jail cell. And both of the small front windows, to the left and right of the door, were covered in the same black bars. He’d converted the shack into a jail.

  There’d be no escape this time.

  She pulled the door open and glanced up at Bryson. His eyes were glazing over, unfocused. He tried to say something, but couldn’t seem to get the words out.

  She practically dragged him inside as he teetered back and forth. Thankfully the couch was right where it had been the last time, four or five feet from the door. If turned sideways, it would probably scrape both walls, if it would even fit.

  He fell from her grip onto the cushions, pulling her down with him. She managed to push off the back cushion so she didn’t fall on top of him. Instead, she slid to the floor, her left arm raised to not jerk his right arm. Not that he would have felt it. His eyes were already closed. He’d passed out.

  The sound of metal grating against metal had her jerking her head around to see what the gunman was doing. To her relief, he hadn’t followed them inside. But to her horror, he’d just locked the door. He grinned as he pulled his key out of the round lock that required a key on both sides—not the kind where you could flip it from the inside.

  He aimed the flashlight up, casting an eerie, sinister look across his face. “I’ll give you two lovebirds some alone time,” he teased, adding a wink that had her wanting to throw up again. “Make sure he’s ready to answer my questions when I get back. I want to know what the cops know. If he can’t talk, he’s of no use to me.”

  She’d wondered why he’d gone to the trouble of taking both her and Bryson instead of killing him at the Brodericks’. Now she knew it was because he wanted to interrogate him.

  “Today caught me off guard, I gotta admit,” he continued. “I’m not really prepared. Don’t have my…supplies handy. But don’t you worry. I remember everything you like. I’ll make sure I come back with just the right stuff.” He leaned closer, pressing his face against the glass. “How’s my mark on your belly looking?”

  She automatically pressed her hand against her stomach, her entire body shaking as she stared at him. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks in spite of her efforts to hold them back.

  His grin widened, his bright white teeth sparkling in the light. “Don’t worry. I’ll freshen it up a bit, make sure it hasn’t…faded, since our la
st meeting.” He chuckled and hopped off the porch, the flashlight’s beam bouncing across the gravel as he headed toward the truck.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  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.