Trapped by a Dangerous Man

by Cleo Peitsche

  Damn, I thought as one of my pajama legs unrolled and I almost slipped. The most romantic moment of my life, and I’m dressed like a homeless person. Corbin easily kept me upright, not missing a beat.

  The song ended, and Corbin danced me back to the bottom of the stairs. “Ginger’s got nothing on you, lover,” he said as he lifted me onto the bottom step.

  I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “So, like I was saying. Fred and Ginger. I think I’ve got some animated movies, too, if that’s your thing. Balance out the cannibals.”

  A beeping noise came from the kitchen.

  “Oven’s warm. I’m heating leftovers. Interested?”

  I nodded because, well, why not? Better to gorge myself on Corbin’s delicious food and put off the moment when I was eating undercooked ramen in my kitchen again. “Where did you learn to cook?” I asked as I followed him into the kitchen.

  “At first, watching my mom. Then I went to school for it. New York and Paris.”

  “Paris. Sounds romantic.”

  He shot me a curious glance. “Never been?”

  “I went to Tijuana once. Pretty much the same thing, right?”

  “Pretty much.” He grinned.

  I liked that he got my sense of humor. Sometimes people just looked at me like I was insane. “I probably shouldn’t ask again why you stopped doing the chef thing…”

  “Things came up. Stories too dark for a night like tonight.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why is there a bounty on you?”

  “Shouldn’t you have found that out earlier, before you—”

  “Opened my legs for you? Yes, I probably should have.”

  The oven beeped again, and Corbin placed the pasta casserole inside. “I was going to say before you came out here to capture me. If it hadn’t been me, and if there hadn’t been a storm…” He shook his head. “Audrey, this could have ended so badly.” He stepped closer to me. “Promise me you won’t do something stupid like this again.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because you’re special. I don’t spank just anyone, you know.”

  He said it lightly, but for some reason his words annoyed me. I didn’t like the idea of him cooking for another woman, dancing with another woman. And I really didn’t like the idea of anyone else underneath him in bed. I had no right to be jealous, but I was, and that made me angry. “After I collect the bounty on you, I’ll probably have enough to retire.”

  His look hardened. “You never had a chance at taking me, and believe me, you don’t now.”

  “The sex wasn’t that good.”

  “Yes, it was, but that’s not what I meant. There’s a reason I’m wanted. What if I told you I’d killed five people in the last year alone?”

  “Yeah right.” I laughed.

  “You need to be careful. You don’t know me.”

  “No, but I know that you are not a killer, Corbin.” I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Nervous, I pushed my hands under his shirt, moving over his warm, warm body.

  “You sure about that? In your heart of hearts, do you believe it?”

  “You don’t cook like one, or dance like one, and you damned sure don’t fuck like a killer.”

  He caught my head between his hands, and his eyes searched mine. “Don’t I, Audrey?” There wasn’t a trace of humor in him, and I stifled a tremor.

  “No,” I said, looking away. “You… probably some white collar bullshit. Stole money from the wrong people.”

  He shook his head, and I jerked away, took two steps back and stared at him. He returned my gaze. There wasn’t an ounce of apology there.

  “I’m an assassin,” he said simply. He sighed and looked out the window.

  “What? How? Why?” I shook my head. “I don’t believe you.” It almost sounded like the truth.

  When he faced me again, his eyes were joyless and distant. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me along with him. My pajamas unrolled, and I slipped on them, tried to hold them up, but Corbin didn’t slow.

  We went through a spacious dining room, a den, then a long dark passageway. Corbin swatted the wall, and lights flickered on. We passed a room full of nonperishable foodstuffs. Corbin dropped my arm and punched a code into a keypad, too fast for me to see it, then he swung a door open.

  Cold air rushed out of the room. He reached in and turned on the lights. “Go on,” he said. “Take a look under the bench.”

  I entered hesitantly. It was some kind of office-slash-workroom that might have previously been a large patio but was now completely walled in. Along the closest wall was a laptop hooked up to four monitors. I glanced at Corbin, wanting to make a crack about him being a computer nerd, but one look at his serious expression and the taunt died on my tongue.

  The table he had suggested I check out was along the longest wall. It was like something straight out of shop class, with parallel clamps and hacksaws.

  Underneath were several identical steamer trunks. I squatted. The trunk before me was held closed with an open padlock, which I unhooked and carefully set on the table, avoiding the moment I’d have to look inside. I used one finger to flip open the hasp, then froze.

  Whatever was in there was going to change my… everything.

  Corbin came up behind me. “Move.”

  I scrambled out of the way, standing behind him, my arms folded tight across my chest. He pushed buttons on either side of the trunk, then lifted the lid.

  Inside was a gleaming row of assorted handguns. Even though my father did his best to send me on jobs that didn’t require anything more than a flyswatter, thanks to his tutelage, I was at least familiar with most of the weapons I’d be likely to come across. I didn’t recognize a single gun in that trunk.

  I covered my hand with the long sleeve of my borrowed sweater and picked up the only gun that looked remotely familiar. Possibly a SIG Pro variant, but the lightest gun I’d ever handled. “What is this?”

  “A prototype that I liberated from its owner.” He took it from me and placed it carefully back in the trunk.

  I frowned, confused. “Why?” I wasn’t asking why he had guns; my question was bigger than that, and Corbin understood.

  “Why do you hunt bounties?” He slammed the top down but didn’t bother with the lock. “So. Now you see.”

  “But you only shoot bad people, right?” I knew I sounded foolish, that I was being childish, but I didn’t care. I so desperately wanted him to be something different.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Right. Only bad people. Now get out.” When I didn’t move right away, he jumped up, looming over me. “Get out!”

  I hurried out of the room, and Corbin slammed the door behind me. I stood in the hall, unsure what had just happened, but it only took a few seconds for reality to come crashing down on me. Corbin was a stranger. Corbin had a hell of a big bounty.

  Damn it! How fucking stupid was I? I knew what he was. I’d seen flashes of a monster in him. Just because he dressed nicely and had learned a few civilized tricks didn’t mean he was human.

  But… he had saved me. And when he lectured me about the danger of coming after him, he’d seemed to genuinely care. I remembered the expression on his face when he’d sent me away. His eyes hadn’t been cold. Furious, yes… and scary enough to set my knees trembling, but he wasn’t cold.

  Whatever he was, whatever he was doing, he wasn’t a sociopath. Sociopaths didn’t help strangers, especially if it would endanger them. No, he wasn’t that. But he couldn’t be allowed to go free.

  I needed help, but there was the matter of Rob being tailed, too. Breaking the truce was one thing, but I couldn’t let anything happen to my brother. If I passed along the number that Corbin had called, my brother could get somewhere safe until Corbin’s hench-buddy was located.

  I hastily rolled up the bottoms of my pajamas again and hurried up to the bedroom. Corbin’s jeans were still in a pile next to the bed. I found his cell phone in a pocket.

  The only re
cent call was the one where I’d dialed the office and then hung up before it connected. Nothing after that.

  Corbin had been bluffing.

  I sagged onto the bed, the fight drained out of me. I didn’t know what to do. Nothing in my life had prepared me for the complexity of this moment.

  Corbin was, on some level, a monster. He’d admitted it. There weren’t any shades of gray around that. If I looked the other way, if I let him go, he would kill again, and that would be on my conscience. If I took him in, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

  The lights flickered. I sat up straight, then relaxed. False alarm. They flickered again, this time for longer, and then went out. The house had been quiet, but now it was completely still. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  I returned the cell phone to the jeans and blindly made my way to the door. The stairs were to my right, and there was nothing to run into or to trip over, but I hesitated. It was the idea of stepping into darkness, trusting that the solid steps would be there. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that the stairs were interrupted by those platforms; if I fell, I wouldn’t be able to get any serious momentum going.

  “Corbin?” My voice seemed to hang in the darkness. With a sigh, I felt for the banister, and once I had it, I followed it to the top of the steps.

  It was so amazingly dark. I’d never been a fan of the dark. Reminded me of too many childhood nightmares.

  My breath sounded strangely loud, and maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I could hear the rush of my heart pumping blood through my ears. I made it to the first landing, took a deep breath and continued to the second landing. Walking in the dark wasn’t so bad, and I shook a little tension out of my arms before descending the last and longest stretch of stairs.

  Every step felt like it had to be the last one, but every time, there was another one. I mumbled a curse. I was breathing heavily, and I started to laugh because I sounded like a phone pervert.

  The pajamas unrolled as I stepped, but I didn’t quite manage to balance right. The hand on the banister wouldn’t let go fast enough. My legs went one way, my torso got partially twisted around, and I fell on my ass and slid the last few steps.

  But at least I manage to get my feet straight out. I was on solid floor, so to speak. “Corbin!”

  Nothing.

  It was far too quiet. The backup generator wasn’t working. “What the hell?” I mumbled. Had he cut the power? Was he gone? I staggered to my feet, my anger at having been tricked fueling me, and I tried to navigate my way to the long hall that led to his assassin’s lair.

  My foot met something hard, then I banged my knee, too. Furniture popped up where it wasn’t supposed to be, and I realized I was turned completely around. The sound of my own panicked breathing thundered in my ears, too fast, too hard.

  Each inhalation felt like I was trying to catch up, and I was already feeling woozy. I felt like I was in a coffin, like the entire house had condensed itself into my own personal grave, and I could practically feel the roof brushing the top of my head. I gave up trying to control my breathing. If I could just get to a wall, and follow it, I could find a door or a window…

  I flung out my hands, and my fingers brushed against something that fell to the floor with a loud crash.

  A door flew open. I turned toward the sound and saw the faintest light.

  “Corbin!” My voice sounded all wrong, like I’d seen a ghost. “Please.” My plea cut off with a gasp.

  I didn’t see him, but suddenly he was there, scooping me up. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held tight, too scared to care that I was making a total fool of myself.

  “Shh. It’s ok.” Glass crunched under his feet as he carried me to the couch and carefully lowered me. “It’s ok, Audrey. The power went out.”

  I grabbed onto his shirt, stopping him from straightening up. When he realized my state of mind, he didn’t try to peel me off of him. “I’m going to get some lights, ok? I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Ok.”

  “You have to let me go, Audrey,” he said gently.

  It took a superhuman effort, but I willed my fists to unclench. Corbin kept a hand on my leg and I could tell he was feeling around for something with his other hand. A moment later, he pulled a small blanket over me. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Ok,” I whispered, my voice shaky. I closed my eyes, then put my hand over them for good measure.

  Corbin wasn’t gone long, and when he returned, he brought light with him. He set a lantern on the coffee table, and I exhaled shakily. I really didn’t like the dark.

  “There’s a generator—”

  “Is there?” I pointedly stared at one of the dead lamps.

  “I keep it on a delay. Rest assured that it will kick in if the power doesn’t come back in a few hours. We won’t freeze. I’ve got half a garage full of wood to burn. Lanterns and flashlights. We’ve got candles. You’re far better off here than your apartment.”

  “Maybe I don’t live in an apartment.”

  Corbin smiled wearily. “Then you need to update your driver’s license. I’m going to get wood.”

  I would have offered to go with him, but I needed a few moments to pull myself together.

  By the time Corbin built a fire big enough that I wasn’t worried it would go out, I felt like myself again. It helped that after Corbin cleaned up the vase I’d broken, he had lit candles along the walkways to the kitchen and up the stairs. He sat next to me on the sofa and inspected his feet for broken glass. After applying a few adhesive bandages, he leaned forward, his elbows and forearms on his long thighs. His fingers were loosely laced together. “Bad news.”

  What could be worse than being snowbound with a possibly kindhearted murderer who I was insanely attracted to? “Bad news has to come with good news or I won’t listen.”

  “Ok. The good news is that I only have one piece of bad news.”

  “Very funny.”

  He frowned. “There’s another storm moving in.”

  Relief and worry warred in my stomach. “So we’re stuck here for how much longer?” I could disappear for a day or two, but eventually someone would start to worry, and I wasn’t looking forward to answering questions about what I’d done during the blizzard.

  “I’ve got a plane to catch,” Corbin said. “7:00. When I called the truce until 5:00, that was the reason. I should have flown out this morning, but everything was shut down. I absolutely can’t miss tomorrow’s plane.”

  “Or what?”

  He lowered his head, the furrow in his brow deepening. “Or things in my life get very complicated.”

  “Why would you tell me that? If you manage to get away from me—”

  He laughed bitterly. “Unless I drive you somewhere, you’re stuck in the house until Browning comes by.”

  I sat up. “Browning is real? This isn’t your house?”

  He shrugged slightly. “It’s complicated. And I see that you know Browning’s name.”

  It was easy to ignore an indirect question. “Does he know you’re here?”

  “No.”

  “Did you steal his truck? Is he…?”

  Corbin leveled his gaze at me. “No, he doesn’t know I’m here, but he wouldn’t be shocked if he found out.”

  “I thought it was an alias. And not a very good one. I mean, come on…”

  His laugh surprised me. “Not so easy to buy a house and car under an alias. At least, not for me.”

  Since he seemed to be in a talkative mood, I decided to see what I could pull out. “How long have you been…” The words stuck in my throat. “An assassin. How long?”

  “Long enough.” He rose and went into the kitchen. While he was casual about it, the timing was too convenient. Oh well. I decided to use the bathroom, and I took a candle with me for light.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. In the flickering candlelight, my features didn’t look like my own. I seemed less predictable, like a woman with a secret. I
smiled, and the expression was strangely lethal.

  Who was I? A woman who had fucked a killer. Did he count as a serial killer? Did he get some deviant pleasure out of his job?

  Did I get one out of my job? It was something that had often worried me. Even though I considered that my family’s business offered a public service—rounding up deadbeats, finding people (though too often for a bail bondsman who my father rarely turned down)—I couldn’t deny the fact that our father enjoyed hunting criminals. He liked thinking like them, outwitting and beating them.

  At a Fourth of July barbecue when I was 13 or 14, my father had gotten uncharacteristically drunk. Well, it was typical for when one of his dysfunctional relationships was ending, which was the case at that time. And he was argumentative, looking to pick a fight. He got into a debate with one of his contacts at the police department about the possibility that if he had been raised in different circumstances, he would have been a criminal.

  It was a philosophy I’d heard many times before, and I sat there, embarrassed, while my brother was off making out with some girl and the other kids my age were likewise as far from the adults as possible.

  “I can do what they do. It’s in my genes, and I’ve studied it all my life. I do what they do, but while following a strict set of guidelines,” my father had said, his eyes gleaming. “I can catch them with one hand tied behind my back. If I’d been a criminal, I would have been uncatchable.”

  The police officer had made a few jokes about my father smoking pot, and the conversation turned to other things. I, however, had pondered my father’s declaration for some time. If it was in his genes, that meant it was in mine, too. He had studied it, and he had forced us to study it.

  I suddenly wondered if one of the reasons Dad kept me apart from the truly juicy work was because he didn’t want me to learn. Rob didn’t have that problem; he wasn’t very ambitious. He just wanted to do the minimum, collect his check and spend his free time screwing girls and getting high.

  But I was different. I wanted to be better. I was driven to understand. My entire life, I’d fantasized about collecting a bounty larger than anything my father had done. Though he was in his early fifties, because of the grueling nature of the work, my father was nearing retirement age for bounty hunters, and Martha loudly expressed her desire to see the world before they were too old to enjoy it. He didn’t work the hours he used to, and he didn’t focus on the same sorts of targets as before. That didn’t mean he’d turned into a glorified repo man. However, he often reminisced about the good old days. He talked about some of the men he’d worked with—and they were all men—and the fugitives they had helped capture.