by Lori Foster
But appreciated. “Wise choice.” He waited for theatrics, for that scream that didn’t come. Cautious, Dare eyed her. “I can let you go without more violence?”
She gave one jerky nod.
Slowly, he sat up and levered himself out of the van. She didn’t move. She didn’t look capable of moving.
Stripping off his shirt, he used it to clean the blood from his busted nose.
What to do now? If he went to the front desk to register them, would she try to skip out on him? Dare could see that she wasn’t yet herself, didn’t have much left of strength or composure. If panic sent her running, she wouldn’t get far, and could end up right back in trouble again.
But he couldn’t very well traipse her into the motel with him.
For one thing…she reeked.
Not that he held that against her. Thanks to the conditions he’d found her in, personal cleanliness would have been impossible. But to add to that, the space they’d provided her hadn’t been much better than a dump. He’d seen rat holes near the moldy mattress they’d supplied her, as well as a variety of bugs crawling around.
For another, she wore only a long T-shirt that didn’t quite reach her very dirty, scuffed knees, with another oversized man’s button-up shirt over it. The clothes dwarfed her small body, looking absurd. Mud and more caked her bare feet. Her brown hair looked like it had been through a blender.
While he tried to sort out his next move, she slowly sat upright, holding tightly to the back of the seat for balance. She swallowed convulsively. “Do you have anything to drink?”
Without a word, he opened the front passenger door and fetched a bottle of water from the floor. Knowing she was weak, he opened the cap and handed it to her.
He started to caution her about guzzling, but she didn’t. She sipped, made a sound of pleasure, sipped again. “Oh, God, that’s good. My throat is so dry, I think I could drink a river.”
“No problem.”
Sitting back against the seat, she closed her eyes, but only for a moment. “What day is it?”
Fascinating. Little by little, she pulled it together, and instead of hysterics, she wanted to make sense of the situation. Dare admired that—because it’s what he would have done. “March ninth. Monday.”
As if that made her head pound, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “They’ve…they’ve had me for nine days?” Lower, more to herself, she said, “I lost track, but…it felt so much longer.”
Dare gave a low whistle in surprise. Nine days—and she was still alive? Unheard of. Captured women were not kept around that long, because hanging on to them upped the risk of being caught. “You were in that same trailer the whole time?”
“The whole time.” Struggling with emotion, she sipped again, rolled her lips in and turned toward him. “I’m sorry about your nose. I wasn’t sure…”
“Don’t worry about it.” In his line of work, he’d had worse injuries. Already it had stopped bleeding, and probably wouldn’t even bruise.
For some reason, his reassurance made her look ready to cry. But she rallied. “I’m still a little woozy. I haven’t eaten for days.” She touched her hair and flinched. “God knows I need a shower. And a real bed would be like heaven.” She took a few more sips, swallowing painfully.
Dare watched her, impressed that she showed great intelligence in not gulping the water, which would probably have made her barf.
She scrubbed at a bruised eye with a small fist, then sighed. “I can’t very well be seen like this. Humiliation left me long ago, but it would raise too many questions.” She looked at him for a solution.
“I can check us in.” With each passing second, he grew confident that she wouldn’t skip out. She was more clear-headed, more reasonable than he could have hoped for, given what Alani had told him.
Again she sipped, and Dare knew it was to buy herself some time, to think for a quiet moment.
Holding the bottle tight, she drew a breath. “I have money, Mr….?”
“Just call me Dare.” He didn’t share his name, or his identity, lightly. He still didn’t know enough about her to trust her.
After a nod, she stuck out a dirty hand with chipped fingernails. “Molly Alexander.”
Ridiculous. But Dare took her very small hand in his. “Molly.”
Even though she’d initiated the handshake, his hold must have alarmed her; she drew back after barely touching him. “I have money to reimburse you, Dare. I promise. But obviously…not on me. For reasons I’d sooner go into later, I don’t want to involve the police in any of this.”
Interesting. What secrets could this skinny bit of a woman be hiding? “Ditto on hospitals?”
“Definitely.” She shrunk away at just the thought. “No hospitals.”
If she went to the hospital, they’d need a name, and then they’d want to call the police. Why didn’t she want them involved?
“You’ve been drugged.” Dare wondered what they’d given her, and if there would be any side effects. “You know, Molly, you could be sick, hurt—”
“No, not hurt.”
Her definition of hurt differed greatly from his. With a raised brow he eyed several bruises and scrapes on her delicate skin. “Someone hit you. More than once.”
Her eyes clouded again, and her voice went gruff. “Yes, and it was the worst experience of my entire life. But I’ll be fine.”
“Are you convincing me, or yourself?”
“I will be. I promise.”
Lots of promises, Dare thought. He glanced down at his bloodied, ruined shirt, and tossed it toward an overflowing garbage container in the parking lot. Intending to find a new shirt, he reached around her for his overnight bag.
Gasping, she covered her face and scuttled back into the corner of the seat. But she almost immediately caught herself and sat up again as if in challenge.
Unwilling to press her, Dare paused. “We’re on the same side, remember?”
Pained, she closed her eyes and nodded.
Gutsy little thing, he decided. He pulled on the fresh shirt and then waited, arms crossed. If she didn’t want to pass out in the van, she’d have to hurry it up and make a decision. Already she looked on the verge of keeling over.
After swaying from what looked like a wave of dizziness, she cleared her throat. “If you could arrange for a room tonight, I’d be really, really grateful.”
“I could do that.” Her continued formality confounded him. Most women would be babbling and crying for their mommy or daddy, or maybe a husband. Did Molly have a husband, a significant other?
Avoiding his gaze, she rolled her lips in again, took a few deep breaths and then whispered, “One room please, but perhaps with two beds.” Tears welled, and she blinked them away before saying in a voice broken by fear, “God’s truth, I don’t want to be alone right now.”
NOW THAT SHE WAS safely inside a small but clean motel room, Molly tried to organize her thoughts. In order to keep from collapsing, she had to prioritize her most immediate needs, which were food, clothes, sleep, shower…
One glance down at herself, and she shuddered. Shower first, definitely. Now that she was free, she wasn’t about to spend even one more night sleeping in her own filth. And as hungry as she was, she refused to eat with such dirty hands.
Mustering her flagging courage, she turned to Dare. He was so damn big, and very gruff. Seeing him without his shirt when they were still in the parking lot should have alarmed her; even in the moonlight, she’d detected several scars over his chest, rib cage and shoulders that looked like healed knife and bullet wounds. Even now that he was dressed again, doing no more than settling into the room, he looked powerful, with noticeable strength.
But after being threatened endlessly for nine days by the most corrupt animals imaginable, Molly knew foul intent when she saw it.
Dare wasn’t foul. She had the feeling he used his incredible strength to protect, not to inflict pain. Though he hadn’t been sent for her, had no promises o
f payment for his efforts, he’d rescued her rather than leave her behind.
And now, whether he realized it yet or not, he was stuck with her.
She would pay him—once she got his agreement to keep her safe. “Excuse me, please, but if I could impose further…”
“Look.” The big man turned away from the twin bed where he’d set a battered leather overnight bag. “Enough with the proper bullshit. You’ve been through hell, yes?”
Blue eyes, fringed by the thickest lashes, took her measure. The pulling of his black brows drove home just how disgusting her physical state was right now.
Molly nodded. “Absolutely.” Hell times ten. Never in her wildest imagination—and as many could attest, her imagination could be pretty wild at times—had she envisioned the awful scenario she’d survived.
But she had survived it. And now she had to figure out how to proceed while still protecting herself.
“I don’t need you to be formal.” He set the bottle of water on the nightstand by her. “I don’t need you to put on a good front, either. You’re a small woman, probably not weighing more than a buck ten.”
Molly glanced down at herself. She’d always weighed one twenty-five, but now…she just didn’t know. She had lost weight. But that much?
“You’re hurt,” Dare continued, “and hungry, tired, dehydrated and pretty damn dirty.”
Absurdly close to tears again, Molly scowled. “Your point?”
“If you want to fall apart, feel free. I sure as hell won’t judge you, and it’ll stay between us.”
How kind that Dare would offer to keep her confidences for her. “No, thank you.” She hadn’t survived that hell just to crumple up now. “I’ll be fine.”
He folded muscled arms over an equally muscled chest. Beard shadow roughened his jaw. His knuckles looked as if they’d recently struck something—or someone.
She sincerely hoped it was one of the pigs who’d treated her so badly.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “But I need you to drink that bottle of water, and then another after that. Slowly.”
Right. Water would be good—if only her stomach weren’t so jumpy.
“And the phony, unaffected act has got to go.”
Fresh anger wrung through her already aching muscles. “Look, buster, I’m not going to lose it now, got that?” She chugged a few sips of water and returned the bottle to the small table between the beds. Then she clutched it for support. Her knees wobbled; her voice went husky. “I’ve held it together this long, and not for you, not for anyone, am I going to let those miserable bastards break me down.”
One brow lifted in surprise as Dare studied her for long, silent moments, and then he shook his head with annoyance. “Sit down before you fall down.”
She didn’t take orders well, but this time she gladly sat. It required all her willpower not to sprawl back on the bed and just fade into oblivion. But if she did that, she’d wake just as dirty, and it turned her stomach to even think it.
Dare stopped in front of her. He examined the bottle of water and must have been satisfied—so far. “What do you want to do first?”
“Shower.” She needed to be clean again. “Oh, God, I want a shower.”
“I’ll get it started for you.” He hesitated. “Can you manage on your own?”
Her heart almost stopped. “Yes, of course.”
Still he didn’t move away. He crouched down in front of her, and his powerful thighs strained the material of faded denim. Those blue eyes were eerily intense as he studied her face. “You’re safe with me, Molly.”
“I… I know.” She sensed that much. She just didn’t have the wherewithal to start asking questions yet. Priorities, priorities.
“If you need help—”
“I’d stay dirty first.” She was quite certain about that. No way would she invite a man to bathe her. She shuddered at the thought.
His mouth flattened. “Suit yourself.” He straightened and started toward the tiny bathroom. “While you’re in there, I’m going to run across the street to grab you something to wear. I’m guessing a size six?”
Something to wear. Like her own personal angel, he would buy her clean clothes to put on after her shower.
God bless the man.
Those blasted tears threatened again, clogging Molly’s throat, making her nose feel stuffy. “Yes,” she croaked out around a giant lump of emotion. “Anything simple would be…wonderful. Something for my feet, too, please. Size seven. I’m not picky.”
She heard the water start, and through the open door she saw Dare set out towels, open the packaged soap, the shampoo and conditioner.
So remarkably considerate.
Her empty stomach cramped and recoiled, but she couldn’t think of food just yet. She tried a little more water, knowing he was right, that she had to get some fluids back into her system.
Moving with a silent grace uncommon to a man so large, he came back into the room. “I’ll get you a toothbrush, too. Anything else?”
There were so many things she needed that she couldn’t fathom a list just yet. Her dry and cracked lips hurt when she licked them. “Something bland to eat?”
“Already thought of that.” He paused by the door. “You sure you’ll be okay until I get back?”
After what she’d survived, no way would she risk herself in any way. “I’ll be very careful. If I get dizzy, I’ll shut off the water and just sit in the tub.”
Reluctant still, he stood there, and finally agreed with a nod. “Don’t put the chain on the door.”
As he spoke, he walked over to the desk to retrieve his belongings, including a big black gun and a very lethal-looking knife that folded together. The gun went into a holster at his back, fastened to the waistband of his jeans. He slipped the knife into a pocket, then covered the gun with the hem of his shirt. He treated the weapons as casually as he did his wallet and cell phone, fascinating Molly.
It would make her nervous just to touch either one.
He stopped in front of her again. “If you pass out, I want to be able to get in without breaking anything and causing a scene.”
“Okay.”
“I won’t be gone long,” he cautioned. “So don’t linger in there.”
If he didn’t leave soon, she’d be asleep before she could hit the shower. “No, I won’t.”
Using the edge of a fist, he brought her chin up so that she had to look at him. “You’re weaker than you realize.”
On the contrary, she was stronger than she’d ever imagined. But his concern was nice, so she only reiterated, “I’ll be fine.”
Frustration palpable, he ran a hand through short brown hair, nodded once and walked out.
He’d wanted to say more to her, Molly knew. He didn’t understand her lack of questions, her acceptance of him as her rescuer. But he didn’t push her, and she appreciated his restraint. Right now, all she could manage was the direst of necessities. And thinking that…
It took a lot of effort to drag herself up to her feet again, but she did it. The ragged, torn and stained shirts came over her head and with sublime satisfaction she stuffed them into the garbage can by the desk. Never again would those disgusting scraps of material touch her body.
She’d been denied underwear of any kind, so removing the shirts left her naked. One glance down at herself and Molly saw evidence of her ordeal in places she hadn’t considered. She remembered the rough treatment, being jerked, shoved, hit… Her breath caught.
No, she was away from there now, and she wouldn’t dwell on it.
Anxious for the long-denied comfort of warm water, she stepped into the shower’s spray.
Oh, heaven.
Though her every muscle trembled and the most pervasive weakness dragged at her, never had she appreciated a shower more. Lathering the soap into a washcloth, Molly scrubbed all over, determined to wash away the disgust she still felt.
She had to hurry to finish before the last of her strength waned. Already
she felt faint, sick to her stomach, her knees quaking.
Lack of sleep provided a perpetual headache that burned behind her eyes and left her hollow.
With her skin now clean, she opened her mouth, filled it with fresh water, swished and spit, then used the cloth to clean her teeth as best she could.
She had to lean against the tiled wall to rest for a minute. Her head pounded with so many impossible problems for the future. But for now, for this moment, she was safe.
Safe. There had been times when she’d thought…when she’d been sure that they would kill her. They’d taken great pleasure in taunting her, slapping her, keeping her uncertain and on edge. Sleep had come in only fitful spurts, because sleep left her vulnerable to their intent—whatever their intent had been.
Her hands knotted into fists. Fear curdled with a rage so bright it sustained her. She struggled to fill her lungs with air, to beat down the raw panic that had accompanied her since being abducted.
So much to think about…but for now, she had only to worry about finishing her shower. Then eating.
And then sleeping without the fear of never waking again.
She drew one more breath before picking up the shampoo with a shaking hand. So many tangles knotted her hair that she decided she’d cut it—after it was clean—rather than brush them out. She lathered, rinsed, then lathered again. She refused to look down at the tub to see what had washed out of her hair.
Emptying the entire tiny bottle of conditioner onto her head, she worked it through, rinsed, and then…she had nothing left. No strength. No reserve. She couldn’t even dry herself. She barely got a towel around her hair and another around her body.
Stumbling back into the main room, Molly hit the bed hard, snuggled in and literally passed out.
CHAPTER TWO
DARE CAME IN QUIETLY, saw her curled on the bed and frowned. The towel barely covered her, and with her knees pulled up, he would get one hell of a peep show if he moved to the foot of the bed.
Not that he would. In many cases he lacked scruples; it was a hazard of the job. But with women, with this woman, he wasn’t about to take advantage. Despite her bravado and commonsense reaction to her nightmare, he’d never seen anyone more emotionally fragile.