He slid his pants to the floor and stepped in behind her, taking the washcloth from her hand and lathering it until the fabric disappeared under the foam. One arm slipped around her waist, holding her against him while he washed her body. Sara leaned against him, and Kale felt her hips twitching in response to the hard cock pressing against her ass.
He kept her waiting, wanting to prolong the anticipation. Listening to her mewls of need while he stroked her skin with the soapy cloth, Kale almost lost it a few times. His desire ratcheted higher and tighter, until he couldn’t wait any longer. Shutting off the water, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body. He moved his hands across the towel, hoping the fabric insulation would stave off his pounding cock for at least long enough to get them both dry.
What he didn’t expect was Sara’s initiative.
She stepped around him to get another towel, but her true plan was to drive him insane. Kale groaned when she dropped to her knees and blotted the water beading his legs. As she worked her way up his body, moving from one leg to the other, then back again, Kale was coming undone. His head throbbed in sync with the pulse of his cock, every inch of him dying to touch her, fill her, and pump inside her until she screamed his name.
Her towel moved to his thighs, then higher. She rubbed the rough fabric against his hipbones, lifted her body until his erection bobbed in front of her face.
Kale held his breath.
Sara dropped the towel and took him in hand. Both hands surrounded him. She licked the head and his whole body jerked. Air left his lungs in a rush, and Kale chanted in his head, clamping down to keep from coming from just the feel of her tongue on him.
Her mouth opened and Sara took him deep. Kale’s neck lost the ability to keep his head upright, and he groaned to the ceiling, loving the feel of her lips around him, sucking him deep and swallowing against him. At this rate, he’d be finished before they could leave the bathmat.
Kale dug his fingers under her hair, grasping her skull to stop the momentum. “Sara, stop. I can’t hold on. I don’t want to fill your mouth, honey.”
“I want to make you feel good, Kale.”
“I know, baby. Come to the bed with me.”
Chapter 19
Kale leaned close to the front window, watching the car sitting across from their driveway. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t get a clear view of the man inside, but he hadn’t seen movement in the five minutes he’d been watching. Everybody moved a little while sitting stakeout.
“Sara, honey, I need you to do something for me,” he said, turning to watch her come down the hall wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt.
“Again? I thought you were finished, Kale.”
She smiled at him with that come-get-me look of hers, and he had to close his eyes. Clarity. Just a few minutes of mental clarity, unclouded by desire.
“Not more sex, honey.” He took her arm and steered her back down the hall. “I need to go check on the man watching our house.”
“Kale, no. I don’t think it’s safe. What if something happens to you while you’re out there?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Isn’t there some other way? Do you have a phone number for him?”
Kale blew out a breath. “No. And I tried to get him in sight with binoculars, but the angle isn’t good.” He settled his hands on her shoulders and held her gaze. “I can handle this, honey. I’ve been in this line of work for three years. Trust me.”
“Can I help?”
“Yes, darlin’. I have a special job for you.” He turned into one of the extra bedrooms and she followed, stopping near the bed, her toe tapping on the carpet. Even without sound, he knew she wasn’t too happy with him. “Not what you think, Sara.”
“What am I thinking, sugar?”
She was still not liking what she was seeing, obviously.
“You are not sticking me in a closet to hide.”
Kale stepped into the closet, turned back to Sara, and reached for her hand. “Come here, Sara. I need to show you something.”
She let him pull her into the closet, her feet sliding across the carpet like she was dragging a fifty-pound puppy, but she crossed the threshold. “What is so important about this closet?”
Kale took her hand and slid it along the shelf on the left side of the small space. Her eyes widened and she looked up at him. “What the hell?”
“Push down, Sara.”
She did as told and the shelf unit moved into the space, bumping her knee. Kale tugged on the open end, and a light came on behind the unit.
“Go inside. Riley and I built this safe room ourselves. No one knows about it. You’ll be safe and comfortable in here until I get back.”
“And if you don’t come back?”
She was the most exasperating woman he’d ever met, but he loved her to pieces. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”
She stepped deeper into the room they’d built, and Kale pointed out the compact fridge and tiny bathroom. He gave her a quick kiss and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Striding down the hall, Kale picked up his binoculars and took another look at the NSA agent watching the house. He still hadn’t moved. With a quick check of his duty pistol, he was out the back door. No point in advertising his errand. There were enough trees behind the house to make his careful exit worthwhile. Once he made the back fence, he slipped through the gate and followed the fence line to the other side of their neighbor’s yard. From there, he dropped down to the road.
About the time Kale made the pavement, he realized his mistake. When he locked Sara in the closet, he forgot to show her the release mechanism. She was truly locked in until he got back. He’d be in hot water when he returned, but he had other worries on his mind.
Nothing had changed. Kale scooped up a newspaper from one of his neighbors and crossed the street, walking with purpose, a man out for a quiet stroll, eyes taking in the scenery. And every nuance of movement, what little there was to detect. He slowed nearing the parked car, then stopped at the driver’s door.
The man was slumped to the side, no visible wound, no blood. Kale checked for a pulse. Weak, but there. Breathing was shallow. He was alive, but barely. Kale made a quick 911 call, requesting police and ambulance, eyes darting from his home to the surrounding area. As soon as he knew emergency crews were on their way, he jogged up his own driveway, the need to get back to Sara raging. Someone had disabled the guard, and she was alone in the house. At least he knew she couldn’t get out of the safe room without his help.
Fuck.
The front door was open, just a crack, but he’d checked the lock before he left. Soundlessly lifting his pistol from its holster, Kale began a systematic search of the house.
* * * *
Sara sat. Sara fumed.
Sara berated herself for getting in the closet in the first place. His intentions were obvious, but she let him have his way, and now she was stuck in a tiny, well, not exactly tiny, but small, room with a few old issues of hunting magazines, a two-year-old copy of a sports magazine with half-naked women on the cover, and a minifridge filled with bottled water and beer.
The shelf above the refrigerator offered a variety of snacks, all having a shelf life of eons. Kale must have been in charge of stocking emergency supplies. He was a junk food junkie, where Riley was more of a natural-foods, healthy-chef kind of guy.
Sara helped herself to a little prepackaged, fat-filled snack and a bottle of water while wondering what kind of trouble Kale was getting into. She should’ve insisted she tag along.
No turning back now.
She didn’t even have her watch on, so she had no idea how long he’d been gone. What if something happened to him and he needed help?
Her nerves were fried, and eating didn’t help. Neither did pacing. Finally confronting her fear, Sara leaned against the sliding panel, pushing the section that opened.
Nothing.
She reached for the spot she
’d pressed to enter, but from the inside, the latch couldn’t be activated.
Cursing a blue streak, mainly wishing all sorts of punishment on Kale, she searched the area for a similar release mechanism to get her out of the closet.
She was well and surely stuck until one of them returned to let her out. Sara reclaimed the chair, tore open another fat-filled, angel-of-death snack, and leaned her head on the wall.
All she could do now was wait.
Whoever wrote “The Sound of Silence” must have spent some serious time in a safe room. The non-noise was abrading her sanity.
Disgusted with her own sense of boredom, Sara picked up one of the magazines and flipped through it, skimming titles and pictures, not really focusing on any one thing. Pictures of sports equipment, sports cars, and swimsuit models just didn’t catch her attention. She rose and paced the small space, hoping to see something worth attending to while Kale was doing his spy thing. She opened a cabinet on the other end of the room, hoping to find a decent book or a snack that didn’t have a shelf life into the next millennium.
Two holstered pistols and a box of bullets glared up at her. At least she knew the men were well armed. Sara picked one up, slid it out of the leather holder, and weighed it in the palm of her hand. Not too heavy for a revolver. It had been years since she fired a gun. Her dad always wanted a son, and for a while she was enough of a tomboy to fit the bill. Long ago, but some lessons lingered. She put the gun away, sure Kale wouldn’t appreciate anyone touching his weapons.
More pacing, another attempt at reading, and Sara flopped onto the chair. Waiting was the most tedious occupation in the world.
Goose bumps prickled down her arms and up her spine. Someone was in the house. She could hear, no, feel the vibrations through the floor. It wasn’t much, a minor tremble of shoes on the tile then the hardwood. Almost a scratching sound. She’d never noticed the sound before, but after sitting in silence, Sara had become attuned to the smallest nuance of sound.
Thank God Kale had finally come back to let her out. She inhaled deeply and opened her mouth to shout for him to hurry, but another sound stopped all her good intentions.
Two sets of feet were moving in the room on the other side of her walled-in sanctuary. Scuffling. A shout followed by a groan reverberated in her soul.
Who was fighting? More important, who was hurt?
She froze, her body, her every sense, pensive. Her head began to throb, and she exhaled. Holding her breath wasn’t going to help anyone. She was afraid to move, to call attention to her hiding place. She was afraid waiting in silence would get Kale killed. But there was no way to get out of the room without help. The sound of gunfire brought her to her feet. Frantic, she ran her fingertips over every inch of the doorframe encompassing the moving panel. Nothing. She worked her way across the door and then down an inch and back to where she’d started. The latch had to be somewhere.
Sara found a small indention in the trim molding at the floor and stopped before testing it. There was no way to know what she’d encounter once she got out of this room. She sat back on her heels and covered her face with her hands. Fear and a desire to help Kale battled for a long moment. But self-preservation didn’t have a chance against her love for Kale.
Springing to her feet, she went back to the cabinet drawers and lifted one of the pistols, making sure it was loaded. She rummaged through the other supplies and found extra bullets to put in her pocket, just in case. At the back of the drawer, she lifted a felt pouch. Curious, since it was too small to be a gun, Sara untied the fastening and dumped the contents on the table. Damn. What she’d hoped to be a secret weapon was a remote control. She looked around for a television, half-irritated that she’d missed it earlier. Not one to be seen. Not bothering with the wrapping, she dumped it back into the drawer and approached the sliding panel, preparing to do battle with whoever was on the other side.
She pressed the indentation and waited. No movement. She pressed it again and shoved at the wall. Still nothing.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. It couldn’t be that easy.
Sara stomped her bare feet back to the drawer and pulled out the remote. Pointing it toward the panel, she pushed the on button and heard an audible click.
Time to see who was on the other side.
Chapter 20
Later, Sara was going to strangle Kale for locking her in that room and not telling her how to get out. But right now, she had more important things to do, like saving his ass. She held the gun by her side, next to her hip like she’d seen police officers on television do, and focused on the sounds in the house. As much as she wanted to find Kale, she didn’t relish the thought of being shot. Fear and anger were not her friends right now. She took a minute to lower her heartbeat, breathing in and out slowly while she listened. After the initial click, the door moved without a sound.
The house was quiet.
She slipped into the bedroom and looked around, seeing nothing unusual. Sara channeled her favorite actress on that crime show she loved and tried to remember how the woman moved when searching a house. It looked easy enough on television, but those bullets weren’t real. Sara stayed close to the wall and moved toward the door, listening and watching. The hall was empty, and she still hadn’t heard a sound.
When she got to the end of the hall, she stopped. Riley’s office door was open, as usual, and the living room was empty. Sara went to the office first, since she couldn’t see into it from the hall and she really didn’t want to be surprised by an unwanted guest. No one was visible from the doorway, so she checked behind the desk. Standing next to his chair, she eyed the office phone. Should she or shouldn’t she? Making noise was a bad idea, but getting help couldn’t hurt. She picked up the receiver and dialed 911 then put the handset in the desk drawer and closed it to muffle the sound.
Slow, steady steps took her to the living room then on to the kitchen.
“No.” She stood frozen, shocked to her core.
A body lay on the floor, a puddle of blood on the ceramic tile, the white dress shirt ruined by the growing red stain.
Riley.
Sara screamed as rough arms wrapped around her shoulders. She held tight to the pistol, trying to decide where to shoot, how to disable the man holding her.
“Be still, Sara. I don’t want to hurt you, at least not until I get what I want.”
She squirmed and kicked at his legs but her bare feet were ineffective. Reaching as far up as she could with her left hand, Sara wrapped her fingers around his forearm and dug her nails as deep as she could into his skin.
“Son of a bitch.” He tightened his hold, cursing a blue streak, but she held on.
“What the hell?”
Someone else had joined the fray. Sara didn’t recognize the voice and hoped the police had arrived. The man holding her turned to the new guy, keeping her tight to his body even though she could feel his blood on her palm.
“Let’s get out of here before this hellcat bleeds me dry,” the first intruder said, and Sara realized she had no other choice.
She raised the gun as high as she could and fired across the kitchen before either man could see her intent. The sound of the explosion deafened her, and her arm burned from the sudden recoil. Sure her aim was atrocious, she hoped she hit the man somewhere. Even if she just slowed him down, his buddy might let go of her long enough for her to get a head start.
The man stood staring at her, his hand on his chest. Bright-red blood oozed between his fingers. The one holding her said fuck over and over as his buddy dropped to the ground. The cabinet behind him was splattered with blood, part of the wooden door splintered to the point that she could see the bowls inside.
Sara felt the man’s hold on her loosen and she scratched at his arm wildly, shifting her body to get room to maneuver.
Hell, she’d already killed one man. Why not another? She pushed the barrel of the gun against the man’s leg and pulled the trigger, but he managed to dance away faster than she c
ould shoot. If only he’d let go of her, she’d have a better shot.
She swung the pistol back and pulled the trigger without waiting, hoping if she missed, he’d be trying so hard to get out of range that he’d loosen his hold.
His scream echoed in the large room and she was free. She fell forward, landing on the floor not too far from the man she’d killed. Unsure of her attacker, she rolled onto her back and sat up, the gun still in her hand. He was still screaming, curses flowing like a broken water pipe as he vowed pain and suffering for her when his boss arrived. Sara lifted the gun and fired again.
She heard sirens in the distance and stood, running to Riley. She touched his hair, stroked his forehead, and found it warm. Pushing at his shoulder, she managed to roll his body enough to see his face. His eyes were closed, but a hand on his chest told her he was still breathing. Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned.
Mr. Adams stood in her kitchen between the two downed men, a large gun in his hand. His stare fixated on her face. How could she ever have thought he was a nice man?
The gun in her hand was empty, and she didn’t think she could reload before he killed her.
“Sorry about the mess, Sara. I truly like you. I didn’t plan to drag you into my life, but you gave me no choice when you stole the files.”
“I didn’t steal them. I tried to tell you about moving them, but you wouldn’t listen.”
He shook his head, denial and anger coloring his expression. “You stole from me. You stole from our country. You have no idea how powerful my organization is.”
Calm and arrogant while others died wasn’t an attractive sight for Sara. Spitting mad replaced her fear. “You’re a terrorist. Don’t talk about this country like you’re a hero.”
“Your opinion. Now, stand up. You’re going with me.”
“Fuck you,” she shouted, the words she never said spilling out of her mouth as the worst curse she could use. She raised the gun, pointing it at him even though she knew it was empty.
Kidnapped at the Gun Show Page 12