The Heart Has Reasons

by Martine Marchand

  The panic attacks had begun shortly after her father’s funeral. While in the orphanage, a physician had treated her attacks with little white pills. The pills lessened the intensity of the attacks, but didn’t stop them. Plus, they made her lethargic. Once she’d left the home, she read that yoga could help, and so she started taking classes. The yoga helped much better than the pills had, and later, the karate classes had helped even more. Perhaps it was the feeling of strength, of being able to defend herself. Ha, what an illusion that had proved to be.

  But now, worse than the knowledge of her impending death was the thought of what Sparrow would do to her before he killed her. As panic bubbled up inside her, her heart clenched into a fist and punched up into her throat, beating there with such force that she couldn’t swallow. She broke out into a sweat, then wrapped her arms about herself as she started trembling.

  When the wheezing started, she immediately sat up in an attempt to ease it. It steadily worsened, until she was struggling to breathe. Determined not to speak to the asshole in the front seat, she said nothing.

  After what seemed nearly an hour, but was probably only five or ten minutes, he asked, “Are you wheezing again?”

  Pouring sweat and shivering, she stubbornly remained silent.

  “Larissa! Answer me!” After another moment’s silence, he exclaimed, “Fuck!” and swerved to the right. Braking hard, he brought the vehicle to a stop in a rattling of fine gravel, then yanked the curtain aside and pitched the inhaler into the back.

  It landed beside her. Gasping for breath, she stared at it. If she refused to use it, would he take her to a hospital? Probably not. Since any wrestling match would end with him as the victor, resistance would be futile as well as foolish. She angrily snatched it and sucked the mist into her lungs.

  “Are you crazy?” he shouted. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something?”

  Taking a second hit off the inhaler, she wrapped her arms around her bent legs and cradled her head on her knees, fighting back tears. She would not let the bastard see her cry again. She tried to convince herself she was brave and resourceful and would somehow find a way out of this terrifying predicament, but the assurance rang hollow.

  Finally, the tight band gripping her chest seemed to ease and the wheezing gradually lessened until she could breathe freely again.

  “Larissa, please stop worrying so much. Everything will be all right.”

  Knowing he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security, she ignored him.

  CHAPTER 9

  Brendon Bishop was only slightly concerned when Larissa failed to show up at the salon at nine, thinking that she must have overslept and was simply running late. Since he normally kept his mornings free from appointments, he was able to take care of her first two clients.

  When she’d not arrived by ten, he began calling her.

  At twelve, he left the salon and headed to her house.

  Although her car sat at the curb, there was no answer when he pounded on the locked door. With a steadily growing sense of dread, he trudged next door to Yumiko’s to ask if she’d seen Larissa. She hadn’t.

  “She didn’t show up for work, and she’s not answering her phone. It’s not like her and I’m worried. I know she gave you a spare key for emergencies.”

  The diminutive woman peered up at him with frightened eyes. “You really think something wrong?”

  “Unfortunately, I do.”

  Several minutes later, Brendon unlocked the front door and shouted, “Larissa!” Dreading what he might find, he stepped inside, Yumiko following close behind. “Larissa!” he shouted again. In the living room, the glow emanating from the aquarium barely relieved the gloom.

  Together they searched the house, opening curtains as they went. The house was immaculate as always and nothing appeared to be missing, but there was no sign of Larissa. The fish rushed to the front of the tank at his approach, so he sprinkled in a pinch of flakes.

  Worry etched deep lines in Yumiko’s face. “We need call police.”

  “That’s exactly was I was thinking.” He whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed the salon. Sherry answered on the fourth ring. “Has Larissa shown up yet?”

  “No, and she ain’t called, neither.”

  “Shit.”

  “Are you at her house?”

  “Her neighbor let me in. There’s no sign of her.”

  “Is her car there?”

  “Yes.”

  “You oughta call the police.”

  “I’m doing that now. Call me immediately if you hear from her.” He hit END without waiting for a response, then hit the speed-dial number for the Charleston PD.

  Twenty interminable minutes later, one uniformed officer arrived. Brendon quickly explained the situation and, at the officer’s request, gave him a tour of the house. They finished in the kitchen where Yumiko stood off to the side, looking frightened. He frowned at the glass pitcher and wineglass standing upside down on the dish drainer beside the sink. It was unlike Larissa not to have dried them and put them away.

  The officer eyed him curiously. “She your girlfriend?”

  “Friend. She works at my salon.”

  “Maybe she’s shacked up somewhere with a boyfriend.”

  “Larissa doesn’t have a boyfriend, and she also doesn’t ‘shack up’.”

  The officer raised his hands placatingly. “I meant no offence. I’m just saying that maybe she has a new man that you’re unaware of.”

  “There is no ‘new man’.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “She tells me everything. If she’d met a new man, I’d know.” His voice rose in frustration. “And in any case, if she weren’t coming to work she would have called!”

  “Sir, please stay calm. Where’s her purse?”

  Brendon blinked at the sudden change of topic. “Her purse?” he parroted, looking around the kitchen as if expecting to see it laying somewhere. “I don’t know.”

  They made another tour of the house. Unable to locate it, the officer said, “Women always take their purses with them. Maybe there was a family emergency. Someone picked her up and, in all the ensuing turmoil, she simply forgot to call.”

  Yumiko spoke up for the first time. “Larissa no have family. She all alone.”

  “I assume y’all’ve tried her cell.”

  “Only about a thousand times. It goes straight to voice mail.”

  “I meant since y’all been here in the house.”

  Well, shit. Brendon whipped out his own phone and speed-dialed Larissa’s number. A moment later, her distinctive, albeit muffled, ringtone sounded from right there in the kitchen. They tracked it to a drawer next to the sink, where Larissa’s phone lay under a stack of neatly folded dishtowels. More troubling were the two guns lying next to it. The ringing stopped abruptly as he disconnected and turned to the officer. “Larissa might inadvertently leave home without her phone, but she never forgets her gun.”

  “She got a concealed-carry permit?”

  “Of course she does. She’s not the sort to break the law.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The officer adjusted the wide leather duty belt, weighted down with holstered sidearm, extra ammo, several pairs of handcuffs, pepper spray, and collapsible steel baton. “I understand that y’all are worried, but failing to show up for work doesn’t automatically make her a missing person. At this point, there’s nothing we can do ‘cause she’s not considered at risk.”

  Brendon struggled to keep his temper in check. “What exactly qualifies as ‘at risk’?”

  “That would be someone under fourteen, mentally handicapped, or a possible crime victim.”

  “She’s been having problems with an ex-boyfriend. He’s sort of been stalking her.”

  “What does ‘sort of’ mean?”

  “She’s repeatedly told him she wants nothing more to do with him, but he keeps calling and coming around.”

  “Has he ever assaulted her?”
Brendon shook his head. “Has she filed an E.P.O. against him?”

  “She was considering doing so.”

  Yumiko said to Brendon. “Tell him about man Larissa shoot.”

  “Oh, shit! I almost forgot about Sparrow.”

  Brendon related the entire story of Brian Sparrow to the officer, including the murder of the doctor. “And for the past two years, Larissa’s been terrified that he’d return to finish what he started. That’s why she carries the gun.”

  The officer nodded thoughtfully. “I remember that incident very well.” He squared his shoulders, a new look of determination in his eyes. “This sheds a different light on things. We’ll look into it.”

  Brendon provided him with Steve’s name and the address of his dojo. Until now he’d feared that the karate instructor had orchestrated Larissa’s disappearance but, with Sparrow added to the equation, he almost hoped it was Steve. Of the two, the karate instructor was definitely the lesser evil.

  After the officer departed, Brendon turned to a pale Yumiko, who looked as frightened as he felt. Suddenly concerned for her well-being, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’re probably over-reacting. Maybe Larissa really did meet a new man.”

  Yumiko shook her head. “I don’t think so. Something wrong.”

  Something was very wrong.

  CHAPTER 10

  Chase drove through Alabama, and then Mississippi. He kept a close eye on the speedometer so that his speed never exceeded five miles over the limit, while worry for Larissa occupied his mind. Damn Keswick for forgetting to mention his wife’s asthma. Or, maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Maybe he’d deliberately neglected to mention it, correctly suspecting that he would’ve refused the job, regardless of the money.

  Not only did his brave little captive’s anger inexplicably disturb him, he felt a sense of guilt over his actions, so much so that he was tempted to confess that he was delivering her to her husband. But the fact that she must have figured out by now where he was taking her, combined with the forty-thousand he’d forfeit, held him back.

  Worse, her account of shooting the intruder and the subsequent murder of the doctor had caused insidious doubt to set in. Not only did the story have an unmistakable ring of truth to it, it would certainly explain her guns.

  Fuck. Keswick had warned him that she was a skillful liar and an Oscar-worthy actress and yet, here he was, prepared to believe her bullshit.

  Last night, she’d been quaking with terror, but today she’d overcome the majority of her fear, which indicated that she’d figured out exactly where he was taking her. If she truly believed he was delivering her to someone who intended to kill her, she’d be still terrified. The incontrovertible fact was that it had been her smiling from the portrait, surrounded by her husband and children. She’d fabricated the story about shooting the intruder to make him question the integrity of his actions.

  Ah, well, not only could he not hold it against her, he admired her unrelenting determination to outmaneuver him. He found himself wondering about the kinky video in which she’d starred, about exactly what she’d done in said video. He didn’t hold it against her for, from what her husband had said, she’d had little choice at the time. He would have pain a great deal to view the video.

  Out of simple curiosity, though, nothing more.

  Directly ahead, the huge orange-gold disc of the westering sun flamed just above the horizon, making him squint despite the Ray Bans, and he decided to pull in at the next suitable motel. Stopping earlier than he’d originally intended had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he missed that sexy southern drawl. Nor did it indicate that he was anxious to spend some quality time with her.

  They’d just crossed the line into Arkansas when he spotted the motel. Avoiding the parking lot’s numerous potholes, he parked, turned the radio up loud, and climbed into the back. Still refusing to speak to him, she uttered no protest when he secured her hands and gagged her. He gently brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face, then cradled her cheek against his palm. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  The door to the motel office jingled a welcome as he went inside. A middle-aged, heavy-set woman sat behind the counter. As he filled out the necessary paperwork, she asked, “Do you and your wife like pizza?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “The place across the highway’s real good.”

  “Thanks. We may give them a try.”

  The air inside their allotted room was hot and musty. Switching on the window unit air conditioner, he returned to the parking lot to unload the van. Since it was still light, he’d have to remove both the hobble and the gag before escorting her inside.

  After releasing her, he circled a hand behind her neck and with the other held the Taser before her face. “I’m going to remove the gag before we go inside. The very instant you inhale to scream, I’ll Tase you. Then, as punishment, you’ll wear the gag for the next twenty-four hours. Are you going to behave?”

  Wide-eyed, she nodded.

  He removed the gag. With one arm anchoring her securely to his side, and the other holding the Taser against her ribs, he quickly escorted her inside and locked the door behind them.

  Docile and obedient, she settled onto the edge of the mattress. With the air conditioner droning ominously in the background, he moved over to the large, deep-drawered bureau and placed the Taser onto its battered surface. As he pulled the Colt from the small of his back, swift movement behind him caught the corner of his eye.

  As he spun around, there was a blur of red-clad leg arcing through the air. Her bare foot struck his hand and the .45 went flying.

  She dove for the weapon. Launching himself after her, he landed across her lower legs and snagged a handful of tee shirt. Writhing like a serpent, she managed to latch onto his belt with her toes and then straightened her legs, propelling herself forward another half foot across the rust-colored shag carpeting toward the Colt. His own forward progress thus impeded, he grasped her ankles and scooted down just far enough to wrench her feet free.

  As her hand closed around his weapon, he scrambled over her and locked his grip tightly about her forearm. Thumbing back the hammer, she spat, “Asshole!” and squeezed the trigger.

  Since there was no round in the chamber, her efforts produced merely an empty metal click. “Who’s the asshole, now?” he asked. To prevent her from racking the slide, he grabbed her left arm and wrenched it down to her side. Undeterred, she twisted her free arm, flipping the Colt upside down. Pressing it firmly against the carpet, she shoved forward and his breath caught as the slide moved an inch.

  He scrambled the rest of the way up her straining body, gliding his hand along a sleekly muscled forearm until he grasped her wrist. Lifting the Colt away from the floor, he said, “Let go, Larissa.” When she continued to struggle, he squeezed, making her grip slacken a bit. “Let go!”

  “Screw you!”

  When he increased the pressure on her wrist, she cried out, “Ow-w-w-w, you’re hurting me!”

  “Then let go!” Forcing down a pang of guilt, he squeezed a little harder, forcing her hand to open. The .45 fell the few inches to the carpet and he quickly gave it a shove, sliding it out of reach. Straddling her, he rose up on his knees and roughly flipped her onto her back. Seizing the opportunity, she jerked her knee toward his groin. Anticipating the move, he twisted sideways and grunted as it slammed into his inner thigh. After a short struggle, he managed to wedge his legs between hers. As he lowered himself onto her, he realized that, once again, he had a full erection.

  She apparently noticed as well, for her eyes widened. “Get off me.”

  The mini blinds cut the late afternoon sunlight into pale gold stripes that swirled with shimmering dust motes raised from the shag carpet by their scuffling. Relishing the feel of the strong but delicately feminine body beneath his, he put his mouth close to her ear. “Despite the fact that you’re a devious little liar, you have the audacity to be angry with me for lying.”


  “I’m not a liar. Get off me!”

  “If you didn’t want me on you, you shouldn’t have attacked me. Don’t start something you’re not willing to finish.” Her sweet feminine scent intoxicated him. Her eyelids were heavy, lips slightly parted, breathing audible. It made for an irresistibly erotic picture. His gaze flitted over her face, coming to rest on that sexy mouth. Knowing he was making a mistake of monumental proportions, yet unable to stop himself, he lowered his head to claim her lips.

  Never one to force anything of a sexual nature upon a woman, he kissed her slowly and gently, his lip caressing hers. When she tentatively kissed him back, that was all the encouragement he needed. As a passionate urgency surged through him, he took heated possession of her lips, savoring the sweet taste of her. He wanted to go on kissing her forever.

  When he opened his mouth, she opened hers as well, plunging her tongue into his mouth as she gripped his shoulders with a strength belying her size. No longer sure who was kissing whom, he groaned aloud as a wave of smoldering heat shot through him. Her hands slid down his back to squeeze his jean-clad buttocks, sending shivers through him and making him impetuous and impatient. When her pelvis arched against the unyielding rigidity of his shaft, all he could think about was plunging himself deep inside her, abandoning himself to her womanly softness and heat.

  Jesus, she kindled his desire as no woman ever had. Just as he was about to relinquish all common sense and self-control, she suddenly froze, her entire body going rigid. This provided sufficient warning that when she abruptly tried to sink her teeth into his lower lip, he jerked back just in time. He could feel the racing of her heart, and her chest expanded and contracted as if she’d just breasted the tape at the end of a long race.

  Keeping the majority of his weight off her, he nestled his face in the crook of her neck. “Larissa, I think you enjoy our wrestling as much as I do.”