The Heart Has Reasons

by Martine Marchand

  Ah, Jesus. He was going to miss her.

  CHAPTER 15

  As Larissa lay there unmoving beside him, she concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply, rather than focusing on the ice creeping up her spine.

  So far, everything had gone according to plan, although he’d proven a little more difficult to seduce than she’d expected.

  But — oh my god — it’d been good.

  Finally, he leaned over to brush her cheek with his lips, and then settled down onto the mattress beside her. Within minutes, he was asleep and snoring softly. She waited, giving him time to sink deeper into slumber while, on the other side of the door, freedom beckoned.

  After what seemed ages, she breathlessly lifted her hand from his chest and waited. When there was no response, she rolled away from him slightly and again paused. When he still didn’t stir, she very slowly rolled out of bed, located her discarded tee and yoga pants on the floor, then padded silently through the blackness to the dresser to grab her athletic shoes.

  As she tiptoed toward the door, a floorboard groaned. In the utter stillness it seemed loud as a gunshot. She froze, her entire body tensed and ready for flight. From the direction of the bed, his deep, slow breathing did not alter.

  Finally, she released the breath she’d been holding. Clutching clothes and shoes to her chest, she made it to the door, located the chain by touch and silently slid it off. After another pause, she twisted the lock’s thumbturn. Unfiltered moonlight poured into the room as she cracked the door. Quickly squeezing through, she pushed it softly closed behind her.

  The office was located at the far end of the parking lot. Modesty was the last thing on her mind as she ran barefoot and naked down the concrete walkway edging the row of dark motel rooms. Coming to a halt before the office, she grabbed the door handle and tried to wrench it open.

  Locked.

  She pounded on the door. Dropping her shoes, she stepped into her pants and tugged them to her waist. The little calico cat suddenly appeared from the darkness to purr and rub against her legs. Ignoring it, she pounded on the door again, then pulled her tee shirt on.

  The OPEN sign was in the window and the light was on inside, so where the hell was the clerk?

  * * * * *

  Chase jerked awake. Eyes straining to see in the darkness, he reached out a hand toward Larissa and found only the still-warm mattress. Thinking she was in the bathroom, he called her name softly. When she failed to answer, he shot from the bed and turned on the light.

  She was gone, as were her clothes and athletic shoes. His heart slammed into overdrive as adrenal glands dumped their load into his bloodstream. “Goddamn it!”

  He threw on jeans, shirt, and mask, shoved his sockless feet into shoes, and yanked open the unlocked door. At the opposite end of the parking lot, illuminated by the rectangle of bright florescent light pouring from the office window, she was tying her shoelaces. The little calico twirled around her ankles, doing its best to impede her efforts.

  Jesus, what a fucking idiot he was. The conniving bitch had conned him but good.

  He started toward her, moving silently and keeping to the shadows. She finished tying her shoelaces, straightened up, and immediately spotted him. Spinning on one foot, she bolted across the gravel lot toward the road. He took off after her, angling across the parking lot but — goddamn it — the duplicitous bitch could run. Her long legs ate up the parking lot and in mere seconds she’d reached the main road.

  She cut to the right, running down the centerline of the blacktopped two-lane road. He pounded after her, picking up a little speed now that he was off the gravel.

  How much traffic would be out this time of night? All it would take would be one vehicle to come along. Even if the driver were afraid to stop, they’d most certainly place an immediate call to the local sheriff.

  Rounding the first curve of the sinuous road, she veered into the left lane. The mental image of an oncoming vehicle slamming into her made his heart skip several beats. For an endless, harrowing moment he lost sight of her beyond the trees. Then he rounded the curve and there she was again. He put on a burst of speed and the distance between them slowly began to shorten.

  * * * * *

  Adrenaline scoured Larissa’s veins while the rhythmic thumps of her pistoning feet jolted up her spine. The moon’s ghostly radiance revealed little but the blacktop beneath her feet and the black, bristly shapes of the pines looming ominously to either side of the road. Physically, she was in moderately good shape, but she was no runner. The strength in her legs was already beginning to falter and a fire ignited in her chest and rapidly grew, consuming her lungs.

  Of course, when she’d earlier attempted to map out possible courses of action, it hadn’t occurred to her that the motel might be in the middle of freaking nowhere. She’d expected there to be nearby businesses: a gas station, a small grocery, a waffle house, or fast food restaurant.

  Risking a look back, the pit of her stomach clenched at seeing that her kidnapper’s pile driver legs were rapidly closing the distance between them. Her only hope of evasion lay in getting off the road and into the woods where she could hide. A fresh surge of adrenaline gave her a renewed burst of stamina. Without breaking her stride, she veered to the right toward the soft verge that bordered the road and charged recklessly into the trees.

  Shadows reached out for her as she plunged into the concealing darkness. Beneath the silhouetted lacework of moon-frosted branches, the forest floor was thick and spongy with decades of fallen pine needles. Breath rasping in her throat, she tore headlong through the trees. Less than two-dozen feet in, she tripped over an exposed root. Bark bit at her palms as she clutched at a tree trunk to keep from falling. Lungs heaving, she quickly regained her balance and kept on.

  As she headed farther from the road, the branches overhead grew so close-packed that no moonlight reached the forest floor, forcing her to slow. The darkness seemed to menace as she stumbled around an impenetrable thicket of vegetation that writhed and twisted, grabbing at her feet and ankles. A bramble snagged her pants leg, tearing the fabric.

  The ground abruptly rose before her and she scrambled up a steep root-laddered path on all fours. Her chest suddenly grew tight as her lungs screamed for oxygen. Oh please, not now. Why hadn’t she brought her inhaler? Struggling to suck in air, a sudden, horrific thought occurred to her. Did he have night-vision goggles? At this very moment, he might have her in plain sight.

  She hadn’t seen any goggles, but the asshole had seemed prepared for practically every other contingency, and who knew what all he had in that duffle bag. As she reached the top of the rise, she stayed low to the ground, creeping through the darkness on hands and knees to a large outcropping of rock that jutted forth from between the trees.

  The muscles in her legs trembled uncontrollably. Unable to go any farther, she ducked under a pine bough to meld into the lee of the outcropping. Kneeling in the knee-high tangle of undergrowth, her heart knocked crazily against her ribs. Nausea threatened as she drew deep shuddering breaths, her lungs burning and wheezing.

  She needed to slow and quiet her breathing. Concentrating, she drew from her yoga practice. Inhale, two, three, four, five, six. Exhale, two, three, four, five, six, seven. As she did this repeatedly, the blind, frantic hammering of her heart gradually began to lessen.

  The trees held a frightened hush, while the night itself seemed to watch her with hostile intent. Where the hell was he? Off to her right, pine needles rustled softly in the quiet night breeze. Between the trees, a patch of darkness seemed to move. Her hand groped around in the undergrowth until she located a baseball-sized rock buried beneath the thick layer of needles. Gripping it in one fist, she settled herself lower.

  * * * * *

  Chase lost sight of her as she ran deeper into the woods where moonlight barely penetrated, but he was able to follow the sound of her crashing impetuously through the trees.

  Why hadn’t he thought to bring a flashlight? W
ell, because he hadn’t expected to have to chase her through the fucking woods. Then the sound of her plowing through the brush suddenly disappeared. He came to a halt, straining his ears for movement in the night-clad forest. There was nothing but the soft rustle of branches overhead.

  Shit. Had she eluded him?

  He was well versed in the lore of tracking, but the near-total darkness beneath the pines made tracking impossible. He crept forward on noiseless feet, striking through the woods on an oblique course. What if, while he was still out here in the woods searching for her, she somehow managed to double back to the motel?

  There was a furtive scuffling in the nearby undergrowth of something too small to be Larissa. Ignoring it, he threaded his way between the trees, ears peeled for any sound. The ground rose sharply before him and he slowly made his way up the steep slope. At the top, some instinct whispered that she was near. He ghosted through the trees, not making a sound.

  Was that wheezing he heard?

  It was! Moving silently through the undergrowth, he altered his course through the trees accordingly, following the sound until it suddenly stopped. He stepped around a massive outcropping of rock thrusting up from the ground and there she was, kneeling under a pine bough at its base.

  He reached down and yanked her to her feet. Her held breath released in a ragged gasp as her hand arced toward his head. As it connected, bright white pain exploded at his temple, blinding him with its intensity. Stunned, he staggered and fell to his knees as she broke free from his grasp and bolted.

  Forcing himself back to his feet, he clung to a tree truck for support as his sight darkened, then steadied. His head felt as though it would split asunder, like a geode struck with a hammer. He took several cautious steps in the direction she’d run, testing both his balance and his ability to remain conscious. Bile scalded the back of his throat as an artillery barrage of pain reverberated through his head.

  The sound of her crashing through the trees worked its way into his consciousness. Ignoring the agony that clamped his head like a steel vise, he took off. As he pounded through the trees, fear that she’d get away gradually overshadowed the pain in his head until he was only dimly aware of it.

  She was now moving much slower than before, and he had no problem staying on her trail, rapidly closing the distance between them. Nearing the edge of the wood, she tripped and went sprawling. She was on hands and knees struggling to rise when he caught her.

  He yanked her to her feet. Angrier than he’d ever been, he drew back his open hand to slap her, then froze in horror. What the fuck was he doing? Was he actually going to hit a woman?

  Was he turning into his old man?

  Blood thumped in his temples as he dragged himself back from the brink. Lowering his hand, he satisfied himself with giving her a good shake. When he released her, she fell to hands and knees, wheezing and struggling to catch her breath.

  He wearily lowered himself to the ground beside her, his head pounding in time to his heartbeat. Slipping a hand up under the ski mask, he tenderly probed his temple. The area was already swelling but, protected by the ski mask, the skin didn’t seem to be broken, so he assumed the wetness beneath his fingers was sweat, rather than blood.

  Beside him, she wept without restraint, great hiccupping sobs mixing with the wheezing. He let her cry while he rested. Had her pounding awakened the motel’s manager? Had he gone to their room to check on them?

  Had the old geezer seen him chasing a woman down the center of the road?

  Her tears finally subsided into a low, inarticulate weeping. She sat up, her back against a tree trunk, her face almost indistinguishable in the dark. “He’s going to kill me. Ple-e-ease let me go.”

  Speaking with difficulty around the mysterious tightness in his throat, he said harshly, “If you think I’ll believe anything you say, then you’re an even bigger idiot than I am.” Heaving himself to standing, he hauled her to her feet and propelled her out of the trees onto the grassy verge. Her chest rose and fell like a bellows as she gasped for air. Jesus. He’d never heard her wheeze this bad. “Did you bring your inhaler?” Unable to speak, she shook her. “Why the hell not? You had everything else planned out perfectly.” And I, like a fucking idiot, fell for it. Betrayal as caustic as acid ate into him.

  When she swayed on her feet, he laid a steadying hand on her shoulders. “Can you make it back to the room?” Unable to speak, she shook her head. Worry suddenly crowded out his anger. People died from asthma attacks. He squatted down before her. “I’m going to carry you. Wrap your arms around my neck, your legs around my waist.”

  She clutched the slender trunk of a sapling, and managed to gasp between wheezes. “Rather … die … here.”

  “I’m not going to let you die.” He pried her hands free and knelt with his back to her. “Get on. Otherwise I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you like a sack of potatoes.” Apparently realizing she hadn’t the strength to offer much resistance, she reluctantly complied.

  In Afghanistan, he’d become accustomed to carrying two-hundred-plus-pound soldiers while wearing eighty pounds of gear and armor. In comparison, she seemed to weigh almost nothing. Ready to bolt back into the cover of the trees at the first sound of an approaching car, he set out at a trot down the blacktop. Pain crashed upon his brain like waves upon a beach but, worse even than that, she was wheezing directly into his ear, the sound horrifying.

  In case the clerk was about, he was unwilling to pass in front of the office. As they neared the motor inn, he slipped into the woods and circled around the back, where the towering crags of the mountains thrust upward into a sky ablaze with stars. By the moon’s high angle, he guessed it close to midnight. The chill oblate disc rendered the rock face in a silver-and-black palette and mapped his route through the clearing. As he picked his way around the rocky outcrops poking through the shallow soil, a startled pheasant exploded into the air from practically right beneath his feet, making his heart rattle crazily inside his chest.

  After a seeming eternity, he made it all the way around to the far end of the motel. When he opened the door to their room, the light pierced his eyes and ricocheted around the inside of his skull. Carrying her inside, he backed up to the bed. She loosened her feeble grip on him and plopped onto the mattress. He frantically scanned the room for her inhaler, snatched it from the dresser, and thrust it into her hands.

  Oh, Jesus, not only was she gasping like a fish out of water, her face was blue. As she sucked in a lungful of medicated mist, he turned on the bedside lamp, then extinguished the overhead in deference to his pounding head. She took a second inhale from the canister and fell back against the headboard. Almost frantic, he waited, his fear for her still submerging his anger. He didn’t want to be afraid, he wanted to be angry, for anger kept the mental anguish at bay.

  The wheezing continued, goose bumping his skin and causing every hair on his body to stand out straight. A slight bluish tinge still darkened her complexion, and she continued to struggle for every breath. Why the fuck was the medicine taking so long to have an effect? How far was the nearest hospital? As she took several more hits off the inhaler, he paced back and forth. When his jaw began to ache, he realized he was clenching his teeth.

  After an interminable amount of time, the wheezing began to ease, although his relief was short-lived. An attack of hoarse coughing suddenly wracked her, so severe that it doubled her over and left her breathless and flushing bright red. Levering herself up off the bed, she stumbled to the bathroom.

  He dug in his duffle bag for a bottle of aspirin. Popping the cap, he shook four tablets out, chewed and swallowed them dry while, in the bathroom, she coughed and retched. The coughing had a very wet sound to it and she paused frequently to spit into the sink. Jesus, it was a wonder she didn’t drown in her own lungs.

  Finally, she came out to sprawl, clearly exhausted, on the bed. He covered his immense relief by snarling, “What did you do with the two sleeping pills?”

&nbs
p; “Spit them … between the … mattress … and headboard.”

  Goddamn it. She’d constantly asked for the pills so he’d grow complaisant. And at the very moment he was about to check that she’d swallowed them, she’d known exactly what to say to divert his attention.

  “You must be mightily pleased with yourself.”

  “Pleased … about what? I’m still … your prisoner, so I … accomplished … absolutely nothing. If I’d … been smart … I’d have bashed … your freaking head in … while you slept.”

  “You should have.”

  She sucked in another lungful from the inhaler. “Believe me, I regret … not having done so. I hate you … more than you can imagine.”

  “I guess now you’ll tell me you were faking, earlier.”

  “You moron … of course I was faking. You didn’t really think … I enjoyed it?”

  The words were a knife driven through his heart. A wave of self-pity swept through him, quickly followed by a rush of caustic shame that she’d fooled him so easily. For a very brief moment it had seemed that he’d found The One. Then the devious bitch had dashed his hopes and dreams. The most beautiful, momentous event of his life had been nothing but a fucking act. He admitted that his brief fantasy of a relationship had been absolutely ridiculous given the circumstances. Still, her deceit hurt more than he would’ve imagined possible.

  When he didn’t immediately respond, she said, “Oh my god! You really did think I enjoyed it.” A jeering laugh broke off into another fit of coughing. When she could speak again, it was as though she were reading his mind. “You’re not too bright, are you?”

  Fury, hot and potent, rushed through him. He relished it, because it drowned out the pain. When he stalked toward the bed, she recoiled. “I admit it — I thought you enjoyed it. I should’ve known better, because you’re obviously a lying, cold-hearted bitch.”