Taken

by Cynthia Eden

  She looked away from him. Flirting wasn’t her thing, not these days. She wasn’t even sure she remembered how to flirt.

  But she could feel his gaze lingering on her. The drumming of her heartbeat filled her ears and she just wanted that elevator to move faster. How many floors were in the building? How many—

  “Don’t I know you?”

  It was the blond. His voice was a little nasally, a little Upper New York. She’d always been good at pinning down accents.

  Like Asher . . . he was from Texas. Probably somewhere near Dallas, and his drawl had rolled over her.

  And the Death Angel, he’d been whispering so she hadn’t been able to—

  She slammed that memory shut in an instant.

  The blond stepped closer. “I do know you.”

  Bailey shook her head and her shoulder pressed a bit harder to Asher. “No, we haven’t met.” She didn’t know anyone in Atlanta. She’d grown up in North Carolina, gone to college there. Nearly died there. Sure, she’d visited Atlanta a few times over the years, but those trips had just been pit stops. She had no friends there. No family. I don’t have family anywhere, except in the cemetery.

  The elevator dinged again. A few people exited.

  Not the blond. He stepped closer. “I’ve seen you on TV,” he said, voice thickening with excitement. “You’re—”

  Asher’s tanned hand pushed against the guy’s chest. “This is your floor.”

  “What? No, it’s not.” The blond glared at Asher.

  Asher moved in front of her. “Yeah, it’s your fucking floor. So get your ass off here.” He was a wall between her and the blond. Protective, fierce.

  Scary.

  Bailey wanted to run off that elevator, too. But she didn’t. The blond grumbled and swore and then stormed away. Actually, everyone left that elevator—everyone but her and Asher. When the doors closed again, she released the breath she’d been holding.

  Asher glanced back at her as the elevator began to descend. “That happen a lot?”

  “People know my face. It’s been on the TV plenty.” Even though she’d only given one interview. Just one. One interview had been enough to show her that the reporters were only interested in the blood and gore of her case. Sensationalism.

  Her pain.

  She’d also learned that when people saw her face and heard the news stories, it made them think they knew her. They didn’t. No one knew all the secrets she was carrying around. She hoped they never did. “I keep thinking that if enough time passes, everyone will forget about me.”

  He was staring straight at her—so totally focused, on me. “I don’t think anyone can forget you.”

  The elevator stopped moving. Finally. They were in the parking garage. He exited first and she hurried out after him. Her car was parked just a few rows over. Another few moments and she’d be safely inside. She still tensed whenever she went to her vehicle, because that was when the Death Angel had grabbed her. She’d been at her vehicle, ready to unlock it, and he’d appeared, a reflection in the glass. Big, strong, wearing that ski mask. She’d whirled to confront him—

  Asher took her hand in his. “You’re shaking.”

  This has got to stop.

  “I’m just not used to being around so many people,” Bailey said. Part truth, part lie. She had been avoiding crowds because guys like that blond—they did notice her. People whispered. Just like my students whispered. They stared. They made her feel like the freak in any room she entered. So she’d started staying home more. Hiding.

  “You’ll have to get used to being around me.”

  His fingers stroked over her knuckles. Heat surged through her, and the reaction was so sudden, so shocking, that she tried to jerk away from him.

  He didn’t let her go. “I’m one of the good guys, I swear it.”

  Is anyone good?

  “I’ll help you. But I don’t want you flinching each time I’m near. I don’t want you backing away from me.”

  She wasn’t about to give the guy a promise she couldn’t keep. So she changed the topic. “When are you coming to North Carolina?”

  “We’ll go by my place, and we’ll leave tonight, if that’s what you want.”

  Wait—what?

  He smiled at her, and a dimple flashed in his cheek. Maybe not a dimple. Too strong and hard for that. A slash? “That’s why I followed you to the elevator. No sense waiting. You wanted to hire LOST, and now you’ve got us. And I’m on the job starting right now.”

  His touch felt too good. Okay, so maybe she’d lived too much of the hermit life if she was responding this way to him. She hadn’t dated anyone, hadn’t even looked twice at a man since the nightmare began.

  I had a boyfriend before that—a lover. But he didn’t like what I became.

  Royce had been fast to turn his back on Bailey. And after he’d left her there, all alone in that hospital, she’d pulled into herself.

  Asher’s hands slowly slid away from hers, but the warmth she’d felt from his touch lingered. “So follow me back to my place. I keep a travel bag ready there. Five, ten minutes, tops, and we can be on our way.”

  It was only about a three-and-a-half-hour drive back to her place but . . .

  It was already getting close to nightfall.

  “Or we can stay in town for the night.” Asher shrugged. “Your choice.”

  “I—I haven’t booked a room.” And she didn’t want him to know that she’d put every penny of her savings in a special fund just to pay for LOST. She didn’t know how long the investigation would take, and she wanted to be careful with her money. I need to find her, so I have to give all my money to this cause.

  “I’m sure we can find you a room,” he said easily. “LOST can—”

  “No, thank you.” She would get home that night. They had time.

  “Then let’s go to my place.” He spoke so carefully to her, but in the elevator when he’d confronted the blond guy, there hadn’t been anything careful about him. He’d been all danger and menace. “No sense burning the daylight that we have.”

  She gave a brisk nod and headed for her car. He followed behind her, and when she lifted her keys, pushing the button to unlock the door, his reflection was in the glass of her window.

  Same size. Big and strong, just like the Death Angel.

  “You’re shaking again,” Asher pointed out.

  She jerked open the car door and jumped inside. “I’ll follow you.” She tried to pull the door closed, but he caught the door with one hand and leaned toward her.

  “Bailey Jones . . .” Asher said her name softly, as if tasting it on his tongue. “There are a few things you should know about me before we begin.”

  There are things you should know about me, too. But I’m not going to tell you . . . or you won’t help me.

  “First, you don’t have to fear me. Part of my job at LOST—well, let’s just say Gabe hired me on because he wanted a bit more muscle. Protection is my role. I’ll keep you safe and track down any clues about that missing woman. On my watch, nothing will happen to you.”

  She nodded even though—

  I don’t believe you. There is no safety. I learned that.

  “And second . . . you don’t have to bullshit me.”

  Now she blinked in surprise.

  He laughed, a deep, rough rumble of sound that Bailey found she liked to hear.

  “You think I can’t tell when you’re wearing a mask? You’ve got yourself locked down tight, under careful control, don’t you? But you don’t have to do that with me. I’m not one of the North Carolina deputies. I’m not going to judge you. And I’m not some lame-ass reporter who wants to splash your story all over the world.”

  I wear a mask all the time now because something is wrong inside of me. It has been, ever since that fire. That hole. That hell.

  “So let’s put a no-bullshit rule in effect,” he murmured.

  Her hands curled around the steering wheel. “Liking rules, is that more of
a military thing again?”

  “Wanting to break rules . . . that’s why I left the SEALs.”

  He’d been a SEAL? She turned to look up at him. “Is there a rule number three?”

  “We’ll get to that rule later . . .”

  She started the vehicle. “I’ll follow you to your place.”

  “Do you have any rules for me?”

  Don’t hurt me. Don’t judge me. Don’t pity me. Bailey cleared her throat. “I’m sure we can get to those rules later, too.”

  He slammed her door shut. Through the window, Bailey watched as he strode away—not to another car, but to a shiny, big monster of a motorcycle. He climbed on, revved the engine moments later, and that rumbling growl filled the parking garage.

  Asher slid the helmet over his head—a black helmet with a dark visor that completely obscured his face. Her heart beat faster as she stared at him.

  Dangerous.

  That had been her first thought when she’d seen him in the conference room.

  But he was on her side. Not a threat to her. He’d help her.

  At least, that was what she hoped. Because if something didn’t change soon, Bailey was afraid that the deputies would be right about her. Her shrink would be right.

  I may go crazy.

  The watcher sank deeper into his car as they left the parking garage. The camera was slick in his hands, wet from his sweat.

  Bailey. Beautiful Bailey Jones. He’d followed her for so long, it was almost second nature for him now. When she’d left North Carolina, he’d been curious to see where she was going.

  Bailey didn’t go far most days. She was too afraid. The big, bad survivor—now afraid of her own shadow.

  But she’d surprised him today. She’d driven all the way to Atlanta. Hadn’t even hesitated when she went in that high-rise building. She’d jumped on the elevator and vanished, staying inside for hours, and when she’d come back down . . .

  Bailey had been with him. The guy who’d held her hands. Who’d spoken so softly with her. Who’d laughed while he talked to her.

  Naughty Bailey, holding out on me. Letting me think you were such a good girl when all along, you had a lover in the wings.

  The taillights from her vehicle had just disappeared as she headed around the curve that would take her out of the garage. Smiling now, he cranked his vehicle. Things were getting interesting with Bailey. Fucking finally.

  He couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

  Come on, Bailey. Show me something good.

  Or bad . . . something very, very bad.

  Chapter Two

  “You didn’t have to follow me here,” Bailey said as she turned, standing on her small porch and gazing up at Asher. “You could have just stopped at the motel in town.” They had driven nonstop for the last three and a half hours, heading down the dark roads that took them back to North Carolina. The mountains had passed her in a blur, and she’d kept a death grip on the wheel. All Bailey had wanted during that drive was to get home. To get away from the darkness that surrounded her.

  They were in Brevard, a little town in Transylvania County, North Carolina. Her home—or rather, what had been her parents’ home. After the attack, she’d fled to the safety of this little historical house in the middle of the picturesque town. Situated in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Brevard was a place of incredible beauty.

  And it was . . . safe now. The Death Angel wasn’t taking victims anymore. She could be protected in her hometown. Or so she’d hoped.

  “Part of the LOST package,” Asher murmured. “Escort service to the door.”

  He was so close to her. If someone passed, they’d probably think she and Asher were lovers who’d gone out on a date.

  Lovers. Right. She was sure she wasn’t Asher’s type. Royce had made it clear she wasn’t anyone’s type, not anymore.

  “Bailey? Is something wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Thank you for the escort,” Bailey told him quietly. Unfortunately, everything she said was quiet these days. Another stark reminder. “You saw the motel in town when we passed through, right? You can get a room there.”

  “I can get a room there,” he agreed easily, inclining his head toward her. “Sleep well, Bailey. I’ll see you tomorrow, eight a.m.”

  She nodded because nothing would stop her from being ready the next morning.

  I will get my life back.

  He turned away and headed down the porch steps. His motorcycle waited just a few feet away.

  “Asher!”

  No, she hadn’t meant to call out to him. Had she?

  But he was looking back and her heart was racing and she tried to figure out what to say. “Why don’t you come inside a few moments?” Because I hate going into the house alone. Especially at night. When it’s so dark like this . . . and . . . “I’d like to talk to you more about the case.” That sounded good. Even confident. Not desperate. She hoped.

  “Okay.” He rolled back his shoulders and strode toward her. That long, lazy stroll of his was really quite something. A stroll that didn’t look at all hurried but somehow reminded her of a jungle cat. Closing in on prey.

  She fumbled with her keys and unlocked the door. All three locks. Then she hurried toward the beeping alarm and typed the code. Asher followed behind her, his steps slow, and he barely walked into the little foyer before stopping. He’d come in just enough to shut the door behind him.

  “You’re forgetting rule number one,” he said, voice careful.

  Rule number—oh, right. You don’t have to fear me.

  “It’s not you.” She dropped her purse and keys on the table. “Nights are always hard for me.” Bailey made herself face him.

  A muscle jerked in his jaw.

  “Can I—um, get you some coffee?” That was what people did, right? Normal people? They drank coffee?

  “Not this late. Thanks.”

  Oh, crap. Yes, he probably actually slept at night. Good for him.

  She waved toward her couch. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  He headed for her, but didn’t move toward the couch. He—

  “Do you want me to search the house?”

  She bit her lip because it was trying to tremble. And she gave a quick nod. Without another word, Asher vanished into her kitchen. As the minutes ticked past, she heard him exploring every room in the house. The kitchen, the den, the small home office. Her bedroom. The guest room . . .

  “All clear.” He was back, just a few steps away from her.

  Her breath heaved out. “It’s stupid, I know. To—to worry, but—”

  “There’s not a damn thing stupid about you.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “But how about next time, you just tell me what you want. No bullshit, remember?”

  Ah, rule number two.

  Asher’s expression was guarded as he said, “I want to hear the story, you know that.”

  The story. Her hell. “Doesn’t everyone already know the story?”

  “The basics. You were taken. Tortured. You got out alive.”

  Not really. “What else is there to know?”

  His gaze seemed so very dark and deep. “I have to know everything, Bailey, if I’m going to work this case the right way. Every detail you have. Every memory. Big, small, scary—doesn’t matter. I have to know them all.”

  Her arms wrapped around her stomach. “I thought LOST was getting copies of the police reports.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure Gabe will have copies waiting in my inbox—probably there now, and I’ll read them all. But it’s not the same as hearing the story directly from you.”

  So she had to go through all the gory details again, huh? Bailey opened her mouth to speak, but then her phone rang. The loud, long peal of sound seemed to echo in the house as she hurried to grab her bag. She pulled out the phone, but didn’t recognize the number on the screen. Frowning, Bailey put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “You should’ve died.”

 
“Who is this?”

  Asher’s head jerked toward her.

  “Why did they take you out of that hole?”

  “Stop calling me!” Bailey rasped as laughter filled the line. She disconnected the call, her fingers shaking. Bailey slammed the phone back on the table, wishing the stupid thing would shatter into a million pieces.

  Asher lunged forward and caught her hand. “What is it?”

  “Another stupid prank caller.” Goose bumps had risen on her arms. “I’ve changed my number over and over, but the calls keep coming. Calls from reporters, from punk kids, from assholes who just want to jerk me around.”

  He looked at the phone. “Which category did that caller fall into?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care—”

  The phone rang again. She saw the same number flash on the screen. The peal of the rings seemed even louder to her. “Just let it ring,” Bailey said. “They’ll stop calling—or, or I can just turn the phone off.”

  “How long have you been getting calls like this?”

  “I’ve always gotten them. They started as soon as my picture hit the papers.” It had been easy enough for folks to track her down. She’d deleted her social media pages, changed her number—like she’d told Asher, again and again—but it hadn’t helped. Some people just got off on torturing others.

  She knew that fact better than most.

  The phone had stopped ringing.

  “See?” Bailey forced a smile for him. “Just some asshole—”

  The phone rang again. This time, Asher’s fingers curled around it and he picked it up. Same number on the screen. A number she didn’t know. One of the deputies had told her to write down all of her prank calls, but . . .

  When she’d given him a list a while back, he’d never followed up with her.

  Just kids. It will all stop soon enough. The attention will go away. That was what she kept thinking.

  Only it hadn’t stopped.

  Asher swiped his finger over the phone’s screen. “Who the fuck is this?” he demanded. He’d put the caller on the speaker.