She stirred restlessly. “I’m sorry, Tanner,” she whispered, not able to look him in the eye.
He had both of her hands now, and he kissed them one after the other. “For what, my love?”
She opened her eyes, studying the man who had become so dear to her. “Sorry I dragged you into this, sorry I’ve turned your life upside down, sorry I may have put you in danger.”
He leaned over and touched his lips to hers. “I’d like to go on record as reminding you that I was the one who inserted myself into your life. And, barring a few unfortunate incidents, I wouldn’t change a thing. I love you, Red. The real deal.”
She twined her fingers with his. “I love you, too, Tanner. You’ve made this impossible situation bearable. And I was so looking forward to Friday. We have a lot of strikes against us, but it was going to be our perfect day. Now it’s all ruined.” Her lip quivered again.
He kissed her again. “Friday will still come.” He sat back and smiled faintly. “And I’ll wait for you to come down that aisle and make me the luckiest damn bastard in the world.”
Nola discovered untapped wells of strength she didn’t know she possessed. Over the past few weeks she had fought for her home, her roots, her future. Now she struggled to recover physically. Whatever they asked of her, she did. She swallowed medicine obediently. She did her best not to think about the fact that someone wanted her dead. And she put on a brave face for Tanner and the rest of the world so no one would suspect how scared she really was.
The danger still lurked. No one knew why. But she could feel it. And she was terrified that Tanner would unwittingly end up in its path.
Marc was her guardian angel when they finally released her late on Wednesday. He helped get her and Tanner settled for the night. And the next morning he promised not to leave her side so Tanner could assist the sheriff and his men in combing the woods and fields surrounding the house for anything they might have missed in their initial search.
The bed in the small motel was hardly the most comfortable place to recover, but it was worlds better than being in the hospital. When Marc had finished coaxing her through a plate of eggs and bacon on Thursday morning, she put down her fork.
He was looking at her as if she might expire any moment. She smoothed the blanket over her lap. “I’m getting married tomorrow, Marc.”
A shadow passed across his face, but he found a genuine smile. “The handyman wins the lottery.”
“I love him, Marc. And he loves me.”
“He’d better treat you like a princess or I’ll track him down and use one of my Gucci loafers to kick his butt into the next county.”
“Duly noted.” She felt her eyes sting, and she cursed the emotions that had her all over the map. She swallowed hard. “Will you walk me down the aisle, Marc?”
He opened his mouth and shut it again and his eyes glistened. He cleared his throat. “I’d be honored.”
They stared at each other for several long seconds until he came over to her and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Thank you, Nola.”
She frowned, confused. “For what?”
He grin was crooked. “For being you.”
She shifted the conversation after that to prosaic topics. It was hard to deal with feelings that went bone deep when she felt so miserable.
Later in the morning, she asked Marc for a favor.
He had brought his laptop with him from his room, and his BlackBerry and some papers, and he’d kept busy while she dozed. “Anything, baby. You know that.”
For the first time, his silly endearment didn’t jar. She knew that the feelings behind it were raw and real. She sat up in bed and smiled inwardly as he rushed to help her plump her pillows.
But she was forced to turn a groan of pain into a cough. “I need a wedding present for Tanner,” she said.
Marc frowned. “I think, under the circumstances, he won’t be expecting one.”
“I know that. Which will make it all the more special. Please say you’ll help me.”
He scowled. “It depends.”
“I’d like to give him my great-grandfather’s pocket watch. My grandmother kept it hidden, but I know where it is, and I want Tanner to have it. Will you go out to Lochhaven and get it for me? And maybe on the way back stop at the grocery store and buy a gift bag and a blank card so I can write something mushy.”
He threw his hands up. “Are you crazy? Tanner would have a fit if I left you here alone.”
“Then take me with you. It won’t take us more than forty-five minutes to scoot out there and back. I’m feeling okay, and besides, it will be a dry run for tomorrow. To see if I can actually handle my wedding day without getting woozy.”
“You’re insane.” A look of panic crossed his face, and she hoped he couldn’t or wouldn’t say no.
She smiled cajolingly. “If you quit dithering, Tanner will never know.”
“I’ll take you,” he said reluctantly. “But you’d better leave him a note in case he comes back early. I saw his face when you were in the hospital. He was a mess, Nola. We can’t make him worry. Not after all he’s been through this week with you.”
She nodded, feeling ashamed. Of course they would leave a note. And Tanner wouldn’t be pleased, but when she gave him the watch and explained, he would understand.
Getting upright and into the car was more difficult than she had imagined. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and the pain in her hip made her nauseous. Please, God, don’t let the wound be bleeding. She didn’t want to end up in the hospital again.
She sat crookedly on her left butt cheek, reminding herself that it was a short trip. Seeing the house brought back a host of bad memories, but she shoved them aside.
It was the only time besides her first day back in Resnick that she had been in the study. The disarray was the same, and she cursed herself for not cleaning it up before now. Marc waited impatiently in the doorway as she pulled a book off the shelf, opened it to the hollowed-out space inside, and retrieved the watch.
Marc was impressed. “Nice idea. No one has to worry about remembering a safe combination.”
She shut the door behind them as they went out into the hall. “Will you put this in your pocket until we get back to the motel?”
He took it from her, admiring the antique watch. “This is pretty damned awesome.”
“Grandmother inherited it from her father, so it has to be over a hundred years old.”
He tucked it in his pants pocket, and after they exited the house and she locked the front door, he put his arm around her waist and supported her as they negotiated the few shallow steps.
Every step was painful, and she wondered if she had made a big, big mistake. Would she be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow?
When they got to the car, she ground her teeth in frustration. “Damn it. I wanted you to get my nightgown. Tanner offered to run out here later and round up some of our clothes, but I would love to have something comfortable to sleep in this afternoon.”
He sighed, lifting his eyes to the sky and groaning. “You’re killing me here. Where is it?”
She quickly described the drawer. He tried to get her to wait for him in the car.
She shook her head. “Believe me, I’d much rather be standing. I don’t want to have to sit any longer than necessary.”
He jogged back into the house, and Nola looked around her. The sun was shining and it was a perfect spring day. It was hard to believe that just forty-eight hours ago she could have died.
Or Tanner could have died. If he had been on the ground talking to her instead of up on the ladder, the bullet could have just as easily hit him. Especially since the hidden marksman firing at her didn’t appear to be a crack shot.
She shook off her unsettling memories and tried to concentrate on happy things. Tomorrow she would be a bride. If at all possible, she didn’t want to use a wheelchair. She would conserve her energy so that she could walk down the short aisle and stand beside the man she loved
. It was a shame that the honeymoon would have to be postponed. She still hadn’t talked to the lawyer, but, residency requirement or not, she wasn’t willing to take a trip like that when she couldn’t enjoy making love to her new husband. So whatever romantic and sunny destination Tanner had in mind would have to wait.
A faint noise behind her caused her to half turn. “Well, that was fast. I guess you found it okay.”
Without warning, a heavy cloth bag swathed her head in darkness. She lashed out with her hands and had the triumph of hearing her assailant curse as her fingernails hit their target.
But he was strong, and she was weak and injured.
This was the end. For a split second, she was literally paralyzed by fear, and then primitive instincts kicked in. She fought wildly, pulling at the fabric that blinded her and kicking hard, hoping to inflict injury.
The man—and she was fairly certain it was a man—muttered a string of curses and slammed her hard against the car. Her hip made contact with the open door, and the raw, breath-stealing shot of pain as her newly healing wound was brutally slammed into unforgiving metal made her dizzy.
Blackness threatened, far more dangerous than the fabric obscuring her vision, and she breathed hard, trying to force it back. But her abductor slung her over his shoulder, and as the wind left her belly in a whoosh, she lost consciousness.
Eighteen
When she came to, her first sensation was pain. Her head pounded viciously, and the wound in her hip was on fire. Surprisingly, her hands weren’t tied, and when she reached toward the side of her butt, she felt something wet. She was bleeding.
She had read books and seen movies that portrayed the human will to survive in adverse circumstances. Until today, she had never really understood what that meant.
Now she knew.
Her brain told her that her chances of survival were slim. But her heart and her gut said, Fight . . . fight . . . fight . . .
Cautiously, she assessed the circumstances. Her head was still covered, and it was all she could do not to give in to claustrophobia. She inched the fabric a bit farther from her nose and mouth and regulated her breathing. She had no hope at all if she surrendered to the panic clawing at her throat and constricting her breathing.
She was in a car . . . presumably the backseat. There was enough jostling and bumping to tell her they were traversing a back road. She wanted to free her head and determine the identity of her assailant, but there was no way to remove the cloth without drawing attention to herself.
If he thought she was still unconscious, it might give her a tiny advantage. So she gritted her teeth and endured.
Who in the hell was driving the car? Who ran her off the road, tried to poison her, shot at her? And now had kidnapped her?
Maybe she could barter. Whatever this person wanted, she could pretend to consider. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of anything she had done or not done that would provoke a killer.
The car stopped finally. Her heart lurched and ran away with a sickening, manic rhythm. She kept her terrified body relaxed and still, even when rough hands dragged her, feet first, out of the car. Muffling her cry of pain was far more difficult.
He hoisted her onto his shoulder again and started walking. Every uneven step was torture. She heard a scraping sound, they went up a step, and finally she heard the unmistakable thump of a door being closed behind them.
Her abductor dumped her on the floor with little ceremony, seating her on her ass with her legs sprawled in front of her. When he ripped off the sack covering her head, she couldn’t help herself. Pretending to be out of it would have been smarter, but she had to know. She had to open her eyes and look. Who had done this to her?
The shock was absolute.
The man glaring at her was a total stranger. Thank God. She experienced a fleeting moment of gratitude that it wasn’t Billy or Marc. She had known it in her gut . . . had clung to that conviction in the deepest part of her psyche, but the validation was sweet relief.
Not that her euphoria lasted long . . . barely a split second. Her problems were just beginning.
She wet her lips. “Who are you?”
He scowled. “I’ll ask the questions.”
He was dressed expensively, but casually. Khaki slacks, a pale yellow shirt with pinstripes, and polished dress shoes. His hair-cut was barber fresh, his face clean shaven. He didn’t look like a killer at all.
For long moments, they stared at each other . . . her gaze defiant, his brooding and sulky.
He broke the silence. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way, your choice.”
She sneered, deliberately taunting him, hoping to gain the upper hand. “Did you hear that line in a movie?”
He flushed, and his hands fisted at his sides. “If you cooperate, this won’t have to get ugly.”
“Still with the clichés. You make a lousy criminal. I’ll bet you’ve left a trail of bread crumbs so obvious, the sheriff and his guys are already on your tail.”
His quick glance out the window gave her a jolt of satisfaction. He was nervous and jumpy . . . which gave her a definite advantage. He glared at her again. “Shut up. You won’t be so brave when I’m finished with you.”
Well, he had her there. Nothing like a nasty little threat to make a girl’s stomach heave and lodge in her throat.
She swallowed hard and backed off on the sass. “What do you want from me?”
He leaned against the wall, and for the first time, their surroundings registered with her. They were in a house that was under construction. The Sheetrock was up, and the roof was on, but the rest of it was bare wood and raw openings where windows and doors would be. The smell of sawdust lingered in the air.
The mystery man folded his arms across his chest. His gaze bored through her, his mouth a straight line that denoted determination or perhaps insanity. Who knew? She wasn’t up on the psychoanalysis of wackos. In this case, perhaps ignorance was bliss.
But she couldn’t sit there and wait for the ax to fall. She repeated her question. “What do you want?”
His smarmy smile made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Lochhaven,” he said quietly.
Slowly, the picture swam into focus. “Who are you?” she asked.
He shrugged. “My name is Harold Driscoll. Your macho handyman is my partner.”
She started to shake.
He must have read the revulsion on her face, because he smiled patronizingly. “Oh, don’t worry. The honorable Tanner tried to tell me the deal was off. But that’s simply not acceptable. I’ve taken money from people . . . lots of money . . . for down payments on the housing I’m going to build on Lochhaven property.”
She straightened her spine and winced as the hard floor made her position a misery. “Surely there are other places that would work. Lochhaven is filled with my family’s history. I can’t turn my back on that obligation.” She didn’t add that she loved the place. No sense in giving him more ammunition to use against her.
He levered himself away from the wall and paced. “Lochhaven is a moldering, run-down piece of crap. Bulldozing it would be an act of kindness.” He reached in his back pocket and extracted a slim sheaf of papers. “All you have to do is sign on the dotted line, and I’ll let you go.”
The smile he gave her was supposed to be conciliatory and reassuring. It made her want to throw up. Only a fool would believe him. As soon as her name was inscribed on Harold’s dotted line, she was toast.
Any rational person would know that his gambit was doomed. Even if Harold could produce this sale document with her valid signature, Nola’s disappearance would make everyone suspicious. But when she gazed into his eyes, she saw the hint of madness. He’d managed to convince himself, and no amount of reasoning with him was going to work.
So she had a choice. If she agreed to sign, she’d be dead before nightfall. That much was crystal clear. But if she continued to stonewall him, her stubbornness could buy her some time
.
She lifted her chin. “It’s not for sale.”
He rattled off an impressive stream of invective. “Bitch. You’ll be sorry.”
And God help her, she believed him.
Even if she managed by some freakish stroke of luck to overpower him, where would she run to? She had no clue where she was.
But she would have to try.
She had visually scanned the premises for anything she could use as a weapon. There was nothing. Unless she could rip a two-by-four loose with her bare hands and bust it over his head, she was shit out of luck.
He held out the papers again. “Sign and walk away. You won’t get a better offer.”
Her mouth was dry and cottony, her body one big ache. But her mind was clear. He was lying. Even if she could bring herself to give up Lochhaven to save her life, it was futile. He would take her house and then he would take her life.
She stalled. “What did you put in the pizza?”
He smiled, and the boyishness of it made her nauseous. “Naphthalene.”
When she looked blank, he elaborated: “Mothballs. I had some ground up, and when the pizza boy was delivering a big stack, I opened his car door, grabbed the box with your name on it, and sprinkled some of the powder. It dissolved in the grease. And it wasn’t enough to kill you.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said, heavy on the sarcasm. Remembering the stomach cramping she had experienced on that terrible evening made her want to throttle him.
He went to the window and checked something in the yard. Was help on the way? Her heart kicked against her ribs as breathless anticipation lifted her spirits. Maybe Marc had come out of the house in time to see the license plate of Harold’s car. Maybe Tanner had put two and two together. But even if either of those scenarios were true, they would still have no way of knowing where Harold had taken her.
She tried again. “Are you driving the car that ran me off the road?”
He lifted his nose in disdain. “I’m not stupid. It’s in the bottom of a lake. I brought you here in my wife’s car.”
“Does she know you’re a murderous psychopath?”
Mating Game Page 23