"Sure. What do I get in return?"
There was no mistaking his meaning. The top three buttons of Randy's blouse were unbuttoned and she protectively fastened two of them, her eyes focused on her lap.
"If you want something from me you should try taking the blouse off, not the other way around," the man drawled. "You're a little flat-chested for my taste, but even so, I liked it the way I fixed it. Unbutton it, Linda."
Randy looked out the window at the wooded terrain below. Her throat was parched, her lips dry. She coughed a few times, only too aware that the man was not going to give her a drink unless she did what he wanted. Her hand was trembling as she unbuttoned the two buttons.
Apparently satisfied, the man took a thermos out of a leather satchel, opened it up and handed it to her. Randy took a long drink, unhooking the confining shoulder harness in an effort to get more comfortable, and then drank again. Her thirst quenched, she silently held out the thermos to return it to him, but he ignored her outstretched arm and got out of his seat to stand beside her. When he reached out a hand to touch her hair she flinched, terrified. Every vestige of self-control abruptly vanished. She dropped the thermos onto the floor as she flung herself at him, kicking and clawing. Her medium-long nails raked the side of his face, leaving three bloody scratches in their wake.
Up until that point he'd merely defended himself against Randy's attack, but when he lifted a hand to touch his face and looked at the blood on his fingers his expression turned icy. Randy reeled backward from the quick shove he gave her, lost her footing and fell onto the floor. Cowering away from him, she put her hands over her face and began to sob softly.
"Okay, just take it easy. If you kill me who's going to land the plane?" Randy realized that he sounded rattled. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Unable to answer, Randy took a deep breath, trying to stop crying. The man took a few steps toward her, causing her to shrink back and look up at him. "I'll knock you out if I have to," he said. "I'd rather give you an injection than let you get hysterical."
Injections conjured up only one image in Randy's mind: heroin addiction. Why else would he have a syringe, or know how to use it? That was obviously why he needed money. "My father—he can get you treatment," she said urgently. "I promise—nothing will happen to you if you let me go."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a handkerchief against his bleeding cheek, a puzzled look on his face. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
"You're an addict. That's why you need the money. That's how you know how to inject…"
Whatever reaction she might have anticipated, it certainly didn't include an indulgently reproving grin. "I wouldn't shoot you up with dope," he said. "I brought along a tranquilizer. I was in the Peace Corps for eight months in Africa, as a medical technician."
Randy, now more confused than frightened, thought to herself, the Peace Corps? It didn't make sense. How did someone who was idealistic enough to serve in the Peace Corps wind up kidnapping the daughter of a wealthy businessman?
He held out his hand to help her up, but she couldn't bring herself to let him touch her. "Obviously I frightened you a lot more than I meant to," he murmured. "I'm sorry about that." He reached down to grasp her hand and, reassured by his apology, Randy allowed him to help her up.
He nodded toward her seat. "Go sit down. I'm not going to hurt you—not unless you try to scratch me again, that is."
Randy did as she was told, wondering if she could believe him. He didn't seem at all menacing anymore, but someone who went around kidnapping people was obviously very dangerous.
Water had spilled all over the floor when Randy dropped the thermos, and now she watched in silence as the man took a soiled rag out of a box in the back of the plane and began to mop things up. When he was finished he sat back down in the pilot's seat and then fished out a foil-wrapped towelette from his satchel. As he dabbed at his face, wincing at the sting of the alcohol, she felt a stab of remorse. She had to remind herself that he'd fully deserved the scratches she'd given him.
The minutes dragged on. The man went back to flying the plane, and there was nothing to do but watch the ground. The cities and towns of what Randy assumed was Massachusetts slowly gave way to rolling countryside covered with evergreen and broadleaf trees. Randy decided that when they landed she would run up to the first person she saw at the airport and beg for help. She replayed this scene over and over in her mind, refining it until she'd convinced herself that she would succeed in getting away.
More than an hour later he finally looked at her again. "Get your seat belt back on," he said. "We're landing."
Randy buckled it up and stared out the window. She saw no airport, only a large field surrounded by wooded hills. He circled, landing the plane quite smoothly despite the absence of a paved strip.
She had a million questions but asked none of them. She checked her watch—it was just past six o'clock. The man handed her Linda's purse and two suitcases, one of them Linda's, the second presumably his own, and told her to get out of the plane. There was nothing to do but obey. He followed a moment later, carrying a large carton of groceries.
Their destination was a small cabin, invisible from the air because it was set back into the woods. A metal shed stood adjacent to it. As the man led her inside the unlocked wooden building Randy nervously inspected the interior. It wasn't the Ritz, but it was hardly a shack, either.
The plank floor was covered by several hooked rugs; an old-fashioned couch and two overstuffed chairs surrounded a maple coffee table and faced a fireplace, where someone had laid a fire. An alcove at the right rear half of the cabin housed a simple kitchen, with a table and four chairs nearby. Several doors opened off the living room, but they were closed. Randy devoutly hoped that at least two of the three led to bedrooms.
The man noticed her looking toward the left, at the closed doors, but made no comment. Amazingly, now that they were inside and it appeared that she wouldn't be locked in some ghastly underground chamber, she was much less frightened.
The feeling didn't last. The moment he told her to sit down on the couch her heart began to pound heavily and she started to feel a little sick. She watched warily as he lit the fire, then sat down uncomfortably close to her on the couch. She didn't suppose it mattered to him whether he'd grabbed Linda Franck or Miranda Dunne, but she felt that she had to make the effort to identify herself.
"I'm not Linda Franck," she said, concentrating on the hands that were clenched together tightly in her lap. "I'm her sister Randy."
"Really." Plainly he didn't believe her. "Tell me, what happened to Linda?"
Randy tried to sound confident and convincing. "She left this morning with a friend on a trip up the coast. I've been visiting for the last week or so, keeping her company and helping her with her apartment."
"I see. Does she always leave her purse sitting on the bed when she goes out of town? With her driver's license and credit cards inside?"
Randy shook her head, admitting to herself that the explanation would sound implausible. Nonetheless she continued, "Lin's kind of sloppy. She was in a hurry to leave and when she changed purses she just dumped everything onto the floor and took what she wanted. She must have forgotten the credit card case."
The man shot her a skeptical look. "I had a look around when I changed your clothing and packed up. I didn't see any indication that anyone else was around. But I'll accept what you say if you can enlighten me on a few points."
Randy sensed that he was toying with her, not viciously perhaps, but not without a certain pleasure, either. She nodded.
"First," he said, "there's the car. Bill Dunne's blue Lincoln. I didn't see it parked on the street."
"The air conditioning broke down," Randy explained. "I took it in to be repaired and arranged to leave it at the service station till I was ready to leave Cambridge."
Randy couldn't tell whether or not he accepted her story—his expression was poker-faced. "Second, the
fact that Randy is in New Hampshire," he went on.
He seemed to know a lot about her family, but maybe that wasn't surprising if he made a habit of this sort of thing. Naturally he'd take the time to check out his targets. "She never—I mean, I never went." Randy could have kicked herself for the slip. The man had her thinking about herself in the third person by now. "I decided to stay with Linda for a while instead."
"So you told me." He was allowing his disbelief to show again, but the smile on his face bespoke enjoyment, not cynicism. "And did you go on a crash diet, also? Maybe we've never met, Linda, but I have seen your sister on television. You look very much alike, but she's obviously quite a bit younger. She's also about thirty pounds heavier."
That blasted diaper commercial, Randy thought, defeated. Blimp city. It was pointless to spin stories about nonexistent movie roles or deliver urgent explanations about unhappy love affairs if the man had seen that commercial. When taken together with everything else the fact that she'd lost weight would seem totally unbelievable. In truth, of course, it made absolutely no difference.
"Okay," she sighed. "What happens now?" The question reminded her that despite his occasional smiles the man was a professional criminal. "Do you want me to write a note to my father?"
He put his feet up on the coffee table and lazed against the back of the couch. "I haven't kidnapped you for money, Linda. I have much more interesting plans for you than that." He was looking at her through half-lidded eyes, still smiling.
Randy had been focusing exclusively on the idea of kidnapping, but no one but an innocent girl could have failed to understand what he meant. She felt as though she was caught in a nightmare. Why was this happening to her?
The man twisted sideways on the couch and reached out to touch her cheek. Randy went rigid, afraid to fight him after what had happened on the plane, but momentarily too frightened to move. She could only stare into the fire and try not to panic.
He stroked her hair and then dropped his hand. "What's the matter?" he murmured. "Don't I appeal to you as much as all the other lovers you've had? Because you certainly appeal to me."
Randy couldn't manage an answer. She saw the man move away out of the corner of her eye, but felt very little relief that he'd decided to leave her alone. She knew it was only temporary.
"I'll lay out the ground rules for you," he said. "For the next few days, or week, or maybe longer, you're going to do exactly what I tell you to. You're as spoiled and selfish as you are beautiful, Linda, and it's about time someone did something about it. Just keep in mind that I'm not one of the ex-husbands or lovers who you've wrapped around your little finger all your life and we'll do fine together."
Randy darted him a confused glance, trying to make sense of what he'd said. Was revenge the man's motive, rather than money? If so, she had to make him believe that she wasn't her sister.
She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to relax enough to sound convincing. "You're not entirely wrong about my sister—she can be impossible when it comes to men. But she's also loving and caring and a lot of fun. It's not just her looks that attracts them."
As soon as she finished this speech she realized that the man was seriously irritated with her. "You tell the most creative lies of any woman I've ever met," he said, "but credit me with at least a minimal IQ. I'm tired of the 'I'm not Linda' routine, so drop it. You can start work by unpacking the two suitcases and the carton of groceries. I'm going outside to crank up the generator and then into the bedroom to lie down for a few minutes."
Randy followed his progress with her eyes as he got up and walked to the door. The tasks he'd assigned weren't at all onerous, although she supposed that Linda might have thought so. She tried to imagine her sister's probable reaction and decided that Lin would either have spit fire and fury or else laughed her head off, then promptly tried to seduce the man. The situation was so incredibly absurd that Randy refused to believe that the man wouldn't figure out she was telling the truth and return her to Cambridge. All she wanted to do was forget the incident. The reference to ex-husbands and lovers told her that he was connected in some way to someone in one of those two categories, perhaps to Linda's ex-husband Brett. Brett had taken the divorce very hard.
At the moment, however, there was no point in refusing to do as she was told. She opened each of the doors off the living room in turn, discovering a bathroom and then two bedrooms. One had twin beds, the other a double, so she carried her suitcase into the first and the man's suitcase into the second.
When she started to unpack she noticed that most of the clothing he'd taken was Linda's. Ordinarily Randy couldn't wear her sister's clothes, but she'd lost so much weight that she'd dropped a few sizes. The man had taken all the necessities, including her own flannel nightgown, which Linda wouldn't have been caught dead in. Her sister's tastes ran more to silk and lace.
Randy also noticed that he'd folded each garment quite neatly, as though he'd had all the time in the world. If nothing else she had to admire the fellow's audacity. She found herself thinking that it was a thorough shame he hadn't snatched her sister. The two of them would have made an interesting pair.
As for herself, it was peaceful here, though she wondered where in God's green earth they were, and she had no objection to a little work. After putting everything away she made her way next door. The man was sprawled diagonally on the bed, apparently fast asleep. Randy had gone flying with a cousin a few times and he'd taught her a little bit about how to pilot a plane. Although she wasn't fool enough to try to take off she could at least use the radio to call for help. For a few moments she stood there, indecisive, and then casually strolled out of the room and out of the cabin. Once outside, however, she broke into a brisk run. She was only a few yards from the aircraft when she was hit from behind by a flying tackle that sent her tumbling to the ground. The man landed beside her.
The next instant she was flat on her back, pinned beneath his body. She was winded, but at least he was keeping most of his substantial weight on his elbows. She tried a sheepish smile. "You can't blame me for trying," she said.
The way he was looking at her put an end to her attempt at humor. His eyes were moodily intent, as though he couldn't decide whether to chew her out or make love to her. Randy wasn't frightened that he would hurt her, but she was annoyed that he'd put an end to her escape attempt. She tried to wriggle away, failed completely and promptly ordered him to let her go-He shook his head. "I don't think so."
She didn't waste her time arguing. Instead she relaxed for a few moments, hoping to catch him off-guard, and then started to fight him in earnest. But he simply caught at her wrists and forced them up over her head, holding them with a single, firm hand.
Breathing hard now, Randy stared up at him. He didn't look at all angry anymore, only aroused. She could feel his hard contours pressing against her body and was shocked at her awakening response to him. His eyes dropped to her mouth for several long seconds, and then he eased himself against her, obviously intending to kiss her.
Randy quickly turned her head to the side, confused by the rush of heat that suddenly shimmered through her, but the man simply released her wrists and started to nuzzle her neck. His lips were firm, cool and gentle on her skin. Randy didn't want to respond, but his murmured, "You're beautiful," had an alarming effect on her common sense.
His hand feathered lightly up her side, trailing fire through her thighs, her stomach and then her breasts. When he stretched over to reach her mouth and began to nibble at her lower lip she closed her eyes and thought to herself that the situation was impossible. She didn't even know his name, so why was her body aching this way?
The longer he played with her mouth the lower her defenses dropped. Ultimately she abandoned her efforts at resistance, gave a little moan of concession and allowed her lips to part.
She'd dated more than one actor acclaimed for his on-screen technique, but nothing had prepared her for this man's expert conquest of her mouth.
He alternated deep, satisfying kisses with tantalizing nips and caresses, so that each time he withdrew to tease her she became more excited and submissive, more eager for him to take her mouth again. Her arms found their way around his neck and she arched her body to meet his demanding movements, too aroused to stop him when his hand wandered underneath her blouse to stroke a swollen breast.
When he slowly pulled away Randy could only stare up at him, at first confused that he'd stopped, and then embarrassed by the wildness of her own response. His breathing was far more regular than her own, his expression much calmer. "The ground isn't very comfortable," he said with a complacent smile. "If you ask me nicely I'll take you inside to bed now."
Randy was mortified. Hadn't she learned anything from Sean Raley? She felt cheap and used and thoroughly disgusted with herself. The man rolled off her, waiting for her answer, but she maintained a tight-lipped silence and started to get up.
"Oh no you don't," he said, pulling her firmly down again. "You aren't ready to ask me yet, is that it?"
When Randy didn't answer he went on rather cheerfully, "That's okay, though. I can be patient when I have to be." He winked at her, grinning broadly. "But not too patient, Linda. Let's go eat."
The moment he released her Randy scrambled to her feet and began walking rapidly back to the cabin. Her emotions were a chaotic jumble of annoyance, humiliation and, much against her will, growing bewitchment. She was beginning to suspect that her opponent could be dangerously charming if he put his mind to it.
Back in the cabin, he gestured toward the kitchen, prompting Randy to say irritably, "I suppose you expect me to make you dinner."
"Very perceptive," he drawled.
Her temper heated up a fraction more—she didn't appreciate being ordered around—but then she gave a mental shrug. The fact was, she was hungry, and she'd lay odds that she was a darn sight better cook than he was. He left her to go back outside and she started to unpack the carton of groceries, adding staples and canned goods to the items already in the cupboards. A few minutes later he returned with a large cooler, which he set on the counter. Randy checked the refrigerator, found that it was still quite warm, and decided that unloading the cooler should wait.
An Act of Love Page 5