Binding Choice: A Romantic Thriller

by Jessica Dale

  A large form flew out of the darkness, knocking Drew off his feet. The light glinted off of blond hair.

  Jules! He’d found me.

  Relief washed over me, followed by a wave of fear for him as the men continued to roll in the dirt, throwing punches. Where was the gun?

  The bumper of my Mazda glinted in the stark light. The car hovered for a second on the edge of the cliff, then slipped over. Metal crashing and scraping against rock, glass breaking.

  Twenty feet away, a man slowly rose to his feet, his back to me. My own long shadow, cast by the headlights, blanketed him, turned him into a monochrome silhouette.

  I froze, caught between flight or fight. If Drew had won the fistfight, I couldn’t leave Jules out cold on the ground, at his mercy.

  No, this man—his chest heaving with the effort of catching his breath—was too tall, too broad to be Drew.

  My insides quivered. Jules. A smile split my face. I took a step forward, reached out a hand. Lifted up on my toes, about to sprint to him.

  But he had leaned down. Half straightening, he took several steps away from me, dragging a limp body.

  Then he tossed it off the cliff.

  A tingling warmth exploded in my chest—glee, vindication. Then my stomach turned queasy. Had my sweet, kind Jules just killed an unconscious man?

  He turned. Dark blond hair flopped down into his face.

  A face that didn’t belong to Jules.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Erica

  My mind scrambled to catch up with reality, my heart skittering in my chest.

  “Nick?”

  Again, my chest filled with warmth. My stomach relaxed.

  Wait, why is it okay for my ex to kill for me but not Jules?

  Nick smiled. He was still breathing hard.

  Because I don’t love Nick came the answer. Then my next thought, God, I hope he doesn’t want to get back together.

  I returned his smile with a grateful one of my own. He moved toward me.

  “Nick! Where the hell’d you come fr–”

  Too late, the malevolent gleam in his eyes registered.

  “You’re mine now, bitch.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward his car.

  I threw my weight backward, scrambling for traction on the rocky surface.

  His grip tightened, fingers biting into my forearm. He yanked hard, almost pulling me off my feet.

  The headlights arched bizarrely against the gray sky. My head swam. Blood pounded in my ears. Was I fainting?

  Car doors slammed. The sound seemed to come from far away.

  Again, a figure hurtled out of the darkness. “Let her go!” A low snarl, but I recognized the voice. He tackled Nick, wrenching his hand loose from my arm.

  Again, two men were rolling in the dirt, grunting, elbows cranking back, fists crunching against bone. The sky had lightened to gray. I could make out the two blond heads, snapping backward as the other landed a punch. They rolled dangerously close to the cliff edge.

  I frantically looked around for a rock I could use, if I could get a good shot at Nick’s head.

  Then Jules was on top, one hand around Nick’s throat. He reared back and smashed his fist into Nick’s pretty features.

  Nick went still.

  Jules struggled to his feet, ran toward me.

  And I was in his arms. We fell to our knees, hanging onto each other. He covered my face with kisses. “Ricki, Ricki. Thank God!”

  I took a deep, ragged breath. It came out on a shudder. The nightmare was over.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I breathed in his scent. And caught movement behind him.

  Nick reared up, staggered forward. His face smeared with blood, twisted with rage.

  I froze for a second, then somehow I was on my feet, pulling Jules up with me. I won’t let Nick hurt him! I was madly trying to shove Jules behind me—while he was turning, looking for what I was staring at.

  A female voice yelled, “Dominic Reynolds, stop!”

  A small dot of light appeared on Nick’s chest. His eyes darted around, searching for the speaker, but he kept coming.

  A shot rang out.

  My head jerked toward the muzzle flash, no more than three feet to my right. I blinked.

  Amanda stood there, in that stance you see police officers take on TV. Drew’s weird little gun was clasped in both her hands.

  She lowered her arms slightly and fired again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Amanda

  The bailiff led the way to the back door of the courthouse. He held it open as we stepped through into the bright sunlight. It was a beautiful Indian summer day in late September.

  I took a deep breath, let it out, and felt my muscles relax.

  I was relatively certain now that my crime would never come to light. The second shot I’d fired at Nick Reynolds had been to make sure he was dead. To make sure he would never again be able to hurt Erica, or any other woman.

  To save my best friend from the ordeal she’d just been through.

  But I hadn’t taken the time to aim. The second bullet had missed, ricocheted off a rock and was never found.

  Ballistics had told them that two shots were fired from the gun, so the police assumed it was my first shot that had gone wild, flown out over the cliff, and the second bullet had dealt the mortal blow.

  Unfortunately and ironically, Andrew Thompson’s drop off the cliff had not been fatal. He had been found, seriously injured, sprawled on a ledge twelve feet down, and had lived to stand trial on multiple counts of kidnapping, sexual assault and first-degree murder. Being in a wheelchair hadn’t garnered much sympathy, nor had his father’s connections helped. Not this time.

  If anything, I suspected the jury viewed him as the spoiled rich kid that he was. A psychopath, the prosecutor called him, who believed that he was above the law, that rules only applied to other people.

  Coming from a well-to-do family myself, I wanted to stand up and say, “We’re not all that way. Most of us were raised right. This man is an animal. Don’t judge us by him.”

  But of course, I’d kept my own counsel, relieved that they had found him guilty on all counts.

  He had played out his horrible game with at least three other women before Erica. Cadaver dogs had found their graves near the cabin. Two, like Erica, had recently moved to the Baltimore area at the time they’d met Drew. They’d had no friends and not much in the way of family. The police hadn’t committed a great deal of effort to pursuing their missing persons’ cases, since their vehicles were also gone and there’d been no tangible evidence of foul play.

  The third body was a friend of a woman Jules and Erica knew, a Prudence Parker. The friend, Lisle Dawes, hadn’t been reported missing because Drew had used her cell phone to keep Prudence believing Lisle was still alive, back in her home state of Tennessee.

  And her relatives back in Tennessee had assumed she was alive and well in Baltimore, but had chosen to end her strained relationship with them.

  As for The Network, the authorities were still unraveling that mess and making arrests. Jules and I had received personal calls from the FBI director, thanking us for uncovering it. Some of the brothers had only used it to find willing partners, but others had used it to locate women whom they’d then raped.

  This was against the rules, Frederick Zale had vehemently protested, but they’d arrested him anyway as an accessory in human trafficking.

  Nick Reynolds had broken another rule, that the spotters were to have no further contact with a woman once they’d pointed another brother in her direction. Zale claimed this was to keep the brotherhood strong by preventing competition for the same woman. But it was more likely intended to minimize the risks, like that movie about throwing momma off a train. Less chance of getting caught if some other guy had done the initial stalking for you.

  The spotters’ list was like a CB or dispatcher’s open channel. There was another layer on the site, where spotters and “clas
sified” advertisers could move their conversations and communicate privately.

  The FBI had found the message from Nick. He’d demanded that Drew tell him once Erica had been kidnapped and let him join in the fun. It was a condition of providing her name.

  He’d told Drew about Erica’s parents, one dead and the other estranged, and that she wouldn’t have any local friends. But he hadn’t mentioned me.

  I doubted that was an oversight. He hadn’t cared if Drew eventually got caught, only that he get his vengeance against Erica for daring to break up with him.

  “It’s over,” Erica breathed out as we reached the car.

  Jules wrapped his arms around her and she cried softly on his shoulder.

  “Come on, you two,” I said. “Let’s get out of here before the press figures out where we’ve gone.”

  Jules drove us to his condo. Erica had long since sold her townhouse, with all its bad memories, and had moved in with him, as roommates.

  The reality was that she was too rattled to live alone, and I wasn’t sure she would ever be able to have a normal relationship with a man again.

  My stomach growled as we entered the condo. It was two in the afternoon and we’d never eaten lunch, too nervous while waiting for the jury to come back to even think about food.

  “Hey, you want to call out for a pizza?” I said. “My treat.”

  Erica quickly shook her head, a pained look on her face.

  Damn! I’d somehow stepped on yet another landmine. How had that man managed to ruin her love of pizza?

  I didn’t ask that question out loud.

  “Let’s order Chinese,” Jules said.

  Again the pained expression, but then Erica said, “Anything but sweet and sour chicken.”

  While Jules made the call, Erica and I went into her room to trade our courtroom clothes for jeans and tee shirts. I caught her hands in mine when we’d finished changing. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded hesitantly. “I’m getting there. Jules insisted I go to counseling. He found a really nice lady who specializes in...” Her voice faltered, then she sucked in air and stood up straighter. “In rape survivors.”

  I gave her an encouraging smile. “Are you really okay with this set-up, living with Jules and–” I stopped, not sure how to diplomatically say depending on him so much.

  Where had my cussedly independent friend gone?

  “Yeah, I am. For now at least.” Her eyes pooled with tears.

  “What? What is it?”

  She shook her head but a tear broke loose.

  I dragged her over to the bed and sat us down on its edge. “Come on. Talk to me.”

  “I, um... I’m in love with Jules.” She ducked her head, refusing to look at me. “But I’m pretty sure he thinks of me as a sister now. Maybe a replacement for the one who died.”

  My heart squeezed in my chest.

  “He’s always felt responsible, that he should’ve been able to protect her, to save her.”

  I recalled the horrible haunted expression on his face the night we’d thought we were out of leads, that we’d never find Erica alive. “So he’s gone all big brother with you.”

  “I figure if that’s all I can have,” her voice sounded miserable, “I’ll savor that much, at least until I’m strong enough to live on my own again. Or until he gets tired of having a roommate who can’t work or even go to the grocery store alone without having an anxiety attack.”

  I silently cursed Drew Thompson for the hundred-thousandth time, wishing once more that he’d died that night. But then again, maybe being alive and in prison for the rest of his life was a harsher fate for him.

  “Look, honey,” I said, “I doubt Jules is going to get tired of you, even if his feelings have changed, have become more brotherly.” I wasn’t sure they had completely—having noted how Jules stared at her when Erica wasn’t looking his way—but I didn’t want to say anything and get her hopes up. “And if you ever find it’s getting uncomfortable staying here, you can always come down to Virginia and stay with me for a while. I’d love having you for a roomie.”

  She gave my hands a squeeze. “Thanks. That helps, to know I have options.”

  “Good.” The faint sound of the doorbell. “Come on, that’s probably our food.”

  We walked past Jules at the door paying the deliveryman and headed for the kitchen, where we pulled paper plates and serving spoons out of cabinets and drawers. I found a bottle of wine in the fridge and popped the cork. Erica got out glasses.

  It took Jules an inordinately long time to square up with the guy. My stomach was grumbling in protest by the time he finally carried the aromatic bag of food into the kitchen.

  He’d removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar, but was still wearing his suit jacket. I thought him a bit overdressed for Chinese carryout eaten off of paper plates, but I didn’t say anything.

  He pulled several cartons out of the bag and we sat down around the table, Jules across from me, Erica between us. For a few minutes, silence reigned except for occasional slurping or chewing sounds.

  Erica rolled her eyes. “God, this is sooo good.”

  There she is, the old Erica. I almost burst into tears. Suddenly I knew she would be okay. It might take awhile, but eventually she’d be okay.

  When we’d laid down our chopsticks, Jules said, “There are fortune cookies for dessert.” He pulled one out of his jacket pocket, wrapped in clear plastic.

  “Here’s yours.” He handed it to Erica. The wrapper was already open, the golden end of the cookie sticking out a little.

  Understanding dawned. I suppressed a grin.

  “Break it apart carefully,” Jules said. “There might be a prize inside.” He was smiling but his eyes were tight with tension.

  Erica snapped the cookie in half. A ring fell out onto the table.

  For a second, pure joy radiated from her face. Then she frowned. “Wha’?”

  Jules dropped down on one knee next to her chair. “Erica Burke, will you marry me?”

  She stared at him, her mouth working silently, her eyes wide and shiny. “I can’t,” she finally breathed out, just above a whisper.

  “You can’t,” he said, in a clarifying tone reminiscent of the prosecutor’s during his closing statement this morning. “Not you don’t want to, but you can’t?”

  “Oh I want to,” she blurted out. “But–”

  He grabbed her hands, held them tight between his two. “Hear me out. I know you think you’re damaged goods, but you’re not.” His words rushed out. “To me, you’re the only woman I ever want to spend time with, to lie down next to at night and wake up next to in the morning, for the rest of my life. I know you can’t...” He glanced my way and his cheeks colored.

  I hid a smile.

  “And maybe you never will be able to again, but hell, if you don’t marry me, I’m gonna be celibate anyway. Because I could never love anyone again like I love you. To love and cherish, for better or worse. Lots of married couples can only cherish, because one of them is ill or whatever.” He stopped, cleared his throat, shook his head. “I’m not saying this right.”

  “Personally I think you’re doing a splendid job,” I said, unable to contain the smile any longer.

  Erica looked over at me as if she’d forgotten I was there. Then her eyes lit up with an impish glint. “What the hell are you grinning at?”

  We both burst out laughing. Long carefree peals of laughter, like that of the schoolgirls we’d once been together. We leaned over and clung to each other, giggling and snorting and chortling.

  Jules shifted awkwardly on his knee, looking more and more worried.

  Still laughing I pointed at Erica, then at him. “Answer him, for God’s sake, before he has a coronary.”

  Erica struggled to rein in her laughter. She swallowed a final giggle, hiccupped, then turned to Jules. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  EPILOGUE

  Erica

  I was a wreck as I waited for hi
m, my palms sweaty and my mouth dry. Heart pounding, I kicked off the red stilettos so I could pace more comfortably, back and forth across the living room floor.

  Tonight—Valentine’s Day, a year after it had all begun—I was finally going to do what I’d been working up to for months.

  The sides of my short red kimono flapped as I turned abruptly and paced the other way. I wore nothing underneath the flimsy wrap but lacy black bikini panties and a matching bra.

  Resisting the urge to bite my nails, I played back my counselor’s voice in my head. “I think you’re ready. Just go slow and warn him up front that you might have to stop. And whatever happens, we’ll know then which way to go from here with your therapy.”

  I prayed I wouldn’t have to stop. That would be torture, for both of us. Even more torturous than the last few months of celibacy.

  I also hoped my therapy would be close to done. I’d already been seeing my counselor weekly—sometimes twice a week—for almost eleven months. Eleven months to forgive my body for responding even when my mind was horrified. Eleven months to get it that none of what happened was my fault. I’d just trusted the wrong man, a man skilled at getting women to trust him.

  A key in the lock. I ran to my shoes and struggled to get them back on my feet. The door opened. I turned, one shoe on, one off.

  Jules stood there, looking gorgeous in a black silk tee shirt and jeans and clutching a heart-shaped red box and a dozen roses—white, never red.

  His face registered shock, followed by a big grin spreading across it. “Does this mean what I think it means.” His voice was hoarse.

  I smiled. In my mind’s eye, I sashayed across the room. In reality, I hobbled two steps, then stopped to kick off the one shoe. Barefoot, I finished the sashay, stopping two inches away from him.

  Jules took half a step to the side to dump the candy and roses on a small table.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned into him.

  His body responded with the appropriate bulge in his jeans, but his eyes looked worried.