by Joan Swan
This whole situation was beyond bizarre. She was caught somewhere between scared-out-of-her-mind and ready-to-jump-him every time he touched her.
Snapped. She’d finally snapped. Just like her mother and brothers said she would if she didn’t slow down. Didn’t ease up. Didn’t stop working and start living. What they’d never understood was that her work was her life. But, maybe that’s where she’d gone wrong, because look where it had gotten her.
By the dashboard clock, they’d been driving an hour and a half. With every minute closer to nightfall, Alyssa’s anxiety amped. Her fatigue also dragged at her, not to mention the grind of her stomach reminding her she hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty hours. And the way her mind pinged around beneath her skull didn’t help with the developing stress headache.
Where were they going? Why did they keep her? What were they going to do to her? She found herself wondering about death, what it would be like to get to that final moment. Those questions led to thoughts of her patients, ones she’d lost, ones she’d saved, which then led back to her work and her future. And the cycle started all over again.
Taz had mellowed with time and blaring classic rock. He sang along with an endless lung capacity, his choruses almost more painful than her throbbing face, aching wrists or morbid thoughts.
“ ‘Take me down to the Paradise City where the grass is green and the girls are pretty,’ ” Taz belted, completely off-key. “ ‘Oh, won’t you please take me hooowooome... .’ ”
Creek hadn’t looked at her for over an hour. At least not directly at her. He sat as far on the other side of the bench seat as he could get without climbing out of the car. Every time she moved so much as her little finger, he cast a surreptitious side glance at her. Since the incident with the roadblock, he’d dropped the whole idea of her changing clothes, which was good. She was not getting naked, or even close to it, in this car with these guys. For any reason. Ever. Period.
Despite the sheer noise level and her mounting anxiety, Alyssa had to force her eyes to stay open, her mind to catalogue landmarks. She needed a plan. Several plans. One for every situation that held the possibility of escape. But right now her brain felt as numb as her butt, and if she didn’t get blood flowing, she’d definitely pass out—Guns and Roses at a hundred and thirty decibels, or not.
Alyssa straightened away from the window. That one movement gained her Creek’s complete attention. He stiffened and twisted toward her, fingers curled into fists resting on his thighs. And she had to admit, he looked more human in street clothes. A lot more like one of those intriguing bad boys. But she’d already seen the tattoos. She knew where he’d come from. He was not the typical good-looking, rough-around-the-edges man she liked. He had hurt her. Would hurt her again if he deemed it necessary. Had told her so himself. Yet ... something about him suggested that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe his attempts to ease her pain. Maybe his efforts to shield her from Taz. Of course, maybe it was just her own warped psyche bending reality.
She lifted her cuffed hands and gingerly peeled the tape off her lips, grimacing as it pulled at the tender skin. Creek made no move to stop her, only watched with a guarded expression.
She looked directly at him, meeting those very light, intense blue eyes. “I’m car sick, I’m hungry and I have to pee.”
One brow lifted. His mouth quirked. “You’re sick and hungry?”
With that one look, Creek turned into a regular guy off the street. But more. He was a guy who would stop traffic. A guy who would warrant double takes. A guy she would have tripped over herself to meet under normal circumstances. She had to glance down at her cuffed hands to get her head on straight. In less than a second her anger and fear swung back around full force.
“I always get sick in the backseat of a car,” she lied, “I haven’t eaten since midnight, and my bladder is going to burst if we don’t stop for a bathroom.”
Creek heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes. “Stop somewhere, Taz. A quiet gas station with a bathroom in the back would be good.”
“Screw that,” Taz said. “Why should we give a shit about what she needs?”
“Because it was your decision to kidnap me, and it was your decision to keep me.” She’d had enough. The tension, the bizarre emotions, the uncertainty had turned her into someone she didn’t recognize. “Now you have to deal with the consequences. As opposed to you, I’m human. I have human bodily needs. If you don’t address them, we’ll all be very uncomfortable, very soon.”
“Put the tape back on that big mouth of hers, Creek, or I’ll stuff it with something that’s sure to shut her up.”
Alyssa’s back went up. Her mouth opened to spew something fierce and foolish, but someone touched her first. She jumped and turned toward Creek. His big, warm hand closed over her forearm with just enough force to send a message. The same message he delivered with that potent stare: Don’t antagonize him.
He didn’t look away from Alyssa as he talked to Taz. “You find me a private bathroom, and I’ll make sure I tire her out good.”
Alyssa jerked her arm back. Why she’d thought for a flicker of an instant they were on the same side she didn’t know, but his nasty retort put everything in perspective. When would she learn men were all the same? Crude. Selfish. Controlling. Competitive. Self-serving.
And these men were the worst of the worst.
“What’s wrong with what you got, Creek? If I’d known you were gonna waste all this time, I’d have made you drive. I know just how to fill a couple hours with a dink like that.”
Alyssa’s throat convulsed. The thought of rape pushed at the edges of her mind, but she shoved it right back out. Someone would die first. And it wouldn’t be her. She’d already catalogued every possible way she could use her own body to end another’s life, because her body was her only weapon.
“Just take the first exit with a gas station once you hit Highway Five,” Creek said. “Pick the lousiest dive you can find.”
“This is a shit hole, man, everything is a dive. Nothing but niggers and spics live here.”
“Just find something and stop.”
They slowed and traveled down the ramp. Taz hummed, low and troubled. “I don’t like it.”
Alyssa shifted in her seat to relieve the pressure on her bladder. She did have to pee—bad—but, more, she needed to develop a plan for the stop. “How long?”
“Couple minutes.” Creek surveyed her, mouth turned down in disapproval. “Take off your shirt.”
She scrunched one side of her face in contempt. “No.”
“That blue thing has the hospital logo on it.” He gestured at her with one careless hand. “Everyone’s going to be looking for you in those ...”
“Scrubs,” she finished for him. “And, let me rephrase so you understand—hell, no.”
He met her eyes with determination and a set jaw. “Take it off, or I’ll take it off for you.”
“Aw, yeah,” Taz piped up. “Now we’re gettin’ some action.”
Alyssa had to press her mouth tight to keep from telling the idiot to shut up. When she made no move toward taking her shirt off, Creek slid over the vinyl bench and snagged the hem that had come untucked hours ago.
Alyssa leaned away, her cuffed hands pushing at his. A sweep of panic heated her chest. “No. Don’t. Leave me alone.”
Taz laughed and chanted, “Go-go-go.”
Creek grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. He yanked the fabric down her arms into a bundle at the cuffs. The cool air prickled her skin beneath the white tank top remaining. She curled in on herself to minimize exposure. That’s when she noticed the hole in her scrubs, irregular brown marks along the edge. She wasn’t imagining things. He had burned her.
Taz watched in the rearview mirror and hit a curb as he pulled alongside a closed gas station-slash-mini mart. He shoved the car into park, twisted and laid one arm over the seat.
“Look what the skinny bitch was hiding under those baggy clothes.”
Taz’s excited, bright eyes raked over Alyssa and fastened on her breasts as if he could see through her clothes. “Thought I felt a melon in there. Keep going, Creek. I wanna see that rack.”
Stomach in her throat, Alyssa scanned the area, searching for an escape route. For someone who could help her. But the gas station wasn’t closed as she’d first thought—it was abandoned. Tendrils of panic coiled around her lungs.
Creek fisted the chain between her hands, shoved the door open and dragged her across the seat. Would he beat her? Burn her? Kill her? She forced her mind back to the vulnerable areas of the body she could target: a fist to the temple, flat of the hand to the nose, knuckles to the philtrum, side chop to the adam’s apple—
“Keep watch,” Creek said to Taz as he pulled Alyssa to her feet and grabbed the smaller bag of clothes from the floorboard. “Don’t do anything. No stroll, no smoke. Nothing, got it?”
Taz jerked his chin. “Am I gonna get a piece of her when you’re through?”
“We’ll see.” Creek slammed the door and towed Alyssa toward two doors, where painted blue circles identified men’s and women’s bathrooms.
No. She couldn’t go in there with him. She’d be trapped. But running wasn’t much of an option either. The landscape around the deserted gas station was a barren sea of flat dirt and scraggly shrubs. Nobody within screaming distance. No haven within running distance. But the approaching darkness might actually be her friend.
Without any solid plan, Alyssa gathered all her strength, drove down with both hands, then jerked upward. To her utter shock, her hands wrenched free of his grip. A second seemed to float, suspended in time, before she could make her feet move.
As the surprise cleared from Creek’s face, he made a grab for her hands. Alyssa spun and pushed into a kick start. Gravel slipped beneath her feet. Creek’s big hand grabbed the back of her tank. Fabric ripped. Bra snapped. Creek whipped an arm around her waist. Twisted her body. Slung her over his shoulder. Just that quick, as if he’d done it countless times before.
“Fucking A,” he growled. “You are the biggest pain in the ass.”
“Let me go.” Alyssa beat on his back with the cuff edge, kicked her feet, and twisted. Nothing loosened his grip. Nothing broke his stride. And his body heat had ramped up again.
Creek was still muttering as he kicked in the bathroom door. The bang made Alyssa flinch. Taz’s full-bellied laugh followed them until Creek slammed the door shut.
Alyssa’s feet hit the cement floor so hard her teeth knocked together. Pain ricocheted through her jaw. Creek let her go with a partial shove. She stumbled backwards and hit a wall. The scent of stale urine swamped her lungs. She pressed her hands against the tile to gain her balance, and waited a beat to catch her breath. When she was steady, Alyssa used both hands to comb the hair out of her face and look around.
The fading evening light dribbled in from a single window over the door. The chipped tile floor was stained brown around the toilet. Graffiti painted the walls.
With his handsome face focused into a piercing glare, Creek tossed the brown bag at her. “Use the bathroom and change your clothes. And if you even think about arguing with me, think again.”
“You leave, and I’ll change.”
“No. You’ll change right here, right now.”
He pulled something from the pocket of his jeans and took two giant steps toward her. Alyssa scuttled backwards until her back was pressed up against the tile again. Creek flexed and curled his fingers, then rubbed both palms down his thighs, as if preparing himself for some drastic feat. Before she could find more words, Creek grabbed the chain binding her hands, pushed back the wadded scrubs and shoved a key into the cuff lock.
“And don’t worry,” he said without lifting his eyes from his work, “I’m not the least bit interested in looking at you, or ... anything else, either. Just take care of your business so we can get back on the road.”
So the fleeting attraction she felt when he touched her didn’t go both ways. Even a criminal who’d been incarcerated didn’t want to look at her. She was strangely offended, which only confirmed her earlier conclusion that she was also seriously screwed up.
When he retreated, Alyssa looked down at the one cuff still clasped around her arm, the other closed and dangling. “Can’t you take them off?”
“No.”
“Can’t you even give me some privacy to pee?”
“No.”
She jerked her scrub top over her hands and balled it up. All she wanted to do was put the flimsy fabric back on and cover herself. Instead, she not only had to change in his company, she had to pee in his company, too. After so many years in medicine, after all she’d seen and done, she shouldn’t care. But she did. And if her bladder weren’t ready to burst, she’d hold it.
She untied her scrubs and slid them over her hips, as little as possible to get the job done. She covered her face with her hands, resting her head as much as hiding her embarrassment. Fresh red welts encircled her wrists. Allergy. Had to be.
“Where are we going?” Her question came out muffled.
“Don’t ask questions. Just do what I tell you.”
When she’d finished, Alyssa pulled the clothes out of the bag—a pair of dark, low-riding, boot-cut jeans and a white spandex top with a deep, lace-trimmed vee neckline. In the very bottom of the bag, she found a pair of strappy, black, three-inch, ice pick heels.
Nothing would fit her. The pants were too long and a size too big. The shirt’s cleavage would reach her navel and the sleeves would hang to her knees. She could fit two of her feet into one of the heels. A strange sense of wrongness edged in. For the first time she realized they’d planned to take someone. To take a woman. To keep her for some time if they’d thought to get her a change of clothes.
Panic resurfaced. Alyssa’s gaze fastened on Creek where he paced the length of the bathroom like a caged animal. He had been serious about not wanting to look at her, because he hadn’t so much as flicked his eyes her way.
“Look ...” She paused, trying to get her words together. “I have a brother. He’s the best criminal attorney in San Francisco. If you let me go, I know I can convince him to look into your case. I’ll make sure he gets your appeal through the system, and—”
“A lousy goddamned lawyer is the reason I’m here.” His voice emerged slow and tight as if he were growing close to the end of his patience. “No one can help me. Change your clothes. Now.”
“Or,” she tried again, “I could make a phone call and have money wired from my credit card to a Western Union. That way you wouldn’t have to depend on that other guy for money. You could break off and go your own way.”
“Sonofabitch.” Creek stopped pacing, his back toward her. He crossed his arms, pulling the black fabric of the tee across muscular shoulders, and dropped his chin to his chest. He pulled off his cap and rubbed his head with both hands. “How does Luke fucking live with you?”
Alyssa’s stomach jittered with unease. She was starting to think they existed in parallel universes. “Who?”
He slid the hat back onto his head and swung around, eyes hot with irritation. “I swear, woman, if you don’t start moving, I’ll strip you myself. Don’t make me do that.”
His tone made it clear undressing her would be a disgusting chore. Jerk. She pushed the stupid thought aside and focused on her goal.
“Get me a phone,” she said, “and I’ll make the call right now, while you’re standing here. You can confirm the money is waiting for you before you leave. Then tell that idiot”—she gestured toward the door—“that you killed me and that you two need to get out of here before the police come. I’m nothing but another problem for you to deal with.”
Creek crossed his arms. His strong jaw jumped beneath tan skin and golden stubble. “Last warning. Don’t make me tell you again.”
Alyssa had never begged for anything in her life. Demanded, maybe. Asked, okay. Pled, no. This sick feeling of helplessness made her ang
ry and desperate.
“You’re out now,” she said, imploring. “You don’t need me.”
One side of his mouth turned up, but the expression was more cunning than humorous, his blue eyes reflecting anger. Maybe resentment. “Girl, you are the only thing I really need.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Alyssa jumped at the rap on the door. Creek swung that direction.
“You done with her yet?” Taz yelled. “I’ve got a boner the size of a Louisville Slugger and nowhere to put it.”
A rush of bile stung Alyssa’s throat. She clutched the clothes to her chest.
“Jack off in the car,” Creek yelled back. “I’m keeping her.” He met Alyssa’s eyes directly. “It’s him or me, Hannah, and he doesn’t need you. I suggest you do things my way.”
Hannah? The circuits of her brain sparked, shorted out. “Hann—? Who ... ? What ... ?”
Holy shit. Hannah. He thought she was Hannah Svelt, the sonographer Alyssa had filled in for. Which meant he’d never met the girl, because she and Alyssa were polar opposites. Hannah was five-foot-ten inches of pure Scandinavian beauty. Tan skin, white-blond hair that reached the middle of her back, model looks. She also had a curvy figure, which explained the clothes, but left Alyssa with a whole host of new questions.
She opened her mouth to clarify her identity; then another thought dribbled into her brain. If she wasn’t Hannah, then Creek didn’t need her. If she wasn’t Hannah, then Creek had no incentive to keep her safe or alive.
In that moment Alyssa decided she could damn well be Hannah, at least until she could find a way to escape.
“I’m changing.” Alyssa slid her pants off without a hint of embarrassment. Dragged on the poorly fitting clothes without a murmur of complaint. She tied her broken bra strap into a knot and kept her tank on beneath the spandex. Then she slid back into her comfy clogs instead of the heels and used a section of her hair to tie a knot around the rest, pulling the unruly strands off her face. And she did all of it while Creek paced the bathroom, his eyes averted.