by Joan Swan
The silence that followed filled Teague’s chest until he thought it would crack.
Luke finally breathed. “Holy shit.”
“You give me Kat; I give you Hannah. Simple. Easy.”
“Not simple or easy.” Something filtered through Luke’s voice. Something that sent sickness to the bottom of Teague’s gut. “You don’t have Hannah. At least you don’t have my Hannah, actually my ex-Hannah as of a week ago.”
Teague’s eyes darted to Hannah. Her attention was still focused on him. Eager. Anxious. Frightened.
“Don’t fuck with me, Luke. You have no idea how much I’ve been through these last few years. You could never know.”
“Just like I’ll never know what you did to neglect my sister so badly she killed herself. Just like I’ll never know what your girlfriend went through those last minutes of her life, the ones when you bashed her head in with the fireplace poker, or the ones when you poured lighter fluid on her, or the ones when her flesh burned off her body while she screamed, or—”
“Stop!” Teague blocked the images assaulting his mind and turned the conversation back to the only thing they had left in common. “Kat belongs with me and you know it. Stop being an arrogant, stubborn asshole and do the right thing for once in your sorry life.”
“I am. I’m raising my dead sister’s daughter. And I’ll continue to raise her. In case you haven’t heard from Seth in the last couple days, the judge made his final decision on custody. She’s mine. One hundred percent, full-time, mine.”
Pain slashed through Teague, so swift and sharp it stole his breath.
“And, just so we’re clear,” Luke continued in Teague’s silence, “I talked to Hannah about half an hour ago. She called all freaked out because some convict abducted one of her doctors at the hospital while she was at a dentist appointment.”
Teague’s heart dropped like a rock and landed in the very pit of his stomach.
“In perfect Creek-fashion,” Luke said, “you’ve fucked up again.”
Teague forced the phone away from his ear and slammed it on the hook. His hands came up, fingers scraping his scalp, over and over.
“Fuck me.”
For the first time since this whole nightmare started, Teague felt hopeless. Hollow. Gutted.
“Fuck me.”
He’d lost his leverage. He had nothing. No, worse than nothing. He now had multiple life-sentence charges hanging over his head. And, as opposed to the ones that had sent him to prison originally, these he’d actually committed.
“Fuck me!”
He swung toward ... the woman. Whatever the hell her name was. Advanced two steps before he stopped himself. “Who ... the fuck ... are you?”
“I ... I tried ... I wanted to tell you... .”
He took another step.
She cringed. “Alyssa. My name is Alyssa. Foster.”
“What were you doing in Hannah Svelt’s ultrasound room?”
“She left early for an appointment. I was trying to ... My boss told me to ...” She looked up with the light of defiance still shining in her eyes. “It’s part of my damn job. There was no one else to do it.”
“And, what, exactly, is your damned job?”
“I’m a ... doctor. A radiologist.” She lifted her chin, and infused her voice with that know-it-all edge. “And if you’d stopped for a minute to match the name with the person, you’d have known I couldn’t possibly have been Hannah Svelt.”
“You’re obviously some mixed heritage.” He slashed a hand at her. “I just figured ... It doesn’t matter what I figured anymore.”
He dropped his hand and rubbed his face. Now what? His plans had been gutted like a target in a prison yard brawl. But instead of anger raging inside him, the fury receded to make way for despair. His head filled with memories of Kat: her brand-new baby smell, her first smile, her first steps.
Those led to thoughts of the last time he’d seen her, six months before in the visitation room. Seth had brought her, because Luke never would. She’d winged herself into Teague’s arms and chattered nonstop. Showed him her new haircut, her new doll, her new glittery shoes. How she’d learned to write her name, how she could spell daddy. Then she cried when time was up and she had to leave. His last vision of her was one with fat tears wetting her red face, her arms outstretched toward him as Seth carried her away.
Teague picked up the towel on the floor and threw it at Hann—Alyssa. “Go take a shower. I need to think.”
He turned his back to hide the tears welling in his own eyes. That would make for one scary convict, crying like a baby because things didn’t go his way. Alyssa hadn’t shed one tear in the hours they’d been together. At least not one he’d seen. Surely he could be tougher than a friggin’ girl.
“I can’t get my stitches wet,” she said.
Teague picked up a roll of duct tape from a Walmart bag. He ripped a strip off and turned to her. “Lift up your shirt.”
When she complied, he plastered her bandages with the silver tape, far less gentle than he should have been. “That should get you through the shower. I’ll put fresh bandages on when you get out. I have to check the stitches anyway.”
She eyed him as if questioning his sanity, then wandered into the bathroom.
“And keep the door open,” he called after her.
She shot him a look over her shoulder, gauging his seriousness, then left the door halfway open and disappeared. The shower turned on. In the opening, Teague watched her toss her clothes over the sink. His body may have perked up at the sight, but his mind and heart both still ached, the need to hear Kat’s voice overwhelming.
He picked up the phone and punched out Seth’s number, praying Kat answered. On the fourth ring, Teague’s hope dimmed. On the fifth, Seth picked up, irritable and distracted. “Yeah, hello?”
“Seth, it’s Teague.”
“Teague, Jesus. Where are you?”
“Not important. Where’s Kat?”
“She’s asleep. It’s been the day from hell. We heard from the judge—”
“I know. I already talked to Luke.”
“Bastard.” Seth’s normally easygoing voice held a bite Teague had never heard. “What did he say?”
“Just that the judge ruled in his favor.”
“Did he tell you we weren’t granted any visitation?” Despair joined Seth’s anger. “That seeing her is at Luke’s whim? Fucking asshole. Partial custody wasn’t enough. He had to have Kat all to himself. Do you realize what this is doing to Tara? I had to give her Valium to keep her from having a nervous breakdown.”
Guilt welled from every angle. “I’m sorry, Seth. I never imagined Luke would turn on me, on us, like this.”
“Where the hell are you? Why did you break out?”
“I think that’s self-explanatory, don’t you? When does Kat go to Luke?”
“Judge gave us—” His voice broke. “Judge gave us three days to turn her over.”
So many emotions tore at Teague’s heart, chewing at his conscience. He had to put those aside for now. Use his brain. Guilt and pain wouldn’t repair Alyssa’s life. Wouldn’t take away Teague’s status of murderer. Sure as hell wouldn’t get Kat back.
And now he knew where she was, but he only had three days to grab her. He’d never get her away from Luke. But, Seth ... Tara ...
Focus on Kat.
“I don’t know what Luke has told you,” Teague said, “but—”
“He hasn’t told me anything. I’m not talking to the asshole.”
Teague blew out a breath. That saved him from having to explain the threat he’d made to Luke. “I need to see her, Seth.”
“What ... ? You’ve escaped prison, Teague.”
“We both know that once she’s with Luke, I’ll never see her again.”
“Tara won’t go for it. This is already tearing her apart—”
“Don’t tell Tara. Just take Kat for ice cream and meet me somewhere.”
“Christ, Teague, I don’t know.”
Another length of silence fell over the line. Finally, Seth exhaled. “I’ll have to set the house on fire to distract Tara long enough to get Kat away from her for ten minutes over the next few days. No promises.”
Alyssa turned off the water, pulled the towel from the rod and pressed it to her face. Every one of her cuts and scratches had bitten her again when the warm water touched them, and now her body throbbed.
Creek’s voice drifted in from the other room. She tilted her head toward the partially open door. Only one voice. A one-sided conversation she couldn’t clearly pick up. He had to be on the phone again, which seemed odd given his claim of being in this alone.
She wanted to believe he’d let her go now that he knew he’d taken the wrong woman, but he wouldn’t. She knew too much. She’d seen too much. She was a huge liability.
She took her time drying off because she dreaded putting those dirty, bloody, lousy-fitting clothes back on. But it was that or face Creek in a towel. Resigned, Alyssa reached for her clothes. Her hand landed on soft flannel. She picked up a pair of men’s pajama bottoms so new they still had fold creases. Beside them sat a crisp navy T-shirt. Her ratty clothes were gone.
Her insides softened. Dammit. She shouldn’t feel anything for him. Anything but anger, contempt, disgust. But she did. Dammit all to hell. She did. She felt sorry for him, embarrassed for him, lost for him, scared for him. The other things, the sexual things ... those were just too twisted to contemplate.
In the other room, his voice ceased and the television clicked on, filling the space with the direct voice of a male news anchor.
After Alyssa dressed and pulled her fingers through her hair, detangling the damp mass, she peered through the partially open door. Creek stood at the window looking out, hands pressed to the sill, shoulders hunched. The blanket from the van had been spread over the bed, and the supplies he’d purchased at Walmart were unpacked on the small table.
Without turning around, he said, “Lie down.” He had this eerie sixth sense of knowing where she was at all times. “I’ll change your bandage.”
She complied, too tired to continue the useless fight. He sat on the edge of the bed and peeled up the edges of the tape, which had already loosened from the shower. His fingers were warm and sure and gentle. Alyssa couldn’t help thinking about how inappropriately comfortable they were with each other.
“What a hack job,” he muttered.
“It worked. Stitches stayed dry.”
He unpacked the bloody gauze and inspected the stitches from every angle. With one finger he probed a couple spots, heat tapping everywhere he touched. Soon her attention had honed in on every sensation and how the heat drifted to other parts of her body.
“Looks like your luck’s changed. They’re all intact. Thought for sure you’d pulled at least half a dozen.”
“Show me.” Her voice came out softer and more tentative than she’d planned. His eyes lifted to hers, suspicious. And hot. She knew how it sounded, but that didn’t keep her from saying it anyway. “Show me how you do it.”
He looked away, started fiddling with the gauze. “Do what?” His voice went all smart-ass. “Bandage a wound? It’s called gauze and—”
“You know what I mean.”
He shook his head. “I told you—”
She pushed up on her elbows, challenging him to look her in the eye. “Don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“A five-year-old, a dog, an idiot ... Make up your mind. But do it lying down so I can finish.”
“You tell me how you do it, and I’ll lie down.”
He seethed an exasperated sigh and pushed her shoulder until the burn in her side made her give up and fall back. “I told you before, it’s just the way I am. I don’t know why or how. It just is.”
“Were you born with it?”
“No.”
“When did you know you had it?”
His hands dropped to his lap as he sat back. “You make it sound like a fucking gift. Look at your neck, your wrists. It’s nothing but a nuisance. One that hurts people. One I can’t control.”
“But you can also heal. The bruises on my face should be purple. The burns on my wrists and neck should be blistering and raw.” She pointed to her stitches. “Look at the way my skin has already started to fuse at the edges. That shouldn’t happen for another week. I know the stages of healing. More than that, I know my own ability to heal, and it’s not this damned good.”
In the new, tense silence, the TV weatherman’s perky voice spoke of continued cold nights and crisp, sunny days through the rest of the month.
“Let’s change the subject,” he said, eyes steady on his work. “Are you married?”
“Avoidance. That’s beautiful.”
“Boyfriend?”
“What do you care?”
“I’d like to know who the hell I kidnapped and who might be worried about you. I’ve already got the cops after me. Would be good to get a heads-up if I’ve got a psycho significant other ready to hang me by the balls, too.”
Alyssa’s frown deepened. No. No significant other. In fact, she had very few people who would worry about her. Her competitor, Dyne, would be thrilled she was out of the picture. Her attending radiologists would be irritated she wasn’t around to do all their work. Her coworkers would be curious, possibly mortified. But there were only a few people who would be truly concerned.
“My family will be worried.”
Well, some members of her family would be worried.
Creek placed fresh gauze over the wound and taped it securely. He picked up four ibuprophen tablets and a bottle of water and handed her both.
“Your hand works better,” she said, taking the medication. “But I suppose you won’t acknowledge that either.”
His eyes met hers with a spark of something she might have considered lust if he hadn’t shown such complete lack of interest in her so far.
“New information has surfaced on the day’s top story.” On the television, a female news anchor took over where the weatherman left off. “Earlier today, two prisoners from San Quentin Penitentiary escaped custody while receiving care at St. Jude’s Medical Center in San Francisco.”
Creek’s head turned sharply toward the television.
“Sources say Francis Sanders and Teague Creek, both inmates serving life sentences at the prison, were transported to St. Jude’s for routine medical tests.” Mug shots of Taz and Creek flashed on the screen.
“Francis?” Alyssa said, incredulous. “His name is ... was ... Francis?”
“Shhh.” Creek silenced her with a wave of his hand.
“The San Quentin inmates subdued guards and reportedly escaped the facility with a woman whose identity remains undisclosed. It is unclear at this time whether that woman was a hostage or an accomplice.”
“Accomplice?” Alyssa sat straight up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why would they ... ? How could they ... ?” Her mind shot back to Creek’s one-sided telephone conversation, and she set her eyes on him. “You.”
“What?” One brow dropped in a look that said, “You’re crazy. I’ve been with you this whole time.”
“Not while I was in the shower, and when I got out you were on the phone.”
“You think I was on the phone with a news reporter?”
Okay, when he said it out loud, it did sound ridiculous. Still ... “Look at everything else you’ve done tonight. Seems you’re capable of just about anything.”
His brows evened out as a menacing shadow crossed his face. “Watch it. Think about what you’re saying. It’s not smart and it doesn’t even make sense.”
“And this does?” She threw her arms out, indicating their hideout. “Nothing makes sense anymore. Seems to me you didn’t plan this very well. If you’re making decisions as important as the
se on the fly, you’re bound to make mistakes.”
His eyes went flat. Up until that moment she hadn’t realized how much of his guard he’d dropped. Now that he’d thrown up the wall again, she wanted to tear it down. “I guess we can’t all be as perfect as you, Doctor Foster.”
Pounding on the door made Alyssa jump. Creek spun toward the door and pulled the gun from his jeans at the same time. He held the weapon tight to his thigh and put his index finger over his lips in a silent order to stay quiet.
“Yeah?” Creek said through the closed door.
“Manager.” The deep rasping voice of the woman from the office came through loud and clear. “I’m getting complaints, which is hard to do when there’s only two other people staying here. Keep it down or find another place to sleep. And no refunds.”
Creek’s shoulders relaxed. “Yes, ma’am.”
He continued to stare at Alyssa as the manager’s footsteps faded down the walk. He pushed the gun back into his jeans and nodded to the bed. “Go to sleep. I have a feeling that’s the only way you’re going to stop arguing.”
“Takes two to argue.”
He slid the cuffs from his pocket and rounded the bed. Alyssa pushed to her feet, crossed her arms, tucked her hands into the crooks of her elbows and stepped back. “You’re not putting those back on me.”
“You’re right about one thing,” he said as his hand snaked out and pried one wrist away from her body. “It does take two to argue, and God knows I can’t compete with an expert like you.”
“Stop!” She pulled and twisted, but nothing fazed Creek. With a quick snap, the cuff encircled her wrist. “You can’t expect me to sleep in these.”
“I’m not that cruel.” He pulled her toward the bed, leaned down and closed the other cuff around the metal lamp base secured to the wall by the headboard. “I only expect you to sleep in one.”
Reflexively, she yanked against the restraint. The grating of metal on metal clanked through the room. She gnashed her teeth. “You ...”
He lifted his brows. “Yes?”
She caught herself before the word prick came out of her mouth.