The Last Resort

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  Light from the hall showed beneath the door.

  When Leah tiptoed over to the sash window, she felt a draft. Standing to one side, she felt the cold glass until she found the corner that had broken out.

  Taking a chance, she stood right in front of the window, turned the window latch and tried to heave the lower sash upward. Absolutely nothing happened. The warped, painted-too-many-times frame didn’t so much as groan. For an instant she thought she saw something—someone—move out at the edge of the treeline, but then decided her eyes had tricked her.

  She could break out the rest of the glass—but that would alert the guard. If she could swing out, dangle and drop, she might make it to the ground uninjured...but they’d be on her right away. And what if she sprained or broke an ankle? She might not be able to drive, even if the hideout key was still there, and she sure as heck couldn’t run away.

  If only she knew what time it was. If the door to the hall would crack open without a squeak of rusting hinges.

  She stopped herself from creating a list of dire consequences for every decision she made. She’d come this far. She had to peek into the hall and see if there was the slightest chance at all of making it unseen to the stairs. Maybe even whether there were any lights on downstairs, or whether she’d be able to descend into blessed darkness.

  No floorboards creaked underfoot as she crossed the room. Prayed the door and frame had been as solidly built. Holding her breath, she very gently turned the knob, then drew the door toward herself a fraction of an inch at a time. It was quiet, so quiet.

  Until she heard a muffled sound. A curse?

  She had the door open wide enough to allow her to poke her head out into the hall. When she did, she saw a tattooed, muscular guy who hadn’t stood out to her if she’d seen him at all. Chair pushed aside, he sat on the floor, leaning back against the door to her original room, legs stretched out. His head sagged to one side, and another snort came from him.

  He was snoring. Asleep.

  If she’d opened that door, he’d have awakened instantly. As it was...she slipped out into the hall and tiptoed toward the stairs. There was a light on down there somewhere—the kitchen?—but not in the main room.

  First step, second, third. She hesitated. One of the stairs had squeaked on her way up. The next—she thought. Gripping the handrail, she stretched to reach the step below, then kept going. Once she was far enough down, she turned her head, searching for movement. For a second guard. For a Rottweiler. For anything, but all remained still.

  Within moments she was at the front door.

  * * *

  SPENCER KEPT STARING at the window into the middle bedroom upstairs in the lodge. He’d seen someone; he’d swear he had. Durand, who was currently on guard? Maybe he’d heard something outside, was doing some rounds? But he was an exceptionally big guy, and the figure Spencer had seen had been slight. But how in hell could that woman have gotten past Durand and into a different guest room? He shook his head. Maybe it had been a damn ghost.

  He waited. Waited.

  Something happened in the deep shadows of the front porch. A person, moving tentatively, emerged into the moonlight and started down the half dozen steps.

  Careful, Spencer urged silently. She reached the ground, apparently unheard and unseen except by him, and ran for her car. She went straight for the back fender, crouched out of sight and then stood and rushed around to the driver’s side.

  A light came on in one of the cabins. For an instant, the woman froze, looking in the same direction.

  It was probably just somebody out of bed to take a leak, but you never knew. Spencer had crossed paths with some other night owls from time to time. Paranoia had that effect on a man.

  She opened the car door, still unlocked, and jumped in. She was smart enough not to turn on headlights, but seconds later the engine purred to life. Given the silence out here in the forest, it sounded more like a roar.

  Lights in other cabins came on.

  The car didn’t move.

  Goddamn. Somebody must have taken the precaution of screwing with her car. Disabled the transmission, maybe, or the CV joint.

  Why hadn’t Higgs mentioned that to him? Spencer wondered.

  Men were running toward her. She flung open her door, fell out and scrambled back to her feet, then took off for the trees.

  He couldn’t intervene. Even feeling a crack tear open in his iron control, Spencer knew there was too much to lose, and she wasn’t going to make it anyway.

  It killed him to stay back in the darkness and watch her be tackled by the fastest pursuer. Even down, she screamed and fought furiously. Finally breaking, he started toward them, but too late.

  A second guy reached her, and the two of them wrenched her to her feet, still struggling but in an uncoordinated way, as if her limbs no longer worked right.

  It was TJ Galt who’d reached her first. Curt Baldwin second. They’d pay for the unnecessary brutality, Spencer swore.

  By the time they dragged her to the foot of the lodge steps and dropped her on the ground, the porch light had come on and lights shone in all the cabins. They’d all been awakened and closed in on her. Spencer circled until he could join them in a way that would appear natural.

  “What the hell happened ?” Spencer asked, just as Higgs pushed his way to the center of the group.

  The colonel swore viciously before turning his head. “Where’s Durand?”

  “Here.”

  Everyone else drew back from the man who’d failed at his appointed task. Higgs didn’t accept failure.

  “How did she get by you?”

  “She couldn’t have.” Seeming dazed, Don Durand gazed down at the woman lying in the dirt at his feet. “That bedroom door never opened. Maybe...the window.”

  All but Spencer looked up at the obviously closed windows.

  Was she conscious? It was a minute before he could reassure himself that at least she was breathing. He should have run to her first, pretended to smack her around to avoid this. He gritted his teeth, wishing she’d made it into the woods.

  “Get her up!” Higgs snapped.

  Galt pulled her up in one vicious motion. One of her eyes was swollen completely shut. The other was open, but dazed. How aware was she?

  “Who has a gun?” Higgs demanded.

  After a heartbeat, Durand handed over his. Higgs grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked hard while grinding the barrel into her temple.

  “How’d you get out?”

  It was a long time before she spoke. Then her voice was a mere thread, so faint Spencer found himself leaning forward to hear.

  “Way to get from one bedroom closet to another.”

  Spencer stirred. When he was a kid, his still-intact family had vacationed at a rustic resort on one of Georgia’s barrier islands. He remembered discovering that a panel could be removed in the back of the closet to expose an additional space.

  Higgs swore some more. “Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

  Half the men clustered around her wore avid expressions Spencer had seen too often before, the kind you’d see on faces in the audience at an MMA fight when blood spattered, or in the crowd at a car race after a collision that might leave fatalities. These men were excited, wanted the shock of seeing blood and a young woman go down right in front of them. If Higgs’s finger tightened even a fraction...

  Spencer pushed forward. “That’d be an awful waste.”

  “What?” Higgs’s head jerked around.

  “You heard me.” Spencer smiled slightly and leaned on his Southern accent. “She’s a real pretty woman.”

  A chorus of agreement broke out. “Hell, yeah. We can keep her too busy to get in trouble.”

  Spencer looked into Higgs’s eyes. “Give her to me, and I’ll guarantee no more trouble from her.”

  The two m
en stared at each other; Higgs’s eyes narrowed. Spencer didn’t dare relax enough even to see how she had reacted, or if she had. Arguments broke out around them. They wanted to share her, or a few of the men thought they were entitled to have her, sure as hell more than that Southern bastard who’d joined the group late. This was a gamble that Higgs would acknowledge him as second in charge by giving him what he wanted.

  Higgs’s hand holding the gun dropped away, and he used his grip on her hair to twist her toward Spencer. Then he gave her a hard shove, sending her flying into Spencer, who pulled her tight against him.

  “She’s all yours,” Higgs said in a hard voice. “You screw up, on your head be it.”

  Spencer nodded at their fair leader, then half carried Leah through the crowd, ignoring the chorus of protests and the glares. Every hair on the back of his neck stood up as he broke free and steered her toward the refuge of his cabin.

  How the hell was he going to control her?

  Chapter Four

  Supporting most of Leah’s weight, Spencer propelled her up the steps to his porch and into his cabin. He laid her down on the futon that would have once served a dual purpose when a family rented this cabin. The damn thing was uncomfortable, but he didn’t suppose she’d notice right now. Aware that they’d been watched all the way, he was glad to be able to close and lock the door.

  The damage to her face was severe enough this time; he wondered whether her cheekbone might be broken. He worried even more that her brain had been traumatized. Knowing there wasn’t a thing he could do if that was so, Spencer gritted his teeth and went to the corner of the room that served as a kitchen. She hadn’t moved when he returned with an ice pack and a T-shirt he’d left lying over the back of a chair.

  He sat beside her on the futon, wrapped the ice pack in the thin cotton T-shirt and gently laid it over her cheekbone, eye and brow.

  She jerked and flailed.

  “Hey,” he said quietly. “I know this doesn’t feel good, but it’s only ice. You’ve got some major swelling going on.”

  Her eye—the one that wasn’t swollen shut—opened, looking glassy and uncomprehending.

  “That SOB clobbered you,” Spencer continued, working to keep his voice reassuring instead of enraged. “I’ll give you something for the pain once the ice has had a chance to help.” And once she demonstrated some coherence. If she didn’t...well, that was a bridge he’d cross when he had no other choice.

  Her eye closed and a small sigh escaped her.

  His hand was cold, but he didn’t move it, just kept looking down at her, taking in every detail of her face, from the old and new damage to her lashes and eyebrows, both auburn instead of brown. Just long enough to tuck behind her ears, her hair was ruffled but obviously straight. A high forehead gave her some of that look of innocence and youth he’d first noticed. She had a pretty mouth, now that it wasn’t pressed into a tight line.

  With a grimace, he corrected himself. What he’d really meant was, Now that it was lax because she was semiconscious.

  “Leah?”

  His anxiety ratcheted up a notch when she didn’t respond.

  He tried again. “Can you hear me? I need to know how you’re doing.”

  Her lashes fluttered and the single eyelid rose. She tried to focus a still-dazed eye on him. “Why—” she licked her lips “—would you care?”

  He’d bent his head closer to hear a question that was more a prolonged breath than words. There were any number of possible responses, but he went with, “You didn’t deserve this.”

  “Tried...run away.”

  “I know.”

  “You...missed car key.”

  Okay, she was with him, if still feeling like crap. He smiled. “I didn’t miss the key. I left it for you.”

  “Car wouldn’t drive.”

  “I didn’t do that. Didn’t know anyone else had, either.”

  Tiny lines formed on her forehead above the ice pack. “Why would you want me to get away?”

  The side of him that was utterly focused on his mission hadn’t. A police response would have majorly screwed up this operation. He’d invested too much in it to want it ended prematurely. But he hadn’t been able to stand back and watch her be raped or killed, either.

  “I don’t hurt women,” he finally said.

  Was that a snort? He wasn’t sure, and she’d closed her eye again.

  “If you can hold this in place—” he lifted her hand and laid it over the ice pack “—I’ll get you some painkillers.”

  “’Kay,” she murmured.

  He kept a sharp eye on her for the short time it took him to dig in his leather duffel bag in the bedroom and return to the main room with a bottle of over-the-counter meds. He had some better stuff tucked away, too, but he’d hold off on that for now.

  Bringing a glass of water, too, he helped her half sit up and swallow the pills, then gently laid her back again.

  “Have you gotten any sleep tonight?” he asked.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Maybe...hour or two?”

  That was what he’d thought. “Once the pain lets up a little, I’m hoping you’ll be able to get a few hours.”

  She didn’t comment. Spencer had to wonder if her busy little brain wasn’t already plotting how to escape. As in, waiting until he had fallen asleep. And, damn it, he did need some sleep. He didn’t like his best option here, and she’d like it even less, but he didn’t see a workable alternative. Now that he had her safe, he wouldn’t let her risk herself unnecessarily...and he was back to focusing first on what he needed to do.

  She paid enough attention to him to lift her arms when he asked, and tell him where else she hurt. He manipulated her right shoulder and decided it, too, was inflamed and deeply bruised from when she hit the ground with TJ’s weight atop her.

  He cracked open another ice pack and applied it to her shoulder. When she started shivering, he grabbed his fleece jacket and spread it over her.

  Leah peered suspiciously at him from her one good eye.

  Finally, he said, “Okay, tell you what. I’m going to move you to the bed so you can really get some sleep. We’ll ice any swelling in the morning.” Which wasn’t very far away.

  She didn’t move. Spencer took away the ice packs and tossed them in the small sink. Returning to her, he slid an arm behind her back and said, “Upsy daisy.”

  “I want to stay here.”

  “Not happening,” he said flatly.

  “Why not?”

  “You didn’t get away. There won’t be a second chance.”

  She twisted out of his grip. “I won’t!”

  “I didn’t ask you.” This time he lifted her using both arms.

  Her pliancy vanished. She fought like a featherweight champ, landing blows with her small fists. He averted his face and endured as he walked to the bedroom, but when she managed to clip his jaw, he snapped, “That’s it,” and dropped her on the bed.

  Of course she rolled for the other side and thudded off onto her knees, then scrambled to her feet. “If you think I’m getting in that bed with you—”

  “I’m not giving you a choice,” he said grimly, and pulled a set of handcuffs from his back pocket.

  * * *

  ALREADY SCARED, LEAH completely lost it then. Gripped by a suffocating terror, she knew only that once he clicked those cuffs on her, she’d be utterly helpless.

  He was already shifting toward the foot of the bed, expecting her to come around. She threw herself across the bed instead, her shoulder hitting his hard belly when he moved to intercept her. Fighting mindlessly, Leah used every weapon she had, including her teeth and nails. He let out a stream of invectives when she raked her fingernails over his cheek and sank her teeth into his biceps. Sobbing for breath, she kept fighting even as he subdued her with insulting ease, throwing her again onto the bed and
, this time, coming down on top of her.

  Even that didn’t stop her. She bucked and kicked and screamed until he covered her mouth and half her face with a big hand, somehow managing to capture both her wrists with his other hand and plant them above her head.

  Now she couldn’t breathe at all. With that powerful body, he was crushing her. She wrenched her head side to side until she was able to bite the fleshy part of his hand below his thumb.

  “Enough!” he snarled, and before she knew it he’d pushed her to her side and clicked the handcuffs around one wrist. Her face was wet with tears and probably snot as she continued to fight uselessly against his greater strength.

  He snapped the other side of the cuffs onto the old iron bedstead and rolled off both her and the bed to land on his feet where he glared down at her, his teeth bared, his hands half curled into fists.

  Leah went still, hurting everywhere, terrified in an all new way. She had no doubt at all that he intended to rape her.

  I don’t hurt women.

  Sure. Right. Her shoulder screamed and her head throbbed. One hip hurt, too, and she tasted blood. Her gaze flicked to his powerful biceps where she saw the bite mark. It was his blood in her mouth.

  “Damn,” he said suddenly, and scrubbed one of his hands over his face. When he looked back at her, his expression had changed. Instead of triumph, she thought she saw regret. No, probably pity. But even that was good news, wasn’t it? If he felt sorry for her, would a man still rape a woman?

  “Let me get a wet cloth to wipe your face,” he said unexpectedly, and left the bedroom.

  She tugged at the cuffs, just to be sure they really had clicked shut. The metal bit into her wrist. Leah turned her face away from the door.

  A moment later she heard his footfall.

  “If I sit down, will you attack me again?” he asked in that deep voice tinged with a softening accent.

  Did he wear a pistol? She couldn’t remember noticing. If she could get her hand on it...

  She had to roll her head to see.

  No gun.