Sandra Brown - Smoke Screen

He didn’t say anything for several moments, then asked her, “Do you think Jay took advantage of you?”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out before she raised her head. The tears were gone, but her nose was running. “I can’t imagine that he would, but I don’t know,” she finished huskily.

He got up and went into the bathroom, pulled a length of toilet paper off the roll, and brought it back with him. He folded it into a square and pressed it against her nose. “Blow.” Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Don’t be silly. Blow.”

She blew. He wiped her nose, then went into the kitchen to throw the tissue away and asked her if she wanted more water. She declined.

He returned to his chair. “Tell me about when you woke up.”

She described how Jay was lying on his side, facing away from her. Her head was muzzy, she was confused. She collected her clothes, finding some of them in the living room, then went into the bathroom, where she threw up.

“It should have occurred to me then that I’d been drugged, but this was Jay Burgess. A police officer. A man I knew and trusted. I saw the empty bottle of scotch and blamed myself for losing control and doing something stupid.”

She paused and gave him a pointed look. “Which is not my m.o. I’m not in the habit of drinking myself unconscious and waking up in a man’s bed with no recollection of how I got there. In fact, nothing even remotely like that has ever happened to me before. I like being in control.”

“That I believe.” He said it in a way that didn’t flatter her, and he figured she caught the nuance because she frowned.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I used the bathroom and showered, the two things you’re not supposed to do if you suspect you’ve been given a date rape drug. Consequently, I can’t prove that I was.”

“When did you lose your virginity?”

The question took her aback. “What?”

“How many years have you been having sex?”

“None of your damn business.”

“It’s not that I care, I’m just finding it hard to believe that you can sit there and with a straight face tell me you don’t know whether or not you and Jay did the nasty thing.”

“A condom foil was found on the sofa.”

“Ahh. So you did.”

“It would appear so, but I don’t know. My doctor-”

“Why would you need clinical proof? Wouldn’t you know? Even hours later, wouldn’t you just feel it?”

“Would you?”

“I’m not a woman! My body doesn’t get penetrated.”

She bit back whatever she was about to say. Looking away from him, she compressed her lips and forcibly composed herself. When she looked back at him, she said, “It didn’t feel to me as though we’d been intimate. But I can’t swear to it. And does it even matter? Isn’t that a little beside the point?”

“I guess so. Jay still wound up dead.”

He stood up and took his knife from his pants pocket, then stepped around to the back of her chair. “Thank you,” she said with meaning as he cut through the tape binding her hands.

“Don’t get too excited. We’re not finished yet.” He wrapped his hand around her biceps and headed for the bedroom, hauling her along behind him.

“What are you-Wait! You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“It won’t hurt. Unless you fight me.”

He gave her a light push that sent her stumbling toward the bed. She broke her fall against it but bounced up and dashed toward the door. He hooked his arm around her waist as she ran past him, lifted her against his hip, and carried her to the bed, unceremoniously dumping her onto it.

Being caught at the waist had knocked the breath from her. It took a couple of seconds for her to regain it, then she was all fight again, kicking at him with all her might, flailing her arms in her effort to connect with his head.

But it was never any real contest. He straddled her thighs to make her thrashing legs ineffectual, then plucked the roll of duct tape from his shirt pocket, where he’d temporarily stowed it. Leaning away from her slapping, scratching hands, he ripped off a strip with his teeth, caught her left hand, and pulled it up to the bedpost. In seconds, he had her wrist taped tightly to the post at the level of the mattress.

He came off her and blotted his cheek with the back of his hand. Seeing fresh blood, he said, “You scratch me again and I’ll tape your hand to the top of the headboard. It won’t be nearly as comfortable.”

“Go to hell.”

Confident that she couldn’t do too much damage or go very far in the amount of time it would take him to go through the cabin turning out lights, he did so. When he reentered the bedroom, she was standing at the side of the bed, tugging frantically on her left hand as she tore at the tape with the fingernails of her right, accomplishing nothing except to pull the bed several inches away from the wall.

“You plan to drag the bed all the way back to Charleston?”

“Damn you! Let me go!”

Raley unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down. That shut her up. She stared at him aghast. “What are you doing?”

“Taking my clothes off, what does it look like?” He toed off his sneakers, stepped out of the jeans, and removed his socks. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, pulled it over his head, and tossed it onto the nearest chair, then bent down and picked up the roll of tape.

“Get back on the bed.”

She shook her head, then said hoarsely, “No.”

He was on her before she could plan an effective defense. In seconds, she was on her back on the bed. He straddled her again while he wrapped the duct tape around their joined wrists, her right to his left. Again he bit off the end with his teeth.

“You might manage to gnaw off the tape on your left wrist,” he said, “but you can’t get free of me.”

“Maybe not,” she said between gasps of breath. “But I can make life very unpleasant for you.”

He should have recognized her wicked smile as a warning. As it was, he was almost too late to react when she raised her knee toward his crotch. She missed his balls by a margin so narrow, he caught his breath in anticipation of the pain that, fortunately, never came.

Frustrated that she’d failed, she screamed up at him, “Get off me!”

Instead, he stretched out fully, leaving himself less vulnerable by pinning her legs down with his. She was hampered but not defeated. She continued to buck like a colt, trying to throw him off. He lowered his face to within inches of hers, close enough to exchange angry breaths but far enough so they could keep each other in sharp focus.

“Stop that!” he ordered.

She didn’t of course.

“You want to know why I brought you here?”

“I think I know why,” she replied, panting from her exertion.

“You don’t know shit. I’ll clue you in. But you’ve got to stop fighting me first.”

Instantly she became still, but if looks could kill…

“I brought you here because I believe you.” Her blue eyes went wide. “I’m probably the only person in the state who does.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Yeah. I believe your memory was deliberately wiped clean.” He pressed down on her harder, for emphasis, to make certain she was paying attention. “Because the same thing happened to me.”

BRITT WOKE UP WHEN A SHAFT OF SUNLIGHT STRUCK HER FACE. She was lying on her side, facing a window. Through the screen she could see dense green forest, the leaves of a wisteria vine fluttering against the post of an old-fashioned clothesline, and a predatory bird doing spirals against the cloudless sky.

Remembering where she was, she rolled onto her back and came up on her elbows. Daylight did little to enhance the room. It was small, accommodating only the bed, a chair, and a TV tray that served as a nightstand, on which was a gooseneck reading lamp. In the corner was a large bureau with six deep drawers.