Tymber Dalton - Safe Harbor

He headed north, to an old motor court-style motel two blocks west of Alternate U.S. 19, in Palm Harbor, south of Tarpon. He pulled into a parking space in front of the room on the far end and looked at her.

“Nice and easy. Get out and wait for me, then follow me. I will shoot you and drive off if you don’t. Then I will go kill your boyfriend.”

She slowly opened the door under his watchful eye and stood waiting beside the car after closing the door. He grabbed a tote bag from the car and she followed him to the very last room where a Do Not Disturb sign was hung on the door.

He locked the door behind them and drew the gun from the lab coat pocket. “Empty your pockets.” He put her cell phone on the dresser.

She couldn’t delay. Slowly, she pulled out a couple of bills and change. She’d left her rings at home as she usually did before a boat trip, locked in the gun safe, not wanting to risk losing them or getting them caught on something.

Thank God she had.

“That’s it?”

She nodded.

He grabbed a chair from the small table and dragged it to the back of the room, near the bathroom. He waved the gun at it. “Sit.”

She did.

He used a roll of duct tape to secure her legs and arms to the chair.

She felt marginally relieved that he wasn’t going to rape her, at least not right then.

If he tried to touch her like that, she would fight him. No one touched her like that except her men. Even under risk of death she wouldn’t let him do that to her.

When he was satisfied with her bonds, he reached out and slapped her, hard, across the face. “You stupid fucking cunt. You had to go crying to everyone that I hurt you.”

He studied the venom in her eyes when she didn’t respond, didn’t cry. He slapped her again, harder. “What the fuck? You go stupid and forget how to talk?”

It stung, and if he used his fists on her, she didn’t doubt she would cry. But considering his slap didn’t hurt nearly as much as Sully’s riding crop on her ass, she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“I bet you’ll be saying a lot if I’m cutting your fingers off one at a time while your asshole friend is listening.” He grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and took a long, deep swallow from it. Then he reached for her cell phone.

Sully kept hitting refresh on the tracking software as Jason hovered over his shoulder. Dammit, the bastard must have shut her cell off. Once he had a location, depending on what cell towers her phone hit, it should get him close, at least within a few blocks of her location if the phone could firmly lock on the satellite signal for the GPS coordinates.

Then the first ping as the system found the phone. Not her exact location, he’d have to call her to triangulate. But he had too many programs and windows open on his laptop, and it froze before it could pick up the signal.

He swore and grabbed his phone as he rebooted the computer.

Clarisse realized it had to be bugging Bryan that she wasn’t pleading and crying and groveling like she normally would when he went after her.

That she showed no fear for herself.

He set down his bottle of beer and leaned in close. Grabbing her chin, he dug his fingers into her cheeks. “You’ll have plenty to say to me later, bitch.” He always got more angry when he drank, which frequently happened when they were together. On his third beer, he was on his way to getting very drunk.

And very angry.

He released her after slapping her one final time. That one, harder than the first two, rocked her head and left her seeing stars.

Nevertheless, somehow she managed to choke back her smile.

“You slap like a girl, asshole.” Okay, not the smartest thing to say, and she knew the second she uttered it she’d regret saying it.

He drew back his fist to hit her when her phone rang the Mission Impossible theme. Mac’s phone.

Sully. It had to be him, because he had Mac’s phone.

“Is that your other boyfriend?”

She forced the lie. “No.” Well, technically not a lie. He wasn’t her boyfriend, he was her husband.

He stepped back, grabbed her phone, and looked at it. She couldn’t believe it when he flipped it open and held it to her face. The beer must have fogged his judgment. Thank God she’d set the caller ID to read Sir B instead of Brant.

She didn’t cower, didn’t drop her eyes from Bryan’s. “Hi there, Sir. How are you doing?”

“Pet, it’s me. How are you?” Clarisse tried to read Sully’s voice, knew he must have found the note Bryan had left at Mac’s bedside, but she didn’t know what the note had said.

“I’m fine, Sir. It’s nice to hear from you. Thanks for calling.

We’re getting along okay. It’s been rough.”

Sully paused, and when he spoke, his voice sounded soft. “Good girl, pet. I’m rebooting my computer. It’s going to take a minute.

Keep talking. He’s right there?”

She thought fast. “I decided to alternate with Sully. He told me to come back at nineteen-hundred hours, give or take, after shift change in the ICU. I might go back a little early though.”

Another long pause from Sully. “Understood. Where does he have you? Give me a clue in case I lose you.”

“That’s okay. It’s been a long few days. I didn’t feel like going all the way back home so I’m at the motel. You can call his cell, though.”

Another pause. “Seminole?”

“No, that’s the number he had before. Call the new number.”

Less hesitation. “Largo? Keep talking in case he takes the phone away. My computer’s not up yet.”

“Not quite, but they’re hoping sooner than later.” Bryan watched her for any sign of treachery. She refused to look away.

“You’re amazing, pet. I’m so proud of you. Dunedin?”

“No, if you come by tonight, you have to park where you did before and keep going, around to the other hospital entrance. It’s farther up. You could park in the north garage but you have to pay.”

“Holiday?”

“That would take you too far from the hospital. You don’t want to walk that far in this neighborhood. The Harborside parking lot where they have all the palm trees, that’s the one I mean.”

She heard a muffled male voice in the background and the rattle of what sounded like paper. “Palm Harbor? A motel in Palm Harbor?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Good girl, pet. Sit tight. Has he hurt you?”

If she had half an opportunity, Bryan would be the one in serious fucking pain. “No, Sir. I’m getting along okay. Things are very tight right now.”

“I love you, pet. So much, you have no idea. I promise I am coming for you. I will bring you home safe. Just sit tight. Fucking computer, I’m trying to get the air card to log on so I can track you.”

Bryan made a slashing motion across his throat.

“Same here, Sir. I’m sorry. I have to go. Thank you for calling.

Good-bye.”

Bryan didn’t drop his gaze as he pulled the phone away and hung up. “Who the fuck was that? Sir B?” He turned it off again. “Your battery’s low. We’ll call your little friend later.”

“I’ve been taking some…spirituality classes at the Greek Orthodox church in Tarpon. Bill. He’s the teacher. We all call him Sir. He’s British. He was knighted.” She mentally winced, wishing she’d come up with a better story. Lying wasn’t easy anymore, not even to Bryan, and not even when faced with death. It felt wrong to lie. Her skills had atrophied with disuse.

She never had a reason to lie anymore. She never had to fear telling the truth.

Clarisse fought back the old fears returning to cripple her, how oppressive life had been with Bryan. Like a thick, nasty slime it wanted to suck away all her hopes.