Lori L. Harris - Someone Safe

“I…I’ll do whatever…y…you want,” she repeated, the sour burn of bile mixing at the back of her throat with the metallic taste of fear.

“Sure you will. Now that I’ve got your attention. And because you’re a smart lady and you want to live, don’t you?”

She nodded.

Where was the knife? She couldn’t feel it. Not at her throat. Not where he’d just cut her. Where was it?

“You’ve got something doesn’t belong to you. All you have to do is return it.”

“I don’t underst—”

He forced a knee between her legs. “Mr. Binelli pays me to make sure no one screws with him. I’m damned good at it, too. So don’t screw with me.”

“I…I don’t know what… I don’t know any Bin…Binelli. A mistake—”

He used his grip on the burlap sack to slam her head back against the siding, used his forearm across her throat to keep her there. “No. You’re making the mistake, Kelly.”

He stroked a fingertip over the wound on her collar bone, the touch oddly gentle, at odds with his other actions, then traced a circle around each cloth-covered nipple. She clenched her eyes closed as if that would somehow block out the image in her mind. It didn’t.

“Perhaps you remember him now?” he asked calmly. She could feel his erection now. Pressing against her abdomen.

She found herself nodding. Give him what he wants. Appear to go along. Survive.

“See. Isn’t that easier? You have twenty-four hours to return what doesn’t belong to you.”

She numbly nodded again.

“There was a Customs man at your place. What did he want?”

He’d been watching her even then, knew Nick had been there. When she tried to speak, her voice shook. “He wanted to… He asked about flights.”

His fingers continued their play. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to lie to me, would you?”

She swallowed. “No. I wouldn’t—”

“I didn’t think so. And it better stay that way. Return what doesn’t belong to you and you’ll live.” He leaned down until his mouth was next to her ear. “Play games, talk to Customs or the police, the only thing you’ll be good for is shark bait.”

He abruptly shoved her down into the corner. She cowered on the cold concrete.

Pulling her blouse together, she felt for buttons with stiff fingers; finding none, she tied it together. She could feel him standing over her. Clasping her arms, she fought to control the sharp shudders that came endlessly, one after the other.

When enough minutes had stretched, soundless and expectant—when she had finally convinced herself she was wrong about her attacker still being there—she felt the first glimmer of relief and reached for the burlap still covering her head.

His low chuckle stopped her in midmotion.

He’d been watching her cringe like some beaten animal at his feet. Anger twisted in her.

She left the blindfold in place, but pushed her way up the wall until she stood unsteadily. “You won’t kill me. We both know it. Not until Binelli gets what he wants.”

He laughed. “Don’t go thinking you’re too smart, Kelly. Or I’ll be forced to finish what I’ve started here.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you sick bastard?”

He stepped closer. “No. I’d love it.”

At his words, Kelly took a sharp breath. She listened to the crunch of his footsteps as he walked away.

With the first heave, Kelly ripped off the hood. Doubled over, she emptied her stomach in the corner. She scraped at the dampness on her cheeks, wobbled back a step, then, straightening, dragged her fingers through her sweaty hair. She tested her bruised cheekbone.

Binelli? Who in the hell was Binelli? Why did her attacker think she knew him when she’d never even heard the name before?

She grappled to make any sense out of what had happened, but no matter how she turned it, she was in deep trouble. The kind where people ended up dead.

She’d been right all along. Nick’s showing up tonight hadn’t been by chance. He’d been after something. She couldn’t even begin to figure out what was going on, but she was sure Nick already knew what the attack had been all about.

She stood there in indecision. She needed to move. But where? Going to the police would be a waste of time. They couldn’t help her. They’d fill out a report. Send someone out to gather evidence, including the vomit. In the meantime, she’d be like a blind woman. She didn’t known what her attacker looked like. He could walk up to her in broad daylight on the street, in a crowd, or anywhere, and kill her.

Who was Binelli?

Taking a sharp breath, she bent forward, pushing hard against her abdomen, the panic so sharp it felt as if a knife were being driven between her ribs. When she finally managed to straighten again, sweat poured from her.

If she wanted to live, she needed answers.

And the only one likely to have them was Nick.

THERE WERE NO LIGHTS ON inside the hotel, most tourists having fled the intense heat of July and the threat of hurricane season. The air was heavy and hot and suffocating; the moon, nearly full and high in the sky, was bright enough to throw sharp shadows beneath the trees.

A hunter’s moon.

Kelly circled the long, low-slung structure until she spotted a single room off by itself where the drapes were drawn.

She approached carefully. If there had been anywhere else for her to go for the answers, anyone else for her to turn to, she wouldn’t have come here.

After looking nervously over her shoulder, the memory of her attacker’s warning to stay clear of Nick still prominent in her mind, she tapped lightly.

“Nick, open up. It’s Kelly.”

Nothing. Not even the sound of someone moving around inside. She rapped again, this time with more force.

Then, when there was no answer, with desperation.

The panic she’d barely kept under control broke loose inside her and she pounded harder. Had he lied about where he was staying?

And, if he wasn’t here, what was she going to do? Where would she go? Who could she turn to?

“It’s a little late for social calls.”

Though the slow drawl of Nick’s words had barely broken the night’s silence, she jumped.

As she spun to face him, her hand climbed to her throat, remained there.

He leaned against a pillar not more than five feet away, his stance seemingly as lazy as his voice. And yet, even with the distance between them, she could feel the tension in his body, the sharp interest in his gaze.

He wore the jeans he’d had on earlier and a dark shirt, which hung from his shoulders unbuttoned and untucked. As her glance swept down to his bare feet, she hesitated on the automatic he held in front of him, the barrel currently pointed at the concrete.

He thumbed on the safety before palming the piece.

“I would have figured this was the last place you’d show up tonight, Kel.” He arched a brow. “Or any night, for that matter.”

She shut her eyes briefly, forcing her thoughts into some semblance of order, and was thankful for the deeper shadows of the covered walkway. She didn’t want him to see just how terrified, how desperate she was feeling.

Hugging the green hooded jacket she’d pulled on over her ruined blouse, she looked down, the shakes still wracking her body. “I want some answers.”

As he closed the distance between them, Nick watched for signs of a weapon, but saw none. A satchel weighted her left shoulder, a good spot to conceal a gun, but she seemed barely to notice it hanging there. Her hair was windblown around her face.

Stopping in front of her, he couldn’t seem to stop his fingers from lifting a strand of it, testing its texture, getting closer to her than she wanted him to be. Invading her space.