Lori Foster - Fast Burn

The freckled guy clutched it, as if he held the prize.

Sighing, she watched the leader go back up those stairs and wondered how long he would be. For some insane reason, she felt marginally safer with him nearby; since he’d been the one doing all the talking, she felt she knew him a little better.

The rest, other than Freckles, were unknown quantities. They could be rapists, murderers—or just plain insane.

Predatory gazes tracked her as she circled the room, inspecting it. Other than the heater, the portable potty and the cot, the room was empty. She saw no other electrical outlets, so she went over to the cot and, using her knee, nudged it away from the wall. She bent, put her hands against the rickety frame and began scooting it toward the heater. Thanks to the metal legs on concrete, it loudly screeched as if death was near.

Two men came forward and, without a word, lifted each end. They carried it toward the heater. One of them, with a questioning look, waited.

It was in her nature to test the limits, so she said, “A little to the left please.”

They obliged.

“No, a little to the right now.”

Again, they did as she asked without comment.

“Perhaps a tad farther back—”

The cot hit the floor with a clatter and the two men walked away to stand with the others.

She smiled inwardly and said with sugary sweetness, “Thank you so much.”

All five of them nodded.

Hmm... There was an odd gallantness to their behavior in direct conflict with hardened criminals. Testing that, she sat on the side of the cot and tried to look dejected.

Time ticked by in utter silence. Only the occasional sound of someone shifting position intruded.

She let out a sigh. In the smallest voice she could manage, she asked, “Am I going to die?”

Someone—she wasn’t sure who, since she didn’t look back—said, “Not if you follow orders.”

Well. They certainly weren’t ruling it out. Hopefully, Leese had understood her subtle message and was already at the office with Enoch. The tracking device could be easily positioned in her clothes or jewelry. For now, she’d made it part of her necklace. She prayed they wouldn’t take that from her—if it would even work down in the bowels of the building.

She stood to pace. Her heels made a distinct clinking noise against the concrete. It wasn’t just the feminine style of stilettos that she loved, it was the sound the heels made that really did it for her. The cadence helped her to focus.

She’d deliberately called Brand instead of Leese. If she’d had more time to consider it once they thrust the phone into her hand, she might have come up with another solution. But the boss man had already explained that he studied up on all her guys and had files on each of the bodyguards, new and old. That meant she had to take them by surprise somehow.

They wouldn’t have anything on Brand since he wasn’t part of the agency. At least, she hoped they wouldn’t. He’d been there a few times, most recently that very day. But then, clients came and went, too, as did delivery people. For all they knew, Brand wasn’t anyone special.

She knew better.

Brand Berry was her own personal temptation, and that made him special indeed.

Dragging him in to things kicking and complaining wasn’t really her style, but then neither was losing.

Would he come after her?

She honestly didn’t know and wasn’t sure if she wanted him risking himself anyway. Circling the room again, she thought about what she’d say to him, what he might say to her—

“Sit down,” one of the men said.

Another added, “Or at least take off those heels.”

With a toss of her hair, she continued to pace. “If I’m dying anyway, I might as well suit myself.”

She heard the footsteps as one of the men started forward with a snarl.

Then the boss man’s voice intruded with “Back off,” as he bounded down the steps.

“She started it.”

Sahara turned with disbelief. “Grade school complaints? Really?”

A hard hand clamped around her arm and the boss said near her ear, “Quit pushing your luck,” while propelling her toward the cot.

She couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Or what?”

He pulled out a big shiny blade—and effectively stole her bravado.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE SHRANK BACK as he brandished that knife—then let out a thick breath when he only cut away part of the knot holding the ropes around her wrists.

Resisting the urge to rub the abraded skin, she asked, “Just to be clear, you’re not going to stab me?”

“No. But if you can’t contain yourself instead of needling my men, I’ll take away all of your clothes and tie you naked to the cot.”

As far as threats went, that was a doozy. To cover her horror over such an idea, she grumbled, “I’d freeze.”

An arrested expression showed in his eyes seconds before he laughed. “You’re entertaining, honey, when you’re not provoking.” He spun her around and, without a lot of finesse, jerked away her coat.

“Wait,” she protested, trying to hold on to it. “I really will freeze and I promise not to—”

He tossed it to one of the others and said, “Check the pockets.” Then he eyed her up and down. “Behave.”

She had to swallow twice to get her heart out of her throat. Rather than agree with his edict—because she really wasn’t sure she could behave—Sahara crossed her arms. The small room had already warmed considerably, so everyone would see it as a defensive move and she knew it.

“Nothing in them.” The man handed the coat back to her, but when she only glared, he dropped it on the bed.

The boss extended a hand past her and Freckles brought him her purse. He upended it on the cot, then pawed through everything. A comb, her cell phone, a bag of M&M’s, a small tin of aspirin, a tampon—he balked at the sight of that, then balked again at the pack of condoms.

Pale blue eyes slowly pinned her.

She shrugged. “I’m nothing if not prepared.”

He stared a moment more, then asked, “Did you leave your keys in the ignition?”

“Please. My car has a keyless ignition.” She gave him a look of haughty indignation for thinking she’d be so foolish. “The key fob is in an inside zippered pocket.”

He opened it, his large hands clumsy against the small accessory. Her keys went in his pocket along with her cell phone—not that she’d expected to keep either. It’d be great if they at least left her purse with her.

“This?”

“Makeup remover cloths. Never know when I might need to do a touch-up.” She unbent enough to reach for the purse. “Allow me, before you destroy something.”

He gestured in a be-my-guest way, but said, “Any tricks at all, and you won’t like the results.”

She glanced up and saw two men with guns trained on her.

Definitely no trust at all. Opening another pocket, she retrieved her lipstick and mascara, with a small vial of perfume. The last pocket, on the bottom of the purse, held a power bank and extra cord. “In case my phone dies.”

He took everything, squeezed every inch of her purse to ensure nothing else was inside, then dropped it on the bed with the things he hadn’t confiscated.

Considering how he’d just manhandled her purse... “What did you do with my car? And if you say you torched it and shoved it off a cliff, I’m going to be really pissed.”

Amusement curled one side of his mouth. “It’s parked at the end of your driveway.” He eyed her askance. “Know a lot of cliffs around the city, do you?”

She waved a hand. “I meant that metaphorically.” She gave him her own shrewd look. “How did you know where I live?”

His gaze hardened. “We know everything about you.”