Debra Webb - Striking Distance

He liked the power...wanted her helpless. She was sure of it. Reacting as he would expect to the encroaching sound of his voice, she backed away, the chain rattled as she bumped into the cot. “Just my luck to hit on a psycho,” she muttered, forcing a tremor into her voice. “But my luck has always sucked anyway.” She had a hunch. It was a long shot, but what the hell. “My own mother ran out on me as a kid, but I managed to get by.” She glared in his direction, lifting her chin with a hint of defiance. “Looks like fate had it in for me all along.”

He moved again...close enough that she could have reached out and touched him.

She collapsed onto the cot in a show of defeat. “Just get it over with.” She hugged herself and exhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t want to play any sick games. I got enough of that crap from my old man before he cut out on me, too.”

“You just don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Before she could make an evasive maneuver he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

Surprisingly, she sensed anger in his tone, felt it in his punishing grip. She thought about that for the three seconds she dared permit the distraction. He didn’t want to hear about her fictional childhood distress. Was there something like that in his past? Maybe she’d play up the whole “beaten down” strategy and see where it took her.

“Look,” she said wearily, “if you’re going to kill me you’d better let me pee first otherwise I’m going to make a hell of a mess on your floor.”

He grabbed her right hand and pried it open. Before she could fathom his intent he placed a key in her palm. Startled all over again by his actions, she crouched down and unlocked the steel bracelet around her ankle. She rubbed the raw skin there and then straightened and offered him the key back. Could this guy be human after all?

“Does this mean you’re not going to kill me?”

He didn’t answer, just manacled her arm and dragged her across the room. The stairs were a little tricky in the dark, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble.

She wondered how he could possibly have such excellent night vision. There were people like that she knew, but generally there was some physiological reason. He’d have one, as well.

When he opened the door at the top of the stairs, she blinked rapidly to allow her eyes to adjust to the light.

She studied the layout of the house as he led her through the kitchen and down a hallway. Back door in kitchen near sink. Three more doorways in the hall. One leading to what looked like a living room, the one they’d exited from the kitchen and the third one led to a bathroom. The stairs climbing to the second level started where the hall ended opposite the front door. No pictures on the walls. No other decorating touches.

At the bathroom door he stood aside. “Make it fast.”

She sidled past him but hesitated before closing the door. “You mean you’re not going to watch.”

He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall without responding.

Tasha closed the door and sagged with relief.

She exhaled some of the tension tightening her chest, but instead of relaxing, she quickly surveyed the small room for a means of escape. Not that she’d decided she needed to make a run for it yet...but just in case. She was pretty sure that if he’d intended to kill her he would have, whether she needed to relieve herself or not. Besides, she was trapped.

The only window was one of those small rectangular ones above the tub/shower combination. As slim as she was there was no way she was getting out that route.

Knowing he was waiting right outside, she pushed off the door and took care of nature’s call.

As she flushed the toilet she couldn’t help smiling. She’d done it. Gotten him to bring her to his lair. Lucas Camp, she mused, wherever you are, I’m in.

Chapter 12

They’d driven around most of the night.

And found nothing. Her signal had restarted briefly at one point, but not long enough for a lock on her location.

Maverick scrubbed a hand over his face and cursed himself for letting her get away.

He was her backup.

If she was dead...

Ramon was part of her backup, as well, but Maverick was the one in charge. In nearly two decades of this kind of work he’d never lost a team member. Not once. He didn’t want to start with one so damned young.

An almost inaudible beep sounded in the silence of the truck.

He jerked to attention, his gaze going instantly to the monitor he still clutched in his hand.

The two previously flat lines he’d stared at for hours on end blinked into activity.

“We’ve got her back,” he said in a rush, the words scarcely more than a relieved whisper.

Ramon sat up a little straighter behind the wheel. “Give me some directions, amigo.”

He rattled off the necessary information, not once taking his eyes off the tiny pulsing lights that represented Tasha North’s heart rate and location.

They were back in business.

He had to get word to Lucas.

Chapter 13

Tasha moistened a cloth and washed her face. She couldn’t be sure how long he would give her in here alone, but she needed some time to get a better grip on her strained emotions. She might be tough but she was still only human. Playing this guy’s game had been hard work.

There was something not quite right here, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. If he’d been the stone-cold killer he appeared to be she’d be dead now. It didn’t take a master’s degree in psych to see it...and she had one.

She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that a small part of her wanted to get the hell out of here ASAP. But the professional in her needed to see this through. She was close—right where Lucas wanted her. If she could just stay alive she could bring this guy down.

Whether he was as bad as he wanted the world to believe had nothing to do with her mission. Lucas wanted her close to him so he could be stopped. She got the distinct impression that as soon as he had led them to the man who’d hired him, he would be terminated.

That thought gave her an uncharacteristic pause. The hesitation confused her...but it was there. She’d have to deal with it.

She shook off the thought. That was the number one rule in the spy business—never, ever let the enemy close enough to make it matter.

The door opened, and the enemy in question barged in.

“Did you forget how to knock?” she asked the face glaring at her in the mirror.

“You never answered my question.”

Back to that again, huh?

She spun around on her bare heel, bracing herself against the sink and staring up at him. “I already told you that I hit on you because you were the cutest guy in the club. Deal with it.” The images Lucas had captured of this guy didn’t do him justice, especially his eyes. Nor had the dim lighting in that club last night. His eyes were...amazing.

Suppressing a shiver she started to give him her back. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “What’s this?” He tipped her chin up and looked first at her healing lip then at the fading bruise on her cheek.

Concealer and makeup had covered the evidence of the roughing up she’d taken night before last. The low lighting in the club had helped, as well. But with the makeup long gone and in the bright light of day, there was no hiding her battle scars.

“My roommate and I had a disagreement.” She drew away from his touch. “It happens.” She turned back to the mirror and grimaced at her reflection. She looked like hell. Nothing she could do about that since she had no cosmetics, not even a brush. She combed her fingers through her tousled hair. The net jacket that had looked so sexy last night reminded her of snagged pantyhose this morning. She peeled it off and stuffed it in the trash can next to the toilet, purposely bending from the waist to startle her host.