Debra Regan - Reluctant Hero

Her stomach rumbled and she decided to make use of the basics her captor had stocked. Finding peanut butter in the cabinet and bread in the refrigerator, she used a spoon and made a sandwich. “Good thing I don’t have a peanut allergy,” she said, raising the sandwich to the camera. “Did you check my medical records?” She poured another glass of water from the tap, not ready to trust the chilled bottles.

She ate standing up, refusing to be caught at a disadvantage. “It really is a good use of space,” she said, in case her captor was listening. “Efficient too. Must have cost you a fortune with the design, the build and all the security measures.”

Security. The word ricocheted through her brain. Parker Lawton handled security for high-end clients like the Gray Box data storage solution company co-founded by Rush Grayson. Could he be foolish enough to hold her hostage? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. He had been dumb enough to stick a boot in her door and demand information.

Much as she tried, she couldn’t recall seeing him at the party. Of course that didn’t mean he hadn’t been there, only that her memory was still recovering from whatever drug had knocked her out. If—when—she got out of here, if Lawton was the captor behind the speakers and cameras, she would make sure gold theft was the least of the charges against him.

With renewed resolve, she returned to the bathroom and closed the door. This was a safe room per the computer and her captor, making it a safe bet that the room was inside a building. If she could loosen a pipe or somehow cause a leak, that would draw someone’s attention. At the very least, her captor would need to come in and repair it, giving her an opening to escape.

She knelt down to peer under the sink, and the lights went out. Biting back a startled scream, she scrambled to her feet and reached for the door handle. It locked under her hand. She was trapped in the dark, half expecting some monster to lunge out of the shower stall, when the deep, altered voice carried through the closed door.

“Time to talk, Ms. Wallace.” He was in the safe room, having made his move when he knew she couldn’t attack.

She pounded on the door. “Lawton, is that you?”

“No.”

It had to be. “Prove it.” She hammered another fist on the door. “Let me out.”

“In good time. I need some information.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother the weak plea that nearly promised him anything in exchange for her freedom. Becca Wallace did not beg.

“If you cooperate—”

“Oh, stop with the threats and get to the point,” she snapped, somehow keeping her voice steady.

“Your show has a good reputation.”

What? She bit back a sharp retort. Maybe it was her awful date. Surely Lawton was smart enough to know he couldn’t win her over with ridiculous, mild compliments. “Good? We win awards, thank you very much.”

“How do you decide on ideas for the show?”

The question threw her off. Lawton or the dumb date? “I can assure you we don’t let kidnappers dictate our topics.”

“Walk me through it,” he insisted.

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