Debra Regan - Reluctant Hero

She’d survived worse things than this. Turkey had been dangerous. Working the story with Bill in Iraq, right on the Iranian border, had been a huge risk. Anymore, dating was akin to Russian roulette. No way was she going out of this life in the role of a helpless captive.

“What do you want from me?” she shouted at the door.

The silence built and built until she ended it with a loud, long scream worthy of the worst horror flick. Cutting loose, she released all her bottled-up fury into the sound, imagining her captor’s ears bleeding from the assault.

He might be in control for now, but there had to be something here she could use against him. Her dad had gone through a horror flick phase and she’d learned a great deal about improvised weapons on those sets. Not to mention all the time she’d spent with prop masters, learning how to fashion amazingly realistic things with little more than duct tape and a good idea.

Her captor had been smart enough to confiscate her high heels. No matter. That was only the first, and most obvious, option. She reviewed the small room through a new lens, with the primary goal of escape.

The love seat wouldn’t be much help, unless it had a pullout option. It didn’t. She examined every inch of the shelves and the items they held. The CD cases could be sharpened with a little effort.

For at least the tenth time since she’d woken up, she reached for her cell phone and felt that swell of panic when she didn’t find it. How pathetic to be so dependent on a device no bigger than an index card. She’d noticed that her captor had also stripped the space of any technology that could be used to communicate with the outside world. Not even a remote for the television remained.

That meant careful planning and forethought. Was all this for her specifically, or just because she was unlucky girl number whatever? She battled back another surge of fear and blinked away the tears threatening to turn into a pitiful sob. She would not let this bastard watch her cry.

Having noticed two surveillance cameras, she retreated to the bathroom, which was the only place he couldn’t keep an eye on her. Maybe no cameras in the bathroom qualified him as a decent sort among the kidnapper set, but it did little to improve her opinion of him.

* * *

PARKER WATCHED THE woman carefully through the two cameras he’d installed in the room, feeling better now that she was moving around so well. Fighting back was another good sign.

The drug hadn’t kept her down long, thankfully. In the two hours he’d watched her sleeping off the effects, he hadn’t come up with an acceptable explanation to offer if he had to take her to an emergency room. The only friend with medical training he trusted in a situation as sticky as this one lived in Nevada, and also happened to be the third man on the blackmailer’s list.

Her blatant search for something to use as a weapon left him smiling. She didn’t give a damn that her captor knew what she was up to. Grit and courage were traits he admired. He shook off the sensation. He didn’t want to admire anything about Rebecca Wallace. She was a means to an end and he should stop wasting time coddling her.

If she was strong enough to argue with him and fight with the locked door, she was strong enough to tell him her source. His finger hovered over the communication link before he pulled it back. As soon as he demanded answers, she’d know it was him keeping her locked away. What would he do with the information at half past one in the morning anyway? Better to wait, to learn more about her. He’d prefer to find a way to handle this without exposing himself to a lawsuit or criminal charges.

It was a relief when she ducked into the bathroom and out of his sight, ending his one-sided debate.

There was no way for her to escape. She’d accept that soon enough. Fortunately for him, there wasn’t anyone else to hear her screaming, though he hoped she didn’t do that again any time soon. The woman had excellent projection and stamina. Rubbing his aching ears, he returned to his search into her background, looking for anything that made her a target.

He glanced up at the monitor when she emerged from the bathroom. She’d let her hair down and he’d bet the clip was tucked in her bra or somewhere she thought to use it as a weapon. Fair enough. When she brushed a finger under her nose, he zoomed in on her face and cursed himself. She’d been crying. In the one place where she knew he couldn’t watch.

What had he done here? After a few hours, he was already dangerously close to feeling guilty about locking her in the safe room, even if it was for her protection. Guilt didn’t suit him. He assessed and took action according to mission parameters. That philosophy had served him well in the field and equally well in his civilian endeavors. It would serve him well as he tracked down the blackmailer.

Parker pulled the tie from his tuxedo collar, wrapping and unwrapping the length of fabric around his knuckles. He’d mined her school records from high school through college. She’d made straight A’s through a tough course load peppered with every form of drama club and literature classes. According to her first résumé out of college, she’d held lead roles in some of the stage productions. He supposed that went along with being the daughter of a powerful force in Hollywood. Those details trickled down and eventually disappeared as she applied for jobs that took her away from Southern California. She’d had an interesting journey to her current post as a producer.

Nothing in the first layers of her background pointed to motive for kidnapping. His mind followed the logic back to his first theory that the scarred man’s attempt to take her was connected to the blackmailer and the source feeding the media lies about Parker’s team. It wasn’t the least bit uplifting.

Satisfied she was alert and out of immediate danger, he felt better about leaving her unattended while he made the quick trip over to her place. She wouldn’t be comfortable in that dress indefinitely. Hopefully a gesture of goodwill in the form of clean clothes would be a step in overcoming her justified anger.

With a sigh, he synced the app that would let him keep an eye on her and this condo through his phone. As he changed clothes, he decided the only silver lining was that she didn’t seem to remember he’d been around when the scarred man grabbed her. He didn’t expect that to last much longer.

* * *

BECCA PACED THE length of the room, considering her options. In the bathroom, she’d taken the clip from her hair and broken it in two pieces. One was inside her bra, the other tucked into her garter. She wanted to be prepared if her captor came in and tried something. As weapons, the pieces wouldn’t cause much damage, but they might buy her a few precious seconds to get away.

She loosened the zipper on her dress, wishing she could take it off. Although the little black dress was considered a wardrobe staple, perfect for every occasion, she was ready to be done with it. What she wouldn’t give for yoga pants and her threadbare college sweatshirt. And some thick socks. Her sheer stockings did nothing to protect her feet from the cold tiled floor.

It was a peculiar experience for her to not know the time. Her entire life revolved around her daily routine. Good grief, she wanted to know the day. Was anyone looking for her yet? Had a ransom been issued? Would her captor be demanding payment from the network or her family? She supposed that depended on the reason for taking her captive. If the goal was money, he’d be better off dealing with her directly. She could just imagine her dad ignoring a critical voice mail or email because he had a movie to finish or business to handle.

Tears threatened once more. He’d always been tough, though she knew he loved her. They loved each other. The gap had just become too wide after her mother died. Flattened by his grief, he’d never quite made it back to really connect with her. They hadn’t had a real conversation in months, and that last one hadn’t been uplifting for either of them. She hoped that terse exchange wouldn’t be their last.