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To his credit, Sam Michalski waited patiently above her. Though noticeably, he didn’t move to help her. “About done?”
Using the back of her hand, for she had nothing else, she wiped her mouth and shot him an angry glare, but nodded nevertheless. It was obvious her captor was a heartless man.
“Is the limp fake?” he asked unexpectedly.
She struggled to make the pain in her leg more endurable. “No.”
“I didn’t notice one before you supposedly hit it on your chair.” He pointed out.
Ivy could care less whether he thought her a liar or not, but found herself saying. “It acts up when I be putting too much pressure on it.”
“How?”
Inhaling deeply from exhaustion, she glared at him. “How what?”
“How did you injure your leg?”
Automatically, she stiffened. “It’s me ankle. And it be none of yer business.”
She frowned. Correcting him was offering more than she intended. Angry at herself, she bit the inside of her mouth. “Besides, why would ye ask?”
“Forget it, you’re right. None of my business.” Then straightening his hat, he produced a chuckle, though it lacked sincerity. “You certainly are a suspicious female.”
“And why wouldn’t I be? It’s not every day a strange man locks me up in a baggage car, and then drags me captive through the wilderness.”
He didn’t respond immediately, and she thought the subject dropped, but then he said, “That wasn’t an inexperienced woman who escaped my handcuffs. You’ve obviously done this kind of thing before.”
Yes, she had. Far too many times.
“I won’t be going down without a fight, Mr. Michalski.” She tilted her chin up and gave him her best defiant look. It was a good idea she let him know up front what he could expect.
“But you’ll go down, Ms. McGregor, nevertheless,” he replied, his own eyes holding her gaze. “I’ll personally make sure of it.”
This last comment had surprisingly the same impact as if he had slapped her in the face. It stung. Her brows dipped. “Why? I’ve done nothing to ye. I don’t even know ye.”
“Maybe not. But I know you and your kind.” He turned to leave once again, but before he did she heard him mutter under his breath, “Too well.”
“Whatever yer issues may be, Mr. Michalski, I don’t think it be right ye seeking vengeance on me. I’ve done ye no wrong.”
“Well, I suppose you’re right about that. However, I will see that you are returned to Chicago. From that point, I’ll leave you to your fate.”
It was obvious there was no getting through to this man. She had lowered her pride, given up the one last morsel of self-respect she had, but he would not relent. The next best thing Ivy could hope for, was when he eventually fell asleep, she would slip out of the handcuffs, untie the ropes around her wrists, and escape into the night.
She would only pray that this time, he would be unsuccessful in tracking her down. And, if she prayed real hard, maybe even some wild beast would eat him while he slept. This brought a grin to her lips as she glanced up and watched his form push through the low overhanging branches. Then she grimaced, knowing that was a bit harsh, but at the moment, this unemotional, cold man did not deserve an ounce of her compassion.
* * *
They had been moving for several hours. The sun had been up for quite a while and was already starting to reach afternoon high. Beneath his hat, his head throbbed where he had injured it in the wreck. An earlier examination with the tips of his fingers, indicated it had not been as deep as he feared. But he still needed to clean and attend it soon or infection would set in. However, the only source of water he had seen came from murky swamps. He needed to find clean spring water soon.
Behind him, Ivy McGregor stumbled along. Her skin was pale from exhaustion and her lips cracked from dehydration. She was going to need water soon as well or he may just end up dragging her through the forest after all. As it was, she had fallen several times, forcing him to stop until she was able to stand and move on once more. At this rate, it was going to take them a hell of a lot longer than the three days he predicted.
Glancing over his shoulder he noticed her favoring the one leg. He had asked if the limp was fake, but he didn’t need to hear her denial. He could easily see for himself. The skin around her mouth tightened with every step. The nerve along her neck would stretch against her delicate skin. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, beneath the newly colored pink cheeks thanks to the chill in the air, her skin looked almost gray. Not to mention, she was having a hard time managing the brutal terrain. Though she did not complain once, he could see the agony in her face.
Why had he asked how she obtained the injury? He wasn’t interested. He certainly didn’t care. Perhaps it was an old bad habit. No matter how hard he tried to steel himself to a woman’s weakness, he would always give in. The difference in this situation, was this woman was no weakling. Notwithstanding her disability.
Her brain was sharp as a whip, and he would be smart to remember that. She was a practiced con artist. Her pleas with those big eyes looking so unusually soft and innocent could deceive the best of man. He himself had felt himself go momentarily weak. But then he had pulled himself together quickly with a reminder of whom she was. A killer.
He prided himself that no other prisoner of his had ever escaped him before. That was, not since Daphne.
