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Trying to process what was going on was like fighting an ocean undertow. She was on a bed, that much she knew. There was a black sheet underneath her but no blanket on top. The furniture in the room was sparse—two tables and the bed placed up against the walls. No windows. A basement? She shuddered. Nothing more disconcerting than being knocked out only to wake up in a stranger’s basement.
A pair of jean-clad thighs came into view. With effort, she lifted her gaze to see a man staring down at her. His shadowed eyes sent a shiver through her.
Wincing, he held something out to her. It turned out to be an instant ice pack. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”
No thanks to you, fucker. Scowling, she grabbed the pack and gently pressed it to the side of her head.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t know you were a girl.”
Like that was supposed to make her feel better? Who the hell was this guy? “What am I doing here?”
“Answering questions.” He moved back a few steps and she felt some relief with the distance. “Do you know who I am?”
Forcing her stiff limbs to move, she sat upright and leaned against the wall. She studied his face, suddenly feeling like she was supposed to recognize him. Was he a celebrity or something? Long blondish-red hair was tied back, exposing a shaved section underneath. The beard and tattoo-covered arms suggested he didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought, which was both intimidating and hot. A black T-shirt covered his massive chest, but left his muscular biceps bare. Biceps a girl could drool over.
She peered around the room, looking for clues about him. To the side, she spotted a coil of rope and a blindfold.
Fuck. “Why do I feel like I need a safeword?”
One eyebrow rose. “You know what a safeword is?”
Fear finally surfaced. Not the adrenaline-fueled kind she loved. This was a bone-deep fear that made her either want to claw her way out of the room or shrink back into a corner and hope this was a prank.
He moved toward her and she flinched. Seeming to notice her fear, he paused, his forehead wrinkled, then he held out a staying hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“The torture chamber suggests otherwise.” She was impressed her voice sounded so calm.
“The only girls I bring down here are willing ones.”
She stared at him, blinking.
“Aside from you,” he added then looked away. With slow movements, he crossed the room and stopped at a small table by the door. “What’s your name?” he asked, back turned.
“Evelyn Royce,” she lied expertly.
He turned, arching a brow as he held up her wallet.
“If you already knew,” she snapped, “why’d you ask?”
“To see if you’re a liar.”
She dropped the ice pack onto the bed and fingered the tender bump she could already feel forming. “Congratulations. Now you know.” Between the headache and the pointless questions, this was putting her in a bad mood. “Look. If that was your car, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t going to do anything with it, I swear.”
Maybe this was all a big misunderstanding. If he owned the Lexus, he was probably just pissed and trying to deal with it himself instead of involving the police. That, she could work with. “I was just gonna take it for a drive then . . . return it,” she lied.
She wasn’t dumb enough to return to the scene of the crime, but she did make it pretty easy to find the cars later.
He snorted. “Cut the innocent bullshit. Who do you work for?”
Work for? She opened her mouth then shut it again. With a sideways glance, she asked him, “Who do you work for?”
Instead of answering, he turned brusquely and walked back to the table by the door. He dropped her wallet next to her keys and purse.
He’d searched her purse? Her cheeks heated. There was personal stuff in there! Hopefully he didn’t look too closely at what appeared to be a tube of lipstick. Didn’t he know a woman’s purse was always off limits?
Trying to salvage some self-respect, she sat up straighter. “This is unlawful confinement.”
He looked back at her. “Unlawful? You didn’t look like you cared about the law when you were stealing that car.”
