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“Sentry duty?” Casey asked.
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
“I’d say I’m a lucky girl. Two loyal men sleeping in my bed to make sure I’m safe.”
“You can’t have enough guard dogs.” Ryan glanced around the table. “Everyone else going home now?”
Patrick and Claire nodded.
“Good. Then I’ll wait and see that the security systems are fully engaged before I leave.” He waited until Claire was easing her way around the table before catching her arm and speaking in a quiet voice that only she could hear. “Want company?”
“Not tonight.” She shook her head, her troubled gaze asking him to understand. “It’s not that I don’t want you there. I just need to be alone. I need to concentrate all my energy on one single focus—Casey.”
“Understood.” His knuckles brushed her cheek. “Just call if you need me.”
“I will.”
* * *
Claire took the subway home.
She was so damned wired. It seemed to t
ake forever for the train to reach her stop. Her mind was on overdrive, but not in a controlled way. More like a wild stallion at a rodeo. The images in her mind were flashing wildly and randomly, and the tension pounding at her temples was heightening.
Talk about energy. Its intensity was nearly paralyzing.
She needed to find a way to calm down and channel it.
Stopping only long enough to pick up some Chinese takeout, she walked the block and a half to her apartment, trying to decide whether a hot bath or a hot shower would do her more good.
She relaxed more in a bath.
But she thought more in a shower.
It was a toss-up.
Still trying to decide which would yield the best result, she rounded the corner of her block.
Abruptly, a chill shot up her spine.
She sensed the man behind her a split second before the barrel of a gun was shoved into her back.
“Hello, Claire.” His voice was unfamiliar. But it was close—so close that it ruffled her hair. “Keep walking. Don’t make a sound. My car is right over here. Let’s hop into it like a couple bringing home Chinese takeout.”
“Who are you?” she managed.
“I think you know the answer to that. Now get in.”
He opened the backseat of the sedan, and pushed her in. Then he slid in beside her and locked the doors. There were no streetlights nearby, and the car’s windows were tinted, so it was virtually impossible to see inside. Using that to his advantage, he worked quickly, stuffing a handkerchief into her mouth and binding her wrists and ankles.
Claire struggled as hard as she could. It only made him tighten the ropes until they cut deep into her skin. He was wearing a ski mask, so she couldn’t make out any of his facial features. But his hands were that of a young man—probably in his twenties. And his build was lankier than Glen Fisher’s. So it definitely wasn’t him. It had to be Jack.
She would have tested her theory by using his name, but the gag crammed in her mouth made that impossible. She tried to focus on his energy, but her own fear overrode any metaphysical connection she might have established. So, instead, she concentrated on her breathing, keeping it slow and shallow, so she could conserve her energy and her oxygen. She had to remain as physically strong and mentally alert as possible.
She refused to allow herself to think ahead to what he had in store for her. The present. Just stay in the present.
Her assailant snatched the bag of Chinese food she’d been carrying. “I’ll take this,” he said, leaning forward to place it on the passenger seat. “I skipped dinner. I’ll eat while I drive.”
