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She dug her heels in and tried to wrest her hand free from his grip. “I’ll scream this building down before I go anywhere with you.”
He took her by the shoulders again. “I did not kill your husband, Laura.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head, refusing to hear.
“Listen to me. Manuelo Ruiz stabbed Foster, not me.”
Her eyes popped open. She gaped at him. “Manuelo would never—”
“He did. And I’ll give you a detailed account of what happened that night. Later. Right now, we’re getting out of here. Now, dammit, get some clothes on.” He said it with an undertone of threat, playing on her evident fear. He would make amends later, but he didn’t have time for niceties now.
Coolly, she said, “I can’t dress as long as you’re holding on to me.”
Gradually he removed his hands from her shoulders but was poised in case she tried to get to the door. She stepped around him and moved to the bureau. She took several articles of clothing from a drawer, considered them, exchanged them for others.
Impatiently, he yanked the items from her hand and threw them onto the bed, then jerked on the belt of her robe, untying it. “Get into them, and make it fast.” She turned her back and let the robe slide off her onto the floor. She was naked. He was running for his life, but it was a sight that momentarily stopped him from thinking about anything else. She stepped into panties and worked a T-shirt over her head, then started moving toward the door. He grabbed her arm, halting her.
“There’s a tracksuit in the closet.”
The closet was adjacent to the door. He went to it, slid open the door, and sorted through the clothes.
“That,” she said.
“This?” She nodded. He peeled the tracksuit off the hanger and thrust it at her. “Hurry.”
She stepped into the stretchy pants and pulled them on. “If you force me to go with you—”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you do!”
“Shoes.” He took a pair of sneakers from the closet and dropped them at her feet.
“You’ll be adding kidnapping to your other crimes.”
He helped her balance while she worked her feet into the sneakers. “Where’s your purse?”
“Griff, I im
plore you.”
“Are you wearing the jacket?”
She pulled it on. “Rodarte—”
“Will be checking with these guys any minute.”
“That’s right. You’ll never get me out of this hotel. He has guards posted downstairs, too. They’ve got my car keys.”
He fished her ring of keys out of his pants pocket and jangled it at her. “You’re walking out of here, Laura. You and your police escort. Anyone challenges you, you say you need some things from the store, you have a hankering for Taco Bell, your grandmother is sick. I don’t care what excuse you give, just make them believe it.”
She looked him over. “Despite the getup, don’t you think they’ll recognize you?”
“For your own safety, you’d better hope they don’t.”
She glanced down at the holster on his hip. Rather than frightening her, it seemed to embolden her. Taking a stance, she folded her arms and looked up at him. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I know you wouldn’t.”
“You don’t think?”
