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“I don’t—”
“Your call, but I’m drivin’ right by your house.”
“You know where I live?” That was weird.
“Only that you said you’re on Umpqua.”
Had she mentioned it? Maybe. “I don’t know.” Shaking her head, she felt the cold rain drizzling down her neck. She stared at the open door of the pickup. Clean. Warm. Dry. The strains of some Western song playing softly on the radio.
“You’ll be home in three minutes.”
Don’t do it!
The wind blasted again, and she pushed down her misgivings. She knew the guy, had been waiting on him ever since she took the job. He was one of the better-looking regulars. He always had a compliment and a smile and left a good-sized tip.
“Okay.”
“That-a-girl.”
Climbing into the truck, she felt the warm air from the heater against her skin and recognized the Randy Travis song wafting through the speakers. She yanked the door shut, but the lock didn’t quite latch.
“Here, let me get that,” he said, “Damned thing.” Leaning across her, he fiddled with the door. “Give it a tug, will ya?”
“Okay.” The second she pulled on the door handle, she felt something cold and metallic click around her wrist. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, fear spreading through her bloodstream as she jerked her hand up and realized she’d been cuffed to the door handle.
“Just calm down.”
“The hell I will! What is this?” She was furious and scared and tried to open her door, but it was locked. “Let me out, you son of a bitch!”
He slapped her then. Quick and hard, a sharp backhand across her mouth.
She let out a little scream.
“There’ll be no swearin’,” he warned her.
“What? No what?” She swung her free hand at him, across the cab, but he caught her wrist.
“Ah-ah-ah, honey. You’ve got a lot to learn.” Then, holding her free wrist in one hand, he gunned the engine and drove toward the entrance to the interstate.
“Let me out!” she screamed, kicking at the dash and throwing her body back and forth, screaming at the top of her lungs. The heel of her shoe hit the preset buttons of the radio and an advertisement filled the interior.
Dear God, what was this? What did he plan to do to her?
Panicked, she tried to think of a way out of this. Any way. “I—I have money,” she said, thinking of the cash in her pocket, all the while struggling and twisting, to no avail. His grip was just so damned strong.
“It’s not your money I want,” he said in that smooth, confident tone she now found absolutely chilling. His smile was as cold as the wind shrieking down the Columbia River Gorge. “It’s you.”
