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She sat straighter, slipped her hands in her coat pockets, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was still there—the pocketknife she’d scorned yesterday. Its sharp, serrated blade, designed to open quickly and silently with one hand, stirred some measure of confidence. The idea of stabbing another human being sent a shudder through her body. Could she cut someone if it was life or death? Or worse?Oh yeah, I’ll find a way.
Her nausea had subsided, so Jordan pushed to her feet, every muscle in her body objecting. Hours of walking with little food and no sleep had left her limbs weak and dead-tired. The first order of business was finding sustenance.
Four walls of dark green canvas imprisoned her, twenty feet long and ten or twelve feet wide. Where the roof peaked down the center length, it was tall enough for her to stand. Apparently, the sun wasn’t up yet. The only light came from the slice of cloudless blue sky visible through the tent flaps that almost met when the morning breeze stilled. Half the floor was a jumble of blankets barely covering a sleeping bag. Against the far wall, a dozen or so wooden crates leaned. In front of them rested a large duffle bag, and men’s clothing spilled out onto the canvas floor. Jordan hurried across the enclosure. Food. Water. Compass. Her mind ticked off a list of items she needed.
The first crate held liquor, but she hit paydirt with the second one. It contained canned goods, pre-packaged freeze-dried foods, candy bars, trail mix, and energy bars. Ferreting through the contents, she filled her pockets, then stilled at the sound of something heavyclunkingagainst the bottom of the crate.
Agun. Jordan stared, hesitant to touch the weapon but drawn to it nonetheless.
It might save her life, yet she faltered. Her father had taught her to shoot when she was in middle school, and she was actually a pretty good shot. That was the problem. If she picked up the weapon and pointed it at someone, she had to be sure she could pull the trigger. Could she? Kyle’s image popped into her mind, eyes hard, devoid of compassion, staring at her over his gun, raised and ready to fire.
She didn’t realize she’d reached for it until the first touch of cold metal shocked her. Holding it, she slowly turned it over. The 38 Special was a revolver, double-action, hammerless. The press of a button released the cylinder, proving it was empty. Jordan shoved the gun into the inside pocket of her coat and bent over the box again. The weapon was of no use without ammunition.It has to be here.
Voices intruded into the stillness of the tent, sending a chill through her as she whirled to face the flap. Patrick Brody ducked through the opening a second later and stopped to let his gaze sweep over her. Jordan returned his bold stare with open hostility. He glanced cursorily around the tent, hesitating on the crates at her feet, before drawing his gaze slowly upward, coming to rest on her face.
He seemed taller and broader than he had last night. Long, dark hair, pulled back and tied behind his head, topped off his six-foot height. Thirty-something with flinty blue eyes, a strong jaw, and ripped muscles, he advanced toward her.
His smug expression told her he knew she’d found the gun and didn’t care. She could stop looking for ammo because there wouldn’t be any to find in this tent. Jordan forced herself to meet his gaze, bracing for him to erupt in violence.
A few seconds of silence ticked by before he laughed and shook his head. “I’m glad you decided to come back. I would have been incredibly disappointed if you’d left without knowing the real me.”
“I don’t want to know you. I just want to go home. Why did you hunt me down like an animal and bring me here?” She eyed him with contempt.
Brody’s expression hardened. With a burst of movement, he closed the distance between them. She retreated a few steps, then tried to slip around him, but he caught a hand in her hair and yanked her against him, anchoring her with a muscled forearm around her midsection.
“Let’s get a few things straight.” He breathed the words next to her ear, holding her head firmly so she couldn’t jerk away. “I don’t care what you want. What matters is that you do exactly as you’re told, quickly and without argument.” He yanked her hair. “Is that clear?”
Angry beyond words, Jordan remained silent. He twisted her hair around his wrist and wrenched her head back. She clamped down on her lip to keep from crying out.
His hot breath slithered along her exposed neck. “Is thatclear?”
“Yes.” She bit out the word.
Brody relaxed the grip on her hair, but his arm banded her ribcage, and he pressed his erection into her hip. A groan rumbled in her ear. “We’re going to get to know each other, and I plan to take my time with you. Unless the boys are extra-special well-behaved, I might not even share.”
Jordan shuddered as the slimy wetness of his tongue flicked over her earlobe. She twisted and rammed one of her elbows into his belly with all her strength. He released his hold on her hair, and she stomped on his foot before pivoting to face him. Rage darkened his scowl. He lunged for her, but she was quicker. She ducked out of the way, and he collided with the wooden crates.
“Hey, Brody?” Kyle’s voice called from outside the tent a heartbeat before his head and shoulders filled the opening. He glanced uncertainly from Brody to her and back again.
“What do you want?” Brody stalked toward him, bristling with anger.
“We’ve got company.” Kyle disappeared without another word but not before he threw a knowing smirk and a wink in Jordan’s direction.
Brody strode to the tent flap and peered outside, then turned halfway. “Kyle will be keeping an eye on you. He doesn’t have much respect for women, so try not to piss him off.” His lewd gaze raked her body as he adjusted the bulge at the front of his pants. “You must be exhausted. You might want to get some sleep. You’ll need your strength.”
He’s an animal!Jordan’s heart was about to burst from her chest as she watched the tent flap close behind him. She lacked the strength to fight him off; her only hope was getting out of here. Striding to the opening, she pushed the canvas back just enough to see a narrow strip of the camp. Brody’s back was to her as he paused to speak to Kyle, who stood beside another tent a few feet away. She counted four more tents like the one she was in, dark green canvas shapes tucked beneath trees that rimmed the edge of a small clearing. Camp stoves, dishes, and lawn chairs dotted the ground in front of each tent. Several shirtless men milled around in the clearing as though playing some kind of a game. Beyond them, a giant tent basked in the sunshine.
Engine noise invaded the quiet glade before a four-wheel-drive pickup rolled into view and halted. As Brody approached, the driver opened his door and stepped down from the cab. Tall and slender with light brown hair and a clean-cut look about him, the newcomer wore faded blue jeans and a red flannel shirt, unbuttoned partway to reveal a black turtleneck beneath. Motioning to his passenger, he walked toward the front of the pickup, smiled a greeting to Brody, and extended his hand. Clearly, they knew each other.
Jordan took in the scene with her mouth partway open, the words she would have uttered fading on her tongue.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She hadn’t realized she’d thrown aside the canvas flap and stepped outside until Kyle challenged her. She didn’t stop—couldn’t have if she’d wanted to. Brushing by him, she strode several steps into the clearing before he caught her, grabbed her arm, and dragged her back toward the tent.
“Brody said for you to stay put.”
Jordan bit back her cry of pain as his hand closed around her injured wrist. She tried to pry his fingers loose, but he held her fast. Indignation and fury swamped her. “Let. Me. Go!”
