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Sandalwood and spices, a hint of a deep forest fresh with a dash of the ocean.
My God. What was I doing?
I managed to catch a good look at his weapon, shocked at what he was carrying. The MP-443 Grach was used by Russian military, not typically sold in the United States. The double action, short recoil semiautomatic was a powerful weapon, used for exactly this purpose. He wasn’t some criminal off the street. He was a trained professional.
I was drifting onto a precipice, uncertain if what I’d just seen had really happened. The moment he grabbed my arm, spinning me around so my back was against his chest, I almost lost it. As he pressed the frigid barrel of his pistol to my temple, I was no longer certain I was standing. There was a presence about him that was larger than life, which should add to the moment of terror, but I remained in the protective vacuum, just trying to clear my vision. Then I realized why I was having difficulty seeing clearly.
There was blood in my eyes. And on my face. And in my hair. And on my hands and… I finally let out a ragged moan, still unable to put a coherent sentence together. No. Hell, no. This bastard wasn’t going to strip me of my humanity or my intelligence. I tried to think of every scenario of how I could get away from him but in all of them there was very little chance I’d survive.
“When there’s nowhere to run then you listen, remain calm, and stay vigilant. The criminal will make a mistake. The last thing you want to do is antagonize your captor. No sudden moves. No excess talking. Just breathe. Practice with me. Breathe.”
My father’s words continued to play in my mind. At least they provided a small amount of comfort. I took several deep breaths, holding the dense air into my lungs as I counted to five. Then I asked a question calmly, devoid of any emotion.
“I asked you a question. What do you want? Mr. Falco was a very nice man, but he didn’t have much money. However, you can take what you want. The cash box is in his office and I’m happy to show you where that is.”
He snickered as he led me toward the back of the diner. “I assure you that Mr. Falco was not a very nice man, and I certainly don’t want his money or yours.”
“Then what?What?Please just take what you want and leave.” Every bit of training I’d received from my father over the years was being challenged, ugly scenarios crowding out his calming voice. Maybe because there’d been a quietness about the assassin as soon as I made the demand, which scared me more than what I’d just witnessed. I sensed the assailant was trying to figure out what the hell to do with me. He thought I’d seen his face, but I’d been too frightened to capture much more than the fact he was huge in stature, his anger evident by the way he held his weapon. And the way his jaw remained clenched. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be inside the diner.
“Unfortunately, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, which means you’re coming with me.”
“No. No, I’m not.” I’d heard stories about how victims of violent crime reacted, some so stupidly they’d gotten themselves killed. I fell into that category when I jerked my arm, almost managing to get out of his clutches. I was failing my father and perhaps myself, but I gathered a sense that if I walked out of the diner with the gunman, no one would ever hear from me again.
His second yank was brutal, forcing me tightly against his body. That’s when I realized just how large he was, six foot four at least. I wasn’t tiny by any means at five foot six, but he seemed like a giant, the strength in his hand easily able to crush my windpipe if so desired.
He was a solid mass of chiseled muscle, which made him extremely dangerous. I allowed my gaze to fall on his forearm, memorizing the tattoos. Black ink covered almost every inch of what I could see, a single vine drifting onto the top of his hand. What the hell was this about if not a robbery? My mind drifted to various scenarios, finally processing what he’d said about Eddie.
The assailant had known him. Drugs? That didn’t make any sense. Eddie was a family man. Then what? Blackmail? What could this asshole possibly gain? A debt owed? That was always possible, but for what reason?
Within seconds the gunman walked us to the back door, jerking me to a stop. “Now, are you going to remain quiet?”
“What do you want me to say?” There hadn’t been a single night since I’d arrived back home that I hadn’t heard screams in the night. None of them had been followed with sirens. That was another reason why I’d left New York. No one seemed to care about their neighbors any longer. Arizona was completely different, a place I’d almost thought I could call home.
“A yes or no will do.”
“Fine. Yes. Whatever. If you’re asking whether or not I’ll scream, why bother? No one will come to my aid. Besides, I know what you’re capable of.”
He seemed to contemplate what I said, his hot breath skipping across the base of my neck.
He chuckled in my ear then cracked the door, allowing the stench of the alley to waft across my nostrils. The combination with Eddie’s blood was putrid, my stomach finally lurching. I was aware of how masculine my captor was, muscular in all the right places. I closed my eyes, horrified from what I was thinking. A very sweet man had dropped dead in front of me, and I was languishing over his assailant’s aftershave.
Obviously, the gunman didn’t trust me, slapping his massive hand across my mouth as he led me outside. He wasted no time crossing the alley, taking long enough strides I almost tripped twice. When he approached a sleek dark sports car of some kind, another shock filtered into my system. A murderer in a sports car? I don’t know why that seemed odd.
When he opened the passenger door, my brain finally drifted out of the fog and I started to struggle, trying to remember every self-defense class I’d taken.
He sensed every move before I made it, finally wrapping the arm holding the weapon around my neck. Suddenly, his lips were against my ear, mere centimeters away. Too close. I felt suffocated, my throat closing. There was also something far too intimate about the hold, his fingers resting on the top of my breasts. As he crushed me against him, another slight moan escaped when I felt the hard ridge of his cock pressing against me. The man was fully aroused. Oh, God. Oh… God.
“You need to listen very carefully because I’m only going to say this once. If you try anything like that again, I will be forced to hurt you and I don’t think you want that to happen. Correct?”
“No, sir.” Sir? Really? I was losing it, no longer the same woman who’d started the shift. I certainly wasn’t naïve to this type of crime. I’d been taught how to defend myself from as early as eight years old, my father insisting I learn methods of getting away from anyone who attempted to abduct me. Then he’d taught me how to shoot, not only handguns but assault rifles and crossbows as well, much to the chagrin of my mother. He’d added wrestling moves and boxing as training exercises, something I’d hated but grew to appreciate over the years.
I’d dealt with criminals while interning at the hospital, junkies drifting into the emergency ward in search of a quick and easy fix. I’d been the one to ‘handle’ the situations, able to render the addict no longer dangerous until the cops arrived. But tonight, I’d lost all my training, surrendering to the fear.
“Good girl. That’s much better.”
I darted a quick glance at him as he shoved his weapon behind his back, still scanning both sides of the street at regular intervals.
Good girl? Had he really just called me that? I fought back the tears that were threatening to form, realizing what this meant. He was taking me somewhere else to kill me. As soon as he forced me onto the passenger seat, another thought raced into my mind.
