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Veronica stepped gingerly out of the truck and slammed the door. It was hard to see in the dark, even as big as the sky and as bright as the moon. She stood in the dirt by the truck, looking off into the night, wondering how far she’d have to go to reach rescue. She took a few tentative steps toward the unknown blackness and stopped, afraid to go farther in bare feet.
“Better than an electric fence,” he said, as if she were an unruly poodle.
She took a few more steps away from him. The fear of what she’d encounter, what might slither over her foot or bite her, or what broken glass or rusty nail she might step on, was enough that she wouldn’t go far, but his words had made it impossible for her to stop yet. Was she really more afraid of walking on the ground without shoes than of this man? So far, yes. That answer might be different later when it was too late.
“What are you going back to?” he taunted. “A motel room until the money runs out? Then where? On the streets? In a ditch? Under a bridge? Giving blow jobs in back alleys to buy groceries?”
She turned back toward him but didn’t move from her spot. “Will I be doing that here?”
Luke looked thoughtful. “I haven’t decided what you’ll do, but I can promise you’ll love every second of it.”
Something low in her stomach twinged against her will at that statement. She turned back toward the blackness and took another couple of steps.
“There’s nothing for you out there. Thereissomething here. If you give it some time, you’ll see that.”
Aside from the tying-her-up part, he wasn’t acting like a crazed kidnapper. He wasn’t roughing her up or pushing her around or yelling or cursing at her. He seemed content to wait for her to step into the house of her own accord, but she wasn’t sure she could do that.
Tears started to stream down her cheeks. “Give it some time? Just accept this? I didn’t come here freely. You could do anything with me, and I’m supposed to be happy about that?”
There had to be a phone in his house. And if there was a phone, there would have to be an unguarded moment where she could call the police. But he was right. What was she going home to? Were the police going to give her a nice roof over her head and food? They wouldn’t give her anything. But Luke might kill her or rape her. But did she really think those things were unlikely back in the city with nowhere to go? What about when the money ran out?
“What about the guys who work for you?” she asked.
“What about them?”
“They’ll tell someone.”
He laughed. “No, princess, they won’t. We speak the same language. They’ll take my side. So save yourself the trouble of resurrecting any high school acting technique. It won’t do any good.”
It took another twenty minutes before she could make herself turn toward Luke and the house. He leaned against the post on the porch, his arms crossed over his chest as if he had all the time in the world. When she started moving toward him, he turned and headed inside.
He flipped on the lights as they went through the lower level of the house.
“What am I going to wear?”
“I’ve got some clothes upstairs that will probably fit you.”
“Whose?”
He was silent for a few minutes as if he were fumbling for a way to tell her. “The last woman who lived here.”
“Did you kill her?”
“No. Get off this killing kick. I’m not a killer.”
“Are you a rapist?”
His eyes raked over her. “Probably by your definitions, but not by the definition of any woman who’s ever been in my bed.”
“What happened to her? Did you let her go?”
“I don’t want to talk about Trish.” His voice came out clipped, and she dropped the subject.
Luke stopped at a bathroom tucked at the back of the house. He pushed it open without turning the knob, and Veronica realized the latch didn’t catch.
“This is the only bathroom with a tub.” He sat on the edge of the claw-foot tub and fiddled with the knobs, holding his hand under to check the temperature. “Come here.”
Veronica froze in the doorway. “Why?”
