Black Ice - Anne Stuart [108]
She didn’t ask him how he knew that—she accepted it. If she continued being that unnaturally docile then they might have a fighting chance.
She was dressed in that shapeless outfit again, and yet he could see the clean, strong lines of her body beneath the soft fleece as if he could see through cloth. No woman should look that sexy in sweat clothes. No woman should look that sexy when people were trying very hard to kill him.
There was another muffled explosion, and the bright glow sent a rosy shadow into the room. He could see her face again, the doubt and worry that he wanted to kiss away. “What was that?”
“The guest house. Their information is top of the line—they’d know you were supposed to be there, and they would have gone there first. I’m hoping it took at least one more of them, but I can’t count on that.”
“The guest house is burning?” she said, moving toward the window. “Everything I care about is in there….”
He caught her around the waist, pulling her back into the shadows. Monique and her cohorts would be stationed around the house, watching the windows for any sign of occupation. It wouldn’t take much to tip them off. “Things can be replaced,” he said. “I need to go.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. “You need to go? You’re leaving me?”
“You’ll just hold me back. You’re going to need to hide while I go hunting. I can work better if I don’t have to worry about you at the same time. If I succeed I’ll come back for you.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Then, my sweet, au revoir. I’ll be going straight to hell, and I don’t expect to see you there,” he said, his voice light.
“Then you’re not leaving me.”
He should have known that was coming. She was fully dressed except for her shoes, and she had a stubborn expression on her face, and he knew that he had one chance and one chance only of keeping her alive.
In the shadowy darkness of the bedroom it was easy enough for him to pick up the supplies he’d stashed there earlier. He knew her better than she knew herself, knew she’d object, and he was ruthless enough to do what needed to be done. He came up to her in the darkness, and for the first time she didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. She would kiss him if he asked her to, she would take her clothes back off and lie down on the bed once more, and he only wished life could be that simple. But it never was.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, cupping her face with one hand. Slapping the duct tape over her mouth before she had any idea what was happening, capturing her hands as they flew up to fight him, wrapping the rope around them. She was struggling now, but he was much bigger and stronger than she was, and he had her down on the floor, tying her quickly, efficiently despite her struggles. He didn’t need to see her eyes to know they were blazing with fury. Maybe it would help her get over him. Especially when she was faced with the worst part of this.
He hauled her upright, and she tried to hit him with her bound hands, but it threw her off balance, and he caught her before she fell. He should have just hit her, knocked her out, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to her again. Even if, in fact, it would have been a kindness.
“Don’t fight me, Chloe,” he whispered in her ear. “I have no choice. When I’m finished with them I’ll set you free. Either that, or someone will find you before long. As long as it’s not Monique.”
She wasn’t in the mood to listen, and he didn’t expect it. He picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and left the room, nothing more than a shadow on the edge of dawn.
She’d stopped fighting, a small grace, until she began to realize where he was taking her. Down two flights of stairs, into the pitch-dark confines of the basement. He could feel the tremors begin to run through her body as the claustrophobia took hold once more, but he ignored it. There was always a price to be paid, and when he opened the crawl space he’d broken into earlier that day her struggles became so fierce