Without Mercy - Lisa Jackson [167]
Shaylee could use Nell’s idea to her own advantage, if that was what it took. She stepped around the corner of the building again, past rhododendron with its snowy leaves. “Let me see.” She was still trying to wrap her mind around what Nell’s real agenda was. “So you were going out riding in subzero temperatures without a jacket?”
Wait a minute!
That didn’t make any sense!
Oh, crap! Could Nell be part of some kind of a—?
She felt hot breath on the back of her neck. Oh, God! NO! Fear spurted through her bloodstream. Instinctively, she started to run. Rough, strong arms clamped around her from behind, nearly knocking her down.
Oh, Jesus, please no!
He smelled like sweat. A pig.
Panic shot through her brain.
She twisted, started to scream, tried to round on this huge, burly maniac holding her. Too late! One steely arm forced her upper body and shoulders against him, a gloved hand over her mouth.
Shay bit. Tasted leather!
She felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressed hard against her temple. Instantly, she stopped moving.
“One move, one little sound,” he snarled against her ear, his breath foul and warm. “I swear, bitch, I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out.”
CHAPTER 41
Her captor yanked Shay’s arms back, angrily forcing her hands behind her.
Click! A pair of handcuffs were locked over her wrists. Cold, hard steel bit into her wrists.
“How does it feel, bitch?” he growled against her ear again, and then, just because he could, he twisted the handcuffs a bit. She nearly fell to her knees. Pain burned up Shay’s arms, screamed through her shoulders, ground into her spine. She gasped, the agony excruciating, then wrenched herself away, desperate for a look at his face.
Moonlight washed against his handsome, cruel features.
Eric Rolfe!
Satan incarnate.
His eyes glittered with a deep-seeded, evil glee that twisted his lips into an cruel grin. “Gotcha.”
Screaming wouldn’t work. He’d kill her before anyone noticed and then claim he’d thought she was the killer.
Hell!
If only she could get out of these restraints! All she needed was a little room to spin, gain some momentum, and she’d kick that sick smile off the bastard’s face. He’d go down cold. She could take care of him, she could. She only needed a few feet of space.
But the monster knew what she planned and held her fast.
“I’m sorry,” Nell whispered, tears running down her face as she shivered with the cold.
What a wimp!
“They said…” Her teeth were chattering crazily, not so much from the cold but from the fear that was eating her up inside. “…They said that if I did this, I would be safe.” She was sobbing now as Missy Albright, part of the security patrol with Eric, showed up and snatched the keys from Nell’s shaking fingers.
Missy pocketed the keys.
Nell mewled forlornly.
“Shhh!” Shay couldn’t believe what a weakling Nell was. But she also couldn’t believe that she herself had been stupid enough to be caught off guard, to be lured into this ridiculous trap. And the fact that Eric Rolfe had caught her only made it worse.
“Let’s go,” Missy said, nodding to Eric. “Before anyone else shows up.” She glanced up at Stanton House, where a few lights were burning as Eric pushed Shay forward and Nell, sobbing, was herded by Missy.
Shay was nudged along, the barrel of Eric’s gun now placed firmly against her spine, reminding her that he’d gladly shoot through her spinal cord and leave her dead or paralyzed. “Don’t trip,” he whispered softly, “or make any sudden moves, or I promise you, you’ll never get off another round kick or any of that taekwondo shit again.”
The backup power had returned, but Jules wasn’t about to sleep.
Not after Maeve’s murder.
She’d allowed Trent to walk her, first to the chapel, where he’d kissed her gently enough to break her stupid heart, then here, to Stanton House, to what? Wait for the damned dawn? Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
She paced from one side of her suite of rooms to the other and all the while, the image of Maeve, lying in a puddle of her own dark blood, burned through