Authors: Kaylea Cross
Beyond the ability to beg, she whimpered when he moved her upper leg forward, easing into her from behind and adjusting the angle to give her maximum friction. Instantly her mind shrieked, breaking the spell they'd woven.
His knee pressing into her spine, splaying her against her mattress while he tied her wrist to the brass headboard. The feel of him trying to push into her from behind.
She went rigid.
“Stay with me,” Rayne murmured, trying to guide her back into the moment with patient, tender hands. He held her, awaiting her assent, a solid presence filling her. She wriggled away.
The bed shifted as he sat up. “Chris?” He was careful not to touch her, always mindful of not doing anything that might scare her, always holding back, tempering his strength and the raw passion buried beneath all the tenderness.
She took a steadying breath, bringing herself back to the present as the horrible images faded. Steely resolve formed in their wake. No more. She would not let the past steal another damned second from her. It was high time she took back control of her life, of her sexuality. And she'd start right now.
In answer, she rolled over and pushed him onto his back, soothing the concern in his eyes with a deep kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair as her lips moved over his face. Coming down on top of him, she reveled in his growl of approval, using her entire body to caress him, then followed with slow movements of her hands and mouth. Each gasp and moan she wrung from him added to her confidence, her own pleasure. By the time she straddled his hips, she was trembling with need. Poised above him, she moved back and forth in a tantalizing motion, mesmerized by the desperate hunger burning in his gaze.
Control. She'd needed it, and he'd given it to her. Her body quivered as she teased them both.
His jaw clenched. “Chris... ”
“Not yet,” she whispered, enjoying the delicious torture too much. His hands wandered over her heightened flesh until she whimpered, and when he reared up to close his mouth on her breast she cried out and finally sank down to take him inside her body with a shudder.
His eyes closed, neck arching as he groaned, a picture of male ecstasy. The sense of power thrilled her, the control making her feel like a benevolent conqueror, lavishing pleasure on her lover. She moaned at the feel of him filling her, stretching her to bursting, loving the way his hands gripped her hips so urgently while she moved. He reached down to caress between her legs with devastating skill as his mouth pulled at her breast. Her head fall back with a shuddering gasp. She arched and moved in her own rhythm, craving the orgasm he was building for her, working herself up and down the length of him, mewling, his sleep-roughened voice coaxing her toward the edge, more intense than she'd ever known. She let go with a cry of triumph and collapsed to lie against him in a state of grace. Rayne locked his arms around her and surged faster until he stiffened and groaned with his own release, his muscles relaxing as he held her against him.
His sleepy chuckle ruffled her hair. “God, I love you.”
Christa smiled contentedly against his chest.
By mid-morning she'd almost worn a hole in Rayne's carpet. He'd gone in to work for a briefing and training exercise, leaving her with her lucky bat and strict instructions not to set foot outside the door, nor to let anyone beyond the security phone in the foyer. A few more days like this and she'd be climbing the walls.
The phone rang, saving her sanity. Teryl's cell phone. She snatched up the receiver. “Thank God you called, I was starting to go out of my mind.”
“Ch-Chris... ” Her voice hitched.
Alarm swept through her. “What? Teryl, what's wrong?”
A heart-wrenching sob. “I think— I think I lost the baby.”
She sucked in a breath. “What? Where are you?”
“In the hospital. I g-got out of bed this morning and started b-bleeding.”
Oh, God
. Without thinking she grabbed her purse from the table. “Is Drew with you?”
Teryl sniffed. “He's at the fire hall... has to w-wait for someone to relieve him.” She gulped down more sobs. “They s-said there's nothing they can do, that if I'm going to mi-miscarry then it's going to happen. I have to come back in one w-week to have another blood test, to see if... ”
To see if the baby was still alive or not. “Oh, Ter, I'm so sorry.” The pain in her friend's voice clenched her stomach. She had to get to the hospital somehow. No matter what the circumstances, Teryl would have done the same for her.
“I'm so scared.” Her friend fell apart then, choking on noisy sobs.
“Hang in there, hon. I'll be there as soon as I can.” Even though leaving the condo put her at risk, she had to be there for Teryl. But how, with Rayne at work?
Ending the call, she considered her options. She could call a cab, but she'd have to go outside the security gate to meet it. Her truck was parked in the underground garage, secure behind the electric gate that could only be opened with a computerized access card. She'd be safe enough down there, wouldn't leave the vehicle and at the hospital she could park at the curb and run inside. With plenty of people around, no one in their right mind could try and abduct her.
But then, Seth clearly wasn't in his right mind.
The way she saw it, she didn't have a choice. She was going to have to drive herself to that hospital alone, and that was all there was to it. She left a message on Rayne's cell, knowing she'd probably catch hell later on but hoping he would understand why she had to do this for her childhood friend.
Hurrying out the door, she took the elevator down to the well-lit garage and headed for her truck, maintaining her vigilance. Checking under it and in the back seat to make sure it was empty, she climbed in, locked the doors and started the engine. In spite of all her precautions, her palms were clammy as she pulled out of the building and onto the street, employing all the anti-surveillance techniques Rayne had taught her. Clouds swollen with rain hung low, the Gulf Islands blanketed by mist, the sea pewter-gray. Fat raindrops splattered on the windshield, then unleashed in a torrent, blinding her despite the rapid swish of her wipers.
For God's sake, what else could go wrong?
Her fuel gauge beeped, the dashboard warning light alerting her that she was almost out of gas. She blew out a breath, mentally kicking herself.
For crying out loud, Bailey. Why'd you have to ask
?
Sitting in a car across the street from the cop's condo, raindrops sliding down his windshield, he stared through scratchy eyes at the third-story window. Christa was all alone up there, would be for some time yet. His blood heated. This might be his only opportunity. Should he risk going in now?
Hovering there, he was startled when the security gate squealed open and her black Chevy pulled out of the underground garage. Was she really leaving the building? Alone?
Surely it couldn't be that easy.
Yes, that was her, behind the wheel. He started his own engine, tamping down the geyser of excitement gushing through his veins. His breathing came in rapid, shallow pants and his hands dampened the steering wheel as he pulled out some distance behind her.
Where was she going? What could make her be so rash?
Silly question. Fate— it was crossing their paths one final time, as he'd always known it would. Anticipation hummed. This was his chance to get it right. All he had to do was wait for her to stop, and she would be his. At last.
Making sure she kept practicing Rayne's anti-surveillance techniques, she drove along Marine Drive. Her fuel gauge was buried in empty, making even the short trip to the hospital questionable. She could chance it, but did she want to risk running out of gas and being stranded? Damn.
Now she would have to either head straight back to Rayne's place, or stop for gas. How close was the nearest full-service station? She didn't know. She'd always been capable of filling her own car. Frustration coursed through her. Was this what her life had become? To hell with it, she'd stop for gas like any normal person. If she had to step out of the truck at all it would only be for a minute, and other people would be around.
She passed the first gas station because it looked too empty. At the next one she pulled in behind an elderly gentleman filling his Lincoln, checking one last time in her mirrors to make sure no one had followed her. After hopping out to insert her credit card into the pump and filling her tank, she ducked back into her vehicle. Out of habit she pulled out her wallet out and tucked the receipt inside, replaced her credit card while starting the engine.
Next thing she knew a hand was on her shoulder. Her breath snagged.
“Hello again.”
That voice. That god-awful voice.
Her blood turned to ice, her fingers frozen.
She scrambled to open her door but he grabbed her hands and wrenched her around, pressing something hard and metallic against her ribs. Instantly she stilled. Her gaze traveled down to the black barrel of a pistol.
“You make one move toward that door and I'll pull the trigger.” Glacial gray eyes pinned her from beneath black brows, his mouth twisting below a goatee as he motioned her to shift into drive and step on the gas.
Those cold, flat eyes... how they had haunted her nightmares.
Should she scream? He surely would kill her. She risked a glance out the window. He slammed his elbow into the side of her head, thudding it against the window.
Not again. I'd rather die
.
As they pulled onto the road with a squeal of rubber he grabbed the steering wheel. “Now we're going to finish this properly.” His eyes lit with cruelty. “You already had two strikes against you. First, screwing that cop, and second, getting away from me. You know what that means? This is strike three, Christa.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs.
He settled back with the gun jammed into her side, flicked a chilling glance at her. “You're out.”
Once they left the gas station he made her trade places with him, and she sat in the passenger seat like a marble statue, cringing from the muzzle shoved under her galloping heart. Would a shot there kill her outright, or only tear through her flesh and bone and organs and make her bleed to death?
Even if he has a weapon, chances are he won't use it because it would draw attention to him, and if he did, the odds are he would only wound you.
Nate's words flooded through her terrified brain.
Better than being raped and tortured.
They merged onto the freeway toward Vancouver, him glancing at her every so often to taunt her with victory in his eyes. Her phone was in her purse, which had fallen under the driver's seat, out of reach. Most likely he'd shoot her before she even dialed the first digit of 911. She pressed herself as far away from him as possible, frozen against the door like a mouse caught in the gaze of a snake, waiting for it to strike.
As she stared at him, all the fear and hatred bubbled up inside her, coalescing into a molten ball of rage in her gut. If he was going to take her out, she damn well wasn't going to sit there and let him— she'd see to it he suffered first. How? Think, think... what had Rayne taught her? If you jab someone hard enough at the temple, you can cause internal hemorrhaging.
She had both hands free and he was driving, so his attention was diverted, but if she missed the right spot would it disable him enough? And if it did, then what? She couldn't jump out at this speed or she'd kill herself. She couldn't even flag down help because he kept the gun trained on her. Her mind screamed in panicked denial. What could she do?
Nate's advice for kidnapping victims came back to her. Once you were in a car with a kidnapper, your chances of survival were slim. So what did you do?
You crashed the car.
Her heart rate stabilized as her escape crystallized in her mind. She had to disable him long enough to wrench the steering wheel from him. She would only get one shot at this, so she had to get it right first time. She felt detached, almost calm as she planned her move, the speedometer reading one hundred twenty kilometers per hour. It was going to be one hell of an accident, but she'd rather die in a car wreck than at his hands. Her breath hitched.
She waited until he had to slow behind another vehicle, just over ninety now. Another car was boxing them in, and when he made a shoulder check her hand shot out to jab at his eye.
His foot came off the gas pedal as he jerked his head away at the last instant, her stiffened fingers glancing off his nose. He yelled, lashing out with his gun hand to strike her face. The force of it sent her slamming into the door but she recovered fast, adrenaline surging, and when he lifted his hand to his nose in reflex, she lunged over and yanked the steering wheel toward her with all her might.
He shouted and pulled the trigger.
The truck careened sideways and hit the gravel shoulder, its speed and momentum hurling it onto its side. It flipped in mid air, her scream echoing in her head. The roof smacked the ground with a crunch, and then she was only aware of the shattering of glass and the screeching of metal before everything went black.
The call to action interrupted the briefing. Female victim abducted by white male at gunpoint from a gas station. Black Chevy Avalanche, partial plate number...
A bottomless hole yawned beneath his feet. Rayne's heart stopped beating, the words coming at him from the end of a long tunnel, paralyzing him. He didn't need to hear the license plate.
Sweet Jesus, he's gotten her. Somehow he's finally gotten to her
. Without realizing it he was on his feet.
“... the truck rolled off the freeway... emergency personnel dispatched... ”
Holy Christ, they'd gone off the freeway? Grief clawed its way up his throat, came out as a strangled cry.
“Hutch? What's wrong, man?”
“Christa... ” He could barely get her name out of his dry throat.
“It's her?”
Everyone stared at him, churning up his stomach. Why weren't they heading to the gun locker? They had to move.
Now.
Christa was out there, her life was in danger. If she was still alive.