Humor burst at the center of her chest, and she let her head fall back as she laughed. Reaching back, she pulled the clip from her hair, and delighted in the heavy exhale of pleasure that came from Marcus.
“The friend I borrowed it from came over today and helped me.” She shook out her hair, and with a hold on the bar, she leaned away and let her body weight start a slow spin. “All right, Marcus, I want to hear that buckle. Then I want to hear that zipper. And I want to hear you moan when you slide your hand down your hot…hard…cock.”
“Christ,” he groaned. “You’re
really
good at that dirty talk.”
It came easier with Marcus. “Hidden talents. Who knew?”
Tova started the show by stepping away, then grabbing the top of the bar with both hands, lifting herself off the ground and spinning around the pole with her legs parted and straight, toes pointed. One spin, two spins, and she bent one leg around the pole. After another spin, she kicked one leg high and held it parallel to the bar in a partial split. Releasing one hand, she bent back, away from the pole.
“Whoa.” Marcus’s surprise made her grin. “Holy shit…”
She spun lower and lower, hair streaming out behind her, the tiny skirt of her baby doll bunching around her breasts and exposing her stomach and thong.
“Oh, my fucking God…” Marcus said, his voice husky over the speaker as her spin brought her thigh to the floor and Tova kicked her straight leg high over her head and swung it around the bar to push to her knees. “Have you done this before?”
“No,” she said, crawling on all fours toward the bar again, grabbing it with both hands, spreading her knees on either side, and undulating her hips to simulate riding the big silver rod. “But it’s so fun.” She crawled her way up the bar, still gyrating, slower, deeper movements, until she reached the middle, then lifted herself into the splits. “I feel like a kid playing on the monkey bars at school.”
“You aren’t like any kid I ever met on the monkey bars,” he said, his voice filled with heat and awe. “Sweetheart, I think you’ve found your calling. Can you major in pole dancing? And…can I be your test audience?”
That made her laugh, and her stomach muscles gave out. She slid to the floor, holding her belly and laughing until she cried. When she caught her breath, she wiped at her eyes. “Don’t do that. I can’t work the pole when I’m laughing.”
“Baby, if you work my pole, I’ll let you laugh as much as you want.”
That only made her laugh harder, and she doubled over, holding on to the pole to keep her up.
“You’re amazing,” he said. “You know that?”
Panting, she curved her feet underneath her and rested her cheek against the metal. “Hardly.”
“No, you really are. You set your mind on a goal, and you just go for it. You’re not afraid to work hard. You’re not afraid to put yourself out there. Tova,” he said with so much respect in his voice, it brought fresh warmth to her chest, “you’re really exceptional. You should give yourself more credit.”
She relaxed and smiled into the camera, unable to comprehend how a man she’d never met, a man she’d known for a few days, a virtual stranger, could fill holes inside she hadn’t even realized she had.
“Thank you, Marcus.” With happiness and a burst of energy, she pushed to her feet again. “Wait until you see—”
A thump came from somewhere in the house. Tova turned toward her closed bedroom door and frowned, her mind darting toward the possible source. Alarm sizzled along her spine, and she reached over to turn off the music.
“What was that?” Marcus’s curt, sharp tone deepened Tova’s concern.
“Probably one of the cats,” she said, but found herself using a hushed voice. “They’re always getting into—”
Another thud made Tova jump. She fisted her hands at her chest. Glanced at the camera. “Marcus—”
“Does someone else live with you?” The urgency in his voice flipped the panic switch she’d barely been holding in the Off position.
“No… I mean, yes. But he’s a flight attendant, and he’s out of town.”
“Could he have come home early?”
A louder thump, closer to her door. Fear streaked through her gut like a cold razor. “Oh, shit…”
An interior door in another room opened and slammed against the wall. Tova jumped. Terror gripped her guts. Her mind froze, but she reflexively reached for her jean shorts on the bed. When she tried to tug them on, they caught on her heels. Hands shaking, she dropped onto the bed, pulled off the heels, and slipped into her shorts, then ripped a sweatshirt from the dresser.
Panic clawed at her belly. “Marcus,” she whispered, “what do I do?”
“Pick up the phone”
—
his voice was so stern she didn’t recognize it
—
“and call 9-1-1.
Right now
.”
Another door hit another wall, and Tova flinched. Her room was next.
“Tova,” Marcus said again, this time in a hushed rasp. “Get. Your. Phone.”
Tova sipped air. Electricity shot through her limbs. Panic jumbled her brain. Phone. Phone. Where was her phone? She reached toward the end of her bed, swiped at her phone lying there, and knocked it to the floor with a thud.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
“Where do you live, Tova?” Marcus asked in an urgent whisper. “Give me your address.”
“Um…um…” She was trying to find her phone under the dresser, trying to remember her address…when something slammed against her wall. A scream popped out of her mouth.
“What are you doin’, bitch?”
The heavy, demanding voice turned Tova’s blood to ice. Painful chills cut at her skin. Her hand was shaking when her fingers closed over the phone. She couldn’t get her other hand to hit the right numbers. “Nine…” she whispered to herself as she tapped the number, trying to focus, “One…”
Another crash against the door and the splinter of wood.
“Goddammit, Tova,” Marcus yelled. “Tell me your fucking address.”
Another crash, and the door broke open.
“One…” She tapped the last number, then looked up. Two men were in her room. Hispanic. Big. And all she could think to do was yell, “Marcus!”
Six
Marcus stood over his kitchen table, cell at his ear, his other hand fisted beside the laptop, watching Tova swing a lamp and slam one of the attackers in the head. He had the 9-1-1 operator on the other end of the line, waiting for some information, some hint where to send emergency personnel.
“Tova!” he yelled. “Your address. Give me your fucking address. City, street, anything.” But there was so much noise, he doubted she or the attackers had heard him.
The emergency operator on the other end of the line said, “We’re correlating her cell number, Agent Lucero. It’s just going to take a moment.”
“Fuck, Tova,” he said, barely able to breathe, every muscle in his body wire-tight. “Please, baby, give me your address, your last name.”
But she was screaming, clawing at the man’s chest, arms, face. Elbowing, kicking. She was a hellcat, and she knew a little bit about dirty street fighting. But the man, at least six feet and two hundred pounds, dwarfed her. He fisted a hand in Tova’s hair and jerked her head back. Marcus gritted his teeth. He swore he was going to explode with rage.
Marcus hadn’t realized just how small she was until she was pressed up against a man his own size. And he knew just how much damage that man could inflict on Tova.
“Where’s your brother, bitch?” the man demanded. “We’ve got business to discuss.”
The second man was tossing her room, pulling out dresser drawers and throwing her clothes on the ground.
“I don’t—” she started.
He jerked her head back, making her grimace in pain. “Don’t tell me you don’t know where he is.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed. Something fierce came over her expression. “Tova Sorensen. Two-five-zero…” She said, then opened her eyes and stared directly into the attacker’s face. “Sugarman Lane, La Jolla.”
Fucking A. All the way across town. It would take Marcus half an hour to get there.
He stepped away from the computer, cupped his hand over his phone, and whispered, “Sorensen. Two-five-zero—”
“Sugarman Lane,” the emergency operator filled in. “Got it. Units have been dispatched. Do they have weapons?”
“Not that I can see, but—”
“”I know where
you
are, bitch,” the attacker barked, making Tova flinch. “
Where
is that cocksucker brother of yours?”
She was crumpled on the floor, legs curled underneath her. One of her hands was clamped around the man’s wrist in her hair; the other grappled at the mattress for support. She was bleeding from somewhere on her head, her leg, and her foot. Her free hand slid between the mattress and the box spring, and Marcus’s mind darted back to the night she’d pulled a length of rope from beneath her bed. Another pulse of fear jerked through his heart.
“That’s where
you
are.” She pulled out a gun—a fucking
gun
—and shoved it into the man’s stomach. “And it’s where you’re going to
leave
—
right now
—or I will
shoot
you.”
Marcus’s heart skipped at least two full beats before banging hard and tripping into a crazy rhythm.
“No…” he breathed, scraping a hand into his hair.
The man attacking Tova released her head with a jerk. “What the fuck?”
She was shaking, but her aim stayed solid. “Get the fuck
out
.
Now
.”
“One weapon?” the operator asked.
“Yes.” Marcus grabbed his keys from the coffee table, and in the seconds that followed, everything seemed to happen so damned fast.
“Stupid bitch.” The yell came from the other man in the room, the one out of camera range. Something flew across the room. Tova cringed, lifting her arms to shield her head. A glass object hit her shoulder and bounced to the floor, shattering and smothering Tova’s scream. She fell off-balance as the second man entered the picture, bent, and grabbed her by the throat. “That’ll teach you to—”
Pop.
The gunshot echoed, stunning Marcus. The man’s scream of shock and pain rattled Marcus’s speakers. The attacker covered his stomach with both hands as he stumbled back, then fell on his ass. Red leaked through his fingers as he stared, still screaming. The first man backhanded Tova so hard, she flipped sideways. The gun hit the floor and slid across the wood.
Marcus’s heart slammed to a stop.
No, no, no.
He pressed a fist to his mouth, unable to believe what he was watching.
He forced his hand away to say into the phone, “Please tell me they’re close.”
“ETA three minutes, Agent.”
His stomach dropped. His eyes closed. Not close enough.
Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck
.
“That bitch shot me!” the victim yelled, voice filled with indignant shock. “She
shot
me.”
“Get your stupid ass to the car,” the other one ordered without an ounce of concern.
The injured man hauled himself up and limped out the door, holding his side and dripping a blood trail. The first man picked up the gun and turned it on Tova.
Marcus had never been so fucking helpless.
He did all he could do—he yelled at the guy. “Hey, fucker.”
The man startled and glanced around the room.
“You’re on camera, asshole. And the police are on their way. You’d better get out of that house.”
His dark gaze finally landed on the computer and narrowed. Tova scooted across the floor, away from the assailant.
“Yeah, that’s me, dude,” Marcus said. “Me taping everything. And I’m a cop. You’re going down, you fucker, and if you touch her again, you’re going down for-
ever
. Get me? Grim reaper by lethal injection, mother
fucker
.”
Realization swamped the attacker’s expression. Then fear. He lunged for Tova and hauled her to her feet by the arm. She cried out and struggled—until the guy pushed the gun against her head. Then she went still. Her hands curled into fists. And she whimpered a helpless “Marcus…”
Before the guy shoved her through the door and her room went quiet.
* * * * *
Tova’s vision blurred as the man hauled her across the grass, toward the street. She would have broken away and run, but he had her gun. And the only thing that kept screaming in her head was that damned statistic of how many people were killed with their own guns.
Then he pushed her into a car at the curb, and the other man’s hand closed over her arm. “Hold on to her, idiot.”
As soon as the gun disappeared from her head, Tova groped for the door handle. Her fingers slid over the metal, and she pulled, long before she’d decided what she’d do if it opened. The gun statistics had vanished and only a shrill
get away
remained.
Get away.
Get away.