The Risqué Target (14 page)

Oh, he’d struck a nerve? Interesting.

Watching her stalk away, head high, jaw tight, he was struck by an insight. Being at gunpoint didn’t frighten her, even kidnapping didn’t panic her. But now he knew what did.
The very idea of opening up, of being fulfilled. Was that the one thing she really feared? Could it really be so simple?

The rest of the day proved uneventful. Nala’s compliant behavior made Tantum edgy. Surely his captive was devising some kind of plan, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how she thought she could escape. He'd covered all the bases, secured his home, had Bucky on standby, and kept an eye on her at all times.

Trusting her was out of the question. When she was so difficult to find, he'd predicted his Target would be a challenge.  He’d expected fists or a gun duel. Instead he was faced with a chronic hard-on, cunning smiles, and enchanting eyes, forcing him to bring out the heavy artillery. The weapon of seduction. He hadn’t used it since The Iris Flower.

If Nala turned out to be the killer, no problem. He could detach himself emotionally. It was the possibility she was no such thing, and that he’d been wrong about everything, that troubled him.

After dinner they watched television. As night drew on, he wavered between letting her sleep in his mother's room and making her stay under his eye. That would be hell, her tempting body so close to his in the darkness. It wasn’t that he resisted seducing her, but he had to know on what terms. Being uncertain, as he was, made him too vulnerable.

But so was she. He'd hit the nail on the head when he declared she'd never been satisfied by her sex partners. The exposed shock in her eyes had told him so. Now he guarded his own expression as he watched her watch TV with her legs curled up under her bottom. Her hands were relaxed, but he knew better than to get careless.

“I'm going to make some coffee,” she said. It was a quiet challenge.

“It's ten o'clock at night,” he replied. But if coffee would keep her alert, it would do the same for him. He decided to keep watch on her through the night. He watched her put the beans in the self-grinding pot and measure the water, then returned with her to the television room until the beeping of the coffee pot announced it had completed its job. Though the kitchen door was combination-locked, he moved his chair slightly so it remained in view while she was in the kitchen.

A few moments later she returned with a mug and situated herself comfortably on the sofa. “Oh!” Her mouth formed an absurd circle as she peeked over the top of her mug at him. “Did you want a cup?”

His skin tightened on his forehead. “I can get it,” he said, irritated she would stoop to such childish spite.

He liked his coffee black, without unnecessary frills. He just liked it hot, strong, and savory.
The way I want Nala
, flashed through his mind, but he pushed the thought away. While she slept, or schemed, or whatever she intended to do tonight, he had to sift through that file again. He had to know who had put it together, and why.

He went back into the television room with his own steaming mug, flipped through the channels, found the news and tossed the remote on the coffee table. He relaxed back into his chair. It was ten fifteen, with a long night still ahead.

When Tantum opened his eyes, the corner of the television read ten twenty-five, but he couldn’t recall the past ten minutes. He wondered if he’d foolishly fallen asleep. He lifted his hand and it felt heavy, slow to respond to what his brain was telling it. He tried to push himself up, but he was too weak. He collapsed back into the soft cushion. His eyes kept wanting to unfocus, and he became aware of a pounding in his head. His hand went to his forehead in slow motion, as if it were hardly attached to him at all. He rubbed his aching temples and brushed his fingers over his eyes.
Fuck
! She’d
drugged him.
Must have dumped it in the pot after she got her own damn cup of coffee.

“Never underestimate your opponent. Isn't that what you said, smart ass?”

Her voice rang loudly in his ears, as if she were speaking through a megaphone, and everything was so fuzzy he could only make out her silhouette as she leaned over him. She was binding his hands together with some thin material. “Nala….” He foug…ht against the drug as it took hold. “Wha….” His eyes fluttered. “Wh-what did you… what did you give me?”

She patted his hands, content with her job. “Just a little sedative. You did say you'd give me no opportunity to escape, so I made my own.”

“Nala,” he choked out in a whisper, but the next thing he heard was the breaking of glass – a window – followed by the security alarm.
I have to
…
get to my phone… got to call
….

****

Crisp grass crunched beneath her feet. She couldn’t find the keys to his car, but she could sure as hell run her ass off. She ran five miles daily.

She'd waited all day for the right time to slip the sedative into the coffee. She discovered it with his medical supplies when she put the bandages away. He'd sleep for hours, and by then she’d be back at NESA, safe from him.

And safe from what he’d discovered—that all her life she’d craved a fulfillment no man had ever given her, and that she’d no longer believed any man could. Then Tantum came along with his easy confidence in his skills, and something in her feared he was right, that he could strip her of a lifetime’s defenses and fill her with a desire she couldn’t control, rendering her vulnerable and paralyzing her will.

She’d run about two miles down a dark road, passing gates to other residences as expensive as Tantum’s, then cut into open country, a park or preserve of some kind. She planned to run another three miles before using her phone. Though there had been no sign their pursuers had followed them here, she wanted to be out of range before she used it, just in case. Putting her head down and fighting the stiffness in her muscles, she settled into the rhythm of her sneakers on the ground.

Her phone vibrated. She fished it out of her jeans and didn’t recognize the number. Not Tantum. He’d sleep for awhile yet. She flipped it open but didn’t say anything.

“Nala Dekker?” an unfamiliar voice asked. “Nala, don’t hang up. Just listen.” The man paused, taking a breath. “Go back. He'll die if you don't.”

“Who the hell is this?” She continued running.

“This is Tantum's AC. What did you give him?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “He's allergic to valium. If that's what you gave him, he's going to have an attack. The allergic reaction will happen between thirty and forty-five minutes after he took it.”

“Weak try. I’m outta there, and I hope he breaks out in a terrible rash.”

“His esophagus closes up, shutting off his air supply. He’ll die. He needs epinephrine. It’s somewhere in the house. It’s a—”

She remembered the large needle of the EpiPen she’d seen in his medical supplies.

“How long ago did you give it to him?”

“What, so you can calculate how far I’ve gone, figure a radius and find me?”

“Nala, please!” the voice begged.

Freedom was so close, just two more miles away. But whatever Tantum Maddox thought, she was not a killer.

Not even Tantum Maddox’s killer?

But nothing was certain anymore. The picture of the events she’d trusted for the last three years, simple and clear as a black-and-white photo, had become complicated by the unexplained events of the last few days. Nothing was clear anymore.

The rhythm of her sneakers slowed, then faltered. If there was any doubt, could she let him gasp for breath until he died? Her own lungs tightened as if she were the one suffocating. With a curse she drove her feet into the ground, angrily kicking up grass and mud behind her.

She jumped through the same broken window she'd escaped from. The alarm had shut down. A loud gasping sound met her ears, like air trying to rush through a tiny straw. She stopped dead in her tracks to find Tantum on the television room floor. His skin was almost purplish. His mouth gaped and he was clawing at his throat with his tied hands, struggling for each breath.

She took the steps two at a time to the upstairs bathroom, got the needle and whirled back down the stairs in double-time. She dropped beside him, tore off the cap and drove the needle into his thigh.

“Tantum? Relax. Just relax.” She kept repeating it until his eyes fluttered, the blue irises sliding unfocused. “Yeah, that's it.” She frantically stroked his cheek. “Calm down. Breathe, nice and slow.”

His bound hands gripped her wrists. His eyes continued to open and close as his battle for breath continued.

“I didn’t know, Tantum. I didn’t know.” She stroked his face.

Gradually his grip loosened and bound hands relaxed. His breathing was less labored. Sweat glided between their skin, her palms and his face. She wasn’t sure if it was his or hers, but her own thundering heart began to slow as well.

He looked peaceful, untouched by the damage she'd caused to his body. She could've killed him… again. First, she’d sent him to the pavement at over forty miles an hour, now this. She brushed the hair back from his forehead. His mouth flexed, and she feathered her fingers through his hair, attempting to keep him calm. But he snatched her wrist with crushing force.

“I told you, don’t… don’t do that.” His voice was unsteady. “I don’t want tenderness, Nala.” The words slipped from his lips and he closed his eyes, removing his tied hands from her wrist.

Dumfounded, she inched back from him and sat on the floor.
Tenderness
? But before she could consider this, or his desperate declaration, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She snapped it open.

“Did you go back?” It was the man who had sent her ass back to Tantum's house.

“Yeah.”

“I had a feeling you would. I told Tantum I didn’t think you were a killer, but once he sets his mind—”

“Me, a killer? He's the one who—”

“Shit.” The man groaned. “I didn’t mean to… look, forget I said that. How's he breathing? Did the EpiPen work?”

“First, explain why you called me a killer.”

“I can’t. Tantum will confront you soon enough. He wants answers. How is he?”

“Breathing.”

“Thank you.” The man’s relief sounded heartfelt. “Stay with him and—”

“I'll call 911 before I leave.”

“No!” he shouted, startling her. “Don’t call anyone.” His voice softened. “You're not his only enemy, Nala. Coming out of hiding to track you down has already put him into too much danger.”

“Who's after him?” she challenged.

Silence.

“Or I call 911.”

“His last assignment,” the voice answered reluctantly. “He infiltrated one of the largest drug cartels in Mexico, near the border. He got close to Diego Garnica, the head honcho who managed the smugglers and corrupt border patrol agents who moved drugs into the US. Tantum worked with the border patrol to bring the operation down. Right after the bust, someone leaked his identity to the cartel. They hog-tied him by the ankles and tortured him.”

“How long ago?”

“A little over four months ago.”

“Why didn’t they kill him?”

“Oh, they underestimated my boy. They sliced open his stomach, burned him and left him to bleed to death. Tantum Maddox is—pardon my French—one tough motherfucker.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d hurt you. Not if you’re innocent. So I guess the question is, are you? Or will you leave him in jeopardy?”

Irritated, she flipped her phone shut.

Her gaze returned to Tantum’s lithe body. Even semiconscious, his muscles held their etched shape. He lifted his arms and a hand brushed on his forehead, but his eyes remained shut. She leaned toward his bare feet. She could see rope scars encircling his ankles. She looked closer and noticed the soles of his feet. They were covered with old, discolored burn marks.
How did he walk after that torture
.

He couldn’t’ve. His AC wasn’t being straight with me.

She placed her middle fingertip gently on his carotid artery and started to count. His pulse was only a tad fast. She decided to give it an hour, and leave.

But strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her down to him. She pulled to free herself but he rolled over onto his side, taking her with him. His legs were entwined with hers like pythons, all muscle. His chin nudged her head. “Sleep, Nala,” he murmured, pressing her face against his firm chest. “All actions have consequences. But we’ll deal with that tomorrow.”