“We’ll see. But first we’re going to get comfortable.” He laughed, a grating sound that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “At least I will be. Put on the handcuffs if you don’t want to get shot.”
The man might be enjoying his power over her, but if he wanted information, he wasn’t going to shoot her. She hoped.
Still, questions whirled in her mind. Why had he killed Evelyn Morgan? Because she hadn’t talked? Because she’d told him something incriminating? Or had he gotten too rough and done it by accident?
Her heart was pounding as she lifted the cuffs in her fingers, still making the links click together.
“Stop stalling.”
Instead of snapping one of the bracelets around her wrist, she threw them on the floor, watching from the corner of her eye as Jake silently picked up a heavy glass paperweight from the display shelves.
“You bitch. You’re going to be sorry,” the man growled. “Get down on your knees and pick them up.”
As she slipped off the chair, going down on all fours and drawing the man’s gaze downward, Jake leaped forward, striking the intruder on the back of the head with the paperweight. She’d already dodged to the side as the weapon discharged, and the man went down in a heap in the middle of the floor.
Jake ducked around him, pulling her up. “Are you all right?”
The feeling of relief was overwhelming. Relief and more. As he held her in his arms, they exchanged silent messages.
You knew something was wrong.
Yeah.
Thank you for getting here in time.
You kept him busy.
She wanted to stay in Jake’s arms, but she knew that the feeling of safety was only an illusion. They had to get out of here.
Her eyes flicked to the man on the floor, seeing the blood oozing from his hair.
“You hurt him.”
“Not as much as he was planning to hurt you. Head wounds bleed a lot.”
She winced.
Jake squatted beside the man, picked up the gun and handed it to Rachel. “Keep him covered.”
She accepted the weapon, wondering what would happen if she had to shoot it.
Next he cuffed the man to a heating pipe. When the guy was secured, Jake felt for a pulse in his neck.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.” He riffled through his pockets and pulled out a wallet. In it were a driver’s license and a couple of credit cards in the name of Eric Smithson. He also took the handcuff key.
“Probably the I.D.’s not in his real name,” Jake muttered. “Give me the gun.”
She was glad to hand it over and watched as he switched on the safety and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
“We can’t leave him here,” she whispered as she stared at the assailant. She was still coming to grips with what had happened and what would have happened if Jake hadn’t arrived.
“You want to call the cops?” he asked, his voice hard.
She considered that option. “No.”
“Why not?” he pressed.
