Her finger hovers over the send button. "If I do this, will you let me go?"
"Eventually."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." I reach over her shoulder and tap the trackpad, sending the message before she can change her mind. The screen flashes, and the email disappears into the outbox, and Riley slumps back against the couch, herhands falling into her lap. She looks defeated now, the fight draining out of her.
"How long are you going to keep me here?"
"As long as it takes."
"As long as what takes?" Now there's no more fight in her tone. She sounds defeated and upset, but not enraged.
"The work I need you to do. The dead man in your trunk was keeping records for me. Financial records. He was in the middle of filing year-end reports when he died, and those reports need to be completed before the audit at the end of December. You're going to finish them." Closing the laptop, I pick it up and return it to my desk in the corner and then lean on the desk and watch her.
Riley's eyes are wide with fright, face pale and drained of color. "I don't know how to do that. I'm not an accountant. I'm a bank teller."
"You'll figure it out."
"And if I can't?"
"Then you'll keep trying until you do." She may be right, but what do I have to lose in giving her a shot at it? I need someone to do the job, and she's easily manipulated. "You have a month off work. No one's expecting you back at the bank until after the new year. That gives us plenty of time." Her Facebook profile was exceptionally helpful with this. Some people think sharing their entire private life on the internet is a good thing.
They're wrong about that.
"The whole month?" Her voice cracks. "You're going to keep me here that long?"
"If that's what it takes."
She stands abruptly, knocking the duffel bag to the floor. "No. No, I'm not doing this. I'm not staying here. I'm not helping you. You can't force me to do this." Then she's moving, walking right toward me and the front door beyond, and the look on my face must be enough to make her step back because she does.
"Do you really want to test me on that?" I don't even have to show her my gun. She starts trembling when I give her a dirty look. She's so easy.
Her breathing is panicked. "You can't keep me here. People will notice I'm gone. They'll come looking for me." And when her lip starts trembling, I find it adorable. She wants to be a badass and fight me, but she's scared. If only she knew how much scarier I could be.
And my God, the woman is gorgeous too. She could—should—be on the cover of a magazine draped in everything that glitters, not standing in my living room preparing to be my bookkeeper until her time runs out. My fingers itch to reach out and tuck that stray stand of hair around her ear, but I'm not planning to send the wrong signals tonight. Riley Maddox is my new asset and she will comply or she will end up the same way my previous one did.
"No, they won't. You just sent an email telling them you're fine. As far as they know, you're sitting in a hotel room somewhere waiting for your car to be fixed. And by the time they start asking questions, the work will be done and you'll be on your way home."
"And if I refuse?" She lifts her chin defiantly, which is almost comical if it didn’t annoy me.
I walk toward her slowly, and she backs up until she's pressed against the wall. I stop a few feet away, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to look at me. "Do you really want to end up like the dead man they pulled from your car earlier?"
Her face goes white.
"I didn't think so." I turn away from her and walk across the room, opening a door that leads to a small bedroom. The room is plain but comfortable. A bed, a dresser, a lamp… There's a single window, but she won't try to run because she believes I will harm her sister if she does, and she's a very smart woman for believing that.
"This will be your room," I say.
Riley stares at the doorway, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "My room? I want to go home. Can't I do this job from my place? Why are you keeping me here?"
"For your safety and mine."
"This is insane—you're insane." Now she's pissed again, gesturing wildly.
"Maybe." I step aside and nod into the room. "But you're still staying here."
Fear and fury mingle together on her face as she glares at me before walking over to the couch. She bends down and picks up her duffel bag then walks toward the door and stops just before she crosses the threshold.
