Chapter 6
Blakely, earlier that day
Despite being alone on Thanksgiving, I have to think happy thoughts so open the hall closet and find the box of Christmas stuff. As soon as Jack gets home, we’ll light the tree and make love on the sofa. He’ll be done with his stint in DC, we’ll have our baby, and start our lives together.
Smiling, I take a shoulder to one of the living room chairs and push it into the spare bedroom. When he notices I moved something heavy, Jack might be annoyed, but before I met him, I did everything by myself. Besides, I’m being real careful.
My mind wanders to how we first met.
At the time, I only knew Melanie Quinn by name. When the wife of the famous quarterback asked me to lead her self-help group, of course, I said yes. Later, I learned she was moving to North Carolina and no longer needed a bodyguard.
The first time I met Jack and the ladies, it was a late summer day. Raining outside, the downstairs bar smelled of musty old brick, burgers, and beer. The group had just finished talking and we were ready to leave when an armed man appeared on the stairs waving a gun in the air.
My heart races as I recall how Jack vaulted over the bar and tackled the gunman, a brother of one of the girls. The Muslim said he was there to restore his family’s honor.
Poor Rasha. I shake my head, then smile. She found her own bodyguard that night and couldn’t be happier. Life is so weird.
Sighing contentedly, I sip on hot chocolate and open the tree directions written in Lilliputian font. The Amazon reviews said this tree was super-easy to put together but as I look at all the pieces, I’m not convinced.
After an hour of struggling, I’ve got a base, a lopsided tree trunk, and a few lonely branches. I’m truly considering the benefits of a real tree, no assembly required, when my phone rings.
I put down the directions, pick up the phone, and grin when I see who’s calling. “Hi sexy.”
“Hi babe. M… downstairs.”
“You’re breaking up.” I press the phone closer to my ear.
“mmph… meet… screeeeeetch… out-front.”
“You want me to come downstairs?”
“Yes.”
Well, that’s pretty mysterious, even for a man who likes surprises. I check myself in the mirror, throw a nicer coat over my pants, in case we want to go out, and use the stairs instead of the elevator. At the bottom, I turn and give a happy wave to Pat, our lobby guard.
Outside, Jack’s nowhere in sight but there’s a town car parked down the street. I suppose it could be him. It’s not unusual for him to borrow one of Patten’s limos for a special evening.
I take a few steps looking up and down the street. A small voice says danger and maybe because of the talk with my mom, for once I listen. Turning on a heel, I dash back toward my building.
When a too-firm hand grabs my forearm, I snap my head around and try to tug out of the iron grip.
Shit, oh shit. That’s so not Jack.
I’m about to let go a blood curdling scream but an Asian guy covers my mouth and presses something sharp to my belly button. The blade cuts through my wool coat and cold metal stings my flesh. On the other side of the blade is a short bald man with tats on his neck and a nasty scar on his upper lip.
“Shut up and get into the car. Nod if you understand.”
Bobbing my head, I swallow hard while reality sinks in. Someone must’ve stolen Jack’s phone, and imitated his voice. Then, there was the bad reception…
Oh my God. I’m being kidnapped. Did the Church of Heavenly Bliss finally catch up with me? I tamp down the fear and recall a movie I just watched. A girl survived a kidnapping. She convinced the serial killer to let her go and actually helped the FBI to find him.
I hardly think that’s going to be my happy ending as I’m half-dragged down the sidewalk with a knife to my baby bump.
I need to leave a clue for Jack but my kidnapper is already opening the door to the car. Before he can push me in, I pretend to drop my purse on the sidewalk. Cursing, Mr. Sneer squats and yanks me down with him. Time stands still as I pick everything up and wait for his gaze to focus on the pavement. When it does, I reach to my ear, pull off an earring, and toss it to the curb.
When he glances my way, I tug a strand of hair in front my earlobe. Order restored to my bag, he pushes me into the back seat of a blue Ford Truck.
It suddenly dawns on me. Neither the driver nor Mr. Sneer are covering their faces.
They don’t intend for me to live.
