I choke down my panic and make a split-second decision. Stairwell, it is.
When I fling open the door and step inside, darkness entombs me. With trembling fingers, I use my phone as a flashlight to guide me up the stairs.
My heels slap against the concrete, echoing like gunshots off the walls. I keep climbing, not even certain what level I’m on, when my phone flashes a low battery warning.
“Not now,” I groan in frustration.
I pause to weigh my options. I could stop on my floor and use my badge to open one of the conference rooms, or I can conserve my battery power and huff it all the way up to the rooftop garden.
Considering my stalker has been watching me at work, there’s every chance he might already be waiting on my floor. Either way, as long as I’m in the stairwell, I don’t have cell service, and I’m on my own.
Making another quick decision, I kick off my heels and abandon them as I continue to climb. My muscles burn with every step, but I can’t stop. Adrenaline gives me the push that I need to transcend the pain.
After successfully navigating so many landings without obstacle, some of my immediate fear ebbs away, and I fall into a good rhythm. Minutes pass. Ten, then twenty. I only allow myself to glance at the time on my phone every ten floors. And then, eventually, I run out of floors and come to a stop at the exit to the rooftop garden.
All the access points in this building are designed with battery backups or fail-safe locks in the event of a power outage. This one in particular has a battery backup, which gives me a small amount of hope that it will buy me some time. My stalker has already proven he can access the cameras and control thepower to the building, so a lock won’t stop him. All I can hope is that it will slow him down long enough for me to call for help.
Swiping my badge, I shove my weight against the door as soon as the light blinks green, and I spill out onto the sky terrace. Sucking in a breath of fresh air like it’s my lifeline, I open the contacts on my phone and try to dial IVI security headquarters, only to have it disconnect before it even rings.
“What the hell?” I growl.
Did you think I would make it easy on you?
My head snaps up after I read his message, and I glance around, scanning every shadowy space on the terrace. I don’t see him, and I’m starting to wonder if this is just one of his twisted games.
Maybe he isn’t even really here.
I suck in a breath and tap out a response.
What do you want?
“I would think that was obvious by now.” The heat of his breath on the back of my neck sends an explosive surge of terror through me.
Instinct has me turning back for the door, but as I try to open it, an arm reaches over my head and slams it shut again.
So, I run.
It isn’t rational. There’s nowhere to go. But my brain is in survival mode as I weave around the greenery and furniture, frantically seeking some source of safety. Heavy footsteps echo behind me. He’s not running. He doesn’t have to. His strides are calm and deadly—as if my capture isn’t even a question.
I can’t bring myself to look back. It’s easier to pretend I still have a chance this way. Skirting the perimeter, I complete a lap and narrow the distance between myself and the door. When I’m in arm’s reach—so close I can almost taste it—he grabs me by the ponytail and yanks me backward.
A startled gasp escapes my lips as I bounce off a hard chest, only to be imprisoned by a steel arm banding around my waist. That’s when my fight response kicks in.
I stomp on his boot and try to thrust my head back against him, but he anticipates the move and grabs me by the throat. Gloved fingers dig into my flesh as the heat of his body presses against me.
“Oh,cara,” he murmurs in my ear, his voice low, dark, and so familiar my knees almost buckle. “If you wanted me to hunt you down, all you had to do was ask.”
An unwelcome spark pulses in my chest as a name whispers through my thoughts. Logically, I know it can’t be him. He’s locked in a prison cell and has been for the past six years. My mind is playing tricks, trying to lull me into a sense of safety in a dangerous situation. Though truthfully, Angelo is probably the furthest thing from safe as it gets for me.
“You might as well just kill me here,” I tell the man. “I have nothing to say, and my father won’t pay a ransom.”
A hollow sound of irritation pulls from his chest. “It isn’t your father’s money I want.”
He loosens his grip on my throat, and I seize the opportunity, dipping my head to bite into his sleeved forearm. It has to hurt like hell, but his only response is to groan …as if he’s getting off on this.
“Is this what you call foreplay?” He yanks his mangled arm from my teeth and squeezes my jaw between his fingers. “Does the thought of leaving your mark on me make you wet?”
A rush of heat blazes over my skin as his filthy words drip-feed the hunger locked deep inside me. I want to deny it, but every nerve in my body is raw and overstimulated. His warm breath tickling my skin, the solid, muscular body pressed against me, the cocktail of fear and adrenaline—it’s all too much.And when I clamp my thighs together, I come to a horrifying realization.
