Of course he’d choose that spot. A wound there wouldn’t just hurt like hell, it would end my career. The pressure of his gun made me clench my teeth, so I had to bite out my words. “I didn’t have anything to tell them.”
“You looked right at me.” He didn’t let up on the gun.
“The theater was dark and there was a light behind you. All I saw was the man dying.”
Did he believe me? His expression seemed to say so, but his intense eyes were cautious. The gun returned to rest on his lap, which gave me relief, but only for a sliver of a moment.
I hadn’t seen his face in the theater, but I certainly had now. My voice quavered. “I won’t tell anyone about this.”
He sighed. “No, you won’t.”
My heart slammed inside my body, and everything went cold. If I screamed, it might bring help, but probably not in time. My gaze was fixed on the black metal and his finger perched on the trigger. The last thing I needed to do was make him angry.
“You should know,” he said, “I’d planned to take another shot and finish him when I realized he was still alive, but then you got in the way. You weren’t worried about getting shot?”
“Not as much as I am now,” I blurted. His eyebrow arched, demanding a real answer. “He was dying.”
“It’s not often I have to kill a woman in my line of work.” His face was serious and haunting. “And certainly not a woman who looks like you.”
My mind refused to comprehend what he meant. I didn’t move, didn’t blink, or breathe. Was it the same for him? His eyes churned with distrust and confusion.
“I’m sorry I can’t let you live,” he said finally, his voice uneven. “Stand up.”
I sat on the bed, defiant. “No.”
“No?” he mocked.
I actively avoided confrontation. I had no problem paying more than my share on a dinner bill if it would save me an uncomfortable conversation with a friend. Yet once, in sixth grade, I’d been cornered on the bus by an eighth-grade bully, a situation deemed dangerous enough at the time to activate my fight-or-flight response.
Which, as it turned out, had been purefight.
I didn’t bother to plead or beg for my life. If he was going to take it, couldn’t I at least have it be on my terms? His free hand clamped down on my arm, hauling me up, and his fingers dug into my bicep painfully.
“People don’t say no to me. You’ll do as I say.”
“Or what?” The bitter words burned in my mouth. “You can’t threaten to kill me since that’s what you’re going to do anyway.”
“I can do other things to you first.” His face changed into that of a monster. “Things I might like, but you definitely wouldn’t.”
My whole body shuddered under his powerful grip.
“I’m just starting to like you. You don’t have to die right now,” he said. “Maybe we can have some fun together.”
I choked back reminding him that I’d already said I didn’t like fun.
“It might give you an opportunity to escape.” He added it like a cruel joke, patronizing. “What do you say, Laurel? Do you want to die now?”
Like that was a choice. “No, I’d prefer not to.”
A horrifying, pleased smile spread across his face. “Good.”
Even after his painful fingers peeled away from my arm, I felt the burn of them on my skin. He went on the move, stalking across the room with purpose. There was a laptop bag resting on the dresser that he snatched up and thrust toward me.
“We’re taking the elevator down to the parking garage,” he announced. “Both hands stay on the bag.” He tucked the gun into the back of his waistband, concealing it beneath his suit jacket. “And my hand stays on you.” His expression alluded to dark consequences if I disobeyed. “Do you understand?”
He was going to walk me down the hall and onto the elevator? Presented with that many opportunities for escape, I was willing to go along with this plan. I eked out a nod.
Moments later, we were out the door and marching toward the elevators.
