BRIDAL JEOPARDY (8 page)

The room had two large closets, both full of women’s clothes.

When Stephanie saw them, she caught her breath.

“Everything’s still right where she left it,” she murmured.

“I guess he misses her. Or he didn’t feel like making the effort to get rid of her stuff. All he had to do was shut the door.”

She dragged in a breath and let it out. “I feel funny about poking around in their lives.”

“Yeah, but we need to do it,” Craig answered. “Are those what you’re looking for?” He pointed to the cardboard boxes neatly stacked on the top shelf. They were old department-store boxes, the kind nobody made anymore.

“Yes.”

He lifted several down and set them on the bed.

Instead of reaching for them, Stephanie stood unmoving.

Craig turned his head toward her. “I know this is making you feel...unsettled.”

She nodded. “And Dad is going to be mad if he comes back and finds me snooping.”

“I guess that’s tough. But maybe we can get out of here before he comes back. Do you want me to help you look?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

They each opened a box and began checking through the contents. Inside were old photographs of Stephanie and her parents, plus other memorabilia.

Craig held up a childish crayoned picture of a house surrounded by a flower garden. “You did good work.”

“I must have been pretty young. It’s a drawing of this house.”

“I actually can tell.”

She found a pile of essays she’d written.

“It’s strange to find this stuff. I wouldn’t have thought she’d kept it.”

Craig said nothing, only continued searching through papers. When he pulled out a thick folder, she looked at him. “What’s that?”

He thumbed through the contents.

“Do you remember anything about a place called the Solomon Clinic?”

“What is it?”

“Maybe this is what we’ve been looking for. It was a fertility clinic in Houma. There’s a copy of an application, then instruction sheets for what your mother was supposed to do before going there.”

He handed her some of the papers, and she went through them. “I guess this is it.”

“Well, we found out about me. Does the Solomon name mean anything to you?” she asked.

Craig considered the question. “As a matter of fact, it does.”

“How?”

His stomach tightened as he said, “Like you, I used to listen in on conversations. Probably all kids do.”

“And what did you hear?”

“It was after Sam died, and my mother was pretty upset. I think I heard her on the phone trying to get some information about the Solomon Clinic.”

“You really remember that?”

“Yes, because of the way she was reacting. In her grief, I think she might have been considering trying to get pregnant again, but she found out that the clinic had burned down.”

“She could have gone to someone in the D.C. area.”

“Maybe she thought Dr. Solomon was God—and he was the only one who could help her. For all I know, he could have acted that way with his patients.” He dragged in a breath and let it out. “Anyway, she apparently gave up on the idea.”

“But it sounds like your mother and mine went to the same place,” Stephanie said. “Only she didn’t take you back there for checkups, did she?”

“You went for checkups?” he asked.

“Yes. I remembered going
somewhere
with a waiting room full of kids my age. Now I think it must have been part of the deal—that the parents would bring the kids back to be examined.”

“And my mom was back in D.C., so she couldn’t do it.” He thought for a minute. “I wonder if she agreed to take me and Sam there for checkups, but then didn’t comply,” Craig said.

“Was she that kind of woman?”

He lifted one shoulder. “She was always willing to bend the rules when it suited her.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“I was supposed to have Ms. Franklin for my sixth-grade homeroom teacher. Mom got me into a different class because she thought Ms. Franklin was too lenient with the kids. Another time we moved into an apartment building where you weren’t supposed to have pets, but she brought our cat anyway. Lucky for her it was a well-behaved animal and didn’t mess up the place.”

They gathered up the papers and put them back into the boxes, then returned the containers to the top of the closet.

“Your mom found out the clinic closed,” she said.

“But maybe we can find out something online—or if we go to Houma.”

Stephanie turned to straighten out the bedspread, where they’d laid the boxes, and he took the other side, pulling to remove the wrinkles.

“If we get out of here before your dad comes back, he’ll never even know we were here.”

They hadn’t finished smoothing out the bed when they heard the front door open.

“What do you want to do?” Craig asked in a harsh whisper.

“Climb out the window,” Stephanie answered in the same tone.

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want Dad to find me upstairs with you, and I don’t want to get into an argument about what we were doing—not if I can help it. And I sure as heck don’t want him telling John about it.”

“We’re on the second floor.”

“But there’s an easy way to get down. We can climb onto the sunroom roof and go down that way.” She hurried toward the window, opened the sash and stepped out. Craig looked around to make sure nothing was out of place in the room, then he followed her onto the roof. When he was outside, he closed the window behind them.

They moved along the wall toward the edge of the sunroom, and Stephanie pointed to the trellises that were fixed to the walls of the sunroom.

“Let me go first,” he said.

“No, I’ve done this before.”

“You snuck out of the house?”

“When I was grounded, yeah. The trellis is as good as a ladder.”

“But you haven’t used it in years, right?”

She shrugged. Before he could stop her, she stepped over the side, holding on to the weathered wood as she began to lower herself. He watched her going down, thinking that the wood might not be as solid as when she’d tried this last.

His speculation was confirmed when he heard a cracking sound and she fell several feet before catching herself.

“Are you all right?” he called.

“Yes.”

When she’d made it to the ground, he followed, testing the rungs as he went. The rest seemed solid, and he reached the lawn right after Stephanie.

They stared at each other. He would have hugged her in relief that they’d made it, but he knew that touching her now was a bad idea. They’d forget what they were supposed to be doing—which was getting away from her father’s house before he discovered them.

She must have been thinking the same thing. After long seconds, she walked rapidly across the back of the house and turned the corner.

As soon as she disappeared from sight, he heard her make a strangled sound.

“Stephanie?” he called in a hoarse whisper.

She didn’t answer, and he hurried to catch up, then stopped short when he rounded the corner.

Stephanie was standing rigidly in front of a man who was holding a gun to her head.

Chapter Eight

The man was one of the thugs who had threatened Stephanie in her shop. The bald one.

“If you don’t want me to shoot your girlfriend, do exactly what I say.”

Craig went still as he looked from the man to Stephanie’s terrified face.

“Don’t hurt her.”

“That’s up to you. Play this smart, and everything will be okay.”

He doubted it, but he asked, “What do you want?”

Without answering the question, the man said, “Walk ahead of us down the driveway, then turn right.”

Craig’s heart was pounding as he followed directions. He walked carefully, knowing that any false step could get Stephanie killed.

As they headed down the sidewalk, he kept searching for a way out. What if a neighbor suddenly appeared? What if someone called the police? Craig prayed that
something
would happen. The big problem for him was that Stephanie and the guy were behind him, and he couldn’t see what was going on back there. If he moved on his own, she’d get shot.

Desperately he tried to reach out to her with his mind, but he couldn’t make the contact across the space that separated them.

“Stop here,” the guy ordered as they drew up beside a van that could have been a delivery truck. The only windows were in the front and in the back door. The rest of the rear compartment had solid walls.

The other man, the one with the wavy hair, opened the door at the back of the vehicle. “Get inside,” he ordered.

Craig hesitated, thinking that if he followed directions, he’d never gain control of the situation.

“I said get in.” The man behind him gave him a shove, and he flew forward, striking his head against the bare metal floor of the interior compartment.

His head hit the floor so hard that he saw stars. Behind him, he heard Stephanie cry out.

“Shut up,” the man with the gun growled.

Craig fought to stay conscious as the man flipped him onto his back and pulled his hands behind him, quickly securing them with tape. He did the same with his legs, then rolled him back over and banged his head again, sending a wave of pain through his skull.

“Easy,” the other guy complained. “We’re supposed to deliver them in good shape.”

“Yeah, well, that’s for mauling me this afternoon,” the curly-haired one answered while he tore off more tape and slapped it over Craig’s mouth.

He was still trying to clear his mind as the bald-headed man shoved Stephanie into the van.

She gasped as he pushed her to the floor, then began taping her the way Craig was already taped.

He was silently screaming, racking his brain for some way out of this, but he could come up with nothing.

When both of them were secured, the men climbed out of the van and slammed the door closed, leaving their prisoners in the dark.

Craig struggled to think clearly, struggled to send Stephanie a silent message, but he couldn’t reach her mind.

As the vehicle lurched away from the curb, he sensed Stephanie moving beside him. Through the fog in his brain, he realized that she was wiggling her body closer to his. Finally her right shoulder and arm were pressed to his left.

He felt her fear and also a spurt of hope as his thoughts collided with hers.

Are you all right?
she asked urgently.

Yeah,
he answered, knowing that she immediately picked up on the lie.

She rolled so that her body was half on top of his, and they pressed more tightly together. When she moved her cheek against his, he longed to raise his arms and fold her close. But the tape prevented that.

Still, as he absorbed the physical and the mental contact with her, he felt a profound sense of relief.

I’m sorry,
she whispered in his mind.

For what?

For rushing out the window.

You thought your father was coming in.

Now I don’t even know. Was it him—or them?

He had no answer, but he was thankful for the strong mental link that was letting them speak directly to each other.

What matters now is escape.

Who are these men?

No idea. But we have to get away from them,
he repeated, trying not to think of horrible possibilities. Unfortunately, he knew Stephanie was picking them up from his mind.

We have to get this tape off.

How?

Remember when you were trying to move that book?

It didn’t work.

Because we weren’t touching. We are now.

He tried to send reassurances along with the silent words. It would have worked better if his head wasn’t throbbing from the banging against the floor of the van.

I’m going to work on the tape on my hands.

How?

I’m going to stretch it. You send me energy. I can’t explain exactly what that means. Just...maybe focus on what I’m doing.

He hadn’t done anything like this in years, and with Sam, it had always been for fun. Now his and Stephanie’s lives might depend on it.

When he heard her wince, he wished he had kept away from that last thought.

The van lurched, and he lost his concentration for a moment. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to focus. He had met Stephanie Swift only a few days ago, and he expected her to help him with a mental task that seemed impossible on the face of it.

We can do it.
She answered the unspoken thought.

He made a sound of agreement, not because he was entirely confident but because they had no choice. They had to get out of this mess.

The pounding in his head made focusing difficult, but he kept at it. For minutes, nothing seemed to happen. Finally he felt some small measure of success—a tiny loosening of the bindings on his wrists.

Stephanie must have noticed it, too, because he felt her spurt of hope.

He worked at the tape. It seemed to take centuries, but finally he could part his wrists a little.

He was almost too mentally exhausted to continue, but he kept at it, feeling the tape loosen more and more, and finally he was able to wiggle his hands free.

He glanced toward the front of the van and was relieved to see that the two men were both facing forward.

Reaching for Stephanie, he began to slowly pull the tape off her wrists. It was easier to work manually, and he quickly got her hands free. She breathed out a small sigh and pulled her legs up so that she could remove the tape from her ankles. He did the same.

When his hands and legs were free, he eased the tape off his mouth, seeing that she was doing that, too.

Thank God,
she whispered into his mind.

He thought about their next move. They were free of the tape, but they were still in a moving van. He looked around for something he could use as a weapon and saw nothing. Too bad he’d gotten rid of the gun that he’d taken from these guys.

We can’t fight them.

What are we going to do?

Hope they have to stop at a light.

He glanced at the men in front who were paying no attention to the prisoners. Obviously they thought that the man and woman they’d restrained were no threat.

Praying that neither of their kidnappers decided to check on them, Craig inched his way toward the back of the vehicle. Pausing again, he checked on the gunmen. When he saw they were still facing forward, he pulled down on the handle, easing the door open a crack so that he could see out. He was relieved to find they were still in the city—but not a part he recognized.

Stephanie picked up her purse, which had been lying beside her, and slung the strap across her chest before moving to the back of the van with him, her shoulder pressed to his.

Get ready.

Their chance came when the van lurched to a stop again. He pushed the door open and leaped out, then reached to help Stephanie down. They were on a city street with cars immediately behind them.

“Where are we?”

“The financial district.”

They heard an angry shout and turned to see Curly, the one in the van’s passenger seat, jump out with his gun drawn.

“Come on,” Craig said to Stephanie, taking her hand. They wove through the traffic, the maneuver creating a blast of honking horns. As a car came around the corner and almost plowed into them, the driver slammed on the brakes, then lowered his window and started cursing at them.

Ignoring the chaos, they kept running for their lives through the darkened streets as pedestrians stared at the scene. And the car that had almost hit them gave them cover for a moment.

As they ran, Craig looked around wildly, trying to figure out the best escape route.

It was Stephanie who took the lead. “This way,” she shouted, darting down a dark passageway between two tall buildings.

Craig followed. He wanted to look behind him to see if the guy with the gun knew where they’d gone, but turning would slow them down.

Stephanie pulled on a side door. It opened and they stepped into a hallway.

They ran down to the first turn and dodged around the corner. Finally, risking a quick look back, Craig saw the gunman charging after them.

Instead of continuing the evasive action, Craig waited for the man to come barreling down the hall, then stuck out his foot, tripping the guy and sending him sprawling. Craig was on him in an instant, grabbing his hair and slamming his face against the tile floor, thinking that turnabout was fair play. The man gasped and went still.

Craig lifted the gun from the man’s limp hand and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans, then covered it with his knit shirt. When he searched the man’s pockets, he found no identification.

“We’d better get out of here.”

“Don’t you want to ask him why they’re after us?”

“Yeah, but his partner could show up at any moment. We have to put distance between us and them.”

She answered with a tight nod and followed him to a glass-enclosed lobby.

They stepped out into a plaza surrounded by office buildings.

Walking rapidly, they crossed to the opposite side, then back to the street. When Craig saw a taxi heading their way in the curb lane, he hailed it.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked.

Craig gave the address where he’d left his car.

As the vehicle took off, he scanned the street for the van and the men who had taken them prisoner, but neither was in sight.

When Stephanie started to speak, Craig squeezed her hand.

Not here.

She clamped her lips together and knit her fingers with his.

They were both breathing hard from the chase and the narrow escape. And now that the crisis was over, he could feel the sexual pull starting to surge between them.

Touching her made him want her, but the physical connection also seemed to strengthen the silent communication they’d first discovered in the dress shop. If they had been in a hotel instead of a cab, he would have taken her directly to the check-in desk and booked a room.

She caught the thought and glanced at him, then away.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s a guy thing.”

Not just a guy thing, apparently.

We have to find a safe place where we can figure out what’s going on.

You think we can do it?

I hope so.

The cab pulled onto the street near her father’s house where he’d left his car, but he asked the driver to stop halfway down the block.

The guy pulled to the curb, and they got out.

After paying the man, Craig motioned Stephanie into the shadows of an overhanging pepper tree. “Wait here.”

“Why?”

“They could have staked out my car.”

“If they know where it is.”

“We can’t assume we’re in the clear.”

She waited while he walked swiftly down the block, all his senses on alert, but nobody approached the car. It could be that the men didn’t even know this was his rental. When he gestured for Stephanie to follow, she hurried down the block and climbed into the passenger seat.

He’d kept their physical contact to a minimum. But now they were off the street, and when she turned to him, he reached for her, feeling emotions flowing between them. Relief that they had made their escape, coupled with the sexual need intensifying between them. And, under that, the uncertainty about their situation—on so many levels.

He lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss that left them both gasping. He knew they should drive away because their attackers could come back. But he couldn’t turn her loose, not yet. Everything inside him had gone cold when he’d seen that gun pressed to her head. He’d been scared spitless—for her. And he’d realized in that moment that he couldn’t lose her.

He knew she took in his thoughts. Wrenching her mouth from his, she stared at him.

Yes,
she whispered in his mind, telling him the same thing. She couldn’t lose him.

How could I have gotten engaged to John Reynard?

You didn’t know what he was.

It’s more than that. If I’d married him, I would have tried to make the best of it. But that was before I knew you.

He tightened his arms around her. A while ago, he had been unable to comprehend a relationship stronger than the one he’d had with Sam. Now he was starting to understand the depths of what he had found with Stephanie. The link between them had gotten them out of that van—maybe saved their lives.

But we need...

To be closer.

Just allowing that thought sent a surge of arousal through him, yet he eased his body away from her.

We have to find a safe place where we can...

Make love,
she finished for him.

“Yeah,” he said aloud.

“My family has a cabin out in bayou country, near New Iberia. We can go there.”

He let the picture of the isolated cabin fill his mind. They’d be alone, uninterrupted.

“Does Reynard know about it?”