Lone Rider (7 page)

             
“Headache?” 
Dallas
’ voice was low and oddly soothing.

             
She nodded, fighting a wave of weakness, then took another sip. She glanced at him over the rim of the glass.

A part of her felt overjoyed to see him. He had come back for her. After Bogen left she realized he could have been lying about returning her to
Dallas
. She had also worried that Snake might show up before
Dallas
.

Without a doubt, she did prefer
Dallas
’ company. And right now he was the only person she could conceivably count on, the only person she might be able to trust. But what made her feel so drawn to this man? Her own weaknesses? Or his strength?

He led her back into the kitchen, pausing to place the glass on the counter. Tess’ gaze drifted to the kitchen floor. The blood was gone, the dingy, cracked linoleum conspicuously lighter where someone had obviously performed a hurried cleanup job. Bogen had instructed Snake not to let anyone see him with Michaels’ body. Did
Dallas
even know about Matt Michaels’ murder?

A replay of the stabbing filled her mind. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. The outer fringes of her vision started clouding
,
and she felt
Dallas
’ hand close over hers as he slid an arm around her, catching her.

             
“Easy.”

             
“Don’t touch me!” s
he cried out, aware she was sinking to the ground but unable to stop it. The lack of control over her mind and body frightened and enraged her.

             
“You’re hurt.” 
Dallas
scooped her up into his arms and headed out the door.

             
She struggled, but her actions had no impact. “Put me down. I prefer to walk.”

Dallas
’ temper flared. “In case you didn’t notice, you can’t. And I’m not putting you down, so quit wiggling.”

She hated that he was right. Her legs and arms felt disconnected from her body
,
and the struggle to stay awake  exacted a heavy toll.

“What did you give me?”  Her tongue felt thick and foreign in her mouth.

“A tranquilizer. A healthy dose. You’ll feel it for a few more hours.”

It was still dark
,
and Tess vaguely wondered how long she’d been out. Was it just before dawn, or just after dusk?

“Where are you taking me?”

             
“To my cabin.” 
Dallas
kept his tone to a rough whisper. “You’ll be safe there. And you’ll feel better after you’ve slept.”

             
She wondered if she’d ever feel safe again. “I won’t sleep.”

             
“You will.”

             
She started to argue, then stopped as another wave of uneasy lethargy rippled through her.
             

“Tess? Still with me?” 
Dallas
’ voice seemed to come at her from a distance. The drug kicked in again
,
and she had little strength to combat it.

             
“Promise you won’t lock me up like that again,” she whispered.

The anxiety in her voice was tangible
,
and
Dallas
wished he could give her the reassurance she sought.

He couldn’t.

CHAPTER THREE

             
Dallas
watched Tess sleep, finding solace in the slight rise and fall of her chest. Except for an agitated nightmare earlier, she hadn’t moved since he laid her on the couch two hours ago. Which was probably just as well. Sleep would help clear the drug from her system.

             
It also gave him time to double-
check that the cabin was escape proof. Tess was a fighter. Once she got beyond the initial shock of the situation, her primary concern would be gaining her freedom. Which clashed with
Dallas
’ primary concern of keeping her safe.

It pleased him to see some color returning to her cheeks. She had been too pale when he’d freed her from the pantry. In shock no doubt. He had sponged the grime off her face and hands as best he could and smoothed a salve on her dry lips before attending her other injuries.

The cut on her forehead didn’t look as severe now that it was clean. He knew it would sting like hell later. At least it didn’t require stitches, which he wouldn’t have hesitated to administer and which wouldn’t have endeared him any further.

And right now he needed to endear himself. Reassure and draw her out. Like it or not, he was stuck with her.

He thought over the plan he’d formulated. His part would be easy. He needed to gain Tess’ trust and sympathy as quickly as possible, through whatever means necessary. Brainwashing. Emotional blackmail. Even seduction.

She was vulnerable right now. He had to push that advantage. Hard and fast. He needed to establish unequivocally their roles as captor and hostage and initiate
transference
.

He hated to use textbook head
games to control her, but he had little choice at this point. Once transference was established, once he managed to brainwash her, as Patty Hearst’s captors had, Tess would become an ally, a very strong one. Normally the process took weeks. He had days, hours. Which meant he would be pushing every button at his disposal.

There had been a strong physical attraction between them when they’d first met. He needed to purposely cultivate and exploit that. If it wasn’t already too late. She had every reason to detest him. But whether she like
d
it or not, cooperated or not, his agenda would prevail.

             
He shook his head. He needed some sleep. He’d been awake over thirty-six hours and was starting to feel punchy.

Kneeling beside the couch, he bent over her. He brushed his fingers lightly against her neck, finding her pulse steady. “Tess, wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open with a sharp intake of breath. He nudged her chin up, carefully noting the reaction of her pupils. In spite of the drug still in her system, they contracted slightly in response to the light. A good sign. Though semidilated, her eyes were surprisingly focused. And filled with anguish.

“
Dallas
.” 

It wasn’t a question. He knew by the look on her face that she remembered where she was and how she’d gotten there. Another positive sign. She’d undergone a fair amount of trauma
,
and her head injury still concerned him.

             
She struggled to sit up, accepting his help briefly before pulling away.

             
Dallas
squatted in front of her. “How are you feeling?”

             
She didn’t answer right away. The events of the night spilled into her mind. “I’ve got a splitting headache. Which isn’t bad given the circumstances. I suppose I should feel glad to be alive.”

             
He ignored the jibe and held up two fingers. “How many?”

             
It took Tess a moment to realize he was concerned about her head, not testing her math ability. It was tempting to lie. If she said four, could she convince him she needed medical help?

Then she thought about Bogen’s threat to take her back if she caused any problems. She wasn’t eager to test the man. And end up in the bottom of the lake beside Matt Michaels.

             
“Two fingers,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve got a concussion.”

             
Nodding,
Dallas
offered her a glass of water. She started to refuse, but caught the slight negative shake of his head.

“Refusing only makes you more miserable.” 

             
She hated that he was right. Her tongue felt parched
,
and her throat hurt. She took the glass, carefully av
oiding his touch,
and found the water sweet and cool.

             
He watched her, quietly. And instead of looking away she met his eyes, searching the silvery depths, wishing she could see inside and
know
him, truly know him. His motives, his intentions. Who he was.

He seemed different from Bogen and Snake. But was that because she needed to believe he was different? Because she sorely needed a ray of hope?

In a world gone crazy he was suddenly the only constant. The only thing familiar.

What she saw in his eyes reas
sured her. Regret, concern,
and compassion. Emotions lacking in Snake and Bogen. While
Dallas
was guilty of criminal acts, she didn’t believe his crimes included murder. Which relieved her, but didn’t let him off the hook.

She glanced away, struggling to get her bearings. She remembered
Dallas
freeing her from the pantry, knew he’d carried her through some woods to this cabin. She remembered glimpsing a small log structure that had seen better days. The front porch sagged
,
and honeysuckle vines covered one whole side where nature fought to reclaim it.

Tess looked around the interior, finding it small, but in better shape then she had expected. The wide plank floor, though worn and uneven, was clean. She sat on an ancient avocado-colored couch. A matching chair sat off to the right, facing an oversize stone fireplace. Banked flames crackled from behind the wire screen, the only source of heat.

A small table and chairs
took up another corner with a s
partan kitchen tucked in an alcove. Two doors punctuated the wall on the opposite side of the room.

             
“Bathroom’s on the left. Bedroom on the right.” 
Dallas
pointed to the doors.

She recalled how filthy the bathroom at Bogen’s had been and decided she’d postpone going as long as she could.

“Where are we?” she asked.

             
“My cabin.”

             
“Who else stays here?”

“No one. Bogen has the main house. The rest of us have cabins around the perimeter of the woods.”

It sounded like a potentially large encampment, she thought, her mind already s
can
ning for escape routes. But if there were woods nearby
,
she’d have plenty of hiding places.

“How many cabins like this are there?” 
The more she knew about the lay
out the better.

             
“Twenty. It was a
Cub
Scout camp back in the sixties,
”
he said.

             
The irony hit her.
Cub
Scouts. And Bogen was the den mother from hell.

             
“How many acres?” she pressed.

Dallas
took the glass from her and stood. “The compound is huge, Tess. There’s only one road in
,
and it’s guarded. If you’re thinking of making a run for it, I’d advise against it.”

“Then can I have my own cabin?”

Dallas
chortled at her audacity. “With or without room service?”

“Either.”

He moved to the chair and began yanking off his boots. “Consider this home for now. Granted, it’s not the Marsh Suite in
New York
, but it’s got the basics
,
and it’s private.”

             
Tess’ mouth opened. He knew her identity!

She thought back, remembering that he’d strapped both her backpack and duffel bag to his motorcycle. He had no doubt gone through her things and made the connection. Possibly even read her letters.

             
Maybe he planned to ransom her. She leaned forward. “My father will pay wel
l for my safe return. My fiancé
--”

             
“You and your fiancé
broke up two months ago, much to your mother’s chagrin.”

             
“You--”

             
Dallas
cut her off. “Look, Bogen doesn’t do ransom notes. In fact you’d be wise to keep your identity a secret. It could backfire on you.”

             
Dallas
had
s
earched her bag, burning her identification and the letters from her mother -- after reading them. Though he hadn’t made the connection right off, he’d done so after searching her wallet. He knew the Marsh reputation, was familiar with their elite social status, the hotels and department stores that bore their name. Hell, Tess had been a news story at age ten when her parents fought a bitter custody battle in a very ugly, very public, divorce.