Taken and Tamed (4 page)

“Pull it tight. Tighter. Now…” He stood up again and shifted his arms so her neck sat in the crook of his elbow. “Take the key. Reach up, slowly, and unlock these cuffs.”

He relieved the pressure on her neck a little. Cass gulped air like a swimmer who’d nearly drowned, fumbling blindly with the lock. Finally she heard it snap open. He kept her in a one-armed headlock, tight against his body.

“Did you drive here today?”

When she didn’t respond, he shook her a little.

“I said, did you drive here?”

“Y… yes.”

“Your car. Is it in the parking garage next door?”

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t planning on traveling with a companion but maybe you’ll come in handy along the way. Keeping the Feds busy with hostage negotiations will give me time to plan my escape if we’re caught.”

“Please. You don’t want me along. I’ll just slow you down. Put one of those plastic ties on me and leave me in the corner with Katherine.”

“The plastic tie is a good idea.” He reached for her scarf and began unrolling it. “Put that huge bag over your shoulder and grab the front straps with both hands, like you’re afraid of a purse snatcher.” He wound a plastic tie around her wrists, binding them to the leather straps of her bag. Then he tied her scarf around the straps as well, hiding the plastic strip.

Katherine started to say something. Zander bent down. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her face close to his. “Make a sound and I’ll hurt the hostage instead of you. You don’t want to be responsible for an innocent person being harmed, do you?”

Katherine clamped her lips together and shook her head.

Cass backed away, her eyes wide. Zander ignored her, collecting Katherine’s gun off the floor and checking it for ammunition before stuffing it into the back of his waistband. He walked up to Cass. Blue eyes bored into hers, frigid as a glacier now.

“We’re going to go downstairs, get in your car, and drive away. You’re the one in control, Cass, the one who decides how this will go down. If you yell for help, I’ll shoot the first person who comes to your aid. His or her death will be on your head. Try to run and you’ll be the one who ends up dead. Cooperate, and I’ll set you free as soon as I can.”

A cold smile played on his face. “You like to make deals. Do we have a deal, Cass?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Good.” He took her by the elbow, holding her as close as an ardent lover.

An hour later, they were heading north on I-575, Zander at the wheel of her Ford Escape. Cass sat buckled into the passenger seat next to him, hands still bound, with the leather bag on her lap. She hadn’t said a word since she pointed out her car in the parking garage. Zander made sure to switch license plates with another car before pulling out of the lot. She knew it wouldn’t hide them forever. But it might be enough to get them out of Atlanta without being stopped. He’d been thorough, taking the battery out of her phone and tossing it out the window so they couldn’t be tracked that way either.

They headed toward the north Georgia Mountains, turning off the interstate onto a four-lane road lined with the usual array of gas stations and fast-food outlets. Cass watched him out of the corner of her eye. He leaned forward, casually scrolling through the radio stations before settling on one that advertised itself as a blend of classic and current favorites. He had the gift of seeming at ease, no matter what situation he found himself in. She wanted to scream when he began humming along with an old Stones hit, as though they were headed on a relaxing weekend road trip.

He glanced over at her, as though reading her mind again. “‘Sympathy for the Devil.’ For some reason, I’ve always identified with that one.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“Come on. We were getting along so well.” He lowered his voice an octave, turned it into an intimate caress. “I thought we had something special growing between us back there. I felt it. I know you felt it too.”

She shook her head. “Sorry. Can’t hear you. My bullshit meter is clanging again.”

His laugh sounded genuine. “Got me. But you were laying it on pretty thick yourself. That whole line about it being like a first date. The tight shirt under your blazer proclaiming ‘I might look like a lady on the outside but deep down I’m really a slut.’ I bet the whole package works like a charm to coax all kinds of secrets out of your average horny psychopath.” He gave her a leer. “Except for the ‘daddy’s naughty girl’ remark. That had the ring of truth.”

Cass struggled to stay calm. He was playing her again, tossing out comments to see which one got a reaction.

“I do a lot of research, Mr. Coleman. I’ve learned how to appeal to ‘your average horny psychopath.’ But you’re not like them. That’s clear.” She lowered her voice too, forced a note of warmth into it, trying to establish herself as an ally, not a victim. “I’d like to know you better.”

His response sent a shiver down her back. “You’re right. I’m not like the others you’ve interviewed. I’m an ‘above average’ horny psychopath. And since I’m stuck with you for the time being, I’m planning to find out just how naughty daddy’s little girl can be.”

Inside her, fear warred with arousal at that remark. What perverted sexual behaviors would this particular psychopath consider naughty? With a pang of dismay, Cass realized a part of her longed to find out. Could she really stay one step ahead of him and save herself from being included in the long list of people who disappeared after tangling with Zander Coleman?

He glanced over at her again before turning north off the well-traveled road onto a winding two-lane lined with trees. They were heading deeper into the mountains, toward the sparsely populated western edge of North Carolina. Cass tried to tamp down her rising panic. The further they went, the lousier her chances of being rescued became.

She remembered watching the extensive media coverage that part of the state received not long after she moved to Charlotte. One of the FBI’s ten most wanted fugitives, Atlanta’s Olympic bomber Eric Rudolph managed to hide out for five years in the heavily forested wilderness, despite a massive manhunt. He’d been captured by a stroke of luck. Bad luck for him. Hunger drove him to dumpster dive behind a small town grocery store late at night, where he got caught by a rookie cop who had no idea just how big a deal his arrest of a half-starved vagrant really was.

All the resources of the Federal government hadn’t been enough to catch one of the country’s most famous criminals in the miles and miles of steep forest that lay ahead of them. And Zander didn’t look a man who would resort to dumpster diving. If she wanted to get out of this alive, Cass decided she’d have to rely on her own abilities.

She tried again. “There’s not much to see out here. How about indulging me by doing the rest of that interview you promised while we drive?”

Zander didn’t reply, watching the road carefully as he slowed down. Cass couldn’t see anything different about the landscape. She opened her mouth, about to try another way to connect with him, when he made a sharp right turn, this time onto an unmarked dirt two-track. The road, if you could call it that, didn’t look like it had been used in ages. It was steep and so narrow that underbrush scraped the sides of the car.

“Okay. Now we can talk.”

She looked out the window uneasily. The last thing she wanted to do now was talk. Cass gritted her teeth as the car jolted over a boulder poking out of the ground, uncovered by rain washing away the soil around it as it poured down the mountain. They rounded a curve and she choked back a cry. The path narrowed even further, one side hugging a jagged cliff face while the ground dropped off sharply inches from the tires on the other side. Responding to her poorly disguised terror, he slowed the car to a crawl.

She tried for a casual tone. “I assume you know where you’re headed? ‘Cause it looks like we’re not going to be able to turn around any time soon.”

Zander pointed out the window. “Up there.”

Cass craned her neck. “I don’t see a damn thing except more trees.”

“Exactly.”

She realized she wouldn’t get anything useful out of him about their destination. She decided to appeal to whatever shred of moral decency propelled him into turning over evidence against Big Tony. “I’ve never talked to anyone who chose to enter the witness protection program. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to walk away from family and friends, knowing you won’t be seeing them for weeks or months, maybe even years.”

“That choice probably isn’t on the table after today. Besides, leaving isn’t hard if you don’t have any family or friends.”

“Come on.” She put a lilt of humor in her voice. “There must be a whole string of women who would pine away if you didn’t respond to their sexting.”

“Any woman I got involved with wouldn’t dare sext me—unless I ordered her to.”

There it was again. Hinting in that stern tone of voice that he would always be in complete control sexually set off a shiver of raw hunger deep in her belly. She steered away from dangerous territory.

“What do you mean, that choice is off the table?”

“My guess is, as far as the U.S. Marshals are concerned, once I pulled a gun on one of their agents, I became a wanted man again. Taking a hostage adds about twenty years to whatever sentence I faced before. This time if they find me, they’re not going to show up with a welcome home bouquet.” His voice didn’t betray any emotion. “So I don’t plan on being found.”

“Why did you do it? Sounds like you had a sweet deal. Amnesty, starting over somewhere new. No one left behind you’d miss. Why run away?”

“Long story.”

“We lost radio reception about twenty miles back.” She glanced at the speedometer, then at the dirt road, disappearing into the trees again up ahead. “At fifteen miles an hour, no matter how far we’re going, I’d say we’ve got nothing but time. So tell me the story.”

“I’d rather hear your story. The one about the bare-ass spanking.” Said in a low growl. “So tell me—what happened seven years, eight months, and thirteen days ago?”

He wasn’t going to let it go. The bastard wanted to poke around in her psyche, find out why she gave up a fairly common kinky desire that he’d guessed was a big turn-on for her. Okay. She’d tell him.

She stared straight ahead, her voice flat.

“I drove myself to the hospital.”

He glanced over at her, surprised for once, then swore and wrenched the wheel sideways as the car bounced off a rock and nearly swiped a tree. They rounded another curve. He hit the brakes and turned off the engine.

She gave him a questioning look.

“We’re here.”

She stared ahead at the tangle of undergrowth, then looked off to her right. A forlorn log cabin sat in a small clearing, perched on the edge of a steep drop-off. Leaves and broken branches littered the covered front porch. Although it was still early spring in the mountains, the yard was already overgrown, last year’s tangle of blackberry canes sprouting tiny green leaves between vicious gray-brown thorns.

“What do you mean ‘we’re here’?”

“This is where we’re staying.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “This dump?”

“Criminals on the run don’t check into the Hyatt.”

He got out of the car, then came around and opened the door for her. Cass fumbled with the seat belt and struggled out with her hands still tied around her bag.

“Come on.”

Zander headed for the front steps. She followed, shrieking when one of her heels sank into a hole in the ground and she nearly pitched face-first into a tangle of thorny branches. He whirled around and bit off a curse. In two long steps, he’d backtracked and grabbed her elbow, propelling her through the overgrown clearing and up onto the porch.

“I should have taken those running shoes Jacobs had on,” he muttered. “Then again, maybe the way you’re dressed is a good thing. If you try to run, you won’t get very far down the mountain in stiletto heels.”

“Pardon me if I didn’t dress for wilderness survival,” she replied nastily, swiping away the blood welling up from a deep scratch on one hand. She gave him a once-over. “That thousand-dollar suit you have on isn’t exactly mountain man attire.”

He ignored her, running his fingers across the top of the entry door. He came up empty-handed and turned slowly, surveying the porch. Shoving aside one of a pair of weather-beaten rocking chairs, he knelt and opened the metal lid covering an outside electrical socket. He rose triumphantly, key in hand.

“I would have thought breaking and entering would be more your style.”

“Fixing a broken window is a pain in the ass. It gets cold up here at night.” He kicked a pile of leaves out of the way and opened the door, ushering her inside.

Cass stepped in and immediately started shivering. Although the temperature outside was in the upper sixties, it was at least fifteen degrees cooler in the cabin. The sun hadn’t dispelled winter’s chill inside. She wrinkled her nose. She felt like she’d stepped into a musty-smelling meat locker. Zander began opening windows, letting the warmth pour in.

She looked around. Although it looked abandoned from outside, inside the cabin was surprisingly homey. One big room across the front, wood walls, high ceiling crisscrossed with rafters made of rough-hewn logs. Along the back there was an open loft above the L-shaped kitchen on one side and a walled-off area with a door leading to what she assumed was a bedroom on the other side. To her left, a stacked stone fireplace reached all the way to the peak of the ceiling, while floor to ceiling glass covered nearly all of the opposite wall.

Zander pulled back the tall curtains and Cass gasped. The gentle majesty of the Blue Ridge Mountains lay before her. Misty blue-green and mauve and purple peaks covered with dense forest spread as far as she could see in every direction. From their vantage point high on the mountaintop, she glimpsed a deep blue ribbon winding through a valley in the distance. There wasn’t a manmade structure in sight. Not a Starbucks, not a Wal-Mart or a gas station, not even another ramshackle cabin.