Chapter 6
L eaving the door open so the woman would catch the nice December breeze, Ghost sauntered through the snow toward the cabin. Hesitation slowed his steps. He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob, and threw a gaze toward the shop.
The lights blazed and the fans buzzed. Not only would she be freezing, but she also wouldn’t be able to rest.
Which was a good thing.
Should be a good thing.
Exhaustion would make her desperate to talk. He’d have leverage and she’d be in a weakened state. He didn’t feel very fucking good about it, though. The irrational side of his brain came forth once again, and he couldn’t help but entertain the idea of taking her inside the cabin.
No, you moron.
Remembering the needle he’d caught millimeters from his neck, he shoved open the door. Getting the woman to talk was the goal. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could be free of her. A little discomfort never hurt anyone. Besides, she had a choice.
Unless she was telling the truth and didn’t know shit.
He flicked on the kitchen light and yanked off his flannel jacket, tossing it on a chair.
Goddammit.
He was getting soft. Blue eyes, nice tits, and sleek legs would be his demise if he wasn’t careful. Gripping the back of the chair, he dropped his head. He needed sleep. Food. Water. Then he could think straight.
He marched to the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and tossed it back. Through the window above the sink, he spotted the open door and the glowing windows. Once again, as though a siren were calling only him, he was tempted to return to the building.
No.
He pulled out his phone and brought up the surveillance system around his property. In seconds he had a clear view of the woman curled up on the floor. At least he could monitor her.
He slammed back the rest of the bottle and climbed the stairs to the second level. After kicking off his pants and shirt, he got under the covers and sighed. Food could wait. He needed rest. The thick, warm quilt softened his muscles, and he closed his eyes.
But all he could think of was a cold workshop, blue eyes, and the way the crevice of her sex had felt along his fingers.
Buzz , buzz , buzz
Ghost jolted awake. He snatched his phone from the nightstand. Rami. He cleared the sleep from his throat. “Hello?”
“You sleeping?”
Ghost dropped back on his pillow and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d slept about four hours. “Was. What’s up?”
“Got some intel on your female friend.”
Interest hiked Ghost into a sitting position. “Go.”
“Name’s Anna Yorke, twenty-nine years old, born in Utah. Record’s squeaky fucking clean.”
He grunted. “An alias.”
“Obviously. I’ve been running facial recognition all over the country since last night. That’s all that’s come up.”
“What about Europe?”
Rami was silent. “Didn’t check there. Does she have an accent? Anything else to go by?”
“No accent. I mean, hell. I feel like her bone structure is Slavic, but she could be from anywhere overseas.”
“Roger that. I’ll run her picture in Europe. Don’t hold your breath, though. It’ll take all day for sure. In the meantime, if you find any other clues as to where she could be from, let me know. Look for tattoos, maybe.”
He was pretty sure she didn’t have any. He’d seen her half naked. But he kept that tidbit to himself. “Copy that.”
They hung up and Ghost immediately brought up the footage of the shop. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders at the sight of her curled-up form. Had she even moved?
He got to his feet. Christ, it was going to be a long day. Unless he could get her to talk. He’d done well enough not getting triggered by her attitude. He just needed to keep shit in perspective.
But he wasn’t ready to play good cop. Everything about that woman screamed she was a lone wolf.
Maybe even a survivor of god knew what. But she wouldn’t crack just because he gave her food and dry clothes.
Although maybe shivering for the last four hours had given her some clarity.
Shit, if she wasn’t dead from hypothermia.
He got dressed, brushed his teeth, and went to the kitchen. After drinking one cup of black coffee, he poured a second and headed outside. Stopping at the pile of snow, he cursed.
He went back into the house for his flannel and the shovel then went to work clearing a path from the cabin to the shop. Ten minutes later, he wiped the sweat from his brow and returned for his now-cold coffee.
He made his way to the workshop and entered the open door quietly. The whirring of the fans covered the noise of his boots on the cement. Stopping a few feet before the plastic, he studied her exposed skin.
No tattoos that he could spot. Not even a birthmark. Maybe he’d find something beneath her bra and shorts. After taking another sip of much-needed caffeine, he set down his cup on the workbench and switched off the fans.
She didn’t move.
He stopped near the plastic. Her hair, now dry, frizzed around her head. Crouching next to her, he pressed his fingers to the inside of her wrist. Dammit, he shouldn’t have left her so long. Especially with a head injury.
He stilled as he timed her pulse. It was there. Thready and faint, but there.
He gave himself a mental kick in the ass. Now what? She was probably battling hypothermia and a concussion. He wouldn’t get any coherent words from her now. Placing one hand on her shoulder, he shook her gently. “Anna.”
She didn’t move. Only her shallow breathing told him she was alive. He rattled her again, this time more insistently. “Anna, wake up,” he boomed.
Her flesh tensed beneath his skin. She whimpered and curled herself tighter.
Finding her chin, he gently drew her face away from her knees. “Anna, open your eyes, dammit.”
Slight tremors shook her body. At least that was some kind of reaction.
His hand smoothed up and down her arm involuntarily. Her skin was so cold and dry his chest constricted. Her long, dark eyelashes fanned over her ivory cheeks. He couldn’t see the color of her lips due to the silver duct tape, but the sight of her vulnerability struck him.
He’d never done anything like this before. Never captured a woman. Never inflicted torture on one... at least not the kind they didn’t beg for.
Disgust filled him.
Damn, she looked young and so damn innocent. Why the hell did she have to come for me?
He’d had every intention of killing her. Eventually. But not like this. Not without getting what he needed, and not slowly and painfully for Christ’s sake.
As if she sensed his angst, her lashes fluttered. Dazed, distant eyes found his face before her eyelids slammed shut as if simply looking at him drained her.
He stalked out of the shop and to the cabin.
He grabbed a quilt from the couch, which he tossed in the dryer on high.
In the kitchen, he snatched another mug from the cupboard and filled it with hot coffee.
He dropped in a spoonful of sugar—hopefully that’d wake her up a little—and got the quilt from the dryer.
Bundling the material into a tight ball, he marched back to the shop with the coffee in his other hand.
Placing the cup on the workbench, he slid his attention to her. Pressure mounted in his chest. She still hadn’t moved.
An emotion he couldn’t explain, a heat beneath his collar that he’d never felt before, clenched his jaw. If he’d found her like this, banged up and half frozen, he’d kill the bastard responsible.
The bastard was him.
Inhaling a self-loathing breath, he draped the quilt over her. Covering her up stomped out only a fraction of his guilt.
***
Warmth.
Oh god, she was finally warm.
She thought of the gratitude she’d felt toward Alexei for welcoming her into the warm SUV with blankets and hot chocolate. She’d wanted to cry.
Please don’t send me to the mountains again...
“Anna.” A male voice punched her into awareness. “Anna, or whatever the fuck your real name is, open your eyes.” The command made her shudder.
Blinking, she fought the current of sleep rushing over her. Fear knocked her heart into her ribcage as she took in the plastic sheet beneath her cheek. She lay on hard cement, but something warm and soft covered her from head to toe.
Where am I?
She struggled to bring forth the events that’d led her to this moment but came up empty. Her gaze located two large industrial fans that were thankfully off. Between them was a folding chair. And booted feet.
A lump formed in her throat.
She inched her gaze up jean-clad legs and caught sight of a red flannel jacket. An image of that checkered pattern surfaced in her mind. She’d been carried through the darkness in warm, strong arms.
Her captor got to his feet and his boots grew closer. He dropped to one knee next to her. His fingers came near her face. For some reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t jump as he eased the tape off her mouth.
Strange. He’d done the same thing before but had ripped the adhesive viciously from her lips. He flicked the tape from his fingers then reached for her arms. This time, the jerk of her body was visceral.
“Easy,” he said gruffly.
Her eyes sprang open wider as she watched him withdraw a switchblade from his pocket. Seconds later her hands were free.
Her arms dropped forward. Blood rushed to her tingling extremities so fast and hot she hissed.
A large hand cupped her elbow. “Sit up.”
Not a request. She wanted to hurl insults. To ask him if he’d be able to sit after being bound and freezing cold for hours. She didn’t reply simply because she needed to conserve her energy.
He pulled her into a sitting position. She placed her hands on the plastic-covered cement floor so she wouldn’t fold forward and pass out.
The room spun and nausea assaulted her senses.
She ran her tongue over her lips and grimaced as the action pried them apart.
Pain pulsed through her body. Everything was sore from running, and her skull felt as if it were being jackhammered.
Her captor didn’t let go of her arm. His steady hold anchored her, keeping her from toppling forward.
She wanted to push him away. To burrow back under the warm blanket and hide from his intense glare.
He leaned closer and his face came into focus. The stubble on his jaw was thicker and darker than it’d been last night, the whites of his eyes a little red, and his mouth tense. As though he despised her.
Well, he should. Because as soon as she got her strength back, she was going to kill him—or run.
He reached for a mug. Steam billowed from it. When he placed it in her hands, she almost moaned. The heat warmed her fingers, making them throb.
“Drink.”
Another command.
She stared down at the mug. “What’d you put in it?” Her voice was hoarse, and speaking made her dry lips ache.
“I didn’t poison you the first time, did I?”
The corner of her mouth twitched. No, he hadn’t. She brought the cup to her lips and sipped the hot brew, not caring that her tongue burned a little. Sweetness filled her mouth and she fought another groan at what little peace the drink offered her soul.
He kept his hand on her. She didn’t tell him to move it. For a second, she felt he didn’t want her to fall. Which surely wasn’t the case.
She met his eyes. “You did worse than poison me.”
His jaw twitched. “Let’s start again. Anna, is it?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Am I supposed to be impressed you looked up my driver’s license?”
“No. Any idiot could do that. But I know that’s not your real name. So why don’t we start there? I promise I don’t want to do this shit.”
She would have laughed if doing so wouldn’t have used up the last of her reserves. He just wanted her out of his hair. Dead. And the sooner she cooperated, the sooner that’d happen. She needed to buy time.
“I don’t know who hired me,” she said, deflecting his original question. She took another long sip. “You’d have a better idea than me.”
He let go of her as if she’d burned him.
He took the mug from her fingers and glowered at her.
“I’m going to give you some time to think about it.
But when I come back through that door,” he said, gesturing toward it, “you’d better have something for me.
Or things are going to get really fucking ugly, Anna . ”
He stood abruptly, taking away the warm coffee and storming outside.
But he left the blanket behind.