Читать книгу The Bride's Secrets - Debra Webb - Страница 8

J.T. groaned. He heard the sound…wanted to open his eyes, to wake up, but his throbbing brain just wouldn’t make the necessary transition.

Wake up!

He needed to wake up. Something was very wrong.

His eyelids cracked open, but bright light slammed them shut once more.

Wake up, damn it!

With tremendous effort his eyelids split open again.

Where was he?

His booted feet rested on a stone or concrete floor. Nylon twine tethered his ankles to what looked like chair legs.

Raise your head.

Slowly, his head moved. Pain shattered his skull.

He groaned.

Damn.

What the hell had happened to him?

His eyes opened a little wider. Stark gray walls. He tried to reach up and touch his head. The throbbing above his right ear roared. His fingers fisted in reaction to the pain. He twisted his wrists, couldn’t move his hands.

He blinked, focused his gaze on his hands…his arms.

His wrists were secured to the chair’s arms with that same orange nylon twine.

Okay. Think! He was manacled to a chair. In an empty room. He forced his head to move ever so slightly, ever so slowly from side to side. Yep. No furnishings.

Where was the light coming from?

He moved his head back, peered through squinted eyes at the ceiling. A single bare bulb glared at him from a high ceiling.

Basement?

Garage?

How had he gotten here?

J.T. closed his eyes and summoned the last details he recalled.

He’d been working Victoria’s security detail. There had been a shootout with four unidentified gunmen. One had escaped, two were killed. Three counting Victoria’s driver.

J.T. had been shot.

Instinctively he tried to lift his right hand to inspect his left arm. Couldn’t. Clean shot through the left biceps.

As if the memory had prompted the pain, an ache speared through his biceps.

After J.T. was treated at the E.R., Ian had driven him home. He’d waved as Ian drove away, walked onto his porch, and unlocked the door. J.T. remembered going inside and then…

Pain detonated in his skull once more.

Someone had attacked him.

Fury bolted through him. He jerked at his bindings. Gritted his teeth against the pain.

If this had something to do with Victoria or her granddaughter, his captor should just go ahead and kill him. No way was he giving away any information, much less participating in whatever the scheme might be.

Sweat streamed down his face as he struggled to free himself.

He twisted, squirmed, pulled.

Eventually the fatigue and pain forced him to surrender the battle.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

The slide of metal against metal brought his head up.

Setting his jaw hard against the pain, he used his body weight and his waning strength to shake and jerk the chair to the right. The door was at his back. He needed to turn around so that he could see the enemy coming. A little farther. Move, he commanded.

Harder and harder he jerked and twisted. The chair scooted and swayed precariously.

As the door opened, he managed a final jerk, hauling himself and the chair to face that direction.

A form appeared in the doorway. He blinked. Told himself to look again.

It couldn’t be.

“I see you’re still alive.”

Impossible.

Fury exploded in his veins. “Eve.” The name left a bitter taste on his tongue.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” he growled even as the agony screamed in his skull. A shudder rocked through him. “But if you want to survive this, you’d better cut me loose.”

She cocked her head. “Hmm…I don’t think so.”

“Who put you up to this?” The demand echoed in the deserted room.

“No one.” She pushed away from the door and started toward him, one slow, measured step at a time. “This was entirely my idea.”

Every single muscle in his body tensed as she neared. She walked all the way around him. His nostrils flared wide in an effort to draw in her scent. He cursed his body for its betrayal.

Yes, he was glad to see that she was alive and apparently well.

But, by God, he wanted some answers and he wanted them now!

“Whatever they’re paying you,” he informed her, “Victoria Colby-Camp will see that you understand it wasn’t nearly enough.”

Eve laughed softly, the sound aching through him. How had he fallen so madly in love with a woman he hadn’t even known?

“I’m not afraid of your employer, J.T.” She leaned close, close enough that he could feel her breath on his ear. “I’m not afraid of anyone. Never have been.” She straightened away from him. “So don’t waste your breath threatening me. It won’t work, and it’s a waste of energy you’ll need later.”

Her slow circling continued until she stood before him, face-to-face.

“Who are you?” The harshly uttered words were fraught with emotion he couldn’t restrain. Damn her. She’d fooled him…betrayed him on every level. The idea made him sick to his stomach.

She put her hands on her hips and seemed to mull over his question a long moment. Then her startlingly blue gaze settled on his once more. “Even I’m not sure about the answer to that one anymore.” She stepped closer. “But I know who you are.” She leaned forward. “And I also know that you’re a marked man, Mr. Baxley. Either you do as I tell you or you die. Seems like an easy choice to me.”

He stared into those dazzling eyes, his gut clenching with opposing emotions. “How can you be a part of this? Jamie Colby is just a child.” That he could have been fooled so completely worsened the misery in his gut.

The woman he had known as Eve Mattson, braced her hands on his arms and put her face in his. “What you think of me is irrelevant. My mission is all that matters.”

“Are they doing this for the money?” His fingers curled into fists even as his skin beneath where her palms rested tingled with desire from her touch. He silently cursed himself. Hated that he could still want her so desperately.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she studied his face, searched his eyes. A fleeting flicker of some emotion he couldn’t quite label, regret perhaps, passed across her face—the face he’d cherished with all his heart. The same one that had haunted his dreams every night since she had disappeared.

“I can tell you one thing for certain,” she said, her voice achingly soft and familiar. “It’s definitely about money.”

He held her eyes. Wished he could understand how the woman with whom he’d made love…had planned to spend the rest of his life…could be so cold. Where was the heart he’d been sure he’d touched?

She jerked away from him as if his thoughts had reached out, speared her in that chest that apparently harbored only emptiness.

Then she turned and started for the door.

“Don’t do this,” he urged, the plea all too real on far too many levels.

She stopped and turned back to him. “If it makes you feel any better, this has nothing to do with the Colby agency or the kid.”

What the hell? On cue, his injured arm burned where the bullet had passed through his flesh. “I don’t believe you. If this isn’t about the Colby Agency, then what’s it about?”

“You, J.T.” She reached for the door, looking back over her shoulder at him. “It’s about you.”