Читать книгу Abducted - Samantha Keith - Страница 10

Chapter 3

One locked door stood between him and his target. It wasn’t the lock that had him concerned. It was the cameras. There was a rotating camera attached to the roof of the main house. He would have to time it perfectly. It shouldn’t take him more than ten seconds to get in, but it would be tight.

He slithered across the lawn, his footsteps cushioned by the lush grass. Edging around the corner of the guesthouse, he waited and watched the camera make its rotation, timing it. Twelve seconds. Perfect. He had been close to snatching her in the yard, but a light had switched off in the main house. Had he moved then, she would have seen him and been able to scream loud enough to wake the neighborhood. He waited fifteen minutes after her bedroom light had turned off. Now it was time.

As soon as the camera turned toward the driveway, he made his move. He gripped a small penlight between his front teeth and pulled his lock pick set from his jacket. He inserted the two small tools. The tinkling sound of metal on metal made his movements slow and softer than they would have been.

Click.

He stepped into the dark foyer and closed the door, shutting out the eye of the camera.

If people only knew how easy it was to pick locks, even dead bolts, they wouldn’t even bother. Fact of the matter, if someone wanted in and had the skills to do so, he or she was getting in. Case in point.

He pointed the penlight to illuminate the room, and his soft-soled shoes glided over the tiled floor. He had scoped the place out for the last week and knew the basic layout of her suite.

From the foyer, he would enter the kitchen. It was on the small side, but from what he had previously observed, she wasn’t much of a cook. More of a soup-and-sandwich kind of girl. An eat-in breakfast bar separated the kitchen from the living room. Next to that was her bedroom with a large en suite bathroom.

He waited at the door. He trained his ears for any noises in case she’d gotten out of bed since he’d left his spot in the bushes. Her being drunk might pay off. She was probably passed out. He checked his watch. Nearly 1 a.m. He would have preferred to wait until he was certain she was asleep. But in less than two hours, he would be getting the call. By that time, he needed to check in at his location—with his captive.

He stood tense and rigid, his feet braced apart. He stepped into the dark kitchen. His mouth went dry as he put all of his tools back into the inside pocket of his jacket. He checked to make sure the next items that he would need were easily accessible. His right pocket held a soft white rag, his left a small vial of chloroform.

Feeling the rag in his pocket, his chest constricted. He was a criminal, a goddamn sicko. What in hell was he doing? He knew he was stuck, that if he decided to leave, someone else would come and finish the job. Only they would kill her.

He took a deep breath—he didn’t have a choice.

The dark kitchen encouraged him to peer into the shadowed and uninhabited living room. The smell of toasted marshmallows—or was that vanilla?—wafted through the spic-and-span kitchen from some kind of decorative dish that was plugged in on the counter. His house usually smelled like floor cleaner after his housekeeper left. Other than that, it smelled like his gym bag or whatever food he had recently eaten. He crept across the kitchen and into the living room. He paused, only feet away from her bedroom door.

A giggle erupted.

What the hell?

He skirted the few feet across the room and threw himself behind the couch. Her bedroom door opened. Was someone else here? How in hell had he missed that?

Miss Lana Vanderpoel waltzed out of her bedroom, her cell phone glued to her ear. Jesus Christ. Only a woman would be sitting in her room, drunk and talking on the phone in the dark. He shook his head at the image and breathed a sigh of relief. Had she come out seconds earlier, she would have caught him. Not that he couldn’t take her, but the chances of her screaming would have been high and, at the very least, would have alerted the person on the other end of the phone.

“Oh my God!” Her sudden shriek made him jump and freeze. Had she seen him?

“He didn’t! What did you say?” He relaxed the tense muscles in his neck. Damn, he’d nearly gone into cardiac arrest. From here, he could peer around the side and see straight into the kitchen, and to his left, to her bedroom door. He watched from around the side of the couch in time to see her stretch up onto her tiptoes to pull a glass out of the cupboard. Her legs were sleek and toned, her feet small and bare against the tile floor.

When she turned from the sink, the slight curve of her slim body made his throat tighten. His gaze dragged from the top of her luscious, shiny locks all the way down to her pretty little toes, savoring every inch in between. Her tiny white pajama shorts barely reached the tops of her supple thighs. Her breasts were full and high, the small outline of her nipples visible through the thin white pajama top she wore. He grew warm at the sight of her.

Her dark hair hung in loose waves nearly to her waist, and her skin was smooth, soft, and pale. Her hair was longer and softer in person. She was shorter than she looked in pictures. But then, she wasn’t in her neck-breaking high heels. Even though she wasn’t wearing a hint of makeup, he could see how beautiful she still was. Lana was a knockout. His throat constricted as she paced the kitchen with her back to him. All he could see was her ass. Not that he was complaining. His dick hardened at the image of having her panting beneath him, those delicious legs wrapped around his waist.

His mouth firmed. He shouldn’t be having this reaction to her—didn’t want it. But the sexy little thing in front of him made something unfamiliar twist in his gut. He needed to get this over with.

“My father is going to kill me when he gets back and sees I went out tonight. Damn those paparazzi.” She listened for a minute. “Okay, Gina. Yeah, I’m heading to bed now too. We should get together for lunch this week. Text me. ’Night.” She hung up and dropped the phone on the island counter. He watched, fascinated, as she brought the glass of water up to her delicate, full lips and sipped.

She carried the glass with her back through the living room. The light switched off, and she disappeared into her bedroom. She didn’t close the door. Perfect. The fewer barriers between them the better.

With her parents out of town, this was almost too easy. He waited ten minutes, giving her the chance to drift off. As he waited, his tension grew. He didn’t know whether he was capable of this. She would panic and freak out. Hell, who wouldn’t? Maybe she would be asleep, and he would only have to place the rag over her mouth. God, he prayed it would be that simple.

The urge to sneak out as easily as he’d snuck in weighed on him. But he was her only chance. If he left, she was as good as dead.

He rose from his position and took a deep breath. He pulled his black knit cap over his eyebrows and gave his latex gloves a tug. He moved toward the bedroom. He stopped at the door frame. A sliver of moonlight poured through a slit in the curtains, illuminating the small mound in the center of the bed. He entered the room. Lana made no movement. She was curled on her side, her back to him. The thick carpet cushioned the weight of his feet as he lurked, closer and closer. His eye caught a lone high-heeled shoe, carelessly strewn in his path. He stepped over it, bringing him only a few feet from the edge of her bed. His pulse slowed, and his breath came out in a steady, silent rhythm. His hands hung loosely at his sides, and his eyes stayed trained on the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. He reached the side of her bed and hesitated. Jumping her from behind wasn’t how he had planned it. If he put any weight on the bed, she would easily feel it and wake up. He would have to pounce on her or risk tiptoeing around to the other side of the bed.

The air changed in the room.

She stopped breathing.

She knew he was there.

Adrenaline surged through him. She bolted. He threw himself onto the bed and lunged for her. He snagged her waist with his arm and hauled her back down. She screamed, piercing his eardrums. His free hand clutched roughly over her mouth, choking the scream off almost as soon as it started.

He had to move fast.

“Don’t move!” he whispered fiercely. She was panicked. Her fingernails pinched his skin through the latex glove as she clawed at the hand on her mouth. She tried to scream, her cries pitiful from behind his hand. He wouldn’t be able to knock her out until she calmed down a bit.

“Stay still,” he rasped against her ear. He held her tight against his chest, until her thrashes slowed.

“I’m going to move my hand now, and we’re going to get off the bed. Don’t scream.” She jerked her head in response. He released his death grip on her jaw. He winced at the stiffness in his hand. Her fingers settled over her face to replace his. Shit. He had hurt her.

“I need you to stand up now,” he instructed softly. She nodded again, and with his hand still around her waist they moved off the bed. The material of her shirt was even thinner than it had looked. The smooth, satiny texture of her skin made his fingers tingle through the wispy cotton and latex gloves. Her feet touched the ground first, because of how close she was to the edge. He shifted over, his hand still firm on her waist. With a flutter of movement, her bony elbow clipped him square in the jaw. His teeth slammed together and left a sandy taste in his mouth, stunning him. She tore herself from his grip.

“Help!” Her desperate shriek snapped him to his feet. He threw his full 225 pounds at her and tackled her to the floor. She landed on her back and he on top of her. She kicked and struggled. Her body bucked wildly in an attempt to throw him. Unfortunately for her, he was easily twice her size. She only succeeded at turning him on as her breasts jiggled beneath her shirt. It was hard for him not to notice how soft and lithe she was, how pert her breasts were and how smooth her legs. His jaw worked at the direction his mind was going. This was wrong—all of it.

“Let me go, you sonofabitch!” Her fists flew aimlessly. One after the other connected with his forearms. He caught both of her wrists in one hand and pinned them to her stomach, then lowered himself so he was lying on her chest. A sharp pain seized him in his back as her knee connected with his tailbone.

“You’re making this a hell of a lot harder on yourself,” he muttered. Until he had her fully restrained, he couldn’t chance taking the chloroform out. She’d go even more ballistic. After she landed another blow to his back, he shifted his feet and pinned her legs in place. She was quick, but no match for his mixed martial arts training.

“What do you want?” Her words came out in gasps. Due to his weight on her, she couldn’t get enough air in to yell. He didn’t answer. With his free hand, he pulled out the rag and the vial. She stilled as she watched him. Her eyes grew huge. Hysteria assailed her. He numbed his mind to her panic. He had to do this. He was her only chance.

“No, help!” She thrashed and twisted, trying desperately to escape. With a steady hand, he opened the vial to pour the contents onto the rag.

“Please, stop.” She was sobbing, her body jolting beneath him with each breath. He couldn’t take it anymore; he needed to get her unconscious. He picked up the rag and brought it down on her mouth, smothering her pleas. Her head shook from side to side as she tried valiantly to breathe in fresh air.

“Shh…it’s okay.” He couldn’t help himself. All he wanted to do was reassure her and stop her from crying. After only a minute, her head lolled to the side and she lay completely still. He waited an extra couple of seconds, then removed the rag. Her cheeks and chest were wet with tears. Acid burned the inside of his stomach at the sight. He had been here much longer than he’d anticipated. Lana Vanderpoel had put up a damn good fight. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Had she been a man, she wouldn’t have lasted two seconds.

He got to his feet and searched her room. He couldn’t walk out with her slung over his shoulder. He grabbed a dark blanket off the bed and bundled it around her limp body. He had originally planned to buy her some clothes to wear, but hadn’t gotten around to it. Spotting her dresser against the wall, he strode over to the drawers and pulled out a sweater and sweatpants. He knelt down and tucked the clothes into the blanket with her. He picked up his bundle and tossed her over his shoulder. Lana was small, probably no more than 110 pounds, but dead weight was difficult to manage.

He gripped her thighs tightly and weaved his way through the dark house, not daring to turn on a light. Although he had managed to cut off her screams, she had made some noise. He doubted anyone had heard, but nonetheless, he needed to get the hell out. Once he reached the door, he opened it a crack and waited for the camera. At the right moment, he slipped out and shut the door behind him. He was at the gate in less than thirty seconds. He punched in the code, the gate swung open dutifully, and he strode out as if he were no one other than the mailman.

Tomorrow would be Sunday. No one would suspect that she was missing until Monday, when she didn’t show up for work. He climbed into the back of the utility van he had borrowed from a friend, which had the name of a popular plumbing company embossed on the side. He unwrapped her.

She was out. Her chest rose and fell in peaceful sleep. Due to the amount of chloroform he had given her, she would probably be out cold for a while and would wake disoriented and nauseous. He had rented a cabin that was nearly a two-hour drive away. It was in a secluded area on the beach. They wouldn’t be able to stay there long, but he needed to buy them some time while he devised a plan. Before he headed to the cabin, though, he would stop, change vehicles, and ditch the plumber’s van.

Lana moaned softly in her sleep, pulling him out of his trance. He reached into his bag, pulled out a roll of duct tape, and began to tape her wrists. He didn’t waste time doing her ankles. If she woke up before they arrived, she would be so groggy that she wouldn’t even be able to get to her feet. He covered her from head to toe in the blanket and climbed into the front seat.

After twenty minutes or so, he pulled up to his own truck and loaded her into the back seat. It was spacious, and with the seats folded back there was plenty of room. She was still blissfully asleep, but not for long. How was he going to explain to her why he’d taken her? Would she believe the truth? Leaving her to sleep, he slid into the driver’s seat and began the commute to the cabin.