Читать книгу The Missing Maitland - Stella Bagwell - Страница 8

“Who the hell are you, mister?”

The man behind the steering wheel shifted his gaze from the truck’s rearview mirror to the woman in the passenger seat. He could say one thing for her, if she was feeling any fear, she was darn good at hiding it. Or maybe the young blonde sitting across from him didn’t have enough sense to realize that only a few minutes ago on the grounds of the Maitland Maternity clinic, she’d come very close to losing her life.

“I’m a groundskeeper for the clinic,” he answered automatically.

Which was true enough, he thought. For the past two weeks, he’d been working as a yardman for the clinic. He just hadn’t bothered to let anyone know he’d been doing more than mowing grass and snipping shrubs.

Sarcasm twisted the woman’s glossed lips. “I didn’t realize Austin was getting so violent that groundskeepers had taken to carrying concealed weapons.”

He focused on the merging traffic in front of them before glancing once again in the rearview mirror. So far the gunmen were nowhere in sight. He believed he’d given them the slip about five blocks back, but in this evening rush hour traffic, he couldn’t be sure. And he wasn’t about to let down his guard. Especially now that he had someone else’s life to consider rather than just his own.

“You better be glad I had a gun on me, lady. Otherwise you and I might be dead right now.”

Just as she shivered in her seat, he darted another glance her way. Blossom Woodward. She was the single reason, his only motivation, for coming to Austin. To track down the woman whose fresh face appeared every day on Tattle Today TV. She’d been sticking that pretty nose of hers into his past and now her digging had thrown both of them into mortal danger.

In his line of work, he’d learned many times over that people could never be judged by their outward appearance. Yet now, as he looked at her sitting only inches away, it was difficult, even disillusioning, for him to imagine that such a delicious-looking set of lips could spew such vicious gossip.

Across the seat from him, Blossom swallowed convulsively but still managed to keep her chin thrust resistantly upward. “I’m not so sure those shots were fired at us. Or even if they were gunshots. You were so busy throwing me down to the ground, I doubt you know yourself!”

He jammed on the brakes to avoid crashing into the back of a double-parked delivery van, then, cursing under his breath, he gunned the truck into the left line of traffic. An insulted driver behind them leaned on his horn. Up ahead, the four-lane street was boggled with evening commuters. She got the impression that he expected those to part and allow them passage, like the Red Sea parting for Moses.

“Don’t kid yourself, lady. Those were bullets flying around your pretty head, not exploding firecrackers.”

The defiant toss of her head sent a long mane of honey-blond hair rippling against her back. He’d known she was a beautiful woman. He’d watched her on television and had spotted her several times going to and from the clinic. But this was the first time he’d seen her up close. Everything about her, from her creamy skin and blue eyes to her silky blond hair, sparkled and glowed with the beauty of youth.

“Just in case you hadn’t noticed, mister, there were other people on the clinic grounds,” she shot back at him. “Any one of them could have been the target. We might have found out what was going on if you hadn’t thrown me in this truck and hightailed us out of there like scalded cats!”

He didn’t bother to reply. The woman didn’t have a clue as to what was going on and that was just the way he wanted to keep it. The less this sexy news reporter knew, the better off both of them would be.

A few yards in front of them, a traffic light glared a warning amber. He stomped on the gas pedal, sending the pickup truck flying through the busy intersection.

Gripping the edge of the seat, Blossom jerked her attention from him to the vehicles and pedestrians flashing beyond the passenger window. So far she’d not noticed where they were headed. She’d been too busy trying to gather her scattered senses together. But now she could see they were entering the outskirts of the city.

“Where are we going, anyway?” she demanded. “This isn’t the route to the police department!”

“Forget the police, honey. They couldn’t help us right now.”

Her head whipped back to him. Wide-eyed and angry, she ordered, “Stop this truck! Stop it right now!”

Without bothering to look at her, he shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t take that chance.”

Blossom reached for the door handle, but her reaction was too late. He’d already pushed the electronic childproof locking system. She couldn’t open the door unless he allowed her to!

“I’m going to file charges against you for this!” She pushed the words through gritted teeth. “This is—kidnapping!”

Grass stains marked her beige skirt. Oozy scrapes marred both her palms. Her shoulder ached from being slammed to the hard ground, and she’d lost an expensive tape recorder and shoulder bag to boot. If this man had been trying to save her life, she’d hate to think what sort of shape she’d be in if he’d been trying to harm her.

“Go ahead and file your charges. When the police hear I saved your life, they’ll probably arrest me, anyway, for aiding and abetting a criminal.”

“I’m not a criminal!”

Sarcasm turned up the corners of his mouth. “You might not be a criminal, Ms. Woodward, but your tongue surely is.”

For a moment Blossom forgot that she’d just been shot at and was now being carted away by a complete stranger with a gun.

“You know who I am?” Her voice was just as incredulous as the look on her face.

He grimaced. “Doesn’t everybody in this part of Texas?”

She twisted around in the seat so that her knees were angled toward his and she was facing him head-on. “What does that mean?”

He hadn’t meant to sound so insulting, but whether she knew it or not, this woman had already dealt him some misery. And no doubt her snooping had brought uninvited grief to other people’s lives.

“It means if you can’t find trouble to report on that so-called news show of yours, you stir it up yourself. Well this time, Ms. Woodward, you just might have gotten more than you bargained for.”

His voice was too quiet, too smooth for Blossom’s liking. Yet she told herself now wasn’t the time to lose her nerve or her control. Even if those fired shots hadn’t been meant for either of them, the man had saved her from getting hit by a stray bullet, she reminded herself. And so far, he’d not done one thing to harm her. But she didn’t like being at the mercy of any man. Even a good one.

“Your thinking must be as twisted as a corkscrew if you think I had anything to do with that scene back there at the clinic! Do you honestly believe I, or anyone with Tattle Today TV, would stage such a thing?”

“I don’t believe you really want me to answer that,” he drawled.

Annoyance turned to simmering anger, but she did her best not to lash out at him. Her reporter’s instinct told her she’d make far more progress with this man if she remained cool, calm and controlled.

“A few moments ago you were stressing to me how real those bullets were,” she said pointedly. “Apparently you don’t believe anything about the incident was staged. I think you’re just trying to goad me.”

He’d expected her to be determined, but not sharp. So that meant he’d already underestimated her. The idea grated on him. People were his profession. Knowing what was going on inside their heads was key to his survival. One thing was definitely obvious: he was going to have to stay on his toes with this woman.

“Maybe I was. Why don’t you take the next few minutes and try to figure it out,” he suggested.

Blossom had to bite her tongue to keep from flinging a retort at him. But she managed to remain quiet, and immediately her senses began to soak in the information around her like a dry sponge.

Somewhere in their flight from the clinic, he’d exited off the main thoroughfare and was now barreling at a high rate of speed down a service road that she’d never used before. The business district of town had rapidly disappeared behind them. Now only an occasional convenience store with gas pumps dotted the sides of the highway.

From what she could tell, they were traveling west toward the hot, hazy sun. Although it was November, most of Texas hadn’t cooled from the long blistering summer. She’d worn short sleeves today and the air-conditioner blowing from the dashboard was none too cool on her bare arms.

As for the man behind the steering wheel, just the sight of him was enough to raise a woman’s temperature, Blossom thought. Generally, she was good about guessing a person’s age, and this man looked as though he was closer to thirty than twenty-five. Crow-black hair waved loosely to the back of his collar. Equally black brows and lashes framed eyes that were a shade somewhere between dark blue and storm gray. Except for sideburns that grew to the midpoint of his ear, he was clean-shaven.

For some reason, the arrogant jut of his chin made her suspect that it had probably taken far many more whacks from a fist than it had kisses. But she could be wrong. He’d probably had more than his fair share of both. He was the sort of man a woman would look at twice, and that always garnered double trouble.

“Like what you see?”

His provocative question jerked Blossom out of her reverie and she realized she’d been staring at him for far too long. With a blush burning her face, she jerked her gaze deliberately toward the windshield.

“I was trying to figure out what sort of man you are,” she said defensively.

No one could do that, he thought. Not even himself. He wasn’t like other people. Other men. His life had never been close to normal. He didn’t ever expect it to be.

“Don’t bother,” he said curtly. “You’d be wearing yourself out for nothing.”

His odd retort drew her eyes back to his profile. “You’re holding me hostage in this truck! It would be helpful to know whether you’re some sort of gallant knight or a serial killer.”

Spotting a parked car up ahead that was partially concealed on the side of the road, he eased off the accelerator. It wouldn’t do for him to get caught by the Texas Highway Patrol. Too many questions would have to be answered and too many outside sources would learn of his whereabouts. He had to lie low. At least until he knew for sure whether those bullets had been for him or someone else on the Maitland grounds.

“I’m neither.”

His brief answer infuriated her. She was a woman of words and she wanted to hear several from him. Mainly who he was and what he was doing carrying a gun.

“Are you…some sort of security officer?”

He didn’t look at her. He didn’t want anything on his face to give her any more suspicions than she already had. “What gave you that idea?”

She made an impatient noise somewhere between a snort and a groan. “It’s no secret the Maitlands have been having problems. I wouldn’t put it past them to have undercover security guards posted around the clinic.”

“To keep nosy reporters out of their hair?”

She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “Reporters are the least of the Maitlands’ problems. But somehow I figure you already know that.”

He’d not known anything about the Maitlands until he’d hit town a little more than two weeks ago. What he’d discovered had been very unexpected, to say the least.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Maitland Maternity seems to be experiencing a rash of mishaps. But—I don’t know anything about them. I just mow the lawn and water the shrubs.”

For the first time since he’d sped away from the clinic grounds, he settled his shoulders back against the seat and told his body to relax.

“I don’t believe you.”

Her retort didn’t surprise him. Part of the woman’s job was being skeptical, and he could already see that she was someone who viewed all angles of a situation. Not just the obvious. For that alone he had to admire her.

With a lazy shrug of one shoulder, he said, “Well, that’s your prerogative. I’m just telling you that I didn’t hire on with the Maitlands as a security officer. And you can do what you like with that information.”

There were two things Blossom would like to do with his information. Prove it wrong, then throw it back at him. But that would have to wait. The first and most important thing she had to do was get away from the man.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” she reminded him.

“Does my name really matter? You don’t know me. It couldn’t mean anything to you.”

“I have to call you something,” she reasoned.

One corner of his perfectly chiseled lips lifted ever so slightly. “I’m sure you can think of plenty of things. Women have a knack for giving me labels.”

Her nostrils flared as she drew in another long breath. “No doubt. But I think I’d rather stick to a birth name.”

He didn’t say anything for long moments, and although her eyes remained on him, she was acutely aware of the fact that they were getting farther and farther away from the city of Austin.

“You can call me Larkin,” he said finally.

In spite of herself and the precarious situation she was in, Blossom couldn’t stop her gaze from traveling up and down the long length of him.

He was wearing a dark gray khaki uniform shirt with a pair of blue jeans and dark brown work boots. The Maitland Maternity logo, a simple oval with the initials MM, was sewn to a spot over his left breast. There was no name tag below it, and no name or job title was embroidered into the heavy material.

Yet none of those things were the real focus of Blossom’s attention. It was the massive width of his shoulders, the corded muscles of his neck and arms, the leanness of his waist and the big brown hands on the steering wheel that all combined to mesmerize her. No one had to tell her he was a strong man. She’d felt his strength firsthand when he’d manhandled her into the truck.

“Is that all?” she prodded.

“That’s all I’m telling you.”

Her back teeth ground together at the idea that he thought he had the upper hand with her. Raking back a wave of hair that had slipped toward her right eye, she looked out the window and tried to catch sight of a highway sign.

“I get it,” she muttered. “You imagine yourself as one of those stars who like to believe they’re so grand they only need a single name.”

If she’d been anyone else and the circumstances had been different he might have actually enjoyed sparring with her. But, as it was, he had too much on his mind, mainly what he was going to do with her now that they’d managed to escape the spray of bullets back at the clinic.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her cross her legs, then fold her arms against her breasts. He had to admit it was nice to see a woman in a skirt with silky stockings on her legs and high heels on her feet. He’d always been a sucker for high heels, and the pair on Blossom Woodward’s dainty feet were the exact color as her classically tailored skirt and blouse.

She was petite and slender, but far from fragile. Her body was taut and curved in all the right places, and he wondered if she found time in her busy TV schedule to work out at a gym or if she was just naturally fit.

“Believe me, Ms. Woodward, there’s nothing grand or starlike about me.”

Maybe he wasn’t a star. But he was far from ordinary. And how she’d ended up here with him like this was incredible. One minute she’d been on the sidewalk outside the clinic and the next moment loud pops were exploding all around her. Before she’d known what was happening he’d suddenly appeared beside her and whipped a pistol from a holster inside his shirt.

She wasn’t sure how many rounds of bullets he’d fired at the vehicle skidding wildly through the parking lot. Thinking back on it, he’d probably emptied the whole magazine before he’d shoved her into the truck and yelled at her to stay down.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re out of the city,” she told him. “No one is behind us. You can stop at the next gas station and let me out.”

“I’ll stop when we get to where we’re going.”

Panic sliced through Blossom, but she did her best not to let it take control. She had to keep her wits about her. She had to find out what this man was going to do with her and why. If his intention had simply been to take her out of harm’s way at the clinic, his job should have been over thirty minutes ago.

“If you’re thinking the television station will pay a ransom for me, forget it.”

Before he could stop himself, he threw back his head and laughed.

“Now, who’s thinking they’re grand?” he asked between chuckles. “If I’d planned to kidnap someone for money, I would have picked a much bigger fish than you, Ms. Woodward. Any one of the Maitlands would be worth millions. What do you think you’re worth?”

Blossom grimaced, mainly because he was making sense and she wasn’t. Added to that, she couldn’t think of one person who valued her life that much. She was a loner, a woman who cherished her independence. She didn’t allow people to get very close to her.

“Not much,” she answered. “Tattle Today has a cheap producer. And there are plenty of people standing in line to take my place.”

Her answer was not what he’d been expecting. From what he’d learned about her and the show, she was a rising star and had already earned the nickname of Blossom the Barracuda. She was known for digging up people who preferred to remain anonymous and shoveling out stories that shocked and scandalized. Exploiting other people’s problems was quickly making her famous.

“Your attempt at modesty is hardly convincing,” he said with easy insolence. “There’s not a line of people to take your place. Thankfully not everyone is capable of doing what you do.”

Blossom was used to people insulting her work. Mostly because her stories hit too close to home and no one liked to be reminded of their faults or weaknesses. Whether public or private, more often than not, she ignored the insults. She’d learned early on that she would have to have a tough hide to survive in her job and in life. Yet there was something about the barbed sarcasm in this man’s voice that stung her more than usual. Maybe it was because she was already cross with him. Or maybe it was because she’d sensed, sometime during this crazy flight, that he was a keenly intelligent man and she wanted his respect. She wanted him to understand that she wasn’t a barracuda. She was a woman who wanted to be the best at her job.

“Is that why I’m here in this truck with you? Because you don’t like what I do and you plan to whip me into some sort of submission? Force me to denounce Tattle Today TV?”

He shook his head with wry disbelief. “My, my, you do have quite an imagination, Ms. Woodward.”

Her hands balled into tight fists as she twisted around in the seat to face him once again. “You’re being deliberately evasive! I want you to tell me what’s going on! Now!”

He looked over at her, his black brows cocked with mocking inquisition. “Is that how you get your stories? You demand that people spill their guts to you?”

Realizing that her temper was getting the better of her, that he was getting the better of her, she forced her fingers to uncurl and her lungs to draw in a deep, calming breath.

“I’ve never encountered anyone I couldn’t get information from,” she said in a cloyingly sweet voice, then added, “one way or the other.”

“Hmm. Then I guess this is a first for you.”

She glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me to call you Mr. Wonderful? That would have been more honest than the name you gave me.”

He smiled, and even though the expression was meant to be sardonic, the flash of white teeth and an engaging set of dimples transformed his hard features. Like prey charmed by a snake, Blossom was momentarily transfixed by the sight of him.

“You know, you’ve called me everything from grand to kidnapper,” he said. “You’re going to keep on until you actually have me believing I’m more than a groundskeeper.”

“You’re insane! That much is becoming obvious,” she said, pushing the words between gritted teeth.

He was half inclined to agree with her. He must have been insane to think the best thing to do would be to take her. But the whole event back at the clinic had occurred in a few short moments. He’d only had time to react to the danger, not to decide the best way to handle Ms. Blossom Woodward. Besides, he’d been waiting for a chance to confront this woman. He just hadn’t expected it to happen this way.

“Look, lady—”

“You know my name,” she snapped. “Use it!”

Docile could never be used to describe this woman, he thought. Her blue eyes were spitting fire. Heat stained her cheeks crimson and her rounded breasts were heaving as if she’d just run a mile, or just made wild love to her mate.

The last notion turned his thoughts in a different direction, and for the first time since he’d learned that a Blossom Woodward existed, he wondered who the woman behind the blond beauty on the television screen really was.

“All right, Blossom. Why don’t you settle down and have the good sense to thank your lucky stars I was around when those goons came by with their assault rifles.”

Her brows arched skeptically. “Because I have no idea who you are. You might be one of them!”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure. That’s why I shot back at them.”

“That doesn’t necessarily make you a hero,” she countered. “You could have been in cahoots with the people in that van, but at the last minute decided to take the big slice of pie for yourself.”

“Do you see me eating pie?” he asked as his gaze focused on the left-hand mirror outside his window. A vehicle was rapidly approaching their rear. The shape didn’t resemble the gunmen’s van, but in the past few minutes the sun had slid behind a hill and dusk was making it difficult to discern distant objects with much accuracy. He reminded himself how fatal it might be to let himself be distracted by Blossom Woodward.

“You know what I mean,” she continued. “Those gunmen wanted someone on the Maitland grounds. And I don’t think it was me,” she said matter-of-factly.

He didn’t answer until the vehicle had safely passed them and was traveling on down the highway. Even then his voice was preoccupied, something that she noticed and took as another insult.

“You’re thinking too much, Blossom. You’re wearing me and yourself out.”

Frustration had her twisting around in the seat, away from him. The movement caused the heel of her shoe to come into contact with something on the floorboard. Looking down, she noticed it was caught on the strap of her leather shoulder bag.

Apparently she hadn’t lost the bag back at the clinic parking lot as she’d first assumed. It must have slid off her arm and onto the floorboard when Larkin, or whoever he was, pushed her into the truck.

Thank goodness for small things, she thought. At least she’d have her identification with her if she was found dead or unconscious. On the other hand, if she was clever enough to escape, she’d have her checkbook and the small amount of cash she’d gotten from an ATM this morning. And last but not least, she’d have a comb and lipstick just in case she ever got back in front of a camera.

Forgetting her captor for the moment, she bent down and pulled the bag onto her lap. It was then she remembered the cellular phone inside. Why it had taken her so long to think of something so important, she didn’t know, but her heart was suddenly pounding with excitement. If she could dial 911 without him knowing, she might possibly alert the operator that she needed help.

But where were they, she wondered frantically. If her sense of direction was still reliable, since leaving Austin they had continued to travel west and north. In fact, from what she could see of the passing landscape it appeared that they were headed toward Pedernales Falls.

The notion sent a chill slithering down her spine. The state park surrounding the falls contained more than five thousand acres of wilderness. Parts of it were rough mountain area. If he got her onto one of the primitive hiking trails or down in the gorge where the river had cut steep banks from the limestone, she might not have a chance to call for help. No one might ever see the two of them.

She darted a surreptitious glance his way. At the moment he appeared to be absorbed with the task of driving. If she could get the phone turned on and key the numbers without him seeing, then the dispatcher on the other end would hopefully pick up their conversation and sense trouble. Though she hadn’t seen a highway sign yet, she believed they were on Highway 290. Surely she could repeat that much before he caught on to what she was doing.

Slowly, she pushed her hand beneath the leather flap on the bag. Her fingers immediately came in contact with more leather. Her checkbook. Inching deeper, she felt the bristles of a hairbrush, a wad of crumpled tissues, a tube of lipstick.

Triumph surged through her. There it was! Then just as quickly, she mouthed a silent curse. She’d been so happy to get rid of her old, heavier phone, for the lightweight flip-top version she was clutching inside the bag. But now she desperately wished she still had the old one. It would have been much easier to handle without drawing attention to her movements.

Oh, well, she couldn’t be stopped by trivial hurdles now, she mentally scolded herself. She had to try. She couldn’t let this maniac or whatever he was take her into a secluded wilderness.

Slowly, carefully, she used the tips of her fingers to tug the phone just to the edge of the flap covering the opening of the purse. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was so dry her tongue felt like a thick blob. Twice during her effort, she cast furtive glances at the man who’d called himself Larkin. Both times he was looking straight ahead, seemingly preoccupied with thoughts of his own.

Now was the moment, she silently coached herself. Flip the phone open and push the last digit on the third line, the first digit twice.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The unexpected sound of his gruff voice caused Blossom’s whole body to jerk, sending the bag in her lap sliding to the floorboard. Immediately his eyes zeroed in on the phone in her hand and he mouthed a searing curse word.

“I’m calling the police,” she shouted defiantly. “You’re not going to take me anywhere!”

His hand lunged for the phone and ripped it from her grip.

Seeing the device as her last link to safety, Blossom cried out in horror, then, throwing herself at him, she began to pummel his arm and shoulder with her fists.

“Give me that phone—you crazy man!”

The truck swerved wildly from one side of the highway to the other as he tried to ward off her attack. In the back of her mind, Blossom realized she was probably going to make him wreck the vehicle, but at this point she didn’t care. Dying in a car accident would be preferable to being murdered, tortured or both.

“Stop it, damn it! Before you kill us both!” he yelled.

“Give me the phone!”

With one hand he managed to shove her across the seat toward the passenger door. Before she could make another lunge at him, he jammed the brakes on and brought the truck to a jarring halt on the side of the road.

Without the restraint of the seat belt to hold her down, Blossom went flying toward the windshield and only managed to stop her head from whamming into the glass at the very last second.

By the time she’d collected herself, Larkin had rolled down the window and was about to make a fast ball out of the telephone.

“No! You can’t!”

Shrieking now, she threw her whole body at him. But her efforts were too little, too late. The telephone went flying out into the hot night.

Yet even in defeat, Blossom continued to strike her fists against him. She wasn’t going down without a fight. Not by a long shot.

It wasn’t until he had her confined in the tight circle of his arms that he realized she wasn’t just fighting him over a cellular phone. She was frightened and fighting for her life.

“Blossom! Stop it!” he ordered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She went instantly still, her body stiff and rigid in his arms, her breasts heaving against his chest.

“Then—why don’t you—let me go?” she asked as she gulped in deep breaths of air.

In the blink of an eye, his rigid features softened. “Because it’s too dangerous. I—have to take care of you now.”

Confusion crumpled her features and then her body sagged against his. The contact was as startling as it was comforting. Instantly, she was acutely aware of his dark face hovering over hers, the hard expanse of his chest against her breasts, the utterly male scent of his skin and hair enveloping her in an erotic fog. His hands were hot on the flesh of her back, yet she welcomed the heat, the sizzling excitement his touch was bringing her.

A fleeting recollection of something she’d read dashed through her mind. Something about fighting being closely akin to having sex. Well, at this very moment she believed the notion to be true. Her eyes were riveted to the curve of his lips while a strange need gripped her lower belly.

“I—don’t—understand,” she whispered.

“It isn’t necessary for you to understand, Blossom. Just trust me.”

With each spoken word, his lips drew closer until finally Blossom realized that as far as she was concerned, common sense, fear or trust were no longer issues. She had to kiss this man or die from the wanting.