Playing with Fire. Gena Showalter
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room doesn’t matter. I looked around again, this time doing what I should have been doing the first time: finding a means of escape. The double windows led to a fire escape, but there was a broken ladder and a fifty-foot drop. No thanks. The air vents weren’t big enough to fit a poodle through, much less a woman. No again.
My only other option was the door. The door he’d shut, I realized. The door his big, menacing body now blocked. I’d have to get around him, as well as the shield.
Somehow I scrambled out of bed without the use of my hands and with a body weakened from sickness. The action was almost too difficult for me, but I managed, slowly scooting to the edge of the mattress. The man watched through slitted eyes as I stood. Wobbled. Righted myself.
“I’m not letting you leave, “ he said.
“You might not have a choice.” I tried to scream for one of my neighbors, but the action caused my stomach to cramp, and I doubled over. Fighting past the pain, I quickly straightened and inched a step to the right. Instinct demanded I run, but I didn’t have the strength. Already my legs shook and my unsteady knees threatened to collapse.
“Plan to walk outside in that?” His frighteningly electric-blue gaze swept over me, lingering on my breasts, between my legs, but his expression remained detached.
He did it on purpose, I knew, to rouse a sense of self-consciousness in me and keep me planted here. But I could have been naked, and I wouldn’t have cared. People could look at me all they wanted, as long as I was safe.
He wasn’t done, though. He looked me over again, abandoning the detachment in favor of heat. White-hot, exquisite heat. He licked his lips. “Nice outfit, “ he said, “but I liked you naked better.”
As a shiver coasted along my spine, I paused and flicked a glance down at myself. Cool air kissed mile after mile of bare skin. Okay, I wasn’t in the bra and panties I remembered. I now wore a skintight white tank that stopped at my belly button and heart-covered bikini panties. I liked you better naked. I almost—almost—leapt across the room and slapped him. He had undressed and redressed me while I was asleep and vulnerable. The bastard.
“Go to hell, “ I told him, moving another inch. Surprisingly, the shield moved with me, forcing the man to shift to the side, slightly away from the door. Maybe I was controlling it. But how?
I moved another inch. Another. Then … nothing. Though I wanted to keep moving, my body was suddenly petrified, bringing me to a halt. I drew in a shallow, panting breath. Move. You can do it.
“You leave this apartment, “ he said, “and you’re dead.” His tone was no longer cold, but as hot as his expression had become.
“Judging by that needle clutched in your hand, I’m dead if I stay.”
“I’m the least of your worries, Belle.”
“Excuse me if I disagree. Dead is dead.” Move! One shaky leg managed to slide forward. Long pause, deep breath. Step. Pause. Another step, another pause. Good. You’re doing good. But I knew, deep down, that I’d never make it out of the room at this rate.
Very deliberately, making sure I watched him, he capped the needle and placed it in his shirt pocket. All innocence, he held out his hands, palms out. “Listen to me, Belle. I’m all you’ve got right now.”
“Save it. I don’t know why you’d want to hurt an innocent, sick woman, but—”
“You haven’t been sick. You’ve been changing.”
I managed yet another inch, but my arms shook more with every second that passed; my knees knocked with such force my entire body vibrated. Stay strong.
“I’m not going to hurt you, “ he soothed.
“Yeah, right. I watch TV, you know. Every homicidal killer says that, especially when they’re holding a syringe.”
“I happen to mean it.”
Yeah. Sure. He didn’t deny being a killer, I noticed. “I bet the CIA and FBI are looking for you. You’re probably known as the Phantom Needle and you’ve done this to hundreds of women.”
“Think about what you’re saying. Please. You would have heard about something like that on the news. I’m a government agent.”
I shook my head and fought a wave of dizziness. “You targeted me because I was sick and too weak to fight you.”
“Then why didn’t I hurt you while you were sleeping?”
Good question, and one that gave me pause. “Why do you want to inject me? What were you going to inject me with? And don’t say medicine. I won’t believe you.”
A muscle ticked beside his left eye. Instead of answering, he asked me a question of his own. “How do you think you’re able to erect that air shield? I know you’ve never done anything like that before.”
I managed one more step before my body once again froze in place. This time, however, I couldn’t force myself back into motion. My muscles were like stone, heavy and hard. I ground my teeth together in an attempt to draw on a reservoir of strength I simply didn’t have.
I wasn’t going to escape, I realized with despair, and there was nothing I could do about it. A sense of helplessness bombarded me. Infuriated me. Scared me.
“You drank the formula, “ he said. “Whether you know it or not, you drank it. You have powers now. Powers a lot of people want to exploit.”
“What formula? I didn’t drink anything. I swear.”
“Denying it doesn’t change the facts.”
“I didn’t!” As I shouted, my knees gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, yet somehow managed to keep my arms up. But the shield began to shimmer, no longer quite so solid. My heart tripped against my ribs, speeding up, then skipping a beat altogether. “I didn’t,” I cried weakly.
“You work at Utopia Café, do you not? A café that sits across from an unmarked building. A brownstone.”
I paled, I know I did. My mouth went dry. I didn’t nod, but then, I didn’t have to. He knew about me. Had he followed me? Watched me?
Never taking his gaze from mine, he backed away from the shield, from me, and eased into the green velvet recliner in the corner of the room, unharmed by the fire that had evidently decimated my nightstand. I usually read books in that chair (when I had a rare, spare moment), sprawled out in my nightgown, bundled in thick covers.
I’d never again view that chair as a relaxant, though. He made it appear decadent. A place for carnality. His big body lounged against the curves, his legs stretched out in front of him. You can sit on my lap, his expression seemed to say. I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you. I’ll pleasure you.
Liar!
I might have believed him, if not for the needle sticking out of his pocket. Not to mention the unnerving intensity in his eyes. They were predator eyes. Eyes that watched and waited for the perfect time to strike.
“Release the shield, Belle. It’s draining you. Release it and talk to me.” Pause. “Please.”
The “please” didn’t sway me. But I was too weak and my arms hurt too much and death was beginning to look like a holiday. Really, he could kill me now and he’d only be putting me out of my misery.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, drew in a deep breath and felt my arms fall to my sides. A part of me kind of expected the air shield to remain in place, to prove I wasn’t the one controlling it. It did remain for a few seconds. Then it wavered again, like waves in an ocean dancing over a beach, only to disappear altogether.
For several minutes, I tried to pull myself up and out of this defeatist position. For several minutes, I failed. I ended up staying on the floor, leaning my forehead against the side of the bed. The coolness of the sheets