Christmas Stalking. Jo Leigh
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the sound of his footsteps disappeared rapidly in the winter wind. She tested her bonds, but whatever other flaws Max might have, tying knots badly was not among them.
She tried squirming around so she could push herself upright against a door, but the necessary movement caused both her coat and her dress to ride up her thighs, and she felt horribly vulnerable, so she lay quietly and tried to think of a way to escape.
She heard scraping at the back of the car, but couldn’t tell what it was.
The mace and her phone were so close, and yet there was no possibility of getting them. No one knew where she was. The moronic detective had stopped tailing her. Her father wouldn’t even miss her for a few more hours, and then what? They’d look at the mall, but had anyone seen her abduction? The crowds that had been so pressing inside the stores had vanished in the far reaches of the parking garage, so she couldn’t count on any witnesses. Even if they had seen her, she’d been kidnapped by Santa Claus. She doubted they’d even start looking for her car for hours, and with this snow…
Overwhelmed, frightened beyond any kind of reason, she blinked frantically as hot tears blurred her vision. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, God, at least she wanted to see. But the tears wouldn’t stop.
The driver’s door opened with another blast of cold wind and gusting snow. She heard his coat rustle, the SUV tip slightly with his weight. Then his voice. “You okay?”
She tried to tell him she was not okay, that she’d never be okay again, but she couldn’t with the gag in her mouth.
He turned on the interior light and looked over the seats at her.
All she could do was blink, trying to clear her vision.
“Legs cold?” he asked.
That startled her. What the hell did he care if she were cold? She didn’t want to answer, but the fact was, her legs were freezing. She nodded once, then turned her head so she faced the back of the seat.
She heard the rustle of cloth, then her coat slipped down to mid-calf. More rustling, then more of her legs were covered. She twisted around so she could glance down, and saw the red of the Santa suit across her ankles.
He started the car, slowly edged into the street. As he drove, she shifted on the seat until, when she craned her neck, she could just see out the top of the side window. She tried to guess where they were from her limited field of vision but it was useless, and she quit trying. She needed to conserve her energy. He had to stop sometime.
She tried to focus on sounds, anything at all familiar, but the big luxury car had been designed to keep traffic noise out. All she could tell was when they got on the highway again, by the speed of the car and the occasional sound of a truck going by.
Time crawled by as he drove and drove, and every minute seemed to reveal a new ache, a new pain, a new terrifying facet of her situation. Her arms cramped in the unnatural position and no matter how she lifted them, shifted them, the pain just worsened. Even her ankles hurt, as the edge of the thick belt chafed.
Her ribs hurt, her head throbbed, and she’d gotten stuffed up from crying and had to struggle for breath beyond the gag in her mouth.
It felt as if she would surely die from the fear, if nothing else. Image after image of what he could do to her flooded her brain, only to be followed by vivid mental pictures of her father hearing the news that she was dead.
A lurch, and her eyes opened.
God, she’d slept. It seemed impossible. But she had slept, for how long, she had no clue.
She realized that the very absence of noise and motion was what had awakened her. The driver’s side door opened and her kidnapper got out, then the rear door opened and she once again felt cold air on her legs.
“Just a second and I’ll have your legs untied,” he said. She felt him fumbling with the belt, but was still unable to answer with the gag in her mouth.
With her legs free, he awkwardly helped her out of the back seat. Once she was standing, he undid the gag.
She swallowed several times, moved her aching jaw. She wished her hands were free because she felt so unsteady. “Where are we?”
“Someplace safe. Come on.” He took hold of her arm and pulled her along, at first quickly, but after she stumbled, he slowed the pace. He opened a door, and the light temporarily blinded her.
“I don’t feel safe,” she said. She blinked her eyes several times as they adjusted to the light. She took in her surroundings.
They stood in a large one-room cabin. There was a kitchenette to their right, a small table with four chairs around it, a desk against the wall to the left below a small window. On the other side, a half wall blocked her view of what she assumed was the bathroom. Across the room a double bed complete with a brass headboard sat below a second window. The door behind her led to the enclosed garage.
The decor was simple, rustic. Wood dominated everything, including the floor, which only had a few area rugs to lend warmth. There were two pictures on the wall, but they were both landscapes, nothing that would give her a clue as to the personality of the man who’d kidnapped her. It was neat, tidy, but it felt like it was more of a vacation cabin than a real home.
Max quickly shed the remains of his Santa outfit to reveal a pair of gray slacks to go with his light blue dress shirt. He recovered his gun from the kitchen counter and came back to Jade. “Turn around.”
She did so, facing the wall, and he untied her hands, then pulled off her coat.
“Go sit at the desk.”
“Why? You need some typing or something? I don’t—”
He poked her with the gun barrel. “Just do it.” She walked to the desk chair, and Max pulled it around so it faced the room. “Sit. Put your arms on the rests.”
She did, and using both the blue scarf and the rope he expertly tied her to the chair. He put the gun on the table and moved to the sink. “Do you want some water?”
Her mouth was terribly dry. An almost metallic aftertaste reminded her of the gag, the terror of feeling so helpless. Water wouldn’t fix that, but she was thirsty. “Please.”
She watched as he got a glass and filled it. He looked harried. With one hand, he grabbed one of the chairs from the small table. He set it down with the back toward her, straddled the seat and tilted the glass to her lips so she could drink.
She gulped awkwardly, spilling a thin stream of liquid down her chin. She had to turn her head when she was through and more water dripped down to her dress. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment despite the illogic. It wasn’t her fault she was tied up like this.
He set the glass on the desk, then walked over to the fireplace on the opposite wall. The wood had already been laid, kindling and all, and it took him only a moment to get a nice blaze going. He stared at the fire as it swelled, then walked back to where she sat. He knelt in front of her. She tried to scoot back until he slipped off one of her shoes, then the other. He stood, his expression somehow scarier because of its neutrality, walked back to the fireplace and put her shoes on the hearth. “They’ll warm up soon,” he said.
The act unsettled her as much as anything had. This odd, desperate man who’d kidnapped her at gunpoint was concerned about her feet being cold?
He joined her again, sitting on the other chair with his arms folded across the back.
“Look, I hadn’t planned this.”
“Yeah. Right. You just happened to have rope and scarves in your suit. What do you want? Money? I can get—”
“I don’t want your money. I told you that at the mall.” Max shifted his gaze to the wall behind her, his face losing all expression. What remained was exhaustion, worry. Fear.
“Then why? What the hell do you want from me? Are you some kind of pervert or something?”
Max