The Missing Maitland. Stella Bagwell
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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.”
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