Halfway Hidden (5 page)

“Fine, enjoy the show. Just try not to stare too hard.” She pulled the door open so hard the whole frame vibrated. She took a deep breath and bit down on her rising fury, concentrating on riling him instead. Turning so she was facing forward, she pushed her chest out, her feet slightly parted. Slowly and deliberately, she began to unfasten the top button of her jeans.

Murphy was only a few feet away. His narrowed eyes locked on her fly, watching as she eased down the zipper. His breathing slowed until it was a stilted mess, and she found herself a little breathless too, liking his reaction. She couldn’t help but feel a small victory, knowing she’d found a weak spot. Now she had to work out how to use it.

He still wanted her; that much was clear. She’d been wondering if his flirting had all been a setup, and maybe it had, but the way he was looking at her through hooded eyes was enough to know the attraction between them was mutual. There was a buzz in the air, like the way the atmosphere crackled before a storm, and Rachel wondered if she could use it to her advantage.

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and wriggled her hips from side to side in an exaggerated motion. Easing the denim over her ass until the fabric loosened, she pushed them down past her knees, letting the fabric bunch around her calves.  Cool air bathed her exposed skin.

She lingered for a moment, letting Murphy drink in the view before pulling her panties down too, baring herself before him. She watched his eyes darken at the sight.

Heat burned in her belly like a ball of fire. This was a dangerous game, but her body didn’t seem to be getting the message. Murphy couldn’t drag his eyes away, his stare piercing as she laid herself bare. A surge of euphoria washed through her body. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be able to use her sexuality, to ward off fear with seduction. It wasn’t that she used sex as a weapon as much as a shield, like a buffer between the hunter and hunted. During her time in Boston, her acquiescence wasn’t a weakness, it was her strength, and if she enjoyed the sense of power it gave her right now, then she’d take it. She was hardwired to survive, no matter how tired she got of fighting.

But there was something about him, some signal he was giving off, that made her think he wanted this. A shadow behind his eye, maybe, or the way his lip curled up at the corner. It wasn’t just that he was good looking, though that was enough to make her burn. It was more than that. He had a hard edge to him, but there was softness as well. She wanted him on her side.

That was where her seduction would have to end, for now. There was nothing elegant about squatting over the toilet seat and pissing in front of a total stranger. But even that action kept his rapt attention, and only when she wiped herself and turned to flush did he snap back to reality.

After zipping herself back up, she brushed past him and walked to the bank of sinks, twisting the tap and liberally pouring soap on her open palm. Her nose wrinkled at the whiff of antiseptic, the aroma cloying in her airways and itching at her throat.

“Do you need to go?” she asked as she dried her hands on the rolling towel. Her voice sounded breathless, stretched way too thin.

Murphy walked toward her, stopping only when their bodies were inches apart. She could feel the heat of his skin wash over her. The pounding of her heart had nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with the need to bang the ever-loving hell out of him. Her brain needed to send her body a memo. Tell it to get with the program.

Murphy scanned her curves with his deep green eyes, his gaze lingering on her jeans. Confusion marred his face, tugging at his brow and pulling at his lips. He looked like a child who’d been told Santa didn’t exist. “I saw the scars on your leg, Lucy.” There was a softness again, something deep behind his gaze she found hard to define. He shook his head like he was trying to forget something painful.

“It’s Rachel.” If he called her Lucy again, she’d go insane. She needed to cling on to something from her present, even if it was only her assumed name.

He continued like he hadn’t heard her. “How did you get them?” His voice was thick and gruff, like he was trying not to show any emotion. Something about the way he said it touched her.

“He tied me up with wire.” She tried to keep her tone conversational, not wanting to seem overly-dramatic. It was easier to pretend she was talking about somebody else this way. “David went out to work and left me lying there. I struggled a little, and the wire bit into my skin. It got infected—otherwise, I don’t think the scars would be so bad.” Panic started to rise up through her throat again, and she swallowed it down before it could steal her breath. She hated the way her memories made her feel so vulnerable.

Murphy swallowed hard. “He did this on purpose?” His voice had an edge of disbelief to it, but she wasn’t sure if it was aimed at her words or David’s actions.

She tried to reply but the words wanted to remain buried. She willed her tongue to form them and her larynx to bring them to life. It was some moments before she finally managed to croak them out. “He liked to watch me bleed.”

“Fuck!” Murphy slammed the palm of his hand against the tiled wall, and the sudden violence of his action made her jump. He pulled his hand back, shaking out the pain, still muttering oaths beneath his breath. When he brought his gaze back to her face, there was a look of anger and betrayal in his expression that made her shiver. His barely suppressed fury scared the hell out of her.

He stared at her for a long minute like she was crazy, and his eyes flashed like a battle was being waged behind them. Maybe it was wishful thinking or a misplaced sense of justice, but a small part of her hoped he was beginning to believe what she was saying. He rolled his shoulders and let his face turn blank. “We need to get out of here.” He gestured for her to join him in the stall. She looked up at his jaw, his stubble shadowy and dark in the dim light of the bathroom. “I was going to tie you up while I did this.” He squeezed his body behind her into the cubicle. “But I guess you might not like that too much.”

Rachel licked her lips, noticing for the first time he was taking her feelings into account. Perhaps there was a part of him that was starting to see the truth.

Her head shifted up to look at him and she pulled her eyebrows together, frowning slightly. “I used to love being tied up.” Her voice was soft. “Until I met that twisted asshole.”

Murphy’s breath hitched. Somewhere in the messed up atmosphere, Rachel felt the balance of power shift toward her, and it thrilled her. Suddenly, her shield had become her weapon. She decided to push her luck, glancing down at his crotch. “Would you like me to hold it for you?”

His bark of laughter was genuine and his grin crooked. Tension seeped out of him like air from a pierced balloon. “As I said before—maybe later, sweetheart. In the meantime, try not to drool.”

She shrugged. “Your loss.”

It was cramped in the stall and she was forced to lean back against the door, watching his denim-clad ass flex as he dragged his zipper down. Angling her head to the right, she could see a hint of smooth flesh as he pulled his cock out, enough to make her want more. There was something about watching him in the bathroom that felt dirty and wrong, almost like she was a peeping tom. She didn’t have to see his face to know he was enjoying the attention.

Damned if she wasn’t enjoying it too. Maybe a little too much. Her body felt like it had been in hibernation, her cells stretching and vibrating with life. It had been too long since she’d last felt this way, like she was able to make a man fall at her knees. Now the sensation was back, dancing around her skin, coiling in her stomach like a spring. She wanted him. All of him. Not just to protect her, not just to divert him. Desire was drowning her instincts until she wasn’t sure how to react.

Pleasure pulsed through her veins when she saw he was semi-hard. She wanted to reach out and run her finger around the engorged tip, forcing pre-come from his slit.

Her lips trembled with the need to take him in her mouth, to taste the smooth skin. Giving head made her feel like she had the power, the ability to bring a man to his knees when nothing else worked. It may have seemed foolish to think of sex at a time when she should be thinking about survival, but for her the two had always been intertwined.

Would Murphy trust her enough to let her do that? Could she take advantage enough to escape? It would be a price worth paying, even if the thought made her feel like a whore.

Murphy finished his business and rearranged his clothes, turning around and pulling at the door. He pushed her ahead of him, his gaze locked on her as they moved toward the sinks.

His hand washing was cursory compared to Rachel’s, and his quick rinse and shake gave her another insight into his psyche.

He was an impatient asshole.

She liked that, too. It wasn’t difficult to imagine it being a weakness if she used it against him at the right moment. It was even easier to imagine the way his impatient hands would feel when he ran them down her body. And there she was again, letting her libido smother her brain. Her train of thought seemed to be stopping at all the wrong stations tonight.

“It’s getting late.” Murphy glanced at his watch, his eyebrows rising up as he noticed the time. His eyes drifted to the door, insinuating it was time to get moving. The impending nature of their departure hit her like a sledgehammer, knocking those sexual thoughts right out of her skull. She wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t sure she ever would be. The moment they stepped outside the bar, she was a dead woman walking. She needed to stall.

“Can I pack a bag?”

Murphy shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Just get your coat. That way I can make sure you’re not packing a concealed weapon.” He grinned. “You know, that one you applied for three months ago?”

She closed her eyes with slow frustration, realization slapping her face like an open palm. So that’s how he’d found her. She thought she’d been so careful, but there was no disguising her identity when she applied for a concealed weapon license, and her need for protection had overridden any sense of safety. Using her real name to buy a gun wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had, though she hadn’t banked on it becoming the flaw which exposed her.

It was almost Shakespearean in its irony.

Murphy took her hand and pulled her through the door behind the bar and into the hallway leading to the living quarters, motioning for her to climb the stairs in front of him. Walking up, she could feel him close behind her and see his large body casting a shadow across the stairs. She wondered how such a muscular frame would feel against hers. The need for contact confused her, made her question her sense of self-preservation.

There was something about Murphy that made her question everything she knew.

Her jacket was in the small wooden closet in her bedroom. She pulled it from the misshapen wire hanger, glancing at the rest of her remaining clothes. She’d never see them again. Not this place, or Buddy and Marianne. They would wonder where she’d gone, and why all her things were still here. Buddy would start to panic, and maybe his weak heart would beat a little too fast. Her shoulders dropped as she imagined him clutching at his chest and the bright blue lights of an ambulance flashing outside the bar. She felt sick with fear, knowing he could get hurt because of what she’d brought here. She should never have taken his offer of a home. Just being here put him in danger.

Murphy snatched the jacket from her hands and held it out for her, shaking it impatiently. She put her arms out and slid them into the sleeves. As she shrugged the coat on, his fingers lingered on her shoulders, squeezing for a moment too long. She felt the pressure low in her chest, and wondered what his touch signified. Maybe, despite his being there to drag her home, there was a part of him that knew it was wrong. Could she have been right about him all along? Was there something more to him that just brawn and determination?

“Let’s just go,” she muttered, the rawness of her voice belying her stilted reply. Stalling was no longer an option, and she’d reached the point where she wanted to get things over with. Did a death-row inmate feel like this after the final meal was cooked and the last prayer was said? Perhaps, like them, she could accept her fate.

Rachel flipped off light switches as they walked back down through the bar, remembering to lock the register. Murphy took her hand, wrapping his strong, rough palm around hers. He pulled open the main door and a cold burst of air rushed in, hitting their skin like a harsh slap. The frozen wind stole her breath.

It was a whiteout. The flakes of snow were falling so hard they could barely see the outline of his car in the parking lot. They were settling fast. Rachel felt laughter bubble in her throat, her head feeling giddy as she watched the greatest stalling tactic of all.

Even if God wasn’t listening to her prayers, maybe Mother Nature was.

“Motherfucking snow,” Murphy muttered, pulling at her hand until they were back inside the bar. He slammed the door closed behind them, and the sudden warmth against her skin made her eyes close momentarily as she luxuriated in the relief of being back indoors.

“What’s the plan, Stan?” She tried to keep the amusement out of her voice.

He pushed her toward the bench at the far side of the bar. “Sit down.” Without a word she followed his command, warily eyeing the calculating expression painted across his face. She watched him silently as he pulled his cell from his pocket, pressing buttons in an effort to get some reception.

Rachel tried not to smile, knowing full well there was no signal to be found. Regardless of carrier, cells didn’t seem to work in Hillbrook. It was like the land time forgot.

“Piece of fucking junk.” Murphy gave up and pushed the phone back in his pocket, turning his head toward the TV.  “Can you switch that on?”

She stood up and flipped the switch at the back of the screen, making the images flicker to life. A low clicking noise vibrated from the speakers as it warmed up.

“Find the weather channel.” His voice was harsh and commanding, causing her chest to hitch. Memories of long ago—of demands and obeisance—flashed through her mind. He stared at her with hot eyes and a rapt expression. It was like he could see through her, as if he knew she got off on being told what to do. A shiver shot through her body.