Revenge (10 page)

The man is Eric.

I flinch as our eyes meet. His are filled with worry.

And compassion.

And something I can’t define.

He reaches a hand down to pull me up. I don’t move. Just stare at him.

He lets out a sad sigh. “I guess I deserve that,” he says slowly, bending to sit on the ground a few feet from me.
Eric
props his elbows on his knees and sits across from me. “Yesterday I was an ass. I am so sorry.”

Mark’s words pop into my head:

S
tay the hell away from Eric and Claudia.

How can I do that when I run into them nonstop?

“Thanks,” I reply. I know the old Carrie would have said,
It’s okay
or
No problem
.

The new Carrie won’t do that. He really was an ass. The truth hurts.

So does having my best friend kidnapped and missing.
I
f Mark thinks Eric might be involved, then maybe I need to do my own sleuthing. Mark’s overly worried about me. I can take care of myself, especially with Eric.

He’s over-reacting. Eric would never
harm
me.

“Did I hurt your wrist?” Eric asks.

I look down.

Okay, let me amend that. Eric would never
intentionally
hurt me.

“Yeah, but it’s not bad,” I mutter. Damn. There I go again. I shuffle my feet and literally bite my tongue. I need to stop talking. The more Eric says, the more
I
’ll learn.

“I really meant what
I
said back at the office,” Eric adds. He’s wearing a hunter green polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The green sets off his hair and creamy Irish skin, making him look very crisp. Like something from an L.L. Bean ad.

“What you said?
Y
ou mean your thre
a
t?” My skin starts to crawl. Sitting here, no one can even see us. We’re hidden by my parked car.

Eric could do anything to me right now and I would have no way of getting any help.

“
Threat?” His eyes go wide and he looks horrified. This is more like the Eric I remember from when I was his student. Earnest. Helpful.
 

Nice.

“You told me
not to mess with the Landau family. You grabbed my arm and hurt me.” Mark warned me about Eric and Claudia. Eric warned me about the Landau family.
 

I’m sensing a pattern here.

“I didn’t mean it as a
threat
, Carrie!” He reaches for a handful of
dead
grass and starts ripping it in his hands, shredding it. “That was a warning. They’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How?” I play it cool. Meanwhile, my heart’s thumping in my chest like popcorn in a JiffyPop.

“They’re playing a game and innocent people get hurt.”

“A game?”

His shoulders sag. The collar of his shirt is folded inward. I instinctively reach over and pull it out,
putting
it where it belongs.

Eric’s eyes go a deep color. Oh, God. Is that passion? His face moves toward me. My mind spins a thousand miles a minute as I realize he’s coming in for a kiss.

He’s about to
kiss
me? Seriously?

And then:

“STAND UP AND PUT YOUR PALMS FLAT AGAINST THE CAR.”

The megaphone makes us both jump. Red and blue lights flash as we stand.
I
t’s a cop car.

Mark is at the steering wheel.

And h
is gun
is
pointed straight at Eric.

“
I SAID GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!”
 

“No! No!” I shout as I walk toward Mark. “
I
t’s not what yo
u
think!”

Eric grabs my arm and pulls me back. Mark leaps out of the driver’s side.
T
here is another officer in the car with him who also has a gun trained on Eric.

“GETDOWNGETDOWNLETHERGOGETDOWNNOW!”

Mark and the other officer shout in low, menacing voices as my brain tries to process it
a
ll. Eric panics and drops my arm, then runs away from the road. He can’t hide. We’re on a desert road. There’s nowhere to hide.
It’s nothing but brown dirt for miles.
 

He looks kind of stupid, but panic does that to people.

“
I got him!” the other officer shouts, taking off at a run, while Mark comes over and grabs my arm in the exact same place Eric was just touching.
 

“What the hell just happened?” he demands, breathless. Mark’s still holding his service revolver in one h
a
nd.

“Put that away, please,” I say.
I
t comes out like a whispered growl.

“What?” he shouts. “You’re telling me to put my weapon away when that freak just nearly kidnapped you?”

“
What
freak?” I scream back.

“Eric! I told you to stay away from him. And I find you by the side of the road with him about to throw you in his car and steal you away? Wha
t
the hell were you doing here with him, Carrie?
Is there something going on between the two of you I don’t know about?
”
His words fly out like angry crows on the attack, all aimed at my heart.
 

I slap M
a
rk’s face so hard.
So
hard. It’s like it happened in the crack of a gunshot and in slow motion, all at once. My palm reache
s
out and my shoulder inflicts the blow with so much force.
I
t feels like I’m slapping a giant slab of granite, though.

H
e doesn’t move an inch.

I don’t know why I slap
ped
him.
Every cell of my body feels full, like I’m about to explode.
 

And then I turn and run.

I guess I become stupid when I panic, too.

My legs pump hard with the effort of the damned. My calves start to scream within seconds, my heart rushing to fill and empty faster and faster as my blood pours through me. Oxygen and effort go hand in hand.
M
y ears fill with the rush of a thousand waterfalls.

I am light. I am air. I am musc
l
e and fear and pain and nothing but the flow of my bones and muscles and skin moving me through space and time.

“
Carrie!’ Mark shouts from behind me. “Don’t make me tackle you.” He’s puffing from running, but his voice has a chilling calm to it.
 

I don’t answer.

I just
run
.

Underbrush turns a pale green color as I go up a small ridge then down a gully. I see an unfamiliar sight: a small river,
wider than the road, but
just a few inches deep. It must be a mirage.
H
ave I reached the point where I’m hallucinating?

Maybe that’s the trick. Just go crazy.
Let your mind unravel.
 

M
y lungs fill and empty, over and over, my breathing like white lightning being dragged across my ribs. It hurts, but oh, the pain feels so good.
T
he ache of doing something is always a million times better than just sitting there and letting the world t
a
ke its pot shots at you.

No
, I think.
No. I won’t stop
.

And then—ice chips on my skin. Cold. I can’t breathe. My face is underwater and oh—the water is deeper than I thought. A wall of weight is on me, then a hand snakes around my waist
a
nd under my knees.

I’m wet. Soaking wet, and being lifted out like a child who won’t come when she’s called.

“PUT ME DOWN!” I scream.

“Not until you see reason.”

Mark’s
skin is hot under his wet uniform shirt. I try to wrench away and feel nothing but curved muscle. He’s hard and strong and I can’t wriggle away.

“
Reason? All
I see a stubborn, thick-headed, controlling—”

“
T
hen you must be looking at me—”

“
ASSHOLE!”
 

“Ouch,” Mark says through
mirthless
laughter. “Then that means I’m doing my job.”

“
It’s your
job
to be an asshole? Funny. I didn’t know they gave paychecks for that!” I bark back.
 

“And I didn’t know that the woman I love spends her spare time hanging out with men I warn her to stay away from,” he says, the words dripping with sarcasm.

“You don’t own me!” Wait. Hold on. My brain slams on the brakes.

The woman I love
? Did he really just say that?

“I may not own you, Carrie,” he says as he wades through the water, eyes forward and scanning the horizon for Eric and the other cop, “but I’m not going to stand by idly and watch you get hurt because you’re being an impetuous child.”

Child? CHILD?

“You’re being a jerk!” I thrash and kick. Mark’s arms
are
like bands of steel. He’s pulling me to his chest and I almost bite him. I could if I wanted to, but that seems to
o
juvenile. Babyish.
I
n my fury I realize I need to have the upper hand by being the m
ature person in this interaction.
 

So I try to kick him in the balls.

His grip tightens so swiftly it’s like he has bionic arms.

“Hey,” he says, hot breath covering my ear and neck. His voice goes low and sensual, dangerous and primitive. “You liked that part of me just a few hours ago. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

A red cloud of pure anger takes over me.

“
You don’t get to do this, Mark!” I reach up and grab his nipple, twisting it. He grunts, but doesn’t let go of me. Damn it. Nothing I do works.
 

And then he drops me on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“
Ow! Why’d you do that?”
 

He shrugs and gives me the thousand mile stare. You know the look.
T
he one cops give you as you complain about the speeding ticket they’re giving you.

That
look.

“Because you wanted me to put you down.”

I stand up slowly and rub my sore butt. “Not like that.”

“Pardon me for not meeting your every whim,
Oh Queen
, while I try to save your life,” he says through gritted teeth. His eyes look like a pale fire, blazing in the sunshine, his hair half wet and half dusty from the desert dirt.

We look like something out of a sad part of a Mad Max movie.

“Sarcasm? Seriously, Mark? With
me
? You’re the one who lied to me for three years. You lied about who you are, you lied about what I meant to you, you lied and you lied and you finally tell me the truth—”

His eyes go uncertain suddenly.

“—and I let you in. Oh, my God!” I pick up a rock and wing it at his head.

He has really, really good reflexes. Mark just moves subtly, six inches to the
l
eft. It whizzes by.

“
I gave myself to you last night. This morning—”
 

“I remember,” he says thickly. “I can still smell you. Taste you.”

My anger turns into a tangled ball of string with a big, heaping dose of arousal mixed in for fun.

Urg. All my words
become
a
whirling dervish.
 

I
hate him and I want to ride him, all at the same time.

“And because you’re still on me, lingering on my skin, scraping against my lips, infused in my fingertips, my mouth, and all of the rest of me,” he says softly, looking down at me. Mark’s words stop. He looks up and I follow his gaze.

The other cop has Eric handcuffed and is stuffing him into the police cruiser. Hard. I hear Eric make a sound of pain.

Mark makes a
hmph
sound and turns his attention to me. It feels like a laser of intensity aimed straight at my soul. His hands flex with tension and his arms are slick with water and sweat. He looks so masculine. So powerful.

A
ll male, all fight, all primal.

“And because of that, Carrie, there’s no fucking way I’m letting you get away again,”
he adds
. “And I’m sure as hell not letting those bastards steal you and turn you into one of those—”

My chest is heaving from exertion. My arms feel like they’re ten feet long. Whatever this day was supposed to become has unraveled. All I know right now is that Mark is being some over-controlling man who doesn’t even resemble the person I know, and I just tried to kick him in the nuts and threw a rock at his head.

We’re both doing a
great
job of being anyone but the real us.

“One of those
what
?” His last few words ricochet around in my head.

He reaches for his
squawking
radio. I can’t make out the words but I’m pretty sure it’s his partner. I take a good, long look at Mark.
I lick my lips. I can’t help it.
 

Even exhausted, baking in the hot sun, dragged through this weird little mirage and half wet, half muddy, I stand here in awe of him. My body aches from sex with him just a few hours ago. I have thighs that quivered from the brush of his cheeks against them as his mouth went to places so intimate I blush at the thought.

My fingers wrapped around his private flesh. Guided his body into mine. We stroked and thrust, arched and gasped, drawn together
b
y instinct and kept together by need.

And now he’s being a caveman and I’m standing here drooling?

“One of those
what
?” I repeat, finding my voice.

“Huh?” He seems genuinely confused.

“A minute ago, you said you wouldn’t let me be turned into ‘one of those’—what, Mark? What aren’t you telling me?”

Ah. There it was. That instantaneous uncertainty that ripples through his face sometimes
when he’s deciding whether to lie
.

White rage fil
l
s me again.

“You are still lying to me,”
I hiss.