Rising Heat (98 page)

This bastard had relentlessly pursued me. In my distress, it felt that not even a round-the-clock bodyguard or even a SEAL team could have prevented him from eventually taking what he most wanted.

It had taken one moment, just one unguarded moment.

I lay there for I don’t know how long. Every second, every minute, felt like forever. In spite of my fear and uncertainty, I gradually became more aware of my surroundings. The warm blood stopped trickling down my neck. I identified more odors in the cellar; weed killer maybe, the musty smell of old newspapers, and an acrid smell, faint though it was, but with my senses on hyper alert, I wondered if it was the carcass of a rat.

With my eyes covered with the sleeping mask, my other senses kicked up a notch. Who was it that always said that? Some chef on TV. Stop it, Tracy. Focus!

I wiggled my hands again. Not rope, not a belt, something hard, stiff, and unyielding, like plastic. Plastic handcuffs? The kind I’d seen on police shows? At first my heart skipped a beat. Could my stalker, could this killer be a cop? Then I shook my head, regretting that motion instantly when the pounding began again. Those plastic ties could be bought at any hardware store, not to mention the fact that a huge assortment of sizes and types of plastic zip ties could be converted into handcuffs. Probably purchased at a local hardware store, with cash, so the transaction couldn’t be traced.

My thoughts were wandering. I kept venturing back to Hawk. Was he looking for me? He had to be. He had to be! I tried to imagine Hawk finding me, rescuing me. I longed for that moment when he would pull me into his arms. And then they would wrap around me, encompassed me and pulled me close, gentle and tender yet so strong and possessive at the same time.

I tried to imagine the feel of his lips on mine; those wonderful, warm lips that would give me so much pleasure. I imagined his hands caressing my face, leaving a hot trail of desire wherever they touched, his fingers trailing down my neck as if cherishing every inch. I imagined his hand cupping a breast, a thumb trailing over my nipple, teasing it to attention. I could almost hear him whispering that he loved me, that everything would be all right now. That I was safe. Don’t be afraid.

I sank deeper into the fantasy I created, desperate for my imagination to distract me from the fear that threatened to overwhelm me. His hand was on my bare flesh now, stroking its way from my breast down my stomach to the waistband of my pants. Dipping beneath and his fingers searching lower, seeking my heat, my own heart’s desire…

I was naked, my body snuggled beneath his warmth. He enveloped me like a protective cocoon. Nothing could hurt me now. Now it was just about Hawk and me and… his cock was hard as it nestled against my abdomen. He hovered just above me, bearing his weight on his forearms as he kissed me, tongued me, and then his mouth was suckling my breasts, first one, and then the other. I grew hot and anxious. I needed him inside me. Now. I made a sound and he sensed what I wanted. He shifted his hips and moved. The tip of his cock nudged against my pussy, contracting of its own accord in anticipation.

My body arched at the first thrust. My hips lifted upward to meet it. I made a noise in my throat. Harder. Deeper. I didn’t have to say anything. He knew what I wanted and he gave it to me; heart, body, and soul. I reveled in our connection, our desire and passion for one another. Nothing could take this away from me. We found our rhythm. I felt nothing but bliss. Nothing could stop me from feeling—

I was pulled back to harsh reality when I heard another sound. A door closing again, slamming this time. Footsteps walking across floorboards, but I didn’t hear distinct steps. Carpeting on top of the floor boards? Probably. They sounded heavier than before. A lot heavier. I heard the boards creak. I heard the door to the cellar bang, heard the sound of heavy breathing. My pulsed raced once again as I listened to the footsteps coming down the stairs, slower, a little more hesitant this time. What was happening?

I turned my face toward the stairs, my eyes open, seeing only the blackness of the mask, but willing myself to see through it, to see who was coming down. Was it the same man who had come downstairs earlier? Could there possibly be two?

A million questions raced through my mind and I had answers to absolutely none of them. My breathing accelerated. I heard grunting, and then the sound of cloth rubbing against cloth, followed by a harsh sound, like a shoe or a boot against something hard. What was that?

More movement, more shuffling, and then I heard the zipping sound. I was right. Plastic zip ties. And then I heard a groan. On the other side of the basement, maybe ten, fifteen feet away. I wasn’t sure.

And then I heard the footsteps approaching me again. I caught a whiff of sweat and wood smoke. I heard the sound of a soft
click
above me. That’s the sound I’d heard; he had pulled one of those little bubble chains and turned on a light. The darkness on the other side of my mask eased a bit and I realized why. He’d turned on a light over me.

The better to see you, my dear.

I shivered at the thought and tried to swallow again, heard another croaking sound erupt from the base of my throat.

He roughly pulled the sleeping mask off my head. I closed my eyes against the sudden brightness of the bare light bulb hanging down over the table. It was bright, so bright. I blinked several times, squinting, and then saw the shadow hovering over me. A big, hulking shadow slowly took the shape of a man’s upper torso. I couldn’t help it. I lifted my eyes higher, toward his head. I uttered a cry of alarm.

Oh my God.

Were my eyes playing tricks? Maybe I saw the upper body clothed in black. He looked odd, as if he wore something bulky underneath his clothing. Padding? What was wrong with him? I was so confused, trying to put what I was seeing into some kind of perspective.

What had startled me so was the mask he wore. I blinked again, tried to focus. What the hell was that? What was he wearing on his face?

Then I realized what it was. It was a clear, plastic burn mask. I had seen one before, on a television documentary, although I couldn’t remember when. It was a clear, plastic mask that fit closely over the man’s face, even the nose, with openings for the eyes, the nostrils, and the mouth. The inside surface of the mask had been covered with dark material so I couldn’t see any of his facial features.

I stared up at the figure in horror, my eyes wide now, terrified at what he would do to me next. My eyes locked onto his, dark from what I could tell, the aura of the light bulb above his left shoulder casting the rest of his face in shadow as he leaned down over me.

Why was he disguising himself if he was just going to kill me anyway? It didn’t make any sense. His arm moved and in the next instant he held something in front of my face. It was hard to see anything, my vision still blurry, the bare light bulb making it difficult for me to see anything clearly.

The object took on a vague outline and my stomach twisted in revulsion. A knife. It looked like a hunting knife, the blade about an inch wide and tapering off into a wicked point. Perhaps if I said something, tried in some way to connect with him, he wouldn’t…

I bit back a startled cry when I felt the point of the knife poke the base of my neck just under my jaw. Again, not deep, not a thrusting stab, but a poke. I gasped for breath, trying to control my fear. Behind the mask, his lips parted.

“Trying to be so brave, aren’t you, Tracy?”

I stared up at him, wishing and not wishing that I could see who was hiding behind the hard plastic. Maybe it would be best if he just got this over with as quickly as possible.

“Who are you?” I gasped. “What do you want from me?”

My voice was stronger now.

“You already know. My heart’s desire.”

“What does that mean?” I cried, my voice shaking. Once I uttered those words, I felt my voice grow stronger. It took everything I had in me not to scream and shriek as if there were no tomorrow. For me, maybe there wouldn’t be. I felt a surge of anger. I wouldn’t beg. At least I hoped I wouldn’t. That would be giving him exactly what he wanted. I had to try to stay calm, try to get him to talk. Why, I wasn’t quite sure, but I instinctively felt that was what I should do.

He didn’t say anything. He stood unmoving for several seconds, and then his hand moved again.

Poke.

This one a little harder, on my forearm. It stung. I winced and then felt a warm trickle of blood oozing from the wound. His gaze left my face and focused on my arm, as if fascinated by the sight of the blood.

Poke.

This time, the prick of the tip of the knife sank in my left upper leg, just below my hip. It surprised me, and I jumped a little, a cry of protest escaping my throat. “Stop it!”

He laughed.

Poke.

This time in my abdomen. I began to struggle, to fight against the plastic ties holding me onto the table. Was he just going to keep—?

A searing, burning pain flared just under my left breast. That wasn’t a poke. That was a slash. I felt more blood trickling down my side. I cried out, not only in pain, but in growing anger. “Stop it!” I grounded out. I knew it was a foolish thing to say. He wasn’t going to stop just because I asked him to.

“When you give me what I want,” he said, his voice a harsh, gravelly whisper.

And what did he want? His heart’s desire? I still didn’t know what that meant.

I choked back my tears, choked back the sob of despair that threatened to bubble up from the pit of my stomach. Despite my efforts not to, I began to cry. Warm tears flooded my eyes and then oozed out of the corners, making tracks on the outside of my face. He leaned down close to me, the nose of the mask nearly touching mine. He grabbed my jaw again and squeezed so hard that I forgot the pain in my side and focused instead on my jaw. Would he keep squeezing until he broke it? I tried to pull my head from his grasp, tried to get him to release his grip. My efforts were pitiful and I realized it. I froze.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You can’t fight me.”

The hell I couldn’t, I thought, but for the moment, I realized I had no choice. I had to wait, watch, and listen. Try to figure out what he wanted. But would he let me go if I gave him what he wanted? I didn’t think so. Still, he wore a mask, so maybe there was some slight shred of hope.

I stared up at him while his warm breath caressed my nose, my mouth, and my cheek. I hoped he wouldn’t try to kiss me again. If he did, I swore I would try to bite him regardless of the repercussions.

He suddenly straightened. Stared down at me for several moments and then turned his back to me. I was surprised when he headed for the stairs. Slowly walked to them, not glancing back at me, not even once. Thump. Thump. Thump. Then the door at the top slammed shut.

My heart pounding, my limbs trembling again from the rush of adrenaline and the stinging pain left in his wake. I glanced frantically around me, saw that I was indeed in a cellar of some sort, but the wall to my left was nothing but hard packed dirt. In them, I could see the remnants of tree roots. A set of wooden stairs rose along the wall.

My eyes had slowly adjusted to the glare of the bare light bulb above me. I turned my head to the right, saw a wall filled with wooden shelves, crammed with the detritus of a lifetime; tools, cardboard boxes, torn and soiled with age. Stacks of newspapers, old paint and oil cans. I saw a paint tray, congealed with hard, dried white paint, the roller in it also stiff and hard with dried paint and covered in a layer of dust.

As I looked away from the shelves and then twisted my neck, trying to see what was behind me, I noticed several support beams rising from the floor to the ceiling above. Thick wood planks. I twisted my head as far as I could, ignoring the steady throb of pain in my head, but couldn’t see much behind me. Dark shadows. My gaze couldn’t penetrate the darkness. Was there a furnace back there? A washing machine and dryer? A wall filled with torture tools?

I looked above me again and then lifted my head, trying to see the far side of the cellar beyond my feet. My breath caught in my throat, followed by a low wail. There, sitting in a chair, arms tied to the beam behind it, was Hawk.

“Hawk!”

The garbled cry was wrenched from my throat, filled with emotional pain. Oh my God. He was unconscious, sagging in the chair, his head drooping down onto his chest. Blood smeared the front of his shirt.

“Hawk!”

He didn’t move. Was he dead? My neck ached from the position I held my head. I struggled harder against the plastic ties binding my ankles and hands to the table. I couldn’t see Hawk’s legs, but I had a feeling his ankles were bound to the legs of the chair with the same kind of plastic zip ties that bound me to the table.

My own pain forgotten, I stared at Hawk, blinking against the bright light, trying to see if his chest moved. I didn’t realize that I was holding my breath until I saw the faint rise and fall of his chest under his light blue shirt. He was breathing! He was alive! The air rushed out of my lungs. I began to cry again, my emotions overwhelmed.

“Hawk,” I moaned. This time I couldn’t hold my tears, couldn’t force them back. Guilt rushed through me. This was all my fault. He was down here because of me. I don’t know how he’d been caught, but I knew he must have been ambushed just like me.

I lowered my head back down on the table for several seconds, closed my eyes, and prayed. Then I looked up again, straining to focus. Was he still bleeding? I couldn’t tell from my position. He had either been shot or stabbed, but one thing I knew for certain. He was in no position to help me. Or himself. Whether he could hear me or not, I had to talk to him, had to try to get through to him, if for no other reason than to express my feelings.

“Hawk, I’m so sorry I got you into this. It’s all my fault. I want you to know that I’m sorry for doubting you, for… well, I guess it’s kind of late for all that now, isn’t it? I’m not going to lie to you. I’m scared. I’m afraid to die. But I want you to know that I… I love you.”

I paused, choking back a surge of emotion. I did love him. I realized that now. It wasn’t just infatuation, or that thing people said developed with those protecting them. This was real. Why was it that people didn’t realize stuff like that until it was too late? I lifted my head, staring at him, willing him to hear me.