Taken: A Kept Novella (12 page)

Jordan flashed a scalding glare over her shoulder. “No thanks.”

He shrugged. “Might be up to you.”

Jordan looked back at Cam, worry in her eyes.

He hoped his own didn’t reflect it because no way did he want to go through that again. How long it had lasted, he didn’t know because once he’d hit the floor so hard, he’d been out. And his head still hurt, still pounded. He had to have a concussion of some sort.

But he remembered enough to know that hitting the floor with his head hadn’t been the worst of it.

He fought off a shudder.

She whispered something.

What?
He scowled at her.

“Let me see if you’re hurt anywhere else.” She leaned closer to his face, examining the other side of his head, her back to Peterson across the room.

Cam held Peterson’s glare as she continued to check his shoulder, his neck—

“Nail kit. Scissors,” she whispered in his ear.

Cam froze. Where?

“What else did you do to him, Dr. Peterson?” She kept her gaze on Cam. “You’ve punched him in the face. I can see that. What else did you do?”

“What’s it matter?” Peterson said. “All he has to do is tell me where Hannah is, and it stops.”

He kept talking, but Jordan continued her pretend examination. “Purse. Behind you.” She leaned around him, checking the side of his head, and braced one hand on the top of the chair. He heard something move behind him, then she shifted in front of him again. “I don’t see any blood on that side.” She leaned to the other side, and whispered. “Shelf behind you. In pocket.”

If he could get to the scissors, maybe he could get through the rope and free himself. Free them both. Stop Peterson once and for all.

Jordan stopped her examination and stayed kneeling in front of him. Her eyes filled. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault he got you too.” His fingertips found her purse and followed the leather up to the open zipper across the top.

“No. For the other night. For not understanding how you might worry about Matt being back.”

Worry about Matt? He frowned at her. Man, it was hard to concentrate on what she was saying
and
find his way into her purse. “What are you talking about?”

“I realized it was the first time Matt’s been back since we started dating and that you might worry that—” She swallowed. “You know, that I might go back to him. Like I’ve done before.”

But he hadn’t worried about that. Not once. “No, Jordan. I trusted you.” Completely.

His thumb braced the small purse while two of his fingers fumbled through paper and pens, her wallet, a cough drop—What did a nail kit feel like? Where was it?

Peterson approached. “Enough of this. What are you, a nurse?”

Cam held still, praying his body shielded the purse from Peterson’s view.

The guy grabbed Jordan’s arm and pulled her to her feet.

She squawked out a painful protest.

Cam bit his tongue, trying not to react, to do anything that would make Peterson realize how desperate he’d be to keep her safe.

What would he do if the man started hurting Jordan? No way could he give up Anna.

But he couldn’t give up Jordan either.

Peterson shoved Jordan onto the edge of the bed, and she caught herself, staying upright. “I assume,” Peterson said, sending Cam a quick glance of hate, “that you also know where Hannah is. Why don’t you tell me so we can all go home?”

Jordan stared up at him. “Does Joelle know you’re here?”

Peterson jerked his head back toward Jordan at his wife’s name.

“Wait.” She pointed at him. “
You
sent that text from Joelle.”

What text?

“You did, didn’t you? What’s happened to your wife? Is she okay? Did you kill her too? Just like that nurse?”

Peterson took a step back, eyes narrowing with anger. With hate.

Dread filled Cam. How could she let Peterson know that they knew? What was she doing?

“Why’d you kill her? Was she going to tell Anna that the baby didn’t belong to you and Joelle? That you gave her the wrong embryo?”

“I didn’t give her the wrong embryo!” Peterson barked. “I knew
exactly
what I was doing.”

Cam dug through the purse. His fingers brushed against a zipper in the purse’s wall.

“Your wife’s not the mother. You’re not the father—”

“Oh, I’m the father.” Peterson nodded emphatically. “I made sure
I
was the father.”

“Then who…”

The zipper gave beneath his trembling fingers, slowly moving sideways.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Peterson snapped his gaze Cam’s way.

Cam froze.

“You got any guesses, Winters?”

“No.”

Peterson reached for Jordan.

Cam’s heart jumped. “I mean, I thought maybe the baby was Tony’s. Tony and Anna’s. That she was pregnant when she went in for the procedure and you never told her.”

“That wouldn’t have worked. Tony was too dark. Joelle would have known we weren’t the parents.” He gave a humorless laugh. “If only Hannah
had
been pregnant. We would have looked elsewhere for a surrogate. And none of this would have happened.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew Sophie.” He slipped a finger inside the pocket. “She might not have been perfect in your eyes, but she’s exactly the way she’s supposed to be. She
is
absolutely perfect.”

Peterson shook his head. “Really, Winters? She had Down’s. That’s what the test showed. You call that perfect?”

He raised his chin. “Absolutely.”

“Fine then. If it’s worth getting beat up for. Tased over. Watching your girlfriend go through all that too. Then I guess you’re right.”

A whimper bubbled out of Jordan.

“No!” The word burst out before he could contain it. He jerked forward, and the purse tilted with him. He grabbed it with every finger in his weary hand, losing the pocket. “No. Please. She’s not part of this.”

Peterson pulled the taser out of his coat pocket. “What’s your name, honey? Jordan? Is that right?”

She cowered before him, her eyes trained on the gun. “Yes.”

Cam held his breath, his fingers reaching back into the pocket.

“She’s real pretty, Winters. And there are so many ways I can hurt her. Is that what you want?”

His voice trembled. “No.”

Peterson raised the taser. Pointed it at Jordan. “Where’s Hannah, Winters?”

Jordan tried to backpedal across the bed.

Cam couldn’t help himself. “Please don’t,” he begged. “Please. Don’t hurt her.”

The taser fired.

Jordan jerked horizontal across the bed, legs jerking, neck arching.

“No!” Cam tried to shove himself to his feet, managing instead to knock the chair into the bookcase. “Stop it! Peterson! Stop!”

The tick-tick-tick of the taser lasted another second. Another. Another.

And all Cam could hear was himself crying out, sobbing, begging the man to stop. “I’ll tell you!”

The taser silenced.

With a sudden gasp, Jordan slumped across the bed, her breath coming hard.

“Jordan!” Tears streamed down his face. “Are you okay?”

Slowly she pushed herself up, shaky, weak.

He knew how that felt—her muscles drained, exhausted.

“I’m all right,” she finally said. But she looked terrified. Her gaze pleaded with him, fear fighting with exhaustion. “Cam. Don’t tell him.”

What?

“You can’t tell him.”

He knew that. And he’d never tell Peterson. Never. But it had worked this one time, getting Peterson to stop hurting the woman Cam loved.

How would he stop Peterson the next time?

Or did he even have any more taser cartridges?

“Jordan. The wires! Get them off—”

She jerked the prongs free from where they’d attached.

Peterson watched, bemused. “You think that will stop me, Winters? I’ve got all night. And all weekend. No one’s going to miss you tomorrow. What plans did you have? Spending the night with this one? Spending tomorrow with her? Who’s going to notice that either one of you is gone?”

The scissors. The nail kit.
Memory returned, reminding him why he had Jordan’s purse in such a tight grip. He worked his finger back into the pocket. “People are looking for us right now. We had plans. With friends.”

Peterson laughed. “Right. I’m not worried.”

Cam’s fingers slid across something thin and plastic. The nail kit!

“What was it like watching that, Cameron? Knowing
exactly
what it felt like?”

He slid the kit open.
Focus
, he told himself. Couldn’t listen to this guy. Everything depended on him getting those scissors. Cutting himself free.

“You know, you kinda got lucky that you fell and hit your head. You missed a good three or four seconds of your tasing. But not your girlfriend here. She felt it all. How was that, Jordan? Hmm? You like that?”

Something sharp poked the tip of his finger. He swallowed, carefully grasping the metal point with his fingertips. He tugged.

The scissors inched forward.

“You want more, Jordan?”

Cam froze. Searched Peterson’s face.

Peterson popped the cartridge off the front of the taser. He tossed it onto the bedside table and reached into his coat again. “Bought myself the nicest taser I could a couple of years ago.” He waved it toward Cam. “You know, self-defense. Can’t be too safe anymore.”

What did the guy want? Congratulations?

“Nice thing is that this model comes with six cartridges.”

No. No no no.

Peterson pulled his hand out of his pocket, another awful yellow cartridge displayed for Jordan to see. “Just so you know, Jordan, I’ve only used two cartridges. Four left.” His grimace of a smile was pure evil. “You know where Hannah is, Jordan? Hmm?”

Jordan’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

Don’t tell him
, Cam prayed.
Please don’t tell him.

“Why do you want her?”

The scissors slipped free of the plastic.

“Why do I want her? Seriously?”

Cam worked his fingers down the scissors’ shaft until he could spread them open.

“Guess he hasn’t told you everything, huh?” Peterson glared at Cam again, and Cam held himself still. “She stole my kid. Ran away with her.”

“That baby wasn’t yours.”

“Yes, she was!” He waved the gun at Jordan’s face. “I made sure of that. That baby was mine, and I had every right to demand she abort it—”

“Your own child?”

Cam dragged the tiny scissors across the thin rope. The tip nicked his wrist, and he flinched, readjusting his hold.

He couldn’t afford to drop these.

“Joelle agreed with me. We hadn’t come all this way—spent all that money—for a messed-up kid.”

When he got his hands on this man…

“How do you know that? You’ve never seen her.”

“I saw the test. Read the results.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

Beneath the scissors, the rope gave a bit.

Cam yanked his wrists sideways.

The rope gave a little more.

Come. On.

“You know what? Enough of this.” Peterson yanked Jordan up.

She yelped as he forced her to her feet.

Peterson spun her around, made her face Cam. “You want her fried again?”

Jordan squeezed her eyes shut as tears escaped down her face.

Cam fought back his own.

“She’s not on the bed this time. She’ll hit the floor. Or the edge of the bed. Your dresser. Something. Might be a whole lot worse than what happened to you. See, that’s what they say is the worst part about being tased. Not the pain. That stops when the taser stops. No, the worst part is the fall. That’s where the real injury happens. And this time I don’t plan on catching—”

Jordan jerked her arm free, turned, and shoved him.

Cam dug the scissors into the weakening rope. The point rammed into the pad of his thumb, and out of instinct, he released the scissors.

They clanked against the floor at the same time that Peterson dropped the taser to corral Jordan.

Cam strained against the rope.

It crept apart. More. More.

“Cam!” Jordan screamed. She fought Peterson still.

He grabbed one of her wrists and fumbled for her other arm.

The rope gave.

And Cam flew out of the chair, sending it flying. Reached Peterson in two strides. He pushed Jordan to one side while grabbing Peterson’s throat with his right hand, the one with blood on it.

Peterson’s eyes widened.

Jordan fell back against his bed.

Cam’s momentum took him and Peterson to the wall. They crashed there together, and the tall dresser beside them rattled, a picture frame toppling over.

Peterson yanked Cam’s hand from his throat, and Cam’s muscles, still weak from the taser, let him. The man swung at him, a sorry punch that just clipped his jaw.

But he’d left himself exposed.

Cam put everything he had behind his own shot to Peterson’s stomach.

The man oofed over.

Cam knocked him to the ground.

While the man gasped for air, Cam straddled him, forcing the man’s arms behind his back.

Beside him, Jordan offered him the rope.

A much smaller rope now.

He took it, looking up at her, his chest heaving, arms weary. Ready to fall to his sides. But somehow he mustered the strength to tie up the man who’d taken so much from so many.

Not until Jordan knelt beside him and wrapped him in her arms did he realize what a mess he was. He fought himself for control, only to rest his head on her shoulder and give in to the fear he’d struggled against. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

“For what?”

“For letting him hurt you.”

She pushed him up, shook her head at him. “You fought for me, Cam. Look at you.” She held up his blood-stained hand. “You fought for me. And Anna. And Sophie.”

How could he not? He cupped her cheek, brought her face to his, and kissed her. Slowly. Gently. Thankfully.

She kissed him back, her lips more intense than his.

Peterson writhed beneath him, and Cam pulled back enough to check his hold on the man.

“Are you going to send me home?” Jordan asked.

“No.” He couldn’t help a smile. “Not yet. ’Cause this time your dad and brothers
will
kill me.”