Zach's Law (2 page)

Wondering what in heaven’s name he was going to do with her, Zach unfastened the lady’s wrists, avoiding her kicking and managing to get her away from the tree. He bound her wrists behind her back again, then hoisted her easily over one shoulder. It was simple to hold both her tiny ankles and prevent her from kicking him, but her struggles slightly upset his balance. He slapped her smartly on the rear with his free hand, muttering softly, “Be still!” Not that she did; an indignant note was now added to the furious sounds still emanating from behind the gag.

He carried her through the woods and away from the house and road. Within moments they were deep into the forest. Zach could move quickly and quietly, especially for a man of his size and weight. He slowed at last, pushing his way through a tangle of undergrowth, ivy, and brambles that hid a small rickety cabin. He opened the surprisingly well-fitted door and carried her inside, closing the door behind them.

It was pitch dark inside, but he moved unerringly across the small room and dropped her gently onto a wide, sturdy cot. Then he double-checked to make certain the heavy shades still guarded the two small windows before he turned on a large, battery-powered lamp. The light was strong, and Zach turned with a great many misgivings to contemplate his unexpected—and unwelcome—guest.

The first thing he noticed was her hair. There seemed to be a great deal of it for so tiny a woman, and it was such a bright red as to seem unreal. Above the strip of white linen guarding her mouth was a delicate nose sprinkled with freckles and large, spaniel-brown eyes. Her eyes dominated her face, giving her a waiflike appearance. Her skin was the creamy white of a true redhead, and though she was certainly a small woman, Zach knew there were quite a few eye-catching curves beneath her heavy sweater and jeans. He’d felt them.

She wasn’t beautiful, but there was something
endearingly sweet and fresh about her face. Cute. She was cute, he decided judiciously. She was also, he realized, staring at him in alarm. Fear.

He didn’t have to ask what had altered the rage to fear even as he’d turned to face her. The scar. He never quite forgot he bore that scar, even though he wasn’t self-conscious about it. The thin silver mark ran from the corner of his left eye to his jaw, and though it wasn’t disfiguring, he knew it lent his face a look of menace, perhaps even cruelty.

Especially in a situation like this.

Zach sighed a little and moved to sit on the edge of the cot. She didn’t shrink away from him, but he could feel her stiffen. He untied the gag, then released her wrists. He spoke finally, keeping his voice even and calm.

“I said I wouldn’t hurt you, and I meant that. But you’ve stumbled into something dangerous, and I can’t let you go until it’s all over.” He glanced down to watch her massaging her wrists, and felt a pang of regret when he saw
the red marks that the belt had left on her white skin.

Frowning a little, he got up again and went over to unearth a first-aid kit from a cluttered shelf by the door. He opened the kit and found a tube of salve, then carried it back to the cot and sat down again. “Here—” He reached for her wrist.

Instantly, she drew away from him until her back was against the wall. And for someone who’d sworn steadily for so long, she was surprisingly silent now.

Zach’s face settled into its habitual bland expression. He dropped the tube onto the blanket at her side. “Use that on your wrists,” he said impersonally. “It’s a commercial first-aid cream.” He rose and went over to where her bags were piled under one window, picking up the thermos. Finding reasonably hot coffee inside, he poured some into the plastic cup and carried it to her. “It’s your coffee,” he reminded, still impersonal. “And you may have noticed I neither drugged nor poisoned it.”

After a moment she sat up and gingerly took the cup from his outstretched hand.

Zach watched her sip the liquid, still bothered by both her red wrists and the wary alarm in her eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said finally in a softened tone. “I’d let you go right now, but it could be dangerous for you. And don’t let the scar fool you—I’m not as mean as I look.”

Her eyes flickered, and her gaze slid away from his to stare at his cheek. She seemed surprised. And she sounded both surprised and curiously annoyed when she finally spoke.

“I didn’t even notice that. It’s hardly visible.” Her voice, robbed of the fire and brimstone, was musical, faintly husky.

Zach was surprised. “Then why did you suddenly look afraid when I turned to face you?”

She pointed at him and grimaced. “That.”

He looked down and saw that his flannel jacket had fallen open to reveal the gun he
wore in a shoulder holster. “Oh.” He looked back at her, smiling a little. “I’d forgotten.”

She continued to look wary, but something seemed to have eased her mind. “How could you forget a gun that big?”

“You get used to it.”

After a moment she said in a small voice, “Tell me you’re a cop.”

“Sorry.”

“No badge?”

“No badge.”

“But you aren’t going to hurt me?”

“I swear.”

Her gaze wandered around the room, settling on the jumble of electronic equipment weighing down a makeshift counter. She recognized what looked like a portable computer, but there was nothing else she could identify. She thought vaguely that the square things on the floor could be batteries. Maybe. And there was something that might have been a radio, complete with headphones.

The remainder of the room was also filled
with equipment—and other things. There were two rifles propped against a wall, with boxes of ammunition stacked beside them. There was a small refrigerator and a butane stove and some kind of heater that whirred softly. Open shelves revealed canned goods and other foodstuffs, along with stacks of paper plates and plastic cups and utensils. The battery-powered lamp sat on a small wooden table boasting two sturdy-looking chairs. There was a sink with an old manual pump, and there was the bed she sat on.

It looked like this man had been here for a while. And that he was ready for just about anything, including a siege.

Teddy looked back at him finally, trying to weigh her various impressions. He was definitely an intimidating man, partly because of his sheer size and the raw power he exuded. His voice was soft and effortless, and his gray eyes were serene—deceptively so, she thought. And though that rugged face was bland, it was also hard.

What on earth had she stumbled into?

“Why would it be dangerous for me if you let me go?”

“It’s ten miles to the nearest town.”

Teddy was frowning a little, working only on instinct as she tried to read his expressionless face. “That isn’t what you meant.”

Zach had been prepared for a kind of “prisoner of war” reaction from her, something he was familiar with. He’d expected a logical progression in her reactions to being held against her will. First, the frightened silence and suspicion of his every move. Then nervous questions and promises that she wouldn’t tell anyone about him. When that didn’t work, she’d be quiescent for a while before attempting to escape. Failing to escape, she’d be enraged and frustrated by helplessness.

And if he was forced to keep her prisoner long enough, her reaction would be one that would make him despise himself. There would be a gradual progression to shock, apathy. There would also come a time when she would
likely develop a sort of emotional dependence on him; he had seen it happen. And that final response could easily leave more scars on the “kidnapper” than the victim.

He had known that to happen too.

Zach didn’t want any of those things to take place. And he was somewhat encouraged because after her first rational fear passed, she seemed more curious and thoughtful than anxious. It would, he knew, be greatly to her benefit if she could accept the situation calmly and feel relatively unthreatened by it. If he could keep his own attitude low-key and reasonable, maybe they’d both get out of this all right. Maybe.

Now those shrewd brown eyes waited for a response, and Zach weighed his words carefully. “That was partly what I meant,” he said slowly.

“But there was more to it.” She glanced around the room, then back at him. “What’re you doing up here?”

Zach had never been one to trust easily and
so he didn’t answer, but merely said, “Put some first-aid cream on your wrists.”

After a moment she set her cup aside and picked up the tube. Rubbing the cream into her bruised and chafed flesh, she asked, “How long do you expect to keep me here?”

Zach was pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the small stove. “No longer than necessary.”

Her eyes followed him as he sat in a chair by the table. “Then you’ll turn me loose? You drowned my car,” she reminded him. “How will I get out of here?”

He shrugged. “I’ll take you to a town.”

“You have a car up here?”

He smiled faintly. “No.”

Teddy abandoned the possibility of stealing his car. “Well, dammit,” she muttered. The amusement in his eyes irritated her, and she went on aggrievedly, “If you
were
a cop, I could probably get a new car out of this. You know, official appeasement of a defenseless woman
attacked on the roadside by a cop who subsequently trashed her car.”

He shrugged again, still amused. “Your car was already dead. I just buried it.”

She stared at him. “D’you have a name?”

“Zach Steele.” If she got away, he decided, it was all over, anyway—her knowing his name wouldn’t matter.

“At least you didn’t say John Smith.”

“I’m a very truthful man. What’s your name?”

“Theodora Suzanne Jessica Tyler.” She said it with a trace of defiance that was almost automatic.

He blinked. “Quite a handle. Is there a shortened version?”

“Teddy.”

Zach liked that; it suited her, he thought. But all he said was, “I have to do some work, Teddy—mostly inside this cabin. A day, maybe two. I don’t want to have to tie you up or gag you again, but you’ll have to be quiet. And
even if you get outside, you won’t know where you are. You could easily get lost.”

Teddy was slowly recapping the tube of salve and looking at him thoughtfully. “Or I could run into someone who
is
meaner than he looks?”

He was a little surprised and wondered if she was simply guessing. “Why do you say that?”

Obviously annoyed, she said, “I’m not blind.” She nodded toward the rifles and ammunition. “As I understand it, the game up here doesn’t shoot back. And then there’s your handgun—hardly standard hunting equipment. Unless you’re hunting something that walks on two legs and
does
shoot back. Stop me if I’m getting warm.”

“Stop,” he murmured.

“I don’t suppose you’re a modern-day bounty hunter?”

“No.”

“Good. The kind of cop that doesn’t carry a badge, maybe?”

“What kind is that?” he asked neutrally.

She studied him. “Oh … one who’s undercover. A federal cop, maybe. Or one who’s on a stakeout. That’s equipment designed to listen in on something,” she added with a nod toward the electronic jumble.

Zach returned her stare, his own growing unconsciously harder, suspicious. “Just where were you headed when your car died?” he asked.

Teddy couldn’t help swallowing hard, though she managed not to look away from his suddenly icy gray eyes. “Not around here, that’s for sure. I was heading back East to visit relatives.”

“I don’t suppose you can prove that?”

Her chin lifted, and her own eyes grew stormy. “No. I don’t suppose I can.”

After a moment Zach reached into his pocket and began pulling out the papers he’d gotten from her car. He looked through them carefully, all the while keeping an unobtrusive
eye on her. She didn’t stir, but those brown eyes were still stormy.

The papers were the innocent ones found in most cars. A registration slip in her name. A few road maps: California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado. Three years’ worth of inspection slips. Four tattered shopping lists, half a dozen crumpled receipts tangled with green stamps, a dusty mileage log filled with entries and bearing both her name and an unreadably smeared official-looking stamp inside the front cover.

Zach looked at her for a moment, then reached out a long arm to snag the big leather purse. She never changed expression, but Zach nonetheless hesitated. There was something so damned
personal
about a woman’s purse, he thought, and he felt ridiculously in the wrong about rummaging through it. Then, to his surprise, he caught a sardonic gleam in her eyes, and she gestured slightly.

“Go ahead.”

He had to be certain she wasn’t involved in this; there was too much at stake. Accordingly,
Zach opened the purse. Three seconds later he understood her faint mockery. And since he had never in his life opened a woman’s purse, he had to wonder in astonishment if Teddy’s was par for the course.

The pocket calendar made sense, he thought, as did the hairbrush, compact, and lipstick. He lifted these out carefully and set them on the table. Then, one bit at a time, he lifted out the rest. There was a flimsy string bag, bunched in a knot. There was an overlarge, decidedly bulky leather work-glove—left-handed. There was a small notebook with lined blank pages and three pens clipped to it. There was a dog leash designed to restrain anything up to and including a rabid St. Bernard. There was a folding leather case holding a selection of darts and a small vial of liquid labeled “tranquilizer.”

Somewhat thoughtfully, Zach buttoned that into his pocket.

There was an electric bill, stamped paid, a phone bill, also stamped, an address book, two
packages of chewing gum, a book of postage stamps, a long silk scarf, a braided leather belt, a toothbrush in a plastic case, a small penknife, a large and crowded ring of keys, a contact lens case, a much-handled deck of playing cards, one pair of sunglasses, and one pair of dark-rimmed corrective lenses—both in cases.

In the very bottom of the purse, lying in a nest of coins, paper clips, and rubber bands, was a leather billfold. Zach drew that out and opened it. He didn’t bother to check for cash but looked instead for identification. Behind the plastic sleeve containing a picture of Teddy on an elephant were other sleeves holding credit cards, a donor card, a California driver’s license, a Social Security card, several business cards, and an identity card naming Teddy as an animal control officer for the city of San Francisco.