and sat on the sofa. “I can’t go back to sleep right now. I’m afraid I’ll go right back into that horrible nightmare. Can we just sit here and talk for a few minutes?”
She could tell he’d rather eat nails, but he gave her a weary nod and put his chair into the upright position. “You want to talk about your nightmare?”
“Absolutely not. That’s the last thing I want to talk about.” She fought against the race of a shiver that threatened to walk up her spine. “I just want to talk about pleasant things.” He frowned, as if he couldn’t imagine anything pleasant to discuss.
“So, what’s your favorite food?” she asked, desperate to talk about something—anything—no matter how mundane.
“Pizza, anything Mexican and I like a good steak.” He stared at the blank television screen. “What about you?”
“I think it would be easier for me to list the kinds of food I don’t like. Brussels sprouts and lima beans. Other than those, I love almost everything.”
He focused his gaze on her and she couldn’t help but notice the quick slide from her face to the gaping top of her robe. His frown deepened as he once again jerked his attention back to the television screen.
An uncomfortable silence descended as Layla gathered her robe more closely around her. She knew she should go back to bed, but now she was afraid her dreams would be haunted by his dark gaze.
“What kind of television shows do you like to watch?” she asked in an effort to keep the conversation flowing. “Personally I love most of the sitcoms that are on now. There’s nothing better than a good laugh after a day of work. I’m also a reality show freak. They’re all so silly but they definitely take your mind off your own problems.”
Once again he looked at her, a wry lift to his lips. “And what kind of problems do you have? Whether to buy the shoes you want today or wait to see if they go on sale tomorrow?”
There was a derisive edge to his voice that instantly rankled her. “That’s right,” she replied with a forced airiness. “I’m all about shopping and going out to lunch and good times.” Her voice broke as a sudden wash of emotion gripped her. “I’m sure that’s why somebody hid in the backseat of my car tonight and tried to choke me to death.”
He cursed silently under his breath. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’ve obviously lost my social skills while I’ve been cooped up here.”
He offered her a smile and in that gesture she remembered the man she’d once had a major crush on. “I really don’t know anything about you except that you said you owned the realty in town,” he said.
She nodded. “I opened the business four years ago, just after my father died. I love finding the right home for my clients and business was good for about two years. But it’s been lean lately.” She began to relax as she thought about her work. “Hopefully the economy is turning around now and business will get better again.”
“What about your mother? Where is she?” His gaze remained fixed on her face.
“She died when I was seven.” And that was when all the love in Layla’s life had also disappeared. A wave of grief tried to pull her into its clutches, but she fought it, refusing to go there.
“And you don’t have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, it was just me. You’re lucky to have such a big family. It must be nice to have people who care about you,” she replied.
“It has its moments, but it can also be a pain.”
“Are you still with the FBI?”
The smile instantly disappeared, as if it had only been a figment of her imagination. “I’m retired.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You’re awfully young to be retired. What are your plans for the future?”
“To get some sleep before morning comes.” His voice was clipped, filled with a new irritation as he reclined his chair once again. Layla knew the moment of tenuous peace and conversation between them was over.
“Then I guess I’ll just say good night.” She got up from the sofa, turned off the lamp next to him and then went back into the bedroom.
The bedroom was small, the double bed covered with what appeared to be a handmade patchwork quilt. A dresser with a mirror stood against one wall and a nightstand was against the bed.
It was a nice room and there was a photo of the entire Grayson family hanging on the wall next to the dresser. She moved over to it and studied it.
Mr. and Mrs. Grayson stood together, looking happy and in love. They were dead now, killed in an airplane crash that had left their adult children alone.
The Grayson children all shared the trait of rich dark hair. Jacob stood with his arm around his sister, that charming devilish grin lifting his lips. All the Grayson men were drop-dead gorgeous, but they were also known as men who had humor in their eyes and a flirtatious smile on their faces.
Where was Brittany now? And where were the other women who had disappeared? There had been some speculation that one of the women had simply left town, but the others had seemingly vanished into thin air.
She moved away from the picture and turned off the bedroom light. Instead of getting into bed she moved to the window. It was a perfectly clear night, the moon a gigantic silver orb in the sky.
Her thoughts were momentarily consumed by the man in the next room. What had happened to Jacob Grayson? What had brought him to this cabin, living like a hermit with dark shadows bruising his eyes?
Something had happened to Jacob, something terrible, and she couldn’t help but be intrigued. She also couldn’t help but remember those brief moments when he’d held her in his arms. It had felt so safe and yet had held just a little bit of dangerous attraction.
And somebody out there in the darkness tried to kill you tonight. Once again the reality of what had happened slammed into her.
As she finally climbed back into bed, she prayed whoever it was wouldn’t find her again.
Brittany Grayson awoke suddenly, her heart beating frantically. She remained unmoving on the cot, eyes open to the utter darkness that claimed the shed or whatever structure they were held in.
How many days had it been? How many weeks or months? She’d lost track of the time that she’d been held captive. There were now four of them, four women held in jail-like cells. The last one had been brought in earlier in the week. Casey Teasdale had hung over her captor’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he’d carried her in and placed her on the cot in the fourth cell.
“Almost time,” he said to Brittany as he’d locked the door to assure Casey’s imprisonment. The ski mask he wore effectively hid all his features, making it impossible for Brittany to identify him.
He gestured toward the empty cell. “One more and then the real fun begins, and I’ve got a special woman in mind to fill that one. A pretty blonde who is a bit feisty and managed to escape me once. She won’t escape the next time.”
He’d whistled as he’d strolled out of the shed, leaving her
