CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SWEAT BEADED HIS forehead and upper lip. He tried to catch his breath, but it was impossible with the gag. It stuck to his dry tongue and cut into one corner of his mouth as he’d attempted to cry out for help. The blindfold kept him from knowing what time of day it was. He kicked, but his legs had tangled in the sweat-drenched sheets. His wrists, still bound to the headboard, were chafed raw, his aching arms numb where the restraints bit into his flesh.
He didn’t know how long he’d been like this. The last thing he remembered was having sex and then asking the woman to leave. It had been a mistake picking her up at the bar and bringing her home in the first place.
After that, he must have fallen asleep. He’d awakened in a panic to find himself gagged, blindfolded and bound to the bed. That had to have been hours ago, but he had no concept of time.
He’d tried everything to free himself. But the way he was trussed up, nothing worked.
How long before someone would find him like this? At first all he could think about was the embarrassment. Now he prayed for anyone to stop by, knowing how remote a chance that would be. No one would even realize they hadn’t seen him for days since he’d taken off for a short vacation.
Anxiety filled him, making him fear he was losing his mind. This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell, faster and faster.
A sound made him stop struggling. He held his heaving breath. Had he only imagined someone in the room?
A floorboard creaked. She’d come back. Of course she had. She couldn’t leave him like this. This was some kind of sick joke. Something straight out of a horror movie.
It had been his first night of vacation, so he’d thought, why not have a little fun? Maybe he should have been nicer once the fun was over. Too late to worry about that now, though. Once she cut his restraints, she would regret ever pulling this stunt on him.
He tried to remember her name. Something that started with a C. Candy. Cara. Catherine. Cassie. He tried to say Cassie around the gag. It came out unintelligible.
A thought suddenly struck him. It was her in the room, wasn’t it? Who else? But now he wasn’t so sure.
He felt someone move closer. He could hear breathing next to his bed. He thrashed against his bonds, moaning in both pain and terror.
A harsh whisper next to his ear silenced him. It was her all right. He remembered that voice. But at first he thought he’d heard her wrong. Then she repeated the same three words.
“Beg for mercy.”
The gag muffled his screams as he felt the first slice of the knife.
IT HAD SURPRISED Laura Fuller when he’d called. Something odd in his voice. That and the fact that she hadn’t heard from him in months. It made her anxious. As she stepped into the small restaurant off Pioneer Square in downtown Seattle, she stopped to scan the place. Maybe it was the cop in her, but she couldn’t help feeling on guard as she spotted him.
He looked good. That thought made her smile to herself. Rourke Kincaid always looked good, all six foot four of him. He had classic dark looks that were almost as amazing as the rich depths of his eyes. If he wasn’t usually so serious, he would have been sinfully gorgeous. Women always noticed him. He, on the other hand... Did he notice other women? Or was Laura’s former partner just unaware of her as a woman?
As she let the door close behind her and moved in his direction, she thought he looked a little pale. The lines around those dark eyes a little more defined. She thought of the first time she’d seen him as she limped toward his table. She had detested the idea of working with someone who looked like him because she’d thought he wouldn’t take the job seriously. She’d thought he was a womanizer, one of those men who had to have the attention of every woman around him. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Rourke, like her, had been interested in only his job. At least that was how it had been back then.
As Laura drew closer, she saw that all his attention was on the papers he had spread on the table. But when he saw her, he hurriedly tucked them back into the folder and set it on the chair next to him.
He’d brought some case he was working on. Of course that was why he’d called her. It was the only reason he had ever called her, except for the few times to see how she was doing after she’d gotten out of the hospital.
He rose now, hastily getting to his feet. His expression brightened, and he flashed her one of his disarming smiles. Even after bracing herself against it, her heart kicked into gear, all those old feelings rushing at her.
“Laura.” He took both her hands in his large, warm ones and brushed a kiss across her cheek. She noticed then that he wasn’t wearing his U.S. Marshals uniform. Maybe it was his day off. But then, Rourke never really took a day off, especially when he was deep in a case.
To a bystander, he probably looked relaxed in a pair of worn jeans, equally worn boots and a blue chambray button-up shirt, and yet she could tell he was anxious. His Stetson was on the seat with the folder he’d brought. You could take the cowboy out of Wyoming, but you couldn’t take the cowboy out of him, she thought.
“How are you?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice. She knew then that he’d seen her limp, even though she’d tried so hard to hide how bad it was. Rourke missed little. It was what had made him such a good homicide detective and now criminal investigator.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically. “How about you?”
“Me?” He seemed surprised by the question as he stepped around the table to pull out her chair. It was such a gentlemanly thing to do that she couldn’t help but smile. A year ago he wouldn’t have touched her chair. She wouldn’t have let him because they’d been equals back then. But a lot had changed in a year, hadn’t it?
She sat and watched him move back around to his own chair. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she got a closer look at him.
He
