toes or anything,” he continued, grinning at Becker. “But maybe when you’re through with her, the bitch could clean this place up a bit.”
Jayne’s eyes shot fire at the kid.
“Clean it up yourself, Doug,” Becker said without looking back.
Doug’s smile died quickly, and he scowled at Becker’s back.
The living area was no better than the kitchen. More fast-food wrappings and beer cans littered the place, appropriate accompaniment to newspapers, a canted couch and a couple of chairs that looked as if they might have been retrieved from a trash pile. A small television sat on a table against one wall. No cable, she noticed, just a rabbit-ear antenna. A new fear gripped her. If they found out who she was, who her father was, would they decide to hold her for ransom? Or would they panic and dispose of her as quickly as possible?
Becker led her into a narrow hallway carpeted in faded and stained green. No matter how hard she tried to calm herself, nothing worked. Her heart pounded, her breathing was shallow, her knees shook. She found herself hanging back, fighting against Becker’s grip as he opened a door and dragged her into what appeared to be a bedroom. Behind her, she heard the two younger criminals laugh again.
With one last yank, Becker dragged her all the way inside and slammed the door shut. Her first thought was that at least this room was cleaner than the rest of the house. The double bed had been hastily made, there was no garbage on the floor, and the single narrow window was actually covered with a curtain, not a sheet.
“Sit down,” Becker ordered softly.
The only place to sit was the bed. Jayne shook her head in silent refusal.
Becker leaned in closer, just a bit. The dark of night had shadowed much of his face, but the uncovered lightbulb that burned overhead illuminated every detail. Dark-brown eyes that held no laughter. A sharp jaw dusted with dark stubble and softened by the long dark-brown hair that fell over his shoulder. A long, perfectly shaped nose, a wide, perfectly shaped mouth. A big gun shoved almost carelessly into the waistband of his jeans. “Sit,” he whispered.
Jayne sat. She perched on the side of the bed with her hands in her lap, her spine rigid and her knees together. “My father will pay a lot of money to get me back, unhurt and, uh…” She swallowed hard. Untouched. She couldn’t say that out loud, but surely he knew what she meant.
Becker paced by the side of the bed, staying between her and the door, running his hands through his hair and pushing the long brown strands away from his face. He kept his eyes on the floor, and occasionally he glanced at the door. Only once did he look at her, and when he did he shook his head and groaned low in his throat before casting that dark gaze to the floor again.
Finally he stopped pacing and stood before her. Close. Too close. And she had nowhere to go.
Boone stared at the girl on the bed. What the hell was he going to do with her?
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She flinched. “I’m not telling you anything,” she said frostily.
He almost smiled. She should be crying, hysterical, terrified, but she still had the guts to look at him coldly. She couldn’t hide the way her hands and knees shook, though. “Well, then, I’ll just call you sugar.”
She pursed her lips. “Jayne,” she said.
“No last name?”
“Not that I’d care to share with you.”
He leaned forward and down. “Don’t play hardball with me, lady. I’m your only chance of getting out of here alive.”
She swallowed, sending that slender, pale throat working in interesting ways.
In the hallway someone snickered. Doug or Marty…probably both.
Boone sighed. “Give me your jacket,” he ordered.
“I will not.”
He slipped off his leather jacket and placed it on the end of the bed, pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it atop the jacket. He drew the Colt pistol from his waistband, looked at the weapon, looked at the woman, then quickly went to the closet and placed the pistol on the top shelf. He didn’t think Jayne would actually try to shoot him, but until they got things straightened out here, he couldn’t be sure—and she wouldn’t be able to reach the top shelf without a ladder or a chair. Neither was handy.
That done, he waggled his fingers at her, silently asking again for the jacket to her expensive suit. She stubbornly lifted her chin and shook her head.
“I’m not going to touch you,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I need that damn jacket.”
She sniffled and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Fine,” he said. “We do this the hard way.” He sat beside her and grasped one wrist in his hand. She fought a little, but not very hard.
“Get your hands off of me,” she said loudly, slapping at his hands.
In the hallway, another giggle.
Finally, after just a little wrestling, he had the jacket in his hand. He shook his free finger at her. “Now lie down and be still.”
“I will not.”
Boone closed his eyes and shook his head. “This is not going to work.”
“No, it’s not,” she agreed.
Boone left the bed and went to the door, opening it on two grinning young thugs. “What the hell are you two doing here?” He shook the jacket as he spoke. They looked past him, no doubt to see a red-faced Jayne sitting on the side of the bed, her hair mussed and her blouse halfway untucked.
“There’s nothin’ else to do around here,” Doug said. “Ain’t you finished yet?”
“Some of us like to take more than three minutes with a woman, kid. Get lost. If I see either one of you near this door or that window,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll shoot you.”
“Maybe you oughtta tell her that,” Marty said with a lift of his chin.
Boone turned around to see that Jayne stood at the window, tugging frantically at the lower frame. He closed the door and leaned against it, watching her with a shake of his head.
“It’s painted shut,” he informed her.
She gave one last tug and spun to face him, her eyes red and her cheeks flushed. It hit him, for the first time, how very small she was. Not thin, but short—no more than five foot two—and delicately shaped. Beneath the hem of her straight skirt was a pair of nice legs. Up the length of her body she sported easy curves.
“We need to talk,” he said softly. “Sit down.”
She shook her head.
“Please,” he said, calling on every little bit of patience he had left. “Please sit down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I
