the driver’s seat, turned the key and peeled onto the road.
Her parents had done the best they could. “Neither.”
“Oh, come now...kids aren’t born as screwed up as you turned out.” A grin parted his lips. “Or was your smarts the issue? An IQ of 131 could make you a difficult know-it-all. None of the other kids wanted anything to do with you. What a disappointment you must be to your late father.”
Nothing she had ever done measured up in her father’s eyes, so why bother trying? She had left that for Peter.
“And yet, I feel sorry for you,” he said, trailing the back of his index finger up her cheek.
She jerked away. The last thing she wanted was for people to feel sorry for her. Not that he appeared to mean it.
“Your husband dies, and you can’t even mourn him. Pathetic. Wouldn’t you say?”
In her own strange way, disconnecting from her emotions was her way of showing how deep the wound of losing him ran. Coldness was all she had.
He turned off the road and pulled up next to a warehouse. The red aluminum siding had a thick coating of dust. On the horizon, the sun grew orange in the distance. He yanked her out of the vehicle.
“Ouch.” For all she knew he wasn’t even a Fed. She couldn’t really picture CPD helping him if he wasn’t, though. “What do you want with me?”
“Are you offering me something?” He leaned in, breathed deep and let out a misty exhalation of stale coffee.
Yuck.
He unlocked the door at the side of the building and pushed her in.
She stumbled forward. At the center of the room was a table with a chair on each side. Four bulletin boards with glossy photos reflecting light thumbtacked in groupings were pressed on the walls.
“You will be by the time I’m done with you tonight.” He shut the door behind him.
Not a chance in hell. She was in the industrial park. Not a soul around, in an abandoned building.
“It’s been a while since you’ve been with a man hasn’t it, Leera?”
The way he said her name caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise.
“Hasn’t it?” He raised his voice.
Since her husband’s death nearly ten months ago, she couldn’t imagine wanting another man. “It has.” She lowered her face.
“This arrangement could have other perks.”
What arrangement?
He traced her lip with his thumb.
She yanked her face away from his inappropriate touch.
He moved in closer, encroaching with his hand along her jaw, down to her collarbone. “Think about it.”
She backed away, hindered by the table. Physical companionship wasn’t high on her list, and his offer didn’t elicit appealing thoughts of any such acts.
Lifting his shades, he met her gaze with his hazel eyes. “I’d be lying if I said watching you get off with your toys hasn’t relieved me too. You’re nightstand drawer is impressive. My interest in exploring you is piqued.”
He’d watched her. She shivered with disgust, avoiding his stare. Photos of her were tacked to the corkboard on her left. On the other side, her brother, Peter.
“That’s a look of familiarity I see gleaming in those pretty black eyes.” He stepped back.
Not even close to charming.
He spun her and lowered her upper body to the surface of the table. “Slowly.” He guided her down. “I wouldn’t want to leave any signs of abuse.” He removed two latex gloves from the box next to her. “Nor physical. DNA.”
Evidence, was what she called it. If he was worried about leaving proof, what else was he planning on doing to her? Oh God, he wouldn’t! Would he?
“What a view.” He kneeled behind her. “Step out of your heels.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“If you test me...I’ll make you wish I’d shot you.”
What an outstanding example of her tax dollars at work. She removed one foot then the other from her shoes.
The board in front of her was covered in photos of Rowley. Short black hair framed the ivory skin of his face. His intense navy blue eyes stared off in the distance.
“Good girl.” He lifted up her dress.
Cool air chilled the exposed area. “My God.”
“Do you have a concealed weapon on you?”
“No.” She squeezed her eyes closed.
“Good. How about drugs or something I could cut myself on?” He probed along the edge of her panties with his gloved fingers.
She jerked away from his touch. “No.”
He slid his hand around the front of her thigh, preventing her retreat. “I wouldn’t want you to bruise.” His voice lowered an octave. “White lace suits you.”
The hairs on the back of her arms stood with fear.
With a large gloved hand, he examined up her leg, groped her ankle to her knee, onto her inner thigh and tucked his fingers in the seat of her panties then fondled her ass. “You do take good care of yourself. Fit. I especially enjoy when you run around the house in your panties and bra.”
Her stomach lurched. There were cameras hidden in her house, or he wouldn’t have known that. How long had her home been invaded in this way?
He descended her other thigh, past her knee to her ankle.
She needed to dissolve into nothingness like she did when she was a kid. When her parents were fighting or her father beat them. It was better to be anywhere but there.
She focused on the pictures before her. Anything but his hands. Where was the photo of Rowley taken? The image struck her as familiar. The trees in the background and water. Down by the river. He enjoyed sitting by the shore’s edge. Just the wind, birds, and them. She’d seen him in that shirt and slacks at the restaurant recently.
The Fed yanked her upright, reached around front, untied the belt of her coat and slid the fabric down her arms, resting the weight of the garment against the handcuffs.
Her muscles tensed. “Ouch.” She gritted her teeth.
The gap between them narrowed and his erection pressed into her palm. He patted up her ass and back. “Nothing so far.” He exhaled deeply.
She couldn’t deal with this–with him. She needed to find her way out of herself. The restaurant was the only thing keeping her
