to get very close to her.
“Not much,” she answered. “Tattle Today has a cheap producer. And there are plenty of people standing in line to take my place.”
Her answer was not what he’d been expecting. From what he’d learned about her and the show, she was a rising star and had already earned the nickname of Blossom the Barracuda. She was known for digging up people who preferred to remain anonymous and shoveling out stories that shocked and scandalized. Exploiting other people’s problems was quickly making her famous.
“Your attempt at modesty is hardly convincing,” he said with easy insolence. “There’s not a line of people to take your place. Thankfully not everyone is capable of doing what you do.”
Blossom was used to people insulting her work. Mostly because her stories hit too close to home and no one liked to be reminded of their faults or weaknesses. Whether public or private, more often than not, she ignored the insults. She’d learned early on that she would have to have a tough hide to survive in her job and in life. Yet there was something about the barbed sarcasm in this man’s voice that stung her more than usual. Maybe it was because she was already cross with him. Or maybe it was because she’d sensed, sometime during this crazy flight, that he was a keenly intelligent man and she wanted his respect. She wanted him to understand that she wasn’t a barracuda. She was a woman who wanted to be the best at her job.
“Is that why I’m here in this truck with you? Because you don’t like what I do and you plan to whip me into some sort of submission? Force me to denounce Tattle Today TV?”
He shook his head with wry disbelief. “My, my, you do have quite an imagination, Ms. Woodward.”
Her hands balled into tight fists as she twisted around in the seat to face him once again. “You’re being deliberately evasive! I want you to tell me what’s going on! Now!”
He looked over at her, his black brows cocked with mocking inquisition. “Is that how you get your stories? You demand that people spill their guts to you?”
Realizing that her temper was getting the better of her, that he was getting the better of her, she forced her fingers to uncurl and her lungs to draw in a deep, calming breath.
“I’ve never encountered anyone I couldn’t get information from,” she said in a cloyingly sweet voice, then added, “one way or the other.”
“Hmm. Then I guess this is a first for you.”
She glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me to call you Mr. Wonderful? That would have been more honest than the name you gave me.”
He smiled, and even though the expression was meant to be sardonic, the flash of white teeth and an engaging set of dimples transformed his hard features. Like prey charmed by a snake, Blossom was momentarily transfixed by the sight of him.
“You know, you’ve called me everything from grand to kidnapper,” he said. “You’re going to keep on until you actually have me believing I’m more than a groundskeeper.”
“You’re insane! That much is becoming obvious,” she said, pushing the words between gritted teeth.
He was half inclined to agree with her. He must have been insane to think the best thing to do would be to take her. But the whole event back at the clinic had occurred in a few short moments. He’d only had time to react to the danger, not to decide the best way to handle Ms. Blossom Woodward. Besides, he’d been waiting for a chance to confront this woman. He just hadn’t expected it to happen this way.
“Look, lady—”
“You know my name,” she snapped. “Use it!”
Docile could never be used to describe this woman, he thought. Her blue eyes were spitting fire. Heat stained her cheeks crimson and her rounded breasts were heaving as if she’d just run a mile, or just made wild love to her mate.
The last notion turned his thoughts in a different direction, and for the first time since he’d learned that a Blossom Woodward existed, he wondered who the woman behind the blond beauty on the television screen really was.
“All right, Blossom. Why don’t you settle down and have the good sense to thank your lucky stars I was around when those goons came by with their assault rifles.”
Her brows arched skeptically. “Because I have no idea who you are. You might be one of them!”
He rolled his eyes. “Sure. That’s why I shot back at them.”
“That doesn’t necessarily make you a hero,” she countered. “You could have been in cahoots with the people in that van, but at the last minute decided to take the big slice of pie for yourself.”
“Do you see me eating pie?” he asked as his gaze focused on the left-hand mirror outside his window. A vehicle was rapidly approaching their rear. The shape didn’t resemble the gunmen’s van, but in the past few minutes the sun had slid behind a hill and dusk was making it difficult to discern distant objects with much accuracy. He reminded himself how fatal it might be to let himself be distracted by Blossom Woodward.
“You know what I mean,” she continued. “Those gunmen wanted someone on the Maitland grounds. And I don’t think it was me,” she said matter-of-factly.
He didn’t answer until the vehicle had safely passed them and was traveling on down the highway. Even then his voice was preoccupied, something that she noticed and took as another insult.
“You’re thinking too much, Blossom. You’re wearing me and yourself out.”
Frustration had her twisting around in the seat, away from him. The movement caused the heel of her shoe to come into contact with something on the floorboard. Looking down, she noticed it was caught on the strap of her leather shoulder bag.
Apparently she hadn’t lost the bag back at the clinic parking lot as she’d first assumed. It must have slid off her arm and onto the floorboard when Larkin, or whoever he was, pushed her into the truck.
Thank goodness for small things, she thought. At least she’d have her identification with her if she was found dead or unconscious. On the other hand, if she was clever enough to escape, she’d have her checkbook and the small amount of cash she’d gotten from an ATM this morning. And last but not least, she’d have a comb and lipstick just in case she ever got back in front of a camera.
Forgetting her captor for the moment, she bent down and pulled the bag onto her lap. It was then she remembered the cellular phone inside. Why it had taken her so long to think of something so important, she didn’t know, but her heart was suddenly pounding with excitement. If she could dial 911 without him knowing, she might possibly alert the operator that she needed help.
But where were they, she wondered frantically. If her sense of direction was still reliable, since leaving Austin they had continued to travel west and north. In fact, from what she could see of the passing landscape it appeared that they were headed toward Pedernales Falls.
The notion sent a chill slithering down her spine. The state park surrounding the falls contained more than five thousand acres of wilderness. Parts of it were rough mountain area. If he got her onto one of the primitive hiking trails or down in the gorge where the river had cut steep banks from the limestone, she might not have a chance to call for help. No one might ever see the two of them.
