With others hanging around waiting on transportation, he had a better chance of going unnoticed. With his six-foot-two-inch muscular frame, he looked as if he should be in athletic housing. Camo pants and the burned-orange UT shirt he’d bought at the gas station on the way into town should help camouflage him. Duffel slung over his shoulder, he did his best to blend in.
If Samantha was in trouble or being held hostage, he didn’t want to tip off her captor. He had to consider the possibility that she wasn’t acting on her own free will. Dylan planned to take nothing for granted.
His pulse kicked up a notch when she came into view, walking toward the front door of her rental alone. With a long and lean body like hers, she could easily be confused for a student athlete. Her high school years spent playing volleyball had paid off, especially with those legs.
He slipped on eyeglasses specially fitted with binocular lenses. Her smoky-brown hair cut in long shiny layers with bangs that skimmed along her brows brought out a deeply erotic shade of wide-set almond-shaped blue eyes. They stood out against her oval face. Samantha had always been beautiful. At least that much had stayed the same. She’d been smart, too. Her beauty had caught his attention. Her sharp wit and sense of humor had kept it. He hoped that she hadn’t gone and done something stupid. Surely someone back home would’ve noticed if she’d changed.
Sometimes good girls were drawn to men who were bad for them. So far, there was no sign of a boyfriend. Good. He told himself it would be easier to help her with fewer people involved, and he didn’t like the idea she’d be on the run with a man.
She glanced around, looking more nervous than afraid. Her long fluid layers of brown hair framed an almost too beautiful face and highlighted a graceful, swan-like neck.
Ignoring the rapid increase in his heartbeat at seeing her, he bowed his head and focused on the newspaper he held, pretending to be studying it as he kept her in his peripheral.
She unlocked the door, glanced left to right once more and then slipped inside.
Paranoid?
Dylan had half a mind to stomp over and demand to know what was going on. That would be a mistake. The simple fact was that he didn’t know what he’d be walking into and didn’t want to tip his hand. He slipped off the glasses and then slid them inside his duffel as the shuttle arrived. The crowd around him thinned, forming a line to get on the bus. He stood back, allowing others to crowd in front of him.
At the last second, he spun around, ducked his head and made a beeline toward her place. Moving around the side of the house, he crouched below the windows, careful to avoid being cut by overgrown holly bushes lining his path. He walked the perimeter, peeking inside windows through cracks in the closed blinds. From what he could tell so far, she was alone.
The back door was locked. It took all of three seconds to change that with his bump key. He slowly opened the door, moved inside the kitchen and listened. He already knew the layout of the house. Using the Department of Defense satellite, he’d homed in on the address and taken pictures of everything inside and out, to the level of detail of her furniture arrangement. Memorizing every inch of the space, every crevice, was a habit formed during his military days. There were two bedrooms and a kitchen in back, all of which had doors that led to a dining room. The master bedroom was off the living room. The place was set up like a maze.
Telltale clicks on a keyboard said she was on her laptop. The dining room was set up as a study room with tables pushed against the walls instead of a table and chairs.
Not risking chance, Dylan palmed his Glock, using it to lead the way.
“What are you doing here, Samantha?” He lowered his weapon when he was sure the place was clear.
Samantha jumped to her feet, the shock of seeing him evident on her face. It took her a moment before she was able to answer. “Me? I could ask you the same thing, Dylan.” The accusation in Samantha’s voice fired at him as though he stood in front of an execution squad. A mix of panic and fear crossed her features as she sat ramrod straight. Her gaze froze on his gun.
Her fearful expression tugged at his heart.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He surveyed the area. “Is there anyone else here?”
“Not that I know of.” Her gaze darted to the front door and then back.
“What does that mean?”
“Did anyone follow you?” The suspicion in her eyes hit him harder than a shot of tequila for breakfast, with a similar burn in his chest.
“No.”
“Are you sure?” More accusations fired in her tone.
“Yes.” This wasn’t the greeting he’d expected.
“How can I trust you?”
“You don’t have to, sweetheart.” He had no intention of hurting her. Her panicked expression ate at his insides. What was she so afraid of? Or maybe the better question was, what had she done?
He took another step toward her so he could really examine her. With her pallor, she looked as if she’d seen a ghost. “But it’s me. And you know me.”
“How did you find this place?” She didn’t seem ready to concede anything.
“The internet. It wasn’t hard,” he said casually, trying to use his voice to calm her.
“If it was easy for you, then he can find me, too. I have to get out of here.” Her pulse hammered at the base of her throat.
Finally, he was getting somewhere. Someone had her seriously spooked. Dylan shot her an apologetic look.
“Who are you involved with? A boyfriend?”
Her head was already shaking.
“Then, tell me who’s looking for you and I can help.”
She didn’t respond. He needed to take another tack. Get her in the car for four hours, gain her trust and he’d get closer to finding the truth.
“I can see that you’re in some kind of trouble. What are you running from?”
Her lips clamped shut.
“Everyone’s worried. Come home with me and we’ll sort this out,” he offered, hoping he could appeal to her on a friendship level.
“No. It’s too risky. He’ll find me.” That same frightened-animal look was in her eyes.
“Who will?”
“Thomas Kramer.” She shivered involuntarily as she said his name.
“The Mason Ridge Abductor?” Stunned didn’t begin to describe his reaction. No way. Dylan checked her pupils for signs of drugs, even though the Samantha he knew would never do such a thing. Something had her acting cagey. He saw pure, unadulterated fear in her gaze. “He’s dead, sweetheart. A pile of ash. Remember? He can’t hurt you from where he is.”
She stood there, trembling, looking lost. Damn.
Dylan made a move to step forward, to comfort her.
Her
