Trapped. Trapped with a man who plainly regarded her as his enemy. What now?
Stopped at a traffic light, she stole a glimpse at his profile. His features were rigid, uncompromising. And dangerous.
He turned his head and looked at her. Something tugged at her insides. She wanted to believe it was nothing but fear and was worried it might be more than that.
“The light’s green,” was all he said.
It’s not too late, she told herself as they proceeded through the intersection. You can start being the P.I. you’re supposed to be. Convince him you’re not his enemy. Your survival could depend on it.
“Will you let me explain now?” she asked him, making her voice as persuasively pleasant as she could.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“But—”
“I said no. Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything you tell me? Just be quiet and let me think.”
It was no use. He was not going to listen to her. Not, anyway, until they reached the houseboat. But if there was any way to prevent it, she couldn’t let him take her there. The houseboat was isolated. She would be all alone with him in a lonely place. Anything could happen.
Help. She needed to seek help, but she had to be careful how she managed it. Trying something reckless, like alerting a passing police cruiser of her plight, was out of the question. Not when he had that gun in his lap.
But her situation wasn’t entirely hopeless. She did have one promising means of rescue, providing she could make the opportunity to use it. Not yet, though. A glance at the fuel gauge told her she would have to wait a bit. Until then, she tried to forget the desperation of the man seated beside her, tried to remember instead that he was still a link to Nathanial.
Charleston was also a city of bridges, and they crossed one of its major spans over the Ashley River a few minutes later. Then, with the peninsula behind them, came the slow crawl through the urban sprawl of the modern city.
Reaching the river road, they traveled inland, following the winding Ashley River through a region of ancient live oak, groves of palmetto, and all the other less familiar vegetation of the lush low country. As the miles passed, Eden kept her eye on the fuel gauge.
Now, she thought.
“We need to stop for gas,” she informed her companion.
He leaned over to check the gauge for himself, breaking his long silence. “How far is it to the houseboat from here?”
“Far enough that we’d arrive on empty. Anyway, if you plan on us staying there long enough to eat, then we need a few essentials. Milk, bread, that kind of thing. We can get them, along with the gas, at a convenience store just up the road here.”
“All right,” he agreed.
There was a tricky, tense moment when they arrived at the convenience store and pulled up in front of a pump. He insisted on taking the keys from her again before either of them got out of the car, then challenged her when she started to open the back door on her side.
“What are you doing?”
“I want my coat. I’m cold.”
“Feels like summer to me.”
“It’s February, and I don’t care what the temperature is. I’m still cold. I imagine being scared has something to do with that,” she said sarcastically.
“Have it your way. Just hurry up.”
Eden breathed with relief and removed her coat from the back seat, where he had allowed her to place it before leaving Charleston. His own jacket was still with him. It hung over one of his arms, where it continued to hide the pistol under its folds. He stood beside the pump and watched her fill the gas tank after she slipped into her coat.
“You pay for the gas before we shop for groceries,” he instructed her as they entered the convenience store. “Just in case we have to make a fast exit.”
He was being thorough, Eden thought. Except there was one thing he had overlooked. He had failed to check the pockets of her coat.
The store was empty of customers other than themselves. He stayed close at her side to make sure she didn’t try to signal the attendant as she paid for the gas.
Now comes the hard part, she thought when they came away from the counter.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she said.
“That can wait until we get to the houseboat.”
“No, it can’t. I’m sorry, but being scared makes me more than just cold.”
He swore under his breath. “Okay, where is it?”
She led the way to the far end of the store where the single, unisex rest room was located off an alcove. Its door stood open, the light inside already on.
“Wait,” he said, moving in front of her to check out the interior, presumably to make certain there was no other exit or a window that would offer her a chance to escape.
“Will you please hurry?” she urged him, wanting him to be convinced it was an emergency.
There was another bad moment when he turned his head to gaze at her speculatively. Did he suspect something?
“Maybe I ought to go in there with you,” he said.
“You wouldn’t!” But she was afraid he might do just that.
“Then just make sure you behave yourself in there. When I check afterward, which I intend to do, I don’t want to find any distress message scrawled on the mirror. And don’t lock the door behind you either. I’m going to be standing right here in this alcove just outside, and if I hear the click of that lock…”
He left the rest unsaid as he moved his jacket aside to finger the pistol tucked now into the waistband of his pants. He was telling her that attendant or no attendant, he would shoot off the lock if she tried to barricade herself inside.
When Eden hesitated, wondering if he actually meant his threat, his broad shoulders lifted in a little shrug. “If you’re not sure about the lock, then I think I should go with you.”
“No lock,” she promised him.
Before he could insist on some other precaution, she scooted past him into the rest room, swiftly closing the door behind her. Damn him. She had counted on locking herself in, but now she would have to risk her action without that security.
There had been no opportunity to investigate the pockets of her coat, either back in Charleston or outside at the gas pump. He had been much too observant for her to take that chance. But now, placing her purse on the sink’s counter and hoping her memory was reliable, she plunged her hands into the deep pockets of the coat.
To her relief, her probing fingers closed around a flat, compact instrument at the bottom of the right-hand pocket. Thank God, she
