Her abductor slapped a hand over her mouth, and fleetingly Elizabeth wondered if this was what it had been like for Miranda.
“Let go!” she shouted, but his hand absorbed the words. His fingers dug into her upper arm as he dragged her toward the edge of the stage. She jabbed an elbow into his gut, but he didn’t slow. Twisting, she smashed her knuckles against his windpipe.
He grunted, collapsed against her and slumped to the ground. She fell with him, cried out when her sandals went out from beneath her and her ankle twisted. She landed hard, her attacker pinning her to the wet floor of the stage.
Fighting for breath, she shoved against the dead weight of his sweaty body, surprised when he rolled with ease. She scrambled to her feet and tried to run, staggered instead. Pain shot up from her injured ankle, and one of her heels snapped.
“Elizabeth!”
She kept running, refused to slow. Memory chased her, the present tangling with the past, reality with drill. The rough-hewn voice that haunted her during the long hours of the night could not be heard above the furious wail of the fire alarm. She was traveling alone this time, her life in the hands of nameless, faceless security personnel.
They were safer than him.
The edge of the stage rushed up to greet her, but before she made it to the steps a second man grabbed her. She darted from him, but in the process lost her balance.
She would have sworn she heard someone roar her name as she fell through the darkness.
She landed on her hip, the impact jarring through her with the force of a sledgehammer. Her head slammed against the linoleum flooring. Her vision blurred. She tried to get to her feet, but he was too fast for her. On a seeming dead run he scooped her into his arms and ran for the side of the room.
“Stop it!” Dizziness swept through her. She struggled against him, but his arms granted no reprieve. “You’re making a terrible mistake,” she warned.
“It’s mine to make,” growled a low voice, and the man crammed her more tightly against his body.
Something deep inside Elizabeth twisted, hard. Memory leaked through. The flash was so strong, for a fractured second she was thrown back in time, into another man’s arms. He’d turned her world upside down, but she knew, deep, deep inside, she knew he would have killed before he let some thug lay a hand on her.
Her abductor never broke stride. He sprinted through the darkened room, pushing past tables and kicking chairs out of his way. The hard muscles of his body gathered and bunched, forcing Elizabeth to realize this was one man she would not overpower. The blare of fire alarms drowned out his words, but she knew they were not nice. She thrashed against him, anyway, but he barely seemed to notice.
“Got you,” she heard him snarl under his breath. “Got you.”
Revulsion coursed through her. Awareness poured in. Hawk had trained her for situations like this, drilled her repeatedly. If this man got her away from the hotel, she would be completely at his mercy. He could take her anywhere. Do anything. There would be no one to stop him. No one to hear her scream.
He hit the emergency exit and kicked open the door, burst into the crisp night air. It was only September, but this far north, summer fled early, letting the cold spill in. Icy rain pellets slashed down from the darkened sky and stung her exposed arms and her legs.
“Help me!” she shouted above the wail of police cars and fire engines. “Please!”
The man never slowed, showed no fear. He rounded a corner and pounded down the wet pavement until she barely heard the sirens and confusion of the hotel. The safety.
Then he stopped abruptly. Time had run out.
Hawk’s training roared through her. Summoning her strength, she attacked, prepared to run the second he released her. She twisted toward the arm around her shoulders and bit down. Hard.
“Ow!” the man protested, but didn’t release his hold on her like she’d planned. “Christ, Elizabeth, that’s a hell of a way to say thank-you.”
She went very still. Absolutely, completely, deathly still. Even the trembling stopped. She had to remind herself to breathe, and when she did, the woodsy masculine scent brought her senses surging violently to life.
No. Dear sweet God, no.
Her heart slammed hard against her ribs, bringing with it a rush of denial. She didn’t want to look, to see, to know, but knew she had no choice. Very slowly, very deliberately, she forced herself to turn toward her captor.
And saw those hot burning eyes.
She blinked hard, stared, but the harsh face inches from hers never changed.
“Hawk.” His name came out on a shattered whisper, all she could manage through the tangle of shock clogging her throat.
He smiled then, slowly, that mouth she’d never forgotten curving into the insolent smile he had down to an infuriating art form. “Expecting someone else?”
“Dear God.”
His lips twitched. “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetcakes, but you got me instead.”
The world, the chaos behind her, faded. Words failed her. Two years had passed since she’d seen her former bodyguard, shouting wildly as two security guards removed him from her parents’ home. It had been cold and wet that night, as well. She’d tried to carve the memory from her mind, but seeing him now, here, like this, with the rain plastering his dark blond hair to the sides of his brutally handsome face, brought everything crashing back in excruciating detail.
“Ellie?” His voice was gentler now, not so amused. “You okay?”
No, she wasn’t okay. Couldn’t be okay. Not when Hawk Monroe held her in his arms, the heat of his body chasing away the chill of the rain. Not when she had only to lift a hand to touch the dark-gold whiskers on his jaw. Not when a simple breath drew him deep, deep inside her.
“I’m fine,” she said more sharply than she intended. “Put me down.”
She would have sworn he winced. But he did as she asked, easing her down the length of his rain-slicked body, keeping one arm secured around her shoulders.
The second her feet touched concrete, she staggered from him. Cold water splashed over her broken sandals, and pain speared up from her ankle, but she gritted her teeth so that he didn’t see.
She knew better than to stare, but could no more have looked away than she could have run. Hawk Monroe. Here. In the flesh. Standing in the cold rain. As usual he looked rough around the edges even in slacks and a sport coat, courtesy of the gun in his hand and the empty holster strapped around his shoulder. His dark-gray button-down lay open at the throat, revealing the silver chain he always wore.
“Elizabeth?” He lifted a hand to her face and snapped his fingers. “You still with me?”
She closed her eyes, counted to five, opened them a moment later.
He was still there, standing behind the bank of dumpsters, all tall and soaked to the bone.
“What are you doing here?” She
