the night air. No longer did she doubt his existence. Her imagination was good, but not that good.
Fighting a fresh wave of grogginess, she peered hard at his face when he settled her on the passenger side and fastened her seat belt. His features were angular and set in a grim expression with no hint of even the barest softness. He was what she would expect her kidnapper to look like, not her rescuer.
Fear rippled through her. Like the good-cop, bad-cop ploy she’d seen used on television police dramas, maybe her kidnappers were playing a game with her. Maybe, for some reason, they needed her cooperation now and thought this was the way to get it.
“I noticed her suitcases are inside. Get them and toss them in the back of my jeep,” the man ordered a subordinate who had driven the jeep to the front of the cabin.
Victoria looked to see who her rescuer was talking to. His companion, too, was dressed all in black. In her dazed state he appeared a shadow image, the kind that drifted in and out of nightmares, scaring the dreamer. A shiver shook her.
She heard her proclaimed rescuer again talking to others through the headset he wore. Looking toward the woods, she saw no one else. Were there other shadowy helpers, or was that part of the game? she wondered. It was hard to think. Sitting back in her seat, she closed her eyes and tried to will her mind to clear and her body to regain its coordination. The endeavor proved too exhausting and darkness encompassed her.
Hoping that at least one of the kidnappers would show up to be captured, Lance issued orders for his men to remain and keep watch over the cabin. “And now to get you to a safe location,” he said to Victoria, climbing into the driver’s seat. Receiving no response, he looked to his companion. She was slumped forward.
Concern swept through him. He felt her pulse. It was beating slowly but regularly. He checked her breathing. It, too, was regular. “Miss Rockford.” He spoke her name tersely.
Her eyelids appeared too heavy to open. “Water,” she requested, her voice hoarse.
Lance grabbed a flask and held it to her lips.
Never opening her eyes, she drank her fill, then slumped against the seat.
Satisfied she was merely in a drugged sleep, Lance drove away from the cabin. Still, he could not stop himself from continually glancing at her. The worry that there could be more wrong with her than merely the effects of drugs taunted him. He frowned. Emotions dulled a person’s instincts, made them unreliable. He didn’t like that. He was a man used to being in total control; a man who had trained himself not to allow anything to distract him from his purpose.
The road was uneven and he hit a pothole, jarring the vehicle. Victoria surfaced with a groan. “My head,” she moaned. In the next instant she was asleep again.
“That does it,” he growled, unable to fight what felt very close to panic for her well-being. Pulling over to the side of the road, he again checked her pulse and breathing. Lifting her eyelid, he flashed a light in her eyes. The pupils were even and reactive. From the emergency medical training courses he’d taken, he knew all signs pointed to simple drug-induced sedation. Still, this time, with this patient, he would be more thorough.
Victoria once again became semiconscious, her demeanor fearful. “What’s going on?”
“I was just checking to see if you were all right.”
Victoria clamped her mouth shut.
The thought that she had incredibly kissable lips flashed into Lance’s mind. Thoughts like that are totally unprofessional, he admonished himself sternly and turned his attention back to the business at hand. “Were you hit on the head? Did you sustain any other blows?”
She seemed to concentrate. “I don’t think so,” she said at last.
Lance studied her face for bruising, then gently ran his fingers through her hair to feel for any lumps on her head. As the long dark tresses wove through his fingers, they produced a seductive effect that threatened to vanquish his mission from his mind. Quickly satisfying himself that she had no lumps or bruises, he broke the contact.
The gentle massage of his fingers had a soothing effect, and Victoria found herself wanting to purr. When he stopped, she felt deprived. He could be making certain you’re in good enough shape for whatever evil he still has in store for you, she cautioned herself, angry that she’d allowed the delicious feel of his touch to weaken her guard. For all she knew, he could be The Whisperer. This last thought sent a chill through her.
He opened a water flask and held it to her lips. “Drink,” he ordered.
This time prudence won out over thirst. “No.”
“You need the water to wash the drugs out of your system,” he coaxed.
Her thirst was growing stronger. She’d drunk before and the water had been drug-free, she reminded herself. Still, she refused to trust the man beside her. “You drink first.”
He smiled, a pleased expression in his eyes, giving the impression that he approved of her behavior. Raising the flask to his lips, he took a swallow.
Deciding the water was safe, she allowed herself to drink. As they pulled back onto the road, her mind seemed to clear a bit and the hope that the drugs were wearing off flowed through her. Testing her body, she tried shifting in her seat. The attempt required a huge expenditure of energy and produced few results. I just need a little nap, she told herself, closing her eyes.
It was daybreak when Lance arrived at his cottage on the northwestern shore of the island nation of Thortonburg. No one knew he owned this place. It was a part of his life he’d kept entirely private. Lifting Victoria out of the jeep, he carried her inside and found himself thinking that she felt very good in his arms. Immediately, he scowled at himself. That was not a thought he should be having about this woman.
“Bathroom,” Victoria murmured against his shoulder.
Carrying her into the facility, Lance stood her on her feet.
She was wobbly and obviously nauseous, but she was determined to take care of her needs in private. “I can do this by myself,” she said tersely.
Lance wasn’t convinced, but he backed out into the hall. “I will leave the door open. If you think you may fall, yell.”
He heard her sluggish movements, then the sound of splashing water.
“Are you finished?” Lance asked, worried she would fall and seriously injure herself.
“Yes,” she replied.
Entering the bathroom, Lance found her holding on to the sink as if to keep from crumpling into a heap on the floor. He scooped her into his arms and strode to the bedroom where he gently laid her on the bed. He removed her shoes, then tossed a light cover over her. Finally he went outside to retrieve her suitcases from the jeep and brought them to the bedroom.
Standing beside the bed watching her sleep, he noted that her color was returning and that her breathing was deeper. With luck the drugs would soon be out of her system.
He showered quickly, then dressed in slacks and a pullover shirt. After checking to see if his guest had awakened and noting that she hadn’t, he made himself some breakfast. But instead of eating in the kitchen, he carried his food into the bedroom. There,
