Malcolm Rockford and his accomplice were captured. And Lance and the Thortons were more than convinced Malcolm was the self-proclaimed “Justicier.”
Again, the thought that he was taking this case much too personally taunted him. “It’s my duty to find those men,” he countered tersely under his breath, needing to speak the words aloud to assure himself they were the truthful reason behind his feelings. Victoria Rockford could never be anything other than someone he was duty-bound to protect.
Victoria turned onto her back and stretched. A smile played at her mouth. She’d been dreaming that she’d been rescued. A ruggedly handsome face, cold and unsmiling, filled her mind. Her smile vanished. Rescued, or merely changed prisons? She frowned. Silly girl. It was just a dream. She stretched again. Her breath locked in her lungs. She was able to move freely. Opening her eyes, she raised her hands upward and looked at them. Her bonds were gone.
More alert now, she realized she was lying on a much softer, much more clean-smelling bed. She opened and closed her eyes a couple more times to bring them into clearer focus. Sunlight streamed through an open window and the room smelled of sea breezes. Was she still dreaming?
Her gaze traveled around the room. The decor was masculine and a little stark, but she liked it. Turning her head as far to the right as she could, her whole body suddenly became rigid. Seated in a chair near the bed was the man she had been dreaming about. He was no longer dressed all in black or equipped with the high-tech equipment, but the face…the stern, cold-featured face…was the same. And he was armed. He wore a leather shoulder holster that housed a very dangerous-looking weapon. She thought she saw a momentary flash of relief in his eyes as he rose and approached the bed, but her guard remained strongly in place.
“Would you like some water?” he asked.
She recalled that he’d given her water before and it had been safe to drink. Attempting to ease herself into a sitting position, she was assailed by a wave of dizziness. She squeezed her eyes shut to fight the sensation.
“Are you all right?” the man asked with cool composure.
“Dizzy,” was all she could manage to reply.
“That’s a natural reaction after having been drugged.” Seating himself on the side of the bed, he slipped his arm behind her shoulders and eased her up so that she could swallow. “Drink. The fluid will help.”
Victoria obeyed. As the bout of dizziness subsided, she became acutely aware of the strength of the arm holding her. Although a great deal of the past days remained a blur, that part…the sturdiness of her rescuer…she remembered vividly. The thought that if he was on her side she would never have to be afraid again filled her mind.
He waited until she’d drunk as much as she wanted, then laying her down gently, he asked, “How do you feel now?”
“Like my body is a two-ton weight,” she replied honestly, the struggle to shift herself continuing to require tremendous effort.
“That, too, is natural. I’ll bring you some soup.”
She noted that he spoke to her in an efficient, factual manner, politely but with no emotion. Friend or foe? She could not be sure. Whichever he was, he wasn’t worried about her escaping, she noted. He left her free of bonds when he exited the room.
Long ago she’d vowed that she would not passively accept whatever fate life dealt her. Determined to regain her strength and coordination so that if she must fight for her freedom she would at least have a chance, she forced herself into a sitting position, her legs dangling off the side of the bed. The movement helped. Her body felt a little less leaden.
Still, her neck remained so weak, her head drooped downward until her chin rested on her chest. Drawing in a deep breath, she grimaced at the whiff of body odor. She needed a bath. Even more importantly, nature was again calling. Easing herself off the bed, she stood beside it. Her legs felt rubbery. When she tried to walk, she tottered and was forced to grab hold of one of the rear posters for support. “Rats!” she cursed in frustration. “And mice! And snakes!”
Lance was pouring the soup into a pan when he heard her. He raced back to the bedroom, fear for her jolting him as he entered. She was pale as a sheet and looked as if she was going to fall any second. “You’re not strong enough to walk around on your own yet,” he barked, reaching her in long strides.
“That part I figured out,” she returned curtly.
“You need to lie back down.” He tried to loosen her grasp on the bedpost so that he could get her back on the bed.
Victoria refused to budge. “What I need is to use the facilities.”
“You have spunk. Most people in your condition, both men and women, would still be lying flat on the bed and yelling for help.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “All right. Let go of the post and I’ll take you there.”
Acutely aware of his arm across her back and his hand holding her at the waist, she released her hold. His touch had a curiously invigorating effect as if she was gathering strength from him. When he placed his other hand in front of her, offering it for further support, she took hold and began to move forward, out of the room. For someone so strong, he was incredibly gentle. And she thought she’d seen real concern in his eyes when he’d come bursting into the room.
Straightening a little to maintain her balance, she glimpsed his gun and a chill of fear curled through her. Don’t be too quick to trust him, her inner voice cautioned. He could simply be under orders to see that you’re not injured for the time being.
“You said something about mice and snakes? Did you see any?”
Realizing he was worried that she was hallucinating, Victoria smiled dryly. “No. My parents never allowed my sister and I to use profanity, so when we would feel the need to curse we would name things we found disgusting.”
They had reached the bathroom, and Victoria released her hold on him and took hold of the door-jamb. “I can take care of myself from here.”
He regarded her doubtfully.
She glared up at him. “I insist.”
Carefully, he freed her.
Using the wall for balance, Victoria entered the bathroom and closed the door, but instead of reveling in her privacy, she found herself missing her host’s support. With her forehead pressed against the wall for stability, she unfastened her pants, pushed them and her panties down, then sat. The drugs were definitely wearing off. Her movements, although still sluggish, were more coordinated.
With her elbows on her knees, she rested her head in her hands. Memories of her incarceration in the cabin flooded over her. Being escorted by her current host had been a great deal different than being escorted by The Whisperer. The Whisperer’s touch had left her feeling groped and unclean.
Her gaze turned to the tub. The need to wash off The Whisperer’s touch overwhelmed her.
“Are you all right?” the man asked through the door.
“I’m fine. I’m going to bathe.”
“I don’t think you’re steady enough yet.”
“I’m going to bathe,” she returned, her voice holding no compromise.
His
