Lone Rider Read online

  The cut on her forehead didn’t look as severe now that it was clean. He knew it would sting like hell later. At least it didn’t require stitches, which he wouldn’t have hesitated to administer and which wouldn’t have endeared him any further.

  And right now he needed to endear himself. Reassure and draw her out. Like it or not, he was stuck with her.

  He thought over the plan he’d formulated. His part would be easy. He needed to gain Tess’ trust and sympathy as quickly as possible, through whatever means necessary. Brainwashing. Emotional blackmail. Even seduction.

  She was vulnerable right now. He had to push that advantage. Hard and fast. He needed to establish unequivocally their roles as captor and hostage and initiate transference.

  He hated to use textbook head games to control her, but he had little choice at this point. Once transference was established, once he managed to brainwash her, as Patty Hearst’s captors had, Tess would become an ally, a very strong one. Normally the process took weeks. He had days, hours. Which meant he would be pushing every button at his disposal.

  There had been a strong physical attraction between them when they’d first met. He needed to purposely cultivate and exploit that. If it wasn’t already too late. She had every reason to detest him. But whether she liked it or not, cooperated or not, his agenda would prevail.

  He shook his head. He needed some sleep. He’d been awake over thirty-six hours and was starting to feel punchy.

  Kneeling beside the couch, he bent over her. He brushed his fingers lightly against her neck, finding her pulse steady. “Tess, wake up.”

  Her eyes fluttered open with a sharp intake of breath. He nudged her chin up, carefully noting the reaction of her pupils. In spite of the drug still in her system, they contracted slightly in response to the light. A good sign. Though semidilated, her eyes were surprisingly focused. And filled with anguish.

  “Dallas.”

  It wasn’t a question. He knew by the look on her face that she remembered where she was and how she’d gotten there. Another positive sign. She’d undergone a fair amount of trauma, and her head injury still concerned him.

  She struggled to sit up, accepting his help briefly before pulling away.

  Dallas squatted in front of her. “How are you feeling?”

  She didn’t answer right away. The events of the night spilled into her mind. “I’ve got a splitting headache. Which isn’t bad given the circumstances. I suppose I should feel glad to be alive.”

  He ignored the jibe and held up two fingers. “How many?”

  It took Tess a moment to realize he was concerned about her head, not testing her math ability. It was tempting to lie. If she said four, could she convince him she needed medical help?

  Then she thought about Bogen’s threat to take her back if she caused any problems. She wasn’t eager to test the man. And end up in the bottom of the lake beside Matt Michaels.

  “Two fingers,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve got a concussion.”

  Nodding, Dallas offered her a glass of water. She started to refuse, but caught the slight negative shake of his head.

  “Refusing only makes you more miserable.”

  She hated that he was right. Her tongue felt parched, and her throat hurt. She took the glass, carefully avoiding his touch, and found the water sweet and cool.

  He watched her, quietly. And instead of looking away she met his eyes, searching the silvery depths, wishing she could see inside and know him, truly know him. His motives, his intentions. Who he was.

  He seemed different from Bogen and Snake. But was that because she needed to believe he was different? Because she sorely needed a ray of hope?

  In a world gone crazy he was suddenly the only constant. The only thing familiar.

  What she saw in his eyes reassured her. Regret, concern, and compassion. Emotions lacking in Snake and Bogen. While Dallas was guilty of criminal acts, she didn’t believe his crimes included murder. Which relieved her, but didn’t let him off the hook.

  She glanced away, struggling to get her bearings. She remembered Dallas freeing her from the pantry, knew he’d carried her through some woods to this cabin. She remembered glimpsing a small log structure that had seen better days. The front porch sagged, and honeysuckle vines covered one whole side where nature fought to reclaim it.

  Tess looked around the interior, finding it small, but in better shape then she had expected. The wide plank floor, though worn and uneven, was clean. She sat on an ancient avocado-colored couch. A matching chair sat off to the right, facing an oversize stone fireplace. Banked flames crackled from behind the wire screen, the only source of heat.

  A small table and chairs took up another corner with a spartan kitchen tucked in an alcove. Two doors punctuated the wall on the opposite side of the room.

  “Bathroom’s on the left. Bedroom on the right.” Dallas pointed to the doors.

  She recalled how filthy the bathroom at Bogen’s had been and decided she’d postpone going as long as she could.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “My cabin.”

  “Who else stays here?”

  “No one. Bogen has the main house. The rest of us have cabins around the perimeter of the woods.”

  It sounded like a potentially large encampment, she thought, her mind already scanning for escape routes. But if there were woods nearby, she’d have plenty of hiding places.

  “How many cabins like this are there?” The more she knew about the layout the better.

  “Twenty. It was a Cub Scout camp back in the sixties,” he said.

  The irony hit her. Cub Scouts. And Bogen was the den mother from hell.

  “How many acres?” she pressed.

  Dallas took the glass from her and stood. “The compound is huge, Tess. There’s only one road in, and it’s guarded. If you’re thinking of making a run for it, I’d advise against it.”

  “Then can I have my own cabin?”

  Dallas chortled at her audacity. “With or without room service?”

  “Either.”

  He moved to the chair and began yanking off his boots. “Consider this home for now. Granted, it’s not the Marsh Suite in New York, but it’s got the basics, and it’s private.”

  Tess’ mouth opened. He knew her identity!

  She thought back, remembering that he’d strapped both her backpack and duffel bag to his motorcycle. He had no doubt gone through her things and made the connection. Possibly even read her letters.

  Maybe he planned to ransom her. She leaned forward. “My father will pay well for my safe return. My fiancé--”

  “You and your fiancé broke up two months ago, much to your mother’s chagrin.”

  “You--”

  Dallas cut her off. “Look, Bogen doesn’t do ransom notes. In fact you’d be wise to keep your identity a secret. It could backfire on you.”

  Dallas had searched her bag, burning her identification and the letters from her mother -- after reading them. Though he hadn’t made the connection right off, he’d done so after searching her wallet. He knew the Marsh reputation, was familiar with their elite social status, the hotels and department stores that bore their name. Hell, Tess had been a news story at age ten when her parents fought a bitter custody battle in a very ugly, very public, divorce.

  If Bogen got wind of her pedigree, he’d order her dumped. High-dollar names like Marsh attracted too much media attention. Bogen was already nervous.

  “So what do you intend to do with me? Kill me?” Tess fought to keep her emotions under wrap.

  “I told you before I wouldn’t hurt you, Tess. You’re safe with me.”

  “My family will miss me. They’ll start a search.”

  “They won’t find you. Besides, I doubt anyone misses you at this point. You were scheduled to be gone a couple more weeks.”

  Tess looked away, not wanting him to see that he was probably right. Like a fool she had told him her plans
for the summer. Plus he’d read her mother’s letters. “They’ll still expect me to call.”

  Dallas tugged off his socks. “We’ll talk later.”

  Tess shot up from the couch. A wave of dizziness caught her off guard. Her steps faltered. She closed her eyes. If she got sick, she’d be mortified.

  “You’re not feeling well.” Dallas closed the small distance between them and pulled her into his arms.

  She pushed at his chest, finding it solid. “Let me go!”

  “And let you fall flat on your face? How long have you been dizzy?”

  “Just that once. Don’t worry, I’m not going to faint.”

  Dallas drew her closer, knowing she didn’t want that, yet knowing he needed to establish who was in charge. “Is it so hard to believe I’m concerned? Or have you already written me off with Snake and Bogen?”

  She tried to wriggle free. It was difficult to reconcile his soft-spoken worry with her image of him as a ruthless kidnapper. And being held close to his broad chest, so intimately, proved even more disconcerting. Her head hurt terribly, and her thoughts felt fuzzy. A heavy ripple of fatigue washed through her once more. She fought it.

  “You still need more sleep,” he said. “So do I. It’s been a long night.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Yes you are. You’re running on pure nerves and fighting the effects of the tranquilizer. When that bottoms out you’ll collapse. Is that what you want?”

  Tess didn’t reply.

  He abruptly released her. “I’d been driving twelve hours straight before I came across you, and hadn’t had any sleep before that. We both need some shut-eye.”

  Tess backed away slowly. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “You’re sleeping in the bedroom, with me. And if you’re concerned I have a hidden agenda, you can rest easy. Whether you choose to believe me or not is your prerogative.”

  He moved toward her, hand outstretched.

  “Go to hell!” With the last of her energy, Tess headed for the front door. Only to find it locked.

  She turned, dismayed to find Dallas right behind her. When he charged, she feinted left, but in the small confines of the cabin, he only had to take a few steps to catch her. Slinging her over his shoulder, he headed to the bedroom.

  “Put me down!”

  She bucked wildly, but he merely tightened his grip around her knees, cutting off movement. She pummeled at his back, hurting her hand.

  He kicked the bedroom door closed with his heel and walked directly to the bed.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Your choice.”

  “I hate you,” she hissed, renewing her attack. “Let me go!”

  “The hard way it is.” Dallas dumped her on the bed, rolling her onto her stomach and pinning her in place with a knee in her back.

  The air whooshed from her lungs, startling her. It took a few moments for the bed to stop spinning. She heard the drawer of the bedside table slide open. She tried to squirm free but he captured first one hand, then the other, easily pulling both arms over her head. She felt cold metal press against her wrist, heard the telltale snap of handcuffs. As soon as her wrists were secure, Dallas lifted his weight from her.

  She stared at her hands in horror. He’d chained her to the bed frame! She tugged uselessly at the restraints. The bed had an old iron-spindle headboard and footboard. Solid as a rock. She rolled onto her side, watching him warily.

  Ignoring her, Dallas moved to the opposite side of the bed peeling off his T-shirt as he walked, revealing a wide-shouldered physique. A three-inch scar ran across his ribs. His skin was nut brown, as if he spent a lot of time outside, shirtless. A well-worn, gold, Saint Christopher medal hung around his neck, coming to rest in the hollow of his breastbone, right between his flat nipples.

  She caught a glimpse of a tattoo as he raised his arms over his head. The small but elaborate Celtic cross was imprinted on the inside of his upper arm, making it invisible when his arms were lowered.

  Emptying his pockets, he unfastened his belt, then tugged it free. As she watched, his hands loosened the top button of his jeans, then paused. She stared.

  Until he winked.

  Embarrassed, she quickly turned her head, closed her eyes. She heard the zipper rasp down, heard the soft thud of denim hit the floor.

  The reality of the situation suddenly seemed suffocating. Would Dallas force himself on her?

  She trembled by the time the bed dipped with the weight of his body, struck mute with fear. She felt helpless, weak. Horrified. God, this couldn’t be happening!

  She held her breath waiting to feel his hands grab her.

  Waiting...

  Waiting...

  And eventually had to take another breath.

  She opened one eye, expecting to find him leering over her. He wasn’t.

  Cautiously she turned her head. Wearing only a pair of white briefs, Dallas stretched out beside her, eyes shut. His thick dark hair, freed from the ponytail, was even longer than she’d realized. She could see lines of weariness etched on the side of his face. The chain on the handcuffs jangled as she relaxed her arms a fraction.

  Dallas’ eyes opened. She tensed once again expecting the worst.

  Rolling onto his side, facing her, he propped his head on one elbow and looked pointedly at the handcuffs. “I know they’re not comfortable, but you should be able to find a decent position for sleep if you slide up on the pillow a little and bend your arms.”

  “You certainly know all the ins and outs, don’t you? How many women before me have been handcuffed to this bed?”

  “The others asked to be.”

  Instantly he regretted the sharp retort. He knew her biggest concern. Rape. It was written all over her face in spite of her barbed words.

  Not that he didn’t want her. Christ, she was lovelier than any woman he’d ever met. And sexy as hell in a naive sort of fashion. Her response to his kiss had seemed downright innocent. Which intrigued him. But her fear of him was as effective as a cold shower.

  He purposely lowered his voice. “You can relax, Tess. If it means anything, I’ve never made love to a woman who didn’t want me to. And I don’t intend to change now.” He grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed. She shook her head at his offer to cover her. “Suit yourself,” he said.

  Turning his back to her, he moved to the opposite side of the bed leaving a good two feet of space between them. He wanted her to know she was safe, in that regard, with him. He also didn’t want to alarm her with the erection he knew would happen if he kept looking at her.

  Tension drained from Tess like air from a balloon, leaving her depleted. Relieved.

  Exhausted.

  She stole another glance at his back. He hadn’t moved.

  Did she trust him? Oddly enough she wanted to. It was his damn eyes again. How convenient to be a criminal with honest eyes.

  She relaxed slightly, stretching her legs. Her own eyes felt scratchy, tired. The remnants of the tranquilizer suddenly seemed to conspire against her.

  Following Dallas’ cue, Tess rolled away, drawing her knees up slightly. The digital clock beside the bed read 8:00 a.m.. An early riser, she’d normally have been up four hours by now.

  A yawn escaped her, followed by another. The last thing she wanted to do was sleep. She needed to concentrate on planning her escape.

  * * *

  Tess snuggled deeper beneath the blankets, tucking her nose under the sheet to scratch it. Groggy, she looked at the clock. It read 4:17. In the afternoon? The hand cupping her breast twitched, squeezing lightly, then relaxing.

  Immediately her eyes widened with recall. She’d been on top of the blankets -- handcuffed -- when she’d fallen asleep. When had that changed?

  She moved experimentally, confirming that her hands were indeed free and discovering yet another shocking surprise. She didn’t have any pants on! Underwear, yes. Jeans, no. And her jewelry ha
d disappeared.

  A gentle snoring sounded in her ears. Dallas!

  They were curled together, under the blanket, spoon fashion, her rear end fitted tightly against his groin and held firmly in place by a well-muscled leg cast over hers. His arm was slung over her, too, his hand anchored squarely between her breasts.

  Sometime during the night -- no day -- he must have unfastened the handcuffs. And removed her jeans. And she hadn’t even noticed! What else had he done?

  She inventoried her body parts. She didn’t feel violated. Surely she wouldn’t have slept through that.

  The drug! Though she felt fine now, she’d no doubt still been under its effects earlier.

  Hardly daring to breathe, she debated her next move. Judging by the pattern of his breathing, she knew he slept. The question was, how deeply?

  She must have been totally out of it for him to undress her and put her beneath the covers without her knowledge. But now he seemed deeply asleep himself. Could she slip out of bed, out of the cabin, while he slept?

  As if warning against it, he clutched her closer, pressing himself directly against her buttocks, making her acutely aware of just how thin cotton underwear was. And how thick he was. She quickly thrust the sensation from her mind. She had to stay focused.

  She eyed the door, mentally gauging the distance. Slipping out of bed wouldn’t be easy. But she had to try.

  Very slowly, very carefully, she tentatively eased her shoulder away from him. His breathing didn’t change.

  She waited a few seconds, then inched her butt forward. He reacted swiftly to that move, pulling her beneath him in a smooth roll and settling himself intimately between her legs.

  She felt smothered, completely covered by his long body. His warm breath tickled her ear, followed by a soft snore. So much for her idea of getting out of bed. For now she’d be satisfied with getting out from under.

  Chewing her lip, she debated waking him. How would he react? Would he try to take advantage of the situation?

  Unbidden, thoughts of kissing him sprang to mind. Tess had done her share of dating and experimenting -- mostly in college -- but half of the guys she met left her cold. The other half were candidates her mother introduced. All were enamored by her family’s wealth.