Page 81 of Love Me Knot

After a few unsteady steps, I freeze when my front door swings in, and a man I don’t know waltzes into my home. I try to focus on the two images of him I see, but he’s blurry.

I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. The doubled man rushes toward me, grabbing my hands and shoving them into a bag. I can’t fight him off. I can’t do anything. My wrists are bound together, and the man half walks and half carries me outside, all without a word.

Despite the rough ride, my eyes drift open and closed as I fight to stay awake. I lose the battle shortly after being stuffed into a trunk.

Jackson

Since it’s not too late, I call Caleb when I get in my truck. “Dad. Thank God,” he answers, sounding relieved.

“Sorry I was in such a rush earlier.”

“Yeah. What was up with that? You were pretty freaked out. I didn’t even get to hear how your date went.”

Thinking of Chelsea brings a smile to my face, however brief. “The date went great. As for the rest of it, I can’t say anything. You know how my job is.”

“I guess I do. But you’re not in Hell-hole-a-bad, so I assume things aren’t too serious.”

“Um…they are but will hopefully be fine tomorrow. Since you’ve got class in the morning, I’ll come get Captain tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it. My morning class isn’t meeting tomorrow. We’re doing an online assignment because the professor is out of the country. I’ll take Captain home before my one o’clock.”

“That sounds good. I’ll go home and crash.”

An hour later, I’m sitting on the sofa in the quiet living room with my phone in my hand. I can’t stop thinking about Chelsea. I’m tempted to call or at least message. The only thing stopping me is wondering if that would be breaking Knot’s rule.

I unlock the device, but before I get to Chelsea’s contact page, my living room fills with light from the car that just pulled into my drive. I draw my Sig and rush to the door. My scowl morphs into a grin when the lights turn off, and I see Chelsea’s car in my driveway.

My gun gets tucked away, and I fling the door open. I’m halfway down the walkway when I question why Chelsea hasn’t gotten out. I realize my mistake too late.

A gun barrel peeks out from behind the driver-side mirror. Fuck. Knowing I don’t have a prayer, I still dive as the gun fires.

Chelsea

My shoulder aches from bouncing around on the hard trunk floor. I’m conscious enough to know I’m trapped in my own car. Unfortunately, my hands are of no use. I’m wrapped like a mummy from shoulder to wrist with my arms secured at my sides.

The method is overkill in keeping me from using my hands. It also keeps me from injuring myself with the binds. That’s the scariest part. Someone doesn’t want it to look like I was kidnapped.

When the car comes to a stop, I’m utterly clueless as to how far or the direction we traveled. I wouldn’t have to guess if I were wearing my Knot Corp. watch. I could check the built in GPS. Stupid me took it off and put it in my purse, wearing a dainty new bracelet to dinner instead. Shit.

I don’t have my phone, either. My best hope is for Birdie to start searching for me when I don’t check in tomorrow. Hopefully, I won’t be dead.

The trunk lid opens, and the dark-haired stranger from my house reaches into the compartment. I feel a sting at my hip, and the darkness swallows me again.

When I wake up, I don’t know where I am. I’m tied to a chair in an unfamiliar house, the binds just as careful as in the car. As the effects of the drugs wear off, my mind clears, and my dizziness lessens enough that I swivel my head to study the house. A loud thud sounds from the next room just before the bastard kidnapper enters the dining room where I’m being held.

He doesn’t speak as he approaches, walking around the back of my chair. Grabbing the top, he turns me around and drags the chair across the floor. When he spins me around in the next room, my heart plummets. “Jackson!”

He’s unconscious, lying in a heap on the tile floor. “Jackson, wake up! What did you do to him, you bastard?!”

The man doesn’t answer, pissing me off. My next words come out screeching. “What have you done to Jackson?”

“Jesus. I should have dosed you higher.”

I focus on that angry voice, racking my brain for any prior memory of it. Coming up short, I demand, “Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?”

“I’m someone who doesn’t like parasites. You, Knot, and all the others are leeches.”

Oh God. This has to be Harding’s Pentagon contact. “If you don’t like us, you should take your complaints to the people who hire us.”

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