Page 32 of Burning for You

Caro

It’s a full house at Miller Hall where the East Coast Flying Doctors’ annual gala dinner takes place. I no longer volunteer with them, but when it comes to fundraising, nine out of ten times I am the organizer. Tonight I’ve arranged for guests to enjoy fifteen Kaiseki-inspired dishes, all with distinct flavors—from Tokyo to Seoul—served so artistically you feel guilty putting them in your mouth.

“You look different tonight.” Suzanne Tenant, the CEO, catches me as I move from table to table, checking that everyone is taken care of. She then whispers, “Either you’ve just had Botox or you’re pregnant.”

How about getting the best orgasm ever, thanks to a man named Bryan Towel?

“Neither!” I say and give her a little pout.

“Well, speech time, my dear.”

With a spring in my step, I walk up to the podium. It’s easy to smile when you know your audience will like what you’re going to say, and that they’ve been well fed. Whether it’s for a neighborhood hockey club or for a national charity, good food always means good fundraising.

After doing the usual thank-yous, I proceed with announcing the organization’s achievements this year and our plans to go international to support the Flying Doctors of America.

I pause, distracted by a man lumbering along the left side of the room.

Do I know him?

He looks like an enlarged version of someone I know.

I smile at the waiting audience after the guy has disappeared through the side door. “Tonight, ladies and gents, we’ve raised—”

The room goes black.

My chest dampens as sinister energy crawls up the back of my neck. My throat hollows, ready to give way to a scream.

But a hand gags me as I’m hauled to the back room, and further.

I don’t know where I am now. The space is lit only by a green Exit light coming from about fifty yards away.

“You sound so noble, Miss Meyer.” A man’s voice. He’s behind me, and he stinks like burned plastic, probably meth. Something tells me this is the man who distracted me earlier. “Do they know you’re destroying lives in Montana? Your retribution starts now!”

My fear triples—for the dark, for the man, and for his threat.

It’s my mouth he’s covering, but I’m desperate to see past the blackness around me.

Someone please take me out of this nightmare.

But no one else is here.

Unable to deal with the situation, my systems shut down, and I’m passing out.

Until I smell another presence.

Sunday morning.

“Let her go!”

That’s enough to keep me upstanding and alert.

Now I know the man holding me is an enlarged version of Bryan. And the visitor who has just joined us, I’m sure, is the man whom I wanked over barely hours ago.

My captor growls, “We’ll—”

“Just shut up and let her go!”

The grip on me eases, and then the big man releases me completely.

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