Page 17 of Abducted

“But how are we going to find out who did this if we don’t talk to the police?”

He leaned forward. Ah, such a fresh, naïve perspective. If she only knew how flawed the justice system was. Police, judges, politicians, almost anyone could be bought. He had no idea the lengths to which whoever was behind this had gone.

“I have connections with the FBI. A friend of mine knows what has been going on and is expecting a call from me today. Other than him and another colleague, I don’t trust anyone. Police included.”

Her eyes grew wide. The tip of her small pink tongue jutted out to lick her lips. A groan lodged in his throat. Fuck, she was torturing him, and she had no idea.

“What did you mean by ‘if whoever is behind it gets wind that I’m safe’? Once my family knows I’m gone, they’ll report me missing,” Her brow furrowed.

“Yes, but the person who hired me wants you dead, not missing. It was supposed to be a clean kill.” Her lips parted, and her breath sucked in. He cleared his throat. Shit, his words were pretty insensitive.

“Last night, I told Stamos you put up a fight and I thought it was best to complete the job elsewhere.” He left out that Stamos had been pissed that he’d deviated from the plan. Stamos would have to wait to be paid until her body was found and his contact had confirmation of her death.

A low, grumbling sound made him frown at her. “Was that your stomach?”

Her shoulders shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I’m hungry. What time is it?” He flipped his wrist to check his watch. “It’s after one in the afternoon, so you must be starving. Want me to make you a sandwich?”

She shook her head and unfolded her legs from the chair. “No, I can do it myself.” She got to her feet. The large sweatpants she wore slid down her hips. Not far, but far enough for her to gasp and yank them back up.

He chuckled. “You can lose the pants if you want. I’m pretty sure this sweatshirt”—he tugged at the excess material—“covers more of you than the towel.”

She slapped his hand away. Her brow creased with annoyance. “Bite me.” His insides warmed. The image of her laid out, naked, for him to bite wherever he wanted, seared into his brain. “Be careful what you ask for.” Her eyes flew to his. The heat had changed. Her temper had vanished, but desire, hot and ready, flashed across her face and then disappeared. He was going to need a vow of celibacy to get through the next few days.

Better yet, a cold shower. His voice was gruff and a little more clipped than he intended, when he said, “Everything is in the fridge. I’m going to shower and then make a call.”

CHAPTER 10

You don’t belongin my world.

What kind of lame rejection was that?

Okay, so his reasoning wasn’t lame. It was realistic. Lana’s hands shook as she searched the cupboards for plates. He shouldn’t have this effect on her. All it took was one suggestive look from him and her stomach tied up in knots. He’d seen her attraction, read her like a damn open book. And he had a lot of nerve pointing it out.

Her stir of interest in him unnerved her. But it wasn’t attraction, just hormones and adrenaline. He would be out of her life in a day or two when all this was over, and she would never hear from him again.

Besides, men sucked. Her last boyfriend had been back in college. And although now, at twenty-six, there had been many other possible suitors, none had sparked her interest.

Except Cal.

What was wrong with her? Was she craving a walk on the wild side or something? Intrigued and allured by his dangerous and sexy disposition? Probably. It had been almost three years since she’d last had sex. That would muddle anyone’s judgment. The fact that someone wanted to kill her was messing with her mind too. Dread bubbled in her stomach like bile. Fixing food kept her hands and mind busy. Not busy enough, though. Her mind raced, trying to piece together something—anything. A reason, a motive, an enemy…but she had nothing.

Being in the spotlight had its curse. People were envious of the rich and famous, sometimes enough to do drastic things. She stayed active in the community and raised money for numerous causes. Her platform, ironically, was battered women and children.

Aside from that, she worked. She wasn’t just a socialite who shopped all day and dressed like a Barbie doll. She put in full-time hours and then some at her dad’s office. He’d always insisted she be well educated and work hard. It didn’t have to be in his business, but that was where she’d found her fit.

It was challenging, being a billionaire’s daughter. People treated her differently everywhere she went—at work and in her personal life. How in the world was she supposed to single out one individual who would have a reason to want to kill her?

She pulled open the refrigerator. Avocado, alfalfa sprouts, spinach, tomato, cheese, and lettuce.

Huh.

Not what she had expected. The sugar fiend did eat well. She took everything out, including the package of lunch meat and condiments, and began to fix a sandwich. The water still ran in the bathroom. Surely he was just as hungry. She took out another plate and a couple extra pieces of bread to fix him one too.

The pipes rattled in the wall. He’d shut off the water. A lump lodged in her throat.

Lord, please don’t let him come out in a towel…

The mental image of those rock-hard muscles moist and wet made her mouth salivate.

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