Page 9 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

He makes sure I’m stable, then steps back into the bathroom and closes the door. The lock clicks. Guess it’s my turn to sit on the floor and wait.

A wave of exhaustion hits me as I slide down the wall. Being abducted sure sucks the energy out of a person. I’d like to distract myself by dragging the chain to my side of the door, but the way my body is crashing tells me that a petty game of tug-o-war would not be wise. Too bad.

I fiddle with the bit of chain on my side and try to stay awake. I can hear Stryker moving around in the bathroom. The sink turning on and off, the cabinet opening and closing. Wow, there is no sound barrierat allbetween here and there. I’m glad I turned the shower on.

As I’m thinking it, the sink turns on and doesn’t turn back off. Stryker must also be a nervous bathroom goer. I scoff at the thought, then smile. Funny trait in a man. I’ve never known one to be shy like that.

Funny trait in a criminal, too.

I chuckle, leaning my head against the wall.

A shy criminal. Who would’ve thought?

Chapter Three

The rattle of metal on metal as Stryker opens the bathroom door pulls me out of what is most certainly not a doze.

I wouldn’t be snoozing when my life is in danger, obviously. That would be foolish.

I open my eyes wide. I am no fool.

“You’ve got some drool right…” He points to the corner of my mouth. “There.”

I swipe at my face to get rid of any alleged drool. He coughs. Hmm. That cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. I glare at him.

He grins, then moves further into the room, stepping around the bed.

I watch in confusion as he picks up the sad pile of bedding on the cot. He sets it on the bed, then grabs the fitted sheet off the top and shakes it open. He puts it on the cot with ease, elastic edges snapping around metal corners. Next, he shoves the pillow into a pillowcase, tossing it onto the cot as well. He grabs the blanket last and unfolds it while he speaks to me.

“I’ll give you a tour of the place tomorrow and introduce you to my assistant. You can tell her if there’s anything you need that isn’t here. It should be well-stocked, but if you need a different brand of anything or if we forgot somethin’, you’ll need to let Heidi or me know,” he says.

He has an assistant? One who would be okay with him abducting a woman? What kind of nuthouse have I been sucked into?

“I didn’t know that criminals had assistants,” I comment.

“Told you, not a criminal,” he answers. I roll my eyes.

“What would you need an assistant for anyway? ’Hilda, schedule that bank robbery for Thursday and push kicking puppies back an hour. I’ve got old people to swindle.’” I mean, comeon.

“Her name’s Heidi, and she does a very good job of handling my day-to-day,” he responds. Oh cool, another non-answer. Time to try a more direct approach.

“Your day-to-day doingwhat?” I ask. He spreads the blanket out over the cot with a flick of his wrists, then turns to face me.

For a minute, all he does is stare, unmoving. I spend that time looking everywhere except for his face. My, what fine wrists you have. And look at that – a shoulder. How fascinating.

I bite the inside of my cheeks. It takes everything in me not to fill the silence, but I want an answer to my question, so I keep my mouth firmly shut. I want to know what sort of man I’m standing in front of and what “work” I’ve been “interfering” with that would lead him to thinkabductingme is a feasible solution.

“Look at me,” he says. I find that odd considering Iamlooking at him. His ears are very nice – not too pointy, not too round, don’t stick out too much. Truly wonderful ears. Top of their class.

“My eyes,” he clarifies. Ha! No. No, sir, I will not.

Stryker sighs. It’s a resigned sound, and I feel a moment of victory before he says, solemn as could be, “I’m an assassin.”

I blink. An assassin?

I can’t help myself. I laugh – huge belly laughs. I wheeze. I snort. I fold myself in half and cackle until I runout of noise and can no longer get air into my lungs. By the time I pull myself together, my cheeks are sore, and I’m panting for breath. I put my hands on my knees to prop myself up and smile at the man across the room.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t laugh like that. It’s insensitive of me.” I give him my best disarming smile. It’s the same one I give to sweet Granny Gertrude at the diner when she’s frustrated I haven’t served her the burger she ordered… fifty years ago.

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