Page 11 of Love Undercover
This is whereI’mgoing to die.
Her eyes flashed to the surrounding darkness, and she could just make out the skeletal arms of an encroaching forest that surrounded the cabin. Who knew how deep and dark and remote those woods were? She swallowed as he urged her up the steps.
The third step up the porch was where her toe caught, and she started to fall. He yanked her upright before she did more damage than the stubbed toe that had her hissing in pain and limping up to the front door.
“You all right?” he asked.
She wanted to ignore him and his gruff manner, though she heard genuine concern in his voice. Which felt incongruent to the situation.
“Fine,” she ground out.
The sound of his keys jangling sent a shiver up her spine, a reminder that she’d let that sound lull her into a false sense of security earlier, which was how she’d ended up in his trunk.
His gaze slid to her as she leaned away from him, the green catching a beam from the porch light, giving his eyes a horrific, otherworldly glow.
Was it an omen, a premonition of things to come? “Oh, crackers, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she breathed.
He huffed, the sound bordering on a laugh. “Sure. Planning to kill you right after I saved your life.”
Seeing little point in hiding her thoughts about the situation, she muttered, “This is a serial killer house if I’ve ever seen one.”
He snorted and pushed the door open, then nudged her forward and flipped a light on.
Her expectation of a dim, creepy torture chamber was met with open-mouthed shock as she took in the contents of the cabin. This was no hideout for a criminal on the run. This was someone’s home. And it was cozy. Bright. Airy. Sparse as far as personal touches went. But homey in a modern kind of way.
“I imagine you need to use the restroom,” he said, urging her forward.
Her bladder flexed in response. “Yes.”
He steered her toward an open door off to their right. It was set in the wall next to a row of other doors, and she tried peering inside the rooms as he guided her toward the bathroom, but they were too dark for her to see much.
She spun to look at Chase, not realizing how close behind he was, and they collided. She stumbled back a step. He didn’t, but his lids lowered to half-mast.
Heat poured into her face, though she tried to convince herself it was stupid to be embarrassed to ask for free hands to be able to pee.
She didn’t need to ask, though. He pulled her into him again, eliciting a surprised gasp from her, and cut the zip tie before she even had the chance. Feeling cascaded back into her fingers, and she clenched her teeth against the discomfort.
It took half a second too long for her to realize she could step away from him, a little flutter in her stomach temporarily shutting down brain function. She was distracted by the ache in her shoulders, the pins and needles in her hands. Or so she told herself. It might’ve also been the muscles straining against his t-shirt.
Her eyes shot wider.Stop thinking about the muscles.
“Thank you,” she murmured, rubbing at her shoulders in turn, trying to loosen the soreness.
He dipped his head once as he stepped back, reaching forward to close the door for her.
4
Not Given, Earned
Chase’s whole life flashed before his eyes because this. . . this was definitely going to kill him.
The toilet flushed, the water ran, and he knew he’d schooled his features before she opened the door, but it didn’t mean he was anywhere near in control of anything. Not his thoughts, not his body, not this damn situation.
Not for the first time—nor likely the last—he thought about how much of a mess he’d gotten himself into. But it wasn’t like he could have left her to the wolves.
There was no doubt those wolves would have devoured her. She might not have been useful to any of them—she didn’t appear to have any obvious information about Greg Calloway or his whereabouts—but it didn’t matter. Calloway had put her in the crosshairs, regardless. Going to her apartment as often as he did had drawn a big fat target on her back, making everyone believe she knew something she probably didn’t.
Even though those goons were Zimmerman’s other guys, there was no love lost between Chase and Santiago, and there was no way he could’ve thwarted whatever Santiago might have wanted to do. They’d both started as muscle, but Chase had moved up in rank because of his skills with the financial side of the money laundering operation. And Santiago, who’d been with the crime lord for a lot longer, didn’t like it. He wouldn’t have spared Sadie much thought. He might have drugged her, taken her somewhere dark and unclean. He pictured Santiago’s dimwitted sidekick’s lascivious stares and roving hands and felt a stab of rage lance through him.
