Page 79 of Craving

Oh, no. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. This was very, very bad.

“Wait!” she cried. “I’ve made a mess! Give me a second!”

“What?” Another thump on the door.

She wasn’t going to get out in time. He’d find her, pull her back in, and she’d be in real trouble. She had no car, no jacket, no phone. She couldn’t make it out. Couldn’t save herself.

Camilla wriggled and pushed, but her butt came up against the top of the window frame and in the last horrified moment, when she tried to pull herself forward again to salvage the situation and pretend that she hadn’t just tried to escape, Camilla felt her bruised thighs hit the edges of the window frame on the outside of the building—and stop.

Her heart pounded so hard it was all she could hear. Panic was an animal in her chest, snarling and biting and scraping. She couldn’t even hear the thump of the rattling door over her own heartbeat anymore.

Camilla paused, panting, wide-eyed…

And finally admitted the horrible truth: she was stuck halfway through the window, and in a few short moments, Frankie’s henchman would find her—and kill her.

TWENTY-FOUR

Marlon drove like the wind. His car skidded on patches of ice as he tore out of town and back to the strip mall that had given him such a bad feeling all those weeks ago.

“You’re sure?” Elton said over the car’s Bluetooth system. “You recognized him?”

“The leather jacket. The Neanderthal forehead. It’s the guy from the car when we first came to install the security system.” He pulled into the parking lot and hesitated, choosing to drive around the back of the strip mall instead of the front. He needed to figure out how many people were in the building before he went in with guns blazing. Not that he had any guns. “I know it’s him.”

He hoped so, at least. If his mind was playing tricks on him, and the face he’d seen in the recording of Camilla’s security system wasn’t the man who’d scowled at him from the passenger seat of the car, he had no idea where Camilla might be. No idea why she’d left her phone on her desk. No idea why she hadn’t even grabbed her jacket on the way out.

He’d blown through the bakery earlier, looking for clues. All he had was a hunch, a wild chance.

Ice encased his chest, and Marlon’s extremities felt cold. He had to find her. Had to bring her home. Had to make sure she was okay.

Who was that man who’d knocked on her bakery door? What hadn’t Camilla told Marlon what was going on? Why hadn’t she trusted him?

He turned the corner and saw the back of the long strip mall—and paused.

A pair of legs flailed out of a high window. One shoe was on the ground, buried in fresh snow, while the other waved around as the feet kicked.

Marlon knew those legs. He loved those legs.

“Got her,” he barked, and stepped on the gas.

“You got her?” Elton asked, voice harsh. “She’s there?”

Marlon didn’t have time to explain. He pulled up outside the window and got out, keeping the engine running. “Camilla!”

She screeched and flailed harder.

“Camilla, it’s me,” he said, not sure if she could hear.

The legs paused, suspended in the air above him. Her knees came toward the wall, toes scrabbling for purchase on the bricks.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to get you out,” he said, gentling.

The window was high, but her dangling legs were at shoulder level. He approached, talking all the while. “I’m going to pull you out,” he said. “I’m so mad at you right now, but I’m going to get you out of here and you’re going to tell me what’s going on. Okay, sweetheart? I love you so much, but I’m going to kill you once I get you home and make sure you’re okay.”

He was talking nonsense, but he couldn’t help the relief that swept through him.

But when he put his hands on her ankles, intending to pull her out, it quickly became evident that Camilla hadn’t heard a word he said. Maybe she hadn’t even known he was there—because the moment his hands touched her ankles, Camilla kicked.

Hard.

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