Page 142 of Tapped

The car makes two more hard turns. My body crashes into the back of the trunk when the car hits the brakes.

I reach up and touch my temple where a bump is forming. The engine revs once more before the car finally comes to a stop, and the engine flips off.

The sudden silence makes my skin crawl.

All of a sudden I hate myself for wearing such a tight-fitting dress.

I loved it this morning when Micah looked at me like he wanted nothing more than to rip it off me before I left for work.

And at lunch when he actually described in detail how he planned to rip it off me tonight.

But, at this moment, I hate it.

The driver might’ve smashed my cell against the wall, but I held onto my Mary Poppins-esque tote bag with a death grip when he threw me into the trunk. My fate depended on it.

Despite how badly my head throbs, the first thing I did when they slammed the trunk closed on me was unearth my other cell from my tote.

I do not mix work and pleasure. I keep my patients, their records, and communication separate from my personal life. I might not keep a pager like some old-school surgeons, but my work phone is always on me.

I didn’t even mess with dialing 9-1-1.

I went straight for the emergency buttons. I was so afraid to utter a word, that I whispered my name and what happened. Then I left the phone on and stuffed it into my bra under my arm.

I was on the phone with Micah when the car came barreling at me. Those little words that have been playing on the tip of my tongue for far too long slipped out sooner than I wanted. I feel needy enough when it comes to him. There are some things that can wait until the time is right.

The time was definitely not right. Professing your love for someone for the first time in passing over the phone with abutafter it is not ideal.

I’m so damn awkward.

But at least I was on the phone with him. He has to know something is wrong. And as long as I can keep my cell on me, the police might be able to trace my location.

It sounds like a heavy, metal garage door rolls shut and slams to the ground. I’m pressed to the back of the trunk when light floods the dingy space.

“There she is.” All I see is Teddy Koening’s evil expression. He didn’t even try to hide his face in the parking garage, and there are cameras everywhere. Even if he were an idiot to not think every public space is being surveilled these days, signs are posted everywhere. I’m confident the whole thing was caught on camera.

I’m counting on it.

I say nothing but stare up at him and another man I don’t recognize.

Teddy puts a hand to his chin and rubs his stubble. “My entire organization went to shit last month. I didn’t know how it happened … until today. Get out of the trunk.”

As much as I want to be anywhere but right here, I shake my head. I’m not sure I could climb out of here if I wanted to.

Teddy lifts his chin but never looks away from me. “Get her out.”

The other man reaches in and clenches my bare arm in his fist. I scream in pain as he drags me from the trunk.

I barely break my fall with my other arm while doing everything I can to keep my cell planted in my bra where it needs to stay. I’m on the gritty ground at their feet.

“Get up. If we have to move you, you won’t like it,” Teddy growls.

I look up into his light brown eyes and pale skin. He drags a hand through his greasy hair before he crosses his arms.

I’ll do anything to keep him from touching me, so I scramble to my bare feet, and get a good look around for the first time.

It’s a warehouse—big enough to house four trucks on one side and a cigarette boat parked on a trailer on the other.

I turn to the two men, back up as far as I can before I run into a folding table, and stutter to a stop. I have no idea what to say, but I can’t let Teddy know that I recognize him. “Who are you?”

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