LITMIR.BIZ

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mouth twisted. “Actually, that was just a figure of speech. I didn’t mean to leap to any conclusions. It could be anyone.”

      No kidding. “Do you have enemies, Molly?”

      She laughed with a near-hysterical edge, but she quickly regrouped and picked up some toast. “All things considered, apparently I do.”

      He couldn’t argue that point. The more he’d thought about it, the more her theory made sense. Someone must have wanted her taken, because she wasn’t the young helpless innocent usually grabbed.

      But he wanted to hear her reasoning. “What makes you so sure you weren’t just a random grab gone awry?”

      “Besides the obvious unsuitability for the standard—being gorgeous, stacked, younger women?” A new edge showed in her demeanor, a renewed fear and anger. “I wasn’t treated the same. Not even close. They leered at the others, saw them as commodities, but they mostly just wanted to taunt me, as if they were allowed liberties with me that were forbidden against the others.”

      “The bruises on your face,” Dare remarked aloud, and he had to tamp down his anger. “A bruised woman doesn’t sell for as much.”

      She shrugged. “They never once struck the other women in the face. In fact, they might have manhandled them a little, but they didn’t hit them at all.”

      “You egged them on.” Dare couldn’t get over that.

      “Did Alani tell you that? Well, it’s true, I guess—and it sort of makes me sound nuts, huh?”

      “I don’t know. Depends on why you did it, I guess.”

      Her hands curled into fists. “They wanted to break me, and I refused. I was afraid that once I did, once I fell apart, they’d go ahead and kill me. Like maybe that’s what they were waiting for.”

      She’d crumbled the toast, realized it, and brushed her hands before folding them in her lap. “Believe me, I was terrified, but rather than show them that, I showed them the scorn I felt.”

      Again, she amazed him. She’d sized up the situation and rationalized a way to buy herself some time. “Go on.”

      “I sometimes overheard them talking. Mostly in Spanish, and my skills are rusty at best, but when one of the guys got really furious with me, another told him that he couldn’t kill me. Yet.”

      Dare said nothing as he absorbed that and considered the possibilities. They’d been waiting for something. But what?

      “They followed someone else’s instructions.”

      “Maybe,” he agreed. Why else would they have kept her instead of selling her or killing her?

      She met his gaze. “And then one of them said that …” She trailed off, distressed, angry.

      Anticipating her answer, Dare leaned forward. “What?”

      Her brows drew together, and she closed her eyes. “That I had surely learned a lesson.”

      He dropped back in his chair. Unbelievable. Had someone hired her abductors to torture her with uncertainty, cruel treatment, fear and humiliation? If so, it would have to be someone with a lot of hatred and resentment.

      Someone she knew.

      But how could one small, average woman incur that much wrath?

      “Anyone obvious?” When she didn’t reply, he said, “Come on, Molly, you know I’ll need some specifics before I can be of any real help to you.”

      Sighing, she again gave up on the food. “Let’s just say it could be anyone from my father and his associates, to my ex-boyfriend, to a disgruntled reader.”

      Her boyfriend? Then the rest of what she’d said registered. “Reader?”

      Again she faced him, her shoulders back and her chin up. “I’m a writer.”

      “Published?”

      She blinked before saying, “Well … yeah.”

      An unspoken duh sounded in her words. Dare shook his head. “I’ve never heard of you.”

      Something flashed over her features, maybe defensiveness. Had she caught grief for writing?

      “You must not read dark, sexy romantic suspense.” She tipped her head, not really proud, but maybe … smug. “My fourth book is being made into a movie. There’s even talk of Ryan Reynolds playing the lead.”

      Incredulous, Dare whistled low under his breath. “Son of a bitch. You really can afford me, then?”

      She picked up her fork with obvious renewed hunger. “For the breakfast—and with your agreement, a whole lot more.”

      MOLLY KNEW SHE’D thrown him with the bombshell about her career. But she couldn’t hide her identity forever. What he said was true: if she wanted his help, and she did, then he’d have to know everything.

      In good time.

      The food was so delicious that she devoured it all—or at least what she hadn’t destroyed while fretting through her theories. Afterward, she felt fabulous. Well, maybe that was stretching things, but she felt more human than she had in too many days. That hollowness in her gut was now satisfied. She felt stronger, steadier.

      Dare had remained silent until she popped the last bite of bacon into her mouth and settled back in her seat with a sigh. “Thank you.”

      Flinty blue eyes, bright in the sunshine pouring through the window, scrutinized her. “You won’t be sick?”

      She shook her head. “Nope. I feel fine.” And this time, it was true.

      “Should I get more? Maybe some cake or pie?”

      The courteous offer, in such a mild tone, was at odds with his expression. He looked harder than ever, more capable of deadly force.

      She didn’t understand him, but she trusted him. “I’m full, but thank you.”

      Surprising her with his lack of questions, he stood and headed for the door. “I already showered and shaved.”

      “I slept through that?” Disturbing, but then, she’d been so exhausted…. “I’m usually a very light sleeper.”

      “Extenuating circumstances,” he said. “You can have some privacy for … whatever. I’ll be back within the hour.”

      He shut the door before she could ask him where he was going. She had the distinct feeling that she’d run him off. He was such an independent, skilled person that being around someone like her, someone so damned needy, would probably suffocate him.

      Determined to withhold further complaints, Molly got up and went to the window to look out.

      Usually, whenever she admitted to being a writer, the questions started. Where do you get your ideas? How long does it take to write a book? How much do you get paid? How did you get started? She heard them often, sometimes with disdain when people discovered that she wrote for entertainment, not to impress the literary world.

      Used to be, people asked her why she hadn’t been on Oprah, or had her books been made into a movie, as if either was something in her control and easily accomplished. But with the recent movie deal, at least one of those questions had been replaced with another: Can I borrow some money?

      Nearly everyone she knew wanted into her pocket. Friends she hadn’t known she had showed up with great regularity. And when they didn’t want money, they wanted an inside edge to meeting a celebrity, to hanging with the “in” crowd.

      Molly snorted to herself. She hadn’t changed, but everyone now treated her differently.

      Pushing open the window, she let in the fresh air. Their room faced the parking lot, and she saw Dare get into his rented van and drive toward Walmart again.

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