Playing with Fire - Gena Showalter

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wall. But … I didn’t own an armoire. Sheer dark blue curtains draped the only window, curtains that should have been green. The old, ratty quilt I’d bought at a garage sale swathed the bed in a multihued sea of colors, but this mattress was different, softer than mine. Overhead, a ceiling fan whirled slowly, providing a light but welcome breeze.

      I didn’t have a ceiling fan in my room.

      Where was I? In the last glimpse I’d had of my bedroom, black, ashy smudges had layered the carpet and walls. These walls were bare, peeling but clean. I shook my head, and my gaze landed on a junglelike corner of thriving plants, brilliant green and dewy. My plants were dry, nearing death.

      Obviously I’d been moved. The man, the one who’d wanted to neutralize me, had brought me here. Yes. Rome was his name, and that’s what he’d done. Too bad he hadn’t been a dream. His harsh, savagely sensual face was too vivid in my mind; his threats still rang in my ears. My fingers still trembled from having held him off.

      Shouldn’t I be dead? I glanced down at my hands, turning them in the light. At the very least, shouldn’t I have awakened in a laboratory, strapped to a table, with evil scientists doing things to my body they wouldn’t do to farm animals? Instead, I felt well-rested and clean. I even tasted mint, as if someone had recently brushed my teeth. My hair and skin smelled fragrant, like jasmine body wash. I did not want to contemplate what that meant.

      Get up, Jamison. Get out of here before Rome returns. Yes, yes. That’s exactly what I needed to do. I threw a leg over the side of the bed.

      “Good. You’re awake, “ a cold, hard voice said from the doorway. “Not trying to escape, are you?”

      Gasping, I whipped my head toward the speaker, my leg dangling guiltily in front of me. Rome filled the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore another black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the button at his collar undone. Black slacks hugged lean legs.

      He could have been a businessman if it hadn’t been for his I’ve-seen-the-worst-the-world-has-to-offer eyes, with those taut, determined lines around them. The gun holster hooked to his shoulder didn’t help the image, either.

      “Me?” I gulped. “Try and escape? Never.”

      “Liar, “ he said, yet there was no heat in his tone. “Now that you’re up, we’re going to eat breakfast and talk.”

      Eat? Talk? But. “Why aren’t I dead?” My blood chilled. “Ohmygod, you’re one of those crazy people who enjoys fear. You’ll probably tell me all the ways you want to hurt me, making me scream and squirm for mercy, before you render the final blow.”

      He frowned, the action so menacing it propelled a shiver down my spine. “Don’t scream. Don’t even think about screaming. I’ll have to knock you out, then knock out the neighbors.”

      I gulped at his fierceness. There was a silver lining, though. He’d said “neighbors”—that meant other people were around.

      “You have five minutes to get your sexy ass in the kitchen, “ he said, turning.

      Sexy? I nearly gasped. My mouth did fall open. He thought I was sexy when he’d only seen me at my worst? I quickly quashed the surge of pleasure that knowledge brought, and cursed myself for being a sex-starved idiot. “Did you take advantage of me while I was sleeping?”

      He paused and flashed an are-you-kidding-me look over his shoulder. Then he strode away, disappearing down the hall and leaving me alone in the room. “Five minutes, “ he called.

      Or what? I wanted to shout, but I was having trouble catching my breath. “Damn sickness, “ I muttered, because I refused—refused!—to blame my breathlessness on Rome.

      I would not be attracted to the man who wanted to kill me.

      Even I had standards.

      Escape, dummy. Escape! He’d left me alone, the idiot. Well, not alone, but close enough. If I could get out of the apartment/house/wherever I was, I could get help from one of the neighbors. I scrambled from the bed, a little shaky, but stronger than I’d been since getting sick. I wore a tank top and panties (different ones than before, damn it!), which meant the neutralizing bastard had changed my clothes yet again.

      First stop: bathroom. I found it easily, since it branched directly from the bedroom, and I took care of urgent business. After that, I raced to the closet. The opportunity to escape ticked like a time bomb in my brain as I grabbed the first pair of jeans I found and tugged them on. They were mine, obviously brought from my home. Actually, several items from my closet hung on the hangers.

      As I hastily jerked a T-shirt over my head, my stomach growled. How long had it been since I’d eaten? The bacon-scented air smelled so good. I hated to admit it, but that smell nearly tempted me to forget about something as minor as my own impending murder, and stroll into the kitchen, sit down, and gobble up breakfast.

      Why did Rome want me to eat, anyway? To poison me? “Most likely, the diabolical fiend.” Or maybe he didn’t plan to let me eat at all. Maybe the food was for him, and I was supposed to watch him eat it.

      The man was an enigma, that was for sure, and I didn’t know what to think of him or his actions. Past, present or future. He hadn’t killed me when he’d had the chance. He hadn’t done anything damaging—that I knew of.

      “Three minutes, “ Rome called from the kitchen.

      “Go fuck yourself, “ I whispered. I grabbed the tennis shoes that rested on the shoe rack and tugged them on. They were mine, so they fit perfectly. I sprinted to the window, pushed away the curtain and took stock.

      Okay, so. I was inside a tall, red brick building. Another red brick structure was right across from it. I glanced down, saw that the fire escape had a workable ladder, and grinned with relief. When I noticed people strolling on the street below, I almost clapped. Excitement rushed through me. Once I got outside, I could scream for help.

      My fingers curled over the bottom of the window frame and shoved upward. Except … the window refused to open. “Amph.” I put all my muscle into lifting the glass. Nothing happened. “What the hell?” I growled softly.

      “I secured the lock, “ I heard. “Same with the rest of the windows. Same with the front door.”

      I bit the inside of my cheek, tamping down a scream of fury. His tone was laced with humor and held a splash of smug superiority. How had he known what I was doing, anyway? He couldn’t see me. Did he consider me so lame that he didn’t even have to check on me? Well, I’d show him.

      Maybe I could throw something at the glass, shattering it, then leap outside. I only needed a few seconds, just long enough to get someone’s attention so they could call the police.

      “If you’re thinking about breaking the glass, “ he called, “you should know it’s thicker than normal and requires major force to render the slightest crack. If you’re thinking about waving to someone below or across from us, you should know the glass has a film on the outside that prevents anyone from seeing in.”

      I didn’t doubt the truth of his words. At closer inspection, I could see the density of the glass and the glint of a shade. “Thanks for the news flash, “ I said between clenched teeth.

      “You’re welcome.”

      Bastard. Come on, Jamison. Think! There had to be something I could do.

      You have power over the four elements, he’d said. I didn’t feel any different, didn’t feel like a powerful being. But I’d already seen the proof. I’d caused ice to form on my fingers. I’d held the man at bay with some sort of air shield. Did I still possess those abilities?

      Not knowing what else to do, I backtracked several feet from the window and held out my arms. I’d show that bastard what happened when he messed with a pissed-off woman. (I hoped.) I’d blow the whole freaking wall off, then climb down. (I hoped.)

      “Wind,

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