In Bed with Boone. Linda Winstead JonesЧитать онлайн книгу.
looking forward to the party at Hollywood producer Corbin Marsh’s secluded Arizona home. He had a notion that if Marsh got a good look at his pretty face, he’d soon be a star.
“Drive backward all that way?” Jim shot her an astonished glance. “It’ll be easier to just find a wide place to turn around. If we don’t come across a good spot by the time we get to whatever that light ahead is, I’ll try to back up.” He tried for a reassuring smile. “I was really looking forward to meeting Marsh, but if you insist, we can forget the party and go back to your hotel. I’m sure he’ll want to meet with you at another time, and I’ll just tag along then.”
No way was she inviting this moron into her hotel room, and this was definitely their last date. There was no way he would be “tagging along” with her anywhere! But now, while she was at his mercy practically in the middle of nowhere, was probably not the time to tell him so.
The glow ahead grew brighter, and soon Jayne was able to make out dimly lit forms moving about two cars that had been pulled off the road. Three or four powerful flashlights lit the night, illuminating the scene, a scene that struck her as not being quite right. Why were all those men out here where there was so much nothing? She didn’t like this; she didn’t like it at all. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “Jim, just back up,” she commanded. Men usually listened intently to her commands, but not dim Jim.
“I’ll ask for directions this time. Guess I should’ve done that at the gas station we passed.”
“Guess so,” Jayne muttered, fingering her pearls almost furiously.
Jim pulled the Mercedes to a slow gentle stop in the middle of the road. He grabbed his keys, turned on the small flashlight that hung from his keychain and gave her a dazzling smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Just a few feet away, the six men huddled around the trunk of one car watched Jim step from the Mercedes. Jayne knew she was a bit of a snob; her mother had trained her well. But even if she hadn’t been such a self-confessed elitist, she would’ve felt uneasy at the sight of these six men.
All of them were dressed in jeans and T-shirts, and at first glance it seemed they all fingered or puffed on cigarettes. In this day and age, who smoked? One of the men had long greasy hair. The fidgeting kid beside him had either very short hair or none at all. The light was not good enough for her to be certain. The unusually tall man who stood beside the open trunk of one of the cars was so large that his rounded belly, tightly encased in a ripped Harley-Davidson T-shirt, hung in a distressing way over his low-slung jeans. Two of the men were more conservative in appearance than the others, looking almost out of place. Their jeans were pressed, their T-shirts were free of wrinkles and tucked into those jeans, and each of them had what could only be described as an executive haircut. They stood side by side, obviously together. The sixth man…the sixth man hung back a little, his face in shadow. But he looked as common as the others in tight jeans and heavy boots and a leather jacket. A leather jacket, at this time of year? The nights could become cool here, she knew, but late spring was definitely not the proper season for leather. Grandmother would call them all hooligans.
Jim shone his flashlight before him, checking the road for potholes as he called out a cheerful greeting. “Hi, fellas. I seem to have gotten myself lost…”
Jayne heard nothing more except a loud popping noise that made her jump. Jim crumpled to the ground before her eyes and disappeared from her limited view. She snapped her eyes to the crowd of thugs. The two more conservatively dressed men backed warily away from the others. The man with the long greasy hair calmly lit another cigarette and offered the pack to his bald friend.
The large man who had done the shooting waved the gun in his hand toward the thug in the leather jacket, who seemed to be arguing with him.
It took a moment for the information to register, for her heart to quit beating so fast that she couldn’t even think. They’d shot Jim. Shot him. Poor dumb Jim, whose only crime was getting lost on the way to Marsh’s vacation home, who was the worst blind date Jayne had ever suffered…who had taken the keys to the car with him.
The greasy-haired hood spoke softly and nodded toward the car, and the bald one headed her way. She had nowhere to run to, and even if she did, she wasn’t likely to get far in the high heels that matched her chic coral suit. She thought of kicking off her shoes and running in her bare feet, but she knew how rocky the land she’d have to run across would be. Her feet needed to be protected. She wasn’t going anywhere fast. Still, if she could manage to get lost in the darkness…
Before the hoodlum reached the car, Jayne threw open the passenger door and sprinted out. She ran without looking back, her legs a little wobbly on the uncertain terrain, thanks to her high heels. She was supposed to be at a political party, sipping wine and drumming up support for her father, not running from a murder!
The men behind her seemed to all shout at once, as Jayne ran farther and farther into the darkness. She didn’t know where she was headed, but she didn’t care as long as that place was away from the scene of the shooting. Behind her the gun fired again, and she actually heard the bullet zing past her ear. A man shouted, another yelled, a third howled like a wolf, and still Jayne ran without looking back. A car engine roared. She could hope that they would all leave, couldn’t she? They could take off, leaving her to disappear into the darkness.
No such luck. Long before she heard the heavy footfall behind her, she knew that running from the hoodlums was a hopeless cause. If they wanted to catch her, if they wanted to stop her, they could. Several of them were chasing her, or so it seemed from the sound of the approaching steps and the vile curses she heard muttered and shouted. A harsh voice ordered her to stop.
Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would burst through her chest. She couldn’t breathe, and her legs ached. Every step was perilous in the heels. But she was not going to stop.
Without further warning she was caught from behind. Arms snaked around her waist, snared her, held her, and with those arms on and all around her, she fell to the ground. She screamed breathlessly, and the man who’d caught her let out a loud whoosh as he landed practically on top of her. Since his arms were already completely around her, she was partially protected from her fall to the hard-packed ground. But still, it hurt.
Jayne closed her eyes, lost in darkness and the weight and suffocating heat of the man lying atop her. They were going to kill her, just like they’d killed poor Jim. Dammit, she would never forgive Pamela for this.
“On your feet, sugar,” the one who had caught her ordered.
He dragged her up, keeping his hand tightly around her wrist even when they were standing face-to-face. Well, her face to his broad chest was more like it. It was the hoodlum in the leather jacket who had caught her, and he wasn’t even breathing hard! She could barely catch her breath.
The man who had shot Jim raised his weapon and pointed it at her. Jayne closed her eyes.
“Put that down,” the man in the leather jacket ordered calmly. He took a step to the side, effectively shielding her. “Does she look like a fed? Does she look like some dealer who’s here to snatch your stuff? Hell, what we have here are two yuppies who have the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He turned to face her again, and she had no choice but to see his stubbled jaw and cruel lips. And though she couldn’t see well in the dark, she sensed that the look in his eyes was accusing, as if this catastrophe was all her fault.
“Don’t matter,” the fat man with the gun in his hand said. “She’s seen us. Ain’t nothing else I can do but shoot her.” He sounded so matter-of-fact, so insanely logical.
The man who held her too tightly shook his head in what appeared to be dismay. His long dark hair swayed softly, his stubbled jaw clenched. And he muttered the most foul of words beneath his breath. The grip on her wrist was a vise she didn’t even try to fight. He jerked her around thoughtlessly, placing his body between her and the man with the gun. All the while he cursed, low and gruff. His body tensed; a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“I want her,” he growled.
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