The Missing Maitland. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
call you Mr. Wonderful? That would have been more honest than the name you gave me.”
He smiled, and even though the expression was meant to be sardonic, the flash of white teeth and an engaging set of dimples transformed his hard features. Like prey charmed by a snake, Blossom was momentarily transfixed by the sight of him.
“You know, you’ve called me everything from grand to kidnapper,” he said. “You’re going to keep on until you actually have me believing I’m more than a groundskeeper.”
“You’re insane! That much is becoming obvious,” she said, pushing the words between gritted teeth.
He was half inclined to agree with her. He must have been insane to think the best thing to do would be to take her. But the whole event back at the clinic had occurred in a few short moments. He’d only had time to react to the danger, not to decide the best way to handle Ms. Blossom Woodward. Besides, he’d been waiting for a chance to confront this woman. He just hadn’t expected it to happen this way.
“Look, lady—”
“You know my name,” she snapped. “Use it!”
Docile could never be used to describe this woman, he thought. Her blue eyes were spitting fire. Heat stained her cheeks crimson and her rounded breasts were heaving as if she’d just run a mile, or just made wild love to her mate.
The last notion turned his thoughts in a different direction, and for the first time since he’d learned that a Blossom Woodward existed, he wondered who the woman behind the blond beauty on the television screen really was.
“All right, Blossom. Why don’t you settle down and have the good sense to thank your lucky stars I was around when those goons came by with their assault rifles.”
Her brows arched skeptically. “Because I have no idea who you are. You might be one of them!”
He rolled his eyes. “Sure. That’s why I shot back at them.”
“That doesn’t necessarily make you a hero,” she countered. “You could have been in cahoots with the people in that van, but at the last minute decided to take the big slice of pie for yourself.”
“Do you see me eating pie?” he asked as his gaze focused on the left-hand mirror outside his window. A vehicle was rapidly approaching their rear. The shape didn’t resemble the gunmen’s van, but in the past few minutes the sun had slid behind a hill and dusk was making it difficult to discern distant objects with much accuracy. He reminded himself how fatal it might be to let himself be distracted by Blossom Woodward.
“You know what I mean,” she continued. “Those gunmen wanted someone on the Maitland grounds. And I don’t think it was me,” she said matter-of-factly.
He didn’t answer until the vehicle had safely passed them and was traveling on down the highway. Even then his voice was preoccupied, something that she noticed and took as another insult.
“You’re thinking too much, Blossom. You’re wearing me and yourself out.”
Frustration had her twisting around in the seat, away from him. The movement caused the heel of her shoe to come into contact with something on the floorboard. Looking down, she noticed it was caught on the strap of her leather shoulder bag.
Apparently she hadn’t lost the bag back at the clinic parking lot as she’d first assumed. It must have slid off her arm and onto the floorboard when Larkin, or whoever he was, pushed her into the truck.
Thank goodness for small things, she thought. At least she’d have her identification with her if she was found dead or unconscious. On the other hand, if she was clever enough to escape, she’d have her checkbook and the small amount of cash she’d gotten from an ATM this morning. And last but not least, she’d have a comb and lipstick just in case she ever got back in front of a camera.
Forgetting her captor for the moment, she bent down and pulled the bag onto her lap. It was then she remembered the cellular phone inside. Why it had taken her so long to think of something so important, she didn’t know, but her heart was suddenly pounding with excitement. If she could dial 911 without him knowing, she might possibly alert the operator that she needed help.
But where were they, she wondered frantically. If her sense of direction was still reliable, since leaving Austin they had continued to travel west and north. In fact, from what she could see of the passing landscape it appeared that they were headed toward Pedernales Falls.
The notion sent a chill slithering down her spine. The state park surrounding the falls contained more than five thousand acres of wilderness. Parts of it were rough mountain area. If he got her onto one of the primitive hiking trails or down in the gorge where the river had cut steep banks from the limestone, she might not have a chance to call for help. No one might ever see the two of them.
She darted a surreptitious glance his way. At the moment he appeared to be absorbed with the task of driving. If she could get the phone turned on and key the numbers without him seeing, then the dispatcher on the other end would hopefully pick up their conversation and sense trouble. Though she hadn’t seen a highway sign yet, she believed they were on Highway 290. Surely she could repeat that much before he caught on to what she was doing.
Slowly, she pushed her hand beneath the leather flap on the bag. Her fingers immediately came in contact with more leather. Her checkbook. Inching deeper, she felt the bristles of a hairbrush, a wad of crumpled tissues, a tube of lipstick.
Triumph surged through her. There it was! Then just as quickly, she mouthed a silent curse. She’d been so happy to get rid of her old, heavier phone, for the lightweight flip-top version she was clutching inside the bag. But now she desperately wished she still had the old one. It would have been much easier to handle without drawing attention to her movements.
Oh, well, she couldn’t be stopped by trivial hurdles now, she mentally scolded herself. She had to try. She couldn’t let this maniac or whatever he was take her into a secluded wilderness.
Slowly, carefully, she used the tips of her fingers to tug the phone just to the edge of the flap covering the opening of the purse. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was so dry her tongue felt like a thick blob. Twice during her effort, she cast furtive glances at the man who’d called himself Larkin. Both times he was looking straight ahead, seemingly preoccupied with thoughts of his own.
Now was the moment, she silently coached herself. Flip the phone open and push the last digit on the third line, the first digit twice.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The unexpected sound of his gruff voice caused Blossom’s whole body to jerk, sending the bag in her lap sliding to the floorboard. Immediately his eyes zeroed in on the phone in her hand and he mouthed a searing curse word.
“I’m calling the police,” she shouted defiantly. “You’re not going to take me anywhere!”
His hand lunged for the phone and ripped it from her grip.
Seeing the device as her last link to safety, Blossom cried out in horror, then, throwing herself at him, she began to pummel his arm and shoulder with her fists.
“Give me that phone—you crazy man!”
The truck swerved wildly from one side of the highway to the other as he tried to ward off her attack. In the back of her mind, Blossom realized she was probably going to make him wreck the vehicle, but at this point she didn’t care. Dying in a car accident would be preferable to being murdered, tortured or both.
“Stop it, damn it! Before you kill us both!” he yelled.
“Give me the phone!”
With one hand he managed to shove her across the seat toward the passenger door. Before she could make another lunge at him, he jammed the brakes on and brought the truck to a jarring halt on the side of the road.
Without the restraint of the seat belt to hold her down, Blossom went flying toward the windshield and only managed to stop