Copyright © 2008 Kat Attalla
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
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"Looking for something?"
Jack quickened his steps and pulled her along. He’d already drawn enough attention by discharging his gun. If a neighbor decided to check out the commotion, he would have a tough time keeping Lilly from yelling for help. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. I’ve had more than enough chances.”
“I always got away.”
Jack chuckled. Apparently, she believed herself caught up in a misguided game of international intrigue. “You got away because I let you. Except for Lisbon, where I’ll admit you got the better of me. I’ve always known where you were. If you saw me, I wanted you to.”
She stopped walking and cast him a mocking glare. “Right. I’ll bet that’s what you told your boss too.”
“Oh, come on, Lilly. I can tell you where you spent your first night in London.
What you ate for breakfast everyday. Why, I can even describe the sexy black lingerie you bought last week.”
Her eyes widened, and her face flushed scarlet. “And why would you want me to get away?”
“To keep you moving. Every time you checked into a hotel you had to give your passport. It only takes a few days to track it down. I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to keep you alive.”
Her bitter laugh spoke volumes. She didn’t believe him. “I suppose it never occurred to you to tell me this in the beginning and save all this trouble?”
“Not really. I only told you this much so you’d see that I don’t mean you any harm. I’d prefer not to have to drug you every time I move you. But if you make me, I will.”
“Who are you? CIA? FBI?”
“You read too many spy thrillers.” He tugged on her arm to get her moving again. “Who I work for isn’t important. Just follow orders and we’ll both live to tell our grandchildren about it.”
“Am I allowed to know your name, or is that classified information too?”
“Murphy.”
“Murphy? And does that come with a first name or should I just call you...?”
“Jack,” he said, before she labeled him with her choice of colorful nickname. They reached the front door, and he pushed it open with his foot. “And one more thing. It isn’t much of a face, but it’s mine. Don’t cut it again.”
“I wasn’t aiming for your face. I was aiming for your throat.”
“I guess I can be thankful you didn’t set your sights lower.” She jerked her arm free of his grasp and stomped into the house. That attempt failed, but he knew she would try again. He almost saw the wheels spinning in her head as she walked towards the bedroom. “Stay here.”
“I prefer to be alone.”
“Tough. I wouldn’t want you to cut yourself on the broken glass.” Or to use another sliver to free herself from the rope again. The woman had guts for an amateur. She flopped down on the worn sofa with a grunt.
He stepped over to the old porcelain sink and splashed water on his face, keeping a watchful eye on her at all times. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he blotted the gash along his face.
“Excuse me, Mr. Murphy, but I need the little girl’s room.”
Jack shot her a nasty scowl. She shrugged and smiled innocently.
“Come on.” He led her down the hall to the bathroom. She held her hands out in front, and he removed the rope. When she tried to close the door, he stuck his foot inside. “I think not.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious? I can’t use the bathroom with an audience.”
“If you really need it, you can. Leave the door open.”
He took up a position just outside the bathroom. Humiliating her was not his objective, but he never made the same mistake twice. His little captive still possessed a fair amount of fight. “Turn on the water. It helps.”
“Go to hell!”
Jack laughed. No doubt one day he would. His wasted youth had earned him fire-front accommodations. No amount of penance could erase the memory or the guilt. He’d started out with such high ideals, but somewhere in the execution, he’d lost sight of the goals. His job of scaring the shit out of a woman not even charged with a crime left a foul taste in his mouth. Would he care if they’d sent him after a middle-aged spinster with a wart on her nose? He wanted to believe so, but no assignment caused him to lose sleep like this one. An air of innocence surrounded her, despite her ability to wrap a man around her finger, as he learned from his incident in Lisbon.
“Are you still there?”
Lilly pounded her fist against the wall. He tried not to laugh when he heard the water running. Something like that had to be easier for men.