The Missing Maitland

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 her head from whamming into the glass at the very last second.

By the time she’d collected herself, Larkin had rolled down the window and was about to make a fast ball out of the telephone.

“No! You can’t!”

Shrieking now, she threw her whole body at him. But her efforts were too little, too late. The telephone went flying out into the hot night.

Yet even in defeat, Blossom continued to strike her fists against him. She wasn’t going down without a fight. Not by a long shot.

It wasn’t until he had her confined in the tight circle of his arms that he realized she wasn’t just fighting him over a cellular phone. She was frightened and fighting for her life.

“Blossom! Stop it!” he ordered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She went instantly still, her body stiff and rigid in his arms, her breasts heaving against his chest.

“Then—why don’t you—let me go?” she asked as she gulped in deep breaths of air.

In the blink of an eye, his rigid features softened. “Because it’s too dangerous. I—have to take care of you now.”

Confusion crumpled her features and then her body sagged against his. The contact was as startling as it was comforting. Instantly, she was acutely aware of his dark face hovering over hers, the hard expanse of his chest against her breasts, the utterly male scent of his skin and hair enveloping her in an erotic fog. His hands were hot on the flesh of her back, yet she welcomed the heat, the sizzling excitement his touch was bringing her.

A fleeting recollection of something she’d read dashed through her mind. Something about fighting being closely akin to having sex. Well, at this very moment she believed the notion to be true. Her eyes were riveted to the curve of his lips while a strange need gripped her lower belly.

“I—don’t—understand,” she whispered.

“It isn’t necessary for you to understand, Blossom. Just trust me.”

With each spoken word, his lips drew closer until finally Blossom realized that as far as she was concerned, common sense, fear or trust were no longer issues. She had to kiss this man or die from the wanting.

Chapter Two

He didn’t know how it had happened. One moment he’d been wrestling with her in an attempt to stop her flying fists. The next thing he knew her soft, warm lips were on his.

Ribbons of heat radiated through both his shoulders, and slowly it dawned on him that the source was her fingers pressing gently into his flesh. Yet those two spots of warmth couldn’t begin to compare to the twin furnaces of her breasts thrust tightly against his chest. They were burning right through to his lungs, robbing him of his breath and his senses.

The small part of his brain that was still working told him that this was how a man slipped and forgot the dangers stalking him. It shouted that if he wanted to get killed he should just keep on letting Blossom Woodward dally with his senses.