Raising her head a fraction of an inch, she sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his hand between the thumb and forefinger.
He yowled as she bit down with the strength of desperation, locking her jaws so hard that he couldn’t pull away. She tasted the wet saltiness of blood, tasted flesh. He screamed and struggled, but only when Jasmine’s strength began to fail did she let him go. He staggered to his feet. A trail of blood drizzled from his hand to soak into the carpet.
He reeled for a moment. Then, with a bellow of fury, he gripped the side of the metal bed frame, lifted it, and flipped the entire bed onto its side, leaving her exposed on the floor.
He loomed over her, his face contorted in rage and his right hand dripping blood. He stanched it with the hem of his shirt. “You asked for it, you she-devil,” he muttered. “Get ready to die.”
Hiding her fear, she met his gaze. “You might want to make new plans, Little Brother. You thought you were going to get away with murder. But you’ve lost. Your blood is in the carpet and on the bed, and even on me. Whether you kill me or not, as soon as your DNA is identified, you’ll be as good as behind bars.”
His features froze as the truth struck home. “As I see it, you’ve got a choice,” she continued. “You can kill me and be sentenced for murder, or you can leave me alive and do time for kidnapping and assault.”
His expression changed, grew more confident. “You think you know me,” he said. “You won’t feel so damn smart when I tell you that I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“Nothing to lose?” She was momentarily stunned. “Are you telling me you’ve killed others?”
His grin widened. “I could kill you for the pleasure of it and be no worse off.”
“Did you kill my father?”
“He was my father, too. But no, I didn’t kill him, though maybe I should have. As I told you, when I called him and said I was his son, he wouldn’t even talk to me. Our father wasn’t a nice man, big sister. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
“You say you’ve nothing to lose. But you’ve nothing to gain, either. What’s the point of killing me now? You can’t live a normal life anymore. You’ll either be on the run or in prison.”
“I could kill you for this.” He held up his hand, still oozing blood from the shirt hem that wrapped it. “But since you’re my sister, I’ll give you an even chance before I go.”
Bending, he scooped her off the floor in his arms, carried her into the bathroom, and laid her down, still bound hand and foot, in the luxury-sized bathtub. After closing the drain, which was at her feet, he turned the cold waterspigot on full force. Jasmine gasped as the icy stream touched her skin. She struggled to sit, but the tub’s enameled surface was slick, and she couldn’t use her hands to push herself up.
Hayden looked down at her and grinned. “Good luck, Big Sis. Try not to drown.”
Then he turned and left, with the water running and the TV blaring full volume in the other room. She heard the door to the hallway open, close, and lock. She was alone.
Sam had made repeated calls to Jasmine’s phone and to the number the sheriff had given him for Hayden. When no one answered, he tried to tell himself there was nothing to worry about. Jasmine could be in the hotel pool or at dinner. Maybe she’d caught an early flight, or maybe she was still angry with him.
He needed to be here, watching the arena and waiting for Nick’s phone call. But the silence had begun to eat at him. Something was wrong.
Overcome by worry, he pocketed his phone and left the arena. He would still be able to get Nick’s call, and the main event hadn’t started yet. With luck, he shouldn’t be gone more than fifteen or twenty minutes.
The Excalibur wasn’t far, but a cab would be faster than walking. He caught one outside and, minutes later, was let off at the Excalibur’s main entrance.
At the desk, he showed his FBI credentials and learned from the clerk that Jasmine was still registered at the hotel.
“Has anyone seen her or talked with her today?” he demanded.
“I couldn’t say. We’ve got our hands full with the overflow from South Point.”
“Try calling her room on the house phone.”
“Certainly.” The clerk punched in the number. Sam heardseveral rings, but there was no answer. “We could send someone up to check.”
“I’ll go. Just give me a key card.”
Card in hand, Sam raced to the elevator.
The water was freezing cold. It was still streaming out of the faucet, getting deeper in the tub by the minute. Soon it would be over Jasmine’s head. She’d tried pushing herself up to a sitting position, but her hands were trapped behind her, and her bound feet could find no purchase on the tub’s slippery bottom. The spigot was just above the tub, but the levered flow control and another lever for the drain plug were located on the tile wall above the tub, too high for her to reach.
How long had she been here? Time had lost its meaning. She only knew that her body was too numb to feel cold or pain, and she could no longer control her chattering teeth.
The TV was still blasting in the other room with live coverage of the Race to the Slide. Sam would be there, in the arena, doing his job. Challenging him to choose between her and his work had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. She’d already known what his choice would be. But how could she settle for playing second fiddle to his career? Much as she loved Sam, she deserved to be first.