My grocery bag falls to the ground, exploding on impact. Avocados and tomatoes roll in all directions like tumbleweeds in a windy Western movie as I backpedal away — right into something rock solid. Something that feels a lot like a man’s chest.
Righty.
The scream building in my throat never makes it past my lips; a large hand slaps itself over my mouth before a single squeak can escape. I feel my body go airborne as a beefy arm winds around my waist like I weigh no more than a damn football and starts hauling me up my front steps.
Shit.
* * *
“This really isn’t necessary!”
My protests fall on deaf ears. They aren’t listening to me — not now, to my plaintive appeals. Not ten minutes ago, when they forced me into my own home against my will as I screamed bloody murder into the palm of Righty’s hand, praying someone on my dead-end street would notice me being abducted and call the police.
Of course the one time I’m actually in need of nosy neighbors, they’re nowhere to be found…
Righty adds another loop of duct tape around my arm, securing it tighter to the sturdy maple chair at the head of the massive dining room table Paul and I picked out seven years ago and have never once eaten an actual meal at. I suppose I should be happy it’s finally getting some use — if only for what I assume will be a session of interrogation.
Or torture.
I flex my muscles against the tape, testing its strength. It doesn’t budge. I’m officially stuck until they decide to cut me loose.
“You lied to us, earlier.” Lefty doesn’t sound pleased with me. Actually, he sounds decidedlydispleasedas he bends down to look into my face. His dark brown eyes are terrifying. “Not a fan of liars.”
“And I’m not particularly a fan of being kidnapped. We all make sacrifices..”
“You’ve got a smart mouth.” He leans closer and I flinch back in my seat. I try to, anyway. I can barely move with my wrists and ankles strapped so tightly to the chair. “If you’re not inclined to use that mouth to cooperate, there are some other uses I’m sure we could explore…”
My face goes pale.
“I can see from your expression you don’t like the sound of that alternative. If you tell us what we want to know, we won’t touch you…” He strokes a finger down the exposed column of my neck, his eyes dropping to my cleavage. “Much.”
“Get your hands off me or I’m not telling you shit,” I hiss, struggling to escape his creeping fingers.
Smirking as though this is all some big game, he steps back and leans against the wall near his partner, who’s sprawled on the plush cushions of my window seat like we’re about to sit down for tea. For a long while, they both stare at me in silence, arms crossed over their chests, expressions unreadable. Simple enough, as intimidation tactics go, but effective as hell; my heart picks up speed and I feel my palms going clammy as the silence drags on, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“What is it you want from me?” I finally force myself to ask. I’m surprised my voice comes out so steady.
“Like we said before — we’re looking for Paul.”
“I told you already, I don’t know where he is.”
Lefty looks doubtful. “He’s your husband.”
“We’re separated. We have been for months.” My chin jerks higher. “I have nothing to do with— with—whateverit is he’s done to piss you off.”
“The thing is…” There’s a flash of rage in the depths of Lefty’s dark eyes — the first emotion I’ve ever seen from him. Frankly, I think I prefer his icy indifference. “Your husband took something that belongs to our boss. We want it back. And he hasn’t exactly been what you’d call…”
“Cooperative,” Righty finishes.
“Right.Cooperative.” Lefty smirks, but it’s colder than a glacier. “We think he might need a bit of cajoling. Just to help him make the right choice.”
Okay. I’m not liking the sound of this.
Notat all.
“Look, I already told you I don’t know where Paul is. I don’t have anything to do with him anymore, so whatever you’re planning to do to me…”
“We aren’t doing anything to you. We just need you to deliver a little message for us.”