The Groom's Stand-In

He blamed himself. Chloe made another effort to reassure him. “It happened so fast. It was all so well-planned and executed. They had us before either of us could react.”

She could tell that he found no comfort at all in her words.

Another sound penetrated the closed door—a muffled thud that might have been another door slamming shut. The sound of a car being started and driven away followed.

“Do you think they’re leaving us here alone?” Chloe asked, looking toward the closed door, not certain if she would be dismayed or relieved if their kidnappers had abandoned them.

How long would it take to die of dehydration? But if their kidnappers were going to let them die, wouldn’t they have just killed them already? They’d been rough and abrupt, but neither she nor Donovan had been injured.

Donovan didn’t seem to share her concern about the possibility of being stranded. “We should be so lucky,” he muttered.

She swallowed. “What do you think will happen now?”

Even as he answered, she could tell he was busy studying the room again, and considering their options. “They’ll probably wait a few hours before contacting anyone, just to make sure our absence is noted and people have started to worry about us. When enough time has passed, they’ll get in touch with Bryan, give him the standard threats if he should contact the authorities, and then offer him their deal for our safe return.”

“What do you think he’ll tell them?”

Donovan’s mouth twisted into his odd half-smile—the one that held little, if any, humor. “What he’ll say initially should probably not be repeated in mixed company. After that, he’ll negotiate.”

“Will he contact the authorities?”

After a quick glance at the door, Donovan merely shrugged.

Was he worried that they were being monitored? Watched, perhaps?

Biting her lip, Chloe glanced quickly around the room, searching for any evidence of a microphone or a video camera. She saw nothing, but then she wasn’t exactly an expert on covert surveillance. She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling Donovan was more experienced with such matters.

He shifted on the mattress, making her aware that her hand still rested on his chest. She knew she should move it, but she was reluctant to do so. There was something reassuring about the warmth that seeped through his black shirt, and the steadiness of his heartbeat against her palm. She was disinclined to break that fragile connection.

Without thinking, she tried to lift her right hand to brush back her hair, which had fallen into her face. The handcuff jerked her to a stop, rattling loudly against the iron bar of the headboard. “Damn,” she muttered, letting her shackled hand fall to her side.

Donovan looked at her tumbled hair. “Your hair was up this morning.”

“They took all my hairpins. As well as my purse, your watch, everything in your pockets, both our belts and our shoes.” She shivered as she remembered the rough, impersonal pat-down she’d been subjected to while the biggest of the three kidnappers had held her arms behind her back. His grip had been so tight it had brought humiliating tears to her eyes.

“They seem to have covered all the bases in that respect.”

She eyed the heavy metal links skeptically. “They thought we could actually use hairpins to pick the locks on these cuffs?”

Donovan moved one shoulder in a semi-shrug. “They might have been right.”

The comment brought her eyes quickly back to his face. “You could do that?”

“I could damned well try.”

“In that case…” She reached beneath the denim shirt to the coral, pocketed T-shirt she wore beneath, fumbled around for a moment, then produced a sturdy metal hairpin, which she held in front of him.

Chapter Five

Donovan’s eyebrows rose. “You always keep hairpins hidden inside your shirt?”

“When I’m wearing my hair up, I do. My hair’s fine and it tends to crawl out of restraints during the day. I usually stash an extra hairpin or two in case I need them. I had this one tucked into my T-shirt pocket. It had fallen down into the seam, which must have kept the guy who patted me down from feeling it.”

He opened his right hand. “Let me have it.”

She placed the pin in his palm, then frowned when he hid it in his own hair instead of setting to work with it. “Can you see it?” he asked.

The thick hairpin was completely hidden in his brown hair. “No. But aren’t you going to try to escape?”