“Who are you?” she asked.
“Don’t make this difficult,” he said in a harsh whisper. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her palm ached. She forgot about the phone until she looked down and saw her death grip on it.
The attacker knocked the cell to the floor and stepped toward her, filling the last bit of safe distance between them. The hand with the cloth went to her throat. His fingers squeezed and her breath was cut off.
She clawed and punched at his hands, walloping him with both fists while she turned her head away from the heady scent assailing her nose and throat. She kicked out but one forceful hit against his shin caused pain to vibrate from her bare foot up her back.
He didn’t even flinch.
Just as she lifted her knee to slam into his groin, the knife flashed in front of her eyes again. The flat line of his mouth inched up on one side. The smile was sick, feral, and her stomach churned in terror.
He held the blade close to her eye. “Where is it?”
“What?”
“No games. I want it now.”
She fought through the waves of panic shaking through her and tried to process the question. It didn’t make sense. “I don’t know—”
With a flick of his wrist, he shook her as if she were a rag doll. “Lying won’t save you.”
The back of her legs banged against the chair behind her. She rose on tiptoes to keep from losing touch with the ground. He had to be over six feet, and at five-five she didn’t have the strength or the height to take him on.
“You have the wrong person.” The words scratched against her dry throat and her fingers wrapped around his, trying to ease the punishing hold.
“I guess you want to do this the hard way. We’ll see how sorry you are after a few hours of convincing.” He threaded the end of the knife through her hair. “I am very good at my work.”
His hollow laugh sent tremors running through her. The rush of blood to her head made her dizzy. But she had to stay on her feet. Had to think.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He waved the knife back and forth in front of her nose in time with the annoying noise. “Don’t play dumb.”
“Please.” Begging, running—even with her energy reserves low she would try anything.
“You are done causing problems.” He scraped the knife’s tip over her skin.
She flinched and felt a prick. If there was pain, it didn’t register. Not with the adrenaline coursing inside her.
But he just stood there, staring at her. Her fingers went numb from the desperate clenching around his arm. Her heart thudded hard enough to echo in her brain.
Lying. She went with lying. Her breathy voice barely rose above a choked whisper. “I’ll tell you what you want.”
“That’s a good girl.”
She pretended to cough. Let the rasp in her voice back up her lie. “Can’t breathe.”
As if she weighed nothing, he threw her into the chair. Her back slapped against the cushion and she gripped the armrests to keep from slipping down on the material.
The plan was to spring up and out of the seat again, screaming and flying at him as she attacked. Nails, feet, hands, she’d use them all and bring the lamp with her as a weapon.
As soon as she moved, he clamped a hand over her wrist. Trapped it against the chair and pressed down. Put his weight into it. The intense pressure had her crying out.
The knife flashed again. “Not one sound or I break it.”
His head turned toward the door. One minute he was in front of her. The next she was up and he stood behind her with the knife touching her throat. “Sounds like we have company.”
* * *
BEN SMILED WHEN he saw her number light up his phone. Putting the car back in Park, he let the engine idle as he stopped in the middle of her apartment complex’s parking lot. “Change your mind about letting me come in?”
Silence greeted him. No, not silence. Shuffling and footsteps. And something that sounded like a muffled shout.
Everything inside him stilled as he strained to hear. All his years of training came roaring back, from the navy to NCIS to his current position with the Corcoran Team. He beat back the urge to race in, gun firing. He needed to know what was happening, if anything even was. And the nerve pulsing by his temple suggested it was.
More moving and a loud crinkling sound as if the phone was breaking in two. After a few seconds her voice boomed through the confusing thuds.
Who are you?
Ben didn’t bother to turn off the car. Reaching over the center console, he pressed his index finger in the lock reader, and the compartment next to his radio popped open. With a gun in his hand, he got out.
One in his hand. The other at his ankle. That should do it.