He shook his head. “I think you’re better off right where you are. It’s a bouncy ride but you’ll survive.” That way if Clement caught up with them she wouldn’t be a visual target. And she wouldn’t see him kill the man.
“I don’t want to stay here!”
“Yeah, well things are tough all over,” he said heartlessly, reaching for duct tape. “Maybe next time you’ll keep your mouth shut. Or lie.”
“I’m not a good liar.” She was eyeing the duct tape warily.
He gave her his most affable smile. “I’m an excellent liar, as you well know. I’ll teach you. In the meantime I’m strapping you in so you don’t fall around inside the camper. I’m going to be driving fast a
nd I don’t want you hurt.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “You’re going to what?”
“You heard me.” He ran the duct tape across the bed, row after row, trapping her. He’d survived any number of stormy seas using the same principle, lashed to his bunk. She’d be fine. “Do I have to gag you?”
“No.” There was just a note of breathless panic in her voice. Even if she had agreed, he wouldn’t have gagged her. People could choke to death on fear, and he couldn’t quite calculate how frightened she was. She was determined not to show him.
He leaned over and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I’ll keep you safe,” he said. “I promise.”
He pulled back before he could say anything more, do anything more. She was his personal Kryptonite, and he had to remember that.
“Merlin, heel,” he said. The dog had been curled up on the floor by her bed, and he rose obediently, whining softly as he looked back at her. “With me, Merlin,” he said.
He locked the door from the outside.
Evangeline heard the sound of the lock, and for a moment absolute panic raced through her body. She was trapped in here, and even if she managed to get free from this ridiculous spider’s web of duct tape, she’d have a hard time getting out. There was an escape window, but it was dark, and she didn’t remember the instructions. She had a flashlight somewhere . . . no, it was in the cab of the truck, so no help there. She squirmed, trying to free herself, but she could barely move.
A moment later she was just as glad. She heard the roar of the truck engine, and then they shot forward with a jerk. The camper bumped and bounced over the rough terrain, and Evangeline lay very still. Poor Annabelle—her trailer wasn’t used to such rough treatment, and suddenly she remembered tearing up and down mountain roads beside the man calling himself James Bishop, a name she didn’t believe for one moment, any more than she believed in this specious marriage. Annabelle couldn’t withstand such treatment . . .
The camper jerked and swung hard to the left, and Evangeline let out a grinding moan. At least they were on a paved road now, though it wasn’t in the best shape. Bishop—she couldn’t think of anything else to call him and that asshole got tiresome—was driving like a bat out of hell. She had no idea her elderly truck was capable of such speeds, particularly when pulling her ancient camper.
It was pitch dark in her bunk. They didn’t pass any streetlights, or other cars for the matter, and the darkness was a cocoon, exacerbated by the bonds. She could hear things crash in the cabin as he went over bumps, took corners too fast, and she closed her eyes, praying the trailer wouldn’t whiplash and come loose, sending her over some cliff.
She took a deep breath, and then another, trying to center herself. She’d learned proper breathing as well as yoga after she’d left Pete. It had taken her too damned long to figure out that she couldn’t change anyone else, couldn’t change men. She could only change herself and her reaction to things.
So she lay in her bunk and breathed calm, steady breaths; slowly her body relaxed, sinking into the plush mattress she’d treated herself to when she’d bought Annabelle. She visualized the breath flowing through her body, she visualized every joint, every muscle, every inch of her body relaxed and at peace. She pictured James Bishop tied to a tree so she could have target practice. And then, unbelievably, she slept.
She woke slowly, her eyes fluttering open. Some time in the night they’d stopped moving, and if she could judge by the light filtering in through the curtain, it was early morning, just a little past dawn. She tried to sit up, forgetting she was trapped in her bunk, and she fell back in frustration. Her entire body hurt, but most of the pain was focused in her shoulders, and she bit back a cry of pain. As she began to see more clearly, she realized Bishop had converted the dinette into a bunk, and was asleep there, with Merlin lying on the mattress beside him.
That put her over the edge. “Hey, Bishop, or whatever your real name is,” she called out.
He didn’t move. He would have been exhausted after driving through the night, and she didn’t give a damn. “Bishop!” she said again.
He remained motionless, though Merlin had lifted his head, alert.
“I heard you.” His voice came from the bed. He didn’t sound particularly tired, just long-suffering, and she wanted to snarl. If anyone was suffering, it was her. “I was hoping you’d take pity on me and let me sleep.”
“Pity isn’t in my vocabulary.”
“And you’re a college professor!” he mocked, turning over.
She ground her teeth. “What the fuck are you doing with my dog?”
Merlin jumped down, pacing the small length of the camper to press his cold nose up against her face, whining.
“He didn’t like the duct tape. Neither did I.”
“You could have cut me free.” Too late did she realize what she’d said, and she scrambled. “So Merlin could join me, not you.”