Page 88

Sophia’s eyelids stuck together. Her tongue felt thick, fuzzy, her stomach queasy. A metronome swung in the background, every tick reminding her of endless hours of childhood piano lessons.
Needles stabbed her back and shoulders, and she couldn’t feel her fingers. She tried to stretch her arms over her head to alleviate the discomfort, only her body didn’t obey. The fog lifted enough to realize she was sitting down, arms pulled behind her. Something held her wrists together. Her chin rested on her collarbone.
It took a few tries, but she managed to pry her lashes apart to see her jean-clad thighs, the fabric between them some kind of green and red plaid upholstery. The rug beneath the chair looked Persian.
Expensive.
Familiar.
Where had she seen it before?
Jared’s study.The ticking sound must be the grandfather clock.
At least it’s not a bomb.
Fear, sickly sweet and overwhelming, replaced her brief spurt of morbid humor. Jared had been in her parking garage with some creepy guy. They must have drugged her.
“You’re awake.”
Jared’s voice.
Her heart leaped to her throat and stayed there. She kept her head down.
A chair creaked. The tips of Jared’s brown leather shoes brushed against her sneakers.
He lifted her chin, forcing her head up. “I was afraid Josh gave you too much sedative.” The brush of his thumb across her cheek sent shivers through her body. “Would you care for some tea? It might help you feel better.”
She throttled the urge to tell him to go to Hell. Antagonizing him wouldn’t help. “Yes.” Her voice emerged as a dry croak.
He smiled kindly, the personification of a benevolent host. He’d changed clothes. Dressed in a white golf shirt and tan slacks, he was the corporate executive on his way to the country club for a quick nine holes and drinks. Not a kidnapper, arms trafficker.
Murderer.
“I’ll get you a cup. Then we can loosen those restraints.” He left the room, closing the double-paneled doors behind him.
She twisted her body as far as her bound arms permitted and surveyed the room. The movement sent a dizzying wave of nausea through her. She faced forward, dropped her chin, and breathed deep to calm her stomach.
The bonds around her wrists stuck to her skin but didn’t dig in as rope would. Duct tape? Maybe she could rip or loosen her bindings. Get free. She glanced at Jared’s desk near the double doors. She could break free and call the police before he returned. Find a letter opener, something, anything to use as a weapon.
Her desperate optimism fizzled.
Even if she could get away from Jared, where was his sidekick? She’d rather take her chances with her boss than be at the mercy of that monster.
The doors opened. Jared carried a delicate china teacup and saucer on a small silver tray. A paper tag dangled from a string draped over the rim. The tableau looked so out of place that she had to bite back a semi-hysterical laugh.
He set the cup and saucer down on his desk and rummaged through one of the drawers. “Ah, here it is.”
She zeroed in on the wickedly sharp knife he held up. He brought it with him, along with the tea.
Her lungs wouldn’t inflate, turning her scream into a squeak. She shrank in the seat as far as her bound arms permitted. Pain ripped through her shoulders.
Jared gave a short laugh. “Relax, I’m freeing your arms.” He crouched behind her. There was a tug on her wrists before they sprang apart.
Pins and needles shot from shoulder to fingertip. Her teeth drew blood trying to keep in a moan. She carefully peeled the remaining tape from her wrists and rubbed the skin briskly to get the blood circulating.
Jared shifted to her front. The knife had disappeared, and in its place was the cup of tea. He handed it to her, and she balanced it on her lap. He fetched his desk chair and positioned himself in front of her. Propping his chin in his hand, he assessed her like he was deciding her fate.
The tea’s warmth tempted her sore, parched throat. Still, she hesitated.