Page 12 of The Pretenders of Copper County
And why was he telling me all of this? Did he know I’d try to escape? Was that what his other kidnappees had done?
“No need,” I assured him quickly, trying to sound like the most enthusiastic abductee who’d ever been abducted, despite my racing heart. “I’m sure it’s very secure. And I’mreally—” I managed a huge fake yawn and gestured aimlessly with my hands. “—gosh, just exhausted. You know the kind of exhausted where you can barely move a muscle? That kind of exhausted. So, so exhausted I can barely stand. It’s been a long day, what with all the—”Kidnapping. “—driving. Besides, I’m much more cooperative and docile when I’ve had a good sleep,” I said earnestly.
Reed frowned. “Okay. But you should eat something first. The kitchen’s always stocked. We’ve got—” He threw open a tall pantry cabinet. Every single shelf, floor to ceiling, all the way to the back, seemed to be filled with red-and-white cans of soup, and all of them appeared to be chicken noodle. He moved to the next cabinet and threw it open to find… more soup.
And then more in the next.
And the next.
I pulled my cuffs down over my hands and pushed up my glasses. With each cabinet he opened, Reed seemed more agitated, and I felt the bizarre urge to comfort him before I reminded myself that we were definitely not on the same side here.
“How fun and not at all strange!” I said brightly. “Who doesn’t love soup? So… moist. But could I rest first? I know it’s only eight o’clock, but I really am tired.”
“Yeah.” Reed rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “Same. Let’s head upstairs.”
“T-together?” I squeaked.
He grabbed his bags and gave me a strange look before turning me and giving me a little push toward the stairs in the center of the house. “Of course. I’m going to check out the bedrooms again. Lesson one in my line of work is trust but verify, and since every aspect of this day has been fucked, I’m not feeling super trusting.”
“In your line of work,” I repeated. Reed made it sound like kidnapping was a career. Like he had a LinkedIn profile. “Have you been, um, doing this long?”
“You could say that. Thirteen… no, fourteen years now.”
Halfway up the stairs, I paused, turned, and blinked at him. “And you’ve never been caught?”
“Caught?” He looked equally puzzled. “You mean, have I ever had a job go wrong? Sometimes plans get fucked-up, and I have to roll with it.” He shrugged. “Sometimes—once—I fucked the plans up.” His face went granite hard. “But that’s not going to happen this time.”
The words were a threat—they had to be, right?—but they didn’t feel threatening. Instead, they made my insides go warm and gooey, which was even more concerning than the biometric locks.
Was this early onset Stockholm syndrome? Or had I gotten my mental wires crossed earlier, thinking Reed was unbearably hot and possibly interested in me, and now they were having trouble un-crossing? It suddenly seemed even more imperative to get out of here before this got worse.
I faced forward again, marched up to the landing, and deliberately turned right, toward the first bedroom. “Your family has no idea what you really do, do they? Webb always sounds so proud when he mentions you?—”
Reed’s bags hit the floor with a thud, and a pair of strong hands gripped my shoulders, stopping me before I could take another step. “You don’t get to talk about my family,” Reed growled. “Understand?” For the first time since we got here… for the first time all night, really… Reed’s green eyes were cold, and he looked truly threatening.
I nodded. “Definitely, yes. I mean, definitelyno. I mean, who’s Webb? Never heard of him.”
Reed passed me into the bedroom whileI stood frozen in the doorway. The room was sparsely furnished—only a twin bed and a chair—but otherwise looked normal. No chains, no bars on the windows, no instruments of torture. He checked the empty closet—maybe looking for weapons I could use?—and beneath the bed. He bypassed the uncomfortable-looking wingback chair and headed for the window, doing something complicated to the latch before yanking to make sure it was locked tight.
“You should be fine here,” he said shortly.
“Yes. Yup. I’ll be fine. Sleeping here. Alone and by myself.” I nodded. “Good plan, Reed. You’re doing great.”
He gave me a narrow-eyed look. “Bathroom’s down the hall. You can shower and…fuck.You don’t even have a change of clothes, do you? And naturally, there’s nothing in this house for you to wear unless we knit something out of fucking soup can labels or go allSound of Musicon the curtains.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile—which was a totally inappropriate reaction, but you just don’t expect your grumpy kidnapper to blindside you with a snarky musical reference, do you?
Reed threw his head back and glanced at the ceiling as if praying for patience, then demanded, “Strip.”
My smile disappeared, and my breath caught. “P-pardon?”
“Strip. Jeans off. Now. I’ll take your clothes and wash them.”
I blinked. “Y-you’re gonna do my laundry? Really?” Needless to say, this hadneverhappened in aJohn Ruffianepisode.
Reed folded his arms over his chest and watched me stonily. “Didn’t you mention your jeans were wet earlier?”He cocked his head to one side. “Do I need to repeat myself?”
“Yes? I mean,no. I mean… Okay.” My hands shook as I moved them to my waistband and undid the button.
