Page 28 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
Hawk was oblique about it. The casual mention of “your father will suffer if you don’t comply,” was enough. He didn’t need to catalogue in detail what would happen if she didn’t show. She imagined her father’s body eviscerated as those others had been, the unfortunate twenty-six who had met their maker with their entrails arranged in a gruesome, glistening pink tangle on the floor around their heads.
So she’d put her mail on a vacation hold. She’d paid her mortgage and bills in advance for three months. She’d run her daily route through Central Park six times in three days, trying to clear her mind and steel herself for the worst. Finally she’d taken a taxi in the middle of the night to the marina on the Hudson River.
And now she was here, stumbling along blindly beside the man—creature—who had been the best sex of her life and would unfortunately also be the one to gut her like a fish.
Hawk stopped. She bumped against him, sucking in a breath of surprise at the full body contact. He flinched away as if he’d been burned. “Step up,” he said curtly.
“How high?” was her arctic response.
There was a beat of what she imagined furious silence, then he put his hands under her armpits and lifted her from behind—easily, as if she weighed no more than a child—and deposited her unceremoniously to a surface that was, just slightly, rocking.
A boat. They were on a boat. Dear God, he was going to dump her body out at sea.
Would she still be alive when she went in the water? The thought of drowning, handcuffed, in a hood, made her shudder.
She hoped he killed her before he threw her overboard.
“Do us both a favor and stop thinking,” Hawk snapped, taking her firmly by the arm. He guided her around a few turns, down three steps, then pressed her down into a soft seat with his hands on her shoulders. Jack sat there rigid as a plank, hands clammy, sightless and helpless and hating the scared-dog trembling that wracked her body in spite of the long, slow breaths she pulled into her lungs in an effort to calm herself.
Hawk stood too near. She imagined he was, at that very moment, withdrawing a knife from his boot.
“The hood will come off as soon as we’re far enough away from land. The handcuffs . . . well, that’s going to depend entirely on how you behave.” His voice lowered. “And you should know, before you go trying anything stupid, you can’t get away from me. You can’t
overpower me. And you can’t hide anything from me. I’ll know what you’re thinking of doing before you do it, so again—don’t try anything stupid. I don’t want to have to hurt you, but I will if you make it necessary. Submit yourself to this, and in a few weeks you’ll be back home, no worse for wear.”
Submit? A few weeks? I’ll know what you’re thinking? She needed answers.
“You’re taking me somewhere.”
She knew she’d guessed correctly when he remained silent. Relief flooded her body, a flower of hope blossoming in the hardpan of her terror. “Where? Why?”
He made a small sound, quieter than a chuckle, and she wished she could see the expression on his face. Was he laughing at her?
“Because there’s a story you need to write, that’s why. And it requires a little . . . research.”
A story? Was this a ruse? Some kind of sick game to give her hope before he slit her throat and tossed her into the ocean?
“How do I know you’re not just going to release those pictures, even if I do ‘submit,’ or write this story? How do I know my father—”
“One thing you’ll very quickly learn about me,” he interrupted, his voice like granite, “is that I keep my word. Remember that. And remember what I’ve told you.”
I don’t want to have to hurt you, but I will if you make it necessary.
She remembered with cheek-burning shame how he’d spanked her in the hotel room, how badly it had hurt, and knew without doubt he was entirely capable of hurting her. She guessed the bastard would probably enjoy it.
Swallowing around the tightness in her throat, Jack remained silent.
“Surprise, surprise,” Hawk said, moving away. “The viper can keep her venomous mouth shut.”
His footsteps moved out of hearing range, and Jack was left alone in a room she couldn’t see, breathing in her own recycled breath beneath the uncomfortable hood, listening to the sound of big engines shudder to life as a foghorn sang a mournful bass note somewhere far off in the night.
She wasn’t a whiner, he’d give her that much.
Jacqueline Dolan was where he’d left her over an hour ago, sitting soldier straight and silent on the small beige leather sofa along the starboard wall in the quiet comfort of the cabin. The Pegasus was a beautifully restored forty-six-foot motorsailer he kept in the marina in Santarem for the monthly procurement trips he made for supplies, and she purred at a swift nine knots through the black Atlantic waters. He was seated astern at the helm, feeling the sea breeze sting his cheeks and snap through his hair, watching Jack through the small windows near his feet that provided an excellent view into the main cabin and galley.
He glanced behind him. As far as the eye could see, there was only starlight reflecting off dark water. They’d left New York far behind.
Time to remove her hood.
