pulled me into the ocean and I went under. I almost drowned. The lifeguard rescued me. Sh-she had to perform AR and I spent the night in the hospital."
He cupped her face in his hands. "Your fear is a normal response to trauma. But," he hesitated, "I'm trying to help, not put you down, okay? You shouldn't have to feel that the fear overpowers and controls you. Being terrified is no way to live."
"I've tried to conquer it. Intellectually, I understand. But forcing my emotions to obey is another story."
"This sounds simplistic, but concentrate on something else. Stay focused, so you don't have time to panic."
Maybe he was onto something. For a few minutes in the launch, she had forgotten her terror. That had never happened before. But she'd been focused on him. Bewildered, she shook her head. "Is that what you do?"
He was silent for almost a full minute. "Yeah."
"You don't seem like you're afraid of anything. What scares you, Gabe?"
A dark shadow clouded his eyes for a second. Then the mischievous sparkle returned and he gave her a dazzling smile, deepening the cleft in his chin. "Martha Stewart's 'to do' list—now that's scary." He stood and helped her to her feet. "Nightfall will hit soon. C'mon."
She recognized a distraction when she saw one. "Where?"
"I always have a Plan B."
He supported her while they navigated the dock and toiled up a rocky path bordered by pines. But instead of his touch making her his captive, she felt protected. Her bewildered gaze scanned the thick Oregon forest. A scarlet maple leaf drifted down to land on her shoulder. Inhaling a breath of crisp fall air sharpened with tangy wood smoke, she brushed it off. From the shadows, crickets chirped a singsong chorus.
The setting sun stretched long gold fingers of warm light across the path by the time they finally reached a log cabin at the top of the bluff. Below, hungry white-capped waves hammered the shore. With a shudder, she jerked her gaze away. "Where are we?"
He unlocked the door. Instead of answering, he waved at a green-and-navy plaid sofa. "Have a seat. I'll start a fire."
Perfect. While he was busy, she'd summon help. She didn't give a rip who he was, or what he was mixed up in, she wanted out. "I'll make a pot of coffee."
"Sure. But don't go climbing out the window. The kitchen overlooks the bluff." He grinned. "There's canned soup in the cupboard and bread in the freezer. You didn't eat in the car. You should get some chow in your stomach."
Tessa strode into the cozy, spotless kitchen. Red-checked curtains framed the window, accenting the wooden walls and navy-tiled countertops. Her gaze darted around the room, looking for the phone. Oh, no. No phone. Her hopes flatlined. She squared her shoulders. Fine, she'd devise another plan.
She made the coffee and then opened a cupboard. The sight of Road Runner mugs inspired a reluctant smile. The cartoon cups fit Gabe's mischievous, faster-than-a-speeding-bullet personality to a T.
As she filled his mug, a daring idea hit. Her hand slid inside her pocket and gripped the bottle of anti-nausea pills. Two had knocked her out for several hours. If he ingested enough…
She stood there, the plastic lid cutting an imprint into her clenched palm. What if she accidentally killed him? Drugging him felt like a sneaky, dirty trick. He'd treated her very decently. Get real, woman, the guy kidnapped you. She quickly smashed six tablets and stirred them into his coffee.
In the living room, a cozy fire crackled in the hearth. She couldn't meet Gabe's eyes as she handed him the mug. Perching stiffly on a navy chair near the fire, she cradled her own warm drink.
With a contented sigh, he propped his stocking feet on the coffee table. Dressed in a fisherman's sweater and snug, faded jeans, he looked relaxed and comfortable. And not at all like a bank robber. As he took a sip, guilt pierced her heart and she steeled herself not to flinch. She felt like she'd given him a cup of hemlock. He grimaced. "I wonder how old this coffee is?"
Her gaze jerked sideways to the flickering flames. Would he realize what she'd done?
"You're still jumpy. You're not afraid I'll hurt you?"
"The ocean scares me. You don't." In spite of a lingering edge of doubt, some primal instinct deep inside insisted he wouldn't harm her. After his gallant response to her irrational terror on his boat, she was almost sure of it. Wanted to