Chill Factor Page 0,66
rolled over coughing, and then turned back to suck down greedy mouthfuls of the clean, pure taste.
He was pacing behind me, kicking rocks. The flashlight beam bounced wildly off of rock, off of boxes stacked against the far wall. Off of scuttling insects fleeing a false and unwelcome day.
The mouthful or two of water I had time to swallow wasn't enough to cure me of thirst, and I was weak and exhausted and confused. I didn't even realize he had me until I felt the cold bite of the knife, panicked as I realized it was slicing away the tough elastic of my jog bra.
Cold cave air on my bare breasts.
Tell me how much you know.
His name was Orry. I knew his name, because Chaz had told me in the car. I'd delivered myself to the same fate Chaz had intended for me; of course I had, I'd been less than a minute away from the rendezvous when I'd called the wind...
I fought. The second time he hit me, I fell into the darkness, screaming, weeping, mourning. Trying not to feel what was happening to me. I wanted to leave, to wake up, but it hurt too much, and pain brought me back to the cave, to the darkness, to the knife.
He never made a sound, except for grunts and the pistonlike sound of his breath. I knew he was going to kill me; I knew every second because I'd seen what he'd done to the woman in the desert. When he was done, he would kill me.
Tell me what you know!
I lost hope.
I lost myself.
And then, when he had what he wanted, he shoved my head into the ice-cold water, and held me down to die.
I woke up screaming, or thought I did, but when my head was clear enough to register sound I realized it was just a thin, desperate moan vibrating in the back of my throat. I curled up on my side, drawing my knees to my chest, and realized that I wasn't wearing my new heavy silk sheath dress anymore. I wasn't wearing anything. The sheets clung cool to my damp skin, and I grabbed for them and wrapped them closer.
Someone in the room. My heartbeat hammered fast. I licked my lips and whispered, "David?" but I already knew that it wasn't, it couldn't be. David was far, far away, and he couldn't help me. Couldn't be with me, any more than he'd been there in the darkness of that cave while hope died.
Without meaning to, I slid my palm down from my chest to my abdomen, where a flicker of light remained. I am with you, something whispered, and some of the panic in me eased.
A light flicked on across the room, and revealed a sleepy-looking Quinn. He was reclining in a chair, feet up on a rich damask hassock, book folded open on his chest, a pair of reading glasses on the table next to the lamp.
Gun beside the glasses.
"Hey." His voice sounded rusty. He sat up, blinked at the book as it slid down to flop shut on his lap, and readjusted on me again. "How's the head?"
One big bruise. "Fine."
"The doc said you had a mild concussion, so somebody should stay with you. Lewis needed rest. You sleep okay?"
"Fine." Not. But I wasn't going to admit it to him.
He grunted and ran a hand over his face. Quinn was the kind of man who got more attractive from a day's growth of beard stubble, not less. "Yeah. You always whimper like that in your sleep when you're fine?"
"Mostly." I kept it cool and distant. "Clothes?"
"Sorry, I didn't figure you'd want to sleep in the three-grand dress. It's hanging in the closet." He was looking at me oddly. I wondered what my body language was saying. "Lewis took it off you, in case you're wondering."
"Thanks. You can go now."
"And you think I take your orders?" He sat up, kicked away the hassock, and holstered the gun. The glasses went into a pocket of his jacket, the book onto the table. "Coffee?"
"I want you to go." The panic was coming back, speeding up my nerves like a slow electric shock. "Go now."
"Sweetheart, I'm not going-"
"Go!" I screamed. It had the raw edge of panic. He froze. Watched me. I struggled to get my breath under control. "Just get out, okay? I want to dress."
He reached into the closet and retrieved three hangers draped with fabric, tossed them on the end of the bed,