three solid seconds I will myself to teleport anywhere but here. What the hell was I thinking? I don’t do blind dates. Hell, I don’t date.
“I hiked up Daringer Peak last weekend.” He starts in with his mile-high achievement. “You a hiker?”
And so it begins, a forty-minute montage of all his daredevil feats that have taken place over every corner of God’s green globe. I’ve long since knocked back my near-beer, and he’s yet to touch his, but swear to God if he drones on, I might have to start damaging my liver just to keep up.
“This is really great.” He comes out of his vested monologue after running down the bullet points of his titanic list of achievements. “We need to get together again. I think we’re really hitting it off.” His Adam’s apple travels up and down the length of his neck like a broken elevator. “You up for a night hike? I know a cliff side just past the Witch’s Cauldron that’s vertical as hell.” His eyes bug out at the prospect, and, for a fleeting moment, I wonder if I should be alarmed. “We can hit it right now!” He leans in, hitching his thumb toward the exit. Holy crap. They say never let an abductor take you to a second location. I’m pretty sure that’s one rule I should abide by tonight. “I’ve got my climbing gear in the trunk.” He’s halfway out of his seat while I screw myself into mine.
“In the trunk?” I’m betting he has a Hefty bag and shovel back there, too. Where the heck did Laney find this one? And what exactly are her requirements for this little charade? All limbs accounted for? A basic eye exam? I’m thinking a Rorschach inkblot test could have taken us far.
“If you’re not down for that, we could do a run. I’ve got a pair of night vision goggles in the trunk, too!” His breathing picks up pace. “We could hit the beach.” His eyes bulge as if it were the greatest idea in the world—never mind the fact it’s just this side of freezing. That’s nature’s way of giving June the finger. “There’s nothing like getting the sand between your toes—just taking off down the shore like an effing bullet!” His hand jets past my face, and, swear to God, he was inches from smacking me in the eye.
Crap.
I do a quick sweep of the bar for my psychotic baby sis, but she’s nowhere to be found—blissfully oblivious to my newfound terror of all the things that might be lurking in Marty McMullen’s trunk. My eyes snag on a familiar brassy blonde—Jemma.
“Or hell”—he digs his fingers into his temples—“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. We got all those damn dormitories right down the street!” He sweeps my elbow off the table. “Fire escapes!”
“Fire escapes?” Dear God. I need a fire escape.
“There’s no greater rush than climbing those bastards at midnight.” The veins on the side of his neck bulge like garden snakes trying to escape their imprisonment.
“I don’t think so. I’m not wearing the right shoes.” I sling my purse strap over my shoulder and prepare for my own escape. I’m going to string Laney up on a fire escape by midnight if this doesn’t end soon.
“All right, look.” He scoots in close and snatches me up by the arm. His fingers close over me tight as a coil.
“Don’t touch me,” I breathe the words out, almost inaudible. That fated night comes back to me in jags. Don’t touch me! My mom will be home any minute. I said stop!
“We should go for a drive down to Jenson’s Lake. I’ve got a kayak hidden in the brush—” He buries his face in my neck, and I gag on my next breath. “The things I’d like to do to you.”
A pair of strong arms pluck him off and send him flying.
“Get the hell out!” Holt roars before pulling me from my seat and cradling my face in his hands. “You all right?” His steely eyes settle on mine, and something deep inside my soul melts. I want to bury myself in his chest and cry rivers because I’m anything but all right.
“Yes. I promise, I’m fine.” The lie corks from my throat like a raft. “He was just getting worked up.”
“He’s a notorious cokehead. I think Laney needs a little help vetting the crew.” He glances over his shoulder, and we watch as coked-up Marty blasts his way to