Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A nnabelle found it difficult to remain upright. The floor felt as though it were made of sponge, and the walls seemed to move in and out. She staggered to the corner beside the desk and sank into the narrow space. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them tight. Shapes were distorted, the air felt thick, and nothing was as it seemed. It was as though she was looking at the world from the bottom of a swimming pool.

And she wasn’t alone.

Maybe?

A small part of her brain insisted she was hallucinating.

But he looked real to her. And she was sure she’d never met him before. She would have remembered. He reminded her of a bulldog in its fighting prime, all broad shoulders, compact muscle, and controlled strength. If he thought his sports blazer gave him a more civilized air, he was wrong. He wore faded jeans with a neatly pressed T-shirt and carried a gun—she’d caught a glimpse the holster at his waist when he rushed after her into the room.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. His voice was rich and warm. At odds with his rugged appearance.

“Wh-what do you w-want?” Unlike her captor, she sounded tight and terrified.

“To help you.”

“By k-keeping me p-prisoner?” He stood in front of the door, blocking her escape. Controlling her… Her teeth chattered she was shaking so hard, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

Slow breathing, slow and deep. Inhale, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three.

“I’m not keeping you here,” he murmured. “I only followed you in because I really need to talk to you. The district attorney’s office sent me to help you.”

The man headed to the wall farthest from the door, moving slowly. He lowered himself to the floor beside the unused camping toilet, stretched his legs out in front of him, and crossed his legs at the ankles.

Her gaze darted between him and the door.

“You can leave anytime you want,” he said. His low, soothing voice, with its gentle rolling accent of one of the southern states, had a calming effect on her, even though she didn’t want it to.

But then again, it could just be that she was zoning out. It took all of her energy to concentrate on what was happening around her when all she wanted was to sleep. Hesitantly, never taking her eyes off him, she got to her feet and, back to the wall, inched along the desk toward the door.

“My name’s Noah Merchant.” He seemed completely unbothered by her glacial attempt to escape. “I can show you my ID if you’d like?”

Annabelle licked her dry, cracked lips as the room swayed around her. “B-bad guys have ID too.”

His lips curled. “True. But most of them are fake. Mine’s real.”

She frowned at him. Was he joking with her? She reached up to push her hair away from her face and felt her skin burn. Fever. Flu . It came back to her in a rush. She’d caught the flu from the woman who delivered her groceries and had taken some medicine. A vague recollection of emptying the bottle surfaced in her mind. Had she drunk too much? Was this all just a feverish dream?

“Are you real?” she asked the stranger.

Would a hallucination tell her the truth?

“Sometimes I wonder.” He slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open in a gesture she’d seen TV cops make a thousand times. “I work for Benson Security. We’ve been hired by the DA’s office to get you to safety. Here’s my ID. I don’t have an official badge, but you can call the assistant DA for verification.” He carefully tossed it toward her.

Without thinking, she reached for it. Fumbling before she caught it. Once she had it, she froze. Was this a trick? Would he lunge at her now and try to subdue her? Her heart pounding against her rib cage, she waited to see what he’d do. But he didn’t move. He just watched her, quietly waiting.

Fingers trembling, she opened the leather wallet. His ID appeared behind a plastic window, the words blurring as she tried to read them. It took a while, but she eventually realized she was looking at an Atlantic City driver’s license that’d expired two years earlier. The name on it was Noah Merchant.

The worn edge of a photo peeked out from behind the license. Annabelle pried it free, aware that her movements were awkward. A studio portrait of a happy family stared up at her. Two parents and two kids, all of them smiling. One of the parents was Noah.

“Even criminals have families,” she muttered.

“True.” He nodded. “In my time as an Atlantic City cop, I met plenty.”

“How do I know this is real?” She was talking to herself because a bad guy, or a hallucination, wouldn’t give her an answer she’d believe.

“Call whoever you need to call. Check it out.” He sounded reasonable and appeared completely relaxed.

In her experience, kidnappers didn’t behave this way.

The last ones she’d encountered hadn’t been calm at all.

She glanced around, searching for her phone before remembering it was still beside her bed. There was an old-fashioned wired landline on the wall near Noah’s head, but she didn’t dare go near it for fear he’d grab her.

“I don’t have a phone,” she said.

He took one out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to her. It slipped through her fingers and landed on the floor.

Annabelle winced. “Sorry.” Then she realized she was apologizing to her captor and felt incredibly stupid.

Clutching the desk to steady herself, she retrieved the phone and stood back up. The screen displayed an image of the same two boys in the family photo. They looked older this time, and their eyes were sad—like their father’s.

She tapped the screen. “It’s password protected.”

“Linebacker360, capital L and no spaces.” There was no hesitation in his reply.

“You shouldn’t give people your password,” she said automatically.

His smile was wider this time, softening his bulldog appearance. “I think I can trust you.”

A loud thump on the door made Annabelle jump. She dropped the phone again, and it slid across the floor toward Noah.

This time, she didn’t apologize.

“Open the door,” an angry female voice demanded. “Noah, open the bloody door.”

“My partner.” Noah sounded weary. “I apologize in advance for anything she does or says. May I?” He pointed at the phone. “She’ll keep banging on the door unless I talk to her. I could shout, but you look like your head hurts, so it might be better to call.”

Annabelle nodded slowly. “Put it on speaker,” she managed to say.

“Of course.” He leaned forward to grab his phone, tapped the screen, then placed it face upward on his thigh.

Another loud thump on the door. This time, it sounded like a kick.

The phone rang inside and outside the room, making the situation even more surreal.

“Open the door,” the angry voice said when she answered the call.

Scottish? Annabelle blinked, trying to clear her head. “Your wife’s Scottish?”

“Not wife. Work partner,” Noah said.

There was another kick at the door. “Get her out of there, Merchant. We’re running out of time.”

“Stop banging the door, Violet,” Noah said. “You’re scaring Annabelle.”

“She should be scared,” Violet shouted. “Her life’s in danger, and she’s wasting time. We need to get her to a safe location. Fast.”

“A safe location?” Annabelle pressed a hand to her stomach as a wave of nausea assaulted her.

They couldn’t mean…

“Yes,” Violet snapped. “We need to leave.”

Leave?

“No. No, no, no.” Annabelle shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t. You can’t make me. I can’t leave. I won’t go. You can’t take me from my home. You have to leave?—”

“Nobody’s taking you anywhere,” Noah said evenly. “Violet’s just throwing out suggestions.”

She shook her head again, making herself dizzy. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“No,” the angry Scottish woman said. “It wasn’t.”

“Violet,” Noah snapped. “You aren’t helping. Once we get Annabelle out of this room, we can discuss our options.”

“Discuss options? To hell with that. Knock her out and throw her over your shoulder. We need to get out of here.”

Annabelle sucked in a breath, preparing to scream.

Noah held up a hand, staring at her earnestly as he spoke quickly. “I’m hanging up, Violet. I need five minutes to talk to Annabelle.” He cut the call and gave her a rueful smile. “I already apologized for her. There’s no excusing or explaining that woman, but believe me when I say no one will knock you out or take you from here against your will.”

She stared into his dark eyes for what felt like an eternity. “Promise?”

“I swear.” His words were a solemn vow, and even though she shouldn’t believe the stranger, she began to feel she did.

“Here.” Noah gestured with the phone before tossing it to her again. “Call the assistant DA.” He repeated his password once she’d caught it.

Her hands shaking, it took several attempts to enter the password and more stabbing at the screen to get the DA’s number. She put the phone on speaker while it rang.

“District attorney’s office,” a female voice said. “How may I help you?”

“Please put me through to Assistant District Attorney Grant,” Annabelle said.

“I’m sorry, she’s busy at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“Tell her it’s Annabelle Simmons, and it’s urgent.” She was aware her words were slurred and hesitant, but she couldn’t do anything to change that. The fog in her head wouldn’t allow clarity.

“Oh,” the woman exclaimed. “One second.”

The phone fell silent, and then the crisp, no-nonsense voice of Margaret Grant came on the line. “Annabelle, are you safe?”

Relief at hearing Ms. Grant’s voice made Annabelle weak at the knees. She grasped hold of the desk beside her. “Did you send someone called Noah Merchant to get me?”

“Yes, he’s from Benson Security. Is he with you? Please tell me you aren’t still in your house. You need to get out of there. Listen to me carefully, Annabelle. We have a leak. You aren’t safe, and you need to do whatever Mr. Merchant tells you. You can trust him.”

To his credit, Noah didn’t look smug.

“I can’t leave my house,” Annabelle whispered, fighting to suppress her shame. “You know I can’t.”

“What I know,” Ms. Grant said, “is that your life is in danger, and you need to let Benson Security protect you. There is no other option here, Annabelle. Do you understand me?”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“You don’t have a choice.” The assistant DA was forceful. “I have sympathy for your condition, but your life is in danger here. You have to let the Benson Security team take you to a safe house. Just go with them. They’ll take care of you.”

Just go?

Annabelle almost laughed. If it were that easy, she’d have left her apartment long ago. She’d have joined clubs. Experienced dates in restaurants, instead of her living room. Had a family. Lived.

“Annabelle,” the assistant DA snapped. “Are you there?”

“May I?” Noah asked from right in front of her.

He’d moved across the room, and she hadn’t even noticed. Way to stay safe, Bella.

Carefully, he eased the phone from her shaking hand.

“Ms. Grant,” he said, not taking it off speaker. “I’m here, and we’re dealing with the situation. I need to hang up now.”

“Just make sure you keep my witness in one piece, Merchant. Or I’ll make sure this is Benson Security’s last case in my district.”

“Understood.” He ended the call while looking at Annabelle. She didn’t know what to do or say. She was barely able to remain upright. The room moved around her, picking up speed like a ride at a fair she remembered from her childhood, and all she wanted was to find a cool space to lay her head until the world stopped spinning.

“You’re shivering.” Noah picked up the handmade quilt from the narrow bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. Suddenly, she was enveloped in more than an heirloom comforter. His warm, masculine scent surrounded her. It felt reassuring. Almost heady. And for a second, she had a crazy urge to curl into him and fall asleep in his arms.

“I c-can’t leave,” she told him. “I have a-a condition.” Her cheeks heated with shame. “I’m not normal.”

“Who is?” His lips quirked. “How about we deal with one thing at a time?” He gently led her to the bed. “Sit down and rest while I try to find something for that fever.”

The mattress was a cotton cloud beneath her, making her want to sink into it and float away. As she watched, Noah rummaged in the first aid box and fetched a glass of water.

He crouched in front of her. “Aspirin,” he said, holding up the bottle to prove it. He emptied a couple into her palm and handed her the water.

As she swallowed the pills, she studied his face. There was something fascinating about him.

“You have soulful eyes,” she said seriously. “You remind me of a sad bulldog.”

He flashed her a lopsided smile. “Is it the drooling or the jowls that give it away?”

Annabelle frowned, confused by his question.

His phone rang, and he answered it, putting it on speaker. “I asked for some time, Violet,” he said as he took the half empty glass from Annabelle.

She wasn’t sure if it was the soft bed or the warm quilt, but her eyes began to close all on their own. If she could just rest for a moment, everything would make much more sense. Just a moment…

“There are eight men.” His partner’s voice came from far, far away. “Heavily armed and heading into the building. Time’s up.”

Her words made no sense. It was as though they bounced off Annabelle and faded to nothing in the surrounding air. Sleep had her in its hold, wrapping her up in its comforting embrace, soothing her with promises of relief and safety. Of peace. There was no fighting this temptation. All she could do was surrender.

Through barely open eyes, she watched as the room toppled onto its side. The blissful touch of cool cotton against her cheek, and then her eyes closed completely.