Fear for Hire Read online

  Fear For Hire

  Natalie S. Ellis

  AVON BOOKS

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Fort Wayne, Indiana

  Friday, November 25, 11.30 p.m.

  Jack Wylie entered Laura’s apartment in under three seconds. The upper half of the duplex had an outside stairwell. Convenient. He glanced into the darkness one last time before guiding the door shut with a soft click. Holding his breath, he tilted his head toward a flicker of light to his right, and listened. Water splashing. The distinct scent of vanilla and burning candlewicks hung heavy in the air. A bath. Shit. Shower spray would have masked the sound of his movements.

  Leery of creaking boards, he stepped lightly. His fingers brushed the back of a nubby couch as he felt his way through the darkened living room, careful to keep that crack of light beneath the bathroom door in his line of sight.

  He slipped on newspaper strewn across the floor, and his flailing arm snagged a lamp. With a quick maneuver, he caught it before it shattered. When he raised his gaze, he faced a three-pot macramé plant hanger. The head-like shape of the pottery startled him into pressing the blade of his knife to the throat of a defenseless ficus.

  Jesus. Calm down.

  He took a deep breath and studied Laura’s studio apartment while his pulse rate decelerated. A double bed jutted from behind a bamboo screen on the far side of the room and he moved in that direction, dodging a narrow bookcase. He contemplated the closet as a hiding place, but suspected she might need something from it, so he squeezed his six-foot, four-inch frame underneath the bed instead. Most women stopped looking there around the age of thirteen. Just in case she hadn’t, he checked his wool ski mask. Satisfied with his disguise, he patted his jacket until he found the duct tape he’d stashed in his pocket.

  Mentally, he crossed the items off the list Rudy had given him. He’d fulfilled three of Laura’s requests. One: He’d broken in undetected — if you called using a key “breaking in”. Two: He wore a mask. And three: He was hiding — a pointless gesture since Laura expected him. But why argue a simple point when this entire fiasco rated a ten on the loony scale?

  Yawning, he focused on the remaining items on the list. He’d already fudged the first step by entering her apartment before midnight. He caught a break at eleven-thirty when the bathroom light went on, and his exhaustion goaded him into bending the rules. He’d keep Rudy in the dark on that score.

  She turned off the bathroom light. Narrow, bare feet passed within inches of his face. The bedsprings pressed against his shoulders. He pushed aside dusty magazines, clamping his jaw against the urge to sneeze.

  Step four: Wait until Laura falls asleep.

  In standby mode, he considered his surroundings. Not at all what he’d expected. Luxury. Yeah, that would’ve been his first guess. Not this cramped, economical duplex. Hell, she’d offered fifty grand for a cure. Couldn’t she afford a one-bedroom?

  Sleep apparently evaded her and the rolling motions above him became more violent. She groaned in obvious frustration. Nervous energy? Was she waiting for him to pounce?

  The mattress shuddered and he assumed she’d pounded her fists on it. If he had the pleasure of a soft bed right now, he’d be dead to the world. She’d better settle soon, or he’d get started, regardless — to hell with the list. He’d never been one to play by the rules. Besides, the result would be the same.

  The plan: Scare the shit out of Laura so she’d never fear her sadistic ex-boyfriend again. Apparently, the ass-wipe had gotten his rocks off playing kidnapper during their relationship. He blamed that damn Fifty Shades of Grey series for the upsurge of domestic violence. Sure, the books had provided a few kinky fantasies for the ladies, but lowlifes like Laura’s ex took the fantasy a step too far.

  A whimper. Was she crying herself to sleep? He flexed his shoulder blades and relaxed. Wouldn’t be long now. He listened to her breathing slow … and slow … and blinked himself awake. Her sounds soothed him and he was so damn tired. He shouldn’t be attempting this job after an overnight security shift at the bank, but he wanted to get it over with.

  Worried he’d fall asleep if he waited any longer, he slid out. Once he cleared the frame, he pushed up on his fingers and toes, then sprang to the balls of his feet. His right knee creaked. He froze, hovering above her, the paleness of her skin luminescent in the shadows. She lay on top of her comforter, a pair of white bikini panties and a gray tank top her only cover.

  Nice body. Real nice body — strong and sleek. A cop? Military? Nah, with training like that she wouldn’t be afraid of an ex-boyfriend. But she sure as hell didn’t sculpt those mile-long sexy legs doing aerobics. Slim hips, flat stomach. He whistled softly through his teeth. Damn perfect breasts, fuller than he would’ve expected on someone so lean. Her long, straight hair fanned above her shoulders. He glanced at her face to verify she matched the woman in the head shot Rudy had given him. His chest tightened and he jerked his gaze away. Too late. Those puffy pillow-lips would haunt his dreams.

  Time to go to work. He clasped her by the waist, tossed her onto her stomach, and pushed her face into the pillow just hard enough to muffle any screams. Startled awake, she bucked her curvy, near-naked ass in his face. Sweet Jesus! He sat on her legs, keeping one hand firmly planted on the back of her neck while he used his teeth to tear off a piece of duct tape. With the strip hanging between his lips, he caught her arms behind her and wrapped the tape around her wrists several times. He didn’t want to cut off her circulation, but she twisted her wrists and the bonds tightened.

  He ripped another piece of tape, cupped this one in his palm, and rolled her over. She sucked in air, but he gagged her before the scream escaped. A hunk of hair stuck to her face under the gag, making her look like a rumpled kid. But the sparks of terrorized fury she shot at him were far from childlike.

  Jack faltered. That kind of fear, he’d seen it before. He’d felt it before.

  But he’d never provoked it.

  Ignoring the sour taste in his mouth, he immobilized her thrashing legs with his body weight and bound her ankles. Confident the bonds would hold, he scanned the dim room for something to carry her out in. He spied a jumbo-sized laundry basket next to the front door. A tight squeeze, but adequate. It would arouse less suspicion than hauling her over his shoulder.

  A thump sounded behind him as he dumped out the unfolded clothes. He turned. She’d rolled off the bed and scooted like a slug in the direction of the phone. Who was she gonna call? Rudy? Maybe this job would be over sooner than both of them expected. He smiled.

  Bringing the basket with him, he stepped around her and yanked the sheet from t
he bed. He shook it out and settled it over the basket, pushing the center in and letting the rest flop over the sides. Balanced on her knees with her back to the nightstand, she’d actually managed to get the receiver off the hook. He scooped her up football style, then stuffed her sideways into the basket, tying up the excess material and neatly bagging her. She squirmed like a pillowcase full of puppies, so he tossed the striped comforter on top. Lack of air would deplete that excess energy in no time. Grunting, he lifted the heavy load. For a slender lady, she packed some dense muscle.

  Step five accomplished: Catch and secure Laura. Heading for the home stretch.

  A last glance around the apartment showed nothing out of place except the bedding and the pile of clothes on the floor. He balanced the shaky bundle against his hip and the wall, then swung the door open to a blast of cold air. Taking into account the first floor neighbor, he treaded softly as he descended the stairs along the south side of the building.

  Jack glanced up and down the street. Not a soul in sight. No one taking their dog on a late-night walk. No Acme Bar drunks stumbling home. His boots crunched over packed snow as he made his way into the alley behind the duplex where he’d parked his rented service van. He caught a whiff of baking bread from Zinnia’s Bakehouse around the corner and wished he had one of their cupcakes, coupled with a scalding cup of coffee.

  The van’s well-oiled double doors opened with ease and he pushed the basket to the middle of the floor, following inside before closing the doors. The yellow glow of the streetlamp filtered through the van’s front window, allowing enough light for him to see.

  When he spilled her out, she tumbled on top of the comforter and immediately resumed struggling. Taped up, she was as threatening as a playful kitten, so he went to work on the knot in the sheet and soon had her free. Her hair was tangled like a rat’s nest and a fine sheen of sweat misted her skin, staining the tank under her arms and across her chest. The scent of her muskiness filled his senses and he’d bet she had damp panties too. From the heat — or did this submissive reenactment turn her on?

  Rocking back to a sitting position, she shook her head until she could see him through a gap in her wild mane. He automatically lifted his fingers to check his mask, reassured it revealed nothing but his lips and eyes. Her narrowed glare contained enough rage to change his initial kittenish impression to one of more lethal proportions: wildcat. His knees ached, so he took her by the shoulders and spun her around. With her back pressed to his chest, he lowered his lips to her tiny ear.

  “Are you ready to give me the sign?”

  She stiffened and he dropped his gaze to her hands. She’d balled her fingers into tight fists.

  Shit. So much for the home stretch.

  Gritting his teeth, guessing sleep was still a long way off, he taped her thumbs to her fingers. He didn’t want her reaching down and freeing her ankles while he drove. Then he wrapped Rudy’s black scarf around her head, knotting it in back.

  Time for step six: Transport Laura to a new location.

  He locked the van and climbed into the driver’s seat. By now, he’d hoped this asinine therapy session would be over. He could hear Rudy’s lofty voice in his head: Don’t rush it, Jack. If you don’t provide the exact environment for Laura to reenact her fears, she won’t overcome them. Therefore, she’ll search for other means. “Other means” meant the criminal variety.

  He shuddered to think what would happen if a professional came forward to collect the fifty grand. Laura would get much more than she bargained for. And her fear of being abducted — Rudy called it merinthophobia — would be a non-issue if she fell into the hands of lowlife scum who did this for a living. If she stayed alive long enough.

  As he drove to the end of the alley, he glanced through a gap between the houses and saw a police unit turning onto Laura’s block. His heart screeched to a halt. Too close. How in hell would he have explained a bound and gagged woman residing in the rear of his van? His word might not be golden to the force any more.

  He looked over his shoulder. She hadn’t moved from where she lay curled in the center of the floor. Good. Step six, underway. He’d completed the hard part. It’d be smooth sailing from here.

  Ten minutes later, she rammed the back of his seat. His seatbelt tightened into a constricting vice. The van spun out of control on a patch of ice, heading straight for a thick oak tree.

  “Shit!”

  He wrenched the wheel to the left, pumping his brakes. The van slid two more feet, gripped a dry spot of pavement, and slowed.

  “Damn, lady. Are you trying to kill us, or what?”

  He forgot the gag kept her from answering. Good. Probably safer that way.

  The van’s headlights exposed an abandoned parking lot. He grabbed the metal license plate under the passenger seat and strode to the rear of the vehicle to switch plates — in case a neighbor had seen him leaving Laura’s apartment with a squirming bundle of laundry and called the cops. When he opened the doors to check on his captive, he found her leaning over the back of the vinyl bench seat, her sweet ass in the air as she prepared to tumble headfirst up front. With a shake of his head, he hauled his weary body after her, wrapped a fist around her damp tank, and yanked her back against him. He was getting way too old to play the hero — or the villain.

  He flipped open his knife and placed the flat side beneath her chin. The blade vibrated from her chattering teeth.

  “Don’t. Kick. My. Seat. Again.” He moved the knife away. “Got it?”

  She gave a few tiny nods, likely afraid he’d slice her skin if she made a bigger movement.

  “Good girl.” Jesus, bullying a woman made him feel slimy. Why had he let Rudy talk him into this?

  Doors locked once more, he returned to the driver’s seat. Before firing the ignition, he hit speed dial on his cell phone.

  Rudy answered on the first ring. “Jack? Is everything okay?”

  “I got her.”

  He heard a relieved sigh on the other end. “Any trouble at the apartment?”

  “No.”

  “Are you positive no one saw you?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  A long pause. “No reason. Did she give you the sign?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do whatever’s necessary to finish it. I’m getting nervous.”

  “Got it.” Jack punched the OFF button, tamping down a swift burst of annoyance. Now he’s nervous? What did he have to be nervous about? He wasn’t carting around a wildcat determined to crash the van.

  Rudy had wanted to do the job himself. What a joke. Even if his clumsy half-brother had managed to sneak into the apartment without alerting every neighbor within shouting distance, no way he could’ve caught and held onto Laura. And then Rudy would’ve made a phone call — to his lawyer, from the Allen County Jail.

  A quick check in the back revealed a silent hostage. She’d tucked her knees to her chest, still shaking, maybe crying too. Gritting his teeth, he started the engine and pulled out to complete the last thirty minutes of the trip.

  Thank God the fabric her captor had wrapped around her eyes absorbed her tears. If they’d dripped down her cheeks, the tickle would’ve driven her insane. Typical of her to find the positive in the direst of situations. Unfortunately, that was the only positive she could find. He’d bound her arms behind her back and her shoulders ached. Her stomach churned with fear, and nausea burned her throat, threatening to choke her.

  She could wish for the end of her ordeal, but then she’d be dead, wouldn’t she? Or did he only plan to rape her? He’d been careful to hide his face, giving her hope he’d spare her life.

  Every cell in her body shrieked to find a way out of the van.

  As a news reporter, she’d read numerous articles and interviewed experts who warned against allowing an abductor to remove you from the premises. No matter what, don’t let him force you into his car. The abductor would have complete control if he chose the scene of the crime. She was do
omed. And tied up like this, she couldn’t attempt one of the self-defense moves she’d learned while working on a rape prevention story.

  Oh God. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d grown up on the outskirts of Chicago and traveled through the shadier parts of town to and from college classes for years. She’d never faced anything so terrifying. Not until she moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana. The landlord assured her the neighborhood around the Lakeside duplex she rented was fairly safe. Fairly? So, midnight abductions happened infrequently? Or most people survived the ordeal? Wait until she told her parents. Ha! They considered the Midwest safe.

  If I ever see my parents again.

  They’d had snow, the last time she’d visited. The entire family had gone sledding on the hill behind their church. Her eight-year-old nephew had a facemask just like her kidnapper’s. Oh God, she’d give anything to trudge up that snowy hill right now.

  She whimpered as she imagined her devastated family. We shouldn’t have let her move away, her parents would say. She’s not the type to make it on her own.

  Spurred into action, she scooted across the floor until she hit a wall. The metal, smooth and flat, had no weapons or tools hanging from it as far as she could feel. Maybe if she reached higher?

  Rolling to her bottom, she pressed her back to the side panel, using it for leverage as she pushed to her feet. Her head struck the roof and she muffled a gasp. The van rocked, sending her sprawling with a loud crash. Her elbow smacked against the floor so hard, she couldn’t hold back a yelp.

  “Sit down,” her captor yelled — unnecessarily, because she was already immobile. Not exactly sitting, but definitely not upright.

  Trying to ignore the throbbing from her most recent injury, she concentrated on memorizing the man’s voice. She didn’t expect to recognize it, but she struggled to analyze it. The way a person spoke revealed a lot: danger, insanity, lust. She gulped and told herself she didn’t hear any of those qualities in his tone. His voice sounded level and stern — almost fatherly, but without the undercurrent of love — and brooked absolutely no argument. In control of his actions. A good thing. Right?