Burn (Page 44)

"Shut up or I’ll gag you."

He just might do it, too, she thought, forgetting that she didn’t want to look at him and glare, which was wasted because he wasn’t looking at her. He was removing the contents of the duffle bag and laying everything out on the bed. There was an array of electronic equipment, the use of which she couldn’t begin to guess at, wires and gadgets and tools that looked like –

"Is that a drill? Why do you need a drill? What are you drilling?"

"Holes to screw your coffin shut," he growled. "Shut up."

Oh, the satisfaction of getting under his skin. Served him right. She waited a minute, waited until he looked as if he was getting deep into concentration, then said sulkily, "I need to pee."

His head fell forward and he closed his eyes.

"I can’t help it. Everyone needs to pee. Even Darth Vader needed to pee, though I don’t know how he managed it without taking off his life-suit. If you hadn’t made me drink that teeter-totter I wouldn’t need to pee now, so it’s your fault." If she could have thought of anything else outrageous to say she’d have said it, because she wanted – needed – to see what he would do when pushed, how far he’d go.

Grimly, not saying anything, he picked up a pair of wire cutters from the tools on the bed and snipped open the plastic that bound her to the chair. Only then did she realize that he could have pulled the cuffs much tighter than he had, because he’d easily been able to slip the wire cutters between her skin and the plastic.

With her newly freed hand she held the towel of ice to her arm as he escorted her to the bathroom. She didn’t know why he thought she needed an escort, because there was no way out of the bathroom other than back through the bedroom. From a previous visit, when Faith had been guarding her, she also knew there was nothing in the bathroom that could be used as a weapon, unless she could convince him to step on a bar of soap, slip, and bash his head when he fell.

"Don’t lock the door," he ordered.

Jenner considered how far she wanted to push him, and decided she’d gone far enough for right now. Baby steps. After all, she had no real idea how he’d react if she really tested his patience. She didn’t know him, didn’t know what he was capable of. She didn’t want to inadvertently push the wrong button and get Syd harmed, just because she was laying groundwork and exploring her limits. So she didn’t lock the door, and she did pee, just in case he was listening.

As she was washing her hands she looked at herself in the mirror.

A pale, exhausted face stared back at her. God, what time was it? Glancing at her wristwatch, she realized there was a very good reason why she looked exhausted. She’d been up since before dawn, Eastern time, and it was now two a.m. Eastern, eleven p.m. Pacific – almost twenty-four hours.

He opened the door. "That’s long enough. Come on out."

She finished drying her hands, examined the reddened skin on her arm where she’d been holding the ice, and decided she didn’t need any further application. She unfolded the hand towel and shook the ice into the basin, then neatly hung the towel over the rack to dry. As she left the bathroom he turned to precede her, keeping himself between her and the door, and she saw the swelling, purplish spot where she’d bitten him on the triceps. He needed the ice far more than she did. Unless he went swimming, though, he wouldn’t be taking off his shirt.

She stared at his back, at the deep furrow of his spine bisecting all those muscles, and wished to hell he’d put a shirt on now.

"I’m exhausted," she said, to take her mind off the manscape in front of her. The only time she’d ever let good looks get in the way of her common sense had been with Dylan, all those years ago, when she was just twenty-three, and even then the insanity hadn’t lasted long. She was made of tougher stuff now. "Whatever you’re doing, it can wait until tomorrow. Lock me in here, sleep sitting up against the door, I don’t care. Just let me get some sleep."

"What I’m doing can’t wait until tomorrow," he replied shortly. "And the more you interrupt me, the longer it’ll take. So sit down and shut up. Got it?"

She got it. If she hadn’t, the fact that he pushed her down into the same chair and slapped a real pair of handcuffs on her, fastening her to the chair, would have gotten her attention.

She stared down at the metal shackling her wrist. Somehow this seemed far more alarming than the plastic cuffs. These were real handcuffs, and whatever these people were doing, they were serious as a heart attack about it.

Chapter Thirteen

CAEL LAY ON HIS STOMACH ON THE BEDROOM FLOOR, drilling a small hole in the base of the wall that separated this suite from Larkin’s suite. Larkin could return to his suite at any time, though his duties as host of the cruise might keep him occupied for an hour or so longer, depending on who wanted to talk to him. If Cael didn’t get this done before Larkin returned, they’d be both blind and deaf this first night at sea. He didn’t like that option, so he ignored everything else and concentrated on what he was doing. He wanted ears in that suite, if nothing else.

Normally, concentrating wasn’t a problem. Normally, however, he didn’t have a woman with attitude yammering at him nonstop.

He’d been right about her having the guts to carry off the act he needed. He’d also been right about her causing trouble. Just for once, he wished he’d been wrong. This would have been so much easier if she’d been more like Sydney Hazlett, who was frightened and had cried some but hadn’t shown any sign of fighting back. She’d been told the same thing that Redwine had been told, that her friend’s safety depended on what she did, that each was hostage for the other. The difference was that, according to his people holding Hazlett, she was quiet. Redwine was anything but quiet.