The Missing Maitland

“Look, lady—”

“You know my name,” she snapped. “Use it!”

Docile could never be used to describe this woman, he thought. Her blue eyes were spitting fire. Heat stained her cheeks crimson and her rounded breasts were heaving as if she’d just run a mile, or just made wild love to her mate.

The last notion turned his thoughts in a different direction, and for the first time since he’d learned that a Blossom Woodward existed, he wondered who the woman behind the blond beauty on the television screen really was.

“All right, Blossom. Why don’t you settle down and have the good sense to thank your lucky stars I was around when those goons came by with their assault rifles.”

Her brows arched skeptically. “Because I have no idea who you are. You might be one of them!”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure. That’s why I shot back at them.”

“That doesn’t necessarily make you a hero,” she countered. “You could have been in cahoots with the people in that van, but at the last minute decided to take the big slice of pie for yourself.”

“Do you see me eating pie?” he asked as his gaze focused on the left-hand mirror outside his window. A vehicle was rapidly approaching their rear. The shape didn’t resemble the gunmen’s van, but in the past few minutes the sun had slid behind a hill and dusk was making it difficult to discern distant objects with much accuracy. He reminded himself how fatal it might be to let himself be distracted by Blossom Woodward.

“You know what I mean,” she continued. “Those gunmen wanted someone on the Maitland grounds. And I don’t think it was me,” she said matter-of-factly.

He didn’t answer until the vehicle had safely passed them and was traveling on down the highway. Even then his voice was preoccupied, something that she noticed and took as another insult.

“You’re thinking too much, Blossom. You’re wearing me and yourself out.”

Frustration had her twisting around in the seat, away from him. The movement caused the heel of her shoe to come into contact with something on the floorboard. Looking down, she noticed it was caught on the strap of her leather shoulder bag.

Apparently she hadn’t lost the bag back at the clinic parking lot as she’d first assumed. It must have slid off her arm and onto the floorboard when Larkin, or whoever he was, pushed her into the truck.

Thank goodness for small things, she thought. At least she’d have her identification with her if she was found dead or unconscious. On the other hand, if she was clever enough to escape, she’d have her checkbook and the small amount of cash she’d gotten from an ATM this morning. And last but not least, she’d have a comb and lipstick just in case she ever got back in front of a camera.

Forgetting her captor for the moment, she bent down and pulled the bag onto her lap. It was then she remembered the cellular phone inside. Why it had taken her so long to think of something so important, she didn’t know, but her heart was suddenly pounding with excitement. If she could dial 911 without him knowing, she might possibly alert the operator that she needed help.

But where were they, she wondered frantically. If her sense of direction was still reliable, since leaving Austin they had continued to travel west and north. In fact, from what she could see of the passing landscape it appeared that they were headed toward Pedernales Falls.

The notion sent a chill slithering down her spine. The state park surrounding the falls contained more than five thousand acres of wilderness. Parts of it were rough mountain area. If he got her onto one of the primitive hiking trails or down in the gorge where the river had cut steep banks from the limestone, she might not have a chance to call for help. No one might ever see the two of them.

She darted a surreptitious glance his way. At the moment he appeared to be absorbed with the task of driving. If she could get the phone turned on and key the numbers without him seeing, then the dispatcher on the other end would hopefully pick up their conversation and sense trouble. Though she hadn’t seen a highway sign yet, she believed they were on Highway 290. Surely she could repeat that much before he caught on to what she was doing.

Slowly, she pushed her hand beneath the leather flap on the bag. Her fingers immediately came in contact with more leather. Her checkbook. Inching deeper, she felt the bristles of a hairbrush, a wad of crumpled tissues, a tube of lipstick.

Triumph surged through her. There it was! Then just as quickly, she mouthed a silent curse. She’d been so happy to get rid of her old, heavier phone, for the lightweight flip-top version she was clutching inside the bag. But now she desperately wished she still had the old one. It would have been much easier to handle without drawing attention to her movements.

Oh, well, she couldn’t be stopped by trivial hurdles now, she mentally scolded herself. She had to try. She couldn’t let this maniac or whatever he was take her into a secluded wilderness.

Slowly, carefully, she used the tips of her fingers to tug the phone just to the edge of the flap covering the opening of the purse. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was so dry her tongue felt like a thick blob. Twice during her effort, she cast furtive glances at the man who’d called himself Larkin. Both times he was looking straight ahead, seemingly preoccupied with thoughts of his own.

Now was the moment, she silently coached herself. Flip the phone open and push the last digit on the third line, the first digit twice.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The unexpected sound of his gruff voice caused Blossom’s whole body to jerk, sending the bag in her lap sliding to the floorboard. Immediately his eyes zeroed in on the phone in her hand and he mouthed a searing curse word.

“I’m calling the police,” she shouted defiantly. “You’re not going to take me anywhere!”

His hand lunged for the phone and ripped it from her grip.

Seeing the device as her last link to safety, Blossom cried out in horror, then, throwing herself at him, she began to pummel his arm and shoulder with her fists.

“Give me that phone—you crazy man!”

The truck swerved wildly from one side of the highway to the other as he tried to ward off her attack. In the back of her mind, Blossom realized she was probably going to make him wreck the vehicle, but at this point she didn’t care. Dying in a car accident would be preferable to being murdered, tortured or both.

“Stop it, damn it! Before you kill us both!” he yelled.

“Give me the phone!”

With one hand he managed to shove her across the seat toward the passenger door. Before she could make another lunge at him, he jammed the brakes on and brought the truck to a jarring halt on the side of the road.

Without the restraint of the seat belt to hold her down, Blossom went flying toward the windshield and only managed to stop her head from whamming into the glass at the very last second.

By the time she’d collected herself, Larkin had rolled down the window and was about to make a fast ball out of the telephone.

“No! You can’t!”

Shrieking now, she threw her whole body at him. But her efforts were too little, too late. The telephone went flying out into the hot night.

Yet even in defeat, Blossom continued to strike her fists against him. She wasn’t going down without a fight. Not by a long shot.

It wasn’t until he had her confined in the tight circle of his arms that he realized she wasn’t just fighting him over a cellular phone. She was frightened and fighting for her life.

“Blossom! Stop it!” he ordered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She went instantly still, her body stiff and rigid in his arms, her breasts heaving against his chest.

“Then—why don’t you—let me go?” she asked as she gulped in deep breaths of air.

In the blink of an eye, his rigid features softened. “Because it’s too dangerous. I—have to take care of you now.”

Confusion crumpled her features and then her body sagged against his. The contact was as startling as it was comforting. Instantly, she was acutely aware of his dark face hovering over hers, the hard expanse of his chest against her breasts, the utterly male scent of his skin and hair enveloping her in an erotic fog. His hands were hot on the flesh of her back, yet she welcomed the heat, the sizzling excitement his touch was bringing her.

A fleeting recollection of something she’d read dashed through her mind. Something about fighting being closely akin to having sex. Well, at this very moment she believed the notion to be true. Her eyes were riveted to the curve of his lips while a strange need gripped her lower belly.

“I—don’t—understand,” she whispered.

“It isn’t necessary for you to understand, Blossom. Just trust me.”

With each spoken word, his lips drew closer until finally Blossom realized that as far as she was concerned, common sense, fear or trust were no longer issues. She had to kiss this man or die from the wanting.

Chapter Two

He didn’t know how it had happened. One moment he’d been wrestling with her in an attempt to stop her flying fists. The next thing he knew her soft, warm lips were on his.

Ribbons of heat radiated through both his shoulders, and slowly it dawned on him that the source was her fingers pressing gently into his flesh. Yet those two spots of warmth couldn’t begin to compare to the twin furnaces of her breasts thrust tightly against his chest. They were burning right through to his lungs, robbing him of his breath and his senses.

The small part of his brain that was still working told him that this was how a man slipped and forgot the dangers stalking him. It shouted that if he wanted to get killed he should just keep on letting Blossom Woodward dally with his senses.

The idea sent cold reality surging through him like an icy wave, and with it he found the strength to tear his mouth away from hers.

“What in hell is going on here?” He barked the question in a hoarse voice.

Blossom stared at him, her expression a mixture of dreamy bemusement and self-deprecation.

“What’s the matter with you?” she snapped. Then, pushing out of his arms, she jumped back to her side of the seat and began to tug down the straight skirt that had ridden up along her thighs. “Haven’t you ever had a woman kiss you before?”

“Not like that!”

Blossom’s face flamed with embarrassed heat, but she still managed to meet his gaze directly. “I hope that’s a compliment.”

He groaned loudly, then said several curse words she couldn’t have brought herself to say even if she’d been in a dark closet with no one around for three miles.

“It means you’re crazy and so am I!” he yelled. “It means you could have just gotten us killed!”

Jerking his head to the right, he squinted through the back windshield of the truck at the darkness beyond. He could see no lights anywhere, but that was hardly enough to make him happy. Anyone wanting to slip up on them could have turned out their headlights and walked right up to the truck door, stuck a gun to their heads and blown them away without either of them knowing what happened.

Angry at himself more than her, he jerked the gear-shift into low and gunned the vehicle back onto the highway.

Across from him, Blossom decided it was time she put on her seat belt. Escaping was not foremost in her thinking now. In fact, it wasn’t in her thoughts at all. She was too preoccupied with her own rash behavior and with trying to understand what had prompted her to initiate the kiss that had just taken place between them.

Blossom silently groaned as the whole incident replayed in her mind. She had to admit she’d been giving Larkin more than just a kiss. She’d been making love to the man! As for him, she didn’t know what had been going on in his mind. But hers was still generating X-rated images.

Had she totally lost her senses? she wondered helplessly. She had no idea who this man was or what he was up to. She did know that he was arrogant and insolent and he was holding her against her will.

Yet she couldn’t stop the erotic thought that he’d also been holding her against his body as well, and she’d relished every second of the captivity. My word, she wasn’t just losing her mind, she was turning into her mother!

Refusing to let that horrible notion remain in her head, she gave him a sidelong glance full of accusation and, God help her, appreciation.

“I fully intend to make you reimburse me for the cellular phone. You shouldn’t have thrown it out the window!”

He flipped on the turn signal and directed the truck onto a dirt road. Dust boiled in their wake as he once again stomped on the accelerator.

“If I’d wanted to alert the police, I would have done so back in Austin,” he explained with an exaggerated patience that grated on Blossom. “But you’re smart enough to know that.”

Darkness had completely fallen over the landscape, but in the arc of the headlights, she could see that the road they were traveling was carrying them deep into the woods, probably somewhere in the Pedernales park, she figured. She tried not to picture where they might be going or what tomorrow would bring. If she did, she would surely become hysterical, and that was a luxury she couldn’t afford at the moment.

Peering at his profile, illuminated by the muted lights from the dash panel, Blossom asked, “Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“A criminal?”

“No.”

She took a deep breath and raked her disheveled hair back from her face with both hands. “A few moments ago, you implied that someone could or might be following us. Do you honestly think those goons with assault rifles wanted to kill you or me? Or both of us?”

His jaws tightened. “When you can feel the wind off a bullet, that pretty much implies it was meant for you.”

Blossom wasn’t convinced. “Look, I know I’m not the darling of Austin’s reporters. I realize people frown on what I do and how I do it. But that doesn’t mean they want to shoot me down. And as for you—well, to hear you tell it, you’re just a simple gardener. I doubt anyone would risk spending the rest of his life in prison just for the kick of taking out a groundskeeper.”

“So you’ve got it all figured out. Guess you can put your speculations to rest now.”

He was so smooth, so sarcastic, that she wanted to bash him over the head with something. Mainly her fist. But her knuckles were already sore from her earlier assault on him. Besides, she didn’t want to risk ending up in his arms again. The temptation—or she should probably view it as the danger—was simply too great.

“I don’t have anything put to rest,” she retorted. “The last thing I remember before you grabbed me was that Megan Maitland, her friend Clyde Mitchum, and her grandson Chase had just walked out of the clinic. In case you don’t know, Megan is more than just the CEO and co-founder of the Maitland Maternity clinic, she’s incredibly wealthy and a very prominent and notable citizen of Austin. She dotes on her grandson, Chase. Which would place a high ransom on the kid’s head. And let’s not discount Clyde, either. From what I can gather, he and Megan knew each other in the past. He’s come back to Austin to close the distance between them and so far Megan hasn’t exactly pushed him away. In my opinion, those three are much more likely to draw attention from maniacs with guns than you and me.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

Flustered and weary, she stared at him. “Can you be certain those three weren’t the target?”

No, he thought with a silent curse. He couldn’t be sure of anything right now. But as soon as he got Blossom and himself out of imminent danger, he was going to find out.

“I’m not certain of anything, Ms. Woodward.”

Once again she crossed her legs and folded her arms against her breasts. The toe of her high heel swished up and down with agitation. “So we’re back to Ms. Woodward now instead of Blossom. What’s the matter? Afraid if you get too personal I’ll try to kiss you again?”

He’d never encountered such impertinence or bravado from a woman. Especially one as young as Blossom Woodward. If the situation hadn’t been so risky, he’d have the pleasure of taking her down a notch or two. But for now, he had to make sure she didn’t get to him—in any way.

“You can try, but that’s as far as you’ll get.”

Stung by his retort, Blossom clamped her mouth shut and stared out the passenger window.

She’d die before she touched the man again, she silently swore. He could choke her with his own hands or toss her back to those idiot gunmen. Either way, he would never be the recipient of her kisses again!

Nearly twenty minutes later, the pickup came to a halt in a small clearing. Blossom whipped off her seat belt and peered through the windshield. They were parked on a rough incline with the nose of the truck a great deal higher than the rear. In front of them was some sort of structure shrouded by huge shade trees.

“What is this place?” she asked. The words were the first she’d spoken since her silent vow to hate the man forever.

“A cabin that belongs to a friend of mine. Where we can stay. Hopefully, where we won’t be used for target practice.”

He opened the door and slid to the ground. When he came around and opened the passenger door, Blossom remained rooted to the seat.

“What’s the matter?” he drawled. “Your legs won’t work?”

Blossom wasn’t sure if anything about her worked anymore. Especially the common sense she’d always prided herself in having. But the last impression she wanted this man to have of her was that she was a weak, helpless female.

“My legs are fine. But I’m not at all certain I want to go into that—house—with you,” she told him frankly.

He shrugged, then lifted the baseball cap from his head and ran a hand over his thick hair. “Suit yourself. As for me, I’d rather eat and lie down on a regular bed than stay out here in the dark.”

Not waiting for her reply, he turned and left her on the truck seat. Blossom watched his dark figure walk onto the shallow porch of the cabin, then disappear through a door. Moments later the dim glow of a light appeared in a single window on the front of the structure.

Apparently the man actually intended to spend the night here, she concluded. And since they were so far back in the boondocks that a bloodhound couldn’t find them, he wasn’t the least bit concerned about her taking flight.

Damn the man, if he hadn’t thrown her cell phone away, she could have used it now. But that was mostly her own fault. She should have sat tight and waited for a better opportunity to attempt to dial 911. Instead, she’d panicked and tried to carry out the plan right in front of him. Stupid, Blossom. Real stupid!

With a weary sigh, she flopped over sideways on the seat and closed her eyes. She could sleep here in the truck seat if she had to, she thought. In a couple of hours, the night air would begin to cool. With the windows rolled down she wouldn’t melt in her own sweat. But right behind that encouraging thought came the realization that the mosquitoes would make a feast of her. Just the thought had her rubbing her legs and arms in anticipation of the itchy pain.

Pushing herself upright, she gnawed fretfully at her bottom lip while staring at the cabin. Was there water and a bathroom inside? she wondered. Food and a place to lie down? If there was and he was enjoying those luxuries without her, she’d make him suffer.

Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she grabbed her purse and climbed out of the truck. Carefully choosing her steps over the rough ground, she stopped now and then to glance around her. There were no lights connected with other human inhabitants, no sounds except for a choir of frogs and katydids and the occasional call of a whippoorwill. She’d never been in such an isolated place in her life.

When Blossom finally gathered the nerve to open the door and step inside the cabin, Larkin was standing with his back to her at a crude counter made of wooden crates. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence with words or even throw a glance her way, and Blossom realized that he’d been expecting her, as though he’d known what she would do long before she knew herself. The idea was unsettling. Even more so than being stranded here alone with the man.

“There’s a bathroom on the back porch to the right,” he said. “It’s supplied with gravity-flow water. I’m sure you’ll want to use it before we eat.”

Relieved by this bit of good news, Blossom scurried across the room and out a narrow screen door. As he’d stated, there was a tiny bathroom built on one end of the porch, complete with sink, shower closet, towels, washcloths and bar soap with the tangy scent of pine.

After using the basic facilities, she washed her face and hands, then brushed her hair and secured it into a ponytail with a rubber band she found in the bottom of her purse. Blossom didn’t bother fishing out her compact. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her she looked awful, but in this bizarre situation, comfort was more important than her appearance.

Back inside the cabin, she found Larkin scraping the contents of a large can into a black iron skillet. She watched as he placed it on a narrow cookstove with four gas burners, then touched a lighted match to the burner beneath the skillet.

“What is that?” she asked, inclining her head toward the heating food. “It looks like someone has already eaten it.”

“Hash. It might not be gourmet food, but it will keep you from going hungry.”

He stirred the blob with a wooden spoon, and as Blossom continued to watch him, she got the impression that he knew his way around a kitchen, even one as rustic as this.

The idea quickly spawned more questions in her mind, and she realized for the first time since the two of them had spun away from the clinic that she’d been so busy worrying about him having harmful intentions toward her that she hadn’t stopped to consider his personal identity.

“You seem pretty good at handling that spoon. Do you know how to cook things from scratch instead of emptying a can?”

“When it’s necessary.”

“Is that often?”

He turned away from the stove and began to fill a graniteware coffeepot with water. “Whenever I want to eat something other than fast or frozen food.”

“So—you don’t have a wife who cooks for you.”

“No wife. And even if I did have one, that doesn’t necessarily mean she’d want to cook for me.” He glanced at her as he spooned coffee grounds straight into the water. “Are you good in the kitchen?”

She had the naughty urge to tell him she was good anywhere. But she quickly bit back the words, shocked at her own brazen thoughts. Those bullets whizzing past her head must have done something to her. She wasn’t behaving like herself tonight. Especially when she looked at Larkin.

“Not really. I manage to do canned soup or sandwiches.”

His lips twisted into a mocking line. “Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you’re not the domestic sort.”

His barb shouldn’t bother her. After all, she’d never cared about winning a Martha Stewart contest. She had other things on her mind, like getting the scoop on an adulterous city official before some other television station or newspaper caught wind of it. But for some ridiculous reason, Larkin’s remark had left her feeling properly insulted.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t the domestic sort,” she corrected him. “I just don’t know much about cooking. There was never anyone around to teach me.”

She was twenty-one, he knew that much. He’d also managed to garner other information about her. Such as the fact that she had no siblings. He’d learned she did have parents, but neither lived in Austin. Yet those were only outward facts about the woman. He knew nothing of who she was on the inside. Or why she’d been searching for a man called Luke Maitland.

“What about your mother?” He plopped the lid down on the coffeepot, then turned and placed it on the burner alongside the heating hash. “Or did your family have a hired cook?”