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“And the phony, unaffected act has got to go.”
Fresh anger wrung through her already aching muscles. “Look, buster, I’m not going to lose it now, got that?” She chugged a few sips of water and returned the bottle to the small table between the beds. Then she clutched it for support. Her knees wobbled; her voice went husky. “I’ve held it together this long, and not for you, not for anyone, am I going to let those miserable bastards break me down.”
One brow lifted in surprise as Dare studied her for long, silent moments, and then he shook his head with annoyance. “Sit down before you fall down.”
She didn’t take orders well, but this time she gladly sat. It required all her willpower not to sprawl back on the bed and just fade into oblivion. But if she did that, she’d wake just as dirty, and it turned her stomach to even think it.
Dare stopped in front of her. He examined the bottle of water and must have been satisfied—so far. “What do you want to do first?”
“Shower.” She needed to be clean again. “Oh, God, I want a shower.”
“I’ll get it started for you.” He hesitated. “Can you manage on your own?”
Her heart almost stopped. “Yes, of course.”
Still he didn’t move away. He crouched down in front of her, and his powerful thighs strained the material of faded denim. Those blue eyes were eerily intense as he studied her face. “You’re safe with me, Molly.”
“I … I know.” She sensed that much. She just didn’t have the wherewithal to start asking questions yet. Priorities, priorities.
“If you need help—”
“I’d stay dirty first.” She was quite certain about that. No way would she invite a man to bathe her. She shuddered at the thought.
His mouth flattened. “Suit yourself.” He straightened and started toward the tiny bathroom. “While you’re in there, I’m going to run across the street to grab you something to wear. I’m guessing a size six?”
Something to wear. Like her own personal angel, he would buy her clean clothes to put on after her shower.
God bless the man.
Those blasted tears threatened again, clogging Molly’s throat, making her nose feel stuffy. “Yes,” she croaked out around a giant lump of emotion. “Anything simple would be … wonderful. Something for my feet, too, please. Size seven. I’m not picky.”
She heard the water start, and through the open door she saw Dare set out towels, open the packaged soap, the shampoo and conditioner.
So remarkably considerate.
Her empty stomach cramped and recoiled, but she couldn’t think of food just yet. She tried a little more water, knowing he was right, that she had to get some fluids back into her system.
Moving with a silent grace uncommon to a man so large, he came back into the room. “I’ll get you a toothbrush, too. Anything else?”
There were so many things she needed that she couldn’t fathom a list just yet. Her dry and cracked lips hurt when she licked them. “Something bland to eat?”
“Already thought of that.” He paused by the door. “You sure you’ll be okay until I get back?”
After what she’d survived, no way would she risk herself in any way. “I’ll be very careful. If I get dizzy, I’ll shut off the water and just sit in the tub.”
Reluctant still, he stood there, and finally agreed with a nod. “Don’t put the chain on the door.”
As he spoke, he walked over to the desk to retrieve his belongings, including a big black gun and a very lethal-looking knife that folded together. The gun went into a holster at his back, fastened to the waistband of his jeans. He slipped the knife into a pocket, then covered the gun with the hem of his shirt. He treated the weapons as casually as he did his wallet and cell phone, fascinating Molly.
It would make her nervous just to touch either one.
He stopped in front of her again. “If you pass out, I want to be able to get in without breaking anything and causing a scene.”
“Okay.”
“I won’t be gone long,” he cautioned. “So don’t linger in there.”
If he didn’t leave soon, she’d be asleep before she could hit the shower. “No, I won’t.”
Using the edge of a fist, he brought her chin up so that she had to look at him. “You’re weaker than you realize.”
On the contrary, she was stronger than she’d ever imagined. But his concern was nice, so she only reiterated, “I’ll be fine.”
Frustration palpable, he ran a hand through short brown hair, nodded once and walked out.
He’d wanted to say more to her, Molly knew. He didn’t understand her lack of questions, her acceptance of him as her rescuer. But he didn’t push her, and she appreciated his restraint. Right now, all she could manage was the direst of necessities. And thinking that …
It took a lot of effort to drag herself up to her feet again, but she did it. The ragged, torn and stained shirts came over her head and with sublime satisfaction she stuffed them into the garbage can by the desk. Never again would those disgusting scraps of material touch her body.
She’d been denied underwear of any kind, so removing the shirts left her naked. One glance down at herself and Molly saw evidence of her ordeal in places she hadn’t considered. She remembered the rough treatment, being jerked, shoved, hit … Her breath caught.
No, she was away from there now, and she wouldn’t dwell on it.
Anxious for the long-denied comfort of warm water, she stepped into the shower’s spray.
Oh, heaven.
Though her every muscle trembled and the most pervasive weakness dragged at her, never had she appreciated a shower more. Lathering the soap into a washcloth, Molly scrubbed all over, determined to wash away the disgust she still felt.
She had to hurry to finish before the last of her strength waned. Already she felt faint, sick to her stomach, her knees quaking.
Lack of sleep provided a perpetual headache that burned behind her eyes and left her hollow.
With her skin now clean, she opened her mouth, filled it with fresh water, swished and spit, then used the cloth to clean her teeth as best she could.
She had to lean against the tiled wall to rest for a minute. Her head pounded with so many impossible problems for the future. But for now, for this moment, she was safe.
Safe. There had been times when she’d thought … when she’d been sure that they would kill her. They’d taken great pleasure in taunting her, slapping her, keeping her uncertain and on edge. Sleep had come in only fitful spurts, because sleep left her vulnerable to their intent—whatever their intent had been.
Her hands knotted into fists. Fear curdled with a rage so bright it sustained her. She struggled to fill her lungs with air, to beat down the raw panic that had accompanied her since being abducted.
So much to think about … but for now, she had only to worry about finishing her shower. Then eating.
And then sleeping without the fear of never waking again.
She drew one more breath before picking up the shampoo with a shaking hand. So many tangles knotted her hair that she decided she’d cut it—after it was clean—rather than brush them out. She lathered, rinsed, then lathered again. She refused to look down at the tub to see what had washed out of her hair.
Emptying the entire tiny bottle of conditioner onto her head, she worked it through, rinsed, and then … she had nothing left. No strength. No reserve. She couldn’t even dry herself. She barely got a towel around her hair and another around her body.
Stumbling back into the main room, Molly hit the bed hard, snuggled in and literally passed out.
CHAPTER TWO
DARE CAME IN QUIETLY, saw her curled on the bed and frowned. The towel barely covered her, and with her knees pulled up, he would get one hell of a peep show if he moved to the foot of the bed.
Not that he would. In many cases he lacked scruples; it was a hazard of the job. But with women, with this woman, he wasn’t about to take advantage. Despite her bravado and commonsense reaction to her nightmare, he’d never seen anyone more emotionally fragile.
Besides, the less involvement he had with her, unscrupulous or otherwise, the better. He needed to figure out what had happened to her, and the quickest way to safely remove her from his care.
He’d known she was spent, on the edge, but the fact that she hadn’t even pulled the covers over herself proved her level of exhaustion.
More than anything, she probably needed to eat. But should he wake her for that when she also needed sleep?
He wasn’t a fucking babysitter, but since he’d personally gotten her out of Mexico, he couldn’t very well just dump her somewhere. By rescuing her, he had accepted an implied responsibility.
Trying not to rattle the bags and juggling the food with his other purchases, Dare closed the door and locked it. A glance at the bedside clock showed the time at 1:30 a.m. He’d only been gone a half hour, tops.
Luckily the Walmart across the street stayed open twenty-four hours. He’d found not only clothes for her, but food, too. Dressing and feeding her would go a long way toward resolving her most pressing issues.
With barely a sound, he stowed the drinks in the tiny fridge and put her share of the food into the microwave to keep.
Removing his wallet, change and cell phone from his jeans, he placed them neatly on the desk. Next he took out his knife and the Glock 9mm he carried, and set them beside his other belongings. He stretched out his knotted muscles. Too many hours crawling over rough ground, ducking for cover and demolishing men without enough sleep or food had left him tense and weary.
After pulling a chair out from the round table, he opened the covering on his pancakes and coffee.
He’d taken only one bite when she stirred, sniffed the air and drowsily opened her eyes. Dare turned toward her.
She gave him a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look.
He studied her, a small bundle huddled tight on the bed, face still ravaged and eyes wounded. Never had he seen a woman look so vulnerable.
He swallowed his bite and, sounding as casual as he could under the circumstances, asked, “Hungry?”
She stared back, then struggled up to one elbow. Her expression changed, the wariness hidden beneath that intrepid bravado. “Starved. Literally.”
With all the dirt removed, her big eyes dominated her small features. More marks showed on her fair skin, one on her cheekbone and under her left eye, one on her throat, and a darker, angrier bruise on her right shoulder.
Dare thought of men hitting her, manhandling her, and bone-deep disgust ignited. He despised bullies of any kind, but a man who would hurt a woman was at the top of his list of assholes that needed a lesson.
She breathed deeply, her eyes closing and her nostrils flaring. “That smells so good.”
Out of his seat already, Dare fetched her food. “Do you want to sit here, or eat in the bed?”
She hesitated, looking down for a moment as if uncertain of her welcome, not wanting to inconvenience him. “Table please, but … I should dress first.”
“All right.” He set the food on the table and opened the bag of clothes, pulling out a few T-shirts, panties and a pair of pull-on cotton shorts. “You can get more stuff tomorrow if you feel up to it. Something warmer, maybe, and nicer for the plane ride. But for now, I figured this would fit.”
She didn’t look at the clothes. The arm she leaned on barely supported her, and her breath went choppy with effort.
Voice weak, strained, she said, “I’m sorry, but … I haven’t eaten in too long and I’m feeling kind of … faint.”
Dare straightened, going on alert. Would she pass out on him?
“If … if you could help me into the bathroom, I’ll dress in there.”
Shit. He did not want her passing out alone, maybe hitting her head. “Yeah, no problem.”
Dare moved to the bed and slipped an arm behind her, then drew her to her feet. She swayed into him, one hand clutching at his shirt and holding on for dear life.
She made no attempt to step away. He didn’t ask her to. “What would you like to do?”
“I can’t …” She choked, cleared her throat, and her voice was so low he barely heard her when she said, “This is embarrassing, but the shower …” She swallowed. “I think I’m depleted.”
Easing her back onto the bed, Dare knew he’d have to be firm to get her agreement. “Okay, Molly, listen up.” He kept his tone as impersonal as possible. “This isn’t a big deal. I can dress you. I can even feed you.”
She rolled in her lips with embarrassment, a habit he’d already noticed.
“It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” he lied.
That brought her dark eyes up to his.
Damn, but her eyes could melt a man’s soul. “I’m in the personal protection business. You’re not the first woman I’ve rescued. You’re not even in the worst shape.” Another lie. Most women he retrieved were found in the first forty-eight hours before too much damage had been done—or they weren’t found at all. “Okay?”
Still with her gaze locked on his, she nodded.
“Good girl.” He grabbed the clothes from the bag. He wasn’t really discomfited by the task, but he’d just as soon get past it.
Taking clothes off a woman, yeah, he had plenty of practice with that.
Dressing the near-dead … not so much.
“Panties first, okay?” He still had no idea what had been done to her, how she might have been tormented or used. If it was sexual in nature, then this would be doubly hard on her. “We’ll take this nice and slow, and if at any point you feel panicky, just tell me.”
“I won’t panic.”
He looked up at her. “Yeah, well, I’d just as soon not get kicked in the face again.”
For a split second, he thought he saw a slight smile on her bruised mouth. Then she looked away. “No, I won’t do that again.”
As Dare knelt down to work her small feet into the legs of the very plain cotton underwear, he noticed more scrapes and bruises. After she ate, he’d dig out the first-aid kit and patch her up.
When he had the panties up to her knees, he took her elbow and pulled her to her feet. “Hold on to my shoulders.”
She was so much shorter than him, maybe five-seven to his six-three, that, while he stood upright, holding his shoulders pretty much stretched her out.
He bent to the task and she leaned against him. She was surprisingly … soft for someone so thin. And she smelled good now, clean like shampoo and soap and warm, gentle woman.
In a shrill, nervous voice, she asked, “So, who did you rescue? Other than me?”
