скачать книгу бесплатно
He peeled her away from the tree, spun her around, hoisted her off her feet and onto his shoulder. He strode toward his waiting mustang. The horse shook his head as if to warn Trevor that he was making a big mistake.
Sierra fought wildly, her arms and legs flailing. There was no way in hell that he’d get her back onto the saddle. Though he didn’t want to get rough, she wasn’t leaving him much choice.
“Last chance,” Trevor said. “Are you going to cooperate?”
“Go to hell!”
He slipped her down to the ground in front of him. While she continued to strike out, he applied a choke-hold, and in a matter of seconds she was unconscious.
He lifted her limp body into his arms and gazed into her face. When she wasn’t snarling insults, her features were amazingly feminine. Her mouth was delicate and pretty as a rosebud. Her thick dark lashes formed crescents above her high cheekbones.
She was a real beauty.
Trevor tore his gaze away. He needed to clear his mind, to focus on his mission. That meant he couldn’t allow himself to be attracted to her. It was best if he dehumanized her in his mind.
Sierra Collins was nothing to him. Only a source of information. She was the subject of his next interrogation.
Chapter Two
Sierra awoke with a jolt. Her eyelids snapped open, and she blinked rapidly to bring her vision into focus. Where was she? How did she get here?
She was seated in a recliner chair with her feet up and her head resting against a pillowed back. It wasn’t uncomfortable.
In front of her was a plain concrete wall. The paint was a drab color that matched the ceiling. On the wall to her left was a closed door. She craned her neck to see what was behind her. More concrete. This was a small windowless room—a prison cell without bars.
A shudder went through her as the walls seemed to tighten. She had to get out of here.
But when she tried to climb out of the recliner, she couldn’t move. Her wrists were fastened to the arms of the chair. Her ankles were also restrained. Around her waist was a wide band that held her in place. What was going on? Why had she been brought to this place?
Her heart beat faster as she struggled against her bonds. My God, what was going to happen to her? Nothing good. That was for damn sure!
She pinched her lips together to keep from sobbing out loud, but when she closed her eyes, tears streaked from the corners of her eyes. There was a dull throb at the back of her head. Though she wasn’t in terrible pain, she felt every single one of her recent bruises. And she remembered…
The funeral. Lyle’s coffin. The men who’d grabbed her. And the one who’d rescued her from them. Trevor, his name was Trevor. He must have brought her here. Why? What did he want from her?
She heard the door opening, and looked up. It was him.
“You’re awake,” he said with a smile. “Good.”
Sierra told herself to be strong. She couldn’t let him see her fear and helplessness. Keeping the tremble from her voice, she said, “If you don’t let me go right now, I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead.” He shrugged. “The room is soundproof.”
She opened her mouth to yell, then thought better of it. Her throat was too dry. By screaming, she’d only hurt herself, and she needed to marshal her strength. It was going to take every bit of her tough New York chutzpah to make it through this ordeal.
When she was growing up on the streets of Brooklyn, she’d done okay. Back then, she’d thought her life was rough. But the occasional mugging and street violence were nothing compared to what had happened after she moved to Montana. First Lyle. Now this.
She glared at Trevor. “Where am I?”
He stretched his arms wide to encompass the small space. “This is an interrogation room.”
“Why am I here?”
“To be interrogated.” He held a bottle of water in each hand. “You should have something to drink. You’re probably dehydrated.”
Though the water enticed her, she shook her head. “First, let me go.”
“Ah, Sierra. I didn’t go to all this trouble just to release you.” He waggled the water bottle before her eyes. “Tell me about Lyle Nelson.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He’s dead.”
“When you were dating, did you meet his friends?”
“Yes.” She eyed the water bottle. Her thirst was becoming unbearable.
“Give me some names,” Trevor said.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m one of the good guys. And Lyle was…”
“Not good.” She sucked on the inside of her cheeks, trying to get her saliva to flow. “And I don’t believe you’re a good person, either. You kidnapped me. You tied me up.”
“Cooperate, Sierra.”
“Let me go, Trevor.”
“You remember my name. I like that.”
As he came closer to the chair, his name wasn’t the only thing she remembered. They had been riding together, crushed together in the saddle, she’d felt the sheer power emanating from him. What woman wouldn’t be drawn to that?
Trevor had to be one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen. Tall and long-legged, his body was in prime physical condition. His shiny black hair hung straight to his shoulders. And his eyes…oh my God, his eyes were an intriguing, piercing blue.
She didn’t want to be attracted to him. He’d captured her, dragged her off against her will and tied her to a chair. “You’re a monster.”
He reached behind the chair to place one of the water bottles on something she couldn’t see. A table? A tray? Then he unscrewed the cap of the other and held it near her mouth. “Take a few sips. It’ll help your headache.”
“How do you know I have a headache?”
“Dehydration. Come on, Sierra. Make it easy on yourself.”
She licked her lips. The inside of her mouth tasted like cotton. Though it went against her stubborn grain to do anything he said, she wasn’t a fool. “Okay. I’ll drink.”
He helped her sip from the bottle. The first cool taste was pure nectar. She wanted more.
“Not too fast,” he cautioned. “Just a little at a time.”
When he supported her head with his other hand, she was surprised by the gentleness of his touch. She’d seen Trevor smack down three men with a couple of blows. And he’d rendered her unconscious with a tap on the shoulder. But he held her so tenderly now.
With a shake of her head, she derailed that train of thought. She’d have to be nuts to trust this man. At the moment, all she wanted was the water. She chugged half the contents of the bottle.
“That’s better,” he said. “You’re comfortable, aren’t you?”
“No,” she snapped. “I need to stretch. To move around.”
“First we’ll have a talk.”
She wiggled in the recliner, but there was really no point in fighting against the restraints. All she’d do was make herself weaker.
The way to get out of here was to be smarter than he was. She tried a different tactic. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
He reached down beneath the chair and held up a plastic container. “Bedpan.”
Did he really think she’d allow him to pull down her panties? As she gazed along the length of her body, she realized that she wasn’t wearing her own clothing. She’d been dressed in cotton hospital scrubs. “You bastard!” In spite of her decision to stay calm, she jerked against the restraints. “You undressed me.”
“This outfit is more comfortable,” he said. “And I’m all about making you comfortable, Sierra. So you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
“Then you’re wasting your time. I’m not telling you anything.”
“You think you’re tough.”
“Damn straight. I’m from Brooklyn.”
He gave her an altogether charming smile. This guy was really fine to look at. “Tell me about Brooklyn.” His tone was courteous and encouraging. “Tell me about when you were growing up.”
“You don’t really want to know. You just want to get me talking, to loosen my tongue.”
“That’s very perceptive,” he stated. “You’re a smart person, aren’t you?”
She didn’t believe his compliment, couldn’t allow herself to believe one word that fell from his sexy mouth. “I’m not telling you squat.”
In the blink of an eye, Trevor’s attitude changed. His lips curled in an angry sneer. His eyes were cold as blue ice. “You have no choice.” His voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. “You’re helpless, completely dependent on me.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“You should be.”
“Yeah, yeah.” It was taking all her willpower to keep up her tough facade. She had to think about something else, something outside this interrogation room.
“You should be afraid,” Trevor repeated. His hand clamped hard around her throat. “The Militia are terrorists, murderers. If you know anything about them, give it up.”
The pressure against her throat was just enough to make breathing difficult. She choked out the words. “I don’t know anything.”
He released his grasp but stayed close to her. His gaze bored into her face. “Tell me about Lyle.”
“He’s dead. There’s nothing to tell.”
Without a word, Trevor reached behind the back of the chair. He held a pair of thick cotton socks, which he placed on her feet.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
He was silent as he fitted gloves on her hands.
“Stop it!” Panic crashed through her. What was going to happen? “Don’t touch me.”
His hands were rough as he slipped a blindfold over her head. She couldn’t see anything. Her panic became terror. She was truly helpless.
“You’ll tell me,” he growled. “You’ll tell me everything I want to know.”
“Whatever you say. Take the blindfold off. Please.”
“Silence,” he said, “isn’t always golden.”
She felt him place something else on her head. Earphones. He fastened them tightly with a chin strap. She heard nothing but an unpleasant static noise.
She was blinded and deafened, unable to feel anything with her hands. It seemed as if she were floating in a terrifying space—endlessly falling and falling.
TREVOR STEPPED AWAY from the chair and watched as she struggled. Maintaining the level of dispassion necessary for interrogation was difficult. Usually, he had no problem in turning off his emotions. Human compassion was not an option when dealing with an uncooperative subject.
But he kept thinking of her name. Sierra. Beautiful Sierra. Tough Sierra. Most women—or men, for that matter—would have cracked when they realized they were helpless. But she had put up a valiant fight.
Her struggling subsided, and he checked the silent monitor behind the interrogation chair. The restraint on her left wrist held a mechanism that measured her pulse. The beating of her heart returned to a level closer to normal. Deprived of sensory input, she was in a state of suspension.
His technique was roughly based on the CIA model for coercive interrogation. First came arrest and detention. Taking away the clothing and any familiar objects was like stripping off armor. The subject became more vulnerable—more dependent upon the interrogator.
When he questioned her, he alternated kindness and cruelty to throw her off balance. The subject should never know whether to expect a compliment or a slap in the face.
The next step was where they were right now. Sensory deprivation. The socks and gloves eliminated the sense of touch. The hood and earphones cut off sight and hearing. Without sensory stimulus, the subject became highly disoriented.
During Trevor’s counterintelligence training, he’d undergone most of these procedures himself. Though it was intensely confusing to lose the use of your senses, the worst part for him was confinement. He hated to be enclosed.
In the chair, Sierra whimpered. The sound of her fear sliced through his stoic resolve. Though he reminded himself that the ultimate goal—catching the Militia—was worth her temporary discomfort, his heart didn’t believe that rationalization. What he was doing to her felt wrong. He wanted to tear off the blindfold, unfasten her bonds and hold her in his arms.
He checked his wristwatch. In twenty minutes, the truth drug he’d administered in her water would take effect. Her defenses would be down, and she’d be ready to talk. The truth drug, or TD, never failed to produce the desired results. It had been developed in extensive tests with Army Intelligence and was more potent than Pentothal. Because the TD was mostly organic, with a mescaline base, the aftereffects were minimal, with only a few hours of slight, occasional hallucinations.
He appreciated the irony of using this derivative from the peyote button, sacred to many Native American tribes, for such a high-tech application.
Her chest heaved as she sobbed.
Damn it! He couldn’t stand seeing her suffer. This was almost more torturous for him than for her.
Trevor stepped outside the room into the hallway, closed the door and inhaled a deep breath. For this interrogation to continue, he needed to get control of his emotions. His response to her was all wrong. He couldn’t be sympathetic.
Glad that nobody was around to see his weakness, he glanced down the hallway in the underground level of Big Sky Bounty Hunters headquarters. A quiet hum came from the room nearest the staircase, where they kept the computers and state-of-the-art equipment used for surveillance and tracking. This was the no-frills part of the building, nothing like the cozy upper floors, with their rustic pine paneling reminiscent of a hunting lodge.
Trevor had noticed that when he was doing interrogations, the other bounty hunters steered clear of this part of headquarters. Nobody liked to think about coercive techniques.
He checked his watch again. Ten more minutes. He had time to run upstairs and grab a sandwich, but he didn’t much feel like eating.
