Heart

Seventeen

That truck! That wretched truck was at the apartment complex. Those two idiot kids had to be following him around, had to be onto him. How else would they know where he was keeping Gabriella?

How could he have missed them in that hulking bulk of metal? Why hadn’t he seen them?

The man spun around furiously on his heel and paced over the filthy floor, trying to go over his day in his mind. He had driven downtown, to shop for new lingerie for Gabriella in that woman’s clothing store; then he had driven straight to the apartment and pulled in the parking lot. Had that truck been behind him?

He couldn’t remember.

“Imbecile!” he raged to himself, making another violent circuit around the small, unkempt room. He was back at the apartment--he’d left for a little while to see if those kids would go to the police station and report what they’d seen--but then he had driven back. He hadn’t gotten his fill of the girl yet. She hadn’t even put on the lingerie when he left.

He glanced over his shoulder now, studying her beautiful form. He had knocked her out with the chemicals again, so she was sleeping soundly on the mattress. The lingerie did look exceptionally wonderful on her. And he loved how her satiny black hair fanned out around her head, soft and shiny. He took good care of her. He fed her properly, he let her drink whenever she was thirsty, and he even let her bathe. Of course, he made sure that the single window was inoperable and he had ripped the shower curtain down so that she couldn’t repel down to safety. Not that it would even come close to reaching the ground from up here.

Which was why he didn’t see what was so wrong about borrowing her for a little while. He didn’t mistreat her. He’d never hit her. He had threatened to harm her a few times, but there had never been a need. She was quite obedient.

And he loved that about her.

Why did the police and the family and those wretched kids have to ruin it for him?

He stopped mid-stride.

Why did this girl, this insignificant Gabriella Quintanilla, make his emotions so chaotic? Why did he fantasize about keeping her, when he knew he absolutely could not? She did have to go, and it had to be soon. If those teenagers were actually on to him, then they could probably get proof to bust him. And he couldn’t risk moving the girl now. Her story had become too popular; people would be too suspicious.

Unless . . .

Unless he could stop those kids before they got any further--stop them before they got the proof, before they went to the police and got him arrested. . . .

A wicked smile curled his lips.