My Hard-hearted Hero

Chapter 2 √

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  A niggling sense of recognition made her nape prickle. There was something disturbingly familiar about this man. Was it the eyes? She was sure she'd never met him before, despite his use of her name. God knew she'd have remembered.

  He scrutinized her with equal intensity, that cold, unforgiving gaze burning into hers. There was no mis- taking his hatred; she could almost touch it. Hatred and disgust, tempered by hint of resignation as he unhooked a large jackknife from his belt.

  Numbly Ariana watched the blade flip into view. I'm going to die now. The fact rushed to her gut with sickening force, obliterating all else. Without a thought to pride, she screamed and sobbed behind the tape and shook her head frantically, pleading with tear-filled eyes.

  "Don't kill me. Please. Don't do this!

Her response seemed to catch him off guard, before he blinked with sudden comprehension and some other, unidentifiable emotion. Just for an instant she saw something close to...remorse?

Then grim resolution returned as he tossed her skirt above her knees and slit the tape binding her ankles and legs.

  She'd barely absorbed this latest development before he reached up and ripped the tape off her mouth. She screeched and bit her lip against the stinging pain. "You son of a----"

  He started to retape her mouth and she shrank back, clamping her lips shut. A little lesson in who's in charge. Brusquely he rolled her onto her side and unlocked the handcuffs.

  Slowly Ariana pulled her stiff,  sore arms in front of her and massaged her reddened wrists. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder. He stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at her. With trembling, half-numb fingers she managed to pull the rest of the tape off, vowing, if she lived through this night, never to have her legs waxed. At last she sat facing him, hugging her knees to her chest.
 
  The fierce expression was back as he folded the knife against his palm. "Don't think I wasn't tempted," he said as he hooked it back on his belt.

   "What......what are you going to do to me?" She asked, trying to keep her voice from quavering.

He didn't answer, just crossed to a corner occupied by a few open cardboard boxes. He hefted one of them and dumped the contents on the floor. After a few seconds, Ariana's jaw dropped.

  "My clothes!"

  The big man pawed through her things and selected a nightgown. He tossed it at her. "Put this on."

  She crushed the yellow silk in her fingers to keep them from shaking. "Who are you?"

  He loomed over her. "You gonna do it by yourself or do you need some help?"

  Those were her storage boxes in the corner....she recognised them now. The boxes she'd left in her landlord's basement, after giving up the little apartment she'd rented in his Brooklyn home for the last three years. Her heart drummed painfully. "How did you get this stuff?"

  The man took a step closer. "I told you to...."
 
  "What did you do to Hal?"  Fear for her elderly landlord made her reckless.

  He captor stared at her analytically, as if she were a specimen to be studied. Finally he said, "I doubt the old man even knows all this crap is missing. Now, I'm not a patient sort when I'm in good mood. I'll give you precisely thirty seconds to change into that thing, or I'm going to do it for you."

  When she could find her voice, she said, "Well, give me some privacy."

  "No. You gave up the right to privacy when I found this." He drew her semiautomatic out of his pocket and examined it with maddening casualness, ejecting the magazine, racking the slide and peering into the chamber. "I'd say it's a better than even chance you've got more surprises up your sleeve." He treated her to a slow once over, concentrating on her chest. "Or somewhere. A little penknife, perhaps?"