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  O’Hara didn’t even meet her eyes, just firmly held her in place while sitting on the edge of the bed, and lifted the phone again. He wedged the receiver between his ear and shoulder, and hit a button on the phone again to dial.

  “Can I get coffee sent up to room 342?” he asked. “Yes. And a coffeemaker, if possible.” O’Hara chuckled, the sound warm and entirely fake in Liliana’s opinion. “Long hours working, I’ll need it. If you can leave it outside the door and I’ll get to it...if it’s not too much trouble... Thank you.”

  He hung up the phone and at last gave a long, steady look down at her.

  She glared in response, the cloth drying her mouth out and nearly choking her. She tried to mumble “fuck you” but it came out “mmmph phff”.

  “I didn’t actually call the first time.” He kept that bruising grip on her wrists even though she was silent and still now. “If I think you’re going to try that again when they leave the tray at the door, I will delay getting it, and then you’ll have cold coffee.”

  If she could make his head explode with her eyes, his skull would be popping right about now. She didn’t agree verbally, didn’t even nod, but he seemed satisfied with whatever he saw in her expression—at last he peeled his fingers back from her wrists.

  She jerked her uncuffed hand down and pulled the wad of fabric from her mouth, glancing down at it. “My panties? You used my panties as a gag?”

  “Your bag was nearest to the bed. Be glad mine wasn’t.” He plucked the damp, thankfully-clean underwear from her fingers and deposited it beside the bed again, then shifted to sit as he had been, back against the headboard. Once more O’Hara grabbed his phone and continued calmly reading whatever he’d been looking at before.

  Liliana didn’t move, just lay there staring up at the ceiling in frustration, until a moment later when the television controller thumped on the bed between them. She cast a look at him, then grabbed it and flipped on the TV to see what was on while she waited for the coffee.

  ****

  Things worked as Mike had told her, allowing her in the bathroom by herself with both of her hands cuffed, and then cuffing her back to him again when they were in the main hotel room. Food came, they ate. There was little on television. They basically didn’t speak at all, unless it was for her to ask him if she could use the bathroom. When he had to go—and he drank four cups of coffee and waited eight hours before making a move to do so—he cuffed her to one of the chairs so she wouldn’t be going anywhere without dragging it with her.

  She didn’t complain. Scowled periodically, seemed to resent him every time she had to ask permission for anything, but she had the sense to know she’d put herself in that position instead of blaming him for it.

  Despite the coffee, Mike figured he’d sleep. Once again in his clothes, on top of the blankets, while Liliana curled up under the bedspread at his side, facing him by necessity as they were still locked at the wrist. She’d stripped out of her jeans again, left them cast on one of the chairs, and he’d avoided watching her while she did so as best as he could. Privacy was nearly nonexistent in a cramped hotel room to start with; cuffed together like this, what remained rapidly dissipated. Tonight the hall light was off, as he was no longer concerned she’d be trying to sneak out without him knowing. The cuff key sat on the table across the room, impossible to reach unless they both went to it together.

  “If I’m going to be stuck with you in a room for weeks, we should probably start talking or something,” she said at last. “It might pass the time better.”

  He’d almost thought she’d gone to sleep; she’d been lying there in the dark for over twenty minutes in silence, eyes closed, breathing even. “What would you like to talk about?”

  She shifted and the mattress dipped under her. Mike lay on his back, his free arm under his head, staring up at the ceiling where bluish light filtered between the curtains. Snow continued to pile up outside and pattered softly against the windows.

  “You still won’t tell me who hired you?”

  “Not my information to give,” he said simply.

  She was on her side still but watching him now. Her arm moved in the space between their bodies, slightly tugging his with it.

  Oddly, he appreciated the silence, or what he suspected it meant from her. Despite her willingness to run her mouth off or stubbornly argue, she paused to think, to consider, enough that he knew there was more going on in her head than was apparent at first glance. She was smarter, craftier than she let on. Sure, every time she tried to run, she was stupid to do so, but that was born from desperation. If she actually took time to plan something, his work might be cut out for him.

  “Then why did you take the job?” she asked after clearly debating it.

  That caught him off guard.

  What’s more, he wasn’t sure he had an answer for it. To help out Jann, sure—they’d both done one another favors over the years, and this job was personal for his friend. And because it was a well-paying gig. Seven Security did extremely well already, of course, but when a good job came up, they invariably took them to help cover expenses when business was slow. Further, this was what he was trained for, after all. Keeping a witness safe, anticipating threats—he was good at this. Enjoyed the work.

  But there was more too it as well. “Because you need the help I can provide, even if you don’t want it.”

  He could all but feel the air bristle around her at that and she gave a soft, skeptical snort at his words.

  “Right,” she said. “Purely altruistic motives and not financial ones.”

  “You realize I am not short for work,” he replied. “I pick and choose clients. I wasn’t forced to be here. My decisions are based on more than money.”

  “Aren’t you just Prince Charming, O’Hara.”

  “I’m in the unique position of being able to help you, and I’m being paid for it. There’s nothing princely about it. I realize you’re...” He had to phrase this delicately and wasn’t certain he could. “Likely used to people—men—taking an angle with you, wanting something from you.”

  “Excuse me?” she snapped, but he ignored her.

  “I have no ulterior motives. I require absolutely nothing from you but your cooperation while I keep you safe. When the police complete their investigation and get their evidence, I will turn you over to them as a material witness, they will put the Hartleys in prison, and you will go on your way.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know your distrust of police and authority figures likely came from your years spent in foster care and group homes. I know from your police report that you used to date Jimmy Hartley and that is why you’re scared of what he’ll do to you when he finds you. I know you expect me to either abandon you to Jimmy at some point or somehow ultimately lead to your death because I’m keeping you in one place. Correction—you don’t ‘expect’, you’re certain I will. However—”

  And he tilted his head so he could face her, the blue light from outside gently tracing the side of her face, making her soft curls glow. Her features were delicate but her expression strong, those eyes just as fiery as when he first saw them despite how beaten down she’d been, tracked down and handcuffed to him. Scant inches separated them and for a moment he forgot what he was saying.

  “However,” he continued, “those issues are yours to deal with. I’m not going anywhere. I will not let your ex-boyfriend or anyone else near you. There is nowhere safer you can be at the moment than right here.”

  Her lips pursed as she stared at him. Clearly she still didn’t believe a word he said. Likely wouldn’t, even after he delivered her to the police for safekeeping when the trial came up.

  She bent her left arm, folded it so her hand was under her pillow, dragged his arm up with her. He didn’t fight it, moving passively with her, and his fingertips brushed her forearm. Her skin was soft and warm, requiring conscious effort on his part not to deliberately touch her.

  “I thi
nk you believe that,” she said at last, her voice soft and quiet. Defeated. “But you’re so sure you don’t have a weakness or a blind spot, that you’re too smart to get taken by someone like him, and that’s exactly what makes you a perfect victim.”

  Like her. No, Liliana was far from stupid. And she’d described exactly how a smart woman would’ve ended up with Jimmy Hartley and men like him.

  “I’m aware of my weakness and blind spots,” he said instead.

  “Are you?” Her lips quirked into a grin, that saucy half-smile from her photo. The one that promised depths he immediately wanted to dive into.

  “I plan for them. I can’t do my job without that awareness.”

  “Awareness seems like a bit of a curse. Always planning, always anticipating, running a couple dozen scenarios at once, right?”

  His gaze was locked on hers. He simply nodded.

  “Must be exhausting.”

  “I manage.”

  She shifted again, the sheet slipping from her shoulder as she reached for him with her free hand.

  Mike tensed, steadying his breath with effort, watching while she ran her fingertips up his forearm, feather-light. Her gaze traced the trail her fingers did, staring at him with a curiosity he couldn’t entirely decipher. He focused on his breathing, on keeping his heartrate down even as his pulse leapt with her touch and his body stirred again.

  It could be another con, another attempt at wiggling free of her captivity, he knew. So he didn’t read much into it and tried to clamp down on any pleasant feelings her touch elicited as she traced her fingers along the dip in his calloused palm.

  “And what about when you deliver me as promised, and the trial goes forward, and Jimmy’s mother kills me anyway?” She lifted her gaze to meet his again, fingers curling so now her nails dragged over his palm, more of a bite than the delicate touch from before but just as maddening. “They have money. They’ll hire someone. And even if everything they have is caught in bail and lawyers, they have friends. I testify, I’m dead. Doesn’t matter what other evidence they have—they’ll do it out of spite.”

  There was nothing he could say to that. No reassurance he could give. Sure, she could be put in witness protection if the threat against her was found credible. She could disappear with help from the authorities far better than if she did it on her own.

  But that wasn’t what she was asking about and he knew it.

  “Exactly,” she said before he could reply. “This isn’t altruism. This isn’t about what’s best for me. It’s your job. What you’re paid for. And even if you do your little mission here perfectly and you can sleep easy at night knowing you did everything you were hired to do, that doesn’t make me safe. It’s just delaying the inevitable until a time when it’s more convenient for your conscience to have me die.”

  And with that she rolled over, leaving her left arm where it was by the pillow as it was still attached to his, the handcuff chain clinking softly between them.

  Mike stared up at the ceiling again, commanding sleep that never came, and telling himself it was just all the coffee keeping him up and nothing else.

  Chapter Five

  Around noon, after picking at a light lunch, Liliana found herself running the fingers of her free hand through her hair and frowning at the grease building up. She hadn’t washed it a while, trying to make the little hair product she had with her last. Her skin felt grimy as well, too many days trying to escape in bulky clothes that left her sweaty afterward.

  “I’d like to shower,” she said, glancing at O’Hara.

  They sat on the same bed they’d slept on. The sheets were back in place only because he’d made the bed while she was in the bathroom earlier—he wasn’t letting in the maid and set their trays of dirty dishes outside the door when they were done with them so no one came in the room. The TV was on in the background but he’d been ignoring it, reading on his phone instead.

  “Sure.” He set the phone down and when he rose, she scrambled across the bed and followed. Her overnight bag waited by the table and she pulled out her toiletries while he retrieved the key to the cuffs.

  His cell phone rang as they were on the way to the bathroom, but he’d left it by the nightstand. O’Hara glanced at it but kept going—apparently he wasn’t about to delay her shower for it.

  In the bright light of the bathroom, he unlatched the cuff from his wrist and turned so his back was to her, waiting. If he was paying attention, he’d still see her clearly in the corner of his eye with the massive mirror to their left. She found herself not particularly minding if he did—it would be fun to catch him.

  She stripped off her T-shirt and tossed it on the counter. Reached back to unhook her black lace bra, the other handcuff bracelet dragging across her skin and spilling goose bumps across her bare flesh as it did. She watched his eyes in the mirror, didn’t see his expression change or gaze flicker at all as she let the straps of her bra fall and pool on the floor. Her jeans went next, leaving her in just her panties. Her nipples pulled tight as the air touched them but she made no move to reach for a towel.

  “Okay.” She lifted her wrists in front of her. “Cuff me.”

  O’Hara paused. “You’re sure?”

  So he definitely was aware of her partial nudity.

  Liliana lifted her shoulder in a half shrug, her curls tickling her bare skin with the movement. “If you’ll be following me back and forth to the shower for however long we’re stuck together, I’m sure you’ll see plenty of me. I’m not shy.”

  He hesitated, still. Maybe giving her a chance to change her mind and cover up. Or maybe for some other reason. Either way, he turned slowly and his eyes locked on her offered wrists immediately. He wrapped the free cuff around her right wrist, slowly letting it click closed, and he gave both bracelets a quick pull to ensure they were secure.

  “I’d have done it myself,” she said, “but I wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to trick you.”

  His gaze didn’t do a sweep of her body, color didn’t touch his cheeks—his expression was stony, all business.

  “So what happens when these get rusted when I keep wearing them in the shower?”

  “I have more.”

  She cocked a brow at that suggestion. “Kinky.”

  O’Hara turned and headed for the door. “Let me know when you’re done.”

  She stared after him as the door shut.

  In his absence, she realized her heart was hammering and heat had pooled low in her belly. She took in a steadying breath, blinked a few times, but it didn’t clear her head at all. Part of her was...a little disappointed he hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t even accidentally leered a little. She wasn’t used to that and acting as if she had no effect on him was only going to encourage her to push him more. She couldn’t help it, it was like poking a bear when the sign said not to.

  It was one of those mistakes Liliana couldn’t help making again and again.

  She sighed and hooked her thumbs at the waistband of her panties and slid them down her legs. The scent of her own arousal hung in the air, a fresh spot of dampness in her underwear. Just standing there near-naked in front of him, aware that his eyes were on her even as he tried to keep them off of her, roused her body’s need.

  And that’s not going to happen, no matter how crazy you drive him. O’Hara wouldn’t act on anything, wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. For all her needling, she knew he at least thought of himself as one of the good guys. There to save her. He wouldn’t consciously do something to jeopardize his own white knight view of himself.

  She grabbed her shampoo and conditioner from the counter and set it on a shelf in the shower, ensured towels were nearby, and stepped into the tub. At least the bottom of the porcelain was textured so she wouldn’t slip; her hands cuffed, she might not be able to grasp something in time to stop her fall. That was all she needed, to crack her head and die while being protected from someone wanting to kill her.

  Just as she twisted
the taps and water began to run, the bathroom door abruptly opened.

  Liliana froze and peered around the pale blue shower curtain as O’Hara stepped into the bathroom. “What the hell—”

  He moved to her with purpose, reached past the curtain and grasped her arm. She bit back a yelp of surprise, trying to back up but unable to go far with him holding her. Water soaked over her shoulders as she stepped in the stream, gliding down her skin. She watched as he unlatched one of the cuffs and then folded it over the shower curtain rod above.

  She gave the cuffs a tug and the one simply scraped back and forth on the shower rod. “Again, what the hell?”

  “I have to go downstairs,” O’Hara said by way of an explanation and he was already heading toward the door, his back to her. “I’ll be back.”

  “Goddamn it, O’Hara!”

  The door shut again.

  Liliana growled in frustration, jerked uselessly against the cuff again. Showering in handcuffs was already going to be a pain in the ass and now she only had one hand she could use.

  Fucking asshole. She tried to focus on the task at hand, getting a hold of the shampoo. If anything got knocked over, she’d have a hell of a time retrieving it.

  The bastard had better hurry the hell up with whatever got him running—her arm was already starting to ache.

  ****

  Seven Security was so named because of the seven people who founded it—Mike and six others he knew and trusted. An unoriginal name, perhaps, but he preferred simple over fancy, and it hadn’t hurt business thus far. The company was born from Mike and two of the members leaving their previous place of employment four years earlier, and they hand selected members of the team. Ex-military and police. Lawyer. Former art thief who said lawyer had gotten acquitted of charges. Computer hacker. Criminal psychologist. They covered their bases with all aspects of security so they could take on a variety of clients. Then there was Mike, who was a jack of all trades but master of none, striving to keep a balance so he had an overview of everything and everyone.