Christmas Stalking. Jo Leigh

at the first hint of trouble, but she’d clung to the stupid gifts as if they mattered.

      As promised, his hand moved from her mouth, and just as she was about to scream, regardless of his threat, she felt something hard and round poke into her side. It was a weapon. Nothing else could feel like that. If she screamed, she died. If she held on, there was always a chance she could escape.

      “Good girl,” he said, his lips so close to her ear it made her wince. “I’m going to take your purse now. Don’t do anything stupid.”

      “Fine. Take it. Take the money. There are credit cards. You can take it all.”

      He didn’t respond. Just lifted the purse from her grasp. The gun still poked her side. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she knew that he wouldn’t have to look hard for her keys. She kept them in the outside pocket so she herself wouldn’t have to dig for them. Stupid. Another bonehead move. She lived in D.C., for God’s sake, one of the most dangerous cities in America, and she walked around like she was invincible. Even after she’d sensed someone was stalking her.

      He unlocked the car electronically, then pulled her back so he could open the back door. “Put the packages in the back seat.”

      She did as he said.

      He opened the front door. “Get in.”

      She did, searching frantically for something to use as a weapon.

      He’d already figured this part out, because the second she was behind the wheel, he captured her hands, held her wrists with one hand while he tied them together with a thick blue scarf. Then he tied that to the wheel.

      A moment later, he ran around the car. She pulled at her restraint, tried to move so that at the very least she could honk the horn, but then he was beside her. Him and the gun.

      “I won’t hurt you. Just listen to me. I’m going to untie you. You’re going to drive away from here. Don’t panic, and don’t try anything stupid, and we’ll both get out of this alive.” He stuck her key in the ignition and undid the bindings. “Start it up. Now.”

      With trembling fingers, she turned the key. From her peripheral vision, she saw him toss the Santa hat and the ridiculous beard into the back seat. His hair was dark, his skin, pale. She was afraid to look at him directly, afraid that if he realized she could identify him, he’d have no reason to let her go.

      “That way,” he said, pointing with his free hand toward the east exit.

      She checked her mirror, then, without even thinking about it, she turned his way, and something registered. She’d seen him before. Recently.

      “Drive.”

      She focused on her speed, direction and the gun he held so steadily he couldn’t possibly miss. But the face haunted her. Where had she— “You’re that reporter. You killed that old man.”

      He grunted. “Yeah. I’m that reporter.”

      Max Travis. His name made everything else fall into place. All the reports on the news, in the paper. He was a lunatic, and he’d already murdered once. Twice wouldn’t make him blink an eye.

      “You can’t get away with this,” she said, hoping her voice sounded a lot stronger than she felt.

      “I already have.”

      Chapter Two

      “Where are we going?” Jade was scared, but kept her fear under control. If she was to escape this ordeal alive, she would have to be ready to flee at the first opportunity.

      “Shut up. Turn right here.” The gun in Max’s hand never wavered. Damn that CSI show—she could picture the bullet entering her body, tracing a path to her heart… Her purse lay at his feet, so she couldn’t get to her cell phone or the mace.

      “Can’t we talk about this?”

      “No. Head for I-95.”

      Jade threaded her way through the streets of Arlington for the highway, fully aware that it headed for either Washington or deeper into Virginia. She considered faking a skid on the snow-swept streets, but the gun could go off in a crash.

      “Get on here,” Max said, waving the gun toward the southbound on-ramp.

      She swung onto the highway, merged with the traffic and accelerated into the blowing snow. She reached to turn the heater up and Max’s nervous twitch reminded her that she was being kidnapped by a cold-blooded killer.

      She tried to recall what she’d heard about the man on the news—pitifully little, actually—that might help her reason with him. He was a reporter for the Washington Post. He’d done some big stories, some undercover work. He’d even been up for a Pulitzer. For unknown reasons, he’d brutally murdered an older man, a friend of his father’s and an important man at Geotech, an energy and mining company large enough to change the course of the nation for years. Even the FBI, often loathe to meddle with the D.C. police, was involved in the hunt for this man. His father said the murder was totally uncharacteristic, that Werner Edwards was a family friend. He swore Max would be exonerated.

      Oh yeah, she felt much better now. All his neighbors probably thought he was a real nice guy. Never hurt a fly.

      “Pull off at the next exit.”

      “We’re going to Springfield?”

      “Just pull off.”

      Jade did as she was told, and Max directed her through turn after turn around the suburban streets.

      She watched him as closely as she could as he divided his attention between her and the streets, peering out between the gusts of snow, then back at her. “Stop. Stop here.”

      Again, she did as she was told, pulling behind a black SUV on a quiet, windblown street.

      “Turn the car off.”

      She did, her hand shaking, her heart in her throat. Was this the end? Was he going to kill her here? In the middle of suburbia?

      From beside him, on top of the Santa suit, Max withdrew the blue scarf. “Crawl through to the back seat and lay down.”

      “No. Please.”

      He waved the gun at her, a new sense of urgency and desperation to his moves. She obeyed, the fear making her clumsy. She finally made it to the back seat where he forced her to kneel on the floor. “Put your hands behind your back.”

      “Don’t hurt me. My father can help you—”

      “Your father’s the reason you’re here.”

      “My father? What does he—”

      “Put your damn hands behind your back.”

      The seats pressed into her stomach as she worked her arms around until her hands were in the small of her back, and Max tied them tightly. “Lay down on the seat.”

      “I can’t.”

      Max grunted and opened the door. As the cold swept across her bare legs, Jade realized how exposed she was, but he quickly closed it, then opened the rear door. He tossed the presents into the back with his free hand. Once the seat was cleared, he pulled her roughly onto the cushions and pulled off the thick black belt from his Santa suit. He used it to tie her ankles together.

      “One more thing,” he said and pulled a neckerchief from his pocket.

      “No.”

      “I can’t have you scream.” He crawled onto the seat with her. He didn’t hurt her, in fact, he moved carefully, making sure his knee was on the seat and not her body, but the closeness, his proximity, made her flesh crawl and it was all she could do not to pass out.

      He forced the cloth between her teeth and tied it behind her head. “I’m going to be out of the car for a few minutes, but I’ll be watching you. Don’t be stupid.” Max waved the gun in front of