Undercover Memories. Alice Sharpe

her chances. As it was, she was trapped.

      He pulled the belt loose and quickly tugged the free end back through the buckle, then slipped it over Paige’s head, sliding it down until it circled her neck. The buckle bit against her flesh, yanked on her hair. In essence, he’d created a collar for her and he controlled the “leash.”

      “One good tug and eyes pop,” he said in such a matter-of-fact way her blood turned to water.

      “Yes, okay.”

      “Who are you? How you know Cinca?”

      “I don’t. I’m just renting the cabin.”

      “Give me wallet. Hurry. I’m late.”

      Late for what? Murder, mayhem? She took out the blue wallet, a gift from Brian. She’d forgotten that until this moment.

      “Show me driver’s license.”

      She did. He studied it for a second. “Paige Graham,” he said. “So, you are nobody, huh? Tell the truth. How you know Cinca?”

      It was on the tip of her tongue to repeat that she didn’t know John, he’d just arrived much like Korenev himself, but then she thought better of it. If Korenev didn’t believe John would come after her, what use was she to Korenev?

      “We’re lovers,” she said.

      He raised his thick eyebrows and sneered. “Oh, come now. You expect I believe that?”

      “I don’t care what you believe. It’s a fact. John and I are lovers.”

      “There was no sign of you at his place in Lone Tree.”

      She shrugged. “We, um, conducted our affair at my place.”

      “Why?”

      “I was involved with someone else. So what?”

      He narrowed his eyes as he seemed to really look at her for the first time. There was speculation in his black eyes, and doubt.

      “Why else would he risk his life for me?” she added.

      “So he arrange to meet you here after…business?”

      This was thin ice, although the thought that John had had “business” with this man appalled her. Nevertheless, she’d started this, and she knew she had to keep it simple or get tripped up in her own lies. He obviously didn’t realize John didn’t remember anything past yesterday, and he just as clearly wasn’t a close friend. She nodded.

      He produced a leer that literally made her skin crawl. She’d heard the expression, of course, but this was the first time she’d experienced it, and it was creepy.

      He tossed her purse and wallet on the floor, then pulled up his trouser leg, revealing a holster into which he slid the knife. Paige took a shaky breath. He could still choke her, but at least it wasn’t likely he’d slit her throat.

      For now, anyway.

      He caught the handle on the passenger-side door and heaved his bulk against it, keeping the belt tight around Paige’s throat as he bullied the door open. The buckle pressed into her flesh. Somehow he managed to extricate himself from the car, tugging her along behind him, yanking on her arm when she didn’t move fast enough for him. Then he shoved her ahead of him until they cleared the car.

      “Walk fast. One word and you die,” he said.

      It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “Yeah, yeah, you said that already,” and then she wondered again if she’d lost her senses.

      As soon as they cleared the trees, she looked back, positive there would be an obvious path to the gold car, but it was as though the forest had closed in around the recent wound. She scanned the parking lot instead. Surely there would be someone around to witness this bizarre kidnapping, someone to either call for help or whip out a big old six-shooter.

      No one. Not a soul. Just a half dozen cars and a squat one-story building rising from the melting snow with no discernible windows. The faint melody of a country-western song was the only sound besides the crunching of their feet on the quickly thawing ground.

      He paused long enough to take the knife out again and thrust it toward her to show he meant business. How crazy was this—that a man could march a woman through a parking lot in broad daylight with a belt around her neck and a knife at her back and no one saw it?

      Using the bulk of his body and the threat of the knifepoint, Korenev finally pushed Paige against the side of an old car parked deep in the shadows amid a couple of other clunkers. He reached around her and shattered the passenger window with his closed fist. “Open it,” he said.

      Avoiding the glass, she pulled up the lock and opened the door. The bench front seat was much torn and patched with duct tape, though here and there a spring managed to poke through. The steering wheel was wrapped in tape, as well, and the dashboard fairly gleamed silver with the stuff.

      “Empty it,” he ordered, using the knife to point to the glove box, which was missing its cover. Most of the contents had already spilled to the floor mat below. She pulled out a partial roll of the same tape that seemed to hold the interior of the car together and a few odds and ends, revealing at last a small yellow button.

      “That’s it,” he said, his satisfied breath hot against the back of her neck. “Push it.”

      A twanging sound announced the trunk had popped open. “My lucky day,” he added as he picked up the duct tape.

      With a sinking feeling for what was coming next, she thought of and discarded scenarios as fast as she could. Kicking him, clawing him, screaming at the top of her lungs, grabbing at his injured hand—

      But each idea came overlaid with the image of Jack Pollock’s brutal death, to say nothing of the knowledge that Korenev would happily use his muscles to either tighten the belt around her neck or plunge the knife into her chest.

      He ordered her to go around to the back of the car. “Tape you ankles,” he demanded.

      “But—”

      With a sudden yank of the belt, he leaned in close to her face. “Understand,” he said softly. “You are little value to me. I keep you alive just to use as bait to trap Cinca. Now tape ankles together on skin and do it tight or I will cut my losses—and your throat.”

      As he had Carolyn Pollock’s…

      Leaning over, she wound the tape around her legs. When she straightened up, he grabbed the tape from her hand and bit off a piece. As he pushed it toward her mouth, she turned her head. Closing his fist, he fought her resistance with a punch on the cheekbone that all but knocked her out. She sagged, but he caught her, and ripping off a new piece, slapped it over her mouth. “Be grateful I not cover your nose, too,” he growled as he bound her wrists in back of her, using just the one hand and yet working so fast and with such ease that it was as though he’d done it that way his whole life.

      The next thing she knew, he’d lifted her off her feet and dumped her into the trunk. She landed on something hard and cold, a rod or a pipe. The lid made a deafening sound as it slammed shut over her head.

      Lying alone in the cold, black enclosure, she waited for the car to start.

      A few minutes later, the engine made a few putting noises. He must have tried to hot-wire it. Bracing herself for the worst, Paige waited for whatever came next.