Bulletproof Bride. Diana Duncan

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СКАЧАТЬ all a crazy nightmare. Any minute, she’d wake up, call Mel and have a good laugh. Right after she threw up. Distraction—she needed a distraction.

      The police would want a description. She forced together her scattered concentration and studied her captor. Six foot one, around a hundred and ninety pounds. All hard, male muscle in a black jacket, T-shirt and snug jeans. His thick black hair was cut military-short at the sides and back and left just long enough in front to stand straight up. Long, sooty lashes fringed light-colored eyes. She couldn’t see the shade in profile and the slits in the ski mask had concealed them in deep shadow before.

      The shifting light played over a tanned classical face with strong cheekbones and a Roman nose. His sculpted lips were quirked in a smile over even white teeth and his square chin cradled a dimpled cleft in the center. Her gaze followed his wide shoulders downward. His lean, tanned hands—musician’s hands—controlled the wheel with grace and power.

      She knew firsthand how much strength those hands possessed.

      Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he sucked in a sharp breath.

      She jerked her gaze to the front. A thousand yards ahead, two police cars charged toward them, blocking both lanes and thwarting their escape. She was saved! But instead of slowing down, the bank robber shifted gears, his muscled thigh tensing beneath the tight denim as he stomped on the gas. The car leapt forward at a blood-curdling speed. “What are you doing?” she yelled.

      An unholy grin of pure joy split his face. He looked like he was having the time of his life! “Playing chicken.”

      Was he insane? Dumb question. He’d robbed a bank and was attempting to outrun the cops in a high-speed pursuit. Of course he was insane. Fear clutched at her chest as they closed the distance with incredible speed. Stay calm. Humor him. Wrestling down her dread, she tried negotiation. “Do you know how unlikely that is to work?”

      He chuckled. “Never tell me the odds.”

      “Han Solo.”

      “Huh?” He flicked a quick, puzzled glance at her.

      Common sense told her to shut up. Screaming nerves made her babble on. “You’re quoting Han Solo.”

      “You are one nutty broad.” The handsome felon shook his head. “Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. They’ll blink.”

      Obviously he was delusional, too. So much for negotiation. She gripped the dash with fingers gone numb. Her entire body felt numb. Her mind struggled in slow motion, her thought processes clogged by fear. For heaven’s sake, talk your way out of this. Logic. Logic never failed her. “Have you tried this demented maneuver before?”

      “Yep, twice.”

      “And it worked?”

      He urged the car even faster. “Not the first time.”

      Tessa took a fortifying breath. “And the second?”

      He chuckled. “I’ll let you know in about five seconds.”

      The car rocketed forward, the tires skimming over the highway. The force pushed her back against the seat. Tessa stared at the police cars hurtling toward them and her stomach rolled, bitter bile rising up in her throat.

      Her life flashed before her eyes in a horrifying squeal of tires and blaring horns.

      The thief’s deep laugh rang out. “See? No problem.”

      “Who are you, the Angel of Death?” she croaked. Her stomach lurched in warning. “Oh, no.” Frantic, her gaze spun wildly around the car.

      The robber glanced at her and groaned. “Here we go.”

      The car was swept clean, nothing to get sick in. Her desperate gaze locked on the money bags behind his seat. If she could get one open in time…

      “Oh, no you don’t. I need that. Uncontaminated.” He thrust the ski mask at her.

      She snatched the quilted cap and turned away from him, mightily regretting those chocolate doughnuts. After several horrible minutes, she felt much better. Holding the ruined mask between two fingers, she looked at the door handle, then at the scenery flashing by. “Um…”

      “No evidence.” His right hand reached past her to open the glove compartment.

      She deposited her burden and slammed the door. Out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. She heaved a short-lived sigh of relief. One problem solved. Kind of. She glared warily at her captor. Served him right for driving like the lunatic he was.

      She glanced into the side mirror at the empty street behind them. Her kidnapper had evaded the police. Her heart stumbled into an uneven gait.

      She was on her own.

      Chapter 2

      The thief pulled over in front of a warehouse in a run-down neighborhood. A fresh rush of adrenaline surged through Tessa. Now that they’d stopped rocketing through space at warp speed, maybe she could escape. Negotiation and logic were out. Time to try Mel’s swift kick in the chops, or anywhere else she could manage. As her captor exited the car, she tensed, waiting for an opportunity.

      He sauntered around to open her door, offering his hand.

      Now or never. Make your move. Heart pounding, she leapt out, rammed the door into him and tore down the sidewalk.

      She made it five yards before his arm snaked around her waist and yanked her against his hard body. Even as her mad dash for freedom crashed and burned, his clean male scent invaded her senses, and she blinked away dizziness. Who knew a wild-and-crazy bank robber would smell so good?

      “That door hit a little too close to my favorite part of my anatomy, honey. Unless you want to find yourself bound and gagged, chill out.” But his silky threat sounded more amused than angry. For a bank robber, he seemed amazingly easygoing.

      He marched her into the building. Every nerve ending she possessed jittered in alarm, making her breathing much too rapid. Hold it together. Stay alert, you’ll get another chance to escape. They climbed three flights of broken stairs and then her captor followed her down a gloomy corridor. He lifted the bar on a steel door and the screech of rusted metal echoed in the hallway.

      The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled, then stood on end as she reluctantly preceded him into a large, dim room. A storage facility from the looks of it.

      The robber grasped the back of a dusty wooden chair. “Sit,” his deep voice ordered.

      Annoyance burned away some of her trepidation. Who did this cretin think he was, anyway? “I am not a dog,” she huffed.

      His chuckle rumbled out again. “Plant yourself in the chair. Pretty please,” he added in a sugary tone.

      Seeing no other choice, she obeyed. Behind her, his jacket rustled. Aware of her vulnerable position, she stiffened, her short choppy breaths not conveying nearly enough oxygen to her lungs. So far, her captor had been good-natured and surprisingly gentle. Even when he’d used his superior strength to control her, she’d sensed him holding back. But what would he do now that he had her alone, and at his mercy?

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