“Bullshit! I know you’re worth more than that. And I want more.” He shook his head and pitched the beer can so that it slammed against the wall. The remaining beer splashed out, filling the room with its overwhelming scent. “I want a lot more.”
Blake shot a glance in Suzanne’s direction and the look in her friend’s eyes was one of apology. Shaking her head, she looked away, didn’t want to see it.
Didn’t really want to believe it.
“I can give you a thousand dollars.” Blake couldn’t even believe she was making this offer. “Take it or leave it.”
Rich bent down, shoved his face directly in Blake’s. She recoiled, trying to get away but he followed, crowding her, his beer-tinged breath blowing in her face, his eyes even wilder close up. She pushed her back as far as it could go into the couch cushions, tried to control the trembling that wanted to take over her body but it was no use.
“I’m leaving it,” he whispered, his gaze sweeping down her body and giving her the creeps, even though she was covered in multiple layers. It was as if his eyes could burn right through her clothes. “If I have to hold your pretty little ass hostage and demand a ransom from daddy himself, hell from the goddamn president, from the goddamn FBI, whatever. I’m getting more. You’re worth a lot to me, sweetheart. The missus and I have been doing the proper research. A kidnapping right before the election wi
ll send everyone scrambling to give us what we want.”
Hold her hostage? Demand a ransom? This was far more serious than she first thought. What might happen if they took her hostage? Would her parents answer his demands? Would this man take the money and hurt her regardless?
“Now what’ll it be? Give me an answer. You want to take this the easy way or the hard way?” Rich stood, glaring down at her with the most hateful expression she’d ever seen. He didn’t even know her, yet he looked at her as if he despised the very air she breathed.
“The easy way,” she said, lifting her chin. She would not let this man intimidate her. He might have the upper hand, but she refused to let him see how much he unnerved her.
She’d get out of this. She had to. Maybe Mason had woken up. Maybe he was already looking for her. He could be on his way over here right now.
God. She could only hope.
Chapter Fourteen
Mason climbed out of bed, surprised he’d slept in so late, especially considering everything he needed to do this morning. Noticing it was nearly eleven, he automatically reached for Blake, disappointed when he found her side of the bed empty. The sheets long gone cold, though her scent still lingered. It surprised him she hadn’t rustled him from sleep to make her breakfast, since it had become their daily ritual.
Checking his phone, he saw that Byron had called—twice. He listened to his voicemails, heard the discouragement in his boss’ voice over the fact they were searching but so far, no details could be found on a Suzanne Johnson.
They had the world’s best databanks at their fingertips and they couldn’t find jack shit about a certain woman. It made absolutely no sense.
Frustrated, he headed toward the bathroom. Where was Blake? In her studio? He hoped so. He’d give Byron a call, go over what they’d each discovered—which was not much of anything—and then he’d start preparing a late breakfast. Maybe the smells from his cooking could entice her into the kitchen. He wanted to keep her close today, especially after everything they shared last night.
He felt closer to her. Not just because of the sex, though she’d been insatiable last night. Just when he thought he was completely spent, she’d attack him again. And he’d risen to the occasion every single time. Hell, he thought he was an old man at thirty-two, but get Blake naked in front of him and he reverted to an eighteen-year-old kid rarin’ to go.
Yeah, the sex was fantastic. But it was the other stuff that made him feel closer to Blake. The talking, the sharing of such intimate, personal details, how much she trusted him and how protective he felt about her, it went beyond work.
Well beyond.
Glancing at himself in the mirror, he sobered, scrubbed a hand down his face, along his jaw. He looked like hell. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, he needed a serious haircut and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn a suit.
A few weeks ago, he’d kept himself groomed impeccably. As a Secret Service agent, he had an image to maintain. Secretly, he’d always wanted to look good for Blake.
Ridiculous, but true.
Now he had her and he’d let himself go. He hadn’t worked out in a week beyond the sex, though Lord knew, he got a rather aggressive workout in that department. He was surprised she hadn’t told him to shape up.
But she hadn’t. He’d always assumed image was of the utmost importance to her. Back home, she never went out in public without looking less than perfect.
Though she’d been looking pretty casual lately, her hair in a haphazard ponytail most of the time, clad in jeans or sweats and T-shirts usually covered with streaks of paint by the end of the day.
Something had definitely shifted. They were comfortable with each other. Happy. Like a normal couple.
He braced his hands on the cold tile counter and took a deep breath. What they had between them, he didn’t want it to end, not if he had any say in it. He couldn’t let her go when they got back to DC, not like this, not when they still had so much potential. He needed to tell her how he felt.
Now.
Tearing out of the bathroom, he went in search of her. Surprisingly, the studio was empty. As was the living room and kitchen. He searched every room in the house, closets, the backyard even though it was pouring rain. Even ran out to the small cabin he stayed in, thinking she might’ve gone looking for him. But she wasn’t there.