“That’s…different.” She can’t meet my gaze. Her face is red, too.
She’s cute. “Ah, yes. Say thank you for the sandwich, then run to the cops and put the man in jail. Two very different activities.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, but I’m not for hire. I’m too busy with my job at the foundation as an assistant.”
Confusion crosses her pretty face. She probably thought I worked in security. Cute. Very cute.
I pull out some money from my pocket, then smack it square into her hand. “Here. Take this and buy yourself something nice.”
“Ow!” She gasps, but not because I just placed three hundred bucks in her hand. “What did you…?” she says numbly. She tries to look at her hand, but her legs start to fold.
I catch her and pick her up, like Prince Charming carrying his Cinderella. She grows increasingly limp, her eyes unfocused. “Wha…”
“Don’t worry.” I smile. “The needle’s very thin. You won’t even find the hole when you wake up.”
Chapter Nine
Angelika
Something tickles my face. Hot breath hits me on the chin and neck and mouth, all at the same time. Something long, wet and warm swipes my cheek.
My heart races abruptly. Is this… Did Roy get me? He used to lick my face when he got tired of watching me sleep…
Except…no. Roy didn’t take me. It was Tolyan who pricked me with something to make me pass out, and…
My eyes snap open. I yelp and recoil. Three large Dobermans are right in my face. They aren’t growling or acting aggressive, but I’ve seen how obedient and well trained they are. If Tolyan gives a whistle, they’ll rip me to pieces. But for now, they seem entirely too happy to lick me.
I slowly put my hands up, trying to forestall more licking, and look around as well as I can. I need to figure out where I am.
A bedroom, with me on the bed. White walls with no pictures. The temperature’s a bit too cool, but maybe Tolyan likes it that way. The room smells faintly of laundry detergent. One lit lamp on the night table by the bed.
The curtains are shut, no lights coming in. Must be blackout curtains. Hopefully I wasn’t out for more than a few hours.
I examine my right hand, the one Tolyan pricked. I look carefully, but he’s right. I can’t spot a puncture wound. It’s like nothing happened in the parking lot—except something did happen, and I lost consciousness.
I bury my face in my hands. Hysterical laughter bubbles up, and I clench my teeth to contain it. I must be losing my mind. I’m ninety-nine percent certain Tolyan is a killer. I should be freaked out and looking for something to use as a weapon. But instead, all I can think is Thank God I’m not in Roy’s clutches.
After a moment, I slowly drop my hands and inhale deeply a few times. Tolyan could be dangerous, but something inside me doesn’t go on full alert like it normally does every time I think of danger…like with Roy.
I strain to hear what’s happening outside, but all I can hear is the dogs breathing. Time to move.
I start to sit up, then stop abruptly. I’m naked under the sheets. Not even wearing underwear. Unless Tolyan lives with a woman—which I highly doubt, since no guy in a relationship could come up with a good reason for bringing a girl home, stripping her and depositing her in his bed—he removed my clothes while I was out.
Which means he saw me naked. Probably with the lights on.
Shit. My blood chills, from the most inner part of my heart to the tips of my fingers and toes. Did he…do something? I don’t feel even the slightest hint of soreness. But vaginal penetration isn’t the only option when a man is a pervert.
Back in the parking lot he mentioned masturbating like it’s something he casually discusses over coffee. He also seemed amused by my embarrassed reaction, but then, isn’t that the normal reaction?
Besides, Roy liked to watch me too. And jerk off when he knew I was awake and every cell in my body was recoiling with fear and disgust.
I sniff again, lowering my nose close to the sheets, for any hint that Tolyan did something…awful. But the only smells are laundry detergent and fabric softener and dogs.
All right. I can’t stay in this room with the Dobermans forever. Gotta figure out where I am first and what Tolyan’s planning to do with me. Obviously it isn’t his intention to kill me—if it were, I wouldn’t still be breathing.
I stand up, one eye on the dogs, wrap a sheet around myself toga-style and then clench it together in my fist so it doesn’t come undone. The sheet’s too long and big to make a decent toga, but beggars can’t be choosers. Especially naked beggars.
Once I’m certain I’m decently covered, I make my way to the window and push the curtain aside to check out the surrounding area. All I see is the city spread out below. At least I’m still in Los Angeles—the San Gabriel Mountains are still providing a majestic backdrop to the city’s skyscrapers. But there’s no escaping out this window. No wonder Tolyan didn’t try to tie me up or anything. There’s only one way out.
I open the door, which swings wide without a sound and reveals a short hallway. I step out and walk carefully and quietly down the cool marble floor of the corridor. Some kind of dramatic classical music is coming from the sound system. Something with an orchestra and piano. The volume’s set low enough for a conversation.
No sign of Tolyan, but there is a kitchen off to my left. If I can just get there undetected, I might be able to grab a knife. I’ve never used one in a fight, but having one would be better than nothing, even though—
“You’re up,” comes Tolyan’s voice from ahead of me.
I turn my head and see the sunken living room. He’s seated in an armchair, his jacket gone. One ankle is propped on a knee, and he has a glass of water on a small table by his seat. He’s holding a fat cigar in one hand. The picture of an indolent man enjoying a quiet, cultured evening.
It belies the apex predator impression he made at the hotel. But I guess there’s no detour to the kitchen, then. He’s too relaxed. Probably has a gun nearby.
The Dobermans slide past me, padding toward him, bobbed tails wagging like crazy.
He puffs out smoke. It doesn’t smell anything like a cigarette. More like heavily roasted nutmeg and hazelnut with a hint of coffee.
He tilts his chin at the sectional near him. “Sit.”
“I’d rather stand.” It’s a pathetic attempt at trying to regain some control, especially since I sound shaky. But I have to try. I do what I want, buster, not what you want.
His pale eyes glimmer with amusement and something else I can’t identify. “There’s no needle hidden in the cushions, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I don’t trust you,” I say, feeling like a cat with its hackles raised in front of a huge, mean dog.
“Then why did you ask me for help?”
That shuts me up. I don’t have a good answer, except I’m really scared and tired of running. And the package from Roy freaked me out. He’s never sent anything this fast. Never rummaged through my things, either. Or if he did, he didn’t let me know.