Bride of the Tiger Heather Graham (fox in socks read aloud txt) 📖

Tara back here—entirely safe and sound—but the others, too. I want them released, and then the mask is yours.”

“Now, now, you know it’s not that simple. First things first. I’ll meet you at the glass factory—way out in the open. At midnight. I’ll have your little brother with me. He’ll tell you where the mask is and how to get it. And he’ll be careful, because he knows I’ll shoot his girlfriend if he lies. And you’ll behave, too, I’m certain, because there’s an entire memory lane that I could travel down with Tara—before I shoot her. Now, if you’re even five minutes late, I’ll start proving my point by shooting the old-timer. Got it all? Oh, no police. If I see anyone with you, anyone remotely near you on that mountain, I’ll begin by breaking his kneecaps.”

“I’ll be there at midnight. Alone.”

“See that you are. You know, I’m smiling at your girlfriend right now, Tyler. Ah, memories! She’s something, isn’t she? Just like a centerfold, huh?”

Rafe almost snapped the phone wire; it took all his willpower not to reply.

“How nice, a silent pair. Don’t mess up, Tyler, huh?”

The phone went dead. Rafe started to click it to call the police, then wondered if Tine Elliott had enough power behind him to have the wires tapped.

He sat down, shaking. He tried to fight back the rising sensation of panic. He reminded himself that his brother was alive, though he’d never believed in his heart that Jimmy could be dead. And it made sense: injury, amnesia. Jimmy would have never let them go crazy with fear if he had been able to do anything about it. He had been hurt, but he was alive. Rafe should be grateful for that, at least.

But he couldn’t be grateful. He felt too much panic. Tine Elliott had Tara. Tara. All that he could see in his mind’s eye were pictures of her. The beautiful soft silver fox fur clutched to her throat. Her eyes on his when they had met over the marble tiger. Tara…that night in her apartment. Half asleep, her guard down, the attraction calling to them both.

Tara…the softness of her lips. The beauty of her passion. Her love pouring around and over him, and becoming more a part of him than his flesh or his blood or even his mind. He couldn’t stand the fear, the horror, knowing what Tine Elliott had done to her, knowing that Tine Elliott had her again.

You can’t panic! You can’t sit here like a helpless idiot! he screamed silently.

Something inside him came to the fore, something sharp that reminded him that he’d never been helpless in any situation before—he’d always looked to action. But then, he’d never been in love before, not like this. This time another person was the essence of his soul, and the danger was all directed toward her.

Think! Act! By God, of all the times in his life, this was when he most needed to be effective!

Rafe forced himself to breathe deeply. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He looked at his watch. Eight o’clock, and it was almost completely dark outside.

Four hours. Four hours in which Tine Elliott could be doing anything to anyone.

Not to anyone. Tara.

He inhaled, exhaled, and gripped his fingers to stop them from trembling. How many people did Elliott have working for him? Probably not more than five or six—it would be too dangerous for him to have any larger a group.

Rafe knew he was probably being watched. But he hadn’t been told not to leave his room. He’d have to risk it.

But he didn’t have a damn thing to go on.

He walked back into Tara and Ashley’s room, blindly groping for some kind of clue. The beds weren’t perfectly made, he thought. And it seemed that the makeup and perfume bottles on the dresser were a little out of order, considering the kind of organization both girls were accustomed to, being quick-change artists.

Someone had been here. Either to take them…or check the room out after they had gone.

He sat down on the bed. If anyone had left him anything, it was surely gone.

He stood up, pacing the room, reminding himself that he had never been a defeatist. He paced and prowled, looking at the carpeting, stripping the beds, searching through the drawers. There was nothing.

But then he paused, opening the top drawer again. Tara’s leather handbag was there. He pulled it out and dumped the contents on the table.

He almost raked the entire mess on the floor with disgust, then paused. Among the lipstick, compact, wallet, address book, pencils, pens, stamps and other paraphernalia was an old shopping list. He studied it, tossed it aside, and noticed another slip. It looked like the floor plan for a runway.

Except that it wasn’t. It was some kind of a map. And it had been written by Jimmy and meant for him. At the bottom the words “Tanya’s walk” were written.

His blood seemed to race and make him dizzy for a minute. He sat down on the bed and studied the map more closely. He began to make out the mountain by the glass factory. The forests, the main road, the dirt paths. Shacks and houses.

His fingers started to tremble again. Jimmy had been here. Tine Elliott had bided his time well. Jimmy had come to Tara; Elliott had snared them both together. But Jimmy was alive, and apparently he remembered something, someplace.

Rafe rushed out of the room. He had no illusions. Tine meant to get his hands on him, too, and probably dispose of the lot of them together. That way there would be no one except for an overburdened police department left to hound him.

No, he had no illusions. That was why he had to reach Elliott before Elliott could reach him. And he couldn’t charge in like a fool; he had to have help. With luck, Elliott would count on his feelings, on his sense of panic. Elliott would be pretty damn sure that Rafe