fingers closed around her wrist in an iron grip. He knocked her wrist against the table. The knife clattered to the ground. Her wrist throbbed, but he didn’t let go.
His eyes bore into hers and she saw no mercy there. Would he kill her now?
"Let me go," she pleaded.
He yanked her over to the drawer, removing the other knives. The cheese grater hit the countertop with a thunk. "Cook." He let go of her wrist. "Now."
Kristi did as he asked, putting the meal together. When the food was ready, he shoveled in the mac and cheese, barely pausing to chew and she wondered when he’d last eaten.
"Aren’t you going to eat?" he asked with a nod toward her uneaten meal.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. "I can’t."
"Suit yourself." He reached for her bowl, polishing off her portion.
Kristi couldn’t take her eyes off the blood staining his shirt. Was it her imagination, or did the stain appear redder, wet? Had their scuffle opened his wound? "You’re bleeding."
"So?" He set his fork down, his attention on her now.
"You need medical help."
"Are you a doctor?" he asked.
"Computer programmer."
He gave her a wry smile. "Fun job."
She frowned. His sarcastic tone mirrored her own feelings about her chosen career.
"What do you do?" she asked. "Let me guess. Bank robber?"
He smiled again. "Don’t you watch the news?"
"Not lately," she said. "Been too busy. Why, are you on television?"
"I killed a man," he said. "And it wasn’t self-defense."
She had trouble swallowing past the lump in her throat. "Why did you kill him?"
"I couldn’t let him walk, not after what he did," he said simply.
"What did he do?"
"Plenty." He stood, moving to the couch. He stretched out, the gun still in his hand. He patted his flat stomach. "You’re a good cook."
"Food is my passion."
"Yeah?" He gave her a quizzical look. "Why aren’t you a chef instead of a computer programmer?"
"Good question." She didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. The dishes? The thought struck her as funny and she smiled.
"What?" he asked. "If there’s some humor in this situation, I’d love to hear it. I could use a good laugh about now."
"Nothing, it just seems weird to talk about normal things while you’re holding a gun on me."
"Lady, nothing about this is normal."
"What’s your name?" she asked.
He stared at her so long she figured he wouldn’t answer, then he said, "James."
"How long are you going to keep me here, James?"
"As soon as I have a plan, you’ll be the first to know."
"Do you intend to bleed to death?" she asked, unable to help herself.
"Maybe. Might be the easy way out."
She didn’t know what to say to that. "Do you have a family, James? Are they worried about you?"
He scowled. "I have a son. He’s thirteen. Lives with his mother in Arizona."
"What about him? Don’t you want to live for him?"
"I don’t know him," James said. "Not really. I wanted to, but it was easier to let his mother control things. I was a rotten father and a worse husband."
"Oh, one of those." She glanced away, out the window. The sun had set, the sky now soft with purple twilight.
"Had one of those, a rotten ex?" He gave her his full attention.
"Yep. Got the final divorce papers today." She laughed, the sound brittle. "That’s why I’m here, to regroup, to figure out the rest of my life."
"Figured it out yet?" He smiled, but she could see the strain on his face.
His injury was taking a toll. She wondered if he’d pass out soon, allowing her time to escape. Hope began to beat within her.
"No," she said. "Basically, I hate my life. I thought things would be different, that I’d have kids, be a mom."
"What happened?" he asked, his eyes on her.
"Infertility, a dirty word," she said. "Too many disappointments and not enough celebrations."
"I know how that feels." He gave her a weak smile, but his eyes remained sad.
"Who did you kill, James?" she asked, more to keep him talking then because she wanted to know the truth.
"His name
His eyes bore into hers and she saw no mercy there. Would he kill her now?
"Let me go," she pleaded.
He yanked her over to the drawer, removing the other knives. The cheese grater hit the countertop with a thunk. "Cook." He let go of her wrist. "Now."
Kristi did as he asked, putting the meal together. When the food was ready, he shoveled in the mac and cheese, barely pausing to chew and she wondered when he’d last eaten.
"Aren’t you going to eat?" he asked with a nod toward her uneaten meal.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. "I can’t."
"Suit yourself." He reached for her bowl, polishing off her portion.
Kristi couldn’t take her eyes off the blood staining his shirt. Was it her imagination, or did the stain appear redder, wet? Had their scuffle opened his wound? "You’re bleeding."
"So?" He set his fork down, his attention on her now.
"You need medical help."
"Are you a doctor?" he asked.
"Computer programmer."
He gave her a wry smile. "Fun job."
She frowned. His sarcastic tone mirrored her own feelings about her chosen career.
"What do you do?" she asked. "Let me guess. Bank robber?"
He smiled again. "Don’t you watch the news?"
"Not lately," she said. "Been too busy. Why, are you on television?"
"I killed a man," he said. "And it wasn’t self-defense."
She had trouble swallowing past the lump in her throat. "Why did you kill him?"
"I couldn’t let him walk, not after what he did," he said simply.
"What did he do?"
"Plenty." He stood, moving to the couch. He stretched out, the gun still in his hand. He patted his flat stomach. "You’re a good cook."
"Food is my passion."
"Yeah?" He gave her a quizzical look. "Why aren’t you a chef instead of a computer programmer?"
"Good question." She didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. The dishes? The thought struck her as funny and she smiled.
"What?" he asked. "If there’s some humor in this situation, I’d love to hear it. I could use a good laugh about now."
"Nothing, it just seems weird to talk about normal things while you’re holding a gun on me."
"Lady, nothing about this is normal."
"What’s your name?" she asked.
He stared at her so long she figured he wouldn’t answer, then he said, "James."
"How long are you going to keep me here, James?"
"As soon as I have a plan, you’ll be the first to know."
"Do you intend to bleed to death?" she asked, unable to help herself.
"Maybe. Might be the easy way out."
She didn’t know what to say to that. "Do you have a family, James? Are they worried about you?"
He scowled. "I have a son. He’s thirteen. Lives with his mother in Arizona."
"What about him? Don’t you want to live for him?"
"I don’t know him," James said. "Not really. I wanted to, but it was easier to let his mother control things. I was a rotten father and a worse husband."
"Oh, one of those." She glanced away, out the window. The sun had set, the sky now soft with purple twilight.
"Had one of those, a rotten ex?" He gave her his full attention.
"Yep. Got the final divorce papers today." She laughed, the sound brittle. "That’s why I’m here, to regroup, to figure out the rest of my life."
"Figured it out yet?" He smiled, but she could see the strain on his face.
His injury was taking a toll. She wondered if he’d pass out soon, allowing her time to escape. Hope began to beat within her.
"No," she said. "Basically, I hate my life. I thought things would be different, that I’d have kids, be a mom."
"What happened?" he asked, his eyes on her.
"Infertility, a dirty word," she said. "Too many disappointments and not enough celebrations."
"I know how that feels." He gave her a weak smile, but his eyes remained sad.
"Who did you kill, James?" she asked, more to keep him talking then because she wanted to know the truth.
"His name
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