Jar of Hearts: (Family Stone, # 5 Keisha and Shane) (Family Stone Romantic Suspense) by Lisa Hughey Page B
Authors: Lisa Hughey
Tags: romantic suspense
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sex.
I wanted to smile but kept my expression lax.
I’d longed to stay in that bed. Sleep with him. Just sleep with the comforting warmth of another human being. The ache had been so intense that as soon as he dozed off--I left.
That was my last memory.
“You can stop pretending.”
I continued to fake sleep. I didn’t know that male voice. It was bland, not angry, but with a slight smirk, as if he knew something I didn’t.
“You should be awake by now. We calibrate our doses very carefully.”
That statement raised so many questions, I decided to comply with his unspoken request and let my eyes drift open. I calculated we were moving at a speed of about thirty miles per hour. Suburban, blacked out windows, bulletproof glass. The blue light came from the interior dome in the big SUV.
“The light is to protect your eyes. The drug affects your pupil’s ability to dilate and contract.”
What drug? I kept silent.
“Not very curious, are you?”
My last conscious memory was from the motel off of 295 near Alexandria around nine in the evening. It was pitch dark out now, so I’d been out for a while.
Lucas. Could the guy have been a plant? Possible. Since he was my last clear memory, it made sense.
I sifted through the spaghetti of my brain. For the past two days, I’d been undercover, shadowing Staci Grant’s life. Last night, I’d encountered Lucas Goodman, who’d been looking for Staci and thought he’d found her when he found me. The sexual heat between us had been instantaneous and mutual. A few sweaty hours later, I’d left, confident my movements as Staci had been tracked. My cover had been working.
They’d kidnapped Staci.
Excellent.
I was right where I needed to be.
Now I needed answers. My task was to discover why CIA, DIA, and NSA agents were being kidnapped, the method of interrogation, and who was doing the kidnapping. The answers would be coming. I just had to be ready.
I settled into the backseat of the car to wait, taking in details. Mistake number one. They hadn’t taken my ring, so the satellite audio transmitter should work. I twisted the unusual ring with my thumb and pressed the citrine stone twice. I was now sending voice-activated recordings back to Carson.
Mistake number two. They’d cuffed my hands, in front, but left my legs unshackled.
They’d taken my government firearm but missed the knife in the sheath at my waist. Mistake number three. Always, always check everywhere for hidden weapons.
Although my mind was the most powerful weapon I had.
My watch was gone and my government-issue GPS with it. Slouching to the side, I got a better view of the dashboard panel. My kidnapper had conveniently supplied me with another GPS system, live and tracking.
Coordinates. Latitude–47. Longitude–122. I was in the Pacific Northwest. I looked out the misted window to see a reflection of the Space Needle and pinpointed my location as Seattle. I was a long way from Virginia.
I returned my gaze to the kidnapper. Subject was male, small head, blond hair gelled into little spikes, crescent-shaped birthmark below his right ear.
The car rolled to a stop. The rocking intensified my queasy stomach. I ignored it.
“We’re here.”
Here was a warehouse near the water. The guy wasn’t rough but the sudden motion as he lugged me out of the SUV caused my stomach to roil.
I breathed in the cold, damp air through my nose, trying to quell the nausea. As he led me toward a semi-truck trailer, I noted the parking lot was empty except for one other truck and a car, too far away and too dark to make out details. The warehouse, constructed with long cinder block walls interrupted by doors at twenty foot intervals, was to my left and behind me.
The trailer was modified from a regular shipping container, doors locked up tight in the back, with another entrance on the side. It looked as if the stairs were all one solid block which could fold up into the interior of the trailer.
The recessed
I wanted to smile but kept my expression lax.
I’d longed to stay in that bed. Sleep with him. Just sleep with the comforting warmth of another human being. The ache had been so intense that as soon as he dozed off--I left.
That was my last memory.
“You can stop pretending.”
I continued to fake sleep. I didn’t know that male voice. It was bland, not angry, but with a slight smirk, as if he knew something I didn’t.
“You should be awake by now. We calibrate our doses very carefully.”
That statement raised so many questions, I decided to comply with his unspoken request and let my eyes drift open. I calculated we were moving at a speed of about thirty miles per hour. Suburban, blacked out windows, bulletproof glass. The blue light came from the interior dome in the big SUV.
“The light is to protect your eyes. The drug affects your pupil’s ability to dilate and contract.”
What drug? I kept silent.
“Not very curious, are you?”
My last conscious memory was from the motel off of 295 near Alexandria around nine in the evening. It was pitch dark out now, so I’d been out for a while.
Lucas. Could the guy have been a plant? Possible. Since he was my last clear memory, it made sense.
I sifted through the spaghetti of my brain. For the past two days, I’d been undercover, shadowing Staci Grant’s life. Last night, I’d encountered Lucas Goodman, who’d been looking for Staci and thought he’d found her when he found me. The sexual heat between us had been instantaneous and mutual. A few sweaty hours later, I’d left, confident my movements as Staci had been tracked. My cover had been working.
They’d kidnapped Staci.
Excellent.
I was right where I needed to be.
Now I needed answers. My task was to discover why CIA, DIA, and NSA agents were being kidnapped, the method of interrogation, and who was doing the kidnapping. The answers would be coming. I just had to be ready.
I settled into the backseat of the car to wait, taking in details. Mistake number one. They hadn’t taken my ring, so the satellite audio transmitter should work. I twisted the unusual ring with my thumb and pressed the citrine stone twice. I was now sending voice-activated recordings back to Carson.
Mistake number two. They’d cuffed my hands, in front, but left my legs unshackled.
They’d taken my government firearm but missed the knife in the sheath at my waist. Mistake number three. Always, always check everywhere for hidden weapons.
Although my mind was the most powerful weapon I had.
My watch was gone and my government-issue GPS with it. Slouching to the side, I got a better view of the dashboard panel. My kidnapper had conveniently supplied me with another GPS system, live and tracking.
Coordinates. Latitude–47. Longitude–122. I was in the Pacific Northwest. I looked out the misted window to see a reflection of the Space Needle and pinpointed my location as Seattle. I was a long way from Virginia.
I returned my gaze to the kidnapper. Subject was male, small head, blond hair gelled into little spikes, crescent-shaped birthmark below his right ear.
The car rolled to a stop. The rocking intensified my queasy stomach. I ignored it.
“We’re here.”
Here was a warehouse near the water. The guy wasn’t rough but the sudden motion as he lugged me out of the SUV caused my stomach to roil.
I breathed in the cold, damp air through my nose, trying to quell the nausea. As he led me toward a semi-truck trailer, I noted the parking lot was empty except for one other truck and a car, too far away and too dark to make out details. The warehouse, constructed with long cinder block walls interrupted by doors at twenty foot intervals, was to my left and behind me.
The trailer was modified from a regular shipping container, doors locked up tight in the back, with another entrance on the side. It looked as if the stairs were all one solid block which could fold up into the interior of the trailer.
The recessed
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