Midnight Exposure by Melinda Leigh Page B

simultaneously shot both feet into his pelvis and yanked his leg out from under him. He fell backward onto his ass. Before he could recover, she dropped a heel onto his groin.
    A wet gasp emanated from her captor. The flashlight dropped to the floor as he cupped his genitals with both hands and curled to the side.
    She leaped to her feet and swung the chain in her hands in a wide arc. He levered his shoulders off the ground, raised one hand and blocked most of the blow with a beefy forearm, but the tail whipped around and slapped him on the back of the head. His body sagged onto the dirt floor. One hand still clutched his groin as Jayne backed away.
    The flashlight on the ground flickered. In its beam, something small and silver lay in the dirt next to his prone body. She scooped up both the light and the object, shoving them into her pocket before sprinting for the steps. Her boots slipped on bare wood as she scrambled up the stairs. Her fingers were stiff from cold and slippery with her own blood. She fumbled with the knob.
    She wiped her palms on her jeans, twisted the knob, and pushed. The door, swollen from dampness, stuck fast.
    A scrape sounded at the foot of the steps. She risked a look back. Her captor was pushing to his feet. Jayne turned back to the door as his boot rang on a wood tread.
    Fresh terror gave her strength, and she threw her shoulder against the door. Behind her, her captor scrambled on the steps. She slammed into the solid frame again. Bloated wood gave with a scrape. Jayne’s momentum carried her forward. She fell to her knees. Her palms slapped worn linoleum.
    A hand grabbed her left ankle, dragging her back onto the steps. She snagged the door frame with her bound hands and glanced over her shoulder. Light poured onto the upper portion of the stairwell, illuminating her ski-masked captor four steps below her. He jerked on her foot. Jayne’s fingers dug in.
    Instinct developed during long hours of intense training took over. She rolled to her left hip, drew her right knee to her chest and fired a sidekick. The sole of her boot plowed straight into his chest. The breath whooshed out of him. He fell backward and crashed down the stairs.
    Jayne jumped to her feet and shot through the door with a burst of frantic energy. She yanked the chain clear, slammed the door behind her and braced her back on it. Her gaze raced around the room looking for a way to secure the door. If he got out, that was the end of her. She’d never be able to take him by surprise a second time, nor could she outrun him in her weakened condition. She’d only get so far on fear and its associated rush of adrenaline.
    The basement door had opened into a run-down kitchen. A heavy table and several chairs stood in the center. She seized a chair and jammed it under the doorknob. Then she dragged the heavy table over and shoved it against the chair.
    Only then did she take a few seconds to pull the tiny key from her pocket, and with shaking fingers, free her hands. The chain and cuffs clattered to the floor.
    The door reverberated as her abductor rammed into the other side, but the solid old wood held. Muffled, infuriated swearing faded as Jayne ran along the main corridor. Despite her panic and disorientation, she found the front exit. She bolted through it into the snowstorm with no hesitation, greeting the killing cold with enthusiasm.

    A door slammed downstairs. Despite the startling noise, John’s body sank farther into the mattress as the fresh tranquilizer,courtesy of his captor’s daily visit just a short while ago, chugged through his bloodstream.
    Furious banging erupted from below. The house trembled. Profanity echoed in the heat duct. Shock at the unexpected event—never good in John’s predicament—sent a minute charge of adrenaline through his sedated system.
    His captor was pissed.
    John belly-crawled to his window. Kneeling, he dragged his reluctant body into an upright position and peered through the slit. A