Page 39 of Captive Games


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Relief plows through me. So, she wasn’t lying. And she’s not officially done anything that would make her need to disappear for real. I’ll do what I have to do to protect my family but thinking of hurting her makes my stomach grow cold.

“They heard the American girl went back to LA. It’s a small island. They put two and two together and figured she’s the witness. That she didn’t give any information to Collins. Then, she skipped town.”

“What’s the problem then?” I ask. “We keep her till we’re sure she won’t talk, then we pack her up and send her back to California.”

“You don’t think they’ll get suspicious when you’re at the house every day?”

“I’ve got it covered.” I made up some story about a water leak at the house I had to take care of.

“And what about your horses?” he asks.

“I have that covered as well.” I don’t tell him Jonjo is the only one I trust to care for my horses in my absence.

He pushes. “We’ve got the fortnight grill out at noon. Bruce’ll be looking for you. You’ve never missed one. You don’t think suspicions will rise when you don’t show up for steak?”

My mouth waters at the thought of Bruce’s perfectly seasoned T-bones. I’ve got to keep their suspicions at bay. A water leak wouldn’t keep me away from steak.

Eamon’s right. I glance around the house. Can I leave her here alone? No one would dare come onto my property when my truck’s gone. The people here know better than that. And she seems so cozy, I don’t think she’ll be going anywhere soon.

Am I being cocky? Thinking she’ll stay? I’ll have to risk it. “I’ll be there.”

Eamon lets out a breath he must have been holding. “Great. Should be able to buy us another day, you showing your ugly mug.”

“Aye, if you think the gents can stomach looking at this face while they’re eating.”

He gives a belly laugh that makes me smile. “See you at noon.”

As I hang up, I start to wonder if I’ve not wanted to leave her here to keep an eye on her or if I’m starting to like having her in my house.

There was piping hot coffee and a cheese omelet waiting on the counter for me this morning; a bachelor doesn’t overlook that kinda thing, you know what I mean?

I leave her with a warning not to step out of the house or not only will I punish her, but she’ll also lose her freedom to roam around freely and be locked in her bedroom for the remainder of her sentence.

Other than a pretty goodbye waggle of her fingers, she barely acknowledges me, happily curled up on my massive couch, reading one of my mother’s old books I’ve brought down from a paper bag in my attic. She’s got a loaf of bread cooling on the counter and a second pan of cookie dough waiting to go in the oven.

I’m dragging my feet in leaving. Eamon can wait long enough for the first pan of cookies to come out of the oven, can’t he?

The timer goes off. She pops right up off the couch, bookmarking her novel with a scrap she’s ripped off the brown paper bag. I asked her why she doesn’t just fold the corner of her page over and she gave me a look of horror.

Called me a monster.

Funny—I’ve kidnapped the girl, threatened her life, and whipped her ass with my belt but it looks like I’ve reached her breaking point.

Abuse of a dusty old book that’s been rotting in the attic.

I circle the kitchen, inhaling the good smells of freshly baked goodies. She bends over and takes the pan from the oven, looking sexy as hell as she does it, too, even though she’s wearing gray sweats, her hair piled on top of her head in some kind of messy knot.

Sliding the pan on top of the stove, she closes the oven door. Grabs a spatula from the drawer. Turns around, arms crossed over her chest, and stands guard over her cookies.

“What?” I say.

“They have to cool on the pan for three minutes before they go to the cooling rack.”

“Why?”

“When you let them sit on the pan to finish cooking you get soft in the middle, chewy on the outside.” She eyes me, tapping the handle of the spatula against her forearm in a slightly threatening manner.

Three minutes? I stare at the cookies, melted chocolate chunks peeking out of their tops. I know better than to mess with a woman when she’s in her kitchen. Eamon can wait.

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