“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mary snapped, moving forward to loom threateningly over the young man. She would do him some serious harm if she had to, but no one was taking her RV from her. “Get your bloody arse out of my seat!”
“I showered the blood off. Sit down.” Even as he spoke the calm response, the RV jerked forward, nearly sending her tumbling to the floor. Catching the edge of the dinette table, Mary steadied herself and then grabbed the back of the driver’s seat to hold on as she scowled down at the seated man.
“I realize you showered,” she said with irritation. “I wasn’t being literal. Just get out of my—crap!” she muttered as he jerked the steering wheel right and she lost her hold on the driver’s chair and stumbled sideways, her hip hitting the side of the table. Then he swerved back again and she tumbled to the right this time, toward the steps. He reached out and grabbed her arm, saving her from a nasty tumble, and then steered her toward the passenger chair. Mary dropped into the seat for safety’s sake, but immediately turned to scowl at the young man.
“Look,” she began, finding it difficult to be stern after he’d just saved her from possible broken bones.
“I apologize for commandeering your vehicle,” the man interrupted and Mary narrowed her eyes as she noted his accent. Italian, she thought, as he continued, “I would have just slipped out of the RV and taken flight on foot when I saw that my kidnappers had tracked us. However, I feared they might do you harm in an effort to find out where I had gone. I couldn’t just leave you to their less than tender mercies, so until we lose them, I must stay with you.”
Mary blinked as his words sank through her brain. He would have fled on foot but had stayed to ensure her safety? Well, that was somewhat reassuring. It made it less likely that she was in any danger from him . . . if it was true.
“Kidnappers?” she asked finally, vaguely aware that he was steering them out of the truck stop.
“The black van behind us,” he said grimly.
Mary glanced at the screen showing the rear camera view to see that there was indeed a black van moving up behind them. She was quite sure it was the vehicle that had been waiting to pull into the truck stop when she’d heard the RV start up. Now it was following them out of the truck stop.
“I saw them waiting to turn into the truck stop through the window when I got out of the shower,” her naked guest said quietly as he straightened out on the highway and put his foot down on the gas. The engine revved and then began to whine in complaint as it was forced to a speed it wasn’t used to or even really meant to travel at. He eased up slightly on the gas as he explained, “The men in that van kidnapped my twin brother and myself the night before last. I managed to escape and was fleeing them when you ran me over.”
Mary winced at the comment. She had run over him. She could still recall the way the RV had bumped over something in the road. And he’d had tire tracks on his chest. Yet now he was sitting here, steering her RV around as if he’d suffered little more than a minor bump or bang.
While guilt was trying to lay claim to her for running the man down, bewilderment was quickly nudging it aside. “How can you be okay now?” she asked. “I ran over you. You were covered with blood and appeared badly injured. Yet now . . .”
“The blood was mostly show. I’m fine,” he assured her and Mary’s eyes narrowed. It was exactly what everyone else had said, which seemed somehow suspicious to her. However, he did look fine so she could hardly argue the point. Besides, there were other questions she needed answered.
“All right. So you and your twin brother were kidnapped,” she said slowly, trying to imagine two of these young, strapping, gorgeous male specimens in the world. Good Lord, he was huge. It was hard to imagine two of them existed, she thought, her gaze sliding over his big brawny shoulders and barrel chest. Her eyes tried to drop lower, but she forced them back to his face. She didn’t need to look further; she’d already seen more than she wanted to and knew the man was big everywhere. “Who are these men and why did they kidnap you?”
He didn’t answer right away, his attention focused on the road as he took the ramp to the I-10. She also suspected he was taking the opportunity to try to come up with a way to avoid answering her question, but once he’d merged onto the 10 he said, “Several young . . . men and women have gone missing in the San Antonio area over the past year. Tomasso and I were helping out a task force trying to discover who was taking them and for what purpose.”
“Tomasso is your twin?” she asked before he could continue and thinking that the task force would probably be a federal one, maybe FBI if kidnapping was involved. Great, she’d run over a fed. That couldn’t be good.
“Yes.”
It took Mary a moment to realize he was agreeing that Tomasso was his twin. Sighing, she asked, “And you are?”
His eyes widened slightly and then he offered her a smile of chagrin. “I am Dante Notte. And who are you?”
“Mary Winslow,” she said quietly.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mary Winslow,” he said solemnly.
She nodded, and then stood, stepped over Bailey and moved carefully back along the aisle until she could reach the folded afghan that had somehow managed to remain on the couch while everything else had gone tumbling to the floor. Snatching it up, she made her way back to her seat. As she climbed back over Bailey, she dropped the afghan in his lap and then plopped back into the passenger seat. If she was going to talk to the young man, she would do so with at least some small semblance of propriety. He was naked, for God’s sake.
“Oh . . . er . . . thank you,” Dante muttered, and removed one hand from the wheel to quickly spread the blanket over his lap and legs. It was a spider stitch pattern, a very loose spider stitch—which meant it had large holes. It would have been fine had he left it as is, but when he spread it out . . . well, she might as well have saved herself the walk to get it. His legs and groin were now playing peek-a-boo. Not that Dante seemed to notice. He appeared perfectly satisfied that he was now decently covered. But then it hadn’t seemed to bother him to be sitting there naked either, so what did she know?
Mary averted her eyes again with a little sigh. “You were saying you and your brother were assisting a task force in discovering how and why people were going missing in San Antonio?”
Dante nodded with a grunt. “Several of us were sent to bars where the missing people had last been seen. Tomasso and I were sent to the same bar, and were taken together as we left at the end of the night.”
“How?” Mary asked with a frown. It was hard to imagine this large, muscular young man being forced to go anywhere he didn’t want to, but two of him? If his twin was the same size, taking them on must have been like taking on a small army.
“We were shot with drugged darts in the parking lot,” he said grimly. “I thought it was a bullet until I glanced down and saw the dart in my chest. I pulled it out, but it was too late. I was already losing consciousness.”
“Sunday night?” she asked with a frown, working it out in her head.
Dante glanced to her uncertainly and then back to the road before saying, “I do not understand. What about Sunday?”
“You said you were taken the night before last. That would be Sunday,” she explained, and noted the frown that immediately claimed his expression.
“No. It was Friday we were taken,” he said and muttered, “I lost more time than I thought. They must have continuously drugged us. Perhaps intravenously,” he added and removed his left hand from the steering wheel to turn it over and peer at the unblemished skin as if he was recalling something.
“You would have a mark, possibly even a bruise if they’d put an intravenous in you,” she said gently. When he remained silent and merely returned his hand to the steering wheel and his attention to the road, she asked, “How did you get away?”
“I woke up some hours ago, naked and in a cage. Tomasso was in a cage next to mine, also naked.”
Mary sat back slightly at this news. Obviously the man had been wearing something when he’d gone to, and left, the bar. So his captors had stripped him. She couldn’t imagine waking up one day to find herself naked in a cage. It sounded like a nightmare to her and she was glad when he distracted her from the thought of it and continued his story.
“Whoever had been in my cage before me had obviously made some effort to escape. One of the bars had been loosened. Tomasso’s cage was close enough he could help, and together we were able to get the first bar out, and bend another enough to pull it out as well. I managed to squeeze out of my cage and tried to open his, but before I could accomplish the task, we heard our captors coming and he insisted I get away while I could and get help.”
Dante paused briefly, and Mary noted the muscles of his throat working, but then he continued, his voice almost flat. “It was a basement with high windows. I climbed out onto dirt and grass and saw the woods surrounding the building we had been held in. I started to run. I had no idea where I was, or if I was headed in the right direction to find help. All I could see were woods and more woods. I had not gone far when I became aware of someone running behind me. Afraid they would shoot me with their dart again, I put on a burst of speed and then the trees were suddenly gone and I was charging toward the road . . . and the side of this RV.” He patted the steering wheel with a grimace. “I tried to stop myself, but . . .” He shook his head, and then glanced to her and said, “The truth is you did not run over me, so much as I ran into, or under, your vehicle.”
Mary stared at him silently. She was glad she wasn’t at fault for the accident. The knowledge relieved a good deal of the guilt that had apparently been clouding her good sense, because now she was thinking more clearly. Voice firm, she said, “You need to turn around and head back to the truck stop.”
He glanced at her with surprise, then turned his gaze forward again and shook his head. “We have to lose our pursuers to ensure your safety when I leave you.”
“You’re not going to do that in an RV,” she said dryly. “These things are like me, built for comfort, not speed. That van—” she glanced to the vehicle revealed in the rear camera view to see that it was still stuck on their tail like a burr on Bailey’s butt “—is not going to lose us. And if what you say is true, the minute we stop, the men in that van will attack. But the waitress at the truck stop called 911. By now the police should be there. If they aren’t there yet, at least there are others there to help. Right now we’re on our own. Those men could force us off the road and take you again at any minute. In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t tried already.”
“They have not tried because the highway is busy and they do not want witnesses. So long as we stay on it we should be safe,” he said solemnly. “And if we lead them back to the truck stop, someone there could get hurt. It is important to avoid that. It is why I led them away to begin with,” he argued.
“I thought it was to keep me safe?” she reminded him tightly.
“Yes. That too,” he agreed. “I wish to avoid any mort—innocents coming to harm.”
“Any more innocents?” she questioned with a frown. “You mean besides your brother?”
“Si,” he agreed quickly, but kept his gaze on the road ahead.
Mary frowned, suspecting he hadn’t meant that at all, but unsure why she thought so. Leaving it for now, she asked, “Well then, what’s your plan? Are you intending to lead them to the police station in Kerrville in the hopes they can catch these men and go rescue your brother?” She paused and frowned, wondering if it wouldn’t actually be the sheriff’s office. In Canada and some of the northern states it was the police, but it seemed to her it might be sheriff here. She wasn’t sure though. She’d never had cause to call the authorities here before. Realizing that didn’t matter, she waved a hand and said; “Anyway, I seriously doubt your friends will hold off on stopping us until we reach the police station or sheriff’s department. Once we’re off the highway, there’s no guarantee there won’t be a stretch of road without anyone to stop them driving us off the road.”
Dante scowled, apparently not pleased by what she’d said. “I need to find out where they were holding us so I can send help for Tomasso.”
“It’s written on that notepad next to my phone,” she informed him quietly. “At least the spot where I hit you is. Surely you couldn’t have run that far before getting there?”
Dante glanced sharply to the tiny memo pad attached to the clipboard on the dash, and then turned questioning eyes to her. “This is where I ran into you? You wrote it down?”
“Yes.” She grimaced and admitted. “I knew I’d hit something, but I got spooked out there and drove off without making a proper search. I wrote down the distance it was from the first stop sign I came to, intending to send the police there when I got to the truck stop.”
A slow relieved smile lit up his face and he said, “Mary Winslow, if I was not driving I would kiss you. You are brilliant.”
Mary smiled faintly and just shook her head. He had a very nice smile and she was happy to help the fellow.
“May I use your phone?”
She glanced to the phone in its holder and shook her head. “I’m sorry. It fell out of its holder and broke when I hit you. That’s why I stopped at the truck stop, to use their phone.”
His smile slipped at once and he glanced to the item in question, asking, “Are you sure it is broken?”
“Well, the glass face is smashed and it had gone dead,” she said. “That seems broke enough to me.”
He nodded, but asked, “Did you try turning it on?”
“Well, no. But I never turned it off,” she pointed out, glancing at the phone now as well.
Dante pursed his lips, then took one hand from the wheel and picked up the phone. He pushed the button to turn it on and Mary almost groaned aloud when the damned thing lit up like a storefront at Christmas. She was such an idiot when it came to modern technology. Honestly, how could she be so stupid as to not even try to turn it on?
Dante smiled at her widely. “It is working.”
“I see that,” she said dryly.
“May I use it?” he asked.
Mary nodded and then watched as he began punching in numbers, his gaze shifting between the road and the phone.
“That’s kind of dangerous,” she pointed out. “Why don’t you let me put the number in for you?”
“Thank you,” Dante murmured, passing the phone over.
Mary took the phone and then glanced to him expectantly. “What’s the number?”
“4 . . . 1 . . . 6,” he began, and then paused.
“Okay,” Mary said, thinking he was waiting to give her the chance to punch in the numbers, but they were still there from his attempt.
Dante frowned. “416 . . .” He released an impatient sound, and then admitted, “I need to be looking at the phone screen to remember.”
Mary smiled faintly, completely understanding. For some reason it was always easier for her to remember numbers with the number pad in front of her too.
“You must drive,” Dante announced now. “I have to call the Enforcer House.”
“Who?” she asked with confusion.
He waved away her question. “The authorities. Come, you must drive.”
Mary instinctively glanced to the rear camera view. The van was still tight on their tail. She shook her head. “They’ll attack the minute you pull over for us to switch places.”
“Si. So we cannot stop. You sit in my lap and I will slip out and leave the seat to you,” he said as if that was the most reasonable suggestion in the world.
Mary pursed her lips and shook her head. “Sonny, I wouldn’t sit in your lap even if you were wearing a Santa suit.”
Dante frowned with confusion. “Santa?”
Mary raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you have Santa in Italy? A big bearded guy in a red suit? Comes down the chimney and fills kids’ stockings with candies and toys?”
“Oh,” he smiled. “For us it is Befana.”
“Befana?” she echoed, trying to emulate his pronunciation.
“Si.” He smiled faintly. “She is the old woman who comes down the chimney and delivers gifts to the children of Italy who have been good that year. However, she comes on January fifth, Epiphany Eve, not Christmas Eve.”
“Hmm,” Mary murmured, her gaze sliding between the rear camera view and the steering wheel. She really did want to drive. It was her RV after all, and while Dante wasn’t doing too bad a job, it was obvious he’d never driven an RV before. He kept trying to make the vehicle go faster than it was able too, causing the engine to whine. If he kept it up, they could blow the engine and she didn’t want that. There was no way she was sitting in his naked lap though.
“What if I just hold the wheel while you get up, then slip onto the seat and take over?” she suggested. It shouldn’t be too tricky a maneuver. She just had to keep the wheel straight as she sat down, and even if she moved it a little they should be all right. There were no cars directly beside or in front of them at the moment.
He shook his head. “We will slow down the minute I take my foot off the gas,” he pointed out. “And that might be all the encouragement they need to force us off the road, witnesses or no.”
Mary scowled at this argument and glanced toward the back of the RV, trying to think of some way to avoid his suggestion. There was a broom in one of the cupboards, as well as a mop. Perhaps she could push down on the gas pedal with that while he vacated the seat and . . . She stood up, intending to go fetch either the mop or broom, and then gasped in surprise when Dante suddenly reached out to snake one arm around her and drag her into his lap. She landed sideways with a squawk and immediately tried to struggle up off of him, then froze as the RV swerved slightly.
“Sit still,” Dante commanded firmly as if she hadn’t already caught on to the fact that she would have to unless she wanted yet another accident that night. After straightening out the vehicle, Dante released a breath, then glanced to her face and offered a charming smile. “All is well. Just turn in my lap to face front and place your foot over mine on the gas pedal.”
“I don’t think . . .” Mary began weakly, only to fall silent as he removed his left hand from the steering wheel to rub her back in what she supposed was meant to be a soothing manner, but really did not have a soothing effect on her.
“It is all right. We are halfway there,” he cooed, his voice coaxing. “Just turn to face forward for me, yes?”
Mary closed her eyes briefly, but then released a small sigh, firmed her mouth and carefully shifted in his lap until she sat facing forward. She was immediately sorry she had. This new position left her completely enveloped by the man, his arms on either side of her, his body behind and beneath her and his clean, wholesome scent encasing her like a sausage in a bun.
Speaking of sausage, what the hell was that poking her in the bottom? Surely it wasn’t—Good Lord, it was!
“This is good, yes?” Dante asked, his words a breathy whisper that stirred the hair by her ear and Mary swallowed against the response her body was having and gave her head a firm shake. This was not good. Although she didn’t get the chance to say so before he added, “We are almost there.”
She nearly asked, almost where? But managed to bite back the question.
“Now. You put your foot on the gas pedal and I will slip my foot out from beneath yours.”
Relieved to have something to think about other than what she was quite sure was poking her in the bottom, and the fact that young men were such a horny mess of hormones they could be turned on by tired old women like her, Mary tried to put her foot on the gas pedal and found she couldn’t. The boy had long legs and had pushed the seat back. She couldn’t reach it.
“Scoot forward,” Dante instructed.
Mary didn’t have to be told twice. She shifted forward on his lap so swiftly one would have been forgiven for thinking he’d lit a lighter under her butt. Once she was perched on the very tip of his knees with as little of her behind touching him as possible and the steering wheel digging into her belly, she was able to reach the pedal. She pressed her foot down hard, half on his foot and half on the pedal itself and heard Dante suck in a quick pained breath behind her.
“Sorry,” she muttered, unable to infuse even the slightest bit of apology into her voice. Poke her in the bottom with his body parts, would he? Hmmph. Take that, horny boy.
“Now grasp the steering wheel,” Dante instructed.
Mary raised her hands and grasped the wheel above his hands, careful to avoid touching him.
“Good,” Dante praised. “Now, all you need do is concentrate on keeping your foot on the pedal and steering straight, I will do all the work.”
“That’s what she said,” Mary heard her husband’s old line in her head and smiled weakly, wishing something fierce that he was there right now. He would be the one sitting in Dante’s lap if he was, or no one would be. Joe had been a brilliant man. He would have come up with a way to handle all of this without so much—
“Who said what?” Dante’s confused question interrupted her thoughts and Mary glanced over her shoulder to see that he looked as confused as he sounded.
“What?” she asked uncertainly.
“You said, ‘That’s what she said,’” he explained. “To whom were you referring? And what did she say?”
Mary’s eyes widened as she realized she’d spoken the words aloud, and then she just shook her head and turned to face forward again. “Never mind. It was nothing. I was just muttering to myself.” Scowling at the stretch of highway ahead, she added, “I thought you were getting up to make your call?”
A moment of silence followed, as if he wanted to question her further, but then he agreed on a small sigh, “Si. Keep the RV going this speed and steering straight. I will be as quick and careful as I can.”
Mary merely nodded and waited. But when his hands released the steering wheel and suddenly dropped to her bottom, she stiffened and jerked the steering wheel again.
“Steady,” Dante admonished. “I am going to lift your bottom and slip out from under you.”
“I can probably—” She’d been about to say she could probably lift her own bottom by standing on the gas pedal, but swallowed the words as he slid his hands under her butt cheeks. It was probably done quickly, but to Mary what followed seemed to take forever as he lifted her up off his lap, his fingers squeezing her butt cheeks with more than necessary familiarity, and then his body seemed to slide forward before sliding sideways under hers, the pokey part rubbing across her bottom toward the right before it was out from under her.
“Steady,” Dante repeated by her ear and Mary shifted her attention back to the steering wheel that had somehow started to turn to the right as well. Straightening it out, she tried to ignore the fact that he seemed really slow about setting her down on the edge of the seat. Letting her breath out on relief, she glanced toward him and cursed. “You—”
“Uno momento,” Dante breathed, interrupting her complaint that he’d lost his afghan and was now completely naked again.
Mary almost swallowed her tongue then when he practically laid his head in her lap as he felt around under her seat for something. At first she thought it was the afghan he was trying to reclaim, but when she realized it was lying on the floor next to the seat, she snapped, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to find the lever to adjust your seat,” Dante explained and then jerked upright just in time to avoid getting his head crushed by the steering wheel when she hit the button on her armrest to adjust the seat herself.
“It’s automatic,” she said shortly.
“Ah. Good,” he murmured, and stood. Much to her relief, he recalled the afghan and arranged it around himself as he straightened. At least, Mary was relieved until she glanced to the side and saw that she’d been right about what she’d thought had been poking her in the bottom. The man had a boner, and it was presently poking through one of the holes in the spider-stitched afghan. He might as well not be wearing the damned thing at all. Good Lord!
Mary turned her eyes quickly forward again, wishing she could burn the sight she’d just seen from her memory. But she couldn’t even remove it from her gaze, the damned thing seemed burned into her retina and there was now a big dancing penis bouncing around in the middle of her view of the road ahead.
“So not cool,” Mary muttered to herself.
“What was that? Did you say you are cold?” Dante asked with apparent concern and Mary instinctively started to turn to him to answer, caught a glimpse of his penis poking out of the colorful afghan, and jerked her head forward again.
“No,” she said firmly. “Go make your call.”
Dante hesitated, but then said, “I will be quick,” and finally snatched up the phone, ripped off the top paper from the memo pad, and moved away.
“Take your time,” Mary muttered under her breath, and meant it. She needed a little breathing space from the man. He wasn’t her type—too big, too young, and just too damned sexy—but he hadn’t been the only one affected by the past few minutes. If women could have boners, she’d be sporting one too and that was just pitiful. Dante was young enough to be her son . . . maybe even her grandson. She had no business responding to him at all.
And she wasn’t, Mary assured herself. She was just reacting to the night’s excitement: the accident, and then the danger and excitement of finding herself with a man whose kidnappers were now hunting them. No doubt she was experiencing an adrenaline rush and was simply mistaking that for a response to the man—the only man—with her. She’d heard, or perhaps read somewhere, that high-risk adventures could lead to swift bonding and sexual attraction and that’s all this was, Mary assured herself. She just needed to keep her head on straight until this was all over and everything would be fine.