CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(73)

He searched her face for a moment, his smoke-filled eyes questing for  truth. She found herself hoping he believed... and what did that mean?  Why would she care if he thought she had an orgy with three guys in a  hot tub and uploaded the film to YouTube? She couldn't answer the  question herself. Not only was he a guy she'd just met, he was holding  her against her will, handcuffed to a chair. She shouldn't care about  his feelings. Yet, something about him scraped her raw. And she was a  moron for letting it.

"Why was I so weak when it came to you? How can you cut me open so  casually and then walk away? Do you even have a heart?" He leaned back  in the chair, studying her like some kind of a puzzle. "Are you really  Max Foss?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Only since the day I was born."

He paused, considering. "I believe you," he said, in an intellectual tone.

As if to reward her for a correct answer, he got a sandwich from the  plate on the table and lifted it to her mouth. It took her only a second  to realize the hunger pangs that would come from refusing weren't worth  her dignity. If a person cuffed to a chair had any dignity left. The  sandwich was fantastic, filled with chicken flavored with exotic spices.  She barely controlled her instinct to open her mouth for more, begging  like a newborn bird in a nest.

"So," he continued after he swallowed his own bite and took a drink of  wine. "Who do you work for, then? And how long have you worked for them?  Is it the Crimson Hand?"

She frowned at him. "You suck as a stalker, don't you? I've been on  LinkedIn for two years now. You could have checked it out there. I work  as a project manager at RocketSoft. I've been there thirteen months now.  I don't know any company called Crimson Hand, and if I did, I'd tell  them to hire better marketing folks to rebrand them with something less  creepy."

"This is a fun game," he said, in a bland tone that said the opposite.

"I'd like to play," she responded.

"By all means."

She shrugged as best she could with her arms restrained. "Who are you?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw, as if it was the only part of him out of  his control. He reached for a sandwich and chewed a bite while he seemed  to chew his answer in his mind. She waited, trying to seem patient,  just as casual as him.

Finally, he decided on his answer. "I am Sayd al Zahar, of the kingdom of Ramadi. And I am your husband."





Chapter Two

Max couldn't help it. Maybe it was the jetlag or the drugs or the  leftover adrenaline from being kidnapped. She couldn't control the peals  of laughter that busted out of her. She laughed until her abs hurt. She  laughed until tears streamed down her face. Her uncontrollable shaking  threatened to overturn the chair.

The guy-the so-called Sayd al Zahar-didn't laugh. He just watched her,  white teeth showing between parted lips as if he couldn't figure out  what to say.

"Okay-okay-" she gasped between hoots. "You can murder me now. I'm  ready. I've just heard the best joke of my life and I'm ready to die.  Best. Abduction. Ever."

For the second time, he captured her chin between strong fingers and  tilted her face to his. Compared to her, with her small boobs and her  upturned nose, he was a god. Though, truth be told, she must have gained  some weight at the resort because her breasts had strained at her bra  for the last couple of days. Still, she tried to imagine any possible  world where this man would tie himself to her. The idea was so stupid  she nearly started giggling again.

"I always thought you the most wretched liar. That's why when you  disappeared from the hospital three months ago, I was certain you had  been taken from us. Then last week, you checked in to the hotel in the  Dominican without even trying to conceal your identity, I couldn't  understand. These actions made no sense." He seemed confused to his  core, trying to understand what was going on by talking it out.

But she was way ahead of him in his delusion. She closed her eyes and  let the scenario wash over her. It was better than the plot of any  outrageous soap opera. Actually, if she'd seen it on TV, she would have  changed the channel. "I get it." She couldn't stop grinning, though he  was probably working up to suffocating her with a pillow. "I'm your  wife, but I don't remember it. This explains everything."

She gasped as the sheer depth of his psychosis plunged clearly before  her. "The Crimson Hand. It's not a software company. It's a terrorist  organization. They're using me to get to you. You're going to have to  kill me to protect yourself. I might be a sleeper agent. Someday I'll  get a phone call that will activate me, turning me into a mindless  automaton, bent on your destruction."

He seemed less amused by the idea. In fact, he seemed to have trouble breathing. "What year is this?"

She told him the year. And she told him the name of the current U.S. president, just for kicks.

He exhaled a sigh, his shoulders drooping just an inch. "No, there is a  new president now. You have lost two years of your life. If you can be  believed."

"Gained a husband, though," she said, brightly.

"And lost him again."

His grief, as he scrubbed a hand over his suddenly tired face, seemed genuine. Max felt a twinge of sadness for him.



"And this one? Does it mean nothing to you?" He held up another photo.

Sayd had left her handcuffed to the chair as he showed her doctored  photo after doctored photo on his mobile phone. Now that she felt like  he wasn't going to slit her throat in the next few minutes, she found  herself just as interested in the phone itself as the photoshopped pics.  The cell seemed like a prototype model of something a certain high tech  company had just announced for release in two years. She didn't know  how he'd managed to get a beta testing model, but he was a damn lucky  madman. The photos showed her living a blissful life in her "husband's"  arms. Too bad he was so very insane, because he could make photo editing  software sit up and beg. Serious waste of a graphic artist there. She  looked smiling and happy and natural in every picture. Every once in a  while, he skipped over one before showing it to her. Those might have  been his less brilliant creations, she imagined.

"Don't remember that one either," she told him. "Have I told you how much I like your version of my life?"

He set his jaw, clamping down on something he badly wanted to say.

Now that she saw the whole thing from his point of view, his actions  made total sense. The kind of sense that include committing a federal  crime, but sense. To his mind, they'd been together for years when she'd  disappeared mysteriously. He'd assumed someone had kidnapped her (Irony  there), but hadn't received any ransom demands. In his fantasy world,  he'd searched for her for months with no luck, suffering the agony of  wondering if she was hurt or dead and not being able to save her. Her  "reappearance" having a fun time at a resort didn't fit with his made-up  scenario. If she'd been taken from him by force, wouldn't she run back  into his arms? The only answer was that she'd left him, and instead of  telling him, she'd just disappeared. No wonder he was so pissed off he'd  abducted her. In his delusion, they'd had this great relationship that  she'd ended with a huge betrayal. Thus, the kidnapping. To get some  answers, and to punish the hell out of her. She even went over some of  their conversations in her mind and found his reactions to what she'd  said a lot less crazy than when they'd been actually happening. No  wonder her telling him to get off her doorstep had enraged him. To him,  she was pure evil.

Still, the name Sayd al Zahar itched in the back of her mind. She knew  it from somewhere, or maybe something like it, but not quite the same. A  Bollywood star? It could be the name of the actual ruler of the  real-life Ramadi. It was so familiar. She should be able to place that  name. It was going to drive her crazy-and he already had enough crazy  for the both of them.

"Uh, Sayd? Do you think we could take a break here?"

"Just as well," he agreed. "I need more wine to face this."

"Hmmm, wine might be the problem for me."

Gray eyes looked at her in confusion. He'd done that a lot since revealing he imagined she was his wife.

"Do I have to say it?" She'd crossed her legs a dozen photos ago. "I  need to use the washroom. Unless you want me to have an accident in this  chair, you're going to have to unlock me."         

     



 

Her bladder wasn't that bad. In truth, she hoped she could find  something to use to escape in the washroom. He'd drugged her, so if she  found something in his medicine cabinet to use against him, turnabout  was fair play. She might get out of this after all.

To her irritation, he didn't undo the cuff on her wrist, but unlocked  the cuff from the chair. Her gut soured as he clamped it on his own  wrist. So much for that plan.

"Uhm, I think I can hold it, actually," she told him.