Free Taken by Barbara Freethy

him, including my sister’s. I know he’s dangerous. And I don’t think he’s done with us yet. That’s why he called you earlier. He wanted you and me to both know there’s more to come.”
    She stared at Nick in growing alarm. She’d never considered Evan to be dangerous, but his voice on the phone earlier had sent a chill down her spine. There had been a wicked, nasty edge to his tone. She’d expected that if they ever spoke again, he’d say he was sorry about walking out on her, but he hadn’t sounded sorry; more like . . .
    triumphant, as if he’d won something. She wanted to believe that her instincts about him had not been completely wrong, but how could she? He’d lied about his name, his home, his job — she had to accept the fact that she didn’t know him at all.
    “Evan left me two weeks ago,” she said aloud. “He took what he wanted. He had the chance to take anything else. What more could he possibly want with me?”
    Nick’s gaze was hard and unyielding. “That’s what we have to find out, before he catches us off guard once 60
    Barbara Freethy
    again. I believe that Evan is a sociopath. He has no conscience, no moral boundaries, no regrets.”
    “But he was so charming,” she protested, still having a little trouble seeing Evan the way Nick saw him.
    “Which is how he gains the trust of the people he wants to use.”
    And she’d trusted him completely, given herself to him, gone off with him alone. He could have killed her.
    Maybe she was lucky he’d just left. But . . . the other side of her brain wanted to know why she was so willing to believe this man — this Nick Granville. She’d known him for only a few hours. And while his story made sense, did she really have all the facts? Here she was again, alone with a strange man whom she’d freely invited into her home, into her attic, into a place where no one would find her for days . . . if something were to happen.
    Her gaze shot toward the door. She had the urge to run as far away from him as possible.
    “Don’t,” Nick said abruptly. “Don’t go.”
    “You’re scaring me.” Saying it out loud made her feel marginally better. Grabbing a nearby tennis racket off a pile of sports equipment made her feel even more in control.
    Nick’s eyes narrowed. “You’re scared of me?”
    “I don’t know you any better than I knew Evan. You could be lying, too.”
    “I thought we’d gotten past that, Kayla.”
    “You reminded me that I made a terrible mistake when I trusted Evan. Why should I trust you?”
    “Because you know Evan was in my house. You know he pretended to be me. You know he’s the bad guy.” Nick paused, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Look, I’m TA K E N
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    sorry if you’re scared. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m also not going to back down. I want to find a photo of that watch. And unless you plan to hit me over the head with that racket, I’m going to start searching the boxes now.”
    Her fingers tightened around the handle of the racket.
    She felt torn between logic and her imagination, which was running amok in the shadowy, eerie light of the attic.
    “I could hit you if I need to,” she said. “Just so you know.
    I can protect myself.”
    “Good, but I’m really not the one you need to be worried about. Now why don’t you start on that side of the room, and I’ll start here. Hopefully one of us will come up with a photo of that watch.”
    Kayla took the racket with her, keeping it nearby as she began to look for the photo albums. They worked in silence for a while. Nick made faster work of the boxes than she did. She kept getting caught up in old memories, the costumes she’d played dress-up in, the ceramic vase she’d made in art class. Then there was the scrapbook of plane tickets. “I forgot about this,” she muttered, pulling it out to take a closer look.
    Nick came over to her side. “Did you find a picture of the watch?”
    “No, just an old album I made a long time