Free Running on Empty by Christy Reece Page B

and gazed blearily up at the tall figure above her. A black ski mask covered his face, and even his eyes stayed hidden behind reflective sunglasses. All she saw was her reflection—ratty hair, pale face, hideous bruise on her cheek and tired, glazed eyes.
    Whoever the man was, he wanted his identity to stay hidden, which meant she knew him. And by hiding his face, she assumed he didn’t intend to kill her. At least not yet.
    He pulled her to her feet, and she realized that he had bound her hands behind her. The thought that she hadn’t wakened when that happened infuriated her. Allowing that fury to envelop her, she managed to jerk away from his hands and stand on her own. Though she swayed like a drunk, she was pleased that her legs held. 
    Shoulders straight, she ignored the knowledge that she looked like three-day-old roadkill and glared up at her abductor.
    The man took several steps back and just looked at her through those damn glasses. While he looked, she took the time to assess him. He was tall. Maybe about six-foot-five and muscular. Not just muscular—strong, hard, seemingly indestructible. The hands that shook her had been large, unyielding. His strength didn’t intimidate her. She had taken down men just as large and brutal. Every man had his weakness…she would find his. 
    As she regarded him unblinkingly, he backed away further. Her heart lightened. He had to know what she could do to him. A worldwide reputation of lethal legwork commanded respect.
    Still, he continued his silence. Would taunting him bring him closer? It was worth a try. She smiled up at him, challenge in her eyes. “What are you so afraid of? I’m all tied up, barely able to move.”
    Silence.
    Fine, she would wait him out. They continued to stare at each other for what felt like an eternity. At last, when she was to the point of screaming at him, he huffed out a long, heavy breath and said, “Do you have any idea how very much I want to…kill you?”
    Every sense went on alert. She knew that voice…didn’t she? Though it was raspy, gravelly, it was a voice she’d heard before. Or was it? Years ago she had been able to not only identify voices within a sea of chatter but also accents and dialects. And once she had even ID’d a man on a recording from an explosive sigh he had given just before he’d shot an EDJE agent.
    This man’s voice was familiar and not. It sounded damaged or not right, as if his vocal cords had been strained beyond endurance. Yet the timbre or tone called to her. An outbreak of chills swept through, and goose bumps covered her entire body. That was damn strange. The voice didn’t incite fear or even anger. Instead, it was causing some sort of odd excitement in her bloodstream.
    Holy hell, was she getting turned on by a stranger who had brutally abducted her? That was freaking sick. Not only was it too early to consider Stockholm syndrome, her reaction didn’t compute to that kind of feeling. She actually felt a rush of arousal zooming through her. 
    Admittedly, it had been a long time since she’d been with a man. Still…this was all wrong. Sabrina Fox didn’t get turned on easily. The few men she had allowed to get close enough to find that information out would attest to that. Only one man had ever been able to move her like that.
    “You don’t seem disturbed that I want to kill you.”
    Shaking off the odd feelings his voice evoked, Sabrina shrugged. “You’re not the first, won’t be the last.”
    “If I succeed, I will be the last.”
    “You won’t succeed.”
    “You seem sure of that. Why?”
    “Bigger men than you have tried and failed.”
    “You’ve killed many men, haven’t you?”
    “Enough.”
    “How many?”
    “Sorry, asshole. I don’t kill and tell.”
    “Estimate,” he barked.
    She had truly never counted…never wanted to know. But still, she couldn’t resist his taunt. “Twenty…twenty-five. After a while, you just lose count...you know.”
    “Have you ever