Read Online Hidden Steel by Doranna Durgin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Doranna Durgin
Tags: Suspense, Bought Efling
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to conceal … both utterly familiar to her hand.
With any luck, it would take a while before he realized they were gone.
Mickey gave the target wall a wistful glance. Not just the knife planks, but the wide variety of gallery targets. Playing card targets, bottles and cans targets, command training targets … and of course a variety of bulls-eyes. No silhouettes, not human or animal. And the whole doggone wall was lined with home-made archery backdrops—old carpet being a favorite—as well as gypsum board leaning against brick.
This was one bachelor pad Mickey found she could appreciate.
The rest of it … also purely Steve, from the faint spicy smell of aftershave to a collection of family portraits by the entry area. Three of the vast brick walls were painted white; the third, over by a queen-sized bed, was natural brick. The bed itself wasn’t closed off by anything other than its position in the corner, and she thought the walled extrusion between the bed and the kitchen was probably the bathroom. Jutting out from the wall and over the bed, a loft pushed into the room, shadowing that whole area. Up above she could see shelves and part of a recliner, but the rest of the loft was a mystery.
She realized, then, stepping back to take in the big picture with a detail-oriented approach that seemed as much training as impulse, that he’d built this space to his own specs. It had probably been a dance studio, scuffed wooden floors still there, still full of light from the two giant banks of windows along the building’s front wall. And now it was full of Steve, from his hobbies to his penchant for clear space and clean lines.
And she was stealing from him, and then she was going to run from him.
Even if she was doing it for him.
For all of them, actually. The women in the self-defense class below her, street people who would trickle in that afternoon, those in the weight room throughout the day, the kids who came in after school …
They didn’t need to deal with her—not her mysteries, her vagueries, or her unpredictable reactions.
They sure didn’t need to deal with people who were looking for her.
Standing there in the middle of Steve’s very personal domain—stolen goodies in hand, the leftover pizza scavenged from the fridge and a grocery bag full of fruit and protein bars waiting by the door—Mickey had her first serious doubts. Were the memories real—any of them? Right down to those first hazy moments of being handcuffed to a bed? What if she’d just twisted memories of restraint in a real hospital? What if some clinic was frantic, looking for her?
Very deliberately, she walked to the nook that served as Steve’s personal exercise corner. Television, elliptical trainer, weights. And, of course, the full-length mirror all weight lifters seemed to need; it reflected her in all her glory. There. That’s me. Mickey Finn, a name stolen from the barely remembered conversation of someone who’d kidnapped her for interrogation. Two borrowed layers of tank tops, one tight to make up for the missing bra and the other loose to hide the fact the first one didn’t quite do the job. Old running shorts—no panty lines, because … no panties. She had color in her cheeks, unlike her first view in the “hospital” bathroom. Now her strength showed through … and on her face, determination. “Yeah,” she said. “Me, meet me. Could be crazy. Could be just what Steve thinks. Could be I should just hike straight to the closest cop shop and—”
No. In the mirror, she frowned back at herself; her eyes seemed unnaturally bright. If I don’t trust myself, I have nothing. If I don’t follow my gut instincts, I have nothing.
This might be crazy, but at least it was something. Goals. Somewhere to start, while she looked for the rest of it.
And hoped she could live with what she found.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 6
Steve practiced the words in his head. Mickey, his internal voice said, I know I said you
With any luck, it would take a while before he realized they were gone.
Mickey gave the target wall a wistful glance. Not just the knife planks, but the wide variety of gallery targets. Playing card targets, bottles and cans targets, command training targets … and of course a variety of bulls-eyes. No silhouettes, not human or animal. And the whole doggone wall was lined with home-made archery backdrops—old carpet being a favorite—as well as gypsum board leaning against brick.
This was one bachelor pad Mickey found she could appreciate.
The rest of it … also purely Steve, from the faint spicy smell of aftershave to a collection of family portraits by the entry area. Three of the vast brick walls were painted white; the third, over by a queen-sized bed, was natural brick. The bed itself wasn’t closed off by anything other than its position in the corner, and she thought the walled extrusion between the bed and the kitchen was probably the bathroom. Jutting out from the wall and over the bed, a loft pushed into the room, shadowing that whole area. Up above she could see shelves and part of a recliner, but the rest of the loft was a mystery.
She realized, then, stepping back to take in the big picture with a detail-oriented approach that seemed as much training as impulse, that he’d built this space to his own specs. It had probably been a dance studio, scuffed wooden floors still there, still full of light from the two giant banks of windows along the building’s front wall. And now it was full of Steve, from his hobbies to his penchant for clear space and clean lines.
And she was stealing from him, and then she was going to run from him.
Even if she was doing it for him.
For all of them, actually. The women in the self-defense class below her, street people who would trickle in that afternoon, those in the weight room throughout the day, the kids who came in after school …
They didn’t need to deal with her—not her mysteries, her vagueries, or her unpredictable reactions.
They sure didn’t need to deal with people who were looking for her.
Standing there in the middle of Steve’s very personal domain—stolen goodies in hand, the leftover pizza scavenged from the fridge and a grocery bag full of fruit and protein bars waiting by the door—Mickey had her first serious doubts. Were the memories real—any of them? Right down to those first hazy moments of being handcuffed to a bed? What if she’d just twisted memories of restraint in a real hospital? What if some clinic was frantic, looking for her?
Very deliberately, she walked to the nook that served as Steve’s personal exercise corner. Television, elliptical trainer, weights. And, of course, the full-length mirror all weight lifters seemed to need; it reflected her in all her glory. There. That’s me. Mickey Finn, a name stolen from the barely remembered conversation of someone who’d kidnapped her for interrogation. Two borrowed layers of tank tops, one tight to make up for the missing bra and the other loose to hide the fact the first one didn’t quite do the job. Old running shorts—no panty lines, because … no panties. She had color in her cheeks, unlike her first view in the “hospital” bathroom. Now her strength showed through … and on her face, determination. “Yeah,” she said. “Me, meet me. Could be crazy. Could be just what Steve thinks. Could be I should just hike straight to the closest cop shop and—”
No. In the mirror, she frowned back at herself; her eyes seemed unnaturally bright. If I don’t trust myself, I have nothing. If I don’t follow my gut instincts, I have nothing.
This might be crazy, but at least it was something. Goals. Somewhere to start, while she looked for the rest of it.
And hoped she could live with what she found.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 6
Steve practiced the words in his head. Mickey, his internal voice said, I know I said you
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