Perfect
Page 39
Zack reined in his temper and tried to soothe her with an attempt at levity. "In the movies, people always promise that same thing," he remarked conversationally, glancing over his shoulder at the cars flying past. "I've always thought it sounded asinine."
"This isn't the movies!"
"But you do agree that it is an absurd promise," he argued with a slight smile. "You know it is. Admit it, Julie."
Shocked that he was apparently trying to tease her as if they were friends, Julie stared at him in furious silence, knowing he was right about the promise being ridiculous, but refusing to admit it.
"You can't really expect me to believe," he continued, his voice softening a little, "that you'd let me get away with kidnapping you and stealing your car and then be so grateful to me for doing both that you'd keep a promise to me you made under extreme duress? Doesn't that sound a little insane to you?"
"Do you expect me to debate psychology with you when my whole life is at stake!" she burst out.
"I realize you're afraid, but your life isn't at stake unless you put it there. You aren't in any danger unless you create it."
Perhaps it was exhaustion or the low timbre of his voice or the steadiness of his gaze, but as Julie looked at his solemn features, she found herself almost believing him.
"I don't want you to get hurt," he continued, "and you won't, as long as you don't do anything that attracts attention to me and alerts the law—"
"In which case," Julie interrupted bitterly, snapping out of her trance, "you will blow my brains out with your gun. That's very comforting, Mr. Benedict. Thank you."
Zack held his temper in check and explained, "If the cops catch up with me, they'll have to kill me, because I'm not going to surrender. Given the vigilante mentality of most cops, there's a good chance you'll be hurt or killed in the fray. I don't want that to happen. Can you understand that?"
Furious with herself for being subdued by empty gentle words from a ruthless murderer, Julie jerked her gaze from his and stared out the front window. "Do you actually think you can convince me you're Sir Galahad and not a depraved monster?"
"Evidently not," he said irritably.
When she refused to look at him again, Zack gave an impatient sign and said curtly, "Stop sulking and start driving. I need to find a roadside telephone at one of these exits."
The moment his voice chilled, Julie realized how foolish she'd been to ignore his "friendly" overture and antagonize him. What she probably ought to be doing, she belatedly decided as she pulled back out onto the highway, was fooling him into believing she was resigned to going along with him. As the snowflakes danced in front of her headlights, her mind began to calm and she thought carefully about possible ways out of her predicament, because it now seemed horribly likely that he was going to force her to drive him through Colorado as well as Oklahoma. Finding a means to foil his plan and get away became not only a necessity, but a downright challenge. To do that, she knew she had to be objective and to keep all traces of fright and fury from clouding her thoughts. She should be able to do that, Julie reminded herself bracingly. After all, she was no sheltered, unworldly, pampered hothouse flower. She'd spent the first eleven years of her life on the streets of Chicago and done just fine! Chewing on her lower lip, she decided to try to think of her ordeal as if it were merely a plot in one of the mystery novels she loved to read. She'd always felt some of the heroines in those novels behaved with sublime stupidity, which was what she'd been doing by antagonizing her captor, she decided. A clever heroine would do the opposite, she'd be devious and find ways to make Benedict relax his guard completely. If he did that, her chances to escape—and get him returned to prison where he belonged—would be dramatically increased. To accomplish that goal, she could try to pretend she was coming to think of this nightmare as an adventure, maybe she could even pretend to be on the side of her captor, which would require a stellar performance, but she was willing to try.
Despite her grave misgivings about her ability to succeed, Julie suddenly felt a welcome calm and determination sweep through her, banishing her fear and leaving her head clearer. She waited several moments before speaking, so that her capitulation wouldn't seem too sudden and suspicious to him, then she drew a steadying breath and tried to inject a rueful note into her voice: "Mr. Benedict," she said, actually managing to cast him a slight, sideways smile, "I appreciate what you said about not intending to hurt me. I didn't mean to be sarcastic. I was afraid, that's all."
"And now you aren't afraid?" he countered, his voice laced with skepticism.
"Well, yes," Julie hastened to assure him. "But not nearly so much. That's what I meant."
"May I inquire what brought about this sudden transformation? What were you thinking about while you were so quiet?"
"A book," she said because it seemed safe. "A mystery."
"One you've read? Or one you're thinking about writing?"
Her mouth opened, but no words came out, and then she realized he'd inadvertently handed her the perfect means to his own defeat. "I've always wanted to write a mystery someday," she improvised madly, "and it occurred to me that this could be, well, first-hand research."
"I see."
She darted another glance at him and was startled by the warmth of his smile. This devil could charm a snake, she realized, recalling that same smile from the days when it had flashed across movie screens and raised the temperature of the entire female audience.
"You are a remarkably brave young woman, Julie."
She choked her irate demand to be called Ms. Mathison. "Actually, I'm the world's greatest coward, Mr.—"
"My name is Zack," he interrupted, and in his impassive tone she sensed a return of his suspicion.
"Zack," she hastily agreed. "You're quite right. We ought to use first names, since we're apparently going to be together for—?"
"A while," he provided, and Julie made a Herculean effort to conceal her frustrated fury at his oblique reply.
"A while," she agreed, careful to keep her tone neutral. "Well, that's probably long enough for you to help me with some preliminary research," she hesitated, thinking of what to ask him. "Would you, well, consider giving me some insight into what prison is really like. That would be helpful for my story."
"Would it?"
He was scaring the hell out of her with the subtle, ever-changing nuances in his voice. Never before had she known a man or woman who could convey so much with imperceptible changes in his voice, nor had she heard a voice like his in her life. It had a rich baritone timbre that could switch instantly and unaccountably from polite to amused to icy and ominous. In answer to his question, Julie nodded vigorously, trying to counteract his skeptical tone by injecting energy and conviction in her own. "Absolutely." In a flash of inspiration, she realized that if he thought she might be on his side, he'd be even more likely to lower his guard. "I've heard that a lot of innocent people get sent to prison. Were you innocent?"
"This isn't the movies!"
"But you do agree that it is an absurd promise," he argued with a slight smile. "You know it is. Admit it, Julie."
Shocked that he was apparently trying to tease her as if they were friends, Julie stared at him in furious silence, knowing he was right about the promise being ridiculous, but refusing to admit it.
"You can't really expect me to believe," he continued, his voice softening a little, "that you'd let me get away with kidnapping you and stealing your car and then be so grateful to me for doing both that you'd keep a promise to me you made under extreme duress? Doesn't that sound a little insane to you?"
"Do you expect me to debate psychology with you when my whole life is at stake!" she burst out.
"I realize you're afraid, but your life isn't at stake unless you put it there. You aren't in any danger unless you create it."
Perhaps it was exhaustion or the low timbre of his voice or the steadiness of his gaze, but as Julie looked at his solemn features, she found herself almost believing him.
"I don't want you to get hurt," he continued, "and you won't, as long as you don't do anything that attracts attention to me and alerts the law—"
"In which case," Julie interrupted bitterly, snapping out of her trance, "you will blow my brains out with your gun. That's very comforting, Mr. Benedict. Thank you."
Zack held his temper in check and explained, "If the cops catch up with me, they'll have to kill me, because I'm not going to surrender. Given the vigilante mentality of most cops, there's a good chance you'll be hurt or killed in the fray. I don't want that to happen. Can you understand that?"
Furious with herself for being subdued by empty gentle words from a ruthless murderer, Julie jerked her gaze from his and stared out the front window. "Do you actually think you can convince me you're Sir Galahad and not a depraved monster?"
"Evidently not," he said irritably.
When she refused to look at him again, Zack gave an impatient sign and said curtly, "Stop sulking and start driving. I need to find a roadside telephone at one of these exits."
The moment his voice chilled, Julie realized how foolish she'd been to ignore his "friendly" overture and antagonize him. What she probably ought to be doing, she belatedly decided as she pulled back out onto the highway, was fooling him into believing she was resigned to going along with him. As the snowflakes danced in front of her headlights, her mind began to calm and she thought carefully about possible ways out of her predicament, because it now seemed horribly likely that he was going to force her to drive him through Colorado as well as Oklahoma. Finding a means to foil his plan and get away became not only a necessity, but a downright challenge. To do that, she knew she had to be objective and to keep all traces of fright and fury from clouding her thoughts. She should be able to do that, Julie reminded herself bracingly. After all, she was no sheltered, unworldly, pampered hothouse flower. She'd spent the first eleven years of her life on the streets of Chicago and done just fine! Chewing on her lower lip, she decided to try to think of her ordeal as if it were merely a plot in one of the mystery novels she loved to read. She'd always felt some of the heroines in those novels behaved with sublime stupidity, which was what she'd been doing by antagonizing her captor, she decided. A clever heroine would do the opposite, she'd be devious and find ways to make Benedict relax his guard completely. If he did that, her chances to escape—and get him returned to prison where he belonged—would be dramatically increased. To accomplish that goal, she could try to pretend she was coming to think of this nightmare as an adventure, maybe she could even pretend to be on the side of her captor, which would require a stellar performance, but she was willing to try.
Despite her grave misgivings about her ability to succeed, Julie suddenly felt a welcome calm and determination sweep through her, banishing her fear and leaving her head clearer. She waited several moments before speaking, so that her capitulation wouldn't seem too sudden and suspicious to him, then she drew a steadying breath and tried to inject a rueful note into her voice: "Mr. Benedict," she said, actually managing to cast him a slight, sideways smile, "I appreciate what you said about not intending to hurt me. I didn't mean to be sarcastic. I was afraid, that's all."
"And now you aren't afraid?" he countered, his voice laced with skepticism.
"Well, yes," Julie hastened to assure him. "But not nearly so much. That's what I meant."
"May I inquire what brought about this sudden transformation? What were you thinking about while you were so quiet?"
"A book," she said because it seemed safe. "A mystery."
"One you've read? Or one you're thinking about writing?"
Her mouth opened, but no words came out, and then she realized he'd inadvertently handed her the perfect means to his own defeat. "I've always wanted to write a mystery someday," she improvised madly, "and it occurred to me that this could be, well, first-hand research."
"I see."
She darted another glance at him and was startled by the warmth of his smile. This devil could charm a snake, she realized, recalling that same smile from the days when it had flashed across movie screens and raised the temperature of the entire female audience.
"You are a remarkably brave young woman, Julie."
She choked her irate demand to be called Ms. Mathison. "Actually, I'm the world's greatest coward, Mr.—"
"My name is Zack," he interrupted, and in his impassive tone she sensed a return of his suspicion.
"Zack," she hastily agreed. "You're quite right. We ought to use first names, since we're apparently going to be together for—?"
"A while," he provided, and Julie made a Herculean effort to conceal her frustrated fury at his oblique reply.
"A while," she agreed, careful to keep her tone neutral. "Well, that's probably long enough for you to help me with some preliminary research," she hesitated, thinking of what to ask him. "Would you, well, consider giving me some insight into what prison is really like. That would be helpful for my story."
"Would it?"
He was scaring the hell out of her with the subtle, ever-changing nuances in his voice. Never before had she known a man or woman who could convey so much with imperceptible changes in his voice, nor had she heard a voice like his in her life. It had a rich baritone timbre that could switch instantly and unaccountably from polite to amused to icy and ominous. In answer to his question, Julie nodded vigorously, trying to counteract his skeptical tone by injecting energy and conviction in her own. "Absolutely." In a flash of inspiration, she realized that if he thought she might be on his side, he'd be even more likely to lower his guard. "I've heard that a lot of innocent people get sent to prison. Were you innocent?"
