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  ( Take It Off - 4 )

  Cambria Hebert

  Honor Calhoun never thought her life would ever be like the books she writes for a living. One morning while out for a run, she learns not all bad things are plots in novels. Some horrors can actually come true.

  She faces off with a persistent attacker, holds her own, but in the end is taken hostage and thrown into a hole. In the middle of the woods.

  But Honor didn’t go down there alone.

  She took her kidnapper’s phone with her. But with a spotty signal and a dying battery, hope is slim.

  Nathan Reed is an active duty Marine stationed at a small reservist base in Pennsylvania. All he wants is a calm and uneventful duty station where he can forget the memories of his time in a war-torn country.

  But a single text changes everything.

  Nathan becomes Honor’s only hope for survival, and he has to go against the clock, push aside his past, and take on a mission for a girl he’s never met.

  Both of them want freedom… but they have to survive long enough to obtain it.

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  Take It Off - 4

  by

  Cambria Hebert

  For Shawn.

  I love you.

  “Wait for the person who pursues you, the one who will make an ordinary moment seem magical, the kind of person who brings out the best in you and makes you want to be a better person. Wait for the person who will be your best friend, the only person who will drop everything to be with you at any time no matter what the circumstances.”

  Author Unknown

  1

  Honor

  Early morning sunlight filtered through the overhead canopy of burnished autumn leaves, and crisp, chilled air brushed over my cheeks, filling my lungs with every deep inhale I took. My hot-pink Nikes pounded lightly against the gravel path on which I ran, and the sound of Macklemore filled my ears.

  I loved this time of day. It was just me, the trail, and the exertion of my muscles. Running was something I knew I would always do. It was my escape. It was my way of de-stressing, of letting my mind wander wherever it wanted. I didn’t have to think about deadlines, or emails, or dealing with people. I was in the moment, working my body and releasing all the tension and stress that built up inside me during the day.

  I took a second to wipe my brow and then glanced up. A light breeze ruffled the trees and leaves rained down around me, littering the covered path. I could barely see the gravel because so many had already fallen. It was absolutely gorgeous. It motivated me to run farther, to run longer, because being out here, in the purest form of nature during the fall, was close to heaven for me.

  To my right, a creek flowed, the water rushing over rocks insistently like it was racing me. Plants and trees grew along the bank, jutting into the moving water. Leaves were carried along with the current, dotting the dark water with bright spots of yellow and orange. Occasionally, a fish would jump up and splash, leaving ripples in its wake.

  This trail stretched for thirty miles. Thirty miles of scenic pleasure. Thirty miles of untouched wilderness that blended in naturally with the mountainous small town where I made my home. This trail was the main reason I moved here. I felt so close to nature, so at peace. Whenever I had a bad day, I could go down to the creek or walk along the path and be instantly calmed. This place had a way of reminding me how life was bigger than just me, how I shouldn’t get so caught up in the everyday that I forget to enjoy the beauty around me.

  I glanced down at the pedometer strapped to my upper arm. I’d already gone over three miles. I needed to turn back. By the time I made it back to my house, I would be over six miles for the day.

  Oh well. This long run earned me a big fat dessert or maybe a pizza later.

  I turned and started back the way I came, toward my little house that sat right along the trail. Some spots of the path were more isolated than others. I was running along in a place that had no homes around it, but in about another mile, I would start passing a few homes and a small row of townhouses.

  I rounded the bend in the path and ran over a wooden bridge that carried me atop the rushing creek and then back into the gravel. The trees and wildlife grew right up to the path here. It was dense and full. In another month or so, it would look more bare, the leaves would be mostly gone, and I would be able to see farther back into the woods. But not today. Today the plants provided ample coverage.

  Unfortunately.

  As I ran, something darted out from the side. I jerked, the sudden movement startling me. My stride faltered and I turned toward whatever it was, but I didn’t see it.

  It plowed into me, knocking me over, my hip taking the brunt of my fall. I grunted in pain and scrambled to get up.

  But someone pinned me down.

  I shoved at the man, and he glanced down, his eyes meeting mine. There was something cold in his blue-eyed stare. Something empty and flat.

  Panic bloomed in my chest, spiking through my body as my heart rate went wild and alarm bells started sounding in my head.

  Yes, I read the stories. Yes, I saw it on the news.

  Woman is kidnapped. Search for missing woman continues. Woman is found beaten and dead.

  But that stuff didn’t happen to me. That stuff happened to other people. Unfortunate women… women that weren’t me.

  This isn’t happening to me.

  A surge of adrenaline had me bringing up my knee and catching the man in his balls. He made a high-pitched sound and fell to the side. I scrambled up and took off, racing down the path, toward the road that intersected it. If I could make it there, I could flag down a car. I could find someone to help me.

  The earbuds had fallen out of my ears and hung around my neck, banging into my skin and reminding me that I had my phone. My phone! As I ran, my hand fumbled, trying to yank it out of the band around my arm. Finally, I managed to grasp it and I held it up in front of me, calling up the keypad and dialing.

  9-1—

  He tackled me from behind and I fell face forward, the phone tumbling out of my hands, just ahead, just out of reach. I cried out and stretched my hand toward my lifeline, desperate to finish the call.

  “You’re going to pay for that, bitch,” the gruff voice said.

  I’d never known such fear in all my life. I could barely think straight. Straight-laced dread and panic took over my body, making my limbs feel heavy and numb.

  Don’t give in, the voice inside me screamed.

  I bucked like a pony and reached forward, my hand closing over my phone. Yes! My joy was extremely short-lived when the man, who was still straddling my back, snatched it out of my hand and tossed it into the nearby creek.

  “No,” I cried, watching it swept away beneath the surface.

  “No one’s going to help you,” the voice above intoned.

  Something inside me went deadly calm. Like the fear and panic flat lined, leaving behind nothing but the sound of my deep, even breathing.

  This fucker had no idea who he was dealing with.

  I grabbed a handful of gravel beside my face and threw it behind me, right at the man. He didn’t tumble off me, but he did swear and I felt him fidget about. I grabbed another handful and launched it at him as I pushed up on my hands and knees, forcing my way out from beneath him.

  When I got to my feet, he grabbed me around the ankle and yanked me back. I reached into the hidden zippered pocket of my pants and pulled out a small container of mace. I carried it in case I ran into a bear or some aggressive animal.

  I should have known that the real thing to be afraid of out here was another human being.

  I flipped the little cap and depressed the button, the spray shooting forward.

  But it missed him. He was still low to
the ground.

  Still clutching the mace, I took off running. I got maybe three steps when he tackled me again. Gravel cut into my cheek and stung my hands.

  I started to scream.

  I yelled as loud as I could.

  He flipped me over and slapped a hand over my mouth. His face was dirty from the gravel and dust I flung at him. His eyes were no longer so empty… They were now filled with excitement.

  He pressed against me. I felt his hardened erection crushed insistently against my middle, and I gagged.

  He was sick. This was sick. This couldn’t be happening to me.

  “Shut. Up,” he said and rocked against me.

  I bit him.

  He howled in pain and snatched away his hand. As I screamed, I reached out and grabbed at the erection that made me gag and yanked on it, twisting it, digging in my nails and hoping the pain would immobilize him enough for me to get free once more.

  In the distance, a dog was barking, and I prayed that meant someone was headed this way, someone that would help me.

  My attacker slapped his hand over my mouth again. The taste of blood, metallic and sharp, had me recoiling. His legs were shaking and I knew he was in pain.

  But it hadn’t been enough.

  I saw it in his face.

  I felt it in my bones.

  I wasn’t getting away.

  I tried to buck him off one last time. I reached out for two more handfuls of gravel and dirt.

  He drew back his arm and punched me. Right in the face.

  And then there was nothing.

  2

  Nathan

  I pushed away from the table, disassembled weapons covering the top, and opened up the white fridge sitting to the side of the room. The sound of hard rock filtered from the other room into where I was working. Usually I liked that music. Today it was annoying as hell.

  I grabbed a Red Bull and popped the top, taking a long swig. I hoped it gave me the energy I was seriously lacking. I rolled my head around on my shoulders, working the kinks out of my neck, and then glanced back at the table.

  Being tired probably wasn’t the best thing when you were cleaning and assembling weapons. ‘Course, I knew those guns so well I could likely do this job in my sleep. Weapons weren’t just my job; they were sort of a passion and a hobby.

  Weapons were also dangerous in the wrong hands.

  I knew that better than anyone.

  I glanced at the clock. Only a couple more hours ‘til quitting time. A couple more hours ‘til I was off for the entire weekend.

  I was glad it was Friday. I felt like I needed a break from work, but a break from work meant endless hours to fill. I wasn’t the type of man that could just sit around idle. I used to be. But not anymore. Now, I needed distraction. I needed less time to sit around and think.

  Bronx walked in from the other room and snatched a Red Bull out of the fridge before turning to me. “You coming tonight?”

  I grinned. “Of course. Bring your twenties. I’m feeling lucky.”

  Bronx shook his head. “When’s the last time you actually won one of our poker games?”

  Honestly, I couldn’t remember. I wasn’t about to admit that. I grinned. “Exactly. It’s high time for me to clean yous out.”

  “That’s a lot of talk,” Bronx said, chugging the Red Bull.

  “We’ll see,” I boasted and returned to the automatic weapon lying on the table.

  “Good thing you’re better with guns than you are cards,” he cracked on the way out.

  I chuckled. He was right. If I was as good with cards as I was with guns, I would have been able to get out of the Marine Corps a long time ago. I might even have been able to avoid some of the demons I would likely carry to my grave.

  Even though I sucked at poker, I still played. Every Friday night, the boys and I got together for a weekly game. Beer, chips, sports, and cards. It was a good way to end the week—and a good waste of time.

  Most Marines I knew just drank away their issues. They spent a lot of time in bars, throwing around the money they worked for all week and then waking up in some stranger’s bed the next morning.

  I wasn’t opposed to drinking or sex.

  But getting so drunk I couldn’t remember my own name and having a one-night stand with someone I would likely never see again wasn’t my idea of a good time. Not that I hadn’t tried those things. I had. Drinking and sex was only a temporary solution, a Band-Aid over a wound. In the morning I would just wake up, the wound would still be there, and I would only feel worse about myself.

  I drained the Red Bull, crushed the can in my hand, and tossed it into the trash. Flashes of last night’s dream played through my head like the opening credits of an action movie. The sound of gunfire and screaming drowned out the sound of the rock music and caused me to grip the edge of the table in my hands.

  My heart rate kicked up a bit and I felt a flush of sweat break out across my forehead. I took a couple deep breaths and forced away the images.

  It was over.

  I was in Pennsylvania now.

  I was stationed at an Inspector/Instructor unit (we call it I & I) where there was no war, no violence.

  I sat down in my chair as the sound of gunfire echoed through my head. “Nate,” a voice yelled. The sound of the explosion had me pushing back my chair and standing up, staring off into space. I knew I was was just being haunted, but I was unable to shake the memories.

  “Shit,” I muttered and blinked, focusing once more on the room around me.

  I stalked around the table, the thump of my boots echoing off the linoleum floor. I leaned out the doorway to where Bronx and some of the others were working. Actually, they weren’t working; they were gathered around Patton’s desk, looking at a magazine, all of them laughing like teenagers.

  “Put that shit away!” I snapped. They all jumped like they got caught smoking weed and Patton slammed the magazine shut and slid it into his desk drawer.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that,” I told them as they looked around nervously. Dirty magazines were a big no-no around here. Marines needed to be professional and conduct themselves like the representatives of this country they were.

  “Yes, Staff Sergeant,” Patton said.

  “Get back to work,” I ordered, and they scattered like cockroaches in a well-lit room. “And turn that music up!” I barked.

  “Did he say up?” I heard one of the guys whisper to another behind me.

  I strode into my office and over to the table and stared down at the stripped weapon. Maybe the methodical cleaning and detailing was exactly what I needed.

  The volume of the rock music rose a notch. The loud screaming of the band shoved its way into my head.

  Good.

  Maybe the sound would drown out my own thoughts.

  3

  Honor

  Consciousness worked its way into my brain like a worm wiggling into a wild apple lying beneath a tree. Little by little, reality came back. When I thought about it later, I wondered if perhaps it was my body’s way of trying to protect me from what was happening.

  The sensation of being dragged had awareness fully crashing over me. I felt like a tsunami swept me along, pummeling me with memories of what just happened, taunting me with whispers of the horrible fate that awaited me when I finally opened my eyes.

  So I decided that opening my eyes could wait. I didn’t really need to see what was happening right this second… did I? I had no doubt that whatever I would see in the very near future was going to be more than enough.

  I concentrated on what was happening around me. Someone—the perverse kidnapper, I presumed—was dragging me at a fairly quick pace. My feet and ankles were being ripped along the ground. I could feel little cuts and nicks stinging my skin near my ankles, and I bit my lip against the pain.

  The man had me beneath the armpits, hauling me like a ragdoll. I wondered why he didn’t just carry me; he was big enough. I wasn’t a very large person
(something I was seriously sorry for in that moment). All the running I did kept me thin, and I only stood about five foot three.

  I was the perfect prey for someone like him.

  God, I was so stupid.

  What had I been thinking going out on a trail like that alone? Why hadn’t I ever been scared? Why hadn’t my overactive imagination cooked up scenario after scenario of all the vile things that could happen?

  Maybe I should have gotten a dog. A big, mean one.

  No. I didn’t want that. Because if I did have a dog and he was with me today… he might have gotten hurt trying to protect me. At least I was alone and the only person that would get hurt was me.

  What about your family? The spontaneous thought had tears rushing behind my closed lids. Would I ever see them again? How long would it take someone to realize I was missing? I lived a fairly reclusive life. I worked from home—I didn’t have an office or coworkers expecting me at a certain time.

  My family and I talked on a regular basis, but not every day. I lived alone. Sometimes I went for days without seeing anyone at all.

  I could be dead by then.

  My best hope was that my presence online would be noted. That someone—anyone—might notice I wasn’t there posting or chatting people up like normal. But even so, my friends online wouldn’t know that something was wrong. They would likely assume that I got swept up with an idea, that I was hiding in my writing cave.

  Sure, after several days of not replying to messages or posting teasers on my fan page, someone would begin to wonder.

  I could be dead by then.

  Well, shit. I wasn’t ready to die. I had a book to finish. My newest fictional boyfriend had totally stolen my heart. I couldn’t let his story go unfinished.

  My eyes sprang open. The will to live and stubbornness kicked in full force. I planted my feet flat on the ground and dug them in. The man towing me along faltered in his steps as my feet tried to run away.