Out Of Control Read online

  She needed answers…but the questions

  could send her life out of control.

  “Can I help you?”

  The deep voice sent shock waves through Dana. She whirled, her knees shaking. Oh, hell. It was him. The man in the truck. Wearing a uniform, for God’s sake.

  “I have to say,” he went on, “you look a lot better when you aren’t soaked through by the rain.”

  The first thing she thought was cowboy. He had the easy, relaxed yet alert stance she’d seen on men around horses and cattle. And his feet were shod in square-toed western boots. She was sure his hat would be a Stetson.

  But the way his eyes assessed her, the analytical gaze…military. Some kind of covert ops. A dangerous combination in a man. Dangerous to women. The ultimate alpha male. And trouble.

  I’ll bet he has to beat the women off with a nightstick. Well, for sure he won’t have to worry about me.

  She wet her lips. “I gave my card to your…to the woman at the window. I’m Dana Moretti.”

  “I know who you are.” His smile was professional and didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve been expecting you. Come on.”

  He swung the door wide, the muscles in his tanned arms flexing with the movement.

  “If you’d identified yourself last night,” she told him, trying to keep the acid out of her voice, “I might have been more willing to accept a ride. I don’t make it a habit of jumping into trucks with strange men.”

  His body brushed hers as he let the door swing shut, and lightning shot through her. What the hell? She knew what unexpected lust was, but it wasn’t a feeling familiar to her personally.

  “So, what kind of men do you jump in trucks with?”

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Desiree Holt

  AND HER BOOKS

  “Desiree writes the stuff I like to read: suspense, danger, romance-all taking place on the high levels of a multi-billion, corporate business. Good plotting, good story.”

  ~Alternative Reads Review

  “Holt pens an exciting, rapid-paced tale that’s sure to keep the pages flying.”

  ~RT Book Reviews

  “Desiree Holt is now one of my all-time favorite writers.”

  ~Whipped Cream

  “Desiree Holt is quickly becoming one of my favorite automatic buy authors.”

  ~Romance Junkies

  “Desiree Holt knows just how to put the right mixture of sexy hero and independent heroine that knows what she wants and how to get it.”

  ~Siren Book Review

  Out Of Control

  by

  Desiree Holt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Out Of Control

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2012 by Desiree Holt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, February 2012

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-175-3

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-176-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  So many people helped make this book what it is. Sydney Alfredo who read the first two drafts.

  Allie Standifer who read the next two as the book continued to evolve. Cerise Deland who gave it the final blessing before submission. And last, but by far from least, my wonderful editor, Diana Carlile who always, always, always knows just how to make my books sing. I love you all.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author of this work of fiction

  acknowledges the following trademarks:

  Google: Google, Inc.

  Stetson: John B. Stetson Co.

  Tampa Bay Buccaneers: Buccaneers: Limited Partnership Tampa Bay Broadcasting, Inc.

  Blackberry: Research in Motion Ltd.

  Ford F-150: Ford Motor Company

  Ford Expedition: Ford Motor Company

  McDonald’s: McDonald Corporation

  Prologue

  There was a little girl who had a little curl,

  Right in the middle of her forehead;

  And when she was good, she was very, very good;

  And when she was bad she was horrid.

  Carrie tried to hold absolutely still. The tape on her hands hurt and the hood on her head made breathing difficult, but she had to keep calm. She could hear Kylie crying, and she wanted to help her. She just didn’t know how yet.

  “There was a little girl…”

  They were in a barn. She knew because she smelled the straw and animals. And wood shavings. She didn’t think she’d ever smell wood shavings again without getting sick. And there was something else. Something she was sure didn’t belong in a barn. The unseen man had brought them here after he clapped something evil-smelling over their faces. The vile smelling stuff had put them to sleep so Carrie wasn’t certain how far away from home they were. When she woke up, the hood she now wore was already on her head, there was tape on her mouth, and her hands were tied behind her.

  “There was a little girl…”

  Over and over in that unnaturally high-pitched voice, the man recited the familiar nursery rhyme. Carrie tried to wriggle around to see if she could get closer to Kylie, but she was trapped.

  “No, no, no,” the man cackled, alerted by the noise she was making. “You don’t want to be a horrid little girl. You know what happens to little girls who are horrid.”

  They never should have talked to the clown. Only they were having so much fun at the fair. And there were lots of clowns talking to other kids. How were they supposed to know he was bad? They shouldn’t have walked away with him. Mama and Daddy always told them “don’t go with strangers.”

  But clowns weren’t really strangers, were they?

  “We’re only going to walk a little way,” he’d told them in a high voice.

  But as soon as they were out of sight of the picnic area, the big clown grabbed Carrie under one arm and Kylie under the other. Before they could catch their breath to scream, he’d pressed something awful-smelling to their faces.

  When she woke up, she was in this barn seated on a chair, hands tied behind her so tightly her wrists hurt. She couldn’t see Kylie, but she heard her and even though she was scared, knowing her sister was with her had made her feel a little better. The feeling hadn’t lasted long. Soon after she woke, the clown pulled off her underpants and hurt her. She tried not to cry and scare Kylie.

  But then he’d whispered, “Your sister’s next and I’m going to let you hear her.”

  In seconds, Kylie started shrieking in fear and pain. Hearing her sister’s cries, Carrie began to cry, too, soundlessly, behind the tape over her mouth.

  The hood on her head seemed tighter now, and it was getting difficult to breathe. Still, she had to keep calm. She had to put everything out of her mind except Kylie. She was the big sister. She had to try and get free so she could help Kylie. She had to. She just didn’t know how yet.

  Kylie shrieked in pain, and the sound echoed in Carrie’s head.

  Suddenly, Kylie’s voice was cut off in mid-scream, and Carrie knew the clown was killing her. Knew it in her heart. Big fat tears rolled
down her cheeks. She was more frightened than she’d ever been in her life.

  His hands were on her body again, and he shifted her this way and that while he touched her in strange, frightening ways.

  “Your sister didn’t last too long, did she? That means I’ll have to have fun with you again, little girl.”

  Carrie tried to flop herself off the chair, but it was hard to do with her hands tied behind her back and the clown man’s hands holding her in place. Kylie, Kylie, Kylie, she chanted silently and bit her lip until she tasted blood. All the while she tried not to scream, not to frighten Kylie any more than she already was. Just in case—please Mama and Daddy and God—Kylie was still alive.

  Then she heard it. A strange noise, an engine of some kind outside the barn. The clown man muttered some very bad words, but she ignored him as she strained to hear the noise.

  Her whole body was on fire with pain, and her head felt as if it would explode as hands squeezed her throat. She fought to breathe, to cry out to whoever was outside. She listened hard, hoping someone would come and help them. Maybe it was Mama and Daddy. Please be Mama and Daddy.

  Suddenly the hands were gone, so abruptly that she slumped sideways, and people were talking.

  “We shouldn’t be here, you dipshit. Whose place is this, anyway?”

  “I dunno. It’s just an old barn. Been here forever.”

  “I saw a light. Someone’s there. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “You’re crazy. It’s dark. Come on. I scammed this pot, and I’m going to smoke it.”

  A door creaked open and Carrie tensed.

  “Hey, Skeet, turn on your flashlight so we can see in here.”

  The new voices were inside the barn now, coming closer. Closer.

  “We can just…Holy shit!”

  “What? What’s the matter? Oh, Jesus. God!”

  “Don’t touch them. Go get someone. There’s a house down by the turn.”

  Carrie forced herself to whimper. Help me, she screamed in her head.

  “Hey, Skeet, I think this one’s alive. Go call the sheriff. Don’t just stand there. Hurry up! Now, dumbass. Move it!”

  Hands pulled the hood from Carrie’s head, and she blinked in the sudden light. Someone, not the clown man, placed her on the floor, and she began to shiver like she did when it was too cold outside.

  “Kylie,” she tried to say, to turn toward her sister.

  “No, no,” the person who’d freed her said.

  “Help…Kylie.” She forced the words out through swollen lips.

  But nothing happened. The man didn’t move. She tried to do it herself. Tried to go to her sister, but she couldn’t make her body move. It seemed like forever before anyone else came to help.

  She heard the car doors slamming. Heavy feet running toward her. Men’s voices. More strangers.

  “Holy mother of God,” someone said in an angry voice.

  Hands touched her. Turned her.

  “Careful,” someone said. “Her thighs are covered with blood.”

  “I’ll move her as gently as I can,” the first man said.

  There were more voices and more hands, and she shrieked in terror. “No!” She tried to pull herself away from all the men touching her. Were they going to hurt her, too? One man had already hurt her and Kylie.

  “Oh, little sweetheart. Oh, you poor baby.”

  A tall man crouched beside her, gently working the tape off her wrists. He tried to lift her from the floor, but Carrie struggled to get away.

  “Kylie!” She screamed, kicking at the man, biting at him until he backed away.

  “It’s all right, honey,” he was saying. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  “Help Kylie.” Her eyes slid fearfully to her sister, but the image was so horrible she squeezed her eyes shut.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” the man said. “I just want to help you. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  She pulled away from him again. She hurt so bad. Everything inside felt like a big sore, but it didn’t stop her from running to Kylie. Her sister’s broken body lay on the floor of the barn, and she knelt beside her and tried to pull her into her arms. The nice man bent down to lift her away, but she kicked at him again, so he let her be.

  That’s how the sheriff and the deputies found her, cradling the small body of her sister in her arms.

  The sheriff squatted down beside her, careful not to touch her. “It’s okay, Carrie. We’ll take care of Kylie now. Everything’s all right, little one.”

  But everything wasn’t all right and Carrie knew nothing would ever be all right again.

  Chapter One

  The cab driver honked for the second time, signaling his impatience. Grabbing her suitcase and her laptop, Dana Moretti set the alarm panel in her front hall and hurried out the front door. She considered herself lucky to get a cab to come out at this hour of the night and she didn’t want him to take off. Having no idea how long she’d be gone, leaving her car sitting in long-term parking indefinitely didn’t seem the best choice.

  She barely remembered calling the airline, then haphazardly pulling clothes out of the closet and chest of drawers. She wasn’t usually this impulsive, but tonight she was trying to outrun a memory. Make that more than one. And the twenty-five years that separated them shrank into nothingness.

  Leaning back in the cab, she closed her eyes, trying to instill some calm into her chaotic mind. Tonight’s episode and its painful conclusion were still too fresh. Grant Rushing got top marks for effort—fine wine, scented candles, soft music. Everything for the perfect romantic seduction. Too bad it was all wasted on damaged goods.

  Like a rewound DVD, the memory of it played through her brain.

  “Relax, Dana.” His voice was soft, gentle. “This isn’t a test. There’s no pass or fail. It’s okay, honey. Just let yourself feel. You have such a beautiful body. Let me love it.”

  She swallowed and willed her tense muscles to unwind. God, would it ever be any different?

  “It’s not your fault,” she told him, feeling sadness and defeat.

  As if someone had thrown a switch, Grant rolled away from her, suddenly remote. “But not quite good enough, right? I should have known. It’ll take a lot more than this to defeat the elephant in the room.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. “Tell me. Is it just with me or are you this way with all men?”

  Dana squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the tears that burned behind her eyelids. “It isn’t you, I swear it isn’t. You’re really—”

  “If you tell me I’m a nice guy I might be tempted for the first time in my life to hit a woman. Spare me, okay?”

  “Grant—”

  “Forget it.” He climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. In the doorway, he paused and turned to her, his body backlit by the bathroom light. “There’s too many of us in the bed, Dana. Get rid of the fucking ghost, or we have nothing more to talk about.”

  Grant certainly wasn’t the first she’d failed with. Unfortunately. She’d been called everything from frigid to a cock tease to a waste of time. But the moment a man’s hands touched her at the core of her sex, she was once again seven-year-old Carrie Nolan, blindfolded and tormented. Back in that barn again, so conscious of the scent of wood, of blood, of Kylie’s screams and cries.

  Her outer scars had long since healed, but the ones on the inside were still raw and bleeding. She could change her name, but everything else had stayed the same. She was still a freak, terrified of men. All men.

  Emotionally and physically.

  The parade of therapists and volumes of reading material hadn’t brought her any closer to what other women had. A loving fulfilling relationship. Oh, God, how she wanted it.

  “When the time is right it will happen and you’ll know it.” In her head she heard again the voice of her current therapist, Dr. Summers. “The barricades will fall, Dana.”

  But she had her doubts.

  Tears burned behind h
er eyelids, and her stomach pitched and roiled. Cold shivers skated over her body. For a moment, she was sure she’d throw up. The hatred for the man who’d made her into an emotional cripple welled up like poison. Clenching her fists in her lap, she forced back the nausea.

  “Ma’am?” The rough voice broke into her mental fog, jerking her to awareness. “Ma’am, we’re here.”

  Dana blinked her eyes and peered through the side window of the cab, realizing they were in front of one of the terminals at the airport. The roar of planes overhead mingled with the zing of tires on the interstate and the buzzing in her head. For a moment, she was tempted to tell the driver to turn around and take her back home, where she could hide forever behind locked doors. The only problem was, all that remembered terror would be hiding right along with her.

  At the e-ticket machine, she swiped her credit card and punched in her information. It wasn’t until she was buckled into her seat, waiting for the plane to take off, that her mind kicked into gear again.

  What the hell am I doing?

  This was a trip she never thought she’d take, to a place she’d unsuccessfully tried to banish from her mind. But she’d finally figured out that facing her demons was the only possible way to get rid of them.

  Twenty-five years had passed since she’d had her last glimpse of High Ridge, in the rolling Texas Hill Country, through the rear window of the family car. Had the small ranching community changed much? Would people still remember what happened? Had they buried the horror and gone on about their business?

  Now she was about to bring it all up again. How would they react?

  ****

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think we have those editions available.”

  Well, at least I have my answer about their attitude.