Rule Number One: Never let your client know where you live. So Sadie met him in the bar of his hotel, the Adam’s Mark, an exclusive hotel near downtown.
She couldn’t help but be surprised-Vern was well into his sixties, but his friend was only about forty. And he dressed like a northerner thought a cowboy would dress. But he was pleasant looking-not drop-dead gorgeous, but nice looking-and younger than most of her clients.
She smiled and extended her hand. “Mr. Barker, I’m Sadie Pierce.”
He smiled in return, took her hand, and kissed it. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he said with a slight drawl, though it wasn’t a Texas accent.
She didn’t think twice as he took her arm and led her to the front of the hotel, where he hailed a taxi.
Conversation at dinner was typical, a little on the quiet side. Barker seemed to be people-watching, noticing everyone who came in. While that would annoy most dates, it didn’t bother Sadie. She, after all, was paid to cater to his needs.
In the taxi, he said, “I know I promised you a show, Miss Sadie, but you are just so dang beautiful I was wondering if you’d mind if we just went back to my room.”
He was actually kind of cute when he asked. As if she would mind. That was her job, one she performed quite well.
“Not at all, Mr. Barker.”
It was odd how he never told her to call him Rex. All her dates had her address them by their first name. It made the men believe she was there because she enjoyed their company, not because they were paying her. But he wasn’t a regular, and he probably hadn’t hired an escort often.
In his room, she asked to freshen up. “Right through the bedroom,” he told her. “What can I fix you to drink?”
Rule Number Two: Never drink alcohol while working.
“Perrier or mineral water, whatever you have.”
“Wine? Something stronger?”
“Sweetheart, you’re man enough to turn me on without an artificial stimulant.” Always make them seem like they are in charge.
He seemed unsure, so she smiled, leaned up, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Three minutes and I’ll be ready for whatever you have planned.”
He smiled. A trickle of fear slid down her spine. She blinked, and whatever it was she’d seen or sensed was gone.
She ignored Rule Number Three: Trust your instincts.
Winking at him, she turned and waltzed into the bathroom.
After taking care of business, she pulled her makeup from her small purse and noticed that the message light was flashing on her phone. Normally she’d ignore her messages while working, but the caller ID showed Bridget’s number-three messages, all from her. Sadie hoped nothing was wrong as she punched in her password and listened.
“Please please please, Sadie, get out as soon as you can. I don’t trust this guy. I just talked to the judge and he didn’t recommend anyone. I’m sorry I didn’t check it out first, but I just assumed-it’s all my fault. I’m so worried-remember that warning from the cops I told you about?” She paused, breathless. “Just tell him your mother died and you have to go and he’ll get a full refund. Okay? Please call me as soon as you can. Please.”
Sadie’s heart beat frantically. She’d never heard Bridget so scared. Bridget, the classiest, calmest, most proper woman she knew.
She glanced at her surroundings. Bathroom. No way out. She was on the edge of panic as she shakingly put her phone back. Would the lie work? She didn’t see any other way. She couldn’t very well just walk out.
But he’d lied about Vern. They’d even talked about the judge over dinner, and Barker made it sound like they were close friends. That really burned Sadie. Some men-like her stepfather and this bastard Barker-thought they could manipulate women into doing what they wanted because women were stupid.
Sadie was anything but stupid.
Temper up, ready to tell Mr. Barker-if that was in fact his name-that the gig was up and she was leaving, she swung open the bathroom door and strode across the bedroom into the living room of the suite. “Mr. Barker? I’m sorry, but-”
A big hand clamped down around her mouth and she struggled. “You were taking a little too long in there,” a voice low and rough said in her ear, sounding nothing like the semi-drawl Barker had used earlier.
She struggled, realizing she very well might be in a fight for her life. The warning about some serial killer who might be coming after prostitutes flashed in the back of her mind.
She’d never thought it would happen to her.
Some of her escorts got a little rough, and she had no qualms about using her self-defense skills on them. But this was different. Barker used raw strength to subdue her.
Cold metal brushed against her wrist and she heard a “click” as handcuffs locked into place on one wrist. Her instincts screamed, “No!” She couldn’t let him gain control.
She fought back. Drawing on all her self-defense training, she used his strength against him. She kicked back and up, right into his balls, and he screamed. He pushed her down on the floor. As she stumbled, trying to get up, he pounced on her.
“Bitch!” He slapped her.
She struggled and he grabbed her arm with the handcuffs dangling from the wrist. From the corner of her eye she saw the floor lamp. She reached for it-her fingers brushed the base, but she wasn’t close enough to grab it.
Remember your training!
Training. Right. She took her free hand and went for his eyes, clawing at the one closest to her hand, grabbing onto the outer lid, and pulled.
He screamed, and released her other arm to hit her. Her head jerked to the side and she instantly knew her nose was broken.
She was scared, but she was also pissed off. He was just like her stepfather. Any woman who didn’t fall to her knees and comply with whatever sick game he had in mind was ripe to use as a punching bag.
She wasn’t going to die at the hands of some sick bastard who wanted to dominate women. She took her right hand, the one with the cuffs dangling from it, and with all her strength whacked him on the side of the head with the metal. Again. Again.
His cry of rage and pain scared her more than the threat itself. This man was not right in the head. She felt his hands on her throat, his thumbs pressed into her windpipe.
He was going to kill her.
No! She refused to die. She brought her hands up through the V his arms made and reached for his eyes again. She was gasping, her vision began to fade, but she grabbed the small bones on the outside of his eyes and squeezed. She didn’t know if the maneuver would work when Mr. Wolfe taught it to her all those years ago, but she felt the bones crack in her fingers and she held on. Barker screamed in pain and let go of her throat, reaching for her hands.
She whipped the handcuff again and it cut his face. His body shifted enough and she kicked and scrambled out from underneath. She didn’t worry about her purse. She ran straight for the door, jerked it open, and bolted down the hall. Screams failed to sound from her raw and bruised throat.
She ran to the staircase, unwilling to wait for the elevator. She didn’t know if he was chasing her, but she sprinted for her life down ten flights of stairs, not stopping until she burst into the lobby and into the arms of a very surprised hotel assistant manager who just happened to be walking by.
“Good God, ma’am, what happened?”
Her voice raw, blood from her broken nose clogging her throat, she sputtered, “My. Date. My date tried to kill me.” She gave the room number and the assistant manager carried her to the couch in his office while calling security to the room.