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glittering black eyes on her face gave her the shivers…
    "Don't try any more tricks," he warned softly as she started the car. The gun lay across his lap, gleaming starkly in the bright sunlight pouring in through the windshield. Lora flicked a quick, nervous glance down at it. His hand on the grip seemed idle, but the nose was pointed directly at her. "I've been very patient with you so far, but don't push your luck. Remember, you'll be okay as long as you do exactly what I tell you. If you don't—I'll do what I have to."
    Lora swallowed, and nodded without speaking. Carefully, she depressed the clutch, put the car into first, and pulled out onto the highway. That unprecedented stab of sexual awareness she had just experienced toward him had unnerved her completely. Never in her life had she been so aware of a man as a man… She shifted into second; there was an ear-shattering grinding sound as the gears crashed. Lora winced, and he grimaced. The car jerked off down the road as Lora awkwardly manipulated the stick shift and tried to remember when to step on the clutch and when to release it.
    "You can't drive worth a damn, can you?" he said when at last she had managed to wrestle the transmission into fourth gear and the car was moving more or less smoothly down the highway.
    "Would you like to drive?" she demanded irritably before she thought.
    "Then I wouldn't need you, would I?" he answered, his voice very soft. "But you never know, I may decide that the off-chance that the police will pull us over isn't worth putting up with your god-awful driving. Then where will you be?"
    Lora cast him a quick, nervous look. He was staring out at the road, and his face was as unreadable as stone. She quickly looked away again, but the image of that grim profile was etched indelibly into her memory. Sexy or not, he would kill her if he had to. She had best not make the mistake of forgetting that again.
     
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    Chapter III

     
    They drove without stopping until long past dark. Lora grew increasingly anxious as he made no attempt at conversation, merely shifting in his seat with growing restlessness as the sun sank beneath the horizon and mile after mile of blacktop highway passed beneath the wheels. He was uneasy, she could sense it. His shoulders and legs filled his side of the small car; she was acutely aware of every movement he made. When he leaned forward to scan the road ahead of them, or turned to survey cars approaching them from behind, she could feel the tautness of his body, as if he was waiting for something, expecting something to happen. Watching for the police, perhaps? She had no doubts that he was a criminal; clearly he was on the run from the law, or maybe from his fellow criminals—or both. The questions was, what would happen if he was caught while she was with him? With the police, it would just be a matter of making them understand that she was his victim, not his confederate—if they could be made to listen before bullets started flying—but with criminals as desperate as her abductor she might be dispatched along with him whether she was an innocent victim of circumstances or not. She hoped against hope that it was the police he seemed so desperately wary of—they would realize that she was a victim; after all, they were the police, they didn't make mistakes like that—and that they would catch up with him soon. If not, what would he do to her? Despite his promise, would he kill her? Maybe he had just said what he had to assure her cooperation until he no longer needed her.
    If he didn't kill her, would he rape her? That, she decided, was a very real possibility. Sooner or later, they would have to stop and rest, and then, she was very much afraid, she would learn the worst. She kept remembering how he had said that he didn't mind hurting women. The memory made her shudder. Would he rape her? Dear God, she prayed he would not. It was impossible to imagine herself being subjected to such horror… But