The Tracker Page 4

  I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

  He stared at me for another long moment. Then he sighed.

  “Get clean.” He pointed to the bathroom again. I nodded and rushed past him toward the bathroom. His hand snaked out, wrapping around my forearm, bringing me to an abrupt halt. His grip was strong, firm. Unrelenting. Just like him. This was not a man who could be swayed. He did what he wanted when he wanted.

  He pointed to the dirty laundry I’d piled on the floor. “There’s a washer and dryer in Room 10, two doors down. As soon as you get out of the shower, you can go wash my clothes.”

  I nodded, keeping my gaze lowered. I could do laundry. No problem. He released me. I hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

  I leaned against the door and drew in a deep breath. We had to find Eliza soon. I wasn’t sure how long I could live with this man. How long would it be before he decided he wanted more from me than just cooking and cleaning? The sketch of the embracing couple entered my mind and I flushed.

  The way he’d stared at me over dinner…Did he want something more, something sexual? I swallowed hard. Whatever he wanted, I would have to give him. I couldn’t refuse. Not if I wanted to find Eliza.

  He pounded on the door, making me gasp and leap away.

  “Hurry up in there.”

  I stumbled to the tub and turned on the shower. Quickly undressing, I stepped under the spray. I couldn’t enjoy the shower as much as I wanted, as I was afraid to take too long. I didn’t want to anger him. Once clean, I stepped out and dried off.

  I didn’t have any clean clothes to wear.

  I eyed my filthy jeans and T-shirt. There was no way I was putting those disgusting things back on.

  He pounded on the door again. I cautiously opened it and peered out at him. “I don’t have any clean clothes.”

  “I got you some.” He shoved a wadded-up pile of clothes through the door. “We don’t have any heat down here, so it gets cold. There’s some warm clothes.”

  “Th-thanks,” I squeaked, taking them from him. When had he gotten me clothes? When he’d gone out trying to find information about Eliza? He wasn’t a complete ass. At least he’d brought me some clothes. And he’d fed me. And he was letting me stay here.

  I closed the door and dressed in the fresh clothes, a red sweatshirt, gray sweatpants, and white socks. There was no underwear in the pile. The clothes were a little too big, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I had to tighten the string of the sweatpants to keep them from sliding off my hips.

  Glancing in the mirror above the sink, I snatched up the comb he’d left sitting on the countertop and tried to comb the tangles from my shoulder-length hair.

  Feeling refreshed, and somewhat presentable, I opened the door.

  He reclined in his armchair several feet away, a book in his lap. I hesitated. He looked hot sitting there, engrossed in his book. I had a weakness for intelligent men. As scary as he was, I was intrigued. What was he reading?

  He turned his head, scowling at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You need something?”

  Heat crept into my cheeks. “No,” I mumbled, taking a step back. “I was just…” Curious about you. I lowered my gaze.

  He slammed the book closed, making me jump.

  “Let me make one thing clear, woman. You’re just a slave here. You don’t pester me. You just do what you’re told. And leave. Me. Alone.”

  Heat scalded my cheeks. Well, excuse the hell out of me!

  “If this is how you treat everyone, it’s no wonder you’re hiding down here underground. You probably don’t have any friends!” Okay, that was probably a reckless and impulsive thing to say, but I couldn’t take it back now. I stumbled back several more steps, then turned and fled to my cot in the corner. To hell with him and his laundry. He could do it himself! I plopped myself down on the cot and eyed him warily from across the room.

  Careful, Jess, my conscience warned. You just insulted him. If you make him mad, he might call off the deal.

  Fear slithered down my spine. Would he kick me out now?

  He quirked a dark brow. That silver gaze bored into me. “Insulting the only person who is willing to help you is not a smart move. Are you sure you’re serious about finding your sister?”

  The blood drained from my face. “I’m sorry. That was very thoughtless and childish of me.” I lowered my gaze, feeling chastised. “I promise I really want to find Eliza. I’m…really not a child.” I peeked back up at him.

  He very slowly set the book on the end table beside him, his gaze never leaving mine.

  “Really? You’re not a child?” He smirked. “Then prove it.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jessica

  Was he joking? Prove it?

  I swallowed hard, my gaze glued to his. “I’d rather do laundry.”

  His eyes narrowed. Then he threw his head back and laughed. A real belly laugh that came from deep inside and forced a small chuckle out of me in response. He had a nice laugh. A contagious laugh.

  Shocker.

  He waved an arm at me. “Go then. Do the laundry. But be careful out there. The other dregs might not be so nice to you.”

  I jumped up from my cot, relief sweeping through me. When I’d cleaned the apartment earlier, I hadn’t seen a laundry basket. which meant he probably didn’t have one. He remained in the chair while I gathered up the dirty laundry in my arms, making two trips, and dropped it by the front door. I was overly aware of his gaze on me the entire time, following my every move.

  “You’ll need a light.”

  Right. My flashlight. How the hell did he see so well in the dark? I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know.

  I retrieved my flashlight from where I’d left it sitting on the kitchen counter. Gathering up an armful of laundry, I flicked on the flashlight and opened the door.

  Two doors down. Room 10.

  The corridor was still dark and scary. Fortunately, Room 10 was easy to find. I turned the knob, glad that it wasn’t locked so I wouldn’t have to go back and beg The Tracker to help me get in. The laundry room was small, more like a closet, but no one else was inside, much to my relief. I turned on the light and loaded the clothes into the single washing machine. I didn’t bother sorting it, as most of it was dark colors anyway. Adding detergent and fabric softener, I turned the machine on.

  I needed to go back for the second load of laundry, but I wanted a few minutes away from The Tracker first, some time alone. The man was too damn masculine for his own good. Too attractive. He scared me, yet still managed to make my lady parts come to life at the same time. I couldn’t believe I’d actually agreed to be his slave.

  You’re doing this for Eliza. Never forget that. There’s no shame in helping your sister.

  I slid onto the small folding table next to the dryer and put my face in my hands. I didn’t even know the man’s real name, and he’d never asked mine. If I had to live with him for days or weeks or months, I’d go insane not knowing what to call him.

  “Hey…Tracker.” I snorted. “I’ll just make up my own name for you. Tracker Dude. Tracker Man. The Tracker.” I deepened my voice on the last name and snickered.

  His taunting words came back to me then, making my cheeks heat.

  Then prove it.

  What, exactly, had he meant by that? Prove that I was a woman? Strip down and show him I had boobs and a vagina?

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  I groaned softly. What if he wasn’t really The Tracker, but just some guy I’d had the misfortune of running into first?

  My heart went cold. No. Way.

  I jumped off the table.

  I should have asked him for proof that he was The Tracker. What if he was just taking advantage of the situation and using me to do his cooking, cleaning, and laundry?

  I was three steps out of the room before I halted. Crap, I forgot the flashlight. I hesitated, then shrugged and continued on without it. The Trac
ker’s apartment was only two doors down. Certainly I could find it in the dark. I marched the few feet down the dark hallway to his room, ready to confront him. I needed some kind of proof before I did anymore slave work for him.

  I turned the knob to his apartment, but it was locked. What the heck? He’d locked me out? Jerk! I banged my fist against the door.

  “Open up, dammit! I have to finish your laundry!”

  Silence.

  Seconds passed.

  I banged again. “Come on! Don’t be such a jerk!”

  A door behind me creaked open. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Slowly, I turned around.

  The Tracker stood behind me, his brow raised. “What are you doing, banging on The Smuggler’s door? He’s not very friendly. I suggest you get away from there before he comes out to see what’s going on.”

  I flushed hotly, from the top of my scalp clear to the tips of my toes. How the hell had I gotten so disoriented in the dark corridor that I’d gone to the wrong door, the one on the opposite side? In my anger, I hadn’t paid attention to which side of the corridor I was facing. Fool.

  The Tracker waved me into his room, his lips twitching. I darted past him, more embarrassed than I’d ever been in my entire life. For a moment, I completely forgot what I’d come back for.

  Oh yes. Proof of his identity.

  I spun to face him.

  “How do I know you’re really The Tracker? I need some kind of proof.”

  His brow shot up. “You want proof?” He chuckled. “You’ll get your proof when I find your sister.”

  I shook my head back and forth. “No. I need more than that. You could be stringing me along, pretending to be The Tracker, all the while turning me into your personal slave while I get nothing out of it.”

  He cocked a disbelieving brow. “Nothing out of it?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t have food in your belly, a roof over your head, a cot to sleep on? How is that getting nothing out of it?”

  The door across the hall jerked open. A man with a gray hoodie pulled over his head glared across the hallway at us. “What’s with all the fucking noise, Tracker? I’m trying to sleep over here.” I detected a faint Hispanic accent in his words. Though his face was obscured by the hoodie, I could see his black eyes widen as he caught sight of me. “You pick up a hooker?” His gaze swept up and down me with contempt. “Huh. That’s not like you. You could have picked a prettier one, though. And one with some tits.”

  Heat spread back into my cheeks. Did he seriously think I was a hooker? The man must be half-asleep. I ignored the part about me not being pretty and having small boobs. I couldn’t change the way I looked.

  “I’m not a hooker! I came to hire The Tracker to help me find someone.”

  The man muttered something under his breath in Spanish before turning back into his apartment and slamming the door.

  “Satisfied now?” The Tracker drawled.

  I nodded. The stranger may have insulted me, but he had called the man standing in front of me “Tracker” so this man hadn’t lied about his identity. He really was The Tracker. “But I don’t know your real name.”

  His gaze latched onto mine. “I like it better that way.”

  “Why?” I demanded. “Am I just supposed to call you Tracker all the time?”

  “Yep. That’s what everyone else calls me.”

  I shook my head. “Fine. And what will you call me then?”

  His eyes gleamed with wickedness. “Slave.”

  I snorted. Whatever. With a huff, I bent and gathered up the remaining dirty laundry, then swept past him and stalked back down the hallway to the laundry room. Shoving the door open, I stumbled inside, dropping the laundry at my feet. Drawing in a deep breath and slowly puffing it out, I leaned back against the door. I couldn’t do this. How could I live with this guy? He had me in such an emotional turmoil I was doing stupid, irrational things. I didn’t know if I wanted to strangle him or rip his shirt off and ogle his masculine perfection.

  I groaned. Men, in general, scared me. The Tracker most of all. So why was I even thinking about him in a sexual way? That wasn’t like me. Not at all.

  It’s not your fault, Jess. He’s hot. And you’re only human.

  Don’t forget you’re doing this for Eliza.

  Yes, that’s why I was here. For my sister.

  I sighed and settled down on the floor beside the door to wait for the first batch of laundry to be done. I wasn’t going back to The Tracker’s apartment until I had to. I didn’t want to come face-to-face with that overwhelming masculinity again until I had time to get a grip on my emotions.

  The time ticked slowly by. I stared at the washer, willing it to clean the clothes faster.

  The Tracker’s sketchbook entered my mind again, the image of the embracing couple making me blush once again. What would it be like to have The Tracker’s big hands on my breasts like the man in the drawing, his lips against my neck as he pressed that muscular body against mine?

  I gasped, heat spreading throughout my entire body.

  What the hell, Jess? Where had that come from?

  I grew warmer, my cheeks flushing hotter. Damn him. Why did he affect me like this? I didn’t want to be attracted to him. I didn’t even like him! But I couldn’t stop thinking about him, about all those hard, sexy muscles.

  I groaned.

  It’s okay to fantasize, Jess. It’s not like he’ll ever know, anyway.

  The door crashed in, slamming against the wall opposite from where I sat. I jerked back, my heart pounding as a tall, burly guy with a thick red beard and tree trunks for arms marched into the small laundry room and dropped a laundry basket on the floor in front of the washer. He opened the washing machine. Pulling The Tracker’s laundry out, he tossed it aside.

  “Hey!” I jumped to my feet. “Wait your turn! I’m not finished yet!”

  The burly guy turned to glare at me, folding his arms across his massive chest. “Who the hell are you?”

  “J-Jessica.” I faltered under his glare. “I’m helping The Tracker.” I forced myself to hold his gaze.

  He let out a loud snort. “Since when did Tracker hire a maid? You’re messing with me, right?” He talked like Tracker, with the same northwest accent. They must be from the same area.

  The burly redhead eyed me, waiting for my answer.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m serious. I’m doing his laundry. So, please, wait your turn.” I marched forward, not sure if I was being brave or stupid, and stuffed The Tracker’s laundry back into the washer.

  The burly guy snickered. “It was already done. Didn’t you hear the timer go off? It just needs to go in the dryer.”

  It was? How long had I been sitting there lost in fantasies about The Tracker? My face heating, I opened the dryer and began stuffing the clean clothes inside. It was the front-load kind and low to the ground. I had to bend over to load the clothes into it. It was then that I noticed the man’s prosthetic foot not far from my face. He hadn’t walked with a limp, so I’d had no idea he was handicapped. Keeping my gaze averted from his prosthetic, I turned the dryer on and stepped back. Before I could stop him, the burly guy began tossing his clothes into the washer. Whoa…

  I lurched forward, intercepting him. “I have one more load first. Please. Wait your turn.” I snatched his clothes up and threw them back into his basket.

  His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. I held my ground, though I feared he would pick me up and move me aside. I wasn’t normally this brave, but I sensed if I didn’t stand up for myself around the dregs, they would walk all over me.

  The man let out a soft chuckle. “Okay. Ladies first. I like you. You’re a sassy one. I’ll bet you keep Tracker on his toes. When you get tired of him, come see me.” He waggled his thick red brows suggestively.

  Trying to ignore the heat flaming into my cheeks, I stuffed the rest of The Tracker’s dirty laundry into the washer. “It’s not like that. I’m just doing his cooking and clea
ning.”

  “Um hmm.” The man nodded, a big smirk on his craggy face. “Well, if he doesn’t want you, you can come warm my bed anytime, sweetheart.”

  I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with that suggestion. There was no way in hell I’d be climbing into the giant redhead’s bed. I added detergent and fabric softener and turned the machine on. “Come back in another hour, and I should be done with the washer.”

  He chuckled, leaning back against the wall to watch me. Trying to ignore him, I went back to my spot by the door and sat on the floor. The man was scary, intimidating. But I didn’t feel threatened by him. He didn’t seem to want to hurt me.

  The door burst open at that moment, and Tracker entered the room. His silver gaze took in the burly guy, then rested on me. I couldn’t read the man’s expressionless face, but something dangerous flashed in his eyes. He turned toward the other man.

  “You bothering my slave?”

  The burly redhead snorted out a laugh. “Slave? Since when did you get a slave? Can I have a go at her when you get tired of her?”

  Tracker’s eyes turned cold. “Leave her alone and let her do her job. When I’m done with her, I’ll let you know.”

  What?

  Unable to ignore that comment, I leapt to my feet. “Excuse me! That wasn’t part of our deal!”

  The redheaded guy guffawed. “She’s a feisty one! You tell him, girl!”

  Tracker faced me. “Go back to my apartment and stay there until I tell you otherwise.”

  Embarrassed heat washed into my face. He’d just ordered me about like I was a…slave.

  I ducked my head. That’s exactly what I was right now. A slave. A willing slave. I’d agreed to this. He was helping me find Eliza. I had to remember that.

  My embarrassment grew. If I pissed Tracker off too much, he might back out of our deal. He might kick me back out on the streets and I’d have to find my sister on my own.

  I turned from the room without a word, my gaze lowered, and headed back out into the dark hallway. I’d left my flashlight in the laundry room, but I didn’t dare turn around and go back for it, not when Tracker was angry with me. I found his apartment and opened the door. Then I went to my cot like an obedient servant and sat down and waited for him to return.