WhenI open my eyes, I’m lying in an uncomfortable little bed. There’s an open window and a breeze coming through smelling like the ocean, but I have a terrible feeling it’s not the Atlantic. It smells of soft salt water and is scented with the perfume of dozens of flowers.
Twelve hours earlier…
After being hustled onto the plane, I’d been strapped in and had a bottle of water nearly forced down my throat.
“Try to relax, darling,” the older woman settled across from me, “it’s going to be a long flight.”
“Don’t take this personally,” I said, “but this is my fourth kidnapping. They almost always end up with the person kidnapping me dead, so fair warning.”
She chuckled lightly, “I know, dear. I’m the one who finished off Santos, that disgusting man.”
“You!” I gasped, “No one knew- why?”
“He was trying to take you away, and we couldn’t have that,” she said, sipping a drink.
I stared at the glass, my brow furrowed. “What are you drinking?”
She smiles as if I’m her prize student. “A German Mule.”
Nodding, I rub my eyes, my vision’s getting fuzzy and I’m pretty sure that the water they forced me to drink was drugged.Dario always pours me a glass of water, I think absently. I’m missing him, it feels like a hole in my chest, a blank space that he’s supposed to occupy.
“A German Mule,” I say. “Jägermeister, lime juice, spicy ginger beer, ice cubes, best served in a copper mug.” I try to fight through the heavy clouds setting over my thoughts like a thunderstorm. “I served you a German Mule at theBrezza Marina,back in Venice. You’ve been following me. Who are you?”
She leans over, smoothing my hair off my face lovingly. “I’m your guardian angel.”
The last thing I see is her smile, and it’s horrible.
Currently…
After patching together all the bits and pieces of the last few hours, I struggle awkwardly out of bed and head for one of the windows. The sun is high, maybe mid-afternoon, so it’s the next day. We’re someplace tropical, obviously, and based on the color of the sea, I’m betting it’s the Mediterranean. Not that it narrows it down much, but I feel better knowing something.
Lifting a hand to push my hair out of my eyes, I notice it’s no longer blonde. Holding a piece up, I see it’s been dyed back to my exact former shade of chestnut brown. I’m still wearing the sundress I had on yesterday, and a quick check shows me everything else is intact. I feel a surge of relief big enough to make me sit down abruptly on the window seat.
They drugged me, just like Schmidt did. They dyed my hair. Why? I’m used to dealing with a certain level of insanity nowadays, but this is new. The feeling of violation makes me want to cry, but fuck that.
I survived Schmidt's dungeon for ten weeks by holding onto my fury and my hate. I killed him. I never thought I could be capable of doing such a thing ever again, but I was wrong.
Dario…
My team is on my jet and heading for the Cayman Islands. Specifically where we’re going is something Jonas is still working on feverishly.
Gio calls as I’m pacing restlessly. “How are you doing?” he asked. Not sounding concerned, because he knows that would piss me off.
“My wife’s been kidnapped. Again. Goddamn, she holds the world record for the most kidnappings in one year.” Sounding like an asshole is better than the terror and self-recrimination I’m feeling.
“Well, to be fair, one of those is on you,” he said, matching me perfectly.
I continue to pace, trying to think of something to say.
“They need her,” Giovanni says. “She’s safe and I’m sure well taken care of until they get what they want.”
“And then?” Against all my efforts to stay an asshole, my voice cracks.
“You will get to her before then,” he says steadily. “Do you remember driving like a lunatic to get to Ekaterina and Alessio before they drowned in Costa’s holding cell? The back wheel slipped off the side of the cliff twice. But we got there in time. You will find her, and I will help you, just as you were there for my wife.”
“Where are you now?” I asked, rubbing my forehead.
“About an hour behind you, I believe. We’ll still head for the rendezvous point in Grand Cayman unless you narrow down the location.” I can hear Ekaterina’s voice in the background. “Ekaterina wishes for me to tell you to-” he’s listening for a moment, “razorvi etu suku popolam, which I believe loosely translates to ‘tear that bitch from stem to stern and get your girl back.’ I’m not sure that’s accurate, but her tone of savagery comes across, I’m certain.”
