Fortunately, Flex had saved the evening by keeping them all entertained. He was becoming a very good friend.
Ellie unbuttoned her blouse and tugged it out of the waistband of her navy blue skirt. On her way to the bathroom, she kicked off her sandals and turned on the small radio that sat beside her bed, tuning it to a channel that played easy-listening music. All the while, she kept thinking of Clay, wishing their last meeting had turned out differently.
There are no accidents,she told herself, espousing a philosophy she’d believed in for years. Choices, yes. Accidents, no. Gerry’s interruption had saved her—more from herself than from Clay. It was probably for the best.
In her skirt, bra, and chemise, Ellie washed her face and brushed her teeth. Glancing up at the small window over the tub as she finished, she felt a hint of unease. The window stood open a crack, a faint evening breeze drifting in.
Surely the memory of closing it was just a trick of the mind. Or maybe the maid had come in and left if open to freshen the room. She was just tired, she told herself, but she wished she’d checked the room as she usually did.
An odd noise sent a second thread of alarm sliding through her. Working up her courage, she opened the bathroom door. Better to find out the truth than imagine something worse.
The room was empty, the double bed neatly made, the simple Danish modern chair in the corner undisturbed. She dropped down beside the bed to look underneath, but it was only a few inches off the floor, not enough space for someone to hide. She headed for the closet, the only place big enough to conceal an assailant.
The door made a shrill squeak as it swung open, the sound sliding over her nerves. Peering into the darkness, she tried to see behind the row of jackets, breeches, dresses, and blouses that blocked her view.
Ellie shrieked as an arm shot out of the darkness and grabbed her, jerked her against a man’s hard body. She tried to scream, but the sound died behind the hand clamped over her mouth.
Panic hit her. Ellie struggled as he dragged her back into the room. She tried to wrench free, but his arm was a steel band around her waist. Dressed completely in black, he half-carried, half-dragged her toward the bed. Ellie scratched and clawed, tried to kick him, jammed her elbow into his ribs.
The man grunted, spun her around, and slapped her hard across the face. The blow knocked her to the floor and sent the chair crashing against the wall. The room spun and her vision blurred.
Dragging her to her feet, he shoved her down on the bed and used his body to pin her to the mattress. He wasn’t a big man, but he was wiry and strong. He was wearing a black knit ski mask, but she could read the hard look in his eyes that warned her not to fight him.
Fear rolled through her, so strong she felt dizzy. Freeing a hand, she shoved the radio against the wall as hard as she could. It crashed, then thudded as it hit the floor, continuing to play soft music from somewhere on the carpet. Her attacker slapped her again.
“Nee,”he warned, shaking his head. The word was Dutch, but it was spoken with some sort of accent. He showed her the gleaming blade of a knife before he pressed it against her throat. “Bweeg je niet.”
She had no idea what the words meant, she but understood the meaning. Fighting a fresh coil of terror, feeling the edge of the blade, Ellie stopped struggling. Breathing heavily, gasping for air, she tried to remain calm, tried to force her mind to work.
Her compliance pleased him. His lips curved in what might have passed for a smile. When his fingers groped her breast, bile rose in her throat. Through the folds of her skirt, she could feel his erection pressing between her legs. Then his hand moved lower, sliding her skirt up along her thigh. When he crushed his thin lips against her mouth and tried to force his tongue inside, she lashed out, trashing and flailing, determined to stop him. Whatever happened, she wasn’t going down without a fight.
Tears burned her eyes as she swung at him with all her strength, but her attacker managed to block each blow.Dear God,she thought,please don’t let this happen.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Another loud thump on the wall disturbed Clay’s reading. Stretched full length on his bed, shirt tugged free and unbuttoned but still wearing his slacks in case he decided to go out, Clay set his book, Turow’sPresumed Innocent,aside. He’d read the same page three times.
What the hell was Ellie doing in there? She and Flex had gone out to dinner. He’d seen them leaving with Jake. Maybe Ellie and Flex were enjoying another “accident.” Or maybe this round was with Gerry Winslow. The thought infuriated him. The thump sounded again, obviously the bed moving against the wall.
Clay ground his teeth. Swinging his legs to the floor, he walked to the dresser, poured himself a shot of the Glenfiddish he always carried, and downed it in a single gulp.
A noise that sounded like a sob bled through the walls, followed by another muffled thud.
Clay’s pulse began to speed. What if it wasn’t Flex? Rotterdam was a big city. Ellie was a pretty girl staying alone. He strained to hear the next noise and could have sworn it was the sound of rending fabric.
Clay slammed the glass down on the dresser and headed for the door. He was making a fool of himself—he knew it. Ellie had a way of doing that to him. Still…
He paused in the doorway. Damn her, if she was in bed with Flex or Gerry, he’d strangle them both! The sound of breaking glass brushed those thoughts aside. Clay bolted for the door to Ellie’s room next to his.
He tried the knob, found it locked, and called her name. Ellie didn’t answer. He could hear odd noises and soft music playing in the background. He’d be sorry for this, but he’d be sorrier if she was in trouble, and he didn’t help.
Raising a boot, he kicked the flimsy latch, and the door swung wide, the knob crashing against the wall behind it. Ellie sprawled on the bed, naked from the waist up, her lacy chemise in tatters, her skirt hiked up, her eyes wet green pools. Nestled between her trembling legs, a man dressed in black fought to free his erection from his pants. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of Ellie’s mouth, and a bruise darkened her cheek.
Clay’s control snapped. Growling low in his throat, he reached the man in two angry strides, tore him off Ellie, and smashed a fist into his face. The glint of a knife flashed. Clay kicked the blade away and punched him again. The man swung a powerful right hand. Clay ducked and swung, sending the man crashing into the corner on top of an overturned chair.
In two quick strides, Clay reached him, grabbed the front of his shirt, dragged him up and punched him, breaking his nose and sending a spray of blood against the wall and across the front of Clay’s white shirt. The man groaned as Clay hauled him to his feet and hit him again, slamming his head against the floor with a thud that had Ellie gasping in horror.
The assailant struggled to his feet, bent low and charged into Clay’s midsection, knocking him to the floor. Clay’s head the wall with a thud, and the assailant dashed out through the broken door.
