Octavia Dane held all the power, had all the connections, had the impossible means to secure the experimental drug he required...
If he wanted his niece to live.
3
Detective Sanders wore a black leather bomber jacket over his broad shoulders and had the most intense steel-blue eyes she’d seen. And those eyes peered at her too long. His scruffy jaw worked back and forth. She shivered from the cold and not because she grew uncomfortable under his stare. Her arms and shoulders had ached under the weight of the thick blanket—compliments of the couple who’d been sitting on it on the beach—so she’d let it drop. They hadn’t seen what happened. Just found her lying there.
Her head throbbed from where the attacker had yanked her hair and dragged her to the ocean. She tried not to think about how his massive hand had gripped her head and forced her under. She hugged herself and let her gaze travel to the cliffs overlooking this beach.
Her attacker could be up top somewhere watching her now, aware she had survived.
Carrying a gurney, two men stumbled along the beach, weaving around rocks, faltering over stones half buried in the gray sand. She didn’t need their help. Did she?
“Ms. Valentine?”
The detective’s voice pulled her back and, after another look at him, she was surprised her attention had drifted to the cliffside—but fear was driving her thoughts at the moment.
I could have died.That thought must have reflected in her expression.
“You’re cold.” He suddenly shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her.
The too-big jacket was nice and warm. The musky scent of leather clung to it and filled her senses.
Her response was delayed. “Oh, I don’t—”
“You do. You’re shivering.”
She couldn’t bring herself to remove it. The man’s action or his jacket, something, enveloped her and made her feel safe and protected and warm.
I’m okay now.Cressida had always been a fighter. A survivor. But never had she been so violently attacked. Still, when the EMTs finally completed their laborious jaunt to care for her, she shook her head.
The detective gently touched her shoulder. “You could be hurt, physically, and in shock. Let them make sure you’re okay.”
Shock? “Of course I’m in shock.” But he hadn’t meant it that way. “They can check me out right here. I need to talk to you.”
“That’s why I’m here. Tell me what happened.”
“I will, but first...” She glanced around the beach. The fog had dissipated but still hung thick and gloomy out over the water. “My bag. He took my bag with my ID. Or someone took it. Please, it’s important. Can you find it?”
“We’ll do our best. Can you describe who attacked you?”
Cressida suddenly remembered the rest. “The chandlery. I want the rest of my things now, please.” So she could hold them close.
Cressida took off on shaky legs.
“Hold on, Ms. Valentine!”
Behind her, his words faded as the wind roared in her ears. She was breathless by the time she finally approached the chandlery, where she’d left her stuff with Kit, then she slowed to catch her breath.
The detective was on her heels, but the EMTs and the deputy remained behind on the beach, taking their time.
“I need to make sure he didn’t take anything else.” She opened the door.
“What makes you think he would—”
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Kit had obviously missed the detective’s words as he and Cressida entered the establishment, and she cut him off as she came from behind the counter.
Confused, Cressida asked, “How did you know?”
