Quickly I shake my head, discarding that idea also.At the recent gathering of the Four Corners Alliance in Las Vegas, I met all the dons in the region.
And because the idea was to broker peace between the four families, my guess is that none of them are suspects.
So who the hell are you?The stranger’s gorgeous image sifts through my memory.And why did you take me?
Money?Revenge?It has to be one or the other.
Despite the fact I was undressed and am now wearing his shirt, I know this isn’t personal.Because I know I haven’t had sex.
So there’s a bigger purpose here.I’m a pawn in a game I don’t yet understand.And that terrifies me more than the idea of some man wanting a night of sex with a compliant woman.
I draw another shaky breath.Freaking out is a luxury I can’t afford.
Needing to control something, I fasten the buttons on the shirt, one at a time, all the way to the throat.
Then I do a quick inventory.
My clothing, shoes, purse, and jewelry are gone.
There are two nightstands framing the bed.
A water bottle is waiting for me.
I lick my lips, suddenly realizing how parched I am.
I stare at it for a long moment, suspicious of everything.He drugged me once.Which means there’s nothing to stop him from doing it a second time.
Still, I need to rinse the slightly metallic taste from my mouth.
Erring on the side of caution, I lift the bottle and turn it slowly in my hand.The seal is intact, and there are no puncture marks on the plastic.The label is one I know, and it’s in pristine condition.
Satisfied—barely—I twist the cap just enough to hear the faint crack as the seal breaks.
I take a careful sip.
The water is cool and clean.It doesn’t burn.Doesn’t taste like anything at all.
Except for drugging and kidnapping me, the man—whoever he is—apparently wants me alive and unharmed.
Taking hope from that, I set the bottle back down.
The room is too quiet after that, like the air itself is holding its breath.
Feeling slightly more human and grounded, I throw back the sheet covering me and climb out of the bed, using the headboard to steady myself until I’m sure of my balance.
Hyperaware of the camera’s blinking eye watching my every move, I take a tentative step away from the bed.
Cool air wraps around my bare legs as I make my way toward the door.I keep my movements slow, unhurried—no reason to give whoever’s watching a reaction they can catalogue.
I wrap my fingers around the handle and turn it once.Then again, harder.The mechanism doesn’t rattle.Doesn’t budge.It’s solid, as if it’s been deadbolted from the other side.
I don’t waste time testing it once more.
Instead, I pivot and cross the room toward the windows.
They are framed with curtains heavy enough to block sound as well as light.And beneath them are wooden blinds.
Above me is a blinking red light.I know without touching the window that it’s alarmed and likely reinforced.The glass is thick—too thick.Not decorative.Defensive.
