“Do you trust me, Amelia?”

Cole watched Amelia’s face. He knew by looking at her what she was going through. Her expression mirrored her feelings as they churned and morphed inside her. She’d gone from shock to disbelief to doubt to uncertainty.

And that’s where she was right now. She wasn’t sure if she could believe everything he’d just told her, much less trust him.

He understood perfectly. The mission depended on whether he was telling the truth. But he couldn’t tell her everything. Not yet. For her own safety and the safety of the people of Raven’s Cliff.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice.”

He watched her and waited, knowing how much depended on her answer.

“I’ll trust you, Cole Robinson.”

He nodded in relief, proud of her for being so brave.

Knowing full well he had no choice either: he had to trust her.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mallory Kane credits her love of books to her mother, a librarian, who taught her that books are a precious resource and should be treated with loving respect. Her father and grandfather were steeped in the southern tradition of oral history, and could hold an audience spellbound for hours with their storytelling skills. Mallory aspires to be as good a storyteller as her father.

She loves romantic suspense with dangerous heroes and dauntless heroines, and often uses her medical background to add an extra dose of intrigue to her books. Another fascination that she enjoys exploring in her reading and writing is the infinite capacity of the brain to adapt and develop higher skills.

Mallory lives in Mississippi with her computer-genius husband, their two fascinating cats, and, at current count, seven computers.

She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at mallory@mallorykane.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Cole Robinson – This undercover Homeland Security Agent will sacrifice his life if necessary to stop a ruthless domestic terrorist. But when his mission endangers a brave and vulnerable young woman and her town, Cole discovers he has something to live for.

Amelia Hopkins – She’s dedicated her life to her father and to Hopkins Boat Works. But when she’s abducted by a mysterious stranger who’s in league with terrorists, Amelia’s life – and heart – are turned upside down.

Reginald Hopkins – Amelia’s father is a brilliant designer, but since his heart attack he hasn’t created a new yacht design. With Reginald unable to carry out Chien Fou’s plan, will his life and the lives of everyone in Raven’s Cliff be forfeit?

The Fortune Teller – Who is this mysterious woman who knows everything about Cole and Amelia, and whose cryptic words prophesy love – or doom?

Chien Fou – The ruthless domestic terrorist who has named himself “Mad Dog” plans to destroy America’s economy, and anyone who impedes him risks his very life.

Ross Fancher – This ambitious young man is interested in Amelia, but he’s in Chien Fou’s way.

Mayor Wells – His political ambitions have put him in the pockets of criminals and have endangered the town. Now it appears he’s in league with the terrorists. Is he ready to sacrifice the town and even his daughter to gain his own ends?

Camille Wells – The mayor’s daughter is in a coma, watched over not only by her parents, but by a shadowy figure who only shows up in the dark of night.

Solving the
Mysterious Stranger

MALLORY KANE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

“There is a pall cast over this town. Your destiny and the destiny of Raven’s Cliff are entwined like lovers.”

Amelia Hopkins tried to pull her hand away from the fortune-teller’s red-tipped fingers, but the woman’s grip was surprisingly strong.

“Maybe you haven’t heard,” Amelia said, “but the Seaside Strangler is dead and the poisoned fish are gone. Even the mayor’s daughter, who’s been missing for months, has been found alive. There is no pall.”

As she talked, she studied the woman’s face, trying to see beneath the layers of stage makeup. She was surprised that she didn’t recognize her. She knew almost everyone in Raven’s Cliff.

“I thought you were going to tell me about meeting the man of my dreams.”

Her friends Carrie and Rita had come out of the fortune-teller’s shadowy booth with promises of love and marriage, beautiful babies and happily-ever-after. No warnings of doom and gloom. No ominous, cryptic predictions.

Amelia had tried to refuse to have her fortune read. But her friends had insisted.

Fortune-tellers. Crystal balls. Palm reading. All woo-woo tricks designed to provide a moment’s distraction and to part people from their hard-earned money.

Although she’d loaned the mayor’s assistant her stage makeup case, which had seen years of use in the small dinner theater in town and had funded a large part of the boat festival, she’d refused to play fortune-teller.

She didn’t have time for such nonsense. She had a business to run.

The fortune-teller’s pale blue eyes sparkled in the flickering candlelight as she stared deeply into her crystal ball. She waved a hand near one of the candles and a faint scent of roses drifted past Amelia’s nostrils.

“Okay, I give up,” Amelia said. “Who are you? Are you in town just for the festival? Did the mayor hire you?”

The woman frowned at her before dropping her gaze back to the orb. “I am Tatiana. I do not know what you mean.” She held a hand over the ball, close—but not touching it.

Amelia could imagine sparks of electricity arcing from the woman’s hand to the crystal sphere. She was a good actress.

“Okay then, Tatiana. Hurry up and tell me about my soul mate. I’ve got to get home.”

“Word in the town is that nobody is good enough for you, Amelia Hopkins. And yet I say, you will find your soul mate. It is part of your destiny. But he is not the man of your dreams—” The fortune-teller paused. “For you, the journey to love will be a long one, and fraught with danger.” She took Amelia’s hand.

“You must prepare yourself, for death hovers over you as surely as it does over Raven’s Cliff. Your only hope is your own wit. Take care whom you trust.”

A sudden chill breeze sent shadows racing along the walls like bats and extinguished several candles. The smell of hot wax mingled with the aroma of roses.

Amelia tried to pull her hand away, but the woman’s scarlet-tipped fingers held tight.

“Remember this, Amelia. Pay heed to a dark, mysterious stranger with eyes like storm clouds and a haunted past.”

Oh, please. Sure—Raven’s Cliff had experienced more than its share of tragedy, but the deadly summer was over. Autumn had arrived. Foggy mornings and crisp, clear afternoons were a refreshing change after the sweltering, awful summer.

“Appearances can be deceiving. Look not with your eyes but with your heart.”

Amelia uttered a short laugh. That was more like it. Platitudes she could share with Carrie and Rita. “Right. Got it.”

She stood and firmly pulled her hand away. “A mysterious stranger, a path fraught with danger and deceit. Great,” she said wryly. “I can’t wait.”

Quelling the urge to wipe her hand on her jeans, she dug into her pocket and came up with a wad of twenties. Peeling off two, she dropped them onto the table.

“Nice special effects.” She turned and reached for the heavy curtain that draped the front of the booth.

“Wait!” The dozens of bangles on the woman’s wrists chimed. “That case on the table there, it’s yours. You should take it with you. Keep it close—you’re going to need it.”

So it was her makeup the fake fortune-teller had used. She grabbed up the case.

“And, Amelia Hopkins…”

She paused—only inches from freedom. “Aren’t you done yet?”

“Remember. Nobody is good enough for you.”

Amelia shook her head and pushed through the curtain, just in time to run into a solid wall of flesh.

“Oh, sorry,” she muttered, putting out her hands to steady herself as the man grasped her waist.

She pushed against him, but he held on. “Let me go,” she demanded, slightly alarmed by his unrelenting hold.

He loomed over her, dark and ominous. A few days’ growth of beard darkened his square jaw. A black wool fisherman’s cap shadowed the upper part of his face. But no shadows could hide the steely gray of his eyes.

Something flickered in those eyes—curiosity? Recognition? Then he let go of her and held up his hands, palms out. He ducked his head, letting the brim of his cap shadow the upper part of his face. “Beg pardon, ma’am,” he muttered.

Amelia pushed past him.

“Ma’am, you dropped this.”

She turned.

He knelt and picked up her makeup case. She must have dropped it when he collided with her.

He held it out.

She took it, but before she could thank him, he’d turned away, moving off through the crowd. His black leather jacket strained across his shoulders, and his long legs looked powerful in black wool pants. He was taller than most of the people around him, and yet he moved with the fluid grace of a big cat.

“Amelia,” Carrie Singleton called, waving.

Amelia pulled her gaze away from the stranger’s leather-clad shoulders in time to see Carrie duck around a clown who looked suspiciously like Hal Smith, the owner of the hardware store. He blew an obnoxiously loud whistle.

Rita Maxwell laughed as she followed Carrie.

“What did the fortune-teller say?” Carrie asked.

“You weren’t in there long enough,” Rita said, eyeing her suspiciously. “You just gave her some money and left, didn’t you?”

“No.” Amelia gestured down the street in the direction the stranger had gone. “Did you see the way that guy grabbed me?”

“A guy grabbed you?” Rita asked.

Amelia gestured, but he’d disappeared into the crowd. “You couldn’t miss him. He grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. I was about to scream for help.”

Carrie glanced down the street and frowned.

Rita shook her head. “I saw you bump into someone—tall guy with shoulders out to here—but you barely brushed each other.”

“He’s probably a sailor, docked here for Boat Fest,” Rita added. “I’m sure you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen in six months.”

Amelia stared at her two friends. “I’m telling you he wouldn’t let go. And he didn’t look like a sailor. He looked like a—” A captain, she thought.

“Come on. Let’s go get an Irish coffee. I want to hear what the fortune-teller told you.” Carrie hooked her arm through Amelia’s and pulled her in the direction of The Pub—the direction the stranger had gone.

Amelia glanced at her watch. “If I have a drink, I’ll fall asleep standing up. I’ve been hawking yachts all day and my feet are killing me. I should be getting home. Dad and I have an early meeting tomorrow and we need to coordinate our talking points.”

“It’s not even ten o’clock. Honestly, you’re like an old maid sometimes,” Rita said.

“Yeah.” Carrie guided Amelia through the weathered cherrywood doors of The Pub. “The richest, most gorgeous old maid on the entire coast. Not to mention the A-Number-One party pooper.”

“Carrie, stop it.” Amelia chuckled. “I’ll have some coffee—regular, decaf coffee, but then I’ve got to go home. Hopkins Yachts doesn’t run itself. Especially not during Boat Fest—and especially not this year.” She didn’t specify that the main reason she needed to be at home was to make sure her father got to bed by eleven o’clock.

“Did you get a lot of orders at the boat show?”

“Yes. Too many. That’s what this meeting tomorrow is about. Some megacorporation wants to meet with Dad about a major contract.”

“That’s great,” Carrie commented absently as they picked their way through the crowd.

The Seafarer Boat Fest attracted a lot of people—tourists, sailors, yachting enthusiasts who came to see Hopkins’s newest designs.

Amelia felt a faint prick of guilt. Hopkins’s preview drawings for next year’s designs were a myth. There was no inspired new Hopkins yacht for the coming year. Probably only a seasoned aficionado would notice, but Amelia still felt as if they were cheating their customers.

Since her father’s heart attack a year ago, he hadn’t created one new workable design. That was bad enough. But he’d insisted that no one know that this year’s new designs were glossed-over versions from the past three years.

Even worse, this year’s Boat Fest had drawn more people than usual—many of them curiosity-seekers who’d heard about all the trouble Raven’s Cliff had experienced throughout the summer. But as was true every year, a lot were boaters looking for the latest fancy yacht.

Everywhere Amelia went, she steeled herself for the accusation she knew would come one day—Reginald Hopkins has lost it. He’s recycling old designs and calling them new.

As they pushed through the crowd toward the bar, the bartender, Seamus Hannigan, nodded a greeting. His eyes crinkled at the corners, which pulled at the scar that ran from his chin up his jawline. His gaze followed Carrie.

Amelia poked her friend in the ribs.

“Stop it.” Carrie slapped at her hand.

“Seamus is looking your way. Wink at him and get us a table.”

Rita chuckled.

“I mean it, Amelia,” Carrie said. “I’m totally not interested. I’ve never winked at a man and I’m sure not going to start now.”

But even in the dim, smoky pub, Amelia didn’t miss Carrie’s flaming cheeks. She caught Rita’s eye. “Let’s sit at the bar then.”

“There are only two seats,” Carrie protested.

“I’ll stand,” Rita said.

“I won’t be here long enough to sit,” Amelia said at the same time.

They pushed through the crowd. Amelia guided Carrie to one empty chair and shot a look at Rita. With a shake of her blonde head, Rita sat next to Carrie.

“I’ll have a decaf coffee,” Amelia told Rita, and glanced around. The atmosphere in the pub was cheerful—almost frantically so. Everyone was celebrating, and they had a right to, after the tragic summer.

The din of conversation occasionally yielded up a coherent sentence fragment, most involving the mayor. Amelia closed her eyes and listened.

“—ought to be kicked out of office. He took kickbacks while people were dying from the fish poison.”

“—older folks are convinced the curse is back.”

“—got to admit he stepped up—”

“—then I said there’s no such thing as ghosts—”

“Well, I feel sorry for him. He almost lost his daughter.”

Amelia’s heart ached at the reminder that while the town was celebrating, her best friend Camille, Mayor Wells’s daughter, was lying helpless in a coma.

No matter what the mayor had done, he loved his daughter. Amelia knew that. He’d just let his greed get the better of him.

The townsfolk were divided—either condemning him for taking bribes or forgiving him because he’d done it for his only child.

He’d tried to make up for his actions. He’d worked hard to beef up Raven’s Cliff’s annual Seafarer Boat Fest to celebrate the end of the nightmarish summer.

The television mounted over the bar was tuned to the local news station. They were replaying Mayor Wells’s speech from earlier in the evening. His face looked pale and drawn, and his smile seemed pasted on as he praised the townspeople for their bravery and expressed sorrow for the four lovely young women who had died at the hands of the Seaside Strangler.

As he mentioned their names, their photos flashed on the screen. Amelia hadn’t known Rebecca Johnson or Cora McDonald, and had only met Angela Wheeler once, but Sofia Lagios was Detective Andrei Lagios’s baby sister. Seeing her fresh, beautiful face sent a pang of sorrow through Amelia’s heart.

As the mayor’s prerecorded voice encouraged the townspeople to enjoy the fireworks show, Rita pressed a steaming mug topped with whipped cream into Amelia’s hands.

A cheer rose above the low murmur of voices in The Pub. Quite a few people stood and raised their glasses to the TV.

Amelia followed suit then took a sip. Irish whiskey. She frowned. Rita had handed her the wrong mug.

At that moment a pair of stone-cold gray eyes caught her gaze.

Eyes like storm clouds. It was him. The stranger who’d run into her. He held a beer. Instead of raising his glass to the TV and the crowd, he saluted her.

She wanted to look away—ignore him. But he was a man who could never be ignored. Her first impression of him still held—he wasn’t a sailor, not even a first mate—if he were on a ship, he’d be the captain.

Pay heed to a dark, mysterious stranger with eyes like storm clouds and a haunted past.

The fortune-teller’s words echoed in Amelia’s ears. She shivered.

As if he could read her mind, he nodded, such a brief gesture she might have imagined it, then his wide, straight mouth tilted slightly at one corner. He saluted her again and lifted his glass to his lips.

A hand touched her shoulder.

She started.

“Amelia. You’re jumpy tonight,” a familiar gravelly voice said.

“Uncle Marvin, you sneaked up on me.” Amelia smiled at her father’s friend and mentor. Marvin Smith wasn’t her uncle, but he’d been like a father to her dad after his parents died.

“How are you doing?”

Marvin sighed. “I’ll be fine when the town is back to normal. Is your dad around?”

She shook her head, ignoring the beguiling urge to look back in the direction of the gray-eyed stranger. “He’s at home, still recovering from that flu bug. I wouldn’t let him come. Mrs. Winston is keeping him supplied with chicken soup and hot tea.”

Marvin shook his grizzled head. “Is he going to be able to meet with those people tomorrow?”

Amelia almost smiled at the derision in his voice. Those people were a highly respected maritime organization who wanted to commission a fleet of fishing vessels from Hopkins Yachts.

“He’ll be ready,” she said airily. She wanted so badly to tell Uncle Marvin about her dad’s illness, but Reginald Hopkins wasn’t willing to let anyone know about his heart attack and his resulting inability to design a new yacht. Not even his beloved mentor.

She looked at her watch. “I need to get home. We’re getting up at six o’clock to make the trip into Bangor for the meeting.”

Marvin’s thick brows drew down as he scowled. “Well, tell Reg to take his medicine and I’ll see him soon.”

Medicine. “Oh, no! I forgot.”

She reached around Carrie and set her mug on the bar. “I’ve got to find Frank. I was supposed to pick up a prescription refill this afternoon.”

“Frank’s still at his shop.” Marvin jerked a thumb toward the south. “I saw him in there just a little while ago. He said he had a couple more prescriptions to fill before he turned in.”

“Great. I’ll see you later, Uncle Marvin.” She put a hand on each of her friends’ shoulders. “Girls, I’ve got to run to the pharmacy before I go home. I’ll talk to you two tomorrow, okay?”

“Amelia, wait!” Rita stood and caught her forearm. “The midnight fireworks show is going to be better than the earlier one. Stay and watch it with us.”

“I can’t. I’ll see it from the cliff house.” Amelia gave Rita a hug and pressed her cheek against Carrie’s. “Have a good time.”

She glanced at her watch as she pushed through the crowd. Eleven-thirty. The street was packed with people waiting for the fireworks. Tired children drooped in their laughing parents’ arms. Teens and adults alike filled the air with the din of noisemakers and whistles, and even some of the town’s most prominent citizens sloshed beer and shouted welcome to tourists.

Looking down the street, she saw lights in the pharmacy’s window. Thank goodness Frank was still working. He usually closed up at 9:00 p.m. She supposed he’d stayed open because of the festival.

Her dad was completely out of his arrhythmia medication. If she didn’t get his prescription tonight, neither of them would make the meeting tomorrow. He couldn’t miss a single dose, or his heart would start beating too fast to pump blood. And without blood flow to his heart, he’d die.

COLE ROBINSON SET his half-full beer mug down on the table. Amelia Hopkins had left The Pub. He’d seen her mahogany-colored hair swinging as the heavy wood door closed behind her.

“Hold it, Robinson,” his tablemate growled. “Where d’ya think you’re going? You haven’t finished your beer.”

“None of your business,” he growled right back. “I’ll see you later.”

“The excitement’s just about to get started. We’re supposed to be ready to—you know, as soon as the fireworks start. Leader said so.”

Cole pulled the brim of his cap down. “Yeah? Well he gave me my own orders.”

“Your own—?”

Cole pushed past another couple of sailors and headed out the door. He ducked his head and stuck his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket. Hunching his shoulders, he tried to appear inches shorter than his six-feet-two as he glanced up and down the street.

He’d been in town two days, following Amelia Hopkins, getting to know her habits. He’d already figured out she was a workaholic.

She’d spent at least twenty-four hours of the past forty-eight down at the boatyard below the architectural phenomenon that was Reginald Hopkins’s house. The locals called it the Cliff House. Cole glanced upward. Built into the side of a cliff, away from the lighthouse and south of the town proper, Hopkins’s house was faced with local rock. On first inspection it appeared to be a part of the cliff face. In fact, if it weren’t for the elevator that must have been added recently, the house would be all but invisible.

Cole spotted Amelia a few stores down, lit by all the Boat Fest lights. She knocked on a glass door, then entered. The Rx symbol above the door told him it was a pharmacy. He headed in that direction, curious to know what she needed from the drugstore.

What did a rich, beautiful heiress to a vast boat-building fortune need from a small-town pharmacy?

Birth-control pills? Allergy medication? Something more serious? Cole had dug up everything he could find about her, which was quite a lot. She’d lived a life of privilege and fame, being the daughter of one of the East Coast’s most famous yacht designers.

From everything he’d seen and learned, she was the very picture of health. Dewy skin, shiny, bouncy hair, unusual honey-colored eyes and a mouth that was made for smiling—and kissing.

Hell. Where had that thought come from? Sure she was gorgeous, with a supple, delicately muscled body that spoke to years of climbing on the cliffs and sailing along the rocky coastline. But he had no business thinking of her like that. She was an assignment. An innocent victim about to be caught up in a heinous domestic terrorist plot.

It was his bad luck that ever since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he couldn’t get her out of his head or figure her out.

For instance, why had a no-nonsense businesswoman like her agreed to pose for a mildly risqué calendar? She didn’t look at all like her photos in the new Hopkins Boatworks calendar he’d picked up at the last port.

The woman in those pictures was a sexual being—sizzling in forties-style clothes and makeup. She’d been photographed in black and white, standing in front of next year’s model of luxury yacht presented in full color.

If he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t believe they were the same person. Even though the woman in the calendar was definitely a turn-on, for some reason he preferred her like this. Serious, straight and trim, with her hair loose and swinging about her shoulders.

What he had to do bothered him—a lot. Enough that he’d followed an impulse he never should have considered, much less acted on. If his abrupt decision backfired, it could blow the plan that had taken months to set in motion.

And blowing the plan at this stage would be a deadly mistake.

Not to mention that he was two hundred dollars poorer, with no idea whether his money had been wasted. He’d paid the fortune-teller to embellish Amelia’s fortune.

But had she?

“Tell her to be careful,” he’d instructed the woman. “Can you somehow let her know she can trust me?”

The fortune-teller had looked at the wad of twenties and then at him. She’d frowned. “You are caught between two worlds.”

“Yeah—look, lady. Don’t tell my fortune. I know mine. Tell hers. She’s on her way here now. You just finished with her two friends.”

“No. Wait a moment. You must listen to me. You live in two different worlds, and those worlds are about to collide. You must be extremely careful or your young woman may be crushed in the collision.”

“Great.” He’d tossed another wad of twenties down and turned up his nose at the smell of spice and roses drifting up from a dish on the table. “Sounds good. I’m going out through the back.”

As he left, she’d called out to him. “Listen for my voice. I will guide you as much as possible. But only if you open your mind and heart.”

Back on the street, Cole had muttered a curse. That was two hundred dollars ill-spent. He figured the fortune-teller was already pocketing the bills and planning to get as much from Amelia as she could.

A couple passed him, walking arm-in-arm, drawing his thoughts back to the present. They glanced at him with idle curiosity.

He half turned away and pretended to light an invisible cigarette with a nonexistent lighter.

The high-school band struck up a march, and the chatter and cheers grew louder as the twelve-o’clock hour approached.

Cole’s pulse sped up. The fireworks would begin in a few minutes. He needed to be done with his task before his new buddies began theirs.

The sound of an old-fashioned bell signaled Amelia’s exit from the pharmacy. She called out her thanks to the pharmacist as the door closed behind her and the bell’s ring faded. She turned south, away from the town square.

She was going home. She walked with a bounce in her step. She didn’t know her life was about to change forever.

He followed at a careful distance, wishing he wasn’t fascinated by the way her jeans cupped her bottom and emphasized her long legs, wishing her hair wasn’t so shiny that it caught the light of the moon, wishing he was someone else—and so was she.

As soon as she left the lights of town behind and started climbing the cliff path, Cole lengthened his stride. His soft-soled boots made almost no noise on the rocky road. In contrast, her leather soles clicked loudly against the stones and gravel. She wasn’t dressed for speed, not with those ridiculous high-heeled boots on.

The sky lit up. The fireworks. Time to make his move.

In three long strides he caught up with her, just as she slowed for a glance back at the display. He wrapped one arm all the way around her, pinning her body against him.

She didn’t make a sound, just stiffened. Then she kicked and twisted, trying to break his hold.

Behind him, firecrackers cracked and rockets whistled. The sky flashed like lightning.

“Don’t use up your energy struggling. You’re going to need it.” He grabbed both her wrists in one hand and slipped his other hand around her neck from behind.

He didn’t squeeze. He just let his fingers trail along her larynx. He felt more than heard her suck in a deep breath.

“Don’t scream,” he muttered. “I can break your neck before you can make a sound.”

Chapter Two

Amelia’s throat moved against Cole’s fingers as she swallowed.

“I don’t scream,” she hissed, her words a lot braver than her voice.

Her bravado made him angry.

Damn it, Amelia, don’t be stupid. Stupid people often didn’t live long enough to regret their actions.

“Do you cry?” he growled. “Because I can break your fingers one at a time and keep you conscious so you can feel each bone crack.”

Her head jerked. He’d gotten to her. She might not scream, might not even fear death, but she did fear pain.

“You are talented, aren’t you?” she retorted, her voice hoarse with the strain of staying calm.

He almost smiled through his anger. Her courage was ill-aimed, but she had plenty of it. “Don’t mess with me, sweetheart. You’re making me angry, and I promise you won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“I don’t like you now.” She swallowed again, stronger this time. “What do you want from me?”

He ignored her question. “Pick up that case you dropped. I don’t want anything to look out of place.”

He loosed his hold long enough for her to scoop up the case, and then he nudged her forward. “Move it.”

Unexpectedly, she twisted, trying to break his grip. Instinctively, he jerked her back.

She gasped.

“Don’t try that again. I promise you’ll regret it. I can knock you out if I have to.”

“Wow. Is there no end to what you can do?”

“You’ve got me beat at stand-up comedy.” He scowled. She was afraid, but her wisecracks taunted him. He had to watch himself. This wasn’t a silly flirtation, nor a prelude to a date. It was an abduction—a deadly serious business.

He couldn’t afford to lose sight of his goal for one second.

They came to a fork in the gravel road. If he continued up toward her house, the rocks would block his view of the harbor, and he needed to see the boats. So he pushed her in the other direction, down toward the Hopkins’s boatyard.

“Where…are you taking me?”

He knew what she was thinking. From the moment he’d first heard about Amelia Hopkins and the Global Freedom Front’s plans, her fate had haunted him—that’s why he’d gone to their leader and requested this job.

Thank God he’d earned the terrorist leader’s respect. It had taken him three years, but he’d finally managed to get close enough to Chien Fou to ensure that whatever he asked for, he got.

The idea that one of his fellow seamen might lay his hands on Amelia sickened Cole. Yet he knew that in the deepest, most shameful corner of his soul, the idea of taking her, willingly or not, titillated him.

He disgusted himself.

“Look, whoever you are. I have money. Lots of it,” she said desperately. “I’ll make sure you’re set for life. Just please don’t—”

“Shut up!” he snapped.

Off to the north, the boats were moving. Amelia spotted them as soon as he did. She stopped.

“What’s going on down there?”

The boats were rigged like pirate ships, flying the Jolly Roger. Cole heard cheers and laughter coming from the little town below.

Chien Fou’s ruse had worked. Cole pictured exactly what the townsfolk saw.

Ships with black sails and orange pirate flags. Seamen with red rags around their heads and knives in their teeth.

“Oh, dear heavens,” Amelia whispered, and craned her neck to look up at him.

He met her gaze for the third time and, just like the first, when he’d put himself in her path as she came out of the fortune-teller’s booth, and the second in the crowded pub, her eyes glowed like Tupelo honey.

Her expression morphed from puzzlement to confusion to horror within the space of a second.

“You!” she stormed.

He nodded and curved his mouth in what he hoped was a sneer. “You don’t look like the type who’d pay a fortune-teller. What’d she tell you—beware of strangers?”

Two spots of crimson flared across her cheekbones. His pulse jumped. So the fortune-teller had gotten his message across. Or spilled the beans about the weird guy and his odd request.

“What’s going on down there? Who are they?” Her head jerked toward the boats.

“Who knows? Pirates. Revelers. Paid performers.” He heard the sting in his own voice.

“No, they’re not.”

She was entirely too intuitive.

“They’re not part of the festival. Something’s happening. Something bad.” She surprised him by jerking against his thumb, a classic self-defense move. She took off running.

Damn it. He threw himself after her. She was nimble and quick, skipping down the cliff-side path, her high heels clicking on the rocks.

Then suddenly she went down. Her fancy boots were her undoing, just as he’d predicted.

He caught up to her in no time. She lay in an awkward heap on a jutting rock, her eyes glittering like gold nuggets—or hot coals.

Cole examined the line of her body. Was she hurt? Or was she feigning? At this point, he wouldn’t put anything past her.

Then he saw it. The long skinny heel of her boot appeared caught under a rock.

“I knew I should have brought my purse. I carry a gun. I could have shot you.”

“No purse? Then what’s this?” he asked, picking up the metal case she kept dropping when she fell.

“Give me that.”

He examined it. “What is it?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in.”

He flipped the clasp and opened it. “Makeup?”

“Stage makeup. Some of the performers used it.”

“The fortune-tellers.” He thought about the boat calendar and her perfect 1940s makeup and hair. “You’re an actress?”

“None of your business. May I have my case?”

He handed her the case.

She kicked him.

“Ow! Damn it!” Her spiked heel made a big dent in his forearm. She jabbed at him again. He grabbed her foot. “Stop!”

“Oh! You’re breaking my ankle.”

“Yeah. Right.” He was barely touching her, but he held his hands up, palms out. “Get up.”

Amelia glared at the bully who had abducted her. She couldn’t let him know how terrified she was. When he’d grabbed her earlier, she’d seen the hastily disguised lust in his eyes.

She’d always been capable of taking care of herself. Plus her father’s employees had always looked after her like family.

But there was no one around to protect her now. This dangerous stranger had anticipated every move she’d made.

Whatever he wanted to do to her, she’d be helpless against him.

What an idiot she was, wearing these ridiculous thousand-dollar boots. She should have worn her hiking boots. Of course her plans for the evening hadn’t included being hauled up and down the cliff face by a ruffian.

“Let’s go. I said, get up.” He held out his hand. It was a large hand, with short blunt fingernails. His palm was calloused—she’d felt its roughness against her neck.

She lowered her gaze. If he looked into her eyes, he’d know she was planning something. She figured she had one last chance to get away.

She took his hand and moved to stand, mentally rehearsing her rash, spur-of-the-moment plan. If she could surprise him and throw him off balance, she could escape and warn the town—of what exactly, she had no idea. But she knew that those pirate boats converging on the harbor boded ill for Raven’s Cliff.

She feinted as if she’d lost her footing, then with all her might she swung the makeup case at his head.

He stopped her so easily it was laughable. He wrenched the case from her hands.

“Nice trick. Try it on someone your own size. I’ll hold on to this. I don’t care to be banged on the head with it. Now let’s go. We need to head up to your house now. You can walk or I can carry you. It’s your choice.”

Amelia glared at him. Helplessness churned in her gut until she felt ill. She had no chance of escaping him. None.

Whatever he wanted, he’d take.

“What do you want from me if it’s not money?”

He didn’t answer, just tilted his head back an inch and raked her body with his gaze.

Amelia’s heart pounded in her ears as fear wrapped icy fingers around her heart. He was going to rape her, or kill her or both. Everyone in Raven’s Cliff was convinced the Seaside Strangler was dead. But what if this man—

“Look. I’m not talking pocket change. I’ve got enough to set you up for life. I’ll give you whatever you want.” She sounded pathetic, but she didn’t care.

Gone was her bravado, gone the self-assurance and determination that made her a good businesswoman.

She did not want to die.

The last of the fireworks exploded, lighting up the sky. The stranger’s head jerked.

Instinctively, Amelia whirled and took off running. She got nowhere. He grabbed her belt loop and pulled her back.

“I told you we’re going up the hill—one way or another. I guess it’s going to be another.” He turned her around and cupped his hand behind her ear.

And that was all she knew.

SOMEBODY WAS POUNDING on her forehead. She felt dizzy and disoriented, as if the world had flipped upside down.

Her forehead bumped against a hard surface. She opened her eyes and squinted.

The world wasn’t upside down. She was. She was hanging over the stranger’s shoulder like a duffel bag. The position squeezed her chest so she could hardly get a full breath.

She squirmed.

“Be still.” He moved his hand from her thighs to her bottom.

“Put me down,” she whispered angrily as she squirmed some more, only to discover that the pressure of her breasts against his shoulder was causing them to tighten. The tingling awareness slid all the way through her.

Fear, she told herself. That’s all it was. Only, the heat of his hand on her butt didn’t feel scary. It felt protective—and tingly.

“Put me down! Now!” She pounded on his back with her fists and kicked, working to bury the toes of her boots in his flesh. Nothing fazed him, but she kept on anyhow.

He doggedly trudged ahead. She heard his hard, steady breathing and felt the tense bands of his shoulder muscles under her breasts.

Within seconds she was exhausted. Her limbs burned with effort. She was ready to cry. She’d never felt so helpless in her life. And yet she knew with dreaded certainty that this was only the beginning of what this stranger had in store for her.

“I…don’t know what…you think you’re…doing but…you’re not going to…get away…with it.” It was a struggle just to breathe, let alone talk, with her chest bouncing on the ball of his shoulder.

He didn’t answer.

With a great effort, Amelia lifted her head, peering down at the town below. The shouts of celebration had stopped. Now the night was eerily silent and dark in the shadows of the new moon.

Something awful had happened.

She racked her brain for a way to escape the stranger before they got to her house. She’d do anything to keep him away from her father.

“Stop! Now!” she demanded desperately, with no hope that he’d pay any attention to her.

To her surprise he stopped. Then he dumped her off his shoulder. Her legs collapsed beneath her.

“Please,” she gasped. “Tell me what you want.”

He held out his hand like a gentleman. She wanted to spit on it, but she quelled that childish urge and took his hand, allowing him to pull her upright.

When she raised her gaze to his, trying to read the intent in his ice-gray eyes, what she saw sent warring emotions churning through her.

His gaze wasn’t lewd or filled with lust. Instead, it was hot and stormy.

Just like the fortune-teller said. Amelia’s heart leaped into her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. She was terrified, of course. But a part of her longed to look more deeply behind the storm clouds in his eyes, and find out what haunted him.

A muscle in his jaw ticked and his lips flattened, drawing her attention. His mouth was straight and wide. What would it be like to kiss this mysterious stranger?

Instantly his stormy eyes grew as cold as stone. He straightened. “Let’s go. I want to meet your father.”

“My—?” Dear heavens, he was after her dad. Terror slid like an ice cube down her spine.

Not for herself. Not now. Now she understood. He’d had plenty of chances to do whatever he wanted to her, if that was his plan.

Something far worse was going on. Something she couldn’t even imagine. But she knew that he was connected to the pirate ships.

She didn’t know what he planned to do once he got inside their house. She just knew she couldn’t let him. She had to protect her dad.

She felt the familiar weight of her cell phone in her jeans’ pocket. If she could somehow call Police Captain

Swanson without the stranger hearing her, maybe she could foil his plans.

But how?

She could feign nausea. If she stuck her finger down her throat, maybe she could dial the captain while the stranger thought she was puking.

Captain Swanson would see her number. He’d know there was something wrong.

Good. She had a plan.

The stranger’s eyes flickered. He’d heard her sigh of relief. She clutched at her belly and moaned, but it was no use.

He reached out and with one spare motion, pulled her back against him and patted her down.

“Ah,” he muttered. “Cell phone—and what’s this?”

Amelia heard the sound of pills rattling. Her heart pounded. “Just vitamins.”

“Vitamins?” The stranger held up the vial so it caught an anemic glow from the spotlights shining on the cliff house. “Vitamins for the heart? Reginald Hopkins. Your dad has a heart condition.”

Amelia shook her head even as her stomach sank to the ground. No need to pretend nausea now. The real thing clenched her gut and filled her mouth with acrid saliva. “I’ve already told you what I can do for you. Leave my father alone.”

“Sorry. Can’t.” He loosened his hold, but left his hot palm resting on the curve of her spine. She knew if she made a move, he’d be on her in a flash. “Now. Let’s go inside and you can introduce me to your dad.”

“What am I supposed to say to him?”

“Tell him the truth.”

She glared at him as his eyes sparkled—with amusement or anticipation? “The truth. That presupposes that you’ve told me the truth.”

“Tell him you’ve brought me home for the night.”

His words hit their mark in her brain. Dear heavens, she’d underestimated him again. He’d just been biding his time.

“Is…is that the truth?”

He cocked his head to one side.

“But you promised—”

“Promised? I only promised you one thing.” He touched her chin.

She cringed away and pushed at his hand. Why had she thought he’d promised not to hurt her? Was it just the way he’d looked at her?

“So that’s it?” She swallowed, trying to stop the flutter in her throat. Her voice was already quivering. “You want me to sleep with you? And if I agree, what then? Will you go away?”

Her eyes stung and her throat felt raw. In fact, she felt raw all over, as if he’d flayed the skin off her bones. Could she do it? Could she lie with this stranger?

Hell yes, if it would keep her father safe. She frowned. “Well? Will you go away if I sleep with you?”

“I’m afraid not, Amelia.” He drew out her name. Ah-mee-lee-yah. His eyes glittered in the darkness. “No matter how much fun you and I might have—it’s your dad I’m after.”

Chapter Three

Amelia’s eyes grew huge and round. “No, please,” she whispered. “What can you possibly want with my father? He’s never hurt anyone in his life.”

“That’s true. He hasn’t,” Cole said, hardening his heart when he saw her shoulders slump in relief. “But that’s not the issue.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked, and one spilled down her cheek. “Then what is?” she cried. “Tell me something. If I knew what you wanted, I could give it to you.”

“You will. Now open the door.”

She hesitated, then reached for the knob.

“Hold it.” He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. “Turn off the alarm.”

She tried not to react, but her body language gave her away, and he could tell that she knew it.

“Don’t waste my time, Amelia. We both know the alarm is on.”

Two more tears slipped down her cheeks as she pressed on a rock to the left of the door. The “rock” slid aside, revealing a keypad.

Cole caught her hand. “If you do anything to alert anyone, I promise you it will be a deadly mistake. Do you understand?”

Her throat moved, and then she nodded.

It pained him to see her so defeated. Someday, once all this was over, he hoped he could tell her how brave she’d been today.

But right now, all of his concentration, all his strength, needed to be on the job at hand. It was his bad luck that the yacht-builder’s daughter was so damned attractive. And her bad luck that both their lives depended on him playing his part to perfection.

As she pressed a sequence of numbers, he committed the code to memory. An almost silent click sounded and she reached for the doorknob again.

He put his hand over hers and felt the fine trembling that told him she was barely holding herself together. “Who’s here?”

“My father. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Winston. That’s it.”

He squeezed her hand. “Who else?”

“S-sometimes a few of the guys will come up and play poker with Dad. But he’s been—under the weather the past couple of days.”

“His heart.”

“Please…no one knows about his heart condition. Not even Mrs. Winston. My father is a very proud man. He’s always been strong and smart. Always been able to do anything he set his mind to.”

“I’m afraid that’s about to change.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her knuckles against her mouth. After a few seconds she spoke. “Are you going to kill us?”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“If I’m going to die, don’t I deserve to know what I’m dying for?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” He let go of her hand. “Now, put on a happy face and go inside. Don’t forget I’m right behind you.”

As she turned the knob, she muttered a rude but apt description of him under her breath.

He agreed totally.

As she opened the door, he thought of something that had been niggling at the edge of his brain. “Wait a second. Is your dad’s heart condition affecting his work? Is that why this season’s yachts are throwbacks to past years?”

She turned, her expression carefully blank. “Why would you say that?”

“Because for the past three years I’ve been studying your dad’s designs. It’s pretty obvious.” He let his gaze drift down her body and back up. When he met her gaze, she looked away.

“It’s why you did that sexy photo shoot for this year’s calendar, isn’t it? To draw attention away from the yachts?”

Two spots of red in her cheeks told him he was right. “I don’t get it. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to underplay the calendar rather than make it the flashiest one in years?”

She lifted her chin. “Hopkins Yachts are never down-played. That would have given it away.”

They stepped into a stone foyer. Beyond, Cole saw a vast stretch of glass wall that looked out over Raven’s Cliff’s small harbor. In the center of the wall was a set of unsightly steel doors. The elevator.

That made sense now, too. Hopkins needed it to get up and down the cliff. It had been added after his heart attack.

Voices from the opposite side of the room stopped Cole. He slid his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his SIG-Sauer, hoping like hell he wouldn’t have to use it.

He took Amelia’s arm and pressed the barrel of the gun into her side. Startled, she jerked.

“Who’s that?” he whispered in her ear. “And where are they?”

“That’s Dad, but I don’t know who’s with him. His desk is to your right.”

“Okay. Follow my lead. If you lose your cool, it’s your dad who’ll pay.” He nudged her with the gun again.

She nodded and took a deep breath. With the gun barrel pressed against her side, he nudged her forward.

“Dad?”

“Amelia? Come here.”

Amelia frowned. Her father sounded worried. “Dad? Is something wrong?”

Reginald Hopkins was sitting behind his desk in his pajamas and a maroon lounging robe. On the other side of the desk, in a yellow leather chair, sat Ross Fancher, assembly manager for Hopkins Boatworks.

Oh, no. Ross had the notion that he and she were dating. She’d been out to dinner with him a couple of times, but she’d carefully kept their friendship from moving to the next level.

Still, she’d rather not announce in front of him that she was taking a stranger to her suite for the night.

“Amelia—” Ross started, glaring at the man with her.

“Dad,” she said quickly, hoping to cover the questions she was sure Ross was about to ask. “What are you doing up? Ross, I thought you’d know better than to keep Dad up so late. He’s had that flu bug. What’s going on?”

She shifted. Tension radiated from the stranger. She felt it across the distance that separated them. He’d taken the gun barrel away from her side, but she knew the weapon was in his pocket—and she knew he was capable of using it.

Ross stood. “Amelia—”

Amelia looked past him to her father. She put all the innocent pleading she could muster into her gaze. Her dad had always been a sucker for her big brown eyes. She prayed he’d understand her silent plea to get rid of Ross.

After a sharp look at her and the stranger, Reginald Hopkins cleared his throat. “Ross, why don’t you run along? I am tired. I’ll fill Amelia in on what’s happening.”

Ross glared over her head at the stranger. “Amelia, what’s going on here. Who in h—”

“Ross!”

Amelia knew that tone. Her dad wasn’t about to let Ross say another word.

Ross knew the tone, too. “Good night, Reg.’ Night Amelia.” Ross sidestepped them and headed for the elevator.

Amelia felt the stranger turn. He was watching Ross to make sure he left.

Once the nearly silent doors shut and the swish that announced the elevator’s descent whispered through the air, Amelia felt the stranger relax. It was fascinating how she could feel what he was feeling, even across the inches separating them.

“Amelia?” Her father’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion, but she knew him. He wouldn’t budge until he found out why she’d come in after midnight with a stranger in tow. She’d never done that before—nothing like it.

She turned. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“Ross was telling me about the fleet of so-called pirate ships that docked at the harbor a little while ago. Apparently they sailed into the harbor like a scene from a movie. The pirates stormed the docks while the fireworks were going off. At first everybody thought it was part of the celebration. But they roughed up some people and apparently waved machine guns around. And now the mayor is missing.”

“Mayor Wells—missing?” What next? “Oh, no. What happened?”

“Nobody seems to know.” He looked at the man behind her. “Young man, who are you?”

Amelia turned. She’d like to hear the answer to that question herself.

“Mr. Hopkins, my name is Cole. I need some information from you.”

“My name is Cole doesn’t tell me anything. Who are you?” He shot the stranger a demanding glare. Without taking his eyes off him, he spoke to her.

“Amelia? Who is he?”

“She doesn’t know,” Cole said. “Is there anyone else in the house? Your housekeeper?”

Her dad’s dark brows lowered. “Mrs. Winston lives down the hill, near the boatyard.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Is she here?”

“No. She left around eleven.”

“Is that elevator accessible from below?”

“Yes. Until it’s turned off from up here. Mrs. Winston has a key. She locks it at night, unless we have a visitor, like tonight,” Amelia replied. “I’ll lock it now.”

“No.” Cole held up his hand. “Leave it alone.” Glancing at his watch, he figured Chien Fou was on his way here with the mayor. The plan was for Cole to have the Hopkinses’ house secured by 1:00 a.m. and to make sure the elevator was operational. It was after that now.

Amelia’s face turned pale. “You’re waiting for someone.”

Her gaze snapped to his pocket, where his weapon bulged, and understanding filled her eyes with new horror. “Oh, dear heavens, you’re one of those pirates.”

Cole winced inwardly at the horror and disgust in her expression. Just wait, he thought bitterly. You ain’t seen nothing yet.

“One of the pirates?” Hopkins repeated, his tone sharp. “Amelia, why did you bring him here?”

“She had no choice, sir,” Cole responded. “I kidnapped her.”

“My God, sugar, are you all right?”

Amelia stepped in front of her father. “Let my dad go to bed.” Her eyes blazed like amber in her pale face.

Cole studied her. Her love and worry for her father radiated from her like heat. How would it feel to have someone care that much? To be that fiercely protective?

Cole thought about his own father. Maybe the old man had cared for him once—a long time ago, before his greed and self-indulgence had turned him into a traitor.

Shame washed over him, familiar, yet still raw. His father’s betrayal had changed Cole, and he knew it. When he’d graduated with a Ph. D. in Political Science, he’d felt as if he was on top of the world. He’d been looking forward to following in his dad’s footsteps.

Now, if he were honest with himself, and that didn’t happen often these days, he’d have to admit that during the three years he’d been working under deep cover, infiltrating the Global Freedom Front, he’d come to the conclusion that he didn’t really expect to get out of this assignment alive.

Only during the past two days had these other thoughts occurred to him. Only since he’d first seen Amelia and reflected on what he’d signed up to do had he wondered if he was as uninterested in life as he’d convinced himself he was.

Amelia’s chin went up and she turned toward the elevator. Her movement brought his thoughts back to the job at hand and he heard what she’d already heard—the quiet hum of the elevator’s motor.

His pulse thrummed as the door slid open.

Amelia shot him a look from over her shoulder. Her expression pierced him like a poisoned arrow. She backed up, her arms spread defensively.

She was making sure she was between the elevator door and her father.

Cole took his weapon out of his jacket pocket. He should be holding his hostages at gunpoint.

He steeled himself against the urge to copy Amelia’s actions—to put himself in front of her and her father as the leader of the notorious and deadly Global Freedom Front stepped out of the elevator.

Behind him stood his three most trusted guards, each carrying a MAC-10 machine pistol. Chien Fou’s hands were empty.

During the past three years, Cole had developed a deep knowledge and understanding of the man the world and his followers knew only as Chien Fou, or Mad Dog. He’d made it his business to understand the terrorist leader’s motivation—his passion. It was the only way he’d stayed alive this long.

The American, who had put himself in power as the leader of the deadliest terrorist group operating inside the United States, only cared about three things: the demise of the American government, the game of chess and himself.

“Amelia, Mr. Hopkins, this is Chien Fou.”

The name sent shock skittering along Amelia’s nerve endings. Chien Fou. She did her best to keep her expression neutral as the full truth of their situation dawned on her.

She, along with everyone else who listened to national news, knew Chien Fou’s name. She was looking at one of the most notorious terrorists on the planet, the leader of the infamous domestic fringe group, the Global Freedom Front. And she, her dad and the town of Raven’s Cliff were in his clutches.

No one had been able to identify him, but rumor had it that he was an American—a traitor to his country and the cause of freedom.

After the Global Freedom Front’s first attack, the media had plastered an artist’s sketch created from a witness’s description all over newspapers, TV and the Internet. The sketch had become as famous as the drawing of the Unabomber. It depicted a broad-faced man with a plaid scarf wrapped around his neck and a Fedora pulled down over his forehead. The shaded eyes in the sketch hinted at Asian features.

Tonight, he wasn’t wearing the scarf or the hat. The implication chilled her to the bone. The fact that this notorious terrorist was here without a disguise meant that he didn’t care if they could identify him. And there was only one reason he wouldn’t care.

He planned to kill them.

Amelia’s pulse kicked into high gear. Thoughts chased each other around in her brain until she was sure she was going crazy.

Terrorists had taken over Raven’s Cliff. The man the fortune-teller had told her to see with her heart, not her mind, was a traitor to his country. She, her father and everyone in Raven’s Cliff were going to die, and it was all her fault.

If she’d tried harder… If she hadn’t been so scared… If—

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to chase off the whirling thoughts. When she opened them, another shock awaited her.

Behind Chien Fou, Mayor Wells stumbled out of the elevator. His hands were cuffed in front of him and his face was pale and dripping with sweat.

Three armed men followed him. A fourth stayed in the elevator. As the door slid shut, two of the guards moved to opposite sides of the room. The third kept his gun barrel stuck in the mayor’s back.

Amelia retreated another step. She needed to get to her father, to make sure he was all right.

“Cole, why aren’t the prisoners tied up?” Chien Fou smiled at Cole.

Amelia had never seen anything more sinister, more chilling, than Chien Fou’s smile.

“There was a visitor here when I got here, Leader.”

Amelia was shocked by the obsequious tone in Cole’s voice. He wasn’t the type to bow to another. As she’d thought before, he was the captain—not the crew.

“Who?” Chien Fou snapped.

Cole looked at Amelia, his sharp eyes signaling a warning.

“Ross Fancher,” she said.

“Yes?”

How did everything the terrorist leader said sound like a threat? She lifted her chin and gave him a steady look.

For some reason, he found that amusing. He chuckled. “What is Ross Fancher to you or your father?”

“He’s assembly-line manager. He supervises the building of the boats. He just left a few minutes ago.”

“Assembly-line manager. Interesting. Then it is fortunate that his injury has not proven fatal.”

Alarm streaked through her like lightning. “Injury? Is he all right? We need to call a doctor.”

Before she knew it the guard on the south side of the room was at her side, pushing the long barrel of his gun into her flesh just beneath her breast. He was shorter than her, and already heaving with exertion. His breath smelled like stale tobacco and beer.

“I can assure you that your friend will be all right. In fact, he will be helpful to us in carrying out our plan,” Chien Fou said. “I suggest that you stay calm, Miss Hopkins.”

“Stay calm?” She flinched as the gun barrel sank more deeply into her flesh. “You’ve taken us hostage. You’ve hurt people. Forgive me if I’m finding it a little hard to stay calm right now.”

“Then we’ll have to find a way to help you.”

“Leader.” Cole spoke calmly. “Maybe we should get settled for the night. There’s not much of it left, and we’ve got some hard work ahead of us.”

“Always the level head, Cole.” Chien Fou nodded. “Abel, you—”

Wood scraped against wood. Before Amelia could react, her father said, “Don’t move.” He stood behind his desk, his face pale, his expression a mixture of fear and determination. He gripped a semiautomatic pistol in his unsteady hands.

“Dad, no!”

Suddenly three deadly looking machine pistols were aimed at her dad’s chest.

At the same time, Cole vaulted toward her father. He grabbed the gun and wrenched it away. Her dad gasped for breath. Cole pushed him down into his chair.

Her dad’s arrhythmia medicine. Cole still had it, and it was way past time for his bedtime dose.

“Please.” She let all her fear and worry show in her voice. “My father is just getting over the flu,” she said. “He needs his anti-flu medication. And he needs to rest.”

Chien Fou gestured to the guard whose gun barrel was back in Amelia’s side. “Get his medicine. Bring it to me.”

No. Just what she hoped wouldn’t happen. If Chien Fou saw her dad’s prescription bottle, he’d know he had a heart condition. She knew with intuitive certainty that the terrorist leader would have no patience with infirmity. She glanced desperately at Cole.

Cole’s gaze slipped past her as he dug into his pocket. “Here it is. I took it when I took her cell phone.” He held it up between thumb and forefinger.

For a second Chien Fou hesitated and a frown creased his forehead. Then he nodded. “Good. You hold on to it. If he needs it, give him one—just one.”

“He needs it now,” Amelia insisted.

“Yes, Leader.” Cole shook a tablet into his palm and handed it to her dad, who picked up a water glass sitting on his desk and quickly downed the pill.

“Now, if there are no more illnesses to treat…” Chien Fou rubbed his hands together. “We need arrangements for the night. I’m ready to retire. Where shall we all sleep?”

“There are—” Amelia’s throat fluttered with apprehension “—seven bedrooms. My father’s suite is there.” She nodded at a door beyond his office. “My rooms are on the opposite wall, beyond the stairs. There is another master suite upstairs, plus two smaller bedrooms. And a small room with its own bath behind the kitchen.”

“Abel, you take the mayor and Mr. Hopkins to his suite. Handcuff Hopkins. Search the suite to be sure Mr. Hopkins has no more weapons. It would be regrettable if we had to use force to convince him not to play the hero.”

Amelia stiffened. “Dad, please. Just do what they say.”

“I’d be a whole lot more cooperative if I knew what’s going on here.”

“Dad—”

The guard named Abel produced a pair of handcuffs and quickly cuffed her dad, then dragged the mayor over next to him.

“Cole,” Chien Fou said, “I want you out here, keeping an eye on everything.”

“Ha,” the guard at Amelia’s side shouted. “That means I get to spend the night guarding the beautiful girl.” He touched her hair with one hand. “We will have fun, eh?”

Amelia recoiled.

Cole didn’t move, although every muscle in his body tensed in response to Habib’s implication. He had to protect Amelia.

“Leader,” Cole said, working to keep the desperation out of his voice. “I got us into the house. You know I have not asked for favors. But do I not deserve the woman? She is well-versed in her father’s business. She will be an asset to our cause. We cannot afford to have her damaged.” He shot Habib a glare. “And we all know how enthusiastic Habib is.”

Amelia turned her haunted honey-colored eyes to his. Her abject terror made his chest ache. She didn’t consider him any better than Habib, and he couldn’t blame her.

Maybe once they were alone, he could prove to her that he didn’t mean her any harm. If he could convince Chien Fou to let him guard her, and if the terrorist leader wasn’t in one of his perverse moods.

Chien Fou’s coal-black eyes studied Amelia, and a chill slithered down Cole’s spine. He’d never seen Chien Fou express any interest in a woman. It hadn’t occurred to him that the man might want Amelia for himself.

Cole shifted cautiously onto the balls of his feet. He still held his SIG. If Chien Fou allowed Habib to have her, or took her for himself, Cole would have to stop him.

There were some things he wouldn’t do—not even if it meant his three years under cover infiltrating the Global Freedom Front would be wasted.

Not even if it meant his death.

Your two worlds are about to collide and your young woman may be crushed in the collision.

The fortune-teller’s words echoed in his ears and a faint memory of spice and roses tickled his nostrils. He shook off the distracting sense that the woman was nearby.

Chien Fou met Cole’s gaze and for an instant, their wills locked in a silent battle.

Cole slipped his finger into the trigger guard on his SIG.

Then Chien Fou smiled. “Take her, Cole. You’ve earned the right.”

He had to force himself not to slump in relief. He heard a shaky sigh from Amelia and a curse from Habib.

“You sons of bitches!” Hopkins blurted, yanking away from Abel. “Keep your filthy hands off my daughter!”

Abel backhanded the older man with his fist.

He fell.

“Dad!” Amelia lunged forward. Cole had to grab her by the waist to stop her from throwing herself at Abel.

“Stop it—” he hissed, pinning her to his side with one arm. “Leader. We can’t afford to have Hopkins injured.”

“Abel. Mr. Hopkins is understandably upset,” Chien Fou said evenly. “We are guests in his home. If you do not remember how to accept hospitality, I can call another guard and send you back to the ships.”

Chien Fou’s voice was soft and amicable, his words reasonable, but Abel turned a sickly shade of green. “Yes, Leader.” He reached out to help Hopkins up. “Pardon, sir, I apologize for lifting my hand to you.”

“Now, since we all understand our roles here, please escort the mayor and Mr. Hopkins to his suite for the night.”

“I’m not budging,” Hopkins insisted, gingerly touching his jaw where the skin was turning dark red, “until you give me an explanation for this. Why have you invaded my house?”

“Mr. Hopkins, of course. Let me apologize. You don’t know who I am, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, Chien Fou went on. “I am called Chien Fou, and my organization, the Global Freedom Front, is destroying the economic stranglehold the United States has on the rest of the world.”

“You’re nothing but a filthy terrorist.” Hopkins coughed.

Chien Fou laughed. “Ah, but, sir, one country’s terrorist is another country’s liberator.”

“So what do you want with me and my family?”

“With your help, we will transform a fleet of your yachts into floating bombs.”

“Floating—” Amelia choked out.

“Floating bombs?” Hopkins repeated. “What in the devil’s name are you talking about?”

“We will blow up a fleet of oil tankers off the East Coast. In doing so we will accomplish what no one else has ever done. Using your luxury yachts as weapons, we will destroy the U.S. economy.”

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