LITMIR.BIZ

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sports jacket. Hard-soled shoes. She could hear them against the concrete. His voice. Not rough, like his words. Maybe from the Midwest.

      “There’s some money in my bag. Take it. Whatever you—”

      Not waiting for her to finish. He jerked the satchel off her arm, tossing it away, then forced a dirty burlap bag over her head.

      She gagged violently. The scratchy cloth smelled as if it had been used to haul fish or conch. Or worse.

      Blinded, she could still feel the blade resting against the side of her neck. He pulled her around, ripped open her blouse.

      Air spilled from her lungs. “No!” She tried to pull away. He forced her flat to the wall again.

      “Please. No,” she begged in a harsh whisper, unable to find the breath to speak louder. “Please!”

      The sound of his heavy breathing told her he was looking at her. As his fingers brushed the material covering her breasts, then explored more boldly, she attempted to emotionally disconnect. She needed to stay calm, to think. He didn’t want her able to identify him. Maybe he intended to let her live.

      Or was the blindfold meant to terrify her further?

      He chuckled softly as a tremor went through her. “I said take it easy. Kelly.”

      She went rigid at the sound of her name, was thankful for the wall at her back when her knees gave out. She wasn’t a random victim. He knew her. How? From where?

      The knife scraping the side of her neck cut short any further attempt to think.

      He dragged the blade upward almost as if it were a razor, heat, the warm trickle of her blood, following the cool sting of steel.

      She swallowed reflexively, felt the edge bite again. Instinct ordered her to jerk away. She fought the urge this time. “Please,” she begged again through gritted teeth. “Please…”

      Ignoring her pleas, or perhaps because he enjoyed hearing them, he used the tip of the knife, this time slicing the skin over her collarbone. She bit back the sharp gasp of pain. Living was all that mattered.

      “I…I’ll do whatever…y…you want,” she repeated, the sour burn of bile mixing at the back of her throat with the metallic taste of fear.

      “Sure you will. Now that I’ve got your attention. And because you’re a smart lady and you want to live, don’t you?”

      She nodded.

      Where was the knife? She couldn’t feel it. Not at her throat. Not where he’d just cut her. Where was it?

      “You’ve got something doesn’t belong to you. All you have to do is return it.”

      “I don’t underst—”

      He forced a knee between her legs. “Mr. Binelli pays me to make sure no one screws with him. I’m damned good at it, too. So don’t screw with me.”

      “I…I don’t know what… I don’t know any Bin…Binelli. A mistake—”

      He used his grip on the burlap sack to slam her head back against the siding, used his forearm across her throat to keep her there. “No. You’re making the mistake, Kelly.”

      He stroked a fingertip over the wound on her collar bone, the touch oddly gentle, at odds with his other actions, then traced a circle around each cloth-covered nipple. She clenched her eyes closed as if that would somehow block out the image in her mind. It didn’t.

      “Perhaps you remember him now?” he asked calmly. She could feel his erection now. Pressing against her abdomen.

      She found herself nodding. Give him what he wants. Appear to go along. Survive.

      “See. Isn’t that easier? You have twenty-four hours to return what doesn’t belong to you.”

      She numbly nodded again.

      “There was a Customs man at your place. What did he want?”

      He’d been watching her even then, knew Nick had been there. When she tried to speak, her voice shook. “He wanted to… He asked about flights.”

      His fingers continued their play. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to lie to me, would you?”

      She swallowed. “No. I wouldn’t—”

      “I didn’t think so. And it better stay that way. Return what doesn’t belong to you and you’ll live.” He leaned down until his mouth was next to her ear. “Play games, talk to Customs or the police, the only thing you’ll be good for is shark bait.”

      He abruptly shoved her down into the corner. She cowered on the cold concrete.

      Pulling her blouse together, she felt for buttons with stiff fingers; finding none, she tied it together. She could feel him standing over her. Clasping her arms, she fought to control the sharp shudders that came endlessly, one after the other.

      When enough minutes had stretched, soundless and expectant—when she had finally convinced herself she was wrong about her attacker still being there—she felt the first glimmer of relief and reached for the burlap still covering her head.

      His low chuckle stopped her in midmotion.

      He’d been watching her cringe like some beaten animal at his feet. Anger twisted in her.

      She left the blindfold in place, but pushed her way up the wall until she stood unsteadily. “You won’t kill me. We both know it. Not until Binelli gets what he wants.”

      He laughed. “Don’t go thinking you’re too smart, Kelly. Or I’ll be forced to finish what I’ve started here.”

      “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you sick bastard?”

      He stepped closer. “No. I’d love it.”

      At his words, Kelly took a sharp breath. She listened to the crunch of his footsteps as he walked away.

      With the first heave, Kelly ripped off the hood. Doubled over, she emptied her stomach in the corner. She scraped at the dampness on her cheeks, wobbled back a step, then, straightening, dragged her fingers through her sweaty hair. She tested her bruised cheekbone.

      Binelli? Who in the hell was Binelli? Why did her attacker think she knew him when she’d never even heard the name before?

      She grappled to make any sense out of what had happened, but no matter how she turned it, she was in deep trouble. The kind where people ended up dead.

      She’d been right all along. Nick’s showing up tonight hadn’t been by chance. He’d been after something. She couldn’t even begin to figure out what was going on, but she was sure Nick already knew what the attack had been all about.

      She stood there in indecision. She needed to move. But where? Going to the police would be a waste of time. They couldn’t help her. They’d fill out a report. Send someone out to gather evidence, including the vomit. In the meantime, she’d be like a blind woman. She didn’t known what her attacker looked like. He could walk up to her in broad daylight on the street, in a crowd, or anywhere, and kill her.

      Who was Binelli?

      Taking a sharp breath, she bent forward, pushing hard against her abdomen, the panic so sharp it felt as if a knife were being driven between her ribs. When she finally managed to straighten again, sweat poured from her.

      If she wanted to live, she needed answers.

      And the only one likely to have them was Nick.

      THERE WERE NO LIGHTS ON inside the hotel, most tourists having fled the intense heat of July and the threat of hurricane season. The air was heavy and hot and suffocating; the moon, nearly full and high in the sky, was bright enough to throw sharp shadows beneath the trees.

      A hunter’s moon.

      Kelly circled the long, low-slung structure until she

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