Читать книгу Full Exposure - Diana Duncan - Страница 8

THE GREEK OPENED the door and the Russian shoved Ariana into the murky stateroom. Then the portal slammed shut, sealing her inside alone. Whoever was in here, and whatever was planned for her, the henchmen weren’t participating. For now.

Skeletal fingers of moonlight pierced the window shutters and striped the carpet. Ominous silence vibrated from both sides of the door. Trapped in darkness, she could almost taste the thick, black silence.

Maybe the thugs had gone to finish off Dante. Anxiety thrummed inside her. How badly was he wounded? Maybe the men would murder him while she was being “questioned.” He might disappear and she would never know what had happened to him.

Why did she care so much?

She swallowed. Because he was her only ally at the moment. Because thoughts of him kept her from screaming with terror over what was about to happen.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears, and she leaned against the wall to support her wobbly knees. An intent gaze crawled over her skin.

Someone was watching her.

She shuddered. As a child, when she had feared monsters lurking in the night, she had burrowed beneath the covers and yelled for her daddy. He had run to the rescue, dispatched the monsters and given her a “magic shield” for protection.

She squelched a threatening sob. There was nowhere to hide. Her father was dead. The shield imaginary.

But the monsters were real.

Ariana inhaled shakily. Don’t stand here like a quivering ninny. “H-hello?” Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat and made a sterner inquiry. “Who’s there? What do you want?”

“The question is, what do you want, Ariana Bennett?”

Ariana jumped at the disembodied inquiry from across the room. Husky, tinged with a cultured Greek accent…and female. Her heart kicked. Not Camorra. Machismo mobsters would never take orders from a female. A Greek female. And the woman had called her by name! “Do I know you?”

“No. But I know you. I’m just not certain what to do with you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tell me about your family.”

Enlightenment dawned. “There’s an epidemic of ‘ransom the rich American.’” If she admitted she was poor, she might be killed. But she had nothing to gain by lying. Dante’s battered condition proved the mystery woman lacked patience. “Sorry to disappoint you. Most of our money went to defense attorneys for my late father, who got railroaded by the system. The remaining pittance is still frozen, tangled in FBI red tape. Red tape that strangled my father to death. My family has nothing. Not even our reputations.”

“I see.” A pause. “You are angry and mistrustful of the police, and have lost faith in the system’s ability to mete out justice. Interesting. Continue.”

She had probably said too much already. “Neither the government nor the cruise line will pay ransom. My life isn’t worth a thing to anyone with authority.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone. “I haven’t seen you, and won’t divulge information to the police. You might as well release me.”

“You could be worth far more than you believe possible, Miss Bennett.”

Maybe to white slavers? Ariana shuddered. Don’t give the black widow any ideas.

Absolute quiet descended, spun into a smothering web. A strategy to rattle her, make her talk first.

Ariana gritted her teeth. While this woman played mental chicken with her, Dante lay below, beaten and bleeding. She cloaked herself in a shield of fury. “You’ve had me blown up, kidnapped and beaten.” She locked her shaky knees. “And now you want to play mind chess.”

“Do not let hasty words overstep your abilities. A difficult lesson always follows.”

“If you’re going to kill me, stop playing games and just do it.” Her words were a challenge. Fear or submission would only amuse this woman.

At the woman’s throaty laughter, Ariana blinked in astonishment. “You’re not the pampered, fragile, prima donna I expected.”

“After everything that’s happened, I’m a far stronger woman than I was five weeks ago.”

A manicured hand flitted into view, and moonlight glinted on an ornate gold bracelet. “There is a chair near the window. Sit.”

Meekly obey like a trained puppy, or humiliate herself by collapsing? Ariana staggered across the carpet and dropped into an upholstered chair. Moonbeams fractured her vision, shadowing the woman opposite her. No accident. She’d bet this woman calculated every move. The musky fragrance of expensive perfume magnified her captor’s aura of power. “Who are you?”

“You may call me Megaera.”

Ariana started. Megaera was one of the Erinyes, or Furies. Three Greek goddesses of vengeance created by drops of Uranus’s blood, they pursued wrongdoers until the sinners were driven mad or died. The “daughters of night” had fiery eyes and dogs’ heads wreathed with serpents.

“A goddess of vengeance. Are you seeking revenge…on me? How do you think I’ve wronged you?”

The woman paused briefly before speaking. “You mentioned your father. Now I ask what vengeance you are seeking, Ariana?”

Was this about her dad? A chill skittered up Ariana’s spine, as if death had reached from the grave and stroked her with icy fingers. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and she shivered. I do not believe in mythical beings.

What kind of fresh FBI hell was this? An undercover sting? Or was Megaera a smuggler priming her to be another unwitting courier of stolen antiquities? Duping Ariana would be more difficult. Her naïveté had been buried alongside her father. “I don’t want vengeance,” she said cautiously. “Just justice.”

“They can be one and the same.”

A dangerous philosophy. “There’s a line. A point of no return.”

“Your family has suffered. What line would you draw? What will you sacrifice to gain ‘justice’ for Derek Bennett?”

Images haunted Ariana. Her father being led away in handcuffs in front of gaping neighbors. His despair over unreturned phone messages and canceled meetings by his colleagues. The disdain heaped upon the once-proud man, reducing him to a common thief.

She couldn’t exorcise the memory of sitting beside his hospital bed, watching his pale face slacken as his spirit faded. The stinging pain as icy raindrops blurred her vision when the casket holding the shell of what had been her father was lowered into the earth.

“I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“Would you reach into a serpent’s nest, though you could be bitten?”

Goose bumps prickled over Ariana’s skin. What did this woman want?

A silken rustle of clothing whispered in the darkness. “What is the Napoletano, Dante, to you?”

Ariana tensed. She needed to frame her answer carefully. Was this Megaera looking for an “opportunity” to hurt Dante? The gods and goddesses of legend frequently ensnared mortals with their own thoughtless words.

But the woman who held them captive was human…armed with intelligence and power. And the ruthlessness to wield them. Ariana hesitated. Megaera wanted Ariana to believe she was on her side. Dante seemed as if he were not. Instinct warned her to proceed with caution. “That sounds like a trick question.”

“I’ll make it easier. Do you wish me to dispose of him?”

An affirmative or a negative could land both her and Dante in serious jeopardy. If Megaera thought Ariana cared for Dante, the woman could use it against them. But Ariana refused to consent to hurting him further.

“Decide quickly. Or I will decide for you.”

“Then I…” Phrase it carefully. “In future dealings, I want you to treat Dante and me with equal respect.”

“An answer worthy of the ancient gods.” Satisfaction swam in Megaera’s sultry reply. “You risk throwing your lot in with his? Wise. And yet…most unwise.”

“I vote for wise.”

“It remains to be seen whether your choice reveals mercy—or weakness.” The woman’s hand rested on the arm of her chair, and moonlight illuminated the golden circlet at her wrist. The antique bracelet adorned with bloodstones sent a shiver of recognition through Ariana. Where had she seen it before?

“Hold fast to your secrets, Ms. Bennett. Do not reveal yourself to anyone.” Megaera rose and glided to the door. “And you may be granted a chance to even the score for your father.”

The woman left, abandoning Ariana to the gloom.

Her stomach heaved with the ship. What on earth had just happened?

More importantly, what would happen next?

The door crashed open and the Greek swaggered in. Without a word, he yanked her to her feet and marched her toward the yacht’s stern. Dread weighted her chest. Was this the end? Would he shove her into the unforgiving sea?

The torturous walk down the rolling deck was the longest of her life.

Clinging to her dignity—all she had left—Ariana refused to cry or beg. She shouldn’t have embarked on this ill-fated voyage. Sadie would never recover from losing both her husband and daughter.

At the stern, Ariana braced herself for the final assault. Instead, the thug left. Bewilderment assailed her. Reeling from captivity first in the odiferous hold and then the perfumed stateroom, she inhaled the bracing night air. If these were her last breaths, she would savor them.

Murky gray clouds scuttled across the pallid moon. The ocean churned below, where restless waves prowled to the horizon and tumbled off the earth. Shuddering, Ariana pressed trembling lips together. Don’t you dare start wailing.

How had she landed on a yacht in the Mediterranean waiting to die? She had never taken risks. Never longed for adventure. She’d been content to experience life through the stories she adored. She had never hungered for ambition. Never burned with passion. Never melded heart to heart with a soul mate.

At what were probably her few remaining moments before death, realization stole over her. She’d only flirted with blurry shadows of the real thing.

She had never truly lived.

It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t enough.

She wanted more!

If she made it through this, she would live her life the way she wanted…on her own terms. No more concessions. No more doubts. When she died, she wanted to leave behind no regrets.

She heard a commotion and spun around. Which was more terrifying? Someone creeping up from behind and shoving her into the water…or watching the waves rise up to swallow her?

The thugs struggled into view, wrestling Dante between them. The pair strove to restrain the furious Napoletano. Even tied up, he fought every step…defaming their parentage in admirably profane Italian. Relief crested over her. His injuries hadn’t disabled him as badly as she’d feared.

Dante saw her. He stumbled, his tirade broken mid-insult. His gaze swept her body, then locked with hers. His umber eyes mirrored her relief, and her heart jolted. Then he looked away, his features hardening into his usual stony expression.

The Russian opened a watertight door in the stern and motioned them down onto a platform. Her gaze fixated on the waves lapping at her deck shoes. “I’m sorry.” She sputtered a frantic apology at Dante.

“Stay calm, Ariana.” His low assurance vibrated in her ear. “Get into the boat.” He gestured at a speedboat moored to the platform.

Boat? Her limbs quivered as the spike of adrenaline ebbed. She hadn’t seen the boat.

The Greek piloted the speedboat and the Russian rode shotgun, with her and Dante trapped in the middle. As if they’d be moronic enough to dive headlong into the ocean with their hands tied behind their backs.

The Greek didn’t use the running lights. He either knew where they were going or was taking them farther out to sea to dump their bodies.

Wind whipped her hair as the hull chopped through surf. Shivering, she leaned into Dante. “Will they toss us overboard?” she whispered.

“I doubt it. They would have done it from the yacht and saved the effort.”

“You know I can’t swim. If you get a chance to escape, go. Save yourself.”

He angled his big frame to shield her from the wind. “I am not leaving you. And I will not let anything happen to you.”

“You don’t lack confidence, Signor Dante. I appreciate the encouragement, but unless you have blue spandex tights and a red cape stashed in your pocket, I don’t see how.”

It took a few seconds to translate. Then he threw back his head and laughed. His eyes sparkled and his teeth gleamed in his bearded face. Dazed, Ariana blinked at the impact of Dante’s unrestrained smile.

The Greek turned and scowled, and Dante lowered his voice.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, bella. Thanks to your cleverness, my ropes are weakened. I only need more time and a sharp object.”

“Which you won’t find in the middle of the Mediterranean.”

“We’re headed toward a destination. We wait. And watch.”

The Greek suddenly killed the motor.

“Shut up,” the Russian snarled. “No more talking.”

Ariana anxiously half turned as the beefy man stood, but he merely slid the oars into the oarlocks and reseated himself. His biceps knotted as he rowed.

She glanced up at Dante. Inscrutability shuttered his bruised face, but his forearms grazed hers as he fought his bonds. They had to be nearing their final destination. She fervently hoped he could break free.

Trembling with cold and apprehension, she huddled into the protection afforded by his body, and he moved closer. Though he had often appeared to ignore her over the past six weeks, in reality, he was acutely responsive to her body language. A survival skill when one conducted business with the mob.

Though their whispered conversation had been forbidden, the presence of his reassuring strength helped. The irony wasn’t lost on her. Soaking in his heat, she pressed against him, shoulder to firm shoulder, thigh to hard-muscled thigh.

She wasn’t convinced they were headed anywhere other than the bottom of the sea. If she succumbed to her rioting fear of how it might feel, how long it might take to drown, she’d start screaming like a banshee.

Think about something else. Anything.

She was freezing. Neither she nor Dante were dressed for nighttime on the open water. He had been wearing a long, weathered black Florentinian leather coat over his black T-shirt and black denims, but their captors must have stripped it from him before tying him up. She wore cargo pants with a long-sleeved shirt.

She jerked upright.

Oh. My. God. In the midst of the trauma, she’d forgotten. Was Dante’s coat the only thing their captors had confiscated? Muddled by terror, she hadn’t thought to check if her iPod and notebook were still in her hip pocket. Ariana twisted in frustration. She couldn’t tell. She’d taken the precaution of securing her iPod in a watertight case before accepting the job aboard Alexandra’s Dream and her notebook was in a sealed plastic bag.

The iPod hid Derek’s files, encrypted in ancient Greek, which she had spent months laboriously translating into the notebook. She’d had no idea cruise lines overlapped employee duties and that she’d be required to juggle many nonlibrary-related jobs. Duties aboard the cruise liner had kept her hopping. She’d spent every snippet of free time the past seven months decoding files. Only a long list of names and addresses, so far. Most dead ends. Finally, one had led her to the dealer in Naples. Her first break, thwarted by the Camorra.

When Dante had kidnapped her, she’d lost the use of her shipboard dictionary. Translating the complicated language had slowed to a painful crawl. She groaned. If Megaera’s cohorts had stolen her only clues to clearing her father’s name, her crusade was doomed.

Dante’s lips brushed her hair and his breath feathered into her ear. “Are you seasick?”

Not risking a reply, she shook her head. He had seen her scribbling in the notebook at the house, where she’d claimed to be writing stories to pass the time. Sometimes, she was telling the truth. She’d been writing them most of her life, and they’d been a familiar source of comfort during her captivity. Dante had requested she share them. She had politely declined. Their mistrust was mutual. He had searched her room when she was showering…and when he thought she was asleep. She’d thwarted him by keeping the iPod and notebook on her at all times and in sight when bathing.

“Are you in pain?”

She shook her head again, and his ebony brows lowered. “You’re lying.”

She hated deception…and she stank at it. “I’m fine.”

“Tell me.”

Even if she dared confide in him, what could he do? They were both victims of circumstance. Both helpless.

Not comforting.

“How are your bonds?” she whispered.

His mouth hardened. Naturally, he recognized bait and switch. He was a maestro at it. “I’m making progress.”

She peeked behind his back, and her throat constricted at the blood coating the rope. “It looks like all you’ve accomplished is further injuring yourself.”

Wounded male pride sharpened his features. Great. She’d hurt his feelings. After seven months at sea with a cultural grab bag of employees and passengers, she should be used to macho Mediterranean males.

Dante whispered fiercely, “Dio provvede.”

God will provide. Odd encouragement from a criminal. “God helps those who help themselves,” she whispered back.

“Exactly my point, Ariana. Keep the faith.”

She studied his striking profile. The man she’d thought a sullen mobster was a Gordian knot of intriguing contradictions.

The boat’s hull scraped land. The Greek leaped into the shallow water and dragged the craft onto a sliver of rocky beach carved out of a high cliff.

Their time had run out.

“Our hosts are not wearing guns,” Dante murmured. “Do as they say, and stay behind me, until I tell you otherwise.”

Ariana was too anxious to argue. He was the criminal expert.

Sandwiched between their two captors, she and Dante climbed awkwardly out of the boat. Coarse rock scrunched under her deck shoes as she trudged up the beach.

The Greek halted in front of a semicircle of craggy boulders spearing from the sand. “Sit.”

Dante uncharacteristically complied. Did he have a plan?

Please have a plan. She followed his lead and sat beside him.

Draped in the cold, black shroud of night, the hostile island appeared uninhabited. A cliff overshadowed the beach, bullying aside the moonlight. Waves pummeled the shore with white-capped fists.

The thugs turned and walked toward the boat, and Ariana reached for Dante’s hands. “Are they returning to the yacht and leaving us here to die?”

“Not if I can stop them.” He squeezed her fingers, then let go to continue his fight for freedom. “You watch them while I concentrate on escape.”

The Greek leaned into the boat and scooped out Dante’s leather coat. The Russian snatched it away. The Greek gestured and said something, and then they began to argue in their tangled English.

Ariana understood enough to grasp the conversational gist.

“Nyet!” The stocky Russian clutched the coat.

The Greek punctuated his diatribe with a vehement hand gesture.

Dante looked up from his urgent task. “Che?”

Ariana grimaced. “Abandonment suddenly doesn’t look so bad.” Dante had said the men weren’t armed with guns, but if the Greek still had his knife, he could cut their throats…She bit her lip. And while she was scaring herself with what-ifs, they were losing valuable seconds. “The Greek just said, ‘Do as we were told and leave it. No evidence.’”

Dante swore vilely in Italian and redoubled his effort. He shifted, felt behind him. “I scraped my knuckles on a jagged rock. With time, I can cut myself loose.”

Down the beach, the Greek acerbically reminded the Russian he could buy fifty coats with the price Megaera was paying them. Though the Russian couldn’t immediately agree without losing face, the debate cooled.

“Time is in very short supply.”

“Then you will have to stall. Distract them.”

“How? I doubt they’ll be interested in my rendition of the Iliad.”

His broad shoulders bunched as he vigorously scraped his ropes. He quirked a glossy brow. “There is one thing that interests all men, bella.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Admiration flashed briefly in his eyes. “Sei bellissima, Ariana.”

Amazement curled through her. Most beautiful. She shook her head. “Say I get their attention…and then you can’t break free.” She shuddered. “I really don’t want to go there.”

“My solemn oath, I will not fail you. Once my word is given, I follow through. No matter the cost.”

That could be good. Or very bad.

It all depended on the man.

“Trust me, Ariana.”

Trust him. She rested her forehead on her bent knees.

“We have no recourse,” Dante hissed. “If you want to survive, you must do it.”

She straightened and saw the Greek and Russian shaking hands. Whether they’d agreed to a fast end for her and Dante or a slow one, she didn’t want to know.

Not only were they out of time…they were out of options.

She scooted away from Dante to keep the men from noticing what he was doing while she played seductress.

“Hey…you guys.” She forced down her revulsion and attempted a come-hither look. Both men ignored her.

She glanced back at Dante. Muscles corded in his tanned arms and strong neck as he waged his war with his bindings.

Their glances locked, and resolve glinted in his eyes. His wrenching movements had to hurt—a lot—but his set features didn’t reveal pain. Her own effort in the hold of the ship had scalded her arms like liquid fire, and it hadn’t been nearly as ferocious.

She could fight as hard for their survival. Ariana scrabbled to her feet and attempted an enticing stroll. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

Almost in slow motion, the thugs turned to stare at her.

She tilted her head. “I’m cold. And my arms hurt. If you untie me, I’d be really grateful. We could…um…maybe reach an agreement? Just please don’t abandon me here.”

Their eyes fired with greedy anticipation. The Greek’s lips curled in a sly grin. Dante’s coat slid from the Russian’s fingers, and his nostrils flared. A wolf on the scent of prey.

Ariana’s pulse lurched into triple time and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming as the men began to stalk her.