Through his murderous haze, Jack heard Simon’s voice. “Put him down. He’s not worth it.”
No, he wasn’t. Beating the shit out of him wouldn’t help Elle. Jack released him, and Biggs crumpled to the floor, gasping for air.
One of the security guards came in with a cup of coffee and a bunch of newspapers. Biggs was sputtering something about lawsuits and abuse of authority.
“Sit,” the guard said, as he left the coffee and the papers on the table. “And let’s try to remain calm. Here, have something to read while we sort this out.” Then he turned to Jack. “Are you sure she was kidnapped?”
Jack stared at the image in the screen. Trying to tamp down his fury. “She didn’t leave voluntarily.”
“That’s the man who assaulted me,” Biggs suddenly said, pointing at the newspaper on the table.
All the muscles in Jack’s body tensed. “What?” In between the sore throat and the bashed nose, the guy sounded a bit weird.
Biggs tapped on one of the newspapers. It was a picture of the fund-raiser for abandoned dogs.
“Isn’t that David Exxum and his bodyguard?” Simon asked. “What does he want with Elle?”
Realization froze his insides. Man, he’d been so stupid. “Not with her. With me. Exxum is after me. She just got caught in the middle.”
The only way to contact Alex Ayala was through the Internet. He accessed the chat room, entered his password. There it was, a message for him.
Your life for hers. You have 24 hours, then she dies. After her, it will be her family.
The brightness blinded her the second Elle tried opening her eyes, a sharp stab of pain making her brain throb. Ouch. Mega, super-duper hangover, although for the life of her she couldn’t recall drinking last night. Squinting, she slowly scouted her surroundings. Where the heck was she? Then the events of last night rushed over her like a frigging tsunami swallowing her, her breath catching, her heart thumping in her throat. While Mr. Asshole had gotten punched, she’d been stabbed in the arm with a needle and two men she hadn’t recognized had grabbed her. She’d wanted to yell and wrestle, but she couldn’t. Her body hadn’t been obeying her, a terrifying feeling of falling deep into the rabbit hole had spread over her as they’d taken her out of the bar and she’d been able to do nothing to stop them. Oh God, the ache in her head intensified, but she swatted it away. Last she remembered, she’d been forced into a car. Then a blank slate. She reached for her arm. Yeah, the needle mark was there. She’d been drugged. The fact that she was still wearing the black dress and her shoes were strapped to her feet gave her a small measure of relief.
She scrambled up and tried the door. Locked. Ignoring her wobbliness, her dizziness, and the blinding sun, she rushed to the window. She had to get out, but one look sank her spirits. There was water as far as her eye could see. A small beach on her right, a pier with a couple of boats on the left.
As she heard the door unlock, she turned, hugging herself.
Exxum walked in. “You’re finally awake.”
Elle had thousands of questions but the first that plopped out of her mouth was, “Where am I?”
“You’re my guest at one of my private retreats on the North Shore. My security detail was nice enough to get you for me.”
“I’m not too savvy on proper etiquette in high circles, but I’m positive drugging your prospective guests is a big no-no.”
Exxum smiled. “I don’t usually have to resort to such extreme measures. It was a shot of something to make you more agreeable. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Apology not accepted. I would like to leave. Now.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Of course not. “What do you want from me?”
“From you nothing, but the man I know as Alex Ayala doesn’t seem to be what he appears, and I’d like to have a chat with him. In the last six months several of my business deals have gone belly-up inexplicably. Everything has started to make sense.
“Ayala had passed all of my security filters, which are many, with flying colors. He’d brokered several high-profile transactions for me and now, because of him, I have some disgruntled clients, not famous for their coolheadness or reasonability, thinking I’ve cheated them out of their guns. He’s cost me a lot of money, directly and indirectly. And a lot of the headaches. To say we have a score to settle is an understatement. You are a means to an end. So, you see, I don’t want anything from you per se.”
“I do,” she heard a voice say.
The sun was behind the man on the door, so she couldn’t see him properly, but as he stepped in, she realized who that was. Maldonado. Alive and well, looking tanned and relaxed, as a matter of fact.
God, this was getting worse and worse.
“I thought you were…”
“Dead? Sorry to disappoint.”