Full Exposure

by Diana Duncan

  Battling the burning ache in her arms and wrists, she scraped her ropes on the spool’s edge. If she had been shown a preview before she began her ill-fated journey, would she have continued her crusade?

  Absolutely.

  Clearing her father’s name was worth any discomfort. He didn’t deserve what had happened to him. He could no longer speak for himself. She would speak for him. Cramping muscles ceased to matter as righteous determination fueled her efforts. She would shout Derek Bennett’s innocence from the rooftops. Make every newspaper that had vilified him print a retraction. She would contact CNN. Oprah. She’d even book a slot on Jerry Springer if he’d give her a platform.

  She didn’t get far before the door banged open again, and cold light fractured the blackness. Dante was shoved into the hold, where he collapsed onto the floor. The Greek and Russian sauntered in behind him. Ariana pushed to her feet and stumbled to Dante, knelt at his side. Her heart jolted. His face was bruised, his lips cut, his beard matted with blood. Any doubts she’d harbored about their jailers being in his employ died a cruel death. Nobody would willingly take a brutal beating.

  Ignoring Dante, the Russian leaned down, fisted his fingers in her hair and jerked her up. Pain burst over her scalp, and she cried out.

  “Do not touch her!” Dante growled as he fought to his feet. He head-butted the Russian and sent him sprawling. His voice was dark with menace. “Or I will remove le tue palle and feed them to you.”

  Though he was tied and beaten, the fierce Napoletano looked entirely capable of his threat. Ariana unconsciously edged behind him as if he could protect her.

  Wishful thinking.

  The Russian struggled upright. To Dante’s credit, the thugs hesitated before they both charged. Dante fought back with limited mobility, but his attackers landed blow after blow on his defenseless body.

  “Stop it!” Ariana yelled. She flung herself between the warring men and received a sharp clip to the jaw. The punch slammed her to her knees.

  Panting, Dante dropped beside her. “Stay behind me!”

  She blinked away involuntary tears. Nobody had ever hit her before. How did Dante take the pain without uttering a sound?

  The Russian knocked Dante flat. Pulse thundering in her ears, she bent over the fallen man. She didn’t have much time. “Dante, can you hear me?”

  “Ariana.” He groaned, turning his head to look up at her. “I have failed you. Perdonami.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive you for,” she whispered. “Save your strength and let them take me. There’s a metal spool, starboard, fifty paces. It might cut your ropes.”

  Concerned respect shimmered in his gaze. “Stay strong, Ariana,” he murmured. “If you tell them what they want to know, you will become useless to them. Capisci, bella mia?”

  She gulped. She understood all too well.

  The Russian reached for her hair and she scrambled up before he hurt her again. She strove to draw their attention from Dante, motionless on the floor. Please, don’t let him be badly injured. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The Greek shoved her toward the door. “We find out soon how tough you are.”

  “Bastardi!” Dante’s ragged voice echoed behind her. “If you hurt her, I will kill you. That is a promise.”

  Dante’s valiant defense fueled Ariana’s resolve. After the abuse he’d suffered, he still had the fortitude to insult and threaten his assailants. She thrust out her chin, feigning bravado. Much better than bursting into tears.

  The men dragged her out the door. Fear iced her blood as they muscled her up two flights of stairs and down a long, dark corridor. The briny ocean smell and sharp slap of the waves told her she was above the waterline.

  They yanked her to a halt outside a closed stateroom. The Greek sneered. “You will show respect. You will answer when spoken to. You will not attempt anything. Or—” he sliced his finger across his throat “—no mercy.”

  His fist rapped on the door, and terror swelled in Ariana’s chest. Dante hadn’t talked, and neither would she.

  No matter what their captors did to her.

  Or she and Dante were dead.

  CHAPTER TWO

  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 overb
oard?” 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.