Full Exposure

by Diana Duncan

  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.

  S
he 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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ARIANA’S HEART THRASHED. Why had she agreed to this terrible idea? With no time to weigh her choices, she’d listened to her intuition…and sided with Dante over dying.

  As the men reached her, she backed up several steps. “I’m really uncomfortable. Can you untie me?”

  Suspicion creased the Russian’s swarthy face. “Why should we?”

  “Uh…because if my hands aren’t free—” her fingernails dug into her clammy palms “—it will spoil my…fun.”

  The Greek’s slimy smile made her want to throw up. “Not necessary for you to be having fun.”

  “Da.” The Russian nodded. “Only for us.”

  Oh, suddenly the pigs were in agreement?

  “If I’m not having as much fun, neither will you.” Just talking about it gave her the urge to throw up. The Russian’s cruel mouth twisted hungrily, and she forged ahead. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

  Before they could dwell on that awful scenario, she threw down the gauntlet. “Are you afraid to untie me? Scared of a girl?” She deliberately swept each opponent with a scornful gaze. She needed them tearing at each other’s throats again. “Which one of you is a real man?”

  She may as well have pushed the button marked predictable. Both spat denials, and then hurtled into confrontation. The wary Greek was against untying her, while the machismo Russian insisted he could handle her.

  She shot a covert glance down the beach. Darkness hid Dante’s progress, but he was still seated. Not good.

  The thugs switched from haggling over whether to untie her to who should have her first. Ariana fought the impulse to flee into the night. Running might buy her three minutes, tops.

  Dante, hurry!

  The Russian’s dubious control snapped, and he shoved her backward onto the sand. Agony speared her bound arms and she screamed.

  He crawled on top of her. For nightmare moments, pain and horror paralyzed her. She’d never been in a fight. She was bound. Helpless.

  Then adrenaline blasted her system with burning resolve. Improvise. She head-butted her assailant.

  He jerked back, swiping a palm over his bloody lip. “Bliad!”

  The Greek gave a snide jab about how well Comrade handled the little girl.

  The Russian swore. His huge hand circled her throat, cut off her air. His other hand shoved up her camisole. Bucking beneath his weight, she struggled to breathe as the Greek egged him on.

  Dante, where are you?

  Her vision grayed around the edges. A desperate burst of strength rammed her knee upward, but she merely grazed the target.

  The Russian cursed again and flung out his arm to backhand her.

  “Figlio di puttana!” Dante’s enraged roar rang out. “Enough!” The Russian was torn off her and went flying across the sand.

  She wriggled upright as Dante pivoted and landed a right cross on the Greek’s jaw. Her satisfaction at his look of stunned panic amazed her. Who’s laughing now?

  The Russian tackled Dante from behind. Dante battled to his feet, cussing an Italian blue streak and swinging his powerful fists like battering rams.

  Fear evaporated Ariana’s satisfaction. Dante was beat up and weakened. No matter how determined, he couldn’t defeat two thugs.

  Exhausted, hurting, she wrestled to her feet and stumbled to the rocks. Feeling behind her, she found the sharp boulder Dante had used. Her stomach tightened. The rock was slick and still slightly warm with his blood.

  As the men’s combat ripped apart the night, Ariana scraped her ropes on the jagged edge. She didn’t have Dante’s strength, and her efforts were torturous. She forced herself to hurry, to ignore the sting of her wrists.

  Finally, her ropes tore. She staggered to the shoreline where the battling men rolled in the surf. Dante fended off the Russian, sending him sprawling on the wet sand. But before Dante could regain his footing, the Greek pushed him underwater, held him down. A tidal wave of fear slammed into Ariana. He was drowning Dante!

  Not while she had any say! She dragged an oar from the speedboat. Splashing into the shallows, she swung. The paddle hit the Greek and knocked him off Dante.

  Dante surged out of the water and charged the Russian, who was heading for Ariana. “Bastardo!”

  The men rolled underwater. Clutching the paddle, she circled the thrashing duo, seeking an opening.

  Dante clambered upright, lifting the Russian by the collar, and then froze. He dropped the Russian and leaped at her. Wrapping his arms around her, he swept her beneath the waves.

  She lost her hold on the oar. Saltwater flooded her nose and mouth, burned her eyes and stung her cuts. Panicked, she struggled. Why was Dante killing her? She was on his side.

  As her head swam and her vision darkened, Dante scooped her up and tossed her behind him. “Stay back!”

  Gagging, she wheezed in precious oxygen “Are. You. Insane?” She swiped her forearm across her eyes…and saw that the Greek had been sneaking up behind her, knife drawn. Her heart staggered. Dante had saved her life.

  Moonlight glinted on razored metal as the Greek slashed at Dante, who jumped back. The hissing blade nearly sliced his abs.

  “Nyet!” the Russian hollered. “No killing or we do not get our money!”

  “I do not give a damn,” the Greek snarled. “I will gut them both.”

  The furious man swiped with the knife, and Dante swayed in a lethal dance to stay between her and the blade. He scowled at the Greek. “She is under my protection. You don’t want to do that to l’ amico degli amici.”

  The innocuous phrase had a curious effect.

  “Megaera said nothing…” The Greek froze and his bristly jaw went slack. “Ah. The explosion…I understand now.”

  The Russian choked out a dismayed phrase. He shoved Dante, who stumbled into her, submerging them both.

  She swallowed another mouthful of brine before they gained their balance. Dante surged out of the water in a combat stance, water streaming off his hard muscles like Poseidon commanding the sea.

  She pushed up beside him. The thugs were running toward the speedboat.

  “Porca troia!” Dante raced down the sand.

  Ariana slogged onto the beach. Thank heaven for such a dedicated protector. No matter what his motives were.

  But hours of captivity and two beatings had cost him. The men had too much lead time. Before Dante got halfway there, the boat’s motor rumbled to life.

  The speedboat rocketed into the night. Dante skidded to a stop. He swung around and frowned, his countenance savage.

  They were stranded.

  AT SEA ABOARD her rented yacht, Anastasia Catomeris handed more euros to the Greek and Russian than they deserved and then instructed the captain to escort the churlish duo off the vessel. Recommended by a contact as local “professionals,” they had reported for duty big on beef, short on brains.

  The timely explosion of Dante and Ariana’s yacht the night before—possibly mob related—had enabled the hired hands to capture her prey. Tasia’s contacts had reported that Dante had been working at a mob dig site near Naples before he absconded with the girl. At first she’d suspected he might be working with the police—or one of her rivals. But her investigation had turned up no evidence of either involvement. He and Ariana must have thou
ght they could escape the Camorra by sailing out of the area. It had taken Tasia time, effort and too much cash to locate the pair. She needed to use caution, because the Camorra would keep searching. The mob hadn’t obtained their reputation by operating like a trade workers union. Dante couldn’t just quit.

  She switched on the gas fireplace in the stateroom and swept off her black veil. She was sick of lurking in the shadows. Always dark. Always hidden. Catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror, she proudly tilted her chin. Megaera, the goddess whose name she had borrowed, might have been hideous, but Tasia was still a stunner. She often passed for half her age—her only worthwhile inheritance from Greek peasants.

  She sauntered to the bar and filled a crystal flute with champagne. Her hired oafs had returned from their assignment to deposit her captives on the island bloody, bruised and shaken. They had sullenly admitted to an altercation, but assured her Dante and Ariana were unharmed. The fools had better not be lying, because she needed the hostages alive.

  For now.

  She had planned and plotted and waited for exactly the right moment. Finally, everything was in place to teach the man who had abandoned her and his infant son the ultimate lesson. She had set Elias Stamos, the owner of Liberty Line, on a collision course with ruin. And what better vehicle for Elias to ride to public humiliation than the ship named after his revered late wife, Alexandra’s Dream.

  Mike O’Connor and Giorgio Tzekas thought they were being paid, and handsomely, to smuggle artifacts to sell in America. The wily O’Connor acquired the pieces, and the not-so-bright but malleable Tzekas used his position as first officer to help get them aboard Alexandra’s Dream and hide them. However, Tasia had no intention of ferrying the antiquities that far. Once the ship docked in Athens she would plant the final piece with false invoices and then alert the authorities. Elias would be arrested. His sterling reputation as a patron of the Greek arts would crumble, and his patrons would flee. He would deplete his fortune defending himself in court.

  If O’Connor and Tzekas played it smart, they’d walk away much richer. If not…She smirked. They couldn’t identify her.