“Then, I’ll try to place one of my people inside with you within an hour.”
“Sounds like a plan. And thanks.”
She didn’t realize security guards stood at the doors with picture identification for each of the guests until after she arrived.
Still, she wasn’t unduly alarmed. A man like Kincaid could send someone in with the help.
However, once she stepped inside Hathaway’s private lair, she saw that the party was small. His cleaning woman mixed drinks behind the bar and his chef personally passed around the hors d’oeuvres. She’d expected a live band, many more people. Although Hathaway was surrounded by several models and a few staff members, he drilled her with a piercing stare the moment she walked into the room.
And immediately she felt awash in sensuality. She had a sudden yen to kick off her shoes and walk barefoot in the plush carpeting. Her clothes seemed too tight, hugging her most sensitive places. Even her breath came faster, her heart beating with a rhythmic tattoo that made her all too aware of how her hips swayed as she ambled forward.
Perhaps she should have fled but among the others she believed she’d be safe. And then Hathaway shot a myriad of additional fiery sensations her way. And it was as if her body betrayed her. Her breasts swelled, desire ripped through her—despite that she despised Hathaway. Although she’d felt his power before, this time was more unnerving because of the unprecedented intensity of the lust coursing through her veins. Or perhaps it was because Bolt wasn’t there to protect her that she felt especially vulnerable.
Hathaway shook off from his arm an auburn-haired supermodel and gestured for Amanda to join him. Her legs trembled and she licked her bottom lip as nerves caught up with her. She decided a quick hello, then pleading a headache and excusing herself was in order.
Hathaway greeted her with a quick embrace, his expression complex. He seemed on top of his game, yet at the same time a bit unsure of himself. “The show went well.”
“I thought so.”
His smarmy touch and his overpowering cologne should have turned off her lust, but she wasn’t that lucky. Her thoughts and genuine feelings seemed to make no difference in her physical reactions. Her nerves were on fire, her gut clenched tight, her blood rushed and made her ears roar.
She tried to take a deep calming breath. She tried to tell herself he wouldn’t pull anything in this roomful of people, but she was no longer certain of how far he’d go to attain her. And she began to doubt her ability to protect herself—and her plan to come here at all. Resistance was more than the simple matter of pulling out her gun and telling Hathaway to leave her alone—which would blow her cover.
Get a grip.
It’s lust.
You can’t die from unfulfilled lust.
But she hadn’t known fighting her own needs could be so painful. And when Hathaway grinned the most evil grin she’d ever seen, she realized that he was licking his lips in anticipation of her submission. Mortified, she willed the floor to open up and drop her through it.
Bolt? Where are you?
Why had she dared to come here alone? Because of Donna. Now more than ever, Amanda wanted to prove this man had killed her sister. She wanted him locked up behind bars for the rest of his life.
Anger pushed back some of the sluicing desire, made standing within three feet of Hathaway possible. Yet, she already sensed that anger wasn’t enough to keep him away.
“Come.”
Hathaway took her arm in the most courteous manner. To anyone else in the room he’d appear the perfect gentleman. But Amanda knew better. She was close enough to see the glint of power in his eyes. Close enough to see the twist of triumph on his lips.
And his superior attitude gave her just enough mental strength to pull back. “I’m sorry. I have a previous engagement. If you’d told me about the party earlier I could have changed my plans.”
“For me, you will cancel them now.”
He slammed her with a tidal wave of lust. Oh… God.
Her entire body sizzled with unnatural desire. She clenched her gut, braced her feet against the delicious sensations that were rapidly causing her to go mindless.
And when again he took her arm, she didn’t have the strength to resist although he was leading her away from the others and through the private doors to his bedroom. She should plant her feet, stop walking. But she seemed to have no control over her muscles. She should have shouted for help. But her vocal cords refused to work.
It was as if he’d washed her body with so much sensation that her mind no longer controlled her actions. Like the victim of a snake’s venom she was paralyzed.
She was on her own. If Kincaid had managed to get someone into the party, that person wouldn’t have been able to penetrate Hathaway’s private bedroom without making a huge scene—especially since Hathaway locked the double doors behind them. He was going to do whatever he wanted with her and she had no way to stop him.
“I’ve been wanting us to spend time alone together.” Hathaway turned to face her with a satisfied leer. “Before the evening is over, you will understand that I always get what I want—and right now what I want is you.”
* * *
BOLT AWAKENED TO find his wrists and ankles tied behind his back, a gag between his lips, a blindfold over his eyes. From the rocking movement and sound of an engine, he surmised he was in a vehicle. Listening carefully, he noted no other breathing besides his own. Heard no rustling of clothing. Nothing.
Could his captors have been stupid enough to have left him alone? Despite his pounding head, he wasted no time finding out. Stretching his shoulders and arms toward his boot, he released the knife in the hidden compartment of his sole.
Within moments, he was free of his bonds. Ignoring his head wound, which still bled, he took stock of his surroundings. He appeared to be locked in the back of a windowless van. Until they stopped, there wasn’t much he could do to escape with only a knife for a weapon. They’d taken his gun and his cell phone.
He tried to put his worry over Amanda aside, but couldn’t. He didn’t know if he was out of range of the mike she wore, but he couldn’t hear her talking. He reached to turn up the volume but his unit was missing. He must have lost it during the fight, or his captors had found it and removed it. He’d told her he’d protect her and now he was too far away to keep his word. That she’d trusted him to keep her safe and he was letting her down hurt more than his head injury. But Bolt wasn’t one to anguish over a predicament. He took action. But first he needed a plan. He needed to get to a phone and Amanda as fast as possible.
Obviously Hathaway had wanted to take him out to prevent Bolt from protecting Amanda. So Hathaway must have figured out they were connected, possibly that they weren’t who they’d claimed. There could have been any one of numerous slipups—but now was not the time to dwell on how, when or where the mission had gone sour. His primary goal had to be to escape, then find Amanda, whom he was certain was with Hathaway and in trouble.
Usually Bolt could compartmentalize on a mission, set his mind only on the next objective and put his worries aside. Yet, not for one second could he forget that Amanda needed him and he wasn’t there for her.
Thinking over his options, he used the blindfold to tie a bandanna tight around his head and hoped the pressure would stop the bleeding. He wished he had some idea of where his captors were taking him. Obviously they had orders to keep him alive or he’d already be dead.
Bolt had two choices. He could sit patiently and attack whomever opened the doors when they arrived at their destination. Surprise would be in his favor. But time might be a critical factor. And for all he knew these people could be driving him across the state.
Bolt’s second choice was riskier. He could pound on the sides of the van. The driver might ignore him. Then again, he might not. He might open the door and shoot him.
Bolt leaned forward and placed his ear against the wall separating him from the driver. But he heard nothing except a radio.
No conversation.
Did that mean only one man was guarding him? If so that would up his chances of outsmarting or overpowering him. And if he assumed Bolt was still tied and helpless, he might believe one man was enough to keep him prisoner.
Bolt decided the risk was worth a try. He pounded on the cab with his fist to gain the driver’s attention. When the van swerved, he realized he’d unnerved the driver. Good.
“Hey, I’m an undercover cop. Let me out.” Bolt held his breath. If the driver was the same knife fighter whom he’d previously fought, he doubted the vehicle would even slow or that he’d answer. However, if Bolt had simply been turned over to a low-level thug, the man might not want to stay involved with an officer of the law complicating the situation.
“Shut up.”
The accent was pure Long Island. Not the knife fighter’s. And a pro wouldn’t have responded. Good.
“You’re interfering in a joint FBI and police sting. Let me out and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Sure you will.”
“You still have my cell phone?”
“You aren’t making any calls.”
“You make one. And listen to how long it takes to go through. The signal is encrypted. You’ll hear the tones scrambling the signal. Dude, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. You don’t need accessory to murder pinned on you.” Bolt hoped the man’s need for self preservation would overcome his loyalty to whomever had set up the job.
Bolt waited. If the driver didn’t have his cell phone, he couldn’t take the bait.
Several curses issued from the driver and then he slammed on the brakes. Bolt kept his knife in his hand, but pointed it up his jacket’s sleeve.
Would the driver open the door to free him, or shoot him? Or would he simply leave him locked inside and walk away to protect his own hide?
* * *
AMANDA HAD NO MEMORY of removing her blouse. Hathaway could have done it or she could have done it herself. She recalled standing there, clenching her teeth, need pouring through her with such intensity that she could barely breathe.
Hathaway was saying something about music, wanting her to dance naked for him. He’d moved to a cabinet beside his headboard and fiddled with his sound system. She didn’t recognize the exotic Middle Eastern music but didn’t dislike it either. However, she’d never seen such peculiar lighting and it annoyed her.
Hathaway had dimmed all the lights, except one overhead that seemed to be shining right on her, and another that lit up the entire bed like a stage, where Hathaway had propped up the pillows and now leaned back as if he expected her to put on some kind of damn show. This couldn’t be happening. She shouldn’t be here. But trapped by a body that betrayed her, she couldn’t leave.
His power was unnatural. Irresistible. And she began to sway her hips in a sensual motion without any further prodding from him. He’d likely done the same thing to dozens of other women, and she’d been a fool to think she was strong enough to resist.
Her feet moved to the tempo, and her shoulders seemed to shimmy of their own accord. Damn the man. It was as if he were a puppet master pulling her strings and she was helpless to do anything except exactly what he so obviously desired.
No. She didn’t want to remove her bra. Yet her hands raised to the fasteners and not only did she seductively shrug it off, she circled it over her head and flung it at Hathaway. And then she danced for him, her blood boiling, her anger no weapon against his malevolent desire.
“The skirt,” he demanded, his voice hoarse with satisfaction. “Remove it.”
God, help her. If she removed her skirt, he’d see the gun fastened to her thigh. Her cover would be blown. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. But her hands unzipped the skirt. Her hips shimmied and Hathaway actually clapped as she stood before him in her panties, gun and heels.
His gaze rested on the gun. “You’re just full of interesting surprises.” And then he leered. “And you’re going to pay for every one.”
She told her hand to reach for the gun and shoot the son of a bitch, but her muscles refused to obey. Instead she danced, her hips swaying, her gun on her thigh mocking her inability to take action.
“Don’t think Timmins will save you, either. Although he may arrive in time to watch the denouement.”
“Huh?”
“He’s on his way here, trussed up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey and he’s going to watch you beg me to take you. And when I do, your scream of satisfaction will be the last thing he ever hears.”
Bolt? He was going to kill Bolt?
Bolt had given up the perfume bottle to help her find Donna’s killer. She wasn’t going to let him die.
Fear like she had never known took hold of her and clamped over her heart. She didn’t know if Hathaway’s use of the unnatural power from the perfume bottle had caused him to become unbalanced or if he’d always been that way. But she did know that she’d rather die than let him kill Bolt.
And that’s when she knew. She loved Bolt. And despite her fear for him, despite what Hathaway had planned with his evil conniving, she focused on her love for Bolt. Of all the stupid times to figure it out, now had to be the worst.
She might never get to tell him.
* * *
BOLT CROUCHED in the vehicle, his every muscle ready to spring forward into a diving roll. Metal squealed as the driver threw back a latch.
The door cracked open and Bolt struck the panel with both feet. His momentum carried him outside into the night and knocked down a man he assumed was the driver. He landed on weeds and grass where the driver had pulled off the road.
When he recovered from the roll in the slippery grass, he came up with his knife in hand, prepared to throw it if necessary. But the driver hadn’t moved. And a quick check showed that he was breathing, but unconscious. Bolt hefted the driver into the van and bolted the door.
The keys were still in the ignition, his cell phone on the seat. One glance and he realized the driver had been taking him back into the city. Just a short drive through the tunnel and he’d be back in Manhattan. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he started the engine, picked up the phone and called Amanda. When she didn’t answer, Bolt tried Kincaid who filled him in.
Just as he suspected, Hathaway had Amanda in his suite. Although she’d made it clear to Kincaid that she intended to stay in a group, she hadn’t known that Hathaway had set up Bolt.
Kincaid hadn’t yet been able to get a man into the suite, but Bolt would get there first anyway. His pulse accelerated.
Bolt floored the gas pedal.
Hold on, Amanda. I’m coming.
* * *
AMANDA HELD ON to the thought of how much she loved Bolt. Her newfound love for him comforted her. Made her stronger.
Hathaway’s hold on her seemed to lessen as she focused on Bolt. Maybe she was distracting her mind from the truth, but as she remembered Bolt’s gentle touch, as she recalled how wonderful he’d been to her right from the start, she seemed able to resist dancing closer to that bed.
She recalled Bolt’s willingness to let her set the pace. He’d even waited on his knees for her in the bathtub to help give her back her self-esteem. The man had been nothing but heroic. And she was certain he was doing everything he could to get back to her now. Bolt wouldn’t give up. Not on her. Not on their mission.
Hathaway gestured for her to come closer to the bed, and for the moment, her body didn’t betray her. She maintained her distance. Hathaway grimaced, his lips tightening into a repulsive frown of disapproval, and he sent a new deluge of lust at her.
She countered by focusing on how much she loved Bolt. He was out there somewhere. She could feel his presence warming her heart and fueling her resolve. She imagined his love as a cozy fleece blanket wrapped around her, reinforcing her determination to resist Hathaway.
And it was working. She didn’t understand how.
Anger hadn’t made a dent in Hathaway’s powers. But her love for Bolt helped
her hold her own.
However, from the sweat pouring down Hathaway’s ruddy cheeks, he must have sensed that his powers weren’t working as he expected. Not about to accept defeat, he curled his lips into a feral grin. “You won’t escape.”
“Is that what you told Donna?” Amanda made a stab at acquiring the answers she so badly wanted. Perhaps the combination of Hathaway’s arrogance and his agitated state would cause him to reveal what had happened to her sister.
“I killed the bitch and I’ll kill you. After you please me, of course.”
She’d always suspected Hathaway had committed murder, but to hear him admit it so coldly and calculatingly caused her to falter. He had killed Donna. He’d taken her sister’s life, preventing her from ever marrying, having children. Amanda had lost her last living relative.
For a moment Amanda thought she might be sick.
She reminded herself that Bolt’s love would get her through this. And with Hathaway so frustrated by her refusal to succumb, now was her opportunity to get answers. But she had to be careful. She couldn’t allow him to distract her because failing to concentrate on Bolt’s love was like letting down a shield and Hathaway’s evil would arrow through.
And despite Hathaway’s admission. She still had no proof.
“Why did you kill my sister?”
Hathaway’s eyes widened in surprise and then he laughed. “Your sister?”
“Yes. Why did—”
“I offered her a world of power. All she had to do was replicate a special potion—but she refused. And then she started to stir up trouble—”
“So you got rid of the troublemaker?”
“Exactly.”
His admission burned through Amanda like a white-hot knife. But that anger cost her. She took two steps that had advanced her to the foot of the bed.
She had to banish her anger and concentrate on why she loved Bolt. She recalled how he always believed in her. And how when she gave in to Hathaway’s powers, he never cast blame. Knowing Bolt wouldn’t blame her for that two-step lapse made it easier to forgive herself.
“However, if I’d known about you, I might have kept your sister alive a little longer. I’ve never had sisters.”
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