Solving the Mysterious Stranger. Mallory Kane

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СКАЧАТЬ closed behind her and the bell’s ring faded. She turned south, away from the town square.

      She was going home. She walked with a bounce in her step. She didn’t know her life was about to change forever.

      He followed at a careful distance, wishing he wasn’t fascinated by the way her jeans cupped her bottom and emphasized her long legs, wishing her hair wasn’t so shiny that it caught the light of the moon, wishing he was someone else—and so was she.

      As soon as she left the lights of town behind and started climbing the cliff path, Cole lengthened his stride. His soft-soled boots made almost no noise on the rocky road. In contrast, her leather soles clicked loudly against the stones and gravel. She wasn’t dressed for speed, not with those ridiculous high-heeled boots on.

      The sky lit up. The fireworks. Time to make his move.

      In three long strides he caught up with her, just as she slowed for a glance back at the display. He wrapped one arm all the way around her, pinning her body against him.

      She didn’t make a sound, just stiffened. Then she kicked and twisted, trying to break his hold.

      Behind him, firecrackers cracked and rockets whistled. The sky flashed like lightning.

      “Don’t use up your energy struggling. You’re going to need it.” He grabbed both her wrists in one hand and slipped his other hand around her neck from behind.

      He didn’t squeeze. He just let his fingers trail along her larynx. He felt more than heard her suck in a deep breath.

      “Don’t scream,” he muttered. “I can break your neck before you can make a sound.”

      Chapter Two

      Amelia’s throat moved against Cole’s fingers as she swallowed.

      “I don’t scream,” she hissed, her words a lot braver than her voice.

      Her bravado made him angry.

      Damn it, Amelia, don’t be stupid. Stupid people often didn’t live long enough to regret their actions.

      “Do you cry?” he growled. “Because I can break your fingers one at a time and keep you conscious so you can feel each bone crack.”

      Her head jerked. He’d gotten to her. She might not scream, might not even fear death, but she did fear pain.

      “You are talented, aren’t you?” she retorted, her voice hoarse with the strain of staying calm.

      He almost smiled through his anger. Her courage was ill-aimed, but she had plenty of it. “Don’t mess with me, sweetheart. You’re making me angry, and I promise you won’t like me when I’m angry.”

      “I don’t like you now.” She swallowed again, stronger this time. “What do you want from me?”

      He ignored her question. “Pick up that case you dropped. I don’t want anything to look out of place.”

      He loosed his hold long enough for her to scoop up the case, and then he nudged her forward. “Move it.”

      Unexpectedly, she twisted, trying to break his grip. Instinctively, he jerked her back.

      She gasped.

      “Don’t try that again. I promise you’ll regret it. I can knock you out if I have to.”

      “Wow. Is there no end to what you can do?”

      “You’ve got me beat at stand-up comedy.” He scowled. She was afraid, but her wisecracks taunted him. He had to watch himself. This wasn’t a silly flirtation, nor a prelude to a date. It was an abduction—a deadly serious business.

      He couldn’t afford to lose sight of his goal for one second.

      They came to a fork in the gravel road. If he continued up toward her house, the rocks would block his view of the harbor, and he needed to see the boats. So he pushed her in the other direction, down toward the Hopkins’s boatyard.

      “Where…are you taking me?”

      He knew what she was thinking. From the moment he’d first heard about Amelia Hopkins and the Global Freedom Front’s plans, her fate had haunted him—that’s why he’d gone to their leader and requested this job.

      Thank God he’d earned the terrorist leader’s respect. It had taken him three years, but he’d finally managed to get close enough to Chien Fou to ensure that whatever he asked for, he got.

      The idea that one of his fellow seamen might lay his hands on Amelia sickened Cole. Yet he knew that in the deepest, most shameful corner of his soul, the idea of taking her, willingly or not, titillated him.

      He disgusted himself.

      “Look, whoever you are. I have money. Lots of it,” she said desperately. “I’ll make sure you’re set for life. Just please don’t—”

      “Shut up!” he snapped.

      Off to the north, the boats were moving. Amelia spotted them as soon as he did. She stopped.

      “What’s going on down there?”

      The boats were rigged like pirate ships, flying the Jolly Roger. Cole heard cheers and laughter coming from the little town below.

      Chien Fou’s ruse had worked. Cole pictured exactly what the townsfolk saw.

      Ships with black sails and orange pirate flags. Seamen with red rags around their heads and knives in their teeth.

      “Oh, dear heavens,” Amelia whispered, and craned her neck to look up at him.

      He met her gaze for the third time and, just like the first, when he’d put himself in her path as she came out of the fortune-teller’s booth, and the second in the crowded pub, her eyes glowed like Tupelo honey.

      Her expression morphed from puzzlement to confusion to horror within the space of a second.

      “You!” she stormed.

      He nodded and curved his mouth in what he hoped was a sneer. “You don’t look like the type who’d pay a fortune-teller. What’d she tell you—beware of strangers?”

      Two spots of crimson flared across her cheekbones. His pulse jumped. So the fortune-teller had gotten his message across. Or spilled the beans about the weird guy and his odd request.

      “What’s going on down there? Who are they?” Her head jerked toward the boats.

      “Who knows? Pirates. Revelers. Paid performers.” He heard the sting in his own voice.

      “No, they’re not.”

      She was entirely too intuitive.

      “They’re not part of the festival. Something’s happening. Something bad.” She surprised him by jerking against his thumb, a classic self-defense move. She took off running.

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