The door opened with an almost inaudible click, and she pushed it open, closing her eyes against the suddenly blinding glare of the midday sun as it bounced off the waters. She squinted, then opened her eyes fully. To look straight into the impassive eyes of a man she’d never seen before.
A million emotions raced through her—instant panic, then hope as her eyes focused on the man leaning against the railing, looking at her. He was tall, dressed in loose white clothing, with long dark hair and very blue eyes, and his expression was nothing more than politely curious. She’d never seen him before in her life.
“I wondered how long you were going to stay in there, Ms. Spenser,” he said in a voice that was both Peter Jensen’s and a stranger’s. “As you heard me tell our bloodthirsty friend Renaud, there aren’t that many places to hide on a boat.”
She didn’t hesitate. Her only chance was taking him by surprise, and she dived for the side of the boat. She was halfway over the railing before he caught her with insultingly minimal effort, pulling her back onto the deck, against him. His body was warm, hard against her back, which somehow seemed wrong, she thought dizzily. He should feel like a block of ice, not a living, breathing human.
“Sorry, Ms. Spenser,” he murmured in her ear, a soft, soothing voice. “But we can’t have you complicating our very careful plans, now, can we?”
She would have said something if she could. But the stinging sensation at the side of her neck was spreading through her body, and she wondered if this was how she was going to die. If so, she wasn’t going to go without a fight. She kicked back against him, but her legs felt like rubber bands as they began to collapse beneath her, and she could hear his faint laugh in her ear.
“Feisty creature, aren’t you, Ms. Spenser? Just relax, and it won’t hurt a bit.”
Her elbow didn’t work either, as she tried to jab him in the stomach. Nothing worked at all, and she let herself sink down, knowing that this was the last thing she’d remember before she died. And then she knew nothing at all.
5
Ms. Genevieve Spenser was rapidly becoming a pain in the ass, Peter thought. He ought to finish what she started, toss her unconscious body over the side of the boat and let the fish have her. In the end he doubted it would matter. As long as they found identifiable traces of Harry Van Dorn’s body in the rubble of his island home the authorities would be satisfied. They wouldn’t go to that much trouble trying to ascertain if his pretty little lawyer was there too.
Unless, of course, they suspected foul play. He highly doubted that—he was an expert at his job, and he seldom made mistakes. Harry Van Dorn had done a magnificent job of convincing the world what a decent, charming, humanitarian fellow he was, and most people outside of a select few would have no idea just how overdue retribution was. It was Peter’s job to see to it, and if Harry’s death was supposed to look like an accident then it would. And those were his orders.
He shifted the dead weight in his arms. It would be far easier to dump her over the side than figure out what to do with her. Things had gone too far—the unpalatable fact was that she was going to have to end up dead anyway. Why complicate matters by putting it off?
Having her found on the island would be neater, and when it came to his job he tended to be fastidious. The thought would have astonished his mother. He’d never been the orderly type, and chaos had suited him very well for many years.
But his job required precision, attention to the smallest detail, a cool detachment that nothing could permeate. Ms. Spenser was undoubtedly going to die, whether he liked it or not, but now wasn’t the right time.
He could have left her on the deck and had Renaud haul her into the cabin where he could keep an eye on her, but he never delegated work he could do himself. Besides, Renaud had his limitations, and he liked to hurt women. There was nothing he could do about Ms. Spenser’s upcoming fate, but there was no reason why she should have to suffer. After all, he was a civilized man, he mocked himself.
He hauled her limp body over his shoulder. She wasn’t that bad, not compared to some of the dead weight he’d carried in his thirty-eight years. Odd, but when someone was simply unconscious they weighed less than when they were dead. It made no sense, but it was true.
Or maybe it was the weight of his conscience when he had to dispose of someone. Except that he had no conscience—it had been surgically removed along with his soul years ago.
Still, maybe he retained a trace of sentimentality. Otherwise he wouldn’t hesitate with the interfering Ms. Spenser, and he wouldn’t feel the random regret about her future or lack thereof. He wasn’t used to regret at all.
He dumped her down on the huge bed in the main cabin, next to Harry Van Dorn’s unconscious body. She had long, pretty legs, and it was hard to forget the distracting taste of her mouth. He still hadn’t figured out why he’d kissed her. An aberration, a momentary indulgence…he wouldn’t let himself do it again.
He stared down at her for a long moment. He’d killed women before, it was inevitable in his line of work. At times the female of the species could be a lot deadlier than the male. But he’d never been forced to kill someone who’d simply gotten in the way. And he didn’t want to start now, no matter how goddamn important it was.
Of course, one could argue that the world would always be a better place with one less lawyer. But looking down at Genevieve Spenser’s unconscious, undeniably luscious body, he wasn’t completely sure he could make himself believe it.
Genevieve came awake very slowly, letting the strange sensations wash over her. She was conscious of an odd sense of relief, quickly washed away by an unshakeable sense of entrapment. She was lying in a bed next to someone—she could hear his steady breathing, feel the weight of his body next to hers— and her panic increased. The room was shadowed, the only light at the far end, and she blinked, trying to focus, trying to get her brain to work.
She was lying next to Harry Van Dorn, and her immediate reaction was fury. Until she noticed he wasn’t sleeping, he was drugged. And her hands, ankles and mouth were wrapped in duct tape.
She struggled to sit up, making a muffled noise behind her makeshift gag. There was someone at the far end of the cavernous room, reading, but she couldn’t see him clearly, and he didn’t look up when she struggled to a sitting position, didn’t pay attention to the noises she was trying to make.
She reached her bound hands up to try to tear away the gag, but the tape ran around the back of her neck, and her fingers couldn’t gain purchase on the slippery stuff. She made another angry sound, and the man in the shadows looked up for a moment, clearly noting that she was awake, and then went back to his book.
It had been a very difficult few days, to put it mildly, and Genevieve had no intention of simply lying back down and being ignored. She swung her legs over to the side of the bed, but it was higher up than she’d thought, and she went sprawling onto the floor.
The hands that pulled her up were strong and impersonal. She’d already figured out who it would be before she saw him, and she glared into Peter Jensen’s cool eyes, putting as much emotion and fury into her expression as the duct tape would allow.
His faint smile didn’t help her temper. “It must be hell to be a lawyer and not be able to talk,” he said mildly. Her ankles were bound so close together that she could barely stand, and it was only with his help that she remained upright. She yanked herself away, and he let her go, not moving as she collapsed at his feet. If her mouth was free she would have bit his ankles, she thought in a red haze of fury, trying to get to her feet again.
He pulled her up once more. “Don’t be tiresome, Ms. Spenser,” he said. “Behave yourself and this will all be a lot easier on you.”
She wasn’t in the mood to believe him. For a moment she thought he