Inside Out (3 page)

And then they’d reverted to their usual missionary position—her anchor. She knew Shane fought to toe the line. And it showed. Even last night, she had waited for the moment he would lose control and utter his pleasure in her ear. But, his climaxes matched hers. The few girlfriends she had always boasted how they’d made their men howl with pleasure. Shane never howled.

But tonight—because there would
be
a tonight, along with many, many others—she would make him yell. She would equal him. Push her own boundaries. Be bolder, more adventurous. Enough of being afraid and tiptoeing through her own marriage.

She would let him do whatever he wanted to her. Because she wanted to please him, and show him she could equal him with a bit of practice. Maybe she could even do what he’d wanted last night. Learn the right moves. He’d wanted her to ride him before, but she had tensed so much he had pity on her and let her go. Pity. She roused
pity
in him—not the passion he needed to give.

But tonight, she would do that Hunter thing, the one with her butt in the air, and maybe lean against the kitchen counter to let him…take her. God, she couldn’t even think it. Enough of shying away. Hunter would know what to do with Shane. She’d match him, beat for beat, thrust for thrust, upside down, on top—whatever he wanted.
Well, Hunter, move over because here comes the new sex goddess, Olivia Hart—plus magic tattoo.

Olivia smacked her freshly glossed lips as she fumbled through her bag for her hairbrush. She glanced up at the mirror as the old woman’s large, rough hand snaked out, grabbing Olivia’s mouth. She tried to scream through the gloved fingers clamping her lips shut, but blackness invaded her mind.

* * *

“Hey, sweetstrings, I’m home,” Shane called as the lift opened into the luxurious living room of the penthouse. Their puppy, Lottie, came bounding off the sofa, and Shane bent to pick her up, cuddling her while craning his neck toward the bedroom.

“Honey?” The words echoed throughout the empty flat as he reached the sleek open-plan kitchen.

Shane checked his watch and frowned. Olivia usually made it home before him, and had dinner cooking unless they were going out. Otherwise, she’d send him a text message. She was over an hour late.

He went into their bedroom to change. Lottie followed, peeking her head around the corner, searching for her mistress. He hung up his Armani suit and threw his shirt in the hamper. Soft music filled his ears, and he glanced up. Olivia must have left one of her CDs on repeat.

He pulled his jeans and a sweatshirt on and tapped the Off button to the stereo speaker by the side of the bed, only to retrace his steps when nothing happened. He pushed it again, but still the light, airy notes lingered, so soft he thought he’d imagined them.

Shane went to the main stereo system in the living room and repeated the operation, still the melody played. It had to be coming from outside.

He checked his mobile phone, then slid open the glass doors leading to the terrace to check Canada Square below but the exterior noises drowned out the soft melody, which seemed more like a chant now. What the hell?

The rush hour in Canary Wharf slowly abated, and the scurrying commuters had dwindled to a few frantic stragglers, none of them bearing Olivia’s springy step. She always called when delayed. Alarm thumping in his chest, he slid the doors shut, grabbed his coat, and hit the streets.

Three more hours passed between checking all the places Olivia usually went to, like her favorite café on Waterloo Bridge, and Waterstones in Waterloo Station where she’d spend hours poring over books. And still that music accompanied him to the point that he couldn’t stand it anymore.

As it began to rain, Shane finally speed-dialed Alfie Campbell, Olivia’s childhood friend, and his best mate. Tall and built like a brick house, Alfie had long, red hair, and deep blue eyes set in a pale, Viking face. He spoke little and only whenever something didn’t sit quite right with him. He would cross his thick arms in front of his wide chest and purse his lips. Every single one of his men of the London MIT, Major Incidents Team, knew that expression meant trouble.

Shane had been on several missions with Alfie, the only man on earth Shane would entrust Olivia’s life to.

“Shane, matey. What’s up?” Alfie’s gravelly voice reached him through an incredible background noise.

Shane took a deep breath. This wasn’t happening. Not to them. “It’s Olivia. She’s missing.”

Chapter Three

Olivia tried to open her eyes, but something sealed her lids together. A blindfold. A cough rose to her throat, but something else in her mouth stopped her. A fetid cloth. She pushed against it with her tongue, but it was much too big and lodged tightly, blocking her air passage so she could barely breathe.

Disconnected, whispered words flowed from the next room. Shivering, Olivia sat and listened.

“Are you out of your fucking
mind
?” a woman with a husky voice cursed. Olivia would’ve recognized it among millions. The tattoo artist.

“Babe. Come on. Do you know how much she’s worth?” questioned a man in a raspy voice.

“I don’t give a shit. We don’t do kidnappings, remember? It’s the rule. It’s too dangerous. What the hell possessed you?”

Their voices became clearer, which had to mean they’d shifted closer to wherever they’d stashed Olivia.

“But, babe, don’t you want a better life? Money? Shit?”

Hunter groaned impatiently as she had when Olivia hadn’t believed in her grandmother’s magic spells. “If I wanted money, I’d have gone back to my parents years ago. I couldn’t give a shit about the cash. You know it’s the high I live for. Now let’s hope it goes smoothly and Randy doesn’t find out. After this we’ll lie low until it’s safe.”

Randy. Hunter.
She’d store those names, just in case she made it out of this alive. Shane would make them pay dearly for doing this to her.

A door opened near her, and a gravelly male laugh sent a chill of dread shooting up her spine. She stilled, her head cocked, listening, but she could hear little over the sound of her own ragged breath.

“What a sight you are, Mrs. Hart, so pretty in your expensive clothes. Filthy now, but still expensive. That man keeps you in luxury.”

This was not the same man from before, so beside Hunter there were two men.

Olivia’s heart thumped wildly as reality sank in. She’d seen it a million times on TV and read it in the papers, but the pain in her wrists, the cold, wet floor under her, and the wicked man laughing somewhere above her head gave her a real-life experience she’d never wish on anyone.

“Have to say, you’re much prettier in person. Very pretty, actually.”

A stiff, rough fabric crinkled as he knelt before her. The acrid stench of sweat filled her nostrils. He touched her cheek, tracing her neck down to her breasts, and Olivia turned her face away from him to take a clean, deep breath, as deep as she could anyway.

Olivia tried to cry out in protest, and the man laughed before the door opened again and stiletto heels clicked furiously on the ground. A loud slap rung in the air and the man grunted in pain. Once again the stiletto heels clicked away, followed by the shuffling of a heavier tread.

She let out a sigh of relief and rested until someone shoved her shoulder.

“Get up, Olivia.”

She lifted her head. Had she only dreamed it all? She had no idea how many nights or days had passed. All she had to go by was a cockerel out in a field somewhere. She must have been far from the city, on an old plot probably. So far, she’d counted twelve cockerel cries, but she’d fallen asleep so many times, waking up in confusion, her body shaking from fear, the cold, and the taste of lead in her mouth she couldn’t discern between dreams and reality and in the end, gave up altogether.

Olivia tried to sit up with her lifeless arms twisted behind her, but toppled to one side and let herself go in a sob.

Shane.

She would never see him again. He would have come to rescue her if he’d had anything to go on. But no contact had been made. They were going to eliminate her. She’d known it all along. Maybe it wasn’t about money. Maybe these people had been hired by one of Shane’s opponents who wanted to break him by killing her.

Now. They would do it now.

“Time to go.” Although Hunter had altered her voice somehow, Olivia recognized her fragrance and the jangle of her bracelets. “If you make one sound, we’re both dead. Do you understand? Nod your head.”

Olivia nodded. Hunter pulled her up and dragged her down a narrow, spiral staircase. Was Hunter really letting her live? Risking her own life? Olivia found that hard to believe. She should break free from the woman’s grasp and run. To where, the stench-man? She tried to breathe as dizziness overcame her, and she stopped, already exhausted.

Hunter dragged her along for what seemed like miles before a car door squeaked open. “I’m taking you back to your husband.” She continued to whisper. “If you make any attempt to identify anyone, I will come to you and kill you myself, is that clear?”

Again Olivia nodded, and Hunter helped her into the back, instructing her to lie down. The warm, cushioned seat felt good against her aching body.

The smell of the Thames reminded her of the years of cruising on the
Olivia
with Shane. Only now the dark, cold, humid sensation on her skin, the kind that comes only from a total lack of sun, told her night had come.

Shane would be there no matter what. He’d pay the ransom, and he’d take her home where she would curl up into a ball in their enormous bed. He would hold her all night, whispering words of comfort to her. And then she would try to put it all behind her. She hadn’t been hurt. Hunter had protected her from that sleazy man and was now saving her life.

But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to trust a tattoo artist who pretended to distribute magic solutions to poor idiots like her. Hunter didn’t know Olivia had recognized her, so she’d continue playing dumb and then help Alfie and his team identify them. All three of them. She’d heard their voices only once—but it had been enough. And she had names. Olivia would be able to help put them behind bars. For Hunter she would be lenient. Tell Alfie of how she had saved her life. But the other two were going down for good.

Hunter helped her out of the car. By the brisk bobbing and deep pitching as they stepped down, Olivia realized they had climbed into a small boat.

Olivia swerved her head to Hunter expectantly, and Hunter touched her shoulder. “In less than an hour, you’ll be home. Good luck, Olivia.”

Olivia repeatedly nodded in appreciation. How droll to be thanking someone who had kept you in a bloody attic for who knew how many days and nights, left to wonder when and how your life would end.

“There he is,” Hunter hissed, pulling Olivia along.

Olivia jerked her head at the sound of Shane’s beloved voice, which traveled loud and clear across the water. “Olivia. Let me see her. Are you all right, Olivia? Let me see her face!”

Hunter removed Olivia’s blindfold. She tried to see, but after all the hours in the dark, she couldn’t focus and barely made out the shimmer of the pontoon lights. As Hunter rowed closer, she saw him, still fuzzy and shimmering, but already larger than life. More handsome than she’d ever seen him, he was wrapped up in his gray Armani wool coat, a black beard covering the unreadable mask of his face. But she knew him well. He fought to stay calm, in control, and not jump into their boat.

She wanted to cry out and run to him, but the gag and ropes still bound her. Olivia turned to Hunter whose hood covered her completely, like the Grim Reaper. She also pointed a gun at her.

Shane!
Olivia wanted to scream as she burst into tears.
I’m okay!

“Don’t try any tricks, Hart,” Hunter called in her altered voice. “Pass me the cello case, and you get your wife back unharmed.”

“Yes,” he growled. “Anything you say.” He stepped to the edge of the dock. “Here’s your money.”

“Open it first, lover boy. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

Shane set the case on the boat seat and unlatched the snatches of Olivia’s very first, cello case. Her eyes widened as Shane dug into the gold coins that glinted as they cascaded in the artificial light. She stood close enough to hear the jangle, close enough for Shane to reach out and grab her. Time stopped when Shane’s eyes met and caressed hers longingly before his gaze hardened and swung back to the padded, hooded figure. Not even Olivia would have recognized her.

They all turned to the sound of a speedboat rushing up the river, making waves, dangerously rocking the small boat. Hunter yanked her back, away from Shane, steadying Olivia by her collar, glancing uncertainly between him and the oncoming boat.

“Olivia, get down!” Shane cried over the space between them. Confused, she turned to see the approaching boat. “Now!”

A loud noise cracked the air, and a piercing sound ripped into Olivia’s ears—the whistling of a bullet tearing through her flesh.

* * *

Shane ripped off his coat and dove into the muddy Thames. His instincts taking over, he clawed his way to the bottom. Olivia couldn’t swim, dammit. They’d tied her hands behind her back. He cursed all the times he’d let her off from learning to swim and self-defense lessons, and all the other things that might have prevented them from being in this shit.

With the MIT searchlights shining down into the river, he lurched forward, thinking he’d glimpsed Olivia’s hair, and dashed deeper down, but his hands gripped nothing.

And then it happened again. That strange, chant-like melody he’d heard back in the penthouse filled his ears, trying to distract him from his goal.

Every minute that went by decreased Olivia’s chances of survival. She didn’t even know how to hold her breath underwater. She’d say it always found its way into her nose even when she tried. Olivia had always been terrified of water.