Last Chance
Authors: Christy Reece
Christy Reece
Table of Contents
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No Chance
Second Chance
Rescue Me
Return to Me
Run to Me
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Last Chance
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original
Copyright (c) 2010 by Christy Reece
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The
Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New
York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random
House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-345-51775-3
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To my mom
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Acknowledgments
It's with enormous gratitude that I say thank you to the following:
My husband, Jim, whose love and belief in me has made all the
difference in my life. And to the darling little creatures who sleep at my feet
and bark excitedly at everything and nothing while I work.
My mom, sisters, and aunts for their support and encouragement.
Danny Agan for his help with guns and knives, and Kerry Holder for
her assistance with all things British. Any mistakes are entirely my own.
Darah Lace, brainstormer extraordinaire, who always asks the right
questions at the right time.
Kate Collins, my kind and talented editor, who had a vision for this
book and made it so much better with her insight. And to all the talented and
wonderful people at Ballantine who made this book possible, with special
thanks to Kelli Fillingim, Beth Pearson, and Sue Warga.
Kim Whalen, my spectacular agent, for her enthusiasm and
encouragement.
To the readers of the Last Chance Rescue books, thank you for
making the hard work so much fun.
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Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Lucas Kane knew he'd been in more critical situations, but coolheaded
logic had always saved his ass. This time he was too furious to be either cool
or logical. After living a once dangerous life and surviving with only a
couple of insignificant scars to show for his efforts, how ironic to be held
captive and beaten profusely just for having some extra money in the bank.
If he weren't so infuriated with himself, he'd be laughing his ass off.
Bastards had taken him from his bed. Thankfully he'd been alone at
the time. Though if he was going to die, the memory of mind-blowing sex
would've been a nice send-off. Unfortunately, if he died today, it would be
with the unpleasant memory of yakking his guts up. He'd thought it was food
poisoning, and while the poisoning part of it was likely correct, it hadn't
been the food's fault. Someone had arranged the situation. Food poisoning
and an abduction on the same night? Not bloody likely.
That knowledge made him even more determined to live. Damned if
the bastards would get away with it.
Shifting to try to find a comfortable spot, Lucas cursed. Hell, there
was no comfortable spot. The mattress beneath him could have been used as
a torture device in the Spanish Inquisition. Felt old enough.
The ropes around his wrists gnawed into his skin every time he
moved; the burlap bag over his head scratched his face. And his throbbing
nose felt like it was the size of Buckingham Palace. The crunching sound
he'd heard when one of the bastards hit him assured him it was swollen for a
damn good reason. It was broken.
He'd been lying here for at least half a day now without anyone even
checking on him. Not that he had much of an ego about his fame, but if these
idiots had thought he was worth kidnapping, the least they could do was
check and make sure he hadn't escaped. Did he look like he couldn't or
something? He had finally recovered from his bout of sickness and was
ready to kick some ass. Now someone just needed to present him with the
opportunity.
A noise hit his ear. Good. Somebody was coming. Hopefully someone
other than that Victor asshole, who was apparently in charge. The guy got on
his nerves, throwing around all sorts of dire threats like some sort of
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gangster from a bad movie. Lucas had kept up with him for the first few
hours and then got bored. Would've been best if he hadn't told Victor.
Bastard had damned near kicked him to death.
The door opened and closed. Footsteps came closer. Since he couldn't
see, he relied on his other senses. The footsteps were light...so Victor had a
woman working with him. She smelled nice, too--soap and water were
powerful aphrodisiacs to a man who hadn't had a bath in days.
A soft hand touched his arm and Lucas froze.
What the...?
Goose
bumps ran down his spine and arousal surged. All from one small touch?
Something was definitely off with him. Maybe lying in the same position for
hours caused some sort of odd erotic reaction he'd never heard of.
What the hell. If he was going to get turned on by the woman, the
least he could do was get her name. "What's your name, love?"
A soft, breathless gasp was her reply and he hardened more. Damn, if
he kept this up, he'd be proposing before he even saw her.
When she didn't answer, he tried a more conversational tone. "Would
it be too much trouble to take the sack off my head? My nose is itching."
"Shh. Be quiet," she whispered.
A nice voice, too. Soft, husky...American...midwestern, most likely.
Twentyish. Judging from the distance she spoke from, he was guessing she
was about five foot four. Hard to tell weight, but the hand had felt small,
delicate. Frissons of sensation raced up his skin; arousal surged harder. No
doubt about it, if she weren't working for a psychotic kidnapper, they
might've had something.
More footsteps, heavier. The loud clomp sounded all too familiar.
Great, psycho man is back
.
"You ready to have some fun?" Victor asked in heavily accented
English.
The woman giggled. Damn, there went his arousal; he'd never cared
for gigglers.
"Are you going to let me get in the first slice?" she asked.
That didn't sound good. First slice of what?
"You tell me why I should," Victor said.
A giggle again--high-pitched and a bit nervous-sounding. Or perhaps
maniacal?
"Didn't you say you wanted to film it? You know I can't work the
camera like you can. Cutting's the easy part."
"Yeah...you'd only fuck it up."
The heavy footsteps sounded as though Victor was walking away.
"Where are you going?" the woman asked.
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"Oscar said he wanted to watch."
"Oh yeah. He likes stuff like this, too." Another strained-sounding
laugh, then she said, "Umm, do you think it's safe? I mean, since somebody
stole that woman from us...do you think he should stay with Jeffrey and be
on the lookout and stuff?"
A heavy, disgusted sigh. "Yeah, I guess he can watch it before I mail
it. That'll have to do."
The footsteps headed back toward Lucas. "Take off the bag and let's
get started," Victor said.
The bag ripped away from his head. Lucas squinted as he looked up
into soft, guileless gray-blue eyes. Now how the hell could someone who
looked as innocent as an angel be wanting to slice something off?
McKenna Sloan swallowed a horrified moan at her first live glimpse
of Lucas Kane. If the hideous bruises on his handsome face were any
indication, Victor had lost his temper more than once with his hostage.
Though she was no longer shallow enough to be attracted to a man because
of his looks, Lucas Kane had blurred those beliefs. But Victor's wrath had
taken its toll, and while he would heal, McKenna had a hard time not turning
around and giving the bastard a little of his own medicine. The creep would
pay for this.
"Okay, camera's ready," Victor said.
McKenna pulled the knife from the sheath at her waist. Ignoring
Kane's swollen eyes and his obviously broken nose, she took a breath. This
would take some careful timing.
"Open your mouth, Kane," she demanded.
He didn't react the way he should have...or at least the way she needed
him to react. He laughed, showing off an incredibly beautiful smile, which
was completely incongruent with the rest of his battered, bloody face.
"I have to admit to being a bit of idiot in some respects, but opening
my mouth on your say-so goes even beyond what
I'm
willing to do for a
beautiful woman."
He thinks I'm beautiful
.
Oh hell, stuff like that meant nothing to her. She glared down at him
with her meanest expression. "Do it, or I'll chop off your fingers."
"Actually, if you're going to chop anything off, I'd prefer that...and if
it's not too much trouble, the right hand, please."
More than a little stunned, McKenna turned her startled gaze to
Victor, who was holding the camera and smirking.
"Told you he had a smart mouth," Victor said.
Quickly regrouping, McKenna whirled back around to Kane and
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snarled, "Fine. But I'm taking all five fingers."
"Good, that'll make it easier to make a fist. Thanks."
Resisting the urge to stomp her foot and demand he act at least a little
scared, she pulled at his shoulders to turn him slightly toward her. It would
be easier to get to him this way, anyway. He just had her so off-kilter, she
was having trouble staying in character.
"Are you really going to cut his fingers off?" Victor asked.
McKenna shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't
tell if the freak was excited about it or disapproved.
"Yeah, why?"
"Because five fingers will be harder to get through the postal service
than a tongue."
She dared a look at Kane's face. Though both his eyes were swollen,
she could have sworn she saw amusement glinting in them. It was all she
could do not to laugh herself. Just what kind of freaky life did she lead that
mailing cut-off fingers and tongues was even a topic for discussion?
