Then there was Joss. Last, but far not the least. He hadn’t remembered last night. Maybe that was the most painful. What had she expected? He’d been out of his mind drunk. She wasn’t going to tell him what had happened when he could only look at her as the child he remembered, and certainly not when the beautiful woman stepped from the vehicle, the woman Joss had brought home.
Shame heated her cheeks as the woman grabbed her arm. Instead of fighting back with a retort, guilt made Clelia held her tongue. The woman was much taller and stronger. There was no point in fighting. Not yet. She had to bide her time.
As the woman dragged her to the SUV, she couldn’t help but register the irony of the situation. For the month the dream had tortured her, she’d wondered how it would end. She’d asked herself every time after waking up what would happen after Joss had walked toward her on the jetty. How could she have been so foolish? What she saw for the end was only the beginning. It had just started. The realization made her feel sick.
The woman kept a gun trained on her as she bundled her into the car. “Don’t try anything stupid. I’d hate to shoot you in the back.”
Once inside, her kidnapper locked the doors. The woman peeled out of her coat, revealing a double hip gun holster. Clutching the gun in her right hand, she rested it casually on her thigh in no uncertain threat while steering the automatic vehicle with her left.
As she took the road toward the harbor, Clelia observed her quietly. She had a smooth, coffee-colored skin that made a stunning backdrop for her sea-green eyes. Beads clanked as she flicked dreadlocks over her shoulder. She was beautiful, and no doubt deadly.
The house where the woman took her was at the back of the harbor, obscured between the boathouse and the forest. No one would see them coming or going.
She still didn’t know the woman’s name, but the man who greeted them by the door introduced himself as Lann. Tall and slender but muscular with long blond hair and yellow-brown, cat-like eyes, he resembled a Viking. The only characteristics belying that heritage were his slightly elongated ears and heavy Russian accent. Clelia knew the accent well. At work, she saw many tourists from different parts of the world.
He wore a midnight blue dress shirt and black tailored slacks. His shoes were polished shiny. His nails were neatly trimmed and filed, and he wore a gold thumb ring on his right hand and a pinky ring with a ruby on his left. While everything about his appearance seemed sophisticated and gentle, she wasn’t deceived by his good looks. He spoke in English, asking if Clelia wanted a cup of tea, which she declined, before he busied himself with filling a kettle while the woman handed her a towel and told her to sit down at the kitchen table.
Clelia removed her wet jacket and bundled it into her backpack. Clutching the towel to her chest, she sat down while taking stock of the room. It was a big, open-plan space with a kitchen at one end and a lounge at the other. There were two windows and one door facing the front with another window giving a view of a fenced backyard. A hallway led off to her right. If she couldn’t get through the front door, her best chance at escaping was making it down the hallway and finding an exit at the other end of the house, maybe a bedroom sliding door or a window.
Tilting her head, the woman scrutinized Clelia. With high cheekbones and a thin, straight nose, her face looked like it belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. Her full lips were painted a dark shade of red, the same color as her long fingernails. A red tank top and stretch pants showed off her perfect curves. A purple pendant hung around her neck—maybe an amethyst—and she wore the same stone in a ring on her index finger.
“I’m Maya,” she said in a curt tone. “You’re Clelia d’Ambois.”
It was a statement, not a question, so Clelia remained quiet.
“If you answer a few questions, we’ll consider letting you go. Understand?”
Clelia regarded Maya from under her lashes. She seemed cold and disinterested.
“Where’s Erwan?” Maya asked, walking to stand in front of Clelia with her hands on her hips.
Clelia recognized the determination in the other woman’s eyes. She’d do anything to get her answers, and Clelia wasn’t going anywhere until Maya had those answers. She bit her lip, but didn’t say anything.
Maya narrowed her eyes. “He’s not even your real grandfather. Why protect him?”
“Who are you? What do you want from us?”
“I’ll ask the questions.” She brought her face close to Clelia’s. “Where is he?”