“Back here,” Ronaldo said, leading her to sliding glass doors that comprised the entire back wall of the room. Ronaldo pulled the slider open and they stepped onto a spacious veranda with more wicker furniture and a full bar in the corner, complete with rows of liquor bottles, its countertop a long, smooth slab of polished wood. The veranda was entirely screened in, a sandy shore beyond the screen, a long strip of dark blue ocean visible at the horizon.
Three men were seated about the space, glasses of amber liquor over ice in their hands. The oldest, a ruddy-faced man of about fifty with dark, curly hair laced with silver appraised Mara over the lip of his glass with small, shrewd eyes. Mara recognized him from internet searches she’d done on Daniel Wallace. He was wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt over shorts.
Mara stepped toward him, hand outstretched. “Mara Stevens,” she said with a smile.
Oddly, he didn’t stand to greet her, nor did the other two men. Instead, as if she hadn’t even spoken and wasn’t standing there with her hand extended, Dan Wallace said, “My, my, my, Hill outdid herself this time.” He rubbed his hands together, an ugly expression on his face. “We’re going to make a fortune on this one.”
Mara dropped her hand and took a step back. “What—” she began, confusion and shock twisting in her gut.
A second man, maybe thirty-five, with thick reddish-brown hair cut a little long, fine, aquiline features and brilliantly green eyes interrupted her. “Let’s see her naked.”
“What?” Mara cried again, the word bursting from her mouth in a sharp, incredulous bark. She looked wildly between the four men, who all regarded her with nasty smiles. She took another step back and turned toward the sliding doors, a vague but urgent idea of escape forming in her mind.
Ronaldo stepped between her and the doors, blocking her way. She whirled back toward Wallace, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear her own voice over its beat. “I’m here for a job interview. What is this? What was that man talking about?”
Wallace continued to grin his ugly grin. As if she hadn’t spoken, Wallace turned to the third man, a younger, more muscular version of himself, with the same mop of curly hair, though without the silver, and the same close-set, shrewd gaze. “What do you think, DJ? Did your sister find us a live one?”
The younger man nodded, his small eyes narrowing. “Oh, yeah,” he said fervently. “I like Alex’s idea. Let’s see her naked.”
Mara swayed, dizzy with shock and fear. This couldn’t be happening. She had to get out of there. She had to get help. Her cell phone was in her briefcase outside in the cart. She would call 9-1-1, but how would they get to the island? She didn’t even know where she was!
Wallace gestured toward Mara with his chin. “Go ahead, boy. Let’s see the goods.”
DJ jumped eagerly to his feet. As he stood, he pulled something from his cargo shorts pocket and flicked it open with a snick and a flash of silver. Terrified, Mara took another step back, bumping against Ronaldo. Strong arms reached from behind, hard fingers digging into her shoulders.
DJ moved closer, the switchblade gleaming in his grasp. “Relax, baby,” he said, his eyes glittering with malevolent lust. He grabbed the front of her dress. “You’ll be fine as long as you stay still.” She couldn’t have moved if she’d tried, caught in Ronaldo’s firm grip. With his other hand, DJ drew the tip of the knife down the fabric, which parted with a ripping sound.
“Oh my god,” Mara whispered, breathless with shock as Ronaldo pulled the torn dress from her body. DJ slipped the cold blade between her breasts and yanked it forward so the bra, too, fell open. Mara nearly fainted as the knife slid beneath the elastic of her panties and ripped them easily from her body. She sagged against Ronaldo, too terrified to make a sound.
Wallace leered at her with a wolfish expression. “Excellent breasts. Long legs. She looks strong. She’ll give the guys a run for their money during the next hunt.”
Mara could make no sense of this bizarre statement, but Alex nodded in apparent agreement. He was also staring at Mara, but his expression was colder, more assessing, as if he were reviewing the contents of a shipment of books or a case of wine. DJ stood nearby, one hand rubbing the bulge at his crotch, the knife still in his other hand.
The room tilted as Mara’s legs turned to jelly. She sagged hard against the driver as her eyes fluttered closed.
When she opened her eyes, it took several seconds to figure out where she was, or whose face was gazing intently into hers. She was slumped in a chair, naked. “There you are,” Alex said, leaning back on his haunches. “We lost you for a minute there. Welcome back.”