kept pulling. So he pushed her bound hands down, into her lap, reached for the duct tape and yanked.
She thought her scream would have filled the cabin and even woken her drugged client, but the only sound that came out was a choked gasp as the duct tape was ripped from her face, taking a few strands of loose hair with it.
He tossed it in her lap. “Sorry,” he said, sitting across from her and picking up his book.
“Sorry?” she echoed in a hoarse voice. “Sorry for what? For kidnapping me, for drugging me, for wrapping me in duct tape, you son of a bitch!”
“I have another roll of tape and I’m not afraid to use it,” he said lightly. “Behave yourself, Ms. Spenser.”
“You think this is funny?” Her voice was getting stronger now. “You have a pretty sick sense of humor.”
His faint smile wasn’t reassuring. “So I’ve been told. I’ll leave the gag off if you sit there and be quiet. I have work to do.”
“You’re an idiot.”
That got his attention, though it failed to ruffle him. In the dim light his eyes looked very dark, almost empty, but she’d managed to catch his attention, and he put the book down. “I am?”
Her brain was going very fast. “I know you didn’t expect to have me on board when you carried out your nasty little scheme—you tried hard enough to get rid of me. But now that I’m here, don’t you think you ought to make use of me?”
He leaned back against the chair, watching her. “And how would I do that? Are you offering to join our merry band?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Any fool can see what your plan is.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You’ve kidnapped one of the world’s richest men. Clearly you did it for the money—you don’t have the look of a wild-eyed terrorist. Therefore you need to negotiate the terms of the ransom, and I’m your woman.”
“Are you, indeed?” he murmured. “And why don’t you think I’m a wild-eyed terrorist bent on some bloody political crusade?”
“You dress too well.”
He laughed. It seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised her. He sounded as if he didn’t laugh very often, which was no surprise. She wouldn’t have expected extortionists to be a humorous bunch.
“So whose side are you going to be on, Ms. Spenser? Mine or Harry’s?”
“You want money, I want Harry safe. I imagine I can find a solution that will work for both of you. Now, why don’t you take the rest of this duct tape off me and we can negotiate. You already know I’m no physical threat to you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he drawled, but he rose anyway, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a small knife. He leaned down to cut through the tape around her ankles, and she brought her bound hands down hard on the top of his head.
Or at least she tried to. He caught her wrists in one hand while he slit the tape at her ankles, not even bothering to look up. He ripped the tape off her ankles and then his cold blue eyes met hers. “It’s a waste of time, Ms. Spenser,” he said, “and it will only annoy me. It’s a boat—there’s no place to go but over the side, and I’ve heard there are sharks in this area.”
“I think I’d be safer with them,” she muttered. He cut the tape at her wrists, and she realized he was using the Swiss Army knife she’d tucked in her bra. She wasn’t going to think about how he’d found it, she was going to concentrate on how his grip on her wrists hurt, and decided if anyone was going to be shark bait it was going to be Peter Jensen.
“Is Jensen really your name?” she asked when he sat down again, closing the knife and tucking it back into his pocket.
“Does it matter? I’ve used any number of names. Jensen, Davidson, Wilson, Madsen.”
“In other words your mother didn’t know who your father was.”
The moment the words here out of her mouth she could have bit her tongue. She almost picked up the gag that lay in her lap and slapped it back over her mouth. The man sitting across from her was probably only one step removed from a sociopath, and to call his mother a whore was beyond foolish.
His expression gave nothing away. “You’re not a very good lawyer, are you, Ms. Spenser? A good lawyer knows when to keep her mouth shut.”
She said nothing, and after a moment the tension in the room relaxed slightly. “In fact, I know exactly who my father was, unfortunately. You wouldn’t have liked him…he had a very bad temper. Would you like some tea?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Would you like some tea? The particular drug I gave you tends to make your mouth feel like cotton, and being gagged doesn’t help. Since we’re about to enter negotiations, I want to be sure your mouth is in working order.” She could positively feel his glance on her lips, and she ran a nervous tongue over them, making her feel even more conspicuous. He had kissed her, hadn’t he?
“I’d be happier with a drink.”
“Not a good idea. On top of the drugs I gave you and your little yellow pills, you might find yourself way too vulnerable. They aren’t good for you, you know.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew about her tranquilizers—it was just one more violation. “Life is stressful,” she said. “And that was before I got kidnapped and molested.”
“Don’t sound so hopeful. No one’s molested you. Yet.”
“This isn’t funny,” she snapped. “If being abducted and drugged isn’t being molested I don’t know what is.”
“Oh. I thought you were referring to something a bit more sexual.”
She blushed.
It was the oddest sensation. She wasn’t used to blushing, and his drawled comment was casual, not suggestive, and yet she could feel the warmth staining her cheeks. She had pale skin, and she’d just been pumped full of God knows how many drugs, and it must be a reaction, she thought nervously, and he wouldn’t even notice…
“Ms. Spenser, are you blushing?”
“A lawyer doesn’t blush, Mr. Jensen,” she said severely. “Now, why don’t you tell me what it is you want, and I’m certain we can come to an agreement.”
He said nothing. He rose and crossed the room, pushing open a hidden cupboard that exposed a small refrigerator. When he returned he put the icy can of Tab in her hand, and she almost kissed the sweating fuchsia sides. He’d already popped it open, a good thing, because her hands were shaking as she lifted it to her mouth.
“Aren’t you going to worry that I’m drugging you again?” He sat back down.
“I don’t care,” she said, drinking half the can in one gulp, letting the cold liquid slide down her throat. She closed her eyes and let out a blissful sigh. She would have welcomed anything cold and wet, but this was almost enough to make her not want to kill him. Almost.
She opened her eyes again, to see him watching her. “So what do you want?” she asked again.
He hesitated, and he didn’t seem like a man who would ever hesitate. “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can offer me, Ms. Spenser. I have a job to do.”
“And what is that?”
“My orders are to kill Harry Van Dorn,” he said, his voice flat. “And anyone else who gets in the way.”
She was tough, he had to grant her that. Only the quick blink of her eyes betrayed any kind of reaction to his bald statement. She believed him, though. She was too smart not to.
“Why?”
“I