Solving the Mysterious Stranger

For instance, why had a no-nonsense businesswoman like her agreed to pose for a mildly risqué calendar? She didn’t look at all like her photos in the new Hopkins Boatworks calendar he’d picked up at the last port.

The woman in those pictures was a sexual being—sizzling in forties-style clothes and makeup. She’d been photographed in black and white, standing in front of next year’s model of luxury yacht presented in full color.

If he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t believe they were the same person. Even though the woman in the calendar was definitely a turn-on, for some reason he preferred her like this. Serious, straight and trim, with her hair loose and swinging about her shoulders.

What he had to do bothered him—a lot. Enough that he’d followed an impulse he never should have considered, much less acted on. If his abrupt decision backfired, it could blow the plan that had taken months to set in motion.

And blowing the plan at this stage would be a deadly mistake.

Not to mention that he was two hundred dollars poorer, with no idea whether his money had been wasted. He’d paid the fortune-teller to embellish Amelia’s fortune.

But had she?

“Tell her to be careful,” he’d instructed the woman. “Can you somehow let her know she can trust me?”

The fortune-teller had looked at the wad of twenties and then at him. She’d frowned. “You are caught between two worlds.”

“Yeah—look, lady. Don’t tell my fortune. I know mine. Tell hers. She’s on her way here now. You just finished with her two friends.”

“No. Wait a moment. You must listen to me. You live in two different worlds, and those worlds are about to collide. You must be extremely careful or your young woman may be crushed in the collision.”

“Great.” He’d tossed another wad of twenties down and turned up his nose at the smell of spice and roses drifting up from a dish on the table. “Sounds good. I’m going out through the back.”

As he left, she’d called out to him. “Listen for my voice. I will guide you as much as possible. But only if you open your mind and heart.”

Back on the street, Cole had muttered a curse. That was two hundred dollars ill-spent. He figured the fortune-teller was already pocketing the bills and planning to get as much from Amelia as she could.

A couple passed him, walking arm-in-arm, drawing his thoughts back to the present. They glanced at him with idle curiosity.

He half turned away and pretended to light an invisible cigarette with a nonexistent lighter.

The high-school band struck up a march, and the chatter and cheers grew louder as the twelve-o’clock hour approached.

Cole’s pulse sped up. The fireworks would begin in a few minutes. He needed to be done with his task before his new buddies began theirs.

The sound of an old-fashioned bell signaled Amelia’s exit from the pharmacy. She called out her thanks to the pharmacist as the door closed behind her and the bell’s ring faded. She turned south, away from the town square.

She was going home. She walked with a bounce in her step. She didn’t know her life was about to change forever.

He followed at a careful distance, wishing he wasn’t fascinated by the way her jeans cupped her bottom and emphasized her long legs, wishing her hair wasn’t so shiny that it caught the light of the moon, wishing he was someone else—and so was she.

As soon as she left the lights of town behind and started climbing the cliff path, Cole lengthened his stride. His soft-soled boots made almost no noise on the rocky road. In contrast, her leather soles clicked loudly against the stones and gravel. She wasn’t dressed for speed, not with those ridiculous high-heeled boots on.

The sky lit up. The fireworks. Time to make his move.

In three long strides he caught up with her, just as she slowed for a glance back at the display. He wrapped one arm all the way around her, pinning her body against him.

She didn’t make a sound, just stiffened. Then she kicked and twisted, trying to break his hold.

Behind him, firecrackers cracked and rockets whistled. The sky flashed like lightning.

“Don’t use up your energy struggling. You’re going to need it.” He grabbed both her wrists in one hand and slipped his other hand around her neck from behind.

He didn’t squeeze. He just let his fingers trail along her larynx. He felt more than heard her suck in a deep breath.

“Don’t scream,” he muttered. “I can break your neck before you can make a sound.”

Chapter Two

Amelia’s throat moved against Cole’s fingers as she swallowed.

“I don’t scream,” she hissed, her words a lot braver than her voice.

Her bravado made him angry.

Damn it, Amelia, don’t be stupid. Stupid people often didn’t live long enough to regret their actions.

“Do you cry?” he growled. “Because I can break your fingers one at a time and keep you conscious so you can feel each bone crack.”

Her head jerked. He’d gotten to her. She might not scream, might not even fear death, but she did fear pain.

“You are talented, aren’t you?” she retorted, her voice hoarse with the strain of staying calm.

He almost smiled through his anger. Her courage was ill-aimed, but she had plenty of it. “Don’t mess with me, sweetheart. You’re making me angry, and I promise you won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“I don’t like you now.” She swallowed again, stronger this time. “What do you want from me?”

He ignored her question. “Pick up that case you dropped. I don’t want anything to look out of place.”

He loosed his hold long enough for her to scoop up the case, and then he nudged her forward. “Move it.”

Unexpectedly, she twisted, trying to break his grip. Instinctively, he jerked her back.

She gasped.

“Don’t try that again. I promise you’ll regret it. I can knock you out if I have to.”

“Wow. Is there no end to what you can do?”

“You’ve got me beat at stand-up comedy.” He scowled. She was afraid, but her wisecracks taunted him. He had to watch himself. This wasn’t a silly flirtation, nor a prelude to a date. It was an abduction—a deadly serious business.

He couldn’t afford to lose sight of his goal for one second.

They came to a fork in the gravel road. If he continued up toward her house, the rocks would block his view of the harbor, and he needed to see the boats. So he pushed her in the other direction, down toward the Hopkins’s boatyard.

“Where…are you taking me?”

He knew what she was thinking. From the moment he’d first heard about Amelia Hopkins and the Global Freedom Front’s plans, her fate had haunted him—that’s why he’d gone to their leader and requested this job.

Thank God he’d earned the terrorist leader’s respect. It had taken him three years, but he’d finally managed to get close enough to Chien Fou to ensure that whatever he asked for, he got.

The idea that one of his fellow seamen might lay his hands on Amelia sickened Cole. Yet he knew that in the deepest, most shameful corner of his soul, the idea of taking her, willingly or not, titillated him.

He disgusted himself.

“Look, whoever you are. I have money. Lots of it,” she said desperately. “I’ll make sure you’re set for life. Just please don’t—”

“Shut up!” he snapped.

Off to the north, the boats were moving. Amelia spotted them as soon as he did. She stopped.

“What’s going on down there?”

The boats were rigged like pirate ships, flying the Jolly Roger. Cole heard cheers and laughter coming from the little town below.

Chien Fou’s ruse had worked. Cole pictured exactly what the townsfolk saw.

Ships with black sails and orange pirate flags. Seamen with red rags around their heads and knives in their teeth.

“Oh, dear heavens,” Amelia whispered, and craned her neck to look up at him.

He met her gaze for the third time and, just like the first, when he’d put himself in her path as she came out of the fortune-teller’s booth, and the second in the crowded pub, her eyes glowed like Tupelo honey.

Her expression morphed from puzzlement to confusion to horror within the space of a second.

“You!” she stormed.

He nodded and curved his mouth in what he hoped was a sneer. “You don’t look like the type who’d pay a fortune-teller. What’d she tell you—beware of strangers?”

Two spots of crimson flared across her cheekbones. His pulse jumped. So the fortune-teller had gotten his message across. Or spilled the beans about the weird guy and his odd request.

“What’s going on down there? Who are they?” Her head jerked toward the boats.

“Who knows? Pirates. Revelers. Paid performers.” He heard the sting in his own voice.

“No, they’re not.”

She was entirely too intuitive.

“They’re not part of the festival. Something’s happening. Something bad.” She surprised him by jerking against his thumb, a classic self-defense move. She took off running.

Damn it. He threw himself after her. She was nimble and quick, skipping down the cliff-side path, her high heels clicking on the rocks.

Then suddenly she went down. Her fancy boots were her undoing, just as he’d predicted.

He caught up to her in no time. She lay in an awkward heap on a jutting rock, her eyes glittering like gold nuggets—or hot coals.

Cole examined the line of her body. Was she hurt? Or was she feigning? At this point, he wouldn’t put anything past her.

Then he saw it. The long skinny heel of her boot appeared caught under a rock.

“I knew I should have brought my purse. I carry a gun. I could have shot you.”

“No purse? Then what’s this?” he asked, picking up the metal case she kept dropping when she fell.

“Give me that.”

He examined it. “What is it?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in.”

He flipped the clasp and opened it. “Makeup?”

“Stage makeup. Some of the performers used it.”

“The fortune-tellers.” He thought about the boat calendar and her perfect 1940s makeup and hair. “You’re an actress?”

“None of your business. May I have my case?”

He handed her the case.

She kicked him.

“Ow! Damn it!” Her spiked heel made a big dent in his forearm. She jabbed at him again. He grabbed her foot. “Stop!”

“Oh! You’re breaking my ankle.”

“Yeah. Right.” He was barely touching her, but he held his hands up, palms out. “Get up.”

Amelia glared at the bully who had abducted her. She couldn’t let him know how terrified she was. When he’d grabbed her earlier, she’d seen the hastily disguised lust in his eyes.

She’d always been capable of taking care of herself. Plus her father’s employees had always looked after her like family.

But there was no one around to protect her now. This dangerous stranger had anticipated every move she’d made.

Whatever he wanted to do to her, she’d be helpless against him.

What an idiot she was, wearing these ridiculous thousand-dollar boots. She should have worn her hiking boots. Of course her plans for the evening hadn’t included being hauled up and down the cliff face by a ruffian.

“Let’s go. I said, get up.” He held out his hand. It was a large hand, with short blunt fingernails. His palm was calloused—she’d felt its roughness against her neck.

She lowered her gaze. If he looked into her eyes, he’d know she was planning something. She figured she had one last chance to get away.

She took his hand and moved to stand, mentally rehearsing her rash, spur-of-the-moment plan. If she could surprise him and throw him off balance, she could escape and warn the town—of what exactly, she had no idea. But she knew that those pirate boats converging on the harbor boded ill for Raven’s Cliff.

She feinted as if she’d lost her footing, then with all her might she swung the makeup case at his head.

He stopped her so easily it was laughable. He wrenched the case from her hands.

“Nice trick. Try it on someone your own size. I’ll hold on to this. I don’t care to be banged on the head with it. Now let’s go. We need to head up to your house now. You can walk or I can carry you. It’s your choice.”

Amelia glared at him. Helplessness churned in her gut until she felt ill. She had no chance of escaping him. None.

Whatever he wanted, he’d take.

“What do you want from me if it’s not money?”

He didn’t answer, just tilted his head back an inch and raked her body with his gaze.

Amelia’s heart pounded in her ears as fear wrapped icy fingers around her heart. He was going to rape her, or kill her or both. Everyone in Raven’s Cliff was convinced the Seaside Strangler was dead. But what if this man—

“Look. I’m not talking pocket change. I’ve got enough to set you up for life. I’ll give you whatever you want.” She sounded pathetic, but she didn’t care.

Gone was her bravado, gone the self-assurance and determination that made her a good businesswoman.

She did not want to die.

The last of the fireworks exploded, lighting up the sky. The stranger’s head jerked.

Instinctively, Amelia whirled and took off running. She got nowhere. He grabbed her belt loop and pulled her back.

“I told you we’re going up the hill—one way or another. I guess it’s going to be another.” He turned her around and cupped his hand behind her ear.

And that was all she knew.

SOMEBODY WAS POUNDING on her forehead. She felt dizzy and disoriented, as if the world had flipped upside down.

Her forehead bumped against a hard surface. She opened her eyes and squinted.

The world wasn’t upside down. She was. She was hanging over the stranger’s shoulder like a duffel bag. The position squeezed her chest so she could hardly get a full breath.

She squirmed.

“Be still.” He moved his hand from her thighs to her bottom.

“Put me down,” she whispered angrily as she squirmed some more, only to discover that the pressure of her breasts against his shoulder was causing them to tighten. The tingling awareness slid all the way through her.

Fear, she told herself. That’s all it was. Only, the heat of his hand on her butt didn’t feel scary. It felt protective—and tingly.

“Put me down! Now!” She pounded on his back with her fists and kicked, working to bury the toes of her boots in his flesh. Nothing fazed him, but she kept on anyhow.

He doggedly trudged ahead. She heard his hard, steady breathing and felt the tense bands of his shoulder muscles under her breasts.

Within seconds she was exhausted. Her limbs burned with effort. She was ready to cry. She’d never felt so helpless in her life. And yet she knew with dreaded certainty that this was only the beginning of what this stranger had in store for her.

“I…don’t know what…you think you’re…doing but…you’re not going to…get away…with it.” It was a struggle just to breathe, let alone talk, with her chest bouncing on the ball of his shoulder.

He didn’t answer.

With a great effort, Amelia lifted her head, peering down at the town below. The shouts of celebration had stopped. Now the night was eerily silent and dark in the shadows of the new moon.

Something awful had happened.

She racked her brain for a way to escape the stranger before they got to her house. She’d do anything to keep him away from her father.

“Stop! Now!” she demanded desperately, with no hope that he’d pay any attention to her.

To her surprise he stopped. Then he dumped her off his shoulder. Her legs collapsed beneath her.

“Please,” she gasped. “Tell me what you want.”

He held out his hand like a gentleman. She wanted to spit on it, but she quelled that childish urge and took his hand, allowing him to pull her upright.

When she raised her gaze to his, trying to read the intent in his ice-gray eyes, what she saw sent warring emotions churning through her.

His gaze wasn’t lewd or filled with lust. Instead, it was hot and stormy.

Just like the fortune-teller said. Amelia’s heart leaped into her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. She was terrified, of course. But a part of her longed to look more deeply behind the storm clouds in his eyes, and find out what haunted him.

A muscle in his jaw ticked and his lips flattened, drawing her attention. His mouth was straight and wide. What would it be like to kiss this mysterious stranger?

Instantly his stormy eyes grew as cold as stone. He straightened. “Let’s go. I want to meet your father.”

“My—?” Dear heavens, he was after her dad. Terror slid like an ice cube down her spine.

Not for herself. Not now. Now she understood. He’d had plenty of chances to do whatever he wanted to her, if that was his plan.

Something far worse was going on. Something she couldn’t even imagine. But she knew that he was connected to the pirate ships.

She didn’t know what he planned to do once he got inside their house. She just knew she couldn’t let him. She had to protect her dad.

She felt the familiar weight of her cell phone in her jeans’ pocket. If she could somehow call Police Captain

Swanson without the stranger hearing her, maybe she could foil his plans.

But how?

She could feign nausea. If she stuck her finger down her throat, maybe she could dial the captain while the stranger thought she was puking.

Captain Swanson would see her number. He’d know there was something wrong.

Good. She had a plan.

The stranger’s eyes flickered. He’d heard her sigh of relief. She clutched at her belly and moaned, but it was no use.

He reached out and with one spare motion, pulled her back against him and patted her down.

“Ah,” he muttered. “Cell phone—and what’s this?”

Amelia heard the sound of pills rattling. Her heart pounded. “Just vitamins.”

“Vitamins?” The stranger held up the vial so it caught an anemic glow from the spotlights shining on the cliff house. “Vitamins for the heart? Reginald Hopkins. Your dad has a heart condition.”

Amelia shook her head even as her stomach sank to the ground. No need to pretend nausea now. The real thing clenched her gut and filled her mouth with acrid saliva. “I’ve already told you what I can do for you. Leave my father alone.”

“Sorry. Can’t.” He loosened his hold, but left his hot palm resting on the curve of her spine. She knew if she made a move, he’d be on her in a flash. “Now. Let’s go inside and you can introduce me to your dad.”

“What am I supposed to say to him?”

“Tell him the truth.”

She glared at him as his eyes sparkled—with amusement or anticipation? “The truth. That presupposes that you’ve told me the truth.”

“Tell him you’ve brought me home for the night.”

His words hit their mark in her brain. Dear heavens, she’d underestimated him again. He’d just been biding his time.

“Is…is that the truth?”

He cocked his head to one side.

“But you promised—”

“Promised? I only promised you one thing.” He touched her chin.

She cringed away and pushed at his hand. Why had she thought he’d promised not to hurt her? Was it just the way he’d looked at her?

“So that’s it?” She swallowed, trying to stop the flutter in her throat. Her voice was already quivering. “You want me to sleep with you? And if I agree, what then? Will you go away?”

Her eyes stung and her throat felt raw. In fact, she felt raw all over, as if he’d flayed the skin off her bones. Could she do it? Could she lie with this stranger?

Hell yes, if it would keep her father safe. She frowned. “Well? Will you go away if I sleep with you?”

“I’m afraid not, Amelia.” He drew out her name. Ah-mee-lee-yah. His eyes glittered in the darkness. “No matter how much fun you and I might have—it’s your dad I’m after.”

Chapter Three

Amelia’s eyes grew huge and round. “No, please,” she whispered. “What can you possibly want with my father? He’s never hurt anyone in his life.”

“That’s true. He hasn’t,” Cole said, hardening his heart when he saw her shoulders slump in relief. “But that’s not the issue.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked, and one spilled down her cheek. “Then what is?” she cried. “Tell me something. If I knew what you wanted, I could give it to you.”

“You will. Now open the door.”

She hesitated, then reached for the knob.

“Hold it.” He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. “Turn off the alarm.”

She tried not to react, but her body language gave her away, and he could tell that she knew it.

“Don’t waste my time, Amelia. We both know the alarm is on.”

Two more tears slipped down her cheeks as she pressed on a rock to the left of the door. The “rock” slid aside, revealing a keypad.

Cole caught her hand. “If you do anything to alert anyone, I promise you it will be a deadly mistake. Do you understand?”

Her throat moved, and then she nodded.

It pained him to see her so defeated. Someday, once all this was over, he hoped he could tell her how brave she’d been today.

But right now, all of his concentration, all his strength, needed to be on the job at hand. It was his bad luck that the yacht-builder’s daughter was so damned attractive. And her bad luck that both their lives depended on him playing his part to perfection.

As she pressed a sequence of numbers, he committed the code to memory. An almost silent click sounded and she reached for the doorknob again.

He put his hand over hers and felt the fine trembling that told him she was barely holding herself together. “Who’s here?”

“My father. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Winston. That’s it.”

He squeezed her hand. “Who else?”

“S-sometimes a few of the guys will come up and play poker with Dad. But he’s been—under the weather the past couple of days.”

“His heart.”

“Please…no one knows about his heart condition. Not even Mrs. Winston. My father is a very proud man. He’s always been strong and smart. Always been able to do anything he set his mind to.”

“I’m afraid that’s about to change.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her knuckles against her mouth. After a few seconds she spoke. “Are you going to kill us?”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“If I’m going to die, don’t I deserve to know what I’m dying for?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” He let go of her hand. “Now, put on a happy face and go inside. Don’t forget I’m right behind you.”

As she turned the knob, she muttered a rude but apt description of him under her breath.

He agreed totally.

As she opened the door, he thought of something that had been niggling at the edge of his brain. “Wait a second. Is your dad’s heart condition affecting his work? Is that why this season’s yachts are throwbacks to past years?”

She turned, her expression carefully blank. “Why would you say that?”

“Because for the past three years I’ve been studying your dad’s designs. It’s pretty obvious.” He let his gaze drift down her body and back up. When he met her gaze, she looked away.

“It’s why you did that sexy photo shoot for this year’s calendar, isn’t it? To draw attention away from the yachts?”

Two spots of red in her cheeks told him he was right. “I don’t get it. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to underplay the calendar rather than make it the flashiest one in years?”

She lifted her chin. “Hopkins Yachts are never down-played. That would have given it away.”

They stepped into a stone foyer. Beyond, Cole saw a vast stretch of glass wall that looked out over Raven’s Cliff’s small harbor. In the center of the wall was a set of unsightly steel doors. The elevator.