Gone Black by Linda Ladd Page A

but she just let it go, let the hard and wracking sobs happen, until they were done, and she grew calm again. Then she sat there alone and wished she were dead, too. She heard Laurie come in downstairs and call up to her, gently asking her if she was all right, if she wanted anybody to come up and be with her. Claire didn’t even answer, and Laurie went away again. So she just sat there alone until all the tears were gone and she felt completely empty inside.
    Dead, just like Black.
    Killing Black
    When Black came around again, he felt very confused and nauseated. Very weak and woozy, he slowly became aware of the pulsating beat in his temples, pounding so hard and so fast that he could barely stand it. He could taste blood, could feel a split in his bottom lip with his tongue. His face ached, and he tried to think, to remember where he was and what had happened. No explanation revealed itself, just the jackhammer slamming going on inside his skull. He kept his eyes shut tight and willed himself to get hold of his mind. Concentrate his thoughts. He had been going home, he remembered that much. To Claire. To their wedding. They were getting married. But something was not right about that. He forced his eyes all the way open and saw nothing at all. Just darkness, inky black, thick and close, as if he could reach out and touch it, as if it would feel soft, like fine black velvet. No light at all. Not anywhere. Where was he? What happened? Why was it so dark?
    Then he realized that he was injured pretty badly. He ached all over; the muscles in his legs were cramping hard now, his face felt hot and hurt and puffy and swollen. He tasted blood again, down in the back of his throat, and his eyes seemed fused as if his lashes were glued together. Groaning, he tried to lift his hand to touch his bloated face. That’s when he realized he couldn’t move his hands. He couldn’t move his feet, either. Or anything else. That’s when panic surged inside him, and he struggled against whatever was binding his wrists and ankles, but it was too dark to see what was holding him down. Whatever it was, it was very tight and secure. He knew then that he had to pull himself together. He had to think straight.
    After a moment, he remembered driving the red Ferrari convertible, heading down to the airstrip from the villa he had leased for the honeymoon. Then he remembered the scared little boy in the road, the one with a shock collar on, and then the image of the red-haired woman shot into his awareness. Oh, God, it had been Jaxy. Jaxy Soquet had him in her clutches. And if she had him, so did Max and Marcel. After that realization came recollections of his attack, how he was beaten and sedated. He had been taken captive, that’s what had happened. His whole body reacted to the extreme danger of that bitter truth, his muscles taut now with fear and debilitating tension.
    Once he was able to recall everything, his mind started spinning, first with the simple terror of the unknown, then with his utter helplessness. But as his military training from his days at Ranger School and the missions he ran thereafter kicked in, he slowly and methodically sought to calm down and get himself under rigid mental control. He pulled in several deep, bracing breaths. There wasn’t much he could do until he figured out why the Soquets had him and what Jaxy was planning to do. But who was he kidding? He already knew why. It was vengeance, pure and simple. They wanted him dead. They had wanted him dead for a very long time. And for something he hadn’t even done.
    Black knew from his detailed research into the Soquet family that they were all psychopaths and that they all liked money. Maybe he could buy them off. But they were already rich, wealthy from ill-gotten gains stemming from Marcel’s expert bomb making and gunrunning and for-hire assassinations, mostly to terrorist organizations. Black had to try to relax, pull himself together,