off when she felt the prick of a knife at her side, just above her waist.
“I believe it would be for the best, Dr. Fitzpatrick.”
She didn’t have to feign terror, but even as her mind threatened to freeze with it, Gillian remembered her instructions. Stall. Stall as long as possible so that Trace could even the odds.
“I don’t understand.”
“It will all be explained. Your brother sends his best.”
“Flynn.” Regardless of the knife, Gillian reached out and grabbed the man’s shirt. “You have Flynn and Caitlin. Tell me if they’re all right. Please.”
“Your brother and niece are in good health and will remain so as long as we have cooperation.” He put his left arm around her shoulders and began to walk.
“I’ll give you whatever you want if you promise not to hurt them. I have some money. How much—?”
“We’re not interested in money.” The knife urged her forward. However kind his face had been, the hand on the knife was merciless. “There is a matter of the missing experiments and the notes.”
“I’ll give them to you. I have them right here.” She gripped the strap of her bag. “Please don’t hurt me or my family.”
“It’s to your advantage that you are more easily persuaded than your brother.”
“Where is Flynn? Please, tell me where you’re holding him.”
“You’ll be with him soon enough.”
Trace found the second man behind the Governor’s Palace. He strolled by, clicking his camera, then pressed the man’s face into one of the twenty thousand intricately carved stones.
“Fascinating stuff, isn’t it?” He had his hand around the man’s neck in what would look like a brotherly embrace. They both knew it would take only a jerk to break bone. “If you want to keep the use of your right arm, don’t look around. Let’s make this quick while we’ve got some privacy. Where are you holding Flynn Fitzpatrick?”
“I don’t know a Flynn Fitzpatrick.”
Trace hitched the man’s arm up another quarter inch. He could hear bone grinding against bone. “You’re wasting my time.” After a quick look around, Trace pulled out his hunting knife and placed the blade where earmet skull. “Ever heard of van Gogh? It only takes a few seconds to remove an ear. It won’t kill you—unless you bleed to death. Now, once more—Flynn Fitzpatrick.”
“We weren’t told where he was taken.” The blade nipped into flesh. “I swear it! Our instructions were to take him and the girl to the airport and turn them over. We were sent back for the woman, his sister.”
“And your instructions for her?”
“A private plane at the airport in Cancun. We were not told of the final destination.”
“Who killed Forrester?”
“Abdul.”
Because time was pressing, Trace had to forgo the pleasure of making the man suffer. “Go to sleep,” he said simply, and rammed the man’s head into the stone.
Where was Trace? Gillian thought as she approached a small white compact. If he didn’t come soon, she and the altered notes would be on their way to … She didn’t even know where.
“Please, tell me where you’re taking me.” She stumbled, and the knife slashed through the cotton of her blouse to flesh. “I feel faint. I need a moment.” When she leaned heavily against the hood of the car, the man relaxed enough to draw the knife away from her side.
“You can rest in the car.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
He made a sound of disgust and pulled her upright by the hair. Trace’s fist sent him reeling back three feet. “She may be a bit of a bitch,” he said mildly, “but I can’t stand to see a woman manhandled. Look, honey, I just wanted to get you naked. No rough stuff.”
Gillian let the bag slip out of her hands and fled.
“That’s a woman for you. No appreciation.” Trace shot the man, whose mouth was spurting blood, a grin. “Better luck next time.”
The man swore. Trace knew enough Arabic to catch the drift. When a knife was drawn, he was
“I believe it would be for the best, Dr. Fitzpatrick.”
She didn’t have to feign terror, but even as her mind threatened to freeze with it, Gillian remembered her instructions. Stall. Stall as long as possible so that Trace could even the odds.
“I don’t understand.”
“It will all be explained. Your brother sends his best.”
“Flynn.” Regardless of the knife, Gillian reached out and grabbed the man’s shirt. “You have Flynn and Caitlin. Tell me if they’re all right. Please.”
“Your brother and niece are in good health and will remain so as long as we have cooperation.” He put his left arm around her shoulders and began to walk.
“I’ll give you whatever you want if you promise not to hurt them. I have some money. How much—?”
“We’re not interested in money.” The knife urged her forward. However kind his face had been, the hand on the knife was merciless. “There is a matter of the missing experiments and the notes.”
“I’ll give them to you. I have them right here.” She gripped the strap of her bag. “Please don’t hurt me or my family.”
“It’s to your advantage that you are more easily persuaded than your brother.”
“Where is Flynn? Please, tell me where you’re holding him.”
“You’ll be with him soon enough.”
Trace found the second man behind the Governor’s Palace. He strolled by, clicking his camera, then pressed the man’s face into one of the twenty thousand intricately carved stones.
“Fascinating stuff, isn’t it?” He had his hand around the man’s neck in what would look like a brotherly embrace. They both knew it would take only a jerk to break bone. “If you want to keep the use of your right arm, don’t look around. Let’s make this quick while we’ve got some privacy. Where are you holding Flynn Fitzpatrick?”
“I don’t know a Flynn Fitzpatrick.”
Trace hitched the man’s arm up another quarter inch. He could hear bone grinding against bone. “You’re wasting my time.” After a quick look around, Trace pulled out his hunting knife and placed the blade where earmet skull. “Ever heard of van Gogh? It only takes a few seconds to remove an ear. It won’t kill you—unless you bleed to death. Now, once more—Flynn Fitzpatrick.”
“We weren’t told where he was taken.” The blade nipped into flesh. “I swear it! Our instructions were to take him and the girl to the airport and turn them over. We were sent back for the woman, his sister.”
“And your instructions for her?”
“A private plane at the airport in Cancun. We were not told of the final destination.”
“Who killed Forrester?”
“Abdul.”
Because time was pressing, Trace had to forgo the pleasure of making the man suffer. “Go to sleep,” he said simply, and rammed the man’s head into the stone.
Where was Trace? Gillian thought as she approached a small white compact. If he didn’t come soon, she and the altered notes would be on their way to … She didn’t even know where.
“Please, tell me where you’re taking me.” She stumbled, and the knife slashed through the cotton of her blouse to flesh. “I feel faint. I need a moment.” When she leaned heavily against the hood of the car, the man relaxed enough to draw the knife away from her side.
“You can rest in the car.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
He made a sound of disgust and pulled her upright by the hair. Trace’s fist sent him reeling back three feet. “She may be a bit of a bitch,” he said mildly, “but I can’t stand to see a woman manhandled. Look, honey, I just wanted to get you naked. No rough stuff.”
Gillian let the bag slip out of her hands and fled.
“That’s a woman for you. No appreciation.” Trace shot the man, whose mouth was spurting blood, a grin. “Better luck next time.”
The man swore. Trace knew enough Arabic to catch the drift. When a knife was drawn, he was
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