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Andrew.
In prison.
For her.
When Andrew had left for the “Middle East,” the only reason Whitney had been so determined to grow strong, on her own, was the thought of him coming home. Waiting for one more letter . . . the wait for that day when he walked through their door . . .
When he came back, he was changed. Darker. A little angry. And desperate for her.
Oh. My. God.
“Stop chattering, ‘I’m not a murderer.’” His laugh was choked. Awful. “But I can definitely sample you. Hmm? So that when I’m in the Cayman Islands, spending you and your sweetheart’s millions, he will live with the torture that I had you, while you wore his tattoo.” Leaning over until his chubby face was close enough to wreak his breath all over her, he stroked her jaw with both his thumbs. “Hmm.” He reached down and parted her shirt, and she felt the cool air on her skin, slowly revealing her.
Knocking her forehead into his, she leapt to her feet and threw her entire weight onto him, taking him down. She sprawled over him and screamed as she pressed both buttons of the spider against his neck.
A bolt hit him, and convulsions and strange sounds erupted from his chest.
Then a dead weight on the floor underneath her sprawled body.
She blinked in disbelief. It worked?
Move, move, move, she thought.
She needed to act.
She had twenty minutes.
But as far as she knew this guy wasn't even human and would rise in two!
Adrenaline pushed her to her feet.
“Omigod omigod.” Wide-eyed, she awkwardly hopped across the wide basement and frantically searched for the door, when up above at street level, a window crashed open.
Glass rained a couple of feet away. Then a dark figure dropped from above and landed stealthily on two feet, while Whitney stood paralyzed, gaping.
It could’ve been a movie, it was so surreal. Even as she watched Andrew unhook the rope that had lowered him, she couldn’t believe how expertly he moved. As if he’d been trained to do this.
He spotted her.
And Whitney could hardly see him through the wetness in her eyes.
“My God, baby, you have to stop doing this to me,” he said.
Choking between laughter and tears, she didn’t know if she hopped over or if he came to her, she only knew the second his arms wrapped around her that they felt like vises, and every emotion inside her burst forth and she was overtaken by the compulsive sobs that shook her.
“You’re here,” she gasped, fisting her bound hands at the front of his shirt.
Engulfing her in his strong arms, Andrew clenched her so tight he almost hurt her bones. His voice was thick with tears. “I’ll always be here, darling—always. Did he hurt you?”
“Ohmigod no . . .” She gulped hard and peered up at him, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. “But I know. He told me. He told me. Where you where. Because of me.” Flooded with pain, she waited for him to deny it, but his hands ran down her hair as he scented her and nuzzled her.
“It’s all right. It’s all right now. I’m home.”
She could feel her throat closing up again, her eyes stinging as he unbound her, then he bent to free her legs. Impulsively she kissed the tattoo of his name still imprinted on her wrists and watched as he headed over to the limp figure on the cement floor.
“You won’t mind if I got you a new phone, would you?” Andrew asked as he grabbed the device from her cousin’s pocket.
Whitney shook her head with a tremulous smile, busily drying her face as Andrew tied up Joe with the same rope Whitney had worn.
