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She closes the door in my face.
I walk toward it, and open it, to find she’s striding away. "One hour; you don’t want to keep him waiting," she calls over her shoulder.
I take a step forward, then hesitate. Guess it’s not going to help if I follow her now. She’ll probably just call one of those two idiots who grabbed me earlier to come get me. Also, I want to take something for this headache that has been growing in intensity.
By the way, I am taking all this rather calmly, aren’t I? I mean, I am tagged, so he is going to come after me. Bet he’s already on his way. All I have to do is sit tight, and make sure I don’t get myself killed in the meantime.
Half an hour later, I step out of the shower. The hot water has taken the edge off of my headache and made me feel almost human. I walk into the bedroom and find a simple black dress, underwear made of white cotton, still in its packaging, and a pair of sneakers laid out for me. Did the same woman place it here? Probably.
I pull them on and they fit. So, whoever took me had anticipated that I’d need clothes, but he or she isn’t going to keep me here for too much longer? And given the utilitarian feel of the clothes, he or she doesn’t have a romantic interest in me… At least, I don’t think so.
I dress quickly, then dry my hair with the hairdryer provided. I head for the door when it opens. I pause as the same woman from earlier beckons me. I follow her. This time, down two flights of stairs. So, we are back on the same floor as the room where I had been kept earlier.
I follow her down a long corridor with closed doors leading to other rooms. Each of the doors are ornate. There are paintings on the walls depicting scenes from the English country side. "Are we in England?"
"Yes," she confirms.
"In the countryside?"
She doesn’t say anything, but I am sure we are.
"Whose clothes are these?"
"They were purchased for you."
O-k-a-y. Not what I was expecting.
She reaches the door at the end of the corridor, and pushes it open. I walk in to find a long table with places set for two at the head of the table, facing each other. I walk toward it, when the door on the opposite side of the room opens.
A man prowls in. He is tall, broad shouldered, dressed in a black suit that clings to his shoulders. His features are hard, his gaze intelligent as he takes me in. Gray threads the hair on his temples, hinting that he is in his early forties, maybe? It’s difficult to say, because with his trim build and the obvious muscles that stretch his jacket, he could be anywhere from late thirties to early fifties.
"Finally, we meet, Signora." His voice is very cultured, very British.
"You?" I frown, "I know you."
"We haven’t been formally introduced though, have we?" He prowls over to me. "JJ Kane, at your service."
I glance down at his hand and hesitate. The man looks like Daniel Craig toward the end of his career as James Bond—cynical, hardened, and I hate to admit it, but he radiates raw sex appeal that fills the space between us. He’s not as sexy as my Capo, but this man… He’s as dangerous.
"Why did you kidnap me?" I demand.
Amusement lurks in his gaze. He doesn’t seem to be offended by my obvious snub. "Not my style, but something I couldn’t avoid."
"Were you also behind the rigging of my car that killed Xander?"
"I heard about that." He tilts his head, "Sad affair. But no, also not my style. Too messy."
I glower at him, "What’s your game anyway?"
"No game," he holds up his hand, his gaze steady, and his tone reeks of sincerity. All the more reason I don’t believe him.
"I am simply inviting you to lunch."
"Oh, so that’s why you took me from my husband’s island, because you wanted to have lunch with me."
"Indeed," he gestures to the table, "and because I wanted him to realize that he shouldn’t underestimate me."
"You couldn’t have told this to him directly? Honestly, this entire ‘being a pawn in the games that you made men play’ is proving to be a little tiresome."
