Chapter 4

Athrobbing pain brought McKenzie's hand up to her temple. She cracked her eyes open only to squeeze them shut again as nausea roiled and the pounding intensified. Oh, no. Why was she lying on her back in so much discomfort?

The memories came flooding back—how she had foolishly opened the door to a stranger, been overpowered, and forced to breathe some kind of noxious fumes. She jerked upright, only to be yanked back by something biting into her right wrist.

Rolling her head on the pillow, she stared with rising alarm at the handcuff chaining her wrist to a bar on the brass headboard. She whipped her face the other way and took in the odd dimensions of an unfamiliar bedroom. The built-in cabinetry and rounded window made it apparent she'd been stowed aboard a boat. The telltale rumble of the boat's engines brought a gasp of protest to her lips. Was the boat moving yet? It didn't seem to be.

One of her father's favorite methods of disposing of problematic people was taking them out to sea—and never bringing them back. "No."

Yanking at the handcuff, she tried desperately to slip her hand through it, only the cuff had been cinched too tightly. She fell back onto the leopard-patterned coverlet in defeat.

There was no denying the truth. The Centurion Cohorthad found her.

A barb of terror lanced her chest and nausea stormed her anew. With a moan of misery, she closed her eyes thinking she might be sick, but the sound of footsteps outside her door had eyes flying open. The latch turned and the door swung inward, revealing a familiar visage. As Ashton Ravenel, her one-time fiancé and Centurion elite, joined her, shutting the door behind him, McKenzie cringed.

The blood drained from her head as he drew closer, smirking. Dressed in white slacks and a yellow Bermuda shirt, still wearing the signet ring that declared him a Centurion, he looked like he might have been vacationing in the Gulf for the summer tan on his fleshy face.

"I see you're finally awake." He spoke in the same old-money, southern drawl her father had affected his entire life.

She suffered his oily gaze as he leisurely took inventory of her. "Well. Who could have guessed that such a slip of a girl could cause her father and his entire empire so much grief?"

Don't listen to him. Just think about escaping.

Seizing the bars of the headboard, McKenzie managed to pull herself up to a sitting position in order to appear less vulnerable. Ashton seated himself on the mattress next to her, causing it to dip. She tried not to flinch as he stretched out a hand. The moist pads of his fingers grazed her cheek as he slid them down her neck, toward her pounding heart. Repulsed, she held his gaze defiantly. His watery eyes, half-veiled by puffy folds of skin, testified not just to his age but to his decadent lifestyle.

"You were supposed to be my bride, McKenzie. What happened to the ring I gave you?"

She'd left it on her dresser the morning before she vanished from Savannah with Miles, taking her mother with her. "One of the servants has it, I imagine."

Anger glittered in his gray eyes. "You killed your father, you know that? He was my closest friend."

"He was a snake." It pained her to say so of her own father, but he truly was.

Ashton drew his hand back and slapped her hard across the face.

With a surge of outrage, McKenzie delivered a roundhouse kick to his head. "Don't touch me!"

Ashton toppled off the bed, landing on his knees. WITSEC's mandatory course in self-defense had paid off.

With grim satisfaction, she watched him shake his head to recover from her blow. Her victory was short-lived. Ashton's breath became labored. He tried and failed to come to his feet. As she waited for his inevitable recovery, remorse plunged through her. She and Miles had come so close to being reunited. So close. Now she would never again know the joy of feeling his arms around her.

Oh, God, what about Your plans to prosper me?

* * *

Making his way through the quiet galley, headed for the cabins on the lower level, Miles froze at the sound of the door he'd just entered opening behind him. He whirled to find his father leaning heavily against it. Drake's left eye was already beginning to blacken, and his upper lip was cut and bleeding.

"Thanks a lot." Pushing off the door, his father joined him. "What'd you do with the kids?"

"Paid 'em off. You okay?"

"Paid 'em with what?" Dad licked his bleeding upper lip.

"Money for my current assignment. What'd you do with the skipper?"

His father jingled a set of small keys. "Locked him in the engine room." He gestured with his head toward the back of the boat. "Let's do this."

Miles wheeled away, intent on getting to McKenzie immediately.

His father caught him by the shoulder for a second time that morning. "Slow down there, hotshot. Your silver tongue might have gotten you this far, but Ashton Ravenel's going to recognize you from the trial. I'm betting he's armed and ready to kill."

At the reminder, Miles retrieved the pistol from under his pant leg. "I hope he tries."

His father flashed him a smile. "That sounds like something I would say. But you're not authorized for a home invasion, so don't get carried away."

"Right."

"Best we can hope for is to charge him with kidnapping. A few years in jail's better than nothing."

Miles nodded. He and his father agreed on that much, at least.

With a lurching of his stomach, he remembered McKenzie was alone with Ashton down in the bowels of his boat. He launched himself down the steep carpeted stairs. He had to get to her before Ashton killed her—or worse.

* * *

Ashton recovered faster than McKenzie had hoped he would. As he slowly stood, huffing with the effort it took, she twisted onto her knees to face the headboard. It was bolted to the wall, which meant tugging wasn't going to free her. Still, she had to try.

A glance over her shoulder showed him putting a knee on the bed. One cheek was bright red from where she'd clobbered him. His sunken eyes burned with hatred. Oh, God, help me.

"Now you've asked for it." His slate gray eyes burned with loathing. "I was going to kill you quickly and painlessly, but not now. Oh no. I'm going to drag it out for days. You'll be begging for mercy by the time I'm through cutting you to pieces."

The words came as no surprise. She'd known of the Cohort's torturous techniques since she'd read her mother's journals. Her only hope was to lose consciousness early on and never wake up again.

He lunged suddenly, making a grab for her ankles, but a quick heel-strike to his chin caused Ashton to bite his tongue. He howled in rage and lunged again. Manacling both ankles at once, he yanked her knees out from under her.

McKenzie's temple plowed into the brass bar so hard her head rang. She willed oblivion to overtake her, but with a painful tug on her hair, Ashton kept her conscious.

His weight pressed her down into the mattress. He breathed hard, expelling his foul breath into her face. "I'm going start with your ears, and then I'll take off your pretty little nose." He pinched it between his fingers and twisted it.

McKenzie shuddered at the visions in her head. This cannot be happening.God loves me.

As if in confirmation of that thought, the door crashed open.

Ashton sprang off the bed, allowing her to see two men surge through the door that now listed on torn hinges. Pointing their guns at Ashton's gaping expression, they shouted, "FBI! Get down on the ground!"

Boneless with relief, McKenzie watched Ashton stumble back to the far wall, blubbering threats. The elder of the two men tackled him to the floor, grappling him into submission in seconds.

Then the first man pivoted toward the bed. "McKenzie."

She blinked to clear her vision as he joined her on the mattress, his hazel eyes skimming her for injuries.

"Miles?" She reached out with her free hand to be certain. His features, faded from memory after three long years, were suddenly, dearly familiar. "Is it really you?"

"It's me, Angel." His expression reflected a tangle of emotions ranging from delight to fury upon finding her chained to the bed.

"Get off me!" Ashton roared on the floor. "You're dead! You're both dead!"

As the man straddling him pushed Ashton's face into the plush carpet, McKenzie banished the two from her thoughts. She and Miles were essentially alone, a circumstance for which she'd longed for three lonely years. God still had plans to prosper her. The evidence was sitting right in front of her, his knee touching hers, their eyes locked. "Tell me I'm not dreaming." After that blow to her head, it was all too possible.

"You're not. See?" He drew her hand to his chest where she could feel his heart thumping through the soft fabric of his shirt. "I'm really here. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you again."

She caught back a sob of joy. Thank You, Father!

"Dad," Miles called over his shoulder, snapping her out of her trance. "See if you can find the keys to these cuffs. Then you can put them on him."

McKenzie peered in surprise at the other man. His hair, evidently once as dark as Miles's, was shot with silver. He was a larger man with harder features, but there was no doubt they were blood related. Searching Ashton's pockets, the older agent turned up a set of tiny keys. Within seconds, McKenzie's wrist was free.

"Where else are you hurt?" Miles rubbed her chafed skin as he tossed the cuffs to his father.

She shook her head to signify that she was fine, but sobs of relief got the better of her. Miles pulled her close, crooning words of comfort. Burrowing into his embrace, McKenzie let his never-forgotten scent anchor her in this new reality, even as his father hauled a resisting Ashton Ravenel to his feet. Spittle flew from that man's mouth as he cursed the men for arresting him.

"I swear you'll regret you ever laid a hand on me, Ellis."

"Good, so you know who I am. I must have you worried, Ravenel." The elder Ellis turned toward his son. "Let's go, before any of his friends show up."

"Right." Miles looked down at her with real concern. "Can you walk, Angel? Or do you need me to carry you?"

McKenzie wiped the tears from her face. "I—I can walk." After scooting to the edge of the bed, she pushed shakily to her bare feet, refusing Miles's help.

His encouraging smile faded as he caught sight of the swelling on her forehead. "That's quite a goose egg. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Could you carry my bag?" She pointed toward her meager possessions, stashed in the corner of the room.

With Miles's steadying hand under her elbow, McKenzie made her way through the maze of sleeping quarters, up a set of stairs, and through a plush galley, none of which she remembered seeing before. Shock caught up to her suddenly, sapping the strength from her legs. As she sank onto the nearest sofa, Miles looked back at his father, who was wrestling Ashton along behind them.

"What's the plan?"

His father shoved Ashton onto the opposite sofa before pointing his gun at his chest. "I thought you were the man with the plan."

"Well, my plan is to take McKenzie and disappear."

Miles and his father stared hard at each other. Only then did McKenzie pick up on the tension between them.

"I hear you, but I'll need McKenzie's testimony so you can't leave the country yet. When it's time for that, I'll help."

Miles frowned as if finding his father's words difficult to believe. "Thanks." The words sounded like they had been dragged out of him.

"Okay then. You drop me and Ravenel off at the nearest police station. Find a quiet hotel and stay put until I reach out to you."

Being stuck with Ashton in a car did not appeal to McKenzie any more than knowing she would have to testify against him.

Miles did not look happy, either. "And then what? I'm not giving her back to WITSEC."

"We'll talk about that later." His father's reply was terse, unquestionable.

Miles's shoulders rose and fell as he processed what his father was telling him. She'd seen that torn look on his face before, back when he pretended to be someone he wasn't.

Without another word, he turned back to McKenzie and helped her to her feet. His father hauled a resisting and sullen Ashton from the couch, and they left the galley to cross a sleek deck toward the pier. Two youths stood on deck watching them with their mouths open.

On their way past the youths, Miles's father dropped a small set of keys into their hands, instructing them to find their skipper. What was that about?

As the decking gave way to gravel, Miles scooped McKenzie into his arms, carrying her past a marina store and restaurant, both closed, past a handful of boats pulled out of the water and sitting on racks, to a blue Ford Taurus. Without releasing her, he managed to unlock the front passenger door, lowered her gently onto the seat, then dropped her bag onto her lap.

His father pushed Ashton into the back and slid in beside him. As she glanced back at the pair, the elder Ellis caught her eyes. "I'm Drake." He stuck out a large hand for McKenzie to shake. "Now that we've met, I can see why my son would risk his career for you."

She turned a questioning gaze on Miles as he slipped behind the steering wheel. "Dad. Keep your comments to yourself, please."

To McKenzie's amusement, his father sat back, unintimidated. With her heart still beating fast, McKenzie donned her seat belt, trying to make sense of where she stood. Was she headed back to WITSEC? Or would Miles risk his career to keep her from going back?

He cranked the engine, reversed onto the road, then pulled them swiftly away from the marina.

A weight sat on McKenzie's chest, stealing her happiness. I don't want Miles to risk his career for me. That would condemn him to the same fate as her own, running from Centurion retaliation. Where could they go that neither the U.S. Marshals nor the Cohort could find them?