Chapter One

At the end of the day, Liz Munez's ex-lover came for her.

"No, I don't want to wait," he informed her receptionist, his resonant voice carrying from the waiting room of Liz's pediatric practice. "Tell her I'm here."

Liz's hand stalled near the chart of her last patient, a ten-month-old named Petey, in for his well-baby visit.

"She'll see me," Carreon informed her.

Petey shrieked, the sound moving beyond the treatment room to reach the hall.

"Shhh, shhh, be a good boy now," his mother pleaded, having no idea what was about to happen, why Carreon had come.

Liz knew. He wanted her naked, vulnerable, her body draped over one of his lieutenants, her mouth and hands on the solid planes of the man's flesh, coaxing it to respond. During the act, Carreon's trusted subordinates would watch and hunger, their eyes sparkling with lust, waiting for his signal that he would share her as he had in the past.

Liz stiffened with fury then went weak with despair. She leaned against the cheery yellow wall decorated with images of Sponge Bob, Winnie the Pooh, Hello Kitty. Pictures of innocence, when Carreon's plans for her were so mercenary and base. Lowering her head, she tried to stop her dizziness.

The hall lurched again. She thought of her father. Frail now, helpless, and all because of Carreon. Outrage crept in, crowding out her fear.

"Get her," Carreon demanded. Although he spoke with quiet assurance, there was steel behind his words, the same as Liz recalled from when they'd been lovers.

Unbidden, images of their early moments snaked through her mind, reminding Liz of the carnal games she played so wantonly, too willingly. Carreon's lean, hard nudity against hers, his sleek body all the more masculine because of his battle scars. His long fingers trailing over her breasts and between her legs, parted obediently for his use.

When he'd ordered her to go to all fours, to lick his balls and cock, she'd done so without question, her actions fueled by love. If her response hadn't been quick or lewd enough to please him, he'd brought out his strap.

She swallowed at the remembered cracks of its leather against her flesh—sharp, precise—the resultant sting and heat on her buttocks intensifying her desire for domination and him. A man like none she'd known. Understanding her need, Carreon had taken full advantage, thrusting his rigid shaft into her cunt and anus, burying himself until their bodies touched and she yielded even more, surrendering everything to him.

Her body, will, soul, and power. He was back for it tonight.

Petey wailed piteously.

Flinching at the noise, Liz pushed away from the wall and turned, seeing Sabine, a new pediatrician at her practice.

The young woman's hands stilled on her pink doctor's coat—to the children, a less traumatic color than white. Sabine glanced in the direction of Petey's hitching breaths, her expression growing concerned. "Everything all right?"

Her Spanish accent complemented her dark-brown hair and eyes.

Taking the child's chart, Liz handed it to Sabine. "Do you mind staying a little longer?" She spoke quietly so Carreon wouldn't overhear. "Can you see my last patient?"

"Sure. Not a problem."

Their receptionist, Dolores, hurried toward them. In her late sixties, the older woman pressed her narrow lips together in what appeared to be irritation or concern.

"Everything all right?" Sabine asked Liz once more.

Not even close. Never again, she knew. Not as long as Carreon was alive. With her gift, he wouldn't die. His men—at least those truly loyal to him—would see to it.

"Dr. Munez," Dolores said, reaching them. "Sorry to bother you, but a Mr. Carreon is here."

Unable to trust her voice, Liz nodded.

Confusion swept Dolores's lined face as though she'd expected more of a response. "He's waiting in your office with three of his associates. He insists on seeing you." She made a face. "He barged right past me, even though I explained repeatedly that you still have patients. Do you want me to call office security and have them—"

"No. It's all right. Please make certain no one disturbs us."

"Of course not." Dolores's gray brows lifted. "If that's what you want."

"It is," Liz lied.

She forced herself to move down the hall, the edges of her doctor's coat flapping away from her legs. Drawing in a ragged breath, she caught the light scent of baby powder mingled with the pungent odor of rubbing alcohol and too many flowery perfumes.

During her time with Carreon, he hadn't allowed Liz to wear any fragrance.

"I want you to smell like me," he'd murmured one night, lips to her ear, fingers exploring her cunt, his directive filled with wicked promise.

Liking it and his strong hand, she'd turned her face to his and smiled. He'd offered one in return.

It hadn't reached his eyes. At the time, Liz saw possession and strength in his gaze, admiring both. Too late, she realized his intensity wasn't honorable. It was cold. Deadly.

The door to one of the treatment rooms opened. Squealing with happiness, a child tore out, running straight into Liz. The little girl, no more than two, hugged Liz's legs, looking up at her. Eyes wide with surprise, the child waited to see what would happen.

Before even a hint of fear crossed that small face, Liz offered a reassuring smile. "Oops," she teased, touching the little girl's wispy brown curls, so soft they reminded her of kitten fur.

A grin broke across the toddler's face with her lusty giggles.

Her mother joined them. "Sorry, Doctor. Come on, you." Prying her daughter from Liz, she lifted the child into her arms and moved toward the waiting room.

Liz watched until they were out of sight and she had no choice except to join Carreon.

Her stomach knotted as she entered her office, stopping short of her desk, messy with patient files.

One of Carreon's lieutenants flipped through a chart, reading her notes. His free hand rested on the butt of a gun holstered at his waist.

Liz frowned at his audacity.

The two remaining men moved to the opened door, blocking any attempt at escape.

They, like the man at her desk, were in their mid-twenties, their muscular bodies dressed in well-tailored gray jackets, white shirts, and black pants, their youthful faces devoid of compassion. Feral hunger simmered in their eyes.

They knew what the coming hours would bring.

Liz was unable to forget, marveling at her previous naiveté. Months into her and Carreon's relationship, he'd shared her with the man at her desk. To this day, she had no idea what his name was. His thick, strong body was what had mattered as he fettered her wrists to the bed then took her repeatedly, using every orifice—her mouth, cunt, anus. Carreon had watched her losing all control, listening as she moaned in satisfaction.

Heat surged to her cheeks.

Turning from the men at her door, she spoke to the one at her desk. "Get away from that."

He looked up, clearly surprised at her command. So different from the submissive mewls and whimpers she'd offered when he'd been inside of her.

She wasn't that woman anymore. Not even trying to hide her disgust, Liz stared him down.

He smirked but did release her file.

She regarded Carreon.

In front of her window, he stood, his back to her, his tall frame clothed in an expensive Polo shirt and pants, both onyx black, an ominous color devoid of joy or hope. In stark contrast, the waning sun streamed over New Mexico's Chihuahuan desert, intensifying its harsh beauty beneath a sunset of gold, purple, and rose.

The vivid hues called to Liz, urging her to go outside and bathe her face with the sun's caressing warmth then run like hell toward normalcy that would never return. Those days had ended more than a year ago when she'd made the mistake of seeking excitement, not wanting or noticing anything except Carreon.

She still recalled his touch and scent. One of a rutting male who knew no shame and held nothing back, especially his hunger for power.

"Bad day, Liz?" he asked.

To a stranger, his question would have sounded downright serene. Having heard him speak the same way when ordering his men to torture and kill, knowing what he was capable of, Liz steeled herself for the worst.

At her continued silence, he faced her.

One of his men shut her door.

Determined not to show her fear, Liz didn't move as Carreon's attention lingered on her mouth then moved to her demure attire—a white blouse, khaki-colored skirt, and sensible heels.

Given the way he regarded her, she might as well have been wearing lingerie rather than business attire. Perhaps he was imagining her nude, bent over her desk, ready to be mounted or whipped.

She'd certainly invited both activities in the past, enjoying each.

As though he'd read her thoughts, Carreon's full lips tilted upward in what seemed to be appreciation, heightening his male allure.

Her jaw clenched. How many women had he duped with his smile and commanding demeanor? How many had found his shaved head and the earring in his left lobe just the right touch, giving him the look of a thug or a modern-day pirate? Untamed, reckless. The kind of man many females would have found irresistible.

Liz certainly had.

Now that she was immune to his male beauty, she regarded him with clinical detachment.

Good health and strength radiated from his lean, six-one frame. In his mid-thirties, he was at his prime, his bearing and expression formidable, the same as his ancestors. Within him, the blood of the Aztecs and the Unknowns flowed, his heritage no different from hers. A shared ethnicity that should have colored his irises hazel—Liz's shade—or made them as dark as Sabine's.

Instead, Carreon's eyes were a pale blue, a startling contradiction to his bronze complexion, black brows, and that damned earring…a silver eagle's feather that glimmered beneath the bright fluorescent light. Not once had Liz seen him without the item, not even those times she'd bathed with him.

Curious, she'd asked why he never removed it.

He'd explained on a sigh. "It belonged to the first enemy I took down. As he died, I tore it from his lobe." He studied her face as though to gauge her reaction. When she remained accepting of him, he continued, "It's a part of him that'll always belong to me. I'll do the same, taking a token from Neekoma's body when I get rid of him."

Liz had asked no more, nor had she pondered the wisdom or righteousness of Carreon's plan. Zeke Neekoma was an abomination to her people, the leader of the clan they'd been feuding with for millennia. In the early days, the conflicts began over territory and resources as all clashes seemed to do. With the passing of time, the hatred between the clans escalated beyond food and land, driven by some of the leaders' determination to rid their territory of those unlike themselves. Their version of ethnic cleansing. Despite many attempts at uneasy truces, the cultural differences and male machismo resulted in continuing flare-ups of a battle without end, similar to those in the Middle East. A hidden war the citizens of this country knew nothing about, just as they had no idea of the alien blood within Liz's people and those of Neekoma's.

In the beginning of man's rule on earth, the Others and the Unknowns had crossed deep space, arriving at this planet in their exploration of the universe. Legends claimed that the aliens hadn't brought women with them, and so they'd given in to lust, mating with the Aztec and Comanche females, leaving a few of their progeny with otherworldly gifts. For those in Liz's clan, it was the power to heal. For those in Neekoma's, the ability to see the future.

The tales never indicated if the Unknowns and the Others would return, but the elders believed it was possible, refusing to leave their territory in the hope that one day their ancestors would come home, perhaps bestowing even more supernatural gifts on their earthly children. Some even claimed the aliens might be walking among the clan now, watching to see if they protected the territory given them, ready to strip their offspring of their powers if they dared relinquish any of their land.

Liz wasn't certain if it was nonsense or not, nor could she dwell upon it, given tonight's circumstances. She wondered which of Carreon's lieutenants Neekoma had shot this time, with Carreon expecting her to heal the man so he could rejoin a never-ending conflict. Her belly twisted at the thought of more violence, what her refusal to help might bring. The consequences would be swift and merciless, unless she found a way to stop Carreon first.

As though he'd read her thoughts again, his smile faded. Stepping away from the window, he approached.

Instinct urged Liz to back away. Resolve to defy him, even in such a small matter, kept her rooted in place.

Carreon's dark brows drew together even as his body remained relaxed, his manner deceptively casual. "We need to leave now." He spoke just shy of a whisper. "While the body still has a bit of life."

The body. No name, no sorrow, only ruthless efficiency.

"Who?" she asked, wanting to know which of his lieutenants could be so important to have brought him here, something he'd never done before. "Victor?" she said. He'd killed the most for Carreon. "Roberto?" Torture was his specialty.

Carreon exchanged a glance with his men. Unexpected delight raced across their faces.

"Neekoma," he said.

Stunned at his answer, Liz advanced a step. They were close enough to touch…to kiss. The thought repelled her. "Zeke Neekoma?"

Carreon wore a look of mock innocence. "Who else?"

Liz didn't understand. "He's going to die just as you've always wanted. So why are you here? Why would you need me if he's nearly gone?"

"I think you know." His expression turned icy. "He's more valuable to me if he's alive and well. I expect your help."

He expected her to do to Neekoma what she'd done to his injured men. Caressing their naked flesh, exploring the geography of their bodies, touching each part, tasting them, smelling their unique scents, drowning in those fragrances, coaxing them to heal.

Unable to help herself, Liz stated the obvious. "He's not one of us." Within him flowed the blood of the Comanche and the Others. "I can heal our people, at least most of the time. What if I can't do the same with him?"

"You will," Carreon said. "We're leaving now." He offered her his hand.

Liz knew the pleasure his touch could bring, along with pain if she resisted in the least. If she failed.

The muscles in her chest tightened, not allowing a full breath. Once more, she wanted to run. Needed to hide.

To where?

Her mother hadn't been able to get away, nor had her father. Thinking of them, sorrow and outrage threatened. She forced both emotions back.

Until her father was safe and Carreon was dead, she had no choice except to use her gift as he demanded. However, this time she wouldn't give her soul, nor would he claim it. Refusing to touch him, she removed her doctor's coat, dropped it on a chair, and led the way from her office.

Outside the clinic, a little girl of four or five bolted across the parking lot, her chubby hand fisted around the grape sucker she'd earned for being a good patient.

"Moll-eee!" the child's mother shouted. In the last stages of her pregnancy, she struggled to catch up, her sandaled feet slapping the toasty asphalt. "Don't run! Watch where you're going!"

Liz watched in horror as Molly dashed past the other cars and headed for a deserted part of the lot…and Carreon's black Escalade. Long enough to seat eight, the vehicle looked as ominous as a hearse.

Abruptly, Carreon stopped. He gripped Liz's wrist as Molly tugged on the SUV's handle, wanting to open its door.

Carreon leaned toward Liz. With no emotion, he whispered, "Say one word to either of them, and they both die."

Liz didn't move. She barely breathed.

Despite her obedience, he tightened his hold.

"Come here," the woman demanded of her child, tapping her foot in exasperation. "Get away from that vehicle."

"No," Molly spat. Jutting out her lower lip, she smacked her sucker against the door.

Bile rose to Liz's throat. She hoped to god Neekoma wasn't inside the SUV. If he was and Molly's mother got close enough to peer past the tinted windows, seeing what no sane person should, Carreon would kidnap her and her daughter. No one would ever find their bodies within the vast New Mexico landscape.

"I. Said. Come. Here." Reaching her daughter, the woman gripped Molly's arm and yanked her away from the SUV. The child howled as her mother pulled her to the other end of the lot toward a dark-blue Saturn.

Liz's shoulders slumped. Get her out of here, please. Don't look back.

Molly's protests continued, joined by the steady swish of automobiles flowing down the surface roads. In the distance, laughter rang out, its high pitch decidedly female. A car's horn wailed. Birds squawked.

The girl's mother struggled to get the child into her car seat. Successful at last, she plopped into the driver's side. The Saturn's engine sputtered to life.

On a relieved sigh, Liz lifted her face into the caressing breeze scented with flowers, mown grass, and the clean, dry heat of the desert. Her relief didn't last.

Impatient, Carreon directed her toward the SUV, the slap of his shoes, the click of her heels recording their quick pace. The young man who'd been reading her patient files went to the driver's side, while his companions hurried into the area behind him. She and Carreon climbed into the backseats. Doors slammed with a series of solid metal thunks.

Biting her lower lip, Liz regarded the SUV's dimly lit interior, prepared to see the worst…blood spattered on its doors and seats, Zeke Neekoma's battered body sprawled on the carpet, his face scrunched with pain or slack with impending death.

The seats were empty and pristine, smelling of new leather, posing little threat to Molly's mother if she'd come too close and glanced inside.

Carreon had never intended to harm them. He'd played Liz again, wanting to instill fear, no doubt having enjoyed how she'd cringed.

Prick. Leaning as far from him as she could, she turned her face to the window. Its glass reflected her rage and the worry she didn't want him to see.

The SUV left the lot, heading toward Las Cruces and its suburbs. A succession of bland strip malls, quaint historic storefronts, and patches of weed-ridden lots streamed by, scarcely noticed by Liz. Disquiet ate at her, as it did each time she used her power, a gift she hadn't asked for, didn't want, not since her first healing—Carreon. His men had tricked her into saving him.

The memory of that night assaulted her, refusing to go away.

She recalled the sound of his lieutenants hammering on her front door, pulling her from the latest episode of Dancing with the Stars . Irritated at the interruption, thinking the two men looked as though they were selling religion, she'd greeted them coolly. "What do you want?"

"Your father's been in an accident," the tallest one had said. His polite answer was as nonthreatening as his dark suit jacket and white shirt. "We need you to come with us."

At the memory of those words, Liz swallowed. She'd just lost her mother. To have her father taken from her was more than she could bear. She hadn't questioned either young man. Hadn't asked for identification, how they knew where to find her, or that Dr. Alphonso Munez was her father. Willingly, she went with them.

As they passed the first hospital, she'd turned in her seat but hadn't panicked. When their vehicle didn't slow at the second hospital's entrance, she asked, "Isn't my father here? Where did the EMTs take him?"

"He's at a private facility," the man in the passenger seat said, his manner gentle and kind. "It was the closest to where he was injured."

It didn't make sense, but Liz hadn't challenged it. The man's compassionate tone quieted her doubt. Minutes later, her unease returned as they drove past the last of the city into the surrounding desert, empty and black.

At the utter isolation, panic flared. Liz's heart pounded so wildly her voice shook. "What facility's out here?"

"A private one," he repeated. "We'll be there shortly."

The darkness made the ride seem too long, her companions surreal. Nauseated with fear, she'd finally seen lights in the distance and then a sprawling estate.

Inside the opulent master bedroom, Liz got her first glimpse of Carreon. His well-toned body lay motionless on the bed's russet comforter, its fabric bearing no bloodstains from the many bullet wounds marring his torso.

Clearly, he hadn't been shot in this room, and his impending death wouldn't be pleasant. A look of terror spoiled his handsome features. The odor of blood dirtied the air. Beneath it was the scent of a citrusy furniture polish and a man's expensive cologne.

Confusion heightened her alarm. She asked, "Who is that? Where's my father?"

"He's safe," the man with the caring voice said, blocking her so she couldn't search for her father or leave. "We were just at his house, asking for his help, but he refused. That's why we needed you here."

"What are you talking about?" She stepped back. "Why should I help you if he—"

"Listen to me," he urged. "We told your father that Neekoma did this to our leader…your leader." He gestured to the bed. "That bastard ambushed Carreon when he arrived to discuss a truce. One Neekoma said he wanted. It was all a trick." Fury colored his words. Inhaling deeply, he calmed himself and spoke in that same gentle tone. "Your father told us he didn't care. He's sick of all the fighting. Since he lost his wife…" The young man's words faded away. His eyes welled with tears.

He hadn't needed to say anything else. Liz was well aware of her father's anguish over losing her mother. Always a strong man, he'd changed with her death, becoming reclusive and quiet, leaving Liz to take over his pediatric practice.

"If Carreon dies," the young man continued, "all of our people will be at risk. Neekoma's going to strike fast and hard. He'll murder our women and children so our line dies out, just as his kind have always wanted. He'll kill those like you and your father so we have no one to heal us. You have to help us. Please."

His lies had convinced Liz that Neekoma was worse than an animal…Carreon was the truly good man who'd wanted to end the battle and was about to lose his life instead.

That night, she crossed the line from an observer in her people's war to an active participant, restoring Carreon's health, rejoicing at his growing vitality, his body strengthened by her gift.

Healed, Carreon had cupped her face in his palms, murmuring his thanks, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, leaving bursts of pleasure in their wake. Bold and commanding, he regarded her, his potent gaze calling to the female within, driving away whatever reservations she had.

When he pinned her to the mattress with his body and strength, Liz hadn't resisted. As he suckled her throat, his tongue lapping her skin, she yielded even more, moaning shamelessly. It was all the encouragement he needed. His hands roamed her nudity with a right she'd given him, seeking then separating her vaginal lips, puffy with lust. Without pause, she welcomed his cock inside, becoming his lover, his eager slave.

Months later, she learned what kind of man he really was and the truth of what he'd done. By then, it was too late to save her father or herself.

She shuddered at the horrible memories then started at Carreon's touch. Without pause, Liz pulled her arm away.

Undaunted, he captured her hand, resting it on his left thigh, his grip warning her not to deny him. Beneath her fingers, his thigh muscles jumped.

He murmured, "You're recalling our first time."

She wanted him dead but feigned indifference and glanced past. In one of the ubiquitous strip malls, a carnival was going full blast, the neon lights of its Ferris wheel and other rides flashing in festive yellows, greens, reds. Children shrieked in wonder. Calliope music played.

Past the happy scene, the dying sun tinted the Organ Mountains an outrageous blend of gold and scarlet, deepening the shadows between its craggy peaks. The colors resembled a smoldering fire or an artist's version of hell.

"We had so much," Carreon said.

Caught between laughing derisively and clawing out his eyes, Liz fought to control herself. "How's my father?"

He squeezed her hand with fake concern. "Safe." He smiled. "For the moment."

Twisting her wrist, Liz freed her hand, keeping it from him. "Do anything to him, and I swear you'll regret it."

Carreon's smile hung on, but danger blazed in his eyes. "Are you threatening me?"

Fucking A. "Harm him in the least, and you'll never be safe from me, Carreon. I'll make you pay."

Yellow beams from streetlamps cut across his face, silvering his eyes. They remained on her, reminding Liz of how a cat looks when regarding its next meal.

Just as quickly, his menace passed as though it had never happened. Amusement flooded his features. "That's what I always liked about you, Liz. Your foolish spirit."

"Don't be so certain how foolish it is." She spoke with the same airiness he had, matching the deadliness beneath it. "Remember, I'm the one with the healing gift, not you."

Something akin to rage—or perhaps it was fear—flickered across the sculpted planes of his face. It didn't register in his response. In that same calm, maddening tone, he said, "You'll do what I say, or your father will die. Remember that, Liz, and how I've dealt with my enemies in the past."

Revolted, she turned from him, recalling the rumors she'd heard. Until two years ago, Carreon's father had been in charge. An ambush ended that while the man had been in bed with two of his mistresses. Bullets from assault rifles riddled all three bodies, tearing away parts of their heads and limbs. Although their hearts still beat for a time, the resulting injuries were so extensive only a miracle, not her or her father's power, would have been able to repair them.

Some said Carreon had ordered the attack. A few claimed he was one of the assassins. As with the other parts of his past, Liz had learned about his father's murder too late, along with all of his other lies.

With startling speed, she wondered if it were actually Neekoma she'd be healing tonight.

What if it wasn't? How would she know? She'd heard of the man but had never seen him, had no idea how he looked or even a remote indication of his age. Like Carreon, Zeke Neekoma allowed no one to photograph him, preferring to keep a low profile that ensured the success of his attacks.

Leaving the city limits, the Escalade barreled through the desert in a northeasterly direction, toward White Sands, Alamogordo, Roswell. A route Liz knew well. Miles before all three locations was Carreon's hidden estate.

Gusts swept past the Organ Mountains, feeding the giant blades of a wind farm's generators before buffeting the vehicle. Liz clutched the leather seat, knowing what to expect during this ride. Within minutes, the SUV jounced as its tires finally left the pavement and hit an unimproved surface road carved through an especially barren area.

Nearly invisible during the day, at this hour the path kept the curious or foolish from exploring. Trenches and strategically placed rocks littered the perilous route. With each mile, the rocks grew in size, with some reaching the circumference and height of golf carts. Now fully night, threads of moonlight created ominous shadows, sparkling off cacti, the other scruffy vegetation, and patches of gray.

More rocks? Human bones?

Liz didn't want to know.

Beneath the night's gauzy light, some kind of creature— dark and unknown—skittered out of one trench then paused at another, perhaps waiting for them to pass, watching as they did.

Pebbles hit the Escalade's undercarriage, their rat-a-tat-tat resembling gunfire. The driver negotiated another series of boulders, causing his occupants to jerk left then right. With the path unobstructed for the moment, he cleared his throat. Carreon yawned.

Liz stared. In the distance, a faint flash of gold peeked from between a series of cottonwood trees and tamarisk. Hidden from all but the most observant, invisible to those on the highways and surface roads, the illumination came from Carreon's mansion.

Built hacienda style, the two-story structure boasted an abundance of muted decorative lights. They glistened against the blackened sky, trying to reach beyond the building's perimeters to the unforgiving land.

Liz wondered in which of those fifty or so rooms Carreon had imprisoned her father. That was, if he was still there.

The Escalade reached a particularly rough path. Her shoulder smacked into Carreon's. He didn't react. At length, the ride smoothed out, the tires whistling over the stately drive. On either side, fir trees, squat palms, countless shrubs, and startling white flowers flanked the cinnamon-colored pavers. The mansion's enormous brass doors shone beneath a set of amber lights housed in a fixture of southwestern design. Moths and other insects bobbed in the gentle glow.

They exited the vehicle. With his fingers wrapped around her upper arm, Carreon directed Liz past the mansion's entrance and through the arched sections of the foyer, so dense with feathery vegetation it had the damp smell of the tropics. Wrought-iron chandeliers rained faint light on the gurgling fountain situated beneath a dome of Tiffany glass. Against the reddish walls, heavy Spanish furniture gleamed dully, their bulky forms recorded on the polished Mexican paver floors.

Carreon pulled Liz to the stairway and took the steps two at a time, expecting her to keep up. Breathless, she tripped near the top, striking her ankle against the filigreed rail.

Shit, shit, shit. White-hot pain shot from the bone to her calf.

Carreon glared at her then looked past at the first floor, twenty feet below. His expression said he'd push her over the rail, making certain she died if she gave him any trouble.

Liz breathed sharply at the continuing pain. "If you kill me, there won't be anyone to heal your men. No way will my father help you, especially if I'm dead."

At her defiance, Carreon's expression turned ugly. "And how would he know? Do you think I'd tell him?"

Liz's body went hot then cold with fear. She pushed it back. "You wouldn't have to. He'd see the truth on your face. You're not as good a liar as you think you are."

"Then I suppose it's best I keep you alive." He yanked Liz upward, ignoring her pained gasp, hurrying her to the landing.

Down the hall they went. Ivory wall sconces provided a gentle glow. Here, as in the foyer, hulking furniture and potted plants abounded, their green tint appearing even more delicate against the contrasting crimson walls.

Door after door marched up each side, all closed. Liz ignored each as they passed, too ashamed to recall the men who'd taken her in those rooms, the salty taste of their cocks sliding over her tongue, the pressure of their organs stretching her cunt and anus, the sting of their belts on her uplifted ass. Decadent games Carreon introduced. Ones Liz discovered she enjoyed, as long as she had Carreon's love.

He honored it by betraying her. From the beginning, he and his men had lied about her father.

With an equal measure of fury and grief, Liz wondered if she'd get a chance to see her father tonight. Holding her breath, she hoped to hear him calling for her. That he sensed she was here.

Only the slap of her and Carreon's shoes echoed on the stone floor in the otherwise silent hall. This wing of the mansion appeared deserted, his men somewhere else, perhaps nearer the building's entrance to protect it from attack. Unless that wasn't a worry any longer, given that he'd captured Neekoma.

If that were the truth.

With long strides, Carreon turned down a hall to the right then one on the left. At a noise from behind, Liz glanced over, seeing the young men from the drive here. Wearing determined expressions, they caught up to her and Carreon. Tonight, they'd watch as his other lieutenants had in the past.

The thought should have disturbed but didn't. Numb with concern over her father, Liz moved without conscious thought.

Abruptly, Carreon halted in front of a set of double doors, lowered the ornate silver handles, then gestured her inside.

Her ankle started throbbing again. Her mouth went dry. She stepped into the spacious room and stopped, staring at the man Carreon claimed was Zeke Neekoma.