Kidnapped!. Jo Leigh

eyes as Jazz reached for her hand. The pain took her breath and, with it, her strength. She knew what they wanted from her father, and just like all those years ago, they would win.

      “All right,” she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. “Stop. Please.”

      Jazz let her go, but it didn’t help much. The pain shot up her arm and wrapped around her chest. Was it really just today that she’d been picking out shirts at Prada? That she had daydreamed about Michael looking at her with pride?

      “Well?”

      She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her free hand, wishing for a miracle, knowing none would come. “212…”

      MICHAEL MADE IT TO the pier without the police showing up. Nothing mattered now but getting to Tate. It was too easy to imagine her in serious trouble, the kind that didn’t clear up with a cup of tea and a good night’s sleep.

      His gun in his hand, he moved toward the yacht, the Pretty Kitty, and tried not to make any noise. If the yacht owner was at all security-conscious, Michael had already set off the alarm. Nothing he could do about that except prepare. He had to remember to ask questions first, which wasn’t his usual MO.