Navy SEAL Surrender. Angi Morgan

do this on TV lots of times.”

      He wanted to be in charge. How could she make it his plan? Her wrist was aching but she didn’t pull away. She cozied up to the slime bucket, giving him full view of the extra cleavage in the tight shirt Patrick couldn’t resist. “Don’t they always get caught on TV?”

      “Only if they leave DNA or somethin’, and we’re in the clear. That stupid Weber left his prints and gave us the bear to plant. We used gloves.”

      “But, honey.” She tried to sound sweet in spite of the shooting pain in her arm. “You know I already took the ransom note you worked so hard on.”

      “We can make another.”

      Patrick had instructed them to let Lauren cut and glue the letters together. It had taken a long time, but only the kid’s prints were on the paper. That one little thing had taken a four-year-old two solid mornings and afternoons to put together. Small pieces of paper needed to be thrown away and it had been her idea to leave them at Alicia’s house. The scissors, magazines and scraps had been left on the kid’s play table in Lauren’s very own bedroom.

      “Getting the kid to do it again will take a couple of more days,” she said sweetly.

      The lummox heaved her to his sweaty chest. Tory couldn’t deny he had a great body. And wasn’t bad to look at. That was why she’d been with him so long. If he could just control his mean streak and stop stinkin’ like horses, she wouldn’t mind getting together with him while she waited for all this to be over. He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked backward. His hot breath landed between her breasts as she landed on his lap.

      She knew what would come. She’d told Patrick, practically begged him to let her ask someone else. This was their best option, he’d explained. No one would look too closely if her ex moved back in, but they’d ask lots of questions if it was a stranger. Especially a stranger who moved in at the same time the kid disappeared.

      So this way was smarter, and Patrick couldn’t get mad if the inevitable happened. She’d let her ex have his way. Keep him happy and hopefully get him to forget about changing the plan. With any luck, he wouldn’t knock her around too much in the process.

      Tory bit her lip and held her breath, preparing herself. Three more days and she’d be flying first-class to Paris with Patrick. Her imagination drifted, picturing another lover, more skilled, gentler. She fell backward, dropping to the floor when suddenly released.

      “What did I do?”

      “You don’t ever do nothin’.” He shoved off the couch, kicking out with his boot.

      Tory saw the red-faced rage burst from her partner and covered her face, prepared for the mean left punch she’d received many, many times. It didn’t come. She timidly stood, uncertain what would happen. She’d never seen him like this. A backhand to the side of her cheek spun her across the arm of the couch.

      “Get out of here before I really show you what I think,” he bellowed.

      Tory ran to the kid’s door, twisted the bolt and darted inside. She’d been frightened of the jerk before, but never like this. That anger she’d seen ripped into his heart—if he still had one.

      The bastard who exploded wasn’t her ex-boyfriend. He was worse. She didn’t know what he’d become or what drugs he was doing now, but he’d turned into an angry striking machine.

      She shrank to the floor, leaning against the thin wall, her mind whirling with ways to get out of this mess. She couldn’t go back out there and pretend to like that monster.

      Three more days. Could she do this for even one?

      For Paris? For Patrick? She could do it for him. She would do it for a million dollars. But now she had to come up with a story about her face. She was certain it would be black-and-blue when she went to work the next day. She needed to pretend everything was normal and not give the police any reason to question her.

      A cool little hand soothed her hot cheek. “Are you okay, Tory? Your face is sunburned.”

      “Yeah. Just a little scared. I’m going to sleep in here tonight.”

      “Are you scared of the big man, too? He yells loud like Grandma Weber.” Her small four-year-old hand covered her mouth. “Oops. She yells more when I call her Grandma.”

      Lauren’s embarrassed giggle was sweet, but not enough to make Tory forget who’d just hit her into the next county.

      Nothing in the room would slide in front of the door. Nothing to use for protection. Just a mattress on the floor and plastic blocks in the corner. Tory heard determined footsteps heading their direction. She braced herself against the thin door.

      Silence.

      Click.

      The bastard had locked her in with their prisoner, and her cell was in her purse in the kitchen.

      “I’ll take care of the money arrangements, Tory. You manage the runt,” he shouted through the wood. “And you ain’t going to work no more. I ain’t no babysitter.”

      She allowed Lauren to crawl in her lap, hugging the little girl close. This wasn’t the plan.

      Lauren tugged on Tory’s shirtfront to get her attention. “How long is Mommy going to be gone? I don’t like it here.”

      “Me neither, sweetie. Me neither.”