Full Exposure. Diana Duncan

at her. “I have failed you. Perdonami.”

      “There’s nothing to forgive you for,” she whispered. “Save your strength and let them take me. There’s a metal spool, starboard, fifty paces. It might cut your ropes.”

      Concerned respect shimmered in his gaze. “Stay strong, Ariana,” he murmured. “If you tell them what they want to know, you will become useless to them. Capisci, bella mia?”

      She gulped. She understood all too well.

      The Russian reached for her hair and she scrambled up before he hurt her again. She strove to draw their attention from Dante, motionless on the floor. Please, don’t let him be badly injured. “Let’s get this over with.”

      The Greek shoved her toward the door. “We find out soon how tough you are.”

      “Bastardi!” Dante’s ragged voice echoed behind her. “If you hurt her, I will kill you. That is a promise.”

      Dante’s valiant defense fueled Ariana’s resolve. After the abuse he’d suffered, he still had the fortitude to insult and threaten his assailants. She thrust out her chin, feigning bravado. Much better than bursting into tears.

      The men dragged her out the door. Fear iced her blood as they muscled her up two flights of stairs and down a long, dark corridor. The briny ocean smell and sharp slap of the waves told her she was above the waterline.

      They yanked her to a halt outside a closed stateroom. The Greek sneered. “You will show respect. You will answer when spoken to. You will not attempt anything. Or—” he sliced his finger across his throat “—no mercy.”

      His fist rapped on the door, and terror swelled in Ariana’s chest. Dante hadn’t talked, and neither would she.

      No matter what their captors did to her.

      Or she and Dante were dead.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE GREEK OPENED the door and the Russian shoved Ariana into the murky stateroom. Then the portal slammed shut, sealing her inside alone. Whoever was in here, and whatever was planned for her, the henchmen weren’t participating. For now.

      Skeletal fingers of moonlight pierced the window shutters and striped the carpet. Ominous silence vibrated from both sides of the door. Trapped in darkness, she could almost taste the thick, black silence.

      Maybe the thugs had gone to finish off Dante. Anxiety thrummed inside her. How badly was he wounded? Maybe the men would murder him while she was being “questioned.” He might disappear and she would never know what had happened to him.

      Why did she care so much?

      She swallowed. Because he was her only ally at the moment. Because thoughts of him kept her from screaming with terror over what was about to happen.

      Her pulse throbbed in her ears, and she leaned against the wall to support her wobbly knees. An intent gaze crawled over her skin.

      Someone was watching her.

      She shuddered. As a child, when she had feared monsters lurking in the night, she had burrowed beneath the covers and yelled for her daddy. He had run to the rescue, dispatched the monsters and given her a “magic shield” for protection.

      She squelched a threatening sob. There was nowhere to hide. Her father was dead. The shield imaginary.

      But the monsters were real.

      Ariana inhaled shakily. Don’t stand here like a quivering ninny. “H-hello?” Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat and made a sterner inquiry. “Who’s there? What do you want?”

      “The question is, what do you want, Ariana Bennett?”

      Ariana jumped at the disembodied inquiry from across the room. Husky, tinged with a cultured Greek accent…and female. Her heart kicked. Not Camorra. Machismo mobsters would never take orders from a female. A Greek female. And the woman had called her by name! “Do I know you?”

      “No. But I know you. I’m just not certain what to do with you.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “Tell me about your family.”

      Enlightenment dawned. “There’s an epidemic of ‘ransom the rich American.’” If she admitted she was poor, she might be killed. But she had nothing to gain by lying. Dante’s battered condition proved the mystery woman lacked patience. “Sorry to disappoint you. Most of our money went to defense attorneys for my late father, who got railroaded by the system. The remaining pittance is still frozen, tangled in FBI red tape. Red tape that strangled my father to death. My family has nothing. Not even our reputations.”

      “I see.” A pause. “You are angry and mistrustful of the police, and have lost faith in the system’s ability to mete out justice. Interesting. Continue.”

      She had probably said too much already. “Neither the government nor the cruise line will pay ransom. My life isn’t worth a thing to anyone with authority.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone. “I haven’t seen you, and won’t divulge information to the police. You might as well release me.”

      “You could be worth far more than you believe possible, Miss Bennett.”

      Maybe to white slavers? Ariana shuddered. Don’t give the black widow any ideas.

      Absolute quiet descended, spun into a smothering web. A strategy to rattle her, make her talk first.

      Ariana gritted her teeth. While this woman played mental chicken with her, Dante lay below, beaten and bleeding. She cloaked herself in a shield of fury. “You’ve had me blown up, kidnapped and beaten.” She locked her shaky knees. “And now you want to play mind chess.”

      “Do not let hasty words overstep your abilities. A difficult lesson always follows.”

      “If you’re going to kill me, stop playing games and just do it.” Her words were a challenge. Fear or submission would only amuse this woman.

      At the woman’s throaty laughter, Ariana blinked in astonishment. “You’re not the pampered, fragile, prima donna I expected.”

      “After everything that’s happened, I’m a far stronger woman than I was five weeks ago.”

      A manicured hand flitted into view, and moonlight glinted on an ornate gold bracelet. “There is a chair near the window. Sit.”

      Meekly obey like a trained puppy, or humiliate herself by collapsing? Ariana staggered across the carpet and dropped into an upholstered chair. Moonbeams fractured her vision, shadowing the woman opposite her. No accident. She’d bet this woman calculated every move. The musky fragrance of expensive perfume magnified her captor’s aura of power. “Who are you?”

      “You may call me Megaera.”

      Ariana started. Megaera was one of the Erinyes, or Furies. Three Greek goddesses of vengeance created by drops of Uranus’s blood, they pursued wrongdoers until the sinners were driven mad or died. The “daughters of night” had fiery eyes and dogs’ heads wreathed with serpents.

      “A goddess of vengeance. Are you seeking revenge…on me? How do you think I’ve wronged you?”

      The woman paused briefly before speaking. “You mentioned your father. Now I ask what vengeance you are seeking, Ariana?”

      Was this about her dad? A chill skittered up Ariana’s spine, as if death had reached from the grave and stroked her with icy fingers. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and she shivered. I do not believe in mythical beings.

      What kind of fresh FBI hell was this? An undercover sting? Or was Megaera a smuggler priming her to be another unwitting courier of stolen antiquities? Duping Ariana would be more difficult. Her naïveté had been buried alongside her father. “I don’t want vengeance,” she said cautiously. “Just justice.”

      “They