Page 141 of Her Wolf

“No one will be hearing from them.” A long pause. “Because they’re all dead.”

What? Who?

Cora’s mind fled to Finn, Lars, Bailey. Had he…had Zachary somehow—

“Because I made sure of it,” Zachary’s voice dipped low. “Did you hear from Duncan yet?”

Cora backed up again, turning to head for the living room. A fire smoked in the hearth, still messy in its infancy.

“Keep looking.”

Zachary spoke with a finality, and she turned when she heard how close his voice was.

He stood right behind her. How he’d moved so silently amazed her—perhaps he knew exactly which floorboards in the house creaked and which didn’t. The phone dangled from one hand.

“You’re still wet,” he said, his eyes moving over her face as if he was assessing her mental health as much as her physical.

She managed a nod. He moved around her and sank into one of the armchairs. He set the phone down on the side table and let out a long sigh as he took up his box of cigarettes.

As she came around the sofa, the box gaped in her direction.

Only two cigarettes left.

Zachary lit one, and then offered the box to her. She shook her head. The fire popped, and she jerked in fright. Zachary’s lips curled into a smile around the filter of his cigarette.

“Terrible habit,” he said, turning the cigarette so he could look at it. “But life is so short. Why deny yourself its pleasures?”

This had to end. Now. She would go crazy if she had to spend one more minute with Zachary. She couldn’t stand the way he messed with her mind; despite everything, in this moment, there seemed nothing wrong with the fact that she was on a deserted island with a rival cartel leader who’d been instrumental in her kidnapping and torture when she was six years old.

“Can I have some more wine?” Cora asked, voice shaking.

“Of course.” Zachary gave her a pleasant smile. “Help yourself.”

She blinked at him, incredulous that it had been that easy. Her feet slapped wetly on the wooden boards as she walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Cream. Butter. Two bottles of white wine.

She slid a bottle out, her eyes moving over the empty fridge for a moment before closing it.

Had she heard wrong? Had Zachary said he’d needed supplies, or they didn’t?

She opened a drawer.

Cutlery. A corkscrew. A few steak knives.

Glancing over her shoulder, she stuck one of the knives behind the waistband of her soggy pants. The tip grazed against the top of her thigh when she moved.

The skin between her shoulder blades itched, and she spun around. No one stood in the doorway. She glanced around the kitchen, peeked out the window.

Why the hell did she feel eyes on her?

Movement. She narrowed her eyes, staring through the window to the darkness of the jungle. Was something moving there, or was it just her imagination? Maybe those were the eyes she—

Her gaze travelled up.

A camera sat in one corner of the kitchen, its red eye blinking at her.

“Where are the glasses?” she asked slowly.

“They’re in the cupboard right in front of you,” Zachary called out. “You can leave the knife in the kitchen.”

Were there cameras throughout the house? The whole island? Was that why he couldn’t have cared less if she ran, because he’d always know where she was?

When she got back into the living room, she saw a small tablet computer beside the satellite phone. Its screen was dark.

Zachary smiled up at her. “You didn’t bring enough glasses,” he said, quiet reproach in his voice.

She frowned at the two glasses in her hand, and then up at him. “What?”

His eyes glittered, orange firelight trapped deep in those muddy depths. “I’m sure your friends would like some too.”

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