Page 24 of Exposed

The pieces started clicking in her head, the way they always did when a story fell into place. You could put a lot of people on a remote, isolated island, but you couldn’t separate them from their devices. And once anyone connected to the Wi-Fi, Hart and his staff might be able to access their files, their emails, their internet activity.

That’s why the fees had been comped for the venture capitalist boyfriend of Beth’s friend—Hart could use the information on the man’s computer to do some insider trading. And what about other information people had on their computers—things they wouldn’t want anyone to see? Porn, evidence of affairs,references to illegal activities…people lived their whole lives on their devices, including the dirty parts. Access those, and you accessed a goldmine of blackmail-worthy material.

Distantly, she noted the sound of the front door of the bungalow opening, but it wasn’t enough to jar Beth from her thoughts. Her instincts were singing like a Puccini opera and suddenly she couldn’t wait to get up and get dressed and get to work busting this story and this bastard’s criminal activity wide open.

Unfortunately, before Beth could finish tying the belt of her robe, a strong arm reached around her from behind. At first, she thought maybe it was Eric, apologizing for their fight earlier.

Then she turned slightly to look up at him and froze.

Not Eric. Her blood pounded in her ears and heart tripped.

“Who the hell are you?” she started to back away, only to collide with Eric’s empty massage table. “How did you get in here?”

The guy, dressed all in black, had the cold, dead eyes of a shark. He kept advancing on her until she was cornered against the wall. All of her self-defense classes had told Beth to always use whatever she had at hand if she was attacked, to not let herself be taken from the premises, to scream and make a scene. She opened her mouth to yell, but the guy reached out a massive hand and grabbed her by the throat, slamming her head back against the wall and constricting both her windpipe and her vocal cords, making any speech at all impossible.

Even though she struggled against him, kicking and scratching at his arms and hands and face, anywhere she could reach, she soon found herself lifted off the floor as her vision began to spider web at the periphery. She’d been right about Robert Hart,she knew it in her bones. But unless she escaped this asshole and got to freedom, she’d never be able to tell anyone.

Her nails left bloody marks down her assailant’s cheeks, but still the guy didn’t relent. He was just too big, and no matter how strong her will to survive was, she was at a disadvantage. As the darkness descended and her world went black, her last thoughts were of Eric. He was still outside. He wouldn’t know what happened to her. He wouldn’t know how much she cared about him…

16

Eric returned to the bungalow and strode inside, ready to lay it all on the line with Beth. Yes, she was correct that this story was bound to be juicy, but it wasn’t worth their lives. He’d carry her kicking and screaming off the island if he had to, but they were leaving, just as soon as he could pack up his stuff and get the hell out of there. While he’d been out for his walk, he’d called a private jet company on the mainland to charter a plane for him and Beth. It had cost him a healthy chunk out of his savings, but at least she’d be safe.

Now, all he had to do was find her and get her to the airport with him to catch their flight.

“Beth?” he called, walking into the living room. The place was neat as a pin, the massage table and equipment gone. No sign of Beth. He frowned. Maybe she was in the bathroom. He walked down the hall and into the master suite. No sign of Beth there either. All her clothes were still neatly hung in the closet and her toiletries were out on the counter. A niggle of dread bored into his gut as he returned to the living room.

Something wasn’t right here.

“Beth?” he called again but got no response. Eric glanced around taking in the details. Her laptop was still on the coffee table beside her half-finished cup of tea and her phone. His thoughts snagged on that. She never went anywhere without her phone. If she wasn’t here and her phone was, that was a sure sign something was wrong.

Adrenaline raced through him as panic set in. Robert Hart’s face from earlier popped into his head. If that asshole had so much as touched one hair on Beth’s head, he’d filet the guy open with his pocket knife and turn him into fish food.

He strode back into the bedroom and pulled out his Glock from his duffle bag along with an extra magazine of ammo, which he shoved into the pocket of his shorts. The island wasn’t that big, and he hadn’t been gone that long. Beth still had to be here somewhere close by. He just had to find her.

Dammit. If he hadn’t gone off to walk the perimeter, maybe she’d still be safe in the bungalow.

No. He couldn’t think like that. Not right now. He had to stay focused if he wanted to keep Beth alive.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His curses echoed along with his footsteps pounding down the boardwalk back to the land. As he made his way up the path toward the main building, Eric pulled out his phone and called his buddy at the Coast Guard, who was stationed in Florida. This far from the mainland, he wasn’t sure if the island fell under their jurisdiction, but he needed all the help he could get right now and he and Beth were both American citizens. That had to count for something, right?

The call rang through as Eric made his way up to the main building then inside. The place was oddly quiet, hauntingly so. In fact, there didn’t seem to be another soul around except him. In the distance, he heard Robert Hart droning on with more new age crap in the building next door. They were having another therapy session. That must explain the lack of staff in here.

“Coast Guard, Islamorada Base,” a switchboard operator answered.

“Captain Morales, please.”

“One moment, please.”

He jumped the reception desk and wandered around in the back rooms but found no sign of Beth.

“Captain Morales speaking,” his friend’s voice rang over the line and Eric didn’t think he’d ever been so grateful in his life. He could catch these bastards on his own, sure, but then what the hell would he do with them afterward?

“Hey, Tig. It’s Eric.”

“Dude!” Tiguan Morales said, his tone warming. “Long time, no talk. What’s up?”

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