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over. They were in an industrial area, a dimly lit back-street filled with tall, deserted warehouses, somewhere downtown.

‘You mean stop the van?’ Cole asked.

‘What the fuck do you think I mean?’ the gunman snapped. Everyone’s patience was wearing thin.

Madison felt dread in the pit of her stomach. Was he going to kill them? Was that his plan?

Where are the police? Where’s the fucking helicopter? Where are the hostage negotiators?

This was a bad joke.

They were totally on their own, and there was nobody to help them.

They were sitting in what Leroy and Darren referred to as their office, although Jolie considered that it looked more like a flophouse for drug addicts. She was trying hard not to breathe, realizing that if she took one more breath she’d be as stoned as the rest of them. The scent of marijuana hung heavily in the air. And Nando, being Nando, had immediately accepted a joint.

That’s not the way to do business, she wanted to warn him. If Vincent was here, you wouldn’t have dared.

The reason Vincent and Nando were such excellent partners was that Vincent knew how to keep control of a situation. Nando didn’t. Her husband was one of life’s great adventurers. He saw something he wanted and he grabbed it. Unfortunately, he’d never learned the word ‘no’.

Now he wanted to make this dump into the hottest strip club in Vegas. Why? They had the hotel and gambling casino. Vincent and he were doing great. Personally she agreed with Vincent: why move into the sleazy side of the business when they didn’t have to?

She also knew that however involved she was, it would not sit well with her if Nando was dropping by a strip club every night, even if that club belonged to them. She’d installed a stripper pole in their bedroom. What more did she have to do to keep him at home?

Darren kept on shooting her sneaky sideways looks, as if he were summing up her potential as one of his girls. He looked like a pimp. He acted like a pimp. He probably was a pimp.

What the hell were they doing here?

And why had Nando brought her along for the ride?

The phone was ringing when Vincent walked into his apartment. He grabbed it quickly before it woke Jenna.

‘Good news,’ Dani said.

‘What happened?’

‘Sofia called. I told her to get the next plane home.’

‘That is good news,’ Vincent said. ‘By the way, I’ve sent someone over to stay outside your apartment. Don’t get alarmed if you see him.’

‘Do you think that’s necessary?’

‘If Michael says it is, then it is. We can’t take risks.’

‘I find this excessive,’ she complained.

‘Hey, you know him better than anyone.’

‘That’s true,’ she said ruefully.

‘Then don’t argue. Michael gets what he wants, he always has.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed. ‘That’s certainly true.’

‘I’m home now if you need to reach me. I’ll stay here until I hear from Michael.’

He put down the phone, went to the bar and fixed himself a drink.

Maybe he’d been too hard on Jenna earlier. She was only a kid, after all. The truth was that she didn’t know any better. Christ! He had so much to teach her. That was the problem with marrying an innocent girl who didn’t understand the rules.

He walked into the bedroom ready to forgive her.

Their large double bed was empty.

He opened the door to her bathroom. She was not there.

For a moment he thought about raging out of the hotel, tracking down Andy Dale, and beating the crap out of the dumb little movie star.

Then he thought better of it. Jenna had a lesson to learn. And that lesson was, do not screw round with Vincent Castle.

Sofia had decided that the only sane thing she could do was skip out on Mrs Flynn and her demand for the late rent. She simply didn’t have any money. The deal was to walk out casually as if she were going to work, then not come back.

She collected a few precious things that meant something to her, stuffed them into her oversize shoulder-bag, then yelled casually at Mrs Flynn, ‘I’m going out. I’ll be back later with your money.’

‘Good on you, dearie,’ shouted Mrs Flynn, the trusting old dear, already on her second glass of wine.

As soon as she got outside, Sofia realized she had no idea where the American Express office was. Damn! She should have made a call.

Then, to her surprise, up rolled Gianni in his gleaming chauffeur-driven Bentley.

The car pulled to a stop beside her. Gianni lowered the back window. ‘Jump in,’ he ordered.

‘Excuse me,’ she said.

‘Jump in. We’re on our way to Rome.’

And it seemed silly to argue because with Gianni by her side it would be so much easier to get back to America.

What did she have to lose?

Absolutely nothing.

‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ Jenna wailed.

‘No, you’re not,’ Andy Dale said, pumping away on top of her.

‘Yes…I think I am.’

‘Then don’t do it all over me.’

She managed to shove him off and run to the bathroom, whereupon she threw up in the basin. She retched for several minutes, feeling as though she’d been punched in the stomach by a mule.

When she was finished she lay down on the cold marble floor, rolling herself into a tight, naked ball. Nobody came in to see if she was all right. Not Andy, not Anais.

From the other room she heard the sounds of music, laughter and tinkling ice.

She had never felt this bad. ‘I want to die,’ she groaned.

Where was Vincent? Where was her husband when she needed him?

Oh, God, she couldn’t let him see her like this–sick and having just made love to Andy Dale, if love was a word she could use in connection with the way Andy Dale had treated her.

He wasn’t very nice. In fact, he was a big bully. While they were making out he’d slapped her hard on the bottom several times with the palm of his hand. It had hurt.

‘I don’t like that,’ she’d cried, his slaps stinging.

‘I do,’ he’d said,

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