“Thank you,” Sean said.

“Eduardo has been with our family for more than 20 years,” Valzar said. “He does far more for us than simply run the household.”

“I understand,” Sean said, and his eyes took on a new look. Sadness? It was hard to know. She could tell that something was going on here, but she had no idea what it might be.

“I trust that Eduardo isn’t so zealous in doing his duty that he won’t check with me before doing me any favors?” Sean asked pointedly. “I would take that as a personal insult, no matter how good the intentions were.”

“I respect your right to handle your own affairs, Senor,” Eduardo said. He shot her a look Sandra didn’t like one bit. “The situation is fully under your jurisdiction. I’m simply available should you need any help.”

Shit, they were talking about her. About k illing her. She shivered, and edged closer to Sean without thinking. He wrapped one arm around her, comforting her, and Valzar shot her another sharp look. She was tired of all these men looking at her, judging her. All she wanted was to go home.

“Senorita, Maria will show you to your room,” Eduardo said smoothly, nodding at a young woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere. She was pretty, with dark hair and flashing eyes. Her lips were red and pouting, and her maid’s uniform did nothing to hide her lush figure.

“Please come with me,” she said. “I have a room prepared for you in the guest quarters.”

“She’ll stay in the same room as me,” Sean said, looking down at her proprietarily. “She’s mine.”

Rosa’s mouth tightened, but she nodded and gestured toward the stairs. “Please come with me, Senorita

.”

Sandra didn’t want to leave Sean, but he dropped his arm and nodded for her to go. She didn’t trust these people, and it occurred to her that she probably shouldn’t trust him, either. Sean was her enemy, the man originally responsible for kidnapping her, but now she longed for his presence. He seemed so much safer, so much less frightening than all these other people. What was that called? Stockholm Syndrome? She’d heard of it before but never dreamt she’d experience it for herself.

Something so unnatural shouldn’t feel so right—it wasn’t fair.

Slowly she followed the maid up the stairs, unconsciously noting the quality of workmanship that had gone into creating the villa. Everything was made of solid wood or tile, all of which bore the signs of hand-workmanship. Large paintings hung on the walls, including portraits of strong, menacing-looking Spaniards and delicate white beauties. Family portraits? Valzar’s people went back a long way; he must be some kind of aristocrat. Definitely old money.

They came to the top of the stairs and she followed her guide through the gallery. As they left the entrance hall and started down a hallway, she realized the house was even larger than she’d initially thought. The hall was bordered by rooms for a few meters, but as they turned a corner one wall fell away, revealing an open courtyard. Hot air hit her again, but it wasn’t as bad as outside. How did they do that?

The house enclosed the entire courtyard, all of which seemed to open either on to the gallery above or the courtyard itself on the lower levels. There was a large, luxurious swimming pool, as well as immaculately sculpted gardens and several fountains. Even a fake stream had been cleverly designed to run through the grounds, and in the distance, she could hear the chirping of birds. It was the most incredible thing she’d ever seen in her life.

Rosa seemed hardly to notice. She abruptly stopped in front of two large, wooden doors, then opened them and nodded toward the cool, dark interior. Sandra walked in and the doors closed behind her. She whirled, expecting to see Rosa behind her. Instead, she heard a snicking sound and realized the maid had locked her in.

* * *

“I’ll be leaving in the morning,” Valzar said. He and Sean sat in a tastefully decorated study, a room more likely to be found in a British hunt club than the jungles of the Amazon. “You can reach me any time with Eduardo’s help. We have a full communications center here, including subscriptions to all the mainstream news services, as well as more specific researching tools. I’ve prepared a file of financial information for you. You’ll want to know how much money you have, I’m sure, and you’ll need to make decisions as to what you’ll be doing with yourself.”

“Thanks,” Sean said, nodding his head in appreciation. He reached out to take the file Valzar handed to him, flipping through it. Right on top was a passport. He opened it up, discovered a worn picture of himself. Next to it was a name, Joe McMurray, Irish national.

“It looks good,” he said slowly. “As always, I’m impressed with how thorough you are. You always think of everything, Valzar.”

“Thank you,” his friend said, smiling briefly. “I’ve got more for you, though. Here’s some information our friends have come up with on your girl. Fresh off the fax.”

He handed another file to Sean, and then sat back. Sean took it and flipped it open. The fax transmission was grainy, but there was no mistaking his little toy in the picture. She smiled broadly at the camera.

Probably a driver’s license photo. He scanned the accompanying information quickly.

Sandra Vicars, 27 years old, single. Residence: 1536 N. Welby, Apt. #6, Danforth, Texas. Five feet, six inches in height, 135 pounds. Next of kin listed as an aunt in New York. Occupation: massage therapist.

He flipped the page, moving on to the next sheet, absorbing the information quickly. Her parents were dead, her only brother in prison for drug trafficking, 18 years left to go on a federal charge. She had worked at a sports health clinic for five years before starting her own practice, a bad move since the economy had been down for quite a while. Now her bank accounts were all but empty and her practice seemed to be languishing. No criminal history, no suspicions of prostitution.

That caught his eye fast enough.

“It says here she’s a massage therapist with no history of prostitution,” he said slowly. “She told me she’s a working girl. How do you figure that?”

“Keep reading,” Valzar said slowly. Sean nodded, eyes quickly covering the page. She was well liked by her neighbors, all of whom were horrified that she’d be taken hostage by a dangerous escaped felon. The press was already hard a work digging up her background for their stories, and the sports clinic where she’d worked was offering a 10,000 reward for information leading to her whereabouts. Her former fiancé, a man who had broken up with her nearly nine months back, was devastated, and had already made a public appearance on one of the local television stations to beg for her return.

“This isn’t good,” Sean said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I thought she was a pro, someone who would be easy to buy off. That’s not going to happen with a woman like this. She’ll never understand.”

“I know,” Valzar said slowly, shaking his head. “I can see you’re attached to her, although I can’t fathom why. Perhaps it’s because you’ve been without a woman for so long? It doesn’t matter, though. You have to get rid of her. I brought in Rosa for you, she can see to all your needs. I’ll take care of the Vicars woman.”

“No,” Sean said, a wave of anger washing over him. The thought of Valzar touching his little toy made his head hurt, and he had to restrain himself from reaching across and hitting the man. “She’s mine and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you touch her. It’s not open for discussion.”

“Have it your way,” Valzar replied, one eyebrow raised and a knowing expression on his face. “She’s not a threat to me, it’s your ass on the line. Our CIA friends don’t like to be embarrassed, and I can assure you that they don’t like loose ends.”

He handed another sheaf of papers to Sean, then stood and walked over to the full bar that took up the far end of the room.

“Drink?” he asked. Sean nodded his head.

“Scotch,” he said, reading the new information restlessly. It was the rough draft of a newspaper article about his escape. Dangerous criminal, riot, hostage, etc. He skipped down toward the end, and read about his own death with a sense of grim satisfaction. His hostage had been identified as Sandra Vicars, and her burned body had been discovered with his in the plane wreckage. By the next morning, every one of her friends in Texas would read about it in their newspapers. Somebody would inform the aunt, and Sandra Vicar’s small estate would go into probate.

The former fiancé would have to find a new way to get on TV.

Valzar returned with a small glass of amber fluid, handing it to Sean. He drained the drink in one smooth motion, enjoying the way it burned down his throat. Damn, it was good to be out of prison.

“I need to be leaving soon,” Valzar said. “Is there anything that you need from me before I go?”

Sean shook his head, lost in thought.

“No, everything you’ve done for me is wonderful,” he said. “I can never thank you enough. I’ll let you know when I decide what my next step is.”

“Sounds good,” Valzar said. He stood, and Sean started to follow him. He waved him off.

“No, sit and relax,” he said. “I want you to enjoy yourself for now. It’s been far too long since you’ve had any privacy and space. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

With that he turned and left the room, leaving Sean alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Sandra sat quietly in the room, unsure what to do with herself. She’d explored a bit, discovering that their bedroom was attached to a large, lovely balcony overlooking a private courtyard. There was a spacious bathroom complete with a whirlpool tub and shower for two.