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  Dakota entered first. A feeling of unwanted familiarity washed over her. The last time she’d been in this house, in this living room, she’d been nine months pregnant, listening to Vincent’s father outline the rest of her usefulness to him. She’d been nothing more than a vessel to him. Less. He’d made that abundantly clear with each word he’d uttered, every look he’d slanted at her.

  He was here, waiting for them.

  Her eyes filled with hate as she looked at Del Greco, a small, meticulously groomed man presiding over his empire sitting on a sofa that cost more than most people’s houses.

  He’d made a point of telling her that. He had thought it would help to intimidate her, to give him the upper hand. He’d gone on at length about all the benefits that would be the baby’s once he was born. Benefits someone like her couldn’t hope to give a child. As he’d droned on, all she could think of was that Vincent had hated growing up in this cold mausoleum.

  When Del Greco’d concluded, contempt in his eyes as he looked at her, she’d wanted nothing more than to spit in his face. But she’d played it safe for the sake of her unborn child and pretended to want a little time to think things through.

  Del Greco had thought she was angling for more money and let her go, confident that she would see things his way. There was no other way, no other options open to a woman like her.

  Aristocratic fingers folded in front of him, Del Greco regarded the woman who had borne his grandson. He didn’t bother attempting to mask his contempt. He knew that his mistake had been in thinking that she was too afraid of him and too smart to run, so he had let her return to her small apartment to arrive at the right decision, the decision he’d felt confident she would make.

  He’d come within an inch of shooting the soldier who had brought him the news that she had vanished. Vincent Del Greco did not take disappointment well.

  His glare sliced her apart. “You should have taken the money I offered you.” The laugh that followed was short. “But then, Vincent was always hooking up with stupid bimbos. He was weak that way.”

  Dakota let the insult go. She knew Del Greco was merely trying to get at her. But the stakes were far beyond petty things such as name-calling. She couldn’t care less what Vincent Del Greco thought of her. All she wanted was her son.

  She took a step toward him. “Where is he, you bastard? Where’s my son?”

  She heard the click of a weapon and felt rather than saw it being pointed at her by Del Greco’s solider. Rusty shifted beside her, as if to cover her with the only thing he had at his disposal, his own body. Dakota ignored the reaction the selfless act generated within her.

  Like a magnanimous emperor, Del Greco waved back his henchman, his small, steely eyes boring hot holes into Dakota.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “And where’s my grandson while you’re out, keeping this guy’s sheets warm?”

  The ploy nearly pushed her over the edge. It took everything she had to not lunge at the man, henchmen or no henchmen.

  “You should know, you took him. Don’t play dumb with me, old man, it doesn’t suit you. Now, give Vinny back to me, or I swear—”

  Del Greco cut her off. “You’re in no position to swear. Pray, maybe, if anyone up there will hear the prayers of a two-bit whore like you.” The look on Del Greco’s face clearly indicated that he felt her prayers would be a waste of time and breath. He rose to his feet. Barely containing his rage, his small body shook. Del Greco grabbed her by the throat, tilting her head upward. “Now, what are you talking about?”

  He was squeezing so hard, she could hardly breathe and tears of pain rose in her eyes.

  “Let her go,” Rusty ordered. Any move to help was cut short by the barrel of the gun shoved into his side.

  “Shut up, tough guy, your turn’ll come.” Del Greco’s eyes fairly glittered as he focused them on Dakota, never slackening his hold on her throat. “Now, talk.”

  “My son,” Dakota rasped, the words crawling up the small space he had left her for air. “I want my son. You had your men take him and I want him back.”

  For a split second, Rusty detected bewilderment in the gray-blue eyes before it was replaced by contempt and hatred.

  “You lost him?” Del Greco shouted, pushing her back so hard she stumbled and would have fallen if Rusty hadn’t caught her.

  “You took him,” she insisted, shaking Rusty off as she continued to glare at Del Greco. “Where is he?”

  Disbelief warred with rage. “You stupid bitch. You lost my grandson?”

  Shaken, Dakota was torn. Was this an act or wasn’t it? The man was a born liar, smooth and charming one minute, ruthless and cold-blooded the next. She didn’t know what to believe.

  “If you didn’t take him, who did?” Rusty wanted to know.

  Del Greco looked at him sharply. “Who the hell are you?”

  “The man I hired to get my son back,” Dakota retorted hotly.

  The uneasy feeling that they had plunged into a hornet’s nest for no reason was slowly taking hold in the pit of her stomach. If Del Greco was telling the truth, if he didn’t have Vinny, who did? There’d been no ransom note, no call. Why hadn’t they contacted her? She’d checked the messages on her answering machine via the remote feature every chance she got. There had been no demands for ransom, no calls that could be followed up at all.

  Where was Vinny? Who had him?

  Scorn made Del Greco’s face almost skeletal in appearance. “Well, if he led you here, you wasted your money.” He looked up angrily as one of his men entered the room. “Get out of here, Johnny. This is a private matter.”

  But the tall man moved toward him, not away. “Mr. Del Greco, I think you’ll want to see this,” Johnny said softly, indicating the manila envelope he was holding.

  Like a messenger afraid of being killed because of the message, he placed the opened envelope in Del Greco’s hands and then backed away.

  Del Greco looked at the envelope in silence, as if he already knew what would be inside. A sixth sense, the instinct that had gotten him to the seat of power he occupied today and had kept him alive, told him what he would find within the envelope. So did the expression on the face of the man who had brought the envelope to him. His men were under orders to quickly open all suspicious-looking mail addressed to him.

  This appeared to have been left rather than mailed.

  “Mr. Del Greco, if you want, I could—” the capo at his side began. Del Greco waved him into silence, his eyes never leaving the offending envelope.

  Hardly breathing, Dakota watched as Del Greco slipped his long, narrow fingers into the padded envelope. As much as she didn’t want to, she believed the aging crime boss. He hadn’t taken Vinny. The pallor of the man’s complexion exonerated him.

  Barely suppressing his anguish, Del Greco pulled out a small plastic bag with a dark lock of hair inside it. Dakota bit back a cry of recognition and despair. There was no question in her mind.

  “That’s Vinny’s hair.”

  For a second the man by whose authority they were being held prisoner looked twice as old as his sixty-three years. Clutching the plastic bag to him as if it were precious, he unfolded the letter. There was very little writing on it.

  “It’s Stavos.” Rage vibrated in his throat. Starting out as an annoyance five years ago, Stavos and his organization had steadily grown, encroaching on his territory. Now he wanted it all. “He says if we don’t back off from the casinos, he’ll kill Vinny.”

  The next moment the broken, vulnerable look was gone as if it had never existed. Suddenly he was Vincent Del Greco, the head of a proud family, the chief of a multilayered crime organization.

  “He wants to negotiate. Negotiate for my grandson!” Viciousness erupted. “I’ll give him negotiate.” He looked at his first-in-command. “Get the boys together, we have some ‘talking’ to do.”

  The second man exchanged looks with Johnny before addressing his question to Del Greco. “What d
o you want me to do with these two?”

  Del Greco paused to look at Dakota and Rusty. He acted as if he’d forgotten they were even there and, now that he remembered, felt they weren’t worth a microsecond of his time.

  “Take them out into the desert and get rid of them. I don’t care how you do it, just do it.”

  “You can’t go and confront this Stavos,” Dakota cried even as she and Rusty were being taken from the room. “He’ll kill Vinny.”

  Her warning had no effect on Del Greco. “He’s too smart to do that. He knows if he does, it’s his death warrant.”

  “And what are you, invulnerable?” she demanded sarcastically. “Immortal?”

  He stopped just long enough to give her a triumphant smirk.

  “Damn straight I am, cookie.” The smile faded from his mouth, to be replaced by one of pure malevolence. “Now get them the hell out of here before I do the job myself right here.” Del Greco looked down at the white rug beneath his feet, the rug he had replaced every year in his desire to keep the outward signs of purity close at hand. “Rug’s due to be replaced anyway.”

  “Your grandson might get killed in the crossfire,” Rusty pointed out.

  Nearly out of range, Del Greco stopped, taken by the calm cadence in the voice of a man who had perhaps only an hour to live, perhaps less.

  “You let me worry about my grandson, hired gun.” The evil smile was back. “I’d say you’ve got bigger concerns of your own right now.” His eyes shifted to the man he was entrusting with the assignment. “Take Johnny with you. And a shovel. I don’t want a trace left, understand?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Del Greco,” the henchman said, bobbing his head in respect for both the man and the position he held. He aimed his weapon at Dakota. “You heard the man, move.”

  Rusty saw the expression on Dakota’s face. An alarm went off in his head. She was going to do something, something stupid that would most likely get her killed. They had to wait until the odds were not six to two against them. He caught her eye and shook his head slowly. To his relief, though there was contempt in her eyes, she angrily acquiesced.

  It bought him some time to think.

  Chapter 14

  “You really don’t want to do this.”

  Stuffed beside Dakota in the back seat of a compact car, his hands tied behind his back, Rusty addressed the words to the man who had been ordered to terminate them. He purposely avoided looking at the gun the man, Johnny, was holding.

  Johnny, obviously uncomfortable, was sitting twisted around in the front passenger seat. He appeared in no mood for any kind of a conversation.

  “Shut up,” the burly man ordered.

  “Better think about it,” Rusty cautioned, his voice mild, in direct contrast to the thoughts racing through his head.

  There had to be a way out. They were heading into the heart of the desert. Only Redhawk knew where they had initially been, but it was unrealistic to think that they could rely on him for any kind of help. The detective had no way of knowing they were in trouble.

  He’d been in better situations. “Killing us is really going to look bad on Santa’s naughty list. You’ll be finding coal in your stocking until you die.”

  Johnny looked exactly one step away from pistol-whipping him into silence. “I said shut up.” Turning, he looked impatiently at the driver. “Pick a place, you moron. My back’s killing me.”

  The driver looked at him resentfully. “Mr. Del Greco said to make it desolate.”

  “It’s the desert,” Johnny snapped angrily. “It’s all desolate.”

  “Okay.” The driver abruptly stopped the car and pulled up the emergency hand brake.

  Johnny nodded his approval. A malevolent smile began to form on his thick lips. “This is it, folks. Last stop. And I mean last stop.”

  Getting out first, he opened the back door and pulled Rusty out roughly. He reached for Dakota next.

  She shrank back from him, not wanting to endure his touch. But there was nowhere to go. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out.

  Dakota recovered herself quickly. “You really like your work, don’t you?”

  Surprised at her tone, Rusty looked at her. Her voice was oddly devoid of contempt, the way he’d expected. She’d certainly made no effort to hide her feelings from Del Greco earlier.

  Dakota slanted a look back to the car. The driver, she noted, remained where he was, apparently content to turn what was about to happen into a spectator sport for his personal amusement.

  She felt her blood run cold and purposely ignored it. There wasn’t time to feel anything.

  “Yeah.” Malice highlighted the smile on his moon face, forming deep ruts. “I do.”

  Moving ever so slightly to the side, forcing Johnny to turn his back to the vehicle, she swept her eyes over him with an unmistakable invitation. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, seductive. “Bet I could get you to like something else more.”

  Because there was no hurry and no way for the two they’d brought out here in the middle of nowhere to avoid their fates, she knew Del Greco’s executioner would see no harm in listening to what she had to say. No harm in perhaps enjoying himself before he did what was expected of him.

  There was no doubt in his mind about the ultimate outcome here today. No matter what the luscious, statuesque blonde came up with, how she intended to bargain for her life, he was going to terminate both of them just as he’d been told to do. Del Greco was not a man to cross.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get himself a little early Christmas cheer.

  He ran fat, sausage-like fingers through her hair. “What’d you have in mind, honey?”

  It took everything she had not to shiver in revulsion. She indicated the ropes that held her hands fast behind her back. “You know, I do a lot better with my hands free.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” His laugh was nothing short of evil. “But for what I’ve got in mind, honey, you won’t be needing your hands.” He looked at her pointedly, already anticipating the rush he was going to feel. His palms grew sweaty. “And who knows, if you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll be nice to you.”

  She looked at him in wide-eyed innocence. “You’ll let us go?”

  Johnny pretended to consider the matter, then nodded. “You,” he lied. “Maybe.”

  She knew it would look too suspicious if she leaped at that. Dakota took a beat. “No, it has to be him, too.”

  It cost Johnny nothing to lie. And it beat the hell out of arguing. He wanted to get on with it, to see just how far she would go to barter for her life.

  “We’ll see.” His eyes all but disappeared as he smiled in anticipation. “Now, let’s see what you can do for me.”

  “Right here?” she asked, her eyes wide. “In front of everyone?”

  Like that would bother him, Johnny thought, laughing. “Sure, I’m not shy.”

  Dakota slowly licked her lips, watching the man’s reaction. Good, she had him. “All right, then, neither am I.”

  With slow, deliberate movements, she came toward him, a living, breathing portrait of seduction. There was perspiration forming on his brow where his hair had receded. Dakota wet her lips again, then tilted her head as if to kiss the gunman.

  The next moment she brought her knee up as hard as she could.

  With a horrified squeal of pain, the burly man went down, dropping his weapon as he clutched at the source of his agony. Afraid that he would be up on his feet as soon as he managed his pain, she brought her heel down on top of his clutching hands for good measure.

  He screamed. There was no breath left with which to curse her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the driver yelled, leaping out of the car.

  As the driver cleared the vehicle, Rusty head-butted him, sending him crashing to the ground. They had no time to lose. Rusty turned to Dakota and saw that, though tied, her hands were now out in front of her rather than behind her. And her fingers were wrapped around the gun of the man writhing
in pain on the ground beside her.

  He nodded at her hands. “How did you manage that?”

  She spared him a self-satisfied smile. “I’m agile, remember?”

  Fragments of last night replayed themselves swiftly through his head. That was the word for it, all right. “Yeah, I forgot about that.”

  Gun firmly between her hands, Dakota pointed the weapon at the driver who was beginning to come around. He moaned as he clutched his head.

  “You, untie him.” She raised the nuzzle so that it was pointed at his head. There was no mistaking her intent. “Now.”

  Cursing at her and at his disabled partner still howling his pain, the driver did as he was told.

  With his hands freed, Rusty reached for the weapon in hers. “Thanks, that was quick thinking.”

  Watching the driver for any sudden moves, Dakota surrendered the gun to Rusty. He took it like a man comfortable with a weapon in his hands. “I thought you didn’t believe in guns.”

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use one.” He waved the weapon at the driver, motioning him over. “Free her,” he ordered. He spared a glance at the man on the ground. Despite everything, he could still empathize with his pain, feeling it clear down to his own marrow. Dakota Armstrong, he decided, was a force to be reckoned with. “How hard did you kick him?”

  “Hard enough,” was all she said.

  Free, she was careful to step back from the driver in case he wanted to try anything. She wasn’t about to become an unwitting hostage.

  Of like mind, Rusty waved the driver away from her as Dakota rubbed her wrists to get the circulation back. “Okay, now tie him up.” He indicated the gunman on the ground.

  Eyes moving from one face to the other, the driver began to sweat profusely. “Look, I wasn’t going to kill you. He was.” He pointed at Johnny, his voice rising in panic. “I’m just a driver.”

  Rusty’s face remained impassive. “Right, we’re all just following orders. Now follow mine.” His tone was low and eerily menacing. “Tie him up.”