A Perilous Eden Read Free

water lapping against the hull of a ship. She didn’t open her eyes; she just listened to the sound of the water.
    Then she became aware of voices. Men were speaking, arguing, in Spanish, she thought.
    Her fingers curled into the cushions. These men would kill her without blinking an eye. It wouldn’t matter that she was young, that she was a woman. They had come for the senator, and she had gotten in the way. But she was still alive. For how long, though?
    Finally Amber opened her eyes, quickly closing them against the pain of the sudden light, then slowly opening them again.
    She had surmised quickly that she was still at sea. Now she saw that she was on a couch in the salon area of a cabin cruiser.
    It was probably about a sixty-footer, she thought, and a nice piece of workmanship at that. She was across from a large table where ten or twelve people could be comfortably seated for a meal. To her right was a galley, complete with a counter, refrigerator, stove, washer and dryer, and endless wood cabinets. There was a door to her right, leading to cabins, she assumed. She thought the vessel might easily sleep twelve or fourteen in comfort.
    She slid her legs over the side of the couch. Her shoes were gone, and her stockings were torn and stained. She shivered. Her scarf was gone, too, and it was cold in the cabin. Her jaw was sore. She moved it carefully. Nothing seemed to be broken.
    The men were still arguing.
    Amber stood up carefully, stretching, gaining her balance. Perhaps she could find a life jacket and jump into the sea. She would rather take her chances with sharks than fanatics.
    Where was the senator? she wondered sickly. Had they killed him already? Or had he been taken for ransom?
    There was a scurry of noise from above. Amber sat down quickly, determined to pretend that she was asleep. But she was too late. The man whose mask she had stripped away was hurrying down a short flight of stairs into the galley. He met her eyes and smiled.
    She realized then that he spoke English, at least one word of it. “Up,” he told her.
    He reached to touch her, and she moved quickly. “I’m up.”
    She stood up again, but he touched her anyway, pushing her ahead of him. They came to the little flight of steps, and he shoved her forward. She pushed open a half-closed doorway and nearly stumbled over the step that led to the outer deck, still cloaked in night’s darkness.
    High above her head was the helm, covered by a canopy. Before her, lounging in an assortment of deck chairs, was an array of men. She hadn’t been unconscious very long, she determined. Several of them were still clad in wet suits.
    There was a swarthy older man there, cloaked in a burnoose from head to toe. He gave Michael his full attention, as did the five younger men—subordinates, or so it seemed.
    Michael was leaning against the rail. When Amber appeared, barefoot and indignant, her chin high while her heart trembled, he allowed his gaze to sweep over her, but his attention remained on the older man. He spoke slowly in Spanish—switching into another language on occasion to press a point.
    The man behind Amber exploded in fury. Then Michael spoke a sentence in English, insistently.
    â€œShe is my concern. Mine.”
    A spate of Spanish broke out again.
    Michael interrupted sharply, speaking briefly before he gave a harsh laugh, which all the men shared.
    â€œWhat the hell is going on?” Amber demanded, narrowing her eyes. Maybe they were trying to decide whether to just throw her overboard or slit her throat and then throw her overboard. She was certain that at least half of these men wanted her dead. “None of you has any rights where I’m concerned! You’re criminals! You let me go—and the senator—this instant or I swear I shall—”
    Michael interrupted her, turning from her as he spoke to the older man as if nothing she said mattered, as if she hadn’t even spoken.