"Your fiance," he said. "I turned up something this morning."

"What is it? Tell me!"

Clearly in no hurry, Geoff pulled the silver flask from the back pocket of his fatigue pants, removed the cap, and took a swig. "Have some?" he asked, offering the flask to her. "It's good for whatever ails you. Kills it dead."

"If that's true, then you should be keeling over any minute."

He tossed the flask on the bed, apparently thinking she might change her mind, then walked to the balcony doors. A cloud of moist heat billowed in and he opened them. "Hugh tried to charter a private plane to So Paulo last week. He wanted to leave that day, but the guy couldn't take him, so he left."

Randy felt a swift, draining relief as she realized that someone had seen Hugh. He was alive. "Maybe he used another charter?"

"No, I checked the others-car rentals and bus depots, everything. No one recognized Hugh's picture. It's possible somebody was holding out. As you already know, locals don't like to get involved in investigations."

Randy sat forward, clutching at the gaping neckline of her kimono. "But what if they're not holding out? Maybe Hugh was trying to get out of the city and couldn't? What if he's still here, trapped somewhere, hiding from Santeras? What-" She broke off, her thoughts racing ahead of her words. "What if he's being held by Santeras?"

Geoff's expression said he wasn't impressed with her idea. "If Santeras wanted Hugh out of the picture, there are more efficient ways."

"But didn't you tell me you'd rescued an agent from Santeras's converted slave quarters? It's worth checking out, isn't it?" She'd left the card Santeras had given her on the nightstand next to the bed. "I met him this afternoon, and he invited me to a party tonight."

"You met Carlos Santeras? How did that happen?"

Randy explained hurriedly, handing Geoff the card.

"Good G.o.d," he said, reading Santeras's address aloud. "You're a magnet for trouble, woman. It's a wonder you're still around to paint your toenails."

He tucked the card in his pocket and flashed her a warning glare when she protested. "I'll check out the party," he announced firmly. "Our deal was that you'd stay in the hotel if things got dangerous. They just got dangerous."

"Geoff! It's a party! How dangerous could that be?"

"If Hugh's on the run and Santeras wants him, then you'd be the perfect bait. Do you think it's a coincidence he was there today in his limo? He may have you under surveillance. No, you're not leaving this room, not until I can put you on a plane back to the States."

Fighting the desire to argue with him. Randy began to reinspect the damage to her toenails. "Fine," she said, knowing it was pointless to try to change his mind. "Have fun at the party. Why don't you go as the Terminator? You won't need an outfit."

"What I need is a drink," Geoff said, scooping the flask off the bed and stashing it in his back pocket as he strode out of her bedroom.

Randy began to perspire as he disappeared through her doorway. Her reaction had nothing to do with the heat and humidity and everything to do with the decision she'd just made. She was going to the party. She was a woman who believed in opportunity, and this one was twenty-four-carat gold. It wasn't as if she was breaking her bargain with Geoff, not technically. She simply didn't agree with his definition of dangerous. Santeras wouldn't know who she was in the harem outfit, not unless she chose to tell him. And of course, Geoff Dias wouldn't recognize her either.

Ten.

CARLOS SANTERAS'S JUNGLE VILLA wasn't exactly on the bus route. Randy realized as the taxi she'd taken snaked along a winding road that climbed to the crest of a forested mountain. The doorman at the hotel had given the taxi driver instructions and paid him in advance, so Randy was reasonably sure she wasn't being hijacked into white slavery. On the other hand, the doorman had also mentioned the mansion's converted subterranean slave quarters, though he hadn't said what they were converted into. Randy intended to find out.

The taxi slowed at a gated entrance, and once they sped through, she was treated to a breathtaking drive through exotic terraced gardens and water isles, all softly spotlighted. The trees were strung with enough twinkling lights to rival a far-flung galaxy of stars. By night the grounds were a fairyland of pure enchantment.

Randy leaned forward, touching the car's window as Santeras's Mediterranean-style villa came into view. The magnificent white-columned mansion was aglow, and every kind of luxury car imaginable crowded the curved driveway. As the taxi swept up to the entrance, she looked around for Geoff's Harley, but didn't spot it.

"Madame?" The rich, musical voice belonged to an exceedingly tall footman whose snowy white morning coat contrasted beautifully with his ebony skin. He opened the taxi door and helped her out, spiriting her up the front steps and through a marble foyer that opened onto an atrium with bubbling fountains. A cathedral-ceilinged ballroom lay just beyond, apparently the glittering centerpiece of the mansion.

"Thank you," Randy told the doorman as he left her at the entrance to the ballroom. She'd arrived late intentionally to avoid the receiving line. Now the floor was thronged with costumed guests-mermaids shook their satin tails at Indian chiefs, Cleopatras and high school drum majorettes did the lambada with Zorros and Arab sheiks. It reminded Randy of a lavish Hollywood set, an extravaganza that would have done Cecil B. De Mille proud.

She saw no sign of either Santeras or Geoff in the crowd, not that she would have recognized them if they'd been in costume. Her own vivid turquoise harem outfit was modest compared to some of the erotic feathered and jeweled creations the women were wearing. She'd been uneasy about the voluptuous way her b.r.e.a.s.t.s spilled from the sequined, strapless bra and the sheerness of her low-slung harem pants. It had even occurred to her in the taxi that the only thing people couldn't see was her face!

She checked to make sure her veil was securely attached as she joined the festive celebration. Lights sparkled and flashed from crystal chandeliers, and a Latin orchestra played against a waterfall backdrop of shimmering gold lame. Someone brought her a drink of something that bubbled like champagne but tasted like peaches. Randy had to lift her veil to sip it.

In the next room, she found table after table groaning with platters of gourmet delights, every kind of delicacy imaginable. She avoided the marinated raw squid, but tried a scoop of pink salmon mousse on a pitch-black cracker and found it delicious.

Continuing her tour, she wandered out onto a moon- drenched veranda where flamenco guitarists drifted among the guests, serenading amorous couples. Several stag males looked her over, their provocative smiles making her wonder whether they were interested in dancing or something more intimate. She smiled at the prospect. And to think, if she'd listened to Geoff Dias, she would have missed all this.

There was still no sign of Carlos Santeras as she moved from room to room, exploring the villa. She hadn't spotted Geoff either, though she'd expected his size would give him away. It was ridiculously easy to be anonymous at a huge costume ball, she realized.

Encouraged to try some serious investigating, she searched for a stairway to take her to the lower floor. A small bank of elevators stood in a hallway off one of the dining rooms, but Randy didn't like the looks of the guard posted nearby. Even if his black tights hadn't discouraged her, his executioner's hood would have.

Realizing a minor diversion was in order, she began to search for a smoke alarm and found one near the kitchen. She set it off with a nail file from her purse, a trick she'd learned in the apartment project where she grew up. She hid in a guest bathroom as several guards rushed by.

The elevators were clear when she got back to them. She stepped inside and pressed the b.u.t.ton to the lower floor, then waited for the doors to close. Her heart sped up as if trying to compensate for the doors' excruciating slowness. It was only a matter of seconds, but that was all it took to convince her how truly vulnerable she was.

The lower floor was dimly lit and frankly ominous. Randy cautiously surveyed the area before stepping out of the elevator. She didn't see any guards, but there was no point in taking any chances. The main corridor, lit only by wall sconces, branched off into a maze of narrow arteries.

There were several locked vaultlike doors on the first corridor she tried, causing her to wonder if they might be temperature-controlled storage rooms for the priceless art Santeras was said to have smuggled in his gangster days.

The doors on the next corridor were painted with a dull black finish and looked as if they might house tiny, dungeonlike cells. The first one Randy tried was unlocked, and to her surprise, it was a small, lavishly appointed apartment with a canopied bed in red satin. Mirrors lined the bed's roof and silky black cords hung from each bedpost. Hardly your typical guest room, she thought, wondering what she'd stumbled into.

A faint sound caught her attention as she was closing the door. She hesitated, listening, and heard it again. The metallic whir of elevator doors. Someone else was on the floor! She doubted that she'd been followed, but she didn't want to be caught by Santeras or one of his guards.

She set off down the corridor, heading for a red door at the end, which she prayed was some kind of an exit. She was breathless by the time she'd covered the short distance, mostly from fear. The k.n.o.b turned when she tried it, to her great relief. But the door wasn't an exit. It opened onto a large room, dimly lit by more wall sconces.

Randy entered cautiously, closing the door behind her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could discern rich tapestries hanging on the walls and some bizarre antique equipment. Like the ballroom upstairs, this room made her think of an elaborate movie set. But more than anything, it resembled a medieval torture chamber. There was a wooden structure that might have been a rack and another that looked like a pillory. Along one wall, ropes hung from the ceiling with leather cuffs attached as restraints.

Randy's heart was pounding, but she was more fascinated than frightened. She approached a display of iron masks, struck by their mournful expressions. As she reached to touch one, the door creaked behind her. The sound hit her like an electric shock, paralyzing her for an instant. Before she could turn, two ma.s.sive arms had encased her and lifted her off the ground.

"No!" She screamed and kicked wildly, but her captor was a burly giant of a man. He carried her across the room as if she were an unruly child, subduing her struggles easily as he brought her arms above her head and secured her wrists in the leather cuffs that were suspended from the ceiling.

"What are you doing?" she gasped as he manacled her ankles too. His black executioner's hood told her he was one of the guards, but he wouldn't speak or respond to her in any way as he fastened the buckles on the ankle restraints. As soon as he'd finished, he rose and left the room.

"Wait!" Randy cried. Fear engulfed her as she struggled against the cuffs and realized she couldn't break free. She screamed for help, knowing no one could hear her with the noise of the party on the floor above. But she had to do something! She'd never been able to deal with constraints of any kind. They threw her into a panic.

She was trying to work one of her hands through the cuff when the guard returned moments later. He was followed by a man who wore monk's robes, his face shadowed by a dark, voluminous hood. The two men spoke in hushed Portuguese, and then the guard walked to Randy and removed what was left of her veil, exposing her features.

"So you came to my party," the man in robes said. "I thought you might."

Randy still couldn't make out the man's face, but she did recognize his voice. It was Carlos Santeras. "Let me go," she said. "Please! I haven't done anything."

"There's nothing to fear," he a.s.sured her. "I only want to ask you some questions."

"Questions about what?"

"Your fiance, Hugh Hargrove. Actually, I have just one question, Ms. Witherspoon. Where is he?"

"I don't know! Really, I don't. Hugh's been missing for days. That's why I came here-"

"You thought you'd find him here? Why?"

Randy didn't see any point in holding back what little she knew. "He was last seen with you," she said.

Santeras drew back the monk's hood, his dark eyes flaring with icy pa.s.sion. "Your fiance has made a fatal mistake, Ms. Witherspoon. First he lied to me, and then he tried to bribe me as if I were a common criminal, the kind of sc.u.m that attacked you on the street today. He insulted my name, defamed me."

"Bribery? No-" Randy tried to tell him that it must have been a mistake, but he cut her off.

"You can't defend him," he said harshly. "A man must do that for himself. It's a matter of honor."

"Then please, let me go!" Randy strained against the cuffs. "I'll find Hugh. I'll talk to him. If he did what you say, there must be something he can do to make amends."

Santeras studied her, his eyes going cold. "Stop wasting my time, Ms. Witherspoon. Tell me where he is."

"I don't know."

"In that case let me give you a little history lesson, shall I?" He kicked the iron chain attached to her ankle cuffs. "The leather jewelry you're wearing was used to restrain slaves in the days when this villa was a coffee plantation. It proved to be a very effective means of punishment. That's why I hope you're telling the truth."

"I am!"

"Perhaps," he said, "but I have to be sure." He stepped back and replaced his hood. With a quick nod to the guard, he left the room.

Randy let out a terrified moan as she realized what was happening. The guard's eyes glittered, their obvious excitement made more horrible by the executioner's hood. He looked Randy up and down, slowly, lasciviously, and then he began to circle her, making remarks in Portuguese that needed no interpretation.

He stroked her bare skin with his fingers, dragging them along the small of her back and onto her midriff as he came around to face her. Randy shuddered and tried to wrench away from him, but the restraints bit into her flesh.

"Call Mr. Santeras back!" she insisted. "I'm telling the truth, I swear!"

Laughing at her efforts to defend herself, the guard drew a knife from a sheath beneath his shirt. His eyes glowed with a terrible light as he traced the swell of her cleavage with the knife's tip, leaving a thin pink line of enflamed skin. As she flinched back, he slipped the flashing blade under the center band of her bra and severed the material.

Randy screamed in terror as the bra flew open, baring her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The guard snorted with satisfaction, devouring her with his eyes. As he reached out to touch her Randy turned her head away, as repulsed by the sight of him as she was by the thought of his hands on her body.

She waited, skin crawling, for his touch. Instead, she heard a grunt of surprise and looked up to see the guard jerked off his feet and flung against the wall. Geoff had come up on the man from behind! Randy went limp with relief.

The guard never had a chance to recover. As he staggered away from the wall Geoff fell upon him with the jealous pa.s.sion of a lover fending off a rival. Geoff's fury was awesome. He shook the man until his teeth rattled, threatening to kill him, then knocked him out with one skull-shattering blow.

Randy strained against the cuffs, desperate to be free as she waited for Geoff to bind and gag the unconscious guard. When he was done with the man, he dragged him to a closet and locked him inside.

"Untie me," she pleaded as Geoff turned to her. But her heart froze as she saw the heat burning in his eyes. He believed she'd deceived him, and he was furious.

"Geoff, please," she implored.

He studied her, still breathing hard as he took in her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s and what was left of her harem outfit. Randy felt a sharp thrill of alarm. He looked as if he intended to take up where the guard had left off.

"What's wrong with you?" she cried. "Untie me! We have to get out of here!"

"What's the rush?" His voice was dangerously soft. "Santeras won't be back tonight. He's got a party to host. That's why he left you in the hands of his thug rather than 'interrogate' you himself."

"Dammit, Geoff, you have to let me go! Santeras is after Hugh, and he thinks I know where Hugh is."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you came to this party, sweetness. I seem to remember suggesting that possibility."

Geoff wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, sweeping waves of damp hair from his eyes. A nerve sparked painfully in his jaw, triggered by the adrenaline still coursing through him. He knew she was frantic to be set free, but he had no intention of untying her, no intention in h.e.l.l. She was too wildly erotic with her bared b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her anguished sighs. And he was too aroused and angry and frustrated to give in to his n.o.bler instincts at that moment.

"How did you find me?" she asked, as if hoping to distract him.

"I heard your screams." Anger flashed as he remembered how badly she'd frightened him. He'd had no idea she was in danger, or even that she'd come to the party, until he'd followed Santeras and his guard to this floor. He'd lost track of them in the maze of corridors when he'd heard a woman's shriek. He'd known instinctively that it was Randy, and his heart had nearly slammed through his chest.

"I could scream again," she threatened.

"Go right ahead, but it's you they'll find. And don't expect me to come riding to the rescue."

She swore at him and twisted against her bonds, but he made no move in her direction. He was fighting a dozen different impulses, the most immediate of which was to stay exactly where he was and let her beg for a while. He wanted her to throb wondering what he was going to do-and waiting for him to do it.

He let his eyes run the length of her body, trying to imagine how in h.e.l.l he ever got mixed up with a heartbreaker like her. Her back was arched defiantly, and her skin was flushed with heat, glowing from her throat to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The sight of her enflamed him.

"Geoff!"

"Don't go anywhere," he said, letting the darkness he felt roughen his voice. He walked to the door, locked and bolted it, then turned back to her.

Randy waited, agonized, sensing what he intended. She moaned softly as he approached, her mind on fire. The idea of him touching her while she was restrained whipped her into a fever pitch of excitement. "You can't," she whispered.

"Can't what?" he asked.

The antic.i.p.ation she felt was nearly unbearable as he walked up to her. With his hair falling all around him in crazy disarray and his eyes as piercing as emerald shards, he looked capable of anything. She told herself not to move, knowing every breath that rushed through her lungs made her belly tighten and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s shake. She knew how she must look, stretched out and trembling, like a nubile slave restrained for her master's pleasure.

"Please," she said, "don't ... touch me."

The muscles of his jaw went taut. "You're reading my mind, sweetness."

"You wouldn't," she said, ashamed of her own desperation-and hating him for making her that way. "You wouldn't take advantage, not like this. You're not that kind of man."

"Oh, that's rich." He laughed harshly. "I've been called everything from a b.a.s.t.a.r.d to a barbarian, but suddenly I'm not that kind of man." His gaze dropped to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and he blew a soft jet of air over her cleavage, cooling the perspiration that had beaded there. "What kind of man am I, Randy? Why don't you tell me, since you seem to be the expert?"

"You're a monster!" A sob thickened her voice. "And I hate you."

Laughing he continued to cool her down, purling air over her throat, her lips. "Now we're getting somewhere," he said. "Tell me how much you hate me. Randy. Tell my why you hate me."

"Because you're crude and uncouth-" She hesitated as if trying to think of something else. "And you ride a motorcycle."

"Sure, sure, but why do you really hate me?"