Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“Stay with me, Geno. Why would she try to stop you from absorbing the poison? Why wouldn’t she want to kill you? You were about to torture her. Think, Geno. Keep your heart beating. Concentrate on the questions.”
The machine told them Amaranthe had no heartbeat and began to count down to shock her heart. Geno nearly stopped breathing. Waiting. Nothing mattered to him but that machine and shocking life back into Amaranthe.
“Breathe, Geno. Don’t you fucking die on me,” Stefano snapped.
The machine shocked Amaranthe’s heart. Once. Twice. The doctor rushed in with two of his aides. Her heart began to beat, but the rhythm wasn’t steady.
“Poison,” Valentino explained tersely.
“I’ll need the compound.”
Dario handed the aide two swabs. “Best we could do.”
The aide took off running, presumably for a laboratory.
Geno’s heart suddenly stopped beating. Immediately, Amaranthe’s eyelashes fluttered. She turned her head toward him, then to Stefano. Clearly, she tried to form words.
“Tell me what kind of poison,” Stefano demanded.
Valentino was doing chest compressions as Dario began hooking the defibrillator to Geno.
Stefano swore at her. “Tell me.”
“He took most of it.” She mouthed the words rather than voiced them, then tried again, murmuring. She sounded slurred. Disoriented. Her lashes fell. “Why? I tried to stop him. He isn’t part of this, is he?”
“No. Fucking tell the doc what kind of poison,” Stefano demanded. “Right now, Amaranthe.”
She mumbled something again. Stefano leaned down in an effort to catch every word. Stefano related what she said to the doctor as she crashed again. Dario swore and began CPR.
The defibrillator shocked Geno’s heart back into rhythm while the doctor’s aide rushed to get the antidote for the poison. They’d texted the second aide in the laboratory, and he was already on his way.
* * *
• • •
Amaranthe Aubert stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to remember where she was and why she was there. Her chest hurt. In fact, her entire body hurt, but her chest felt as if a massive hammer had smashed her repeatedly. She scanned the room carefully, looking for cameras. There were no bars on the windows. She wasn’t wearing clothes, but there was a robe hung beside the bed on a standing coatrack made of polished wood.
The room was beautiful with a hardwood floor and two wide windows overlooking the river. The bed was a queen and very comfortable. End tables with lamps sat on either side of the bed, and a reading chair was positioned across from the bed at an angle. The room was spacious and bright.
She sat up slowly, taking stock of her body and every sore muscle. She had no idea what day it was, but she was fairly certain she was inside the Ferraro home. The robe was close enough that if she stretched her fingertips, she could yank it to her. She hoped there wasn’t a camera. She hadn’t spotted one, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.
The robe fit as if it had been made exclusively for her. Geno Ferraro was very wealthy. He could afford to have robes made for women he had inadvertently abused in his interrogation room. She forced her mind away from that particular fiasco, unwilling to face the consequences of what might have happened to him and the mess she’d made of everything. Finding a bathroom was paramount on her list of things to do.
The first door she opened took her straight to a private bath. It was immaculate and held her favorite brands. Someone had bathed her and washed and conditioned her hair while she was unconscious. The thought of being that vulnerable unsettled her. She’d been on her own a long time and never once had she ever been taken prisoner. She’d never failed in a mission, either. Or made such a huge mistake where an innocent man may have lost his honor and ultimately his life.
She covered her face. She would have to own up to her mistakes. There was no getting around it. And if Geno was alive, she would have to confess to him and apologize. She couldn’t imagine facing him and telling him the truth. Why hadn’t she seen the truth? She’d never made such an error before. The worst of it was, he’d been her contact—her backup. She just hadn’t trusted him enough to talk to him. Pride. Ego. Fear. All those things. That shamed her.
She went back to her room and looked at the closet. If they had provided a robe and her favorite toiletries, perhaps there were clothes in the closet. Before she could explore further, a knock at the door had her scrambling back into bed.
The man opening the door was astonishingly handsome. He had dark eyes, chiseled features and very wide shoulders. He smiled at her. “My name is Elie Archambault. May I come in?”
Her heart sank. He certainly had the features of an Archambault. She nodded. Elie entered but didn’t approach the bed. He took the chair across from her.