He had expected it to happen sooner or later. It was just a matter of his past catching up with him. But now Faith was caught up in it as well. She could die, and it would be his fault.

Dammit, he thought, this was why he had avoided involvement. Long ago he had set the rules that governed his life. Those boundaries had made his life a lonely one but that had been the price for doing a very important job, a job he believed in. By breaking those rules he had endangered the one person who had touched his life and left him feeling better for it.

The twinkling lights of Anastasia came into view as the road eased around a bend and down a slope. The tourist town that was home to two thousand permanent residents was nestled in a quiet cove. With its restored Victorian buildings and busy harbor, Anastasia was picture-postcard lovely, but its beauty was lost on Shane. His entire being was focused on one goal-rescuing Faith from the clutches of the most evil man he’d ever known.

Dylan’s Bar and Bait Shop was located on the waterfront, in the heart of Anastasia’s tidy, thriving marina area. It was a popular establishment, busy most nights, and this night was no exception. Warm amber lights glowed through the building’s windows, a welcoming beacon to passersby. Music and laughter floated through the front door as patrons came and went.

Parking his car in the small lot, Shane got out, his narrowed eyes scanning the area as he strode toward the phone booth that stood to the left of the bar’s entrance. The scents of fish and fuel and the sea filled his nostrils, but danger was what he sensed stronger than anything. Strauss was nearby; he could feel it.

The phone inside the booth was out of order. Strauss’s idea of a joke, Shane supposed, though he found no humor in it. Taped to the glass of the booth was a note with the name Brutus and a pier number written in Strauss’s neat, almost feminine hand. Using the pen that hung on a frayed string beside the phone book, Shane scrawled BANKS across the top of the note and left the missive taped in place.

He had come alone, as Strauss had instructed, but Banks wouldn’t be far behind him. There hadn’t been time to argue about strategy. Shane had wanted time to try to deal with Strauss on his own-certain that bringing in more cops would further endanger Faith-so he had given himself a head start.

As he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, he wondered just how much trouble he would get into for knocking out his boss. It didn’t matter. The odds were against him coming out of this at all, he thought as he started toward a boat called Brutus and a confrontation with the man who had sworn to kill him.

The Brutus was a powerboat, a midsize luxuriously appointed cabin cruiser fitted out for deep-sea sport fishing. But fishing wasn’t on the mind of the man who owned the boat, Faith thought as she sat on the cabin’s small built-in sofa, trying her best to keep from shaking visibly.

William had owned a boat very like this one. He hadn’t been much interested in fishing either. The Getaway had been for impressing people, an ostentatious toy, a place to hold clandestine meetings. But if William Gerrard’s uses for his boat had been less than honorable, Adam Strauss’s were evil.

“In a way, I’m going to regret killing Shane Callan,” Strauss said from his leather-upholstered chair in the corner. In his left hand he held a snifter of cognac. His right hand absently stroked the semiautomatic weapon lying in his lap as if it were a beloved pet cat. A Mozart symphony played in the background.

“A very shrewd, intelligent man, Shane. Well brought up, you know. A Princeton man.” He smiled at Faith. “I myself graduated from Brown. A doctorate in behavioral psychology.”

Faith guessed she was supposed to be impressed, but she was too damn scared to pull it off. Tugging her cardigan closer around her, she merely stared at her captor with wide, unblinking eyes.

He was a handsome man in a cold, sharp-featured way. Thinning brown hair was combed straight back from his high forehead. The arch of his eyebrows above his narrow dark eyes could only be described as sinister looking. They went well with the cruel, thin line of his wide mouth. He was well dressed and meticulously groomed-right down to his neatly manicured nails. Somehow the fact that he was an educated, fastidious man made him seem even more diabolical in his madness.

In a little corner of her mind Faith noted that this entire scenario was insane. She was just a former business major from Notre Dame, a mother, a woman trying to pursue a quiet dream. How on earth had she ended up on a boat listening to Mozart while an assassin reminisced about his college days?

“What do you need me for?” She blurted the question out, amazed that she had dredged up the nerve.

Strauss’s face lit with amusement. “Why, bait, of course. You should be very familiar with the role by now, I should think.”

Faith’s skin crawled.

“This has all been a very amusing little game.” He took a sip of his cognac, savoring the amber liquid for a moment before continuing. “I managed to acquire a copy of Shane’s current case file, thanks to an obliging little secretary at the Justice Department. Pity I had to kill her. At any rate, I thought it rather a clever game to play the part of your tormentor. Rouse all of gallant Shane’s protective instincts and so on.”

A chill went through her at his calm dismissal of murder, and another shot through her at the thought that she had been used as bait to get to Shane. “You never had anything to do with DataTech or William?”

His lips curled upward as he shook his head.

Faith’s eyes strayed to the window. She would have given anything to feel Shane’s arms around her now. At the same time she had to hope she wouldn’t see him, because the man in the corner was planning to kill him, and she didn’t think she could survive watching that happen.

“Rest assured, Ms. Kincaid. He’ll arrive presently.”

Setting his brandy aside, Strauss rose from his chair only to settle beside Faith on the cushioned bench. She couldn’t suppress a shudder of revulsion as he coiled one arm around her shoulders.

“You see,” he said in his lazy voice, “I know Shane very well. His strengths, his weaknesses. His likes and dislikes. For a time we were nearly as close as brothers.” He brought his pistol up to caress the silencer against her temple almost lovingly, and his voice turned as cold as the steel of the gun. “Then he betrayed me.”

Bile rose in Faith’s throat as tears stung her eyes.

“Ah, but alas,” Strauss said, his voice heavy with mock regret as he glanced at his gold Rolex, “we have no time to discuss such things.” With his arm still around her, he stood and drew Faith along with him. “Our hero should be arriving any minute now. Let’s go out on the deck to greet him, shall we?”

Raw fury surged through Shane as he approached the Brutus, his gaze focused on Faith and the man who held a gun to her head. Close on fury’s heels was fear. He tried to will both emotions away. A clear head was essential in a situation as deadly as this one. Emotions got in the way; they clouded judgment and slowed the thinking process. But it was impossible for Shane to look at Adam Strauss-one arm around Faith’s shoulders and a pistol pressed to her temple-and not have a riot of feeling tear loose inside him.

His hand tightened on the grip of his gun as the dark desire to kill snaked through him. He may have been raised in an upper-class home. He may have been educated in one of the finest schools in the country. But primitive instinct easily cut through generations of civilized behavior. Beneath the cop, the scholar, the musician, he was a man, and Faith Kincaid was his woman. If Strauss had hurt her…

Hell, Shane thought, he wanted to kill the man for touching her. Despite all she’d been through, Faith was an innocent. Adam Strauss represented everything evil. The two didn’t belong on the same planet, let alone on the same boat.