Being the Marshall Mullins’s daughter had gotten her in immediately, no questions asked. No one in Hollywood hadn’t heard of the Oscar-winning actor-director. He was as famous for his epic talent as he was for his romantic exploits over the last two decades.

But the scene in the bar hadn’t been her thing. Loud. Lots of drugs and random hookups and pretty, heartless people. At just before midnight, she’d pleaded a headache and let herself outside, fishing in her purse for her car keys and thinking of things she could tell her father about where she’d been.

Mystery absolutely hadn’t been expecting the burlap hood over her head or the rough hands pulling her into a vehicle, then speeding off into the night.

She hadn’t struggled for long before she’d felt a needle in her arm. When she’d awakened, the hood had been removed. It looked like midmorning. Her purse, car keys, and cell phone were gone. She’d been handcuffed but was blessedly alone. A glance out a grungy window revealed nothing but miles and miles of desert.

It still seemed surreal that she’d been kidnapped. Did someone mean to ransom her? Rape her? Kill her? Mystery had no idea, and the not knowing sent panic skittering through her system. It was one of the few things keeping her awake.

She wished she could open her eyes and find this had been a nightmare, that she’d made different choices, that she could just run to her father’s open arms and that he’d make everything all right again. But none of that was going to happen. She’d have to find her own way out of this mess.

The door to the shack opened, and a man wearing a ski mask and head-to-toe black entered, heading straight for her. She tried to shrink back, scanning the shack for another door. Nothing.

The masked man grabbed her by her arm and hauled her roughly to her feet. Mystery thought of kicking him and running but he was twice her size. Menace rolled off him like a thundercloud. He wore some sort of assault rifle strapped over his shoulder and a hideously large knife from a sheath, attached to his belt . . . right near his hand. She shrank back. Please, God, don’t let him use either on me.

He grabbed the edges of her light jacket and shoved it down her arms.

“Don’t,” she pleaded—and hated herself for doing it. But she’d never been in danger. Hell, she’d hardly ever been out of Beverly Hills. She didn’t want to die here now. She had so much life in front of her.

And after her mother’s high-profile death, if she died violently, it would kill her father.

He didn’t acknowledge her pleading, just whirled her around until she faced the wall. “Hold still.”

A moment later, he reached for her wrists and gripped one tightly.

Mystery stared at the dilapidated wood, her thoughts racing. What was he doing? Waiting for? Did he plan on stabbing her? Strangling her?

A second later, she felt a prick at her wrist, like a needle penetrating her skin, invasive in her vein.

“No!” She couldn’t handle more drugs. Already she felt weak and shaky, vaguely sick to her stomach. Another round of that . . . The thought made her dry heave.

“Shut up!” he commanded. “Hold the fuck still.”

“What are you doing?” She wanted to struggle but didn’t dare, especially with the needle still stuck in her skin. She just wanted to get out alive, see her father again, be a normal teenager. If she could, she’d be so good, never do anything wrong again. “Stop!”

“I told you to shut up. I’m not hurting you, but if you keep flapping your mouth, it will be my pleasure.”

Mystery pressed her lips together tightly. Long, terrible seconds passed as she waited for the drowsy lethargy to overpower her again. Instead, nothing broke the terrible silence except his rough breathing. God, she hoped that holding her captive wasn’t sexually exciting him.

Finally, he withdrew the needle from her vein. He slapped something over the spot, then she heard a clanking sound, a bit like small gears grinding.

Suddenly, her arms were free. Mystery stretched them at her sides, then crossed them in front of her as she whirled to face her attacker. He’d already stepped away and now hovered by the door.

“There’s a bathroom in the next room. I left food and water in the sack on the workbench.” He nodded in the direction of the rickety table shoved against the wall. Sure enough, a paper sack sat there, bulging with what she hoped would be edible. She was starving and no doubt dehydrated. At least it seemed he didn’t mean for her to die right this instant. Later . . . she had no idea.

“The sun will be setting in the next two hours. There are over ten thousand square miles of virtually uninhabited desert all around us. It’s over ninety degrees now. It will be in the thirties tonight. I don’t think you’ll get far in stilettos, a mini dress, and that flimsy jacket. But you’re welcome to try. You might be saving me something messy in the future.”

When he turned for the door, Mystery panicked. “Wait! What do you want? Why am I here?”

He scoffed. “Now you ask, you stupid bitch . . .” He fingered the knife at his belt, silently reminding her that he held the power. “I’m just following orders. Someone wanted you here. I don’t ask questions; I just do jobs. I don’t really give a shit what happens next.”

Then he was gone, slamming the wobbly door behind him. Mystery stared out the window, watching him go. He walked away with a purposeful stride, toward an ATV. He mounted it, sent her a mocking salute, then disappeared.

The moment he rolled out of sight, she released the breath she’d been holding. Adrenaline bled out. She shook all over. What was she going to do? Her pampered life hadn’t prepared her for this. She knew how to shop, how to play hostess for a party, how to pose when the paparazzi showed up. She didn’t have a single survival skill. Did she want to run through the desert with no footwear, huddled in a coat meant purely for decoration, and carrying limited water, hoping she’d encounter a Good Samaritan? It didn’t sound like a fantastic idea. Then again, hanging around here, waiting for that asshole to come back and end her didn’t sound smart, either.

The probably slow death or the almost-certain quick one?

The quandary filled Mystery with icy-sharp dread.

She paced over to the food and ate every bite of the ham sandwich and the accompanying apple, then she downed one of her two bottles of water. God knew how long she’d been without hydration.

The sustenance helped her to think, to realize that she’d be best off to set out shortly before sunrise and walk all day, even if she’d do it barefoot, and try to find civilization. She’d hang onto this second bottle of water. It might be all she had to see her through a hot day.

She found the little bathroom next. It was tiny and disgusting and she refused to actually sit on the toilet, but it flushed. The dilapidated shower worked, but on second thought, did she really want to get naked when her captor could come back at any moment?

Then it became a waiting game. A couple of hours slid by. The sun brushed the horizon, and Mystery realized there wasn’t a single light in this little shack. She’d pass the whole night in utter darkness, unable to see if dangerous critters—or the asshole who’d taken her—sneaked up on her. The thought added a whole different layer of fear.

Just before darkness fell, the door opened again, and Mr. Ski Mask appeared.

“What?” she demanded. Had he come to kill her now? Who’s orders was he following?

“Change of plans. Boss doesn’t want you going anywhere.” He grabbed her and jabbed another needle in her arm. “Nighty night.”

The last sound she heard was his chuckle as he shut the door and the world went black.

*   *   *

FOR the next two days, her routine fell into exactly the same pattern. By day three, Mystery knew she’d have to break it. Her captor didn’t touch her—thank goodness for small miracles—but he liked to scare her with knives. When he’d brought her yesterday’s meal, he’d hinted that he should soon know her fate. Every attempt to question him about why he’d drawn her blood and why he was holding her hostage he countered with threats or silence. She didn’t know who was paying him or if they’d even made a ransom demand to her father. Poor Daddy had to be going insane, wondering where she was and if she was alive. She almost hated her captor as much for worrying her parent as she did for scaring the hell out of her.