“Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Did they call my father?”

He turned off the small faucet and got her a towel from a silver bar on the wall near the enclosed shower. With the same care, he dried her. “Don’t touch that,” he said, nodding at the very red and raw flesh.

He looked in the cabinet above the sink, choosing a bottle of aspirin, then in another cupboard near the door he found a first-aid kit. “Let’s go sit. I want you to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. You need to eat. To be strong.”

She sighed. “No amount of food is going to help with that.”

“Let’s do this before our friend Jazz gets too antsy.”

She followed him to the bed, where she blushed like a fool as she climbed to the middle of the mattress. This was, for all its horror, a very intimate situation. She’d had her fantasies about Michael, but his actual touch, the scent of his skin, the closeness was something she hardly knew how to handle.

The good part was her awkwardness with Michael kept her from thinking about her own imminent death.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Do I have to put that stuff on?”

He held up the antibiotic ointment. “This? It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Promise?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

He was true to his word. It didn’t hurt. His touch did, but she didn’t mind. He’d clearly done this kind of thing before. Probably in the military. When it was a matter of life or death.

She was just about to question him about his medical training when Jazz walked in, gun out and aimed at Michael. Immediately behind him came a very large bald man carrying a tray.

“Where’s this supposed to go?” The bald man sounded as if he was from the Bahamas or Jamaica.

Jazz seemed stumped, so Michael took over, setting the tray on the dresser, then setting a napkin in her lap, along with a fork and a dinner plate.

He brought his own over, and when he sat down on the edge of the bed, Jazz said, “Hey.”

Michael looked up.

Jazz glanced from Michael’s food to the other room.

“Get your plate. You can eat in here and shoot us if we don’t pass the salt.”

Jazz didn’t think that was quite so funny. He walked over to Michael and pressed the barrel of the gun into the center of his forehead. “You wanna be careful there, buddy. There’s a big ocean out there and a lot of hungry fish.”

“Got it,” Michael said. “I apologize.”

“That’s better.”

Despite his anger, he did as Michael had suggested. He ate at the vanity, his gun within easy reach.

She did her best to ignore him as she ate. It was superb salmon. In fact, the whole meal was perfectly prepared, but it was still difficult to swallow.

She kept thinking about her father. About how scared he must be. Each time she started to slide to the bad place, she looked at Michael. It helped so very much.

CHARLIE WIPED HIS forehead, wishing like crazy he could get off this stinkin’ boat. He needed a fix and he needed it now, but Mikey was in there with that skinny chick, and Ed, he wasn’t feeling so generous.

He looked down at his plate, but there was no way he was gonna eat, even if it was all cooked by some fancy chef.

All he wanted was for them to get the ransom. Then he could leave and he wouldn’t owe Martini any more money. Nothing. In fact, with his cut, he’d be able to set himself up just fine. Screw Mikey. He should have helped him, that’s all. If he had helped, none of this would have happened. Goddamn, he’d promised Pop he’d help. Now they were both in it up to their necks.

“Charlie.”

He wiped his forehead again, this time with his napkin instead of his sleeve, then turned to face Ed. Jazz was in the other room with Mike and the skinny chick. So it was just him and Ed. “Yeah, Ed?”

“Charlie, why didn’t you tell me about the bank account in the Caymans?”

Shit, shit and more shit. He didn’t like answering questions. Especially when the wrong answer could get him killed. “I didn’t know.”

“Your brother didn’t tell you?”

“He told me about the kidnapping thing, right? About how she was paying somebody to snatch her. And he told me she was worth, you know, a lot of money. And that’s what he told me.”

“Nothing about the bank account.”

Charlie shook his head. “He doesn’t always tell me everything. He thinks he so damn smart and that I’m just his loser brother.”

“He never mentioned that he was going to follow you?”

“He might have. I don’t know. Maybe not.”

“Tell me more about him. Has he been her bodyguard for a long time?”

“Hell, no. Only about six months. Since he got out of the Army.”

“He was in the military?”

“Yeah. Some big shit. They all kissed his ass.”

“Why isn’t he still some big shit?”

Charlie felt his cheeks heat. He didn’t want to tell this part, but Ed would know if he was lying. “Because of me.”

“Really? What happened?”

“I, uh, took some things from one of his Army friend’s car one time.”

“Things?”

“Some papers about a weapon or something. I’m not even sure what they were. They were just in this locked briefcase, so I figured they must be worth something. I didn’t get to sell it, though. They caught me and I did some time. He said he was through with me, but I’m his brother, you know? He promised he’d look after me.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, I was wondering…what time are we gonna get the ransom? Because I have some, you know, things I gotta do.”

“Not for several hours, Charlie. Just finish your dinner, and I’ll let you know when we’re going to leave.”

He nodded, turned back to his plate. But now he was even less hungry. Damn that Mikey. He shoulda helped out his only brother.

FINALLY, JAZZ LEFT. He turned off the light and he locked the door behind him, but they were finally alone.

“I know,” Tate said, shaking the cuff against the bar. “It’s really uncomfortable.”

After dinner, Jazz had cuffed him right next to her. They were lying down with plenty of pillows behind them. He’d even gotten Jazz to cover them with a blanket. But there was no way he was going to be this uncomfortable for the whole night.

“Tell me something, Tate. What is it you like about that Prada store?”

She didn’t say anything for a minute, then she giggled. Tate was not the giggling type. It sounded pretty good on her.

“It’s not that I like the store so much. I know people there and I like the way their clothes look on me. What are you doing?”

He had gotten his comb out of his left back pocket and was now inching his way up the bed to get in the best position. They’d hooked him up with his right hand, unfortunately, but his left would do.

As soon as he could maneuver properly, he pressed the far edge of the comb down on the pawl. It took him a while to disengage the pawl from the ratchet, but once that was done, the cuff popped open.

“Was that what I think it was?”

He followed the same steps with her handcuff. He left both cuffs hanging from the bar as he moved down and closer to Tate.

“How did you do that?”

“My uncle was Houdini.”

“Really?”

“No. I wasn’t always a limo driver.”

“I know. You were a spy.”

“Sort of.”

“Why sort of?”

He moved even closer to her and decided he’d better just go for broke. “Lift up.” He tapped her on the back of her neck.

She did, and he slipped his arm in back of her, cradling her head.

“I was in military intelligence, which is, yeah, the spy division. We broke into places, stole information, coordinated military operations and the CIA presence.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“It could be. But when I say I was well trained, I’m not kidding.”

“Why in the world aren’t you still there? Doing important things?”

“Taking care of you is important.”