Voices came and went, doors opened and closed. She heard car engines start and garage doors open and close. Footsteps everywhere on this floor and below, like an army was trampling through her apartment building. She’d have to complain to the landlord about her noisy neighbors. Couldn’t they just quiet down and let her sleep?

She let herself fall deeper into her dream. A warm hand caressed her cheek and brushed her hair out of her face. She felt safe. Encouraging words she forgot as soon as she heard them echoed in her head. Somebody spoke to her softly, whispering, almost breathing words into her ear. The words soothed her.

One dream led into the next and the next. And with each dream came more awareness.

Maya’s body felt rested and strangely rejuvenated, almost as if she’d spent twenty-four hours at a luxury spa. Her bed felt more comfortable than it ever had before. The mattress felt softer, the linen fresher. And larger—somehow her bed seemed larger to her, too large for her small bedroom, where all she’d been able to fit in it was a full-size bed to still have space for her dresser.

Maya reached her arms out to her sides and still didn’t meet the edge of the bed. Was she still dreaming? Maybe she wasn’t even awake yet.

With more effort than she expected, she opened her eyes.

A scream pierced the silence, and with horror she realized it was her own.

Five

Her ear-piercing scream made the man leaning over her jolt backwards.

The six-and-a-half-foot-tall stranger’s head was shorn bald, and his face could only be described as cold and evil. And if that didn’t ensure Maya knew he was a bad guy, then it was the fact that he was in her apartment hovering over her bed.

Frantic, she reached out toward her right to feel for the baseball bat she kept next to her bed and encountered—nothing. She spun her head away from the intruder.

And her heart stopped.

This wasn’t her bedroom! This wasn’t even her apartment!

She’d been kidnapped!

With her next breath, she found her voice again and yelled as loud as she could. “Help! Somebody help me!”

She scrambled off the bed, putting it between the bald guy and herself as a barrier. “Get away from me! Leave me alone, you sick bastard!”

Her eyes scanned the room. It was richly furnished, which surprised her. Didn’t they keep kidnap victims in dark and dingy basements with just a bed and a chair? This room was anything but.

Perfect! She’d been kidnapped by some sick, rich bastard. At least somebody else would only want money—which she didn’t have—but this guy, who knew what he wanted?

She stared at him. He hadn’t moved since her initial scream, clearly enjoying her fear. Maya wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and realized to her relief that she still wore her clothes. In fact, she was dressed as if she’d just come from the hospital. Given the bloodstains on her clothes, she figured she’d been called into the emergency room on a consult. Had she never gotten home?

Before she could think any further, the door to the room burst open and three people stormed in. Great, now she was outnumbered.

“Zane, what the fuck are you doing in here?” a strangely familiar voice said. Her gaze zeroed in on the man who’d spoken. She almost choked on her next breath.

While he lunged at the man he’d called Zane, Maya could clearly see the large scar on the right side of his face.

He was the monster from her dream. He was real. And he was here.

He attacked the bald guy, pulling him away from the bed.

“Leave me alone, Gabriel. I just wanted to see what she looks like,” Zane defended himself and shrugged off the other man’s hands. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

“Get out!” the man with the scar thundered. The authority in his voice was undeniable.

With another shrug, the bald man left the room as ordered. Only now, the man he’d called Gabriel turned back to her.

“I’m sorry. Zane shouldn’t have been in here. We weren’t sure when you would wake up,” he said, his voice an octave deeper yet softer than before.

Soft voice or not, he took a few steps toward her—which was something Maya couldn’t allow. She scanned her vicinity for a weapon. “Stop right there, buddy,” she warned him and reached for the wrought-iron candlestick on the bedside table, ready to throw it at him if he came any closer. She was relieved to see that he yielded. It gave her a moment to assess what kind of danger he represented.

He was almost as tall at the bald guy, but not as slim. His shoulders were broader, his frame heavier. The long, dark hair, which was gathered in a ponytail softened his square face somewhat, but the scar that marred one side of his face took all that softness away. Yes, he was dangerous, she was sure. She stared at his strong arms, his large hands, and knew those hands could choke the life out of her if he really wanted to do her harm. She wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. All she had was bravado. And she was skilled at bluffing.