Fortuna had known she shouldn’t confide in Bentz. Some secrets are better left unspoken. Fool! Fortuna’s arms moved more sluggishly. Her legs felt like lead, and blackness pulled at the corners of her subconscious.

Move! Fight! Don’t give in! her brain screamed at her, but her muscles refused to listen, her arms barely twitched. It was all she could do to keep her damned eyes open despite the terror that invaded her body and soul.

“Nighty-night, bitch,” her attacker whispered.

Fortuna felt the sting of a needle pierce her bare arm. Oh, God, please…no…

But it was too late.

Fortuna sensed her body sink into the mattress as her attacker sighed. A sigh of contentment. Fortuna imagined her assailant was smiling, though she couldn’t see anything, her eyelids were so heavy, so damned heavy.

Her languid mind swirled slowly with bits of thoughts, fragments of fear as she stared up in the darkness, trying to get a glimpse of this person pinning her to the mattress.

But it was too dark. Too hard to stay awake. She needed to sleep. Fortuna gave in to the overwhelming desire and let her eyelids ease shut as her assailant slid off the bed.

Fortuna tried to move.

Couldn’t.

Not even when she felt her skimpy nightgown being slid over her head. Oh God, I’m going to be raped, she thought, but found she really didn’t care. Her pulse was slowing…the drug oozing through her blood. The prayers of her youth came to her, prayers she hadn’t uttered in twenty years…

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed—

And then she felt herself being dressed. As if God had already responded.

From the red pain in her eyelids she knew there was light in the room now as the intruder slid a garment over her head, pulled her arms through sleeve holes.

Why?

This is crazy.

Or maybe she was hallucinating, feeling the effects of the drugs flowing through her bloodstream.

She felt a slim ray of hope pierce her heart. Perhaps there was a chance she wouldn’t die after all, she thought, fighting to stay awake. Her attacker might not want to do her ill. Surely this person who was lifting her off the bed and carrying her through the house was an angel of mercy.

Yes, that had to be it.

Surely she wasn’t going to be trussed like this if the intent was to kill her. If death were the objective, certainly she’d already be dead.

There are worse fates than a quick death, her mind warned, but the thought was fleeting.

In a heartbeat she slid completely under the welcoming blanket of unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 26

Bentz woke up with a bitter taste in his mouth and a strong resolve to get home in his gut. What the hell was he doing in Los Angeles when Olivia was being threatened in New Orleans?