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Chapters (86)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Booklist
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
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  19. 15
  20. 16
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  29. 25
  30. 26
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  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
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  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Her gut writhed at the thought of that bullet tearing through her. But she took a breath. Because she could, because Stephen Penderghast’s hands were not around her throat. She stood far away from him, and in that moment between breath in and breath out, she knew that this man’s arrogance was the weapon he had placed in her sweat-slicked palms.

“Yes. Yes, to know you’re going to be dead makes me very happy.” She cocked her hip, put her fist on it. She looked him in his bloodshot eyes and in an insolent tone asked, “Are you going to try to strangle me...again? And fail...again?”

Hatred flared on his face. The pistol shook hard, then steadied on her, and in a moment, she thought she’d goaded him into a killing shot.

Very softly, Penderghast eased the safety on again. “Do you think I can’t? Do you really think you incapacitated me so much I can’t tear you apart with my bare hands?”

As if alarmed by his threat, she...

Okay. She was alarmed by his threat. Despite his hollowed cheeks, his stooped shoulders, she remembered those big hands choking her. The hands were skeletal now. He looked like death on legs. Death stalking her...

No! She had to strategize. She could do this. She knew how. This was not Stephen Penderghast’s turf. Here, in Adam’s studio, she knew more. Adam’s studio where he created a sword, chain mail, a weighty metal sculpture...

That sculpture, the one that rested on a wheeled trolley, symbolized the cruel depths of the ocean and, if mobilized correctly, its razor-sharp points could kill a man.

She could kill Stephen Penderghast.

The idea of causing a death made her feel ill. Kill another person? No. No, she would use the sculpture to stop him and—

Penderghast took a step toward her.

She scuttled sideways to stand beside the sculpture. She would do what she had to do. She crouched, held her hands up like knives posed to strike. “I’ve learned karate since last time you hurt me. You can’t get me now.”

He laughed with real amusement. “Did you really think I would let you get the credit for finding the underwater treasure?”

“I never thought about that at all.”

For all the attention he paid, she might as well have not said a word. “When you’re dead, when I’ve choked the life out of you, when your weird-colored eyes roll back in your head and your face is turning black—”

Panic swept her again, and her whimper was real.