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“It’s only just seven.” He sat down next to her and patted her hand. “And I lost track of time while tracing a lead on a French Louis XVI marble and bronze candelabra.” Winking at her, he tipped the glass to his lips, surreptitiously loosening his tie. He despised wearing a suit in the summer.

“It just sold at Christie’s last year for nearly twenty-three thousand, but I understand the owner is in a spot of trouble. I think we could pick it up for far less. And you know the Barclays would be interested if we did.”

Talk of business had her annoyance fading, just as he’d known it would. “Is it neoclassical? Hannah Barclay would snap that up. Especially if we arrange a special showing. She always pays more if she thinks she’s getting first crack at it.”

The maid carried in a tray and set their lobster and black truffle salads in front of them. He waited until the woman had left the room before laying his napkin across his lap and picking up his fork. “I’m sure that can be arranged. I’ll call the seller first thing tomorrow.”

“For that kind of money, I’d prefer you make the trip in person and conduct the authentication yourself.”

Mentally he damned himself for bringing up the topic. He’d been guilty of neglecting his collection lately; he had a habit of doing that when he acquired a new item. But then he gave a mental shrug. The seller was in Atlanta, a major airport hub. He should be able to get there and back in one day, with plenty of time afterwards to tend to his own needs. “Of course, Mother. I’ll arrange it.”

Completely over her earlier pique she beamed at him. “You’re such a good son, Anthony. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He dug into the lobster, shot her a smile. “You’ll never have to find out.”

“It’s selfish of me, I know. But sometimes I’m just so happy things didn’t work out for you a few years back when you were dating Victoria. I know I was guilty of pushing her at you from the first, but she just never was your equal, dear.” She paused to bring a bite of lobster to her lips. Chewed and swallowed. “It isn’t finicky to be particular, and Victoria was a bit too common for my tastes. Certainly not good enough for you, regardless of her family’s money.”

Victoria had been a pretentious bitch, rather plain looking really, and not at all unconventional in the bedroom. Anthony had lost interest in a month, but had waited until his mother had started voicing disapproval before breaking things off. It was easier that way. “You were right about her, Mother. You’re an excellent judge of character.”

She paused in the act of bringing her wine glass to her lips and smiled at him. “You have plenty of time to find a wife. Your father was forty-four before we started dating. There’s nothing wrong with having exacting taste. It’s what puts you a cut above other men and someday you’ll find a woman who’s your equal. She’s out there, I promise.”

His mouth curled. He could have told his mother that no woman was worthy. Not without his precise schooling and tutoring. But a patient man was rewarded with the rarest of treasures.

And the beauties in his collection were rare indeed.

7

It had been nearly nine years since she’d driven a car, and Mia had forgotten the sheer joy of being behind the wheel. She’d had a love affair with speeding once upon a time, as well as an impressive array of tickets to show for it.

Mia drove only a few hours before stopping in Johnstown, Pennsylvania. At approximately twenty thousand, the town was the perfect size. She didn’t want to make tracking her too difficult. To that end, she stopped twice for purchases at gas stations, using the instant approval credit card registered in her own name that she’d gotten through the bank.

That experience had been more than a little disconcerting. It seemed the height of irony that after traveling under several false IDs, it was only when she professed to be herself that she had to submit to a fingerprint exam to verify her identity. Being Russell Deleon’s daughter and heiress to his mother-in-law’s fortune invited a higher level of scrutiny than did plain old Samantha Simmons.

The drive had allowed time for her plan to coalesce. She didn’t believe Four would have the ability to trail Mia on her own. She’d take her orders from the man who’d once enslaved them both. Mia had to believe The Collector was somehow behind Halston’s murder. That he’d tracked her through the man’s computer. Either he or someone he’d hired had the ability to trace her movements online. She just had to hope he was still looking.

Choosing a motel took an inordinate amount of time before she finally settled on a cheaper one on the outskirts of town. It featured a string of rooms directly accessed from the parking lot outside. She made sure the lot was well lit and the door locks were sturdy. Mia had no intention of losing a struggle if Four came for her, so the element of surprise had to be eliminated. Either Mia’s questioning of the woman would garner a lead to where The Collector kept his captives, or she herself would be taken back to the monster.

A trail of icy little ants crept up her spine at the thought. It solidified her purpose. She wouldn’t lose the skirmish with Four. She couldn’t.

After a trip to a supercenter discount store, she returned to her room and laid her purchases out on the bed. Another knife—a smaller one to fit in a sheath around her ankle. An even tinier blade that would be hidden in the channel meant to house the underwire in her bra. Two vials of pepper spray. First aid supplies. An iPhone with a service plan that she still needed to sync with the iPad. A mini-tape recorder. And a baggy pair of cargo pants that would house her various purchases.

Mia surveyed the items with an assessing eye. They represented more than preparation for battle.

They were tools for survival.

* * * *

“What do you want?” The heavy mask off, he swiped a hand through his sweaty hair.

“I called a few minutes ago, but you said never to leave a message. What were you doing?”

He watched Thirteen on the camera feed from the computer in the outer area. The private room in the newer garage on the property had been his father’s addition. Maybe the old man had arranged trysts with the help there. Perhaps he’d snuck hookers on the grounds right under everyone’s nose.

Anthony smiled at the thought. He liked to think the old guy was capable of it. Certainly he’d been delighted when he’d discovered the place after Father’s death. He couldn’t pretend that the space had made his own collection possible. It had already been well under way by then. But it had been nice to have an area for a boot camp so close to home. Although well worth the labor involved, the training for each new item for his collection was time consuming.

“I was working,” he answered shortly. Thirteen struggled against her bonds, writhed on the bed and shrieked. He didn’t have the sound on, but her throat was arched, the cords in it standing out in sharp relief. The room was fully soundproofed, of course. Father had been quite thorough. Still, it was a clear violation of the rules, and she’d have to be punished. His hand drifted down his bare body, stroking his cock as he gave thought to her discipline. The chamber he’d constructed with Eleven in mind was finished and waiting in the corner of this room. But even as he considered it, he discarded the idea. The key to effective discipline was choosing a punishment that fit the crime. Thirteen’s violation deserved no more than a simple beating. Or perhaps the enthusiastic use of the speculum that she seemed to despise so much.

“I’ve got some credit card activity in that name you’ve had me watching.”

Thoughts of the woman screaming in the next room were wiped from his mind. “Which one?”

“Mia Deleon. I check both the names you gave me regularly for credit card activity. She activated a card this afternoon. Had purchases in Hagerston, Virginia and Johnstown, Pennsylvania. Nothing since then, but she used it twice in Johnstown, as recently as a couple hours ago. At a gas station and again at a Walmart.”

“Interesting.” The word, and the nonchalant tone it was delivered in contrasted sharply with the excitement chugging through his veins.
What are you up to, Eleven?
She’d taken great pains to this point to cover her tracks, thereby causing him a great deal of time and expense. A thought occurred then, eroding his joy. “Maybe it’s someone else using her name.”

He could hear the other man’s shrug in his voice. “Always possible. Want me to keep on it?”

“Yes.” His response was automatic. He used the computer in front of him to Google the two towns the man had mentioned. They were on the 270/99 Interstate corridor north of DC. A sense of satisfaction filled him. So she
had
run home from Vietnam. After her miserable failure in Da Nang, Four had gotten no sighting of her in the States. Certainly she hadn’t returned to her own apartment.

One had to wonder where she was off to now. And if she had surrounded herself with security the way she did years ago.

“Why wasn’t I called earlier?”

“I got a life, you know?” The tone set Anthony’s teeth on edge. “I don’t sit in front of the computer
all
day.”

“You do if you want to get paid. Alert me immediately if and when you see activity again.” The call ended, and he set the cell down, still studying the map on the computer. It wouldn’t hurt to send Four in that direction. That way, if it was indeed Eleven using the card, she could easily be picked up.

But the vicinity of the card use made him think it was her. There was a hum in his veins, the kind he got whenever one of his possessions required punishment. He was being offered yet another chance to bring his missing item back to his collection.

He’d been exceedingly patient. But he’d tolerate no more screw-ups.

* * * *

It hadn’t occurred to Mia that she’d be exchanging one cage for another, but by the time darkness fell she’d worn the carpet in the room a great deal thinner with her pacing. There was little to be done to pass the time. Having Caro to talk to had at least defused the boredom.

Thoughts of the woman brought a pang. She hoped she hadn’t gotten the security agent in trouble with Jude. Mia doubted the man was particularly understanding about professional failures.

Although, she recalled suddenly, he’d been unexpectedly compassionate after they’d returned from Raiker’s complex. The memory brought a wash of warmth. Events of the day had been trying, and her tolerance level had been at low ebb. She hadn’t known what to expect when he’d knocked at her door. It was the first time he’d entered her personal space. But whatever she would have guessed would have missed the mark by several miles.

There had been pain there layered far below the dispassionate revelation about his childhood. She’d recognized the pain and understood the disconnection needed for the retelling. She still didn’t know what had compelled Jude Bishop to offer her that slice of his personal history. Was half glad he’d never realize how touched she’d been by his words.

I hate that it happened to you.

She stuck a finger between the slats of the blind and looked out at the parking lot for the dozenth time. Likely any softer fleeting feelings he’d once harbored had vanished when he learned of how she’d slipped away from Caro. That, too, was understandable. Mia knew what she’d experienced would forever set her apart from most people. She didn’t expect him to understand why she’d had to take this chance. Pulling her hand back, she turned toward the bed. With most of every waking hour for the last eight and a half years spent encased in misery or a quest for survival, she didn’t process the world the way others did. She likely never would.

Using the bathroom, she then readied for bed by donning a fresh set of clothes. She transferred her purchases from the bed to the table next to it. Then she pulled the coverlet back and climbed onto the mattress. Arranged the pillows against the headboard and reached for the pepper spray. Clicking off the lamp, she settled into a more comfortable upright position. As an afterthought, she drew her knife from beneath her tee shirt. Set it on the mattress beside her.

Sleep wouldn’t be easily summoned. It never was. Her subconscious was constantly on guard against the dreams that picked the twilight hours to haunt. Expecting Four to appear was just another sort of nightmare.

But it was one she was mentally and physically prepared for. She was doing the only thing she could to give the women she’d left a chance for freedom. There was comfort in that.

* * * *

Her eyes came open, took a moment to adjust before sorting shadows in the gloom. Instantly alert, she glanced at the clock on the table beside her. Nearly two.

She hadn’t slept. Maybe dozed a bit. Her fingers searched for her weapon on the bed next to her. Closed around its hilt. Her other hand still clutched the vial of spray. Straightening in bed, Mia listened carefully for whatever had awakened her.

There were the usual unfamiliar noises from a strange place. The slight whooshing sound came from the bathroom, she thought. Pipes echoing the labor of ancient plumbing. Nothing moved in the bedroom. All was in place.

Her nape prickled. There had been something. Some
thing
that had brought all her senses awake and hyper-vigilant. Eyes burning, she stared at the covered window.

Skinny pale fingers of light spilled from the security lamps on the walkway and probed the edges of the blind. They did little to dispel the darkness in the room. She listened, ears straining, but heard no sound.

The glow at the left of the blind darkened. Staring hard she watched as a shadow fell across the right side of the window.

Someone was outside. Mia slipped out of bed, padded silently across to the door. Looked out through the peephole. Saw no one.

Soft amber pools beneath the scattered security lamps interrupted the darkness in the parking lot. She could see nothing amiss there, but her line of vision was restricted. Still, the flesh rose on her arms. From a well-developed primitive instinct or rampant paranoia, she couldn’t tell.

She stepped away from the door. Someone had passed by the window. The motel had capacity for sixty someones, and any one of them could have been going to their room a moment ago. That was the reasonable explanation. One she almost accepted until the pale glow bordering the right of her shade abruptly went black.

Her heart tripped once. Paused. Then set up a steady canter inside her chest. The security lamps. The lights in the parking lot were too far away, but the ones on the walkway in front of the rooms were not. She’d specifically looked at them when she was deciding on a room. Had made sure they were in working order as night began to fall. Her room was two doors down from one on the right and another on the left.

And now neither of them worked.

She strode back to the bedside table. Secured the smaller knife sheath around her ankle. Started the mini-recorder and set it behind the cheap alarm, out of sight. She slipped the extra pepper spray canister in one of the pockets of the cargo pants she wore. The only entrances to the room were the door and the window. Mia surveyed both for a moment. Made a decision.

Crossing the room, she removed the safety lock. Opened the door far enough to flip the latch forward, which kept the door from fully closing again. Pulling the lone chair away from the desk, she set it in the bathroom doorway. Sat. The position gave her an unimpeded line of vision to the entrance. If Four was out there Mia was issuing an unmistakable invitation. If anyone else took her up on it…she smiled grimly. Tightened her grip on the knife. Then he—or she—would soon be having a very bad night.

Minutes crawled by. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, increasing her heart rate. Tensing her muscles. Shrouded in the darkness Mia felt herself reverting to a more primal version of herself. She welcomed a final showdown with Four. Whatever the outcome she was ready to end the period of suspended animation she’d been caught in for too long.

Twenty minutes passed. Thirty. Then there was a slight sound. A shoe on cement. Her muscles bunched. Poised to spring. Unblinkingly she kept her eyes on the door. Watched it slowly swing inward. Forced herself to wait until a figure darkened the doorway. Took a step inside.

Then she lunged. Mia was halfway across the room when a primitive area of her brain raised an alarm. The figure was bigger than Four would be. Taller than
he
would be. Simultaneously the stranger held up a pinpoint of light. Uttered one word.

“Mia.”

She halted with a suddenness that had her body swaying in place. And was swamped with a tangle of conflicting emotion when she recognized the voice.

Jude Bishop.

* * * *

He flipped on the light. Took in everything in the space of a few seconds. Her sentry chair. Her weapons. And with an exaggerated glance behind him, the open door. “You did everything but leave a trail of gumdrops.”

Adrenaline…at fever pitch moments ago was ebbing with an abruptness that left her muscles weak. “Why are you here?” Whatever she’d felt upon recognizing him, it was frustrated temper that was uppermost now. She reached out and gripped a handful of his shirt to pull him further inside the room and shut the door. “You’re going to ruin everything.”