Minutes later the boat moved away from the dock. A few minutes more and Kristen hoisted the white sails to catch the tropical breeze. A mile from shore, she pulled the photo from her pocket. It was one of six she’d stolen from a file in Salva’s office. She didn’t know the man in the picture, but her husband must— Salva had gone to a lot of trouble to have the picture blown up to cover one entire wall in his office.

In the moonlight she studied the reckless-looking man with the shaggy black hair. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties. His sun-baked muscular chest and massive biceps looked as if they’d been carved from a slab of iron. His long, oaklike legs were crammed into well-worn jeans, and his feet were bare.

He had the look of a fisherman.

The unexpected assumption simply popped into Kristen’s head as she searched the photo. The background was out of focus, but the iron man was hunkered down over a hydraulic winch used on a fishing boat.

Hydraulic winch?

How did she know what he was repairing? Or that the winch was part of a fishing boat? Had she suddenly remembered something connected to her past?

From the moment Kristen had planned her escape, her destination had been St. Petersburg, Florida. It made sense. Salva said they’d met there.

But now…

She flipped over the photograph, anxious for another memory to pop out of thin air. On the back was written the name “Blu Devil,” and beneath that “Algiers, Louisiana.” Once again she brought her gaze back to the man in the photo, willing him to speak to her in some way.

Was it possible she knew him, possible he knew her? There had to be a reason why she’d been drawn to his picture besides his good looks.

Kristen had waited three years for a clue as to who she was. And now, suddenly, here it was. She could be trading one nightmare for another, but if there was a chance the Blu Devil was the answer to her prayers…the smallest chance.

Salvador Maland ground Davis Carmichael’s face into the quarry stone beneath his feet while his mother, Miandera, watched. “You’ll die slowly, Carmichael, screaming for a quick end. But it won’t come. Kristen’s gone and you say you don’t know who invaded my home and abducted her. How can that be? You were the guard on duty.”

“No more! Please, no more!”

Ignoring his plea, Davis was kicked in the ribs again where he lay on the terrace bleeding and moaning in pain. Close to becoming unhinged, Salva screamed, “No more, you say! There will be plenty more. She’s gone, you bastard! Gone!”

Another vicious kick stole the guard’s breath, the third rendered him unconscious. Salva motioned to the two guards who stood awaiting his instructions to take the man away.

“Yes, take him,” Miandera insisted. “Then clean up this mess.”

While the guards stepped forward to carry Davis Carmichael away, Miandera tangled her arm around her son and led him out of the gate toward the beach. Nearly as tall as Salva, Miandera Maland was sparrow-thin, and her sleek black hair was the longest on the island—reaching past her knees. Her skin was a golden brown from years spent in the Caribbean, her makeup as spare as her European smile.

As they walked the sandy beach, Salva admitted, “Kristen hasn’t been off the island since I brought her here, Mother. She hasn’t been out of my sight for more than an afternoon in three years. Dammit, how could something like this happen?”

“You feel betrayed. As you should, darling. The guards have failed you…us. They will be punished,” she assured him. “And Kristen, if she left on her own, also must be punished.”

Salva jerked to a stop and gazed down at his mother. “Are you suggesting that she’s left me? That she snuck off in the night while I slept?”

“We must consider every possibility, darling. There was no forced entry. The dogs didn’t even bark. And there’s been no ransom request.”

“Would that make you happy, to learn that she’s betrayed me? You never liked her.” Salva turned his hot anger on his mother. “Answer me! Are you happy that she’s gone?”

“Nothing that pains you would make me happy, darling. And my granddaughter is also gone, remember?”

His mother had been jealous of Kristen from the moment she had laid eyes on her. But when Salva had told her about the baby that he and Kristen were expecting, Miandera had quickly tempered her animosity—a true Maland heir was rare, something to covet, to cherish and protect.

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“I have every confidence that you will return my granddaughter to me unharmed.” Miandera reached for her son’s hand and clasped it as they continued along the beach. “I did warn you, however, darling, not to fall in love with such a young girl. I do not say this to sting your pride, but Kristen never really came around as you had hoped—youth can be so fickle. She never understood the Maland way. And her lack of memory has been a problem from the beginning. She admitted once, she wished she could remember falling in love with you.”