The fingers of his right hand rested on a you-know-what. Yeah. It seemed unbelievable, but given everything else that had gone on this past week, Meena realized she shouldn’t have been surprised. It was an honest-to-God sword hilt.

She held her breath as that blue-eyed gaze drifted toward her.

“I am not here for you, Meena,” he said, in a German-accented voice so deep, it seemed to reverberate through her chest.

How could he know her name? She had no idea who he was. She’d never seen him before in her life.

And yet…she felt as if somehow she’d known him forever.

Maybe that’s how everyone felt when they met their killer.

Or maybe it was just Meena.

He unsheathed the sword. The blade made a ringing sound in the stillness of the hallway, clear as a bell, as it came out of its scabbard.

Meena swallowed hard.

It’s amazing what you think right before you die. All Meena could think, for instance, was, Wow. No foreplay for this guy.

Then, Wait, that’s not even funny.

Then, Although actually, that would make a good line for Victoria on the show. Then, But I’m not going to live long enough to write another episode for the show. This is so unfair.

She knew just by looking at her killer’s rock-hard, chiseled profile that there wasn’t the slightest flicker of hope.

But it’s incredible what we’ll do to try to survive.

Meena pried her lips apart. Forced her tongue to moisten them.

“I know you’re lying,” she said. “You’re holding a sword. You’re here to kill me.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just tell me where he is, and I’ll let you live.”

Meena had no idea who-or what-he was talking about. She pointed at her purse where it hung on the hook she’d slung it onto after coming home. “Look,” she said. “There’s plenty of money in there. I just went to the cash machine. Take what you want and go. Otherwise, there’s some costume jewelry my great-aunt Wilhelmina left me, but it’s all fake, I swear to you…”

He looked annoyed. Meena felt her heart rate speed up. Way to go, Meen. Antagonize your killer. That’s smart.

“I already told you, Meena,” he said, his dark blond eyebrows raised a little sarcastically. “I have no interest in killing you. Only him. But if you are going to be difficult…”

Difficult. He had no idea how difficult Meena could be. Especially since she already knew she was as good as dead.

Meena knew then that she had absolutely nothing to lose.

Which was why she chose that moment to hurl her BlackBerry at him with all her might.

Hey. It was all she had. That and her life.

Then she turned around and made a run for it.

Chapter Thirty-six

7:02 P.M. EST, Friday, April 16

910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B

New York, New York

Meena couldn’t exactly escape out the front door, since the sword-wielding maniac in a trench coat standing in front of it had shut and locked it behind him.

But she figured if she could throw open the French doors to the balcony in the back bedroom, then scream for help, someone would definitely hear her.

Mary Lou. Mary Lou would hear her.

If she was home. Which was unlikely, it being a Friday night.

But no sooner had Meena whirled around to make her escape than something impossibly hard-and amazingly strong-locked around her bare ankle and flipped her to the floor. She went sprawling down amid all the fallen roses, her right foot pulled out from under her before she knew what was happening, her palms skidding on the parquet as she tried to break her fall.

She craned her neck to look down the length of her body in astonishment and saw the man with the sword standing above her.

Wow. He was really fast. Meena had only just hurled her BlackBerry at him-and hadn’t waited around long enough to see if it had hit him, though she’d thought she heard a dull thud, then the smack of plastic parts hitting wood floor-and already he’d yanked her foot out from under her?

What was he, bionic?

“Meena,” he said in the same calm, slightly bored voice, still gripping her foot. “You’ve got nowhere to run to. I think you know that.”

The sad thing was, he was absolutely right. Even with the breath knocked entirely out of her body from the force of her fall, Meena did know that.

She’d always wondered what it would be like when it was finally her turn to meet death face-to-face.

But now that it was actually happening, she knew something else: that she wasn’t going to go without a fight.

“I’m not going to die tonight,” she said from between gritted teeth. “Sorry.”

And she twisted around so that instead of lying on her stomach, she was on her back…

…and in a better position to grind her free foot into his groin. The only problem was, he seemed to anticipate the move, since he let go of her ankle, and-so quickly Meena barely had time to register what was happening-was on top of her…his full body weight stretched over her, heavy as a steel beam and just as strong.

“I told you, Meena, I’m not here to kill you,” he said. His face was just inches from hers now.

So was the sword blade. He held it propped casually against Meena’s throat as he peered at her, like she was some kind of interesting species of butterfly he’d managed to capture and pin to his collection.

This was not really how Meena had anticipated her amazing kick-to-the-groin move going.

“Oh, really?” she grunted, trying to sound like she didn’t care. This wasn’t easy, considering the fact that her heart was hammering so hard, she wondered if he could see her pulse in her throat.

Also, he wasn’t light. She was finding it difficult to draw a breath with him on top of her like this.

Still, she tried to sound casual. Like she didn’t care that he was stretched across her body like a lead blanket. Like she wasn’t conscious of the fact that she was a slight young woman wearing nothing but a black bra and silk slip and he was a man roughly her own age weighing at least eighty pounds more than her and holding a knife-sorry, a sword-to her throat.

She was beginning to reconsider the whole not-afraid-to-die thing.

“No,” he said in the same disturbingly deep and much too calm voice, with that slight accent. “I already told you.” Was it Meena’s imagination, or did he sound a little insulted? “I’m not interested in you.”

Meena had to laugh at that. Even though she was about to die. Or worse. Maybe she was hysterical.

Still, she had to admit, it was kind of funny, a guy tackling you while you were half naked, holding a sword to your throat, then intimating that he wasn’t interested in you. Especially when he was on top of you.

“You could have fooled me,” she said. “You seem really interested in me at the moment.”

He raised a blond eyebrow. “That?” He shifted a little. “That’s just my scabbard.” Then, apparently fearing that he might appear ungentle-manly, he added, “Not that you’re unattractive. But you’re not really my type.”

Meena glared at him. Really, this was just too much. To kill-well, come here with the intention of killing her, then insult her, too?

“Well, you’re not my type either,” she said angrily.

“Oh, I know that.” He grinned down at her. His teeth were white but not quite even. One or two of them were just crooked enough to prove they were all real, not veneers. “I’m alive.”

Meena stared up at him. Since he was obviously a foreigner, she thought maybe he’d misunderstood her.

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “I meant that I don’t happen to like men who come barging uninvited into women’s apartments, waving swords.”

Now he was running his fingertips-from the hand that wasn’t clutching the sword-along the length of her arm. He was doing it seemingly absently, as if he couldn’t resist the feel of her skin.