Seen by just anybody.

His lazy train of thought suddenly derailed.

He pushed her off him and leaped from the bed. “Honor, wake up!”

Startled out of her deep sleep, she came up on her elbows and shaded her eyes against the glare when he turned on the ceiling light. “What’s the matter? Is someone here?”

“No. Turn over.”

“What?”

“Get on your stomach.” He planted his knee beside her on the bed and flipped her facedown.

“Coburn!”

“You said ‘persuaded.’ ”

“What? Let me up.”

He placed his wide hand over her bottom and held her down. “Your tattoo. You said you got tipsy and were easily persuaded. Persuaded to get tattooed?”

“Yes. I didn’t take to the idea at first, but Eddie—”

“Insisted?”

“Eddie never insisted I do anything.”

“Okay, he persisted.”

“Sort of. He double-dog dared me. I finally gave in.”

Coburn was on his knees beside her, examining the intricate design. “And he chose the spot.”

“He said it was sexy.”

“It is. Sexy as all get out. But I don’t think that’s why he wanted it here.” Coburn squinted down at the swirling pattern while tracing it with his fingertip. “What does it say?”

“It doesn’t say anything.” She was watching him from over her shoulder. “I told you, it’s a Chinese symbol of some kind.”

“It’s gotta mean something or else why’d you choose it?”

“I didn’t. Eddie did. In fact he—”

Coburn’s head came up.

Her eyes connected with his. “He designed it.”

They stared at one another for several seconds, then Coburn said, “We just found the treasure map.”

For the umpteenth time Tori considered her empty cell phone. And for the umpteenth time she was sorely tempted to replace the battery and call Bonnell. She longed to talk to him. So what if he wasn’t extraordinarily handsome and well built? He wasn’t an ogre. She liked him. She knew his adoration for her was genuine and might have advanced from infatuation into—dare she think it?—full-blown love. He would be concerned over her sudden departure, wondering why she’d taken off to parts unknown without an explanation, why she wasn’t answering the calls he was surely placing.

If he’d put two and two together, he would have figured out that her leaving town was connected to the friend she’d told him about, the one who’d been kidnapped. Maybe he had late-breaking news regarding Honor and the search for her and Emily.

After sending the one short text to Bonnell informing him that she was leaving town, she had heeded Coburn’s instructions to the letter, even though she’d questioned the necessity of taking such precautions. A half hour after arriving at the house, she and Emily were making mud pies on a playground near the lakeshore. She’d been enjoying herself so much that it was easy to forget for short periods of time why the two of them were on this excursion.

But whenever she was reminded of the grim circumstances, she experienced a pang of longing for Bonnell’s solid presence. She also felt a touch of resentment for Coburn and his strict orders. Tori had an innate aversion to rules and had spent most of her life defying them.

Her resentment had mounted with each passing hour, until now, lying alone in bed and wishing for Bonnell’s raunchy company, she decided that no harm could come from one short conversation just to assure him that she was all right, as horny as ever, and desperately missing him.

She sat up and was about to reach for her phone on the nightstand. Instead she screamed.

A man wearing a ski mask was standing at the foot of her bed.

He lunged and clamped his gloved hand over her mouth, trapping her scream. She fought him like a swamp panther, shaking his hand off her face, then baring teeth and nails as she went on the offensive. Her incredibly muscled and toned body wasn’t just for show. She was as strong as most men and had the reflexes to utilize that strength effectively. Her attacker narrowly escaped a heel aimed at his testicles with the impetus of a pile driver.

She tried to yank the ski mask off his face, but he got his fingers around her wrist and jerked it so hard she heard bones snap. In spite of herself, she screamed in pain.

Then he knocked her in the temple with his pistol grip. Darkness descended like a velvet blanket. Her last thought was of Emily and Honor and how miserably she had failed them.

Doral whipped off his mask and bent over Tori’s sprawled form, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath and sniff back the blood dripping from his nose. The bitch had landed at least one good punch.

He would show her the stuff he was made of. He would show her that he wasn’t the kind of man who’d take crap like that from a woman. He still owed her for that time in high school when she had not only turned him down, but had done so laughing at his fumbling attempts to seduce her.

The thought of finally teaching her a lesson delighted him and got him hard. He reached for the fly of his pants.

However, even as he grappled with his zipper, he stopped and reconsidered. The Bookkeeper wouldn’t like it. Not because of scruples, but because of the timing.

The Bookkeeper was impatiently waiting for his call, and this time the news had to be good.

The car bomb had failed to dispense with either Coburn or Honor. The Bookkeeper had received that bad news with even more fury than Doral had anticipated, and he’d anticipated something along the lines of Hitler getting news of the Third Reich’s defeat.

“You goddamn idiot! You told me he was there.”

“He was. I saw him myself.”

“Then how could he have got away?”

“I don’t—”

“And why didn’t you check to make sure he was dead before you left?”

“The car was in flames. There was no way to—”

“I’m sick of your excuses, Doral.”

It had continued that way for several minutes. But Doral preferred the ranting to the cool, distant tone of The Bookkeeper’s final words. “If you can’t do any better than this, I don’t need you, do I?”

In that moment Doral realized that unless he delivered Coburn and Honor, he was a dead man.

Or.

It occurred to him that he did indeed have another option. He could kill The Bookkeeper.

That treasonous thought had wormed its way into his mind and coiled around his imagination. He fantasized about it and found the prospect enormously appealing. Why not?

The main why not? was because the end of The Bookkeeper would spell the end of his livelihood. But who was to say that he couldn’t take over the whole operation, now that the groundwork had been so meticulously laid?

In the interest of time, Doral decided to shelve that enticing thought for future consideration and, in the meantime, to find Honor and Coburn. He wanted that asshole dead whether The Bookkeeper had ordered it or not.

With that goal in mind, he had called Amber, the airheaded receptionist at Tori’s fitness center. He reintroduced himself as the guy she’d met at the sandwich shop the day before and had asked her out for a drink.

She’d played hard to get. It was after eleven o’clock, she’d said peevishly. Why had he waited so late to call? She had to open the center at six a.m.

Doral had said the first thing that popped into his mind. “I just hate to see a good kid like you get blindsided.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tori is interviewing other girls for your position.”

The plausible lie had worked like a magic wand. He was invited to come to her place for a nightcap, and all it took was two vodka tonics for her to start enumerating all the advantages that Tori Shirah had over her, including a house on Lake Pontchartrain that she’d cheated an exhusband out of.

He left Amber with a promise for dinner at Commander’s Palace soon and immediately reported his findings to The Bookkeeper. Laying it on real thick, he had volunteered to personally drive to Tori’s house on the lake and check it out.