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feet were bound with what appeared to be duct tape and he was folded up in a cramped position. Sydney, Lissa and Mari were lying next to him, still out cold and in equally uncomfortable positions.
    And no one had taken note of the fact that he was actually awake. As long as he could fool them he could try to make some sense out of what was happening. Try to remember landmarks or anything else that would be helpful.
    They were in the same van riding along yet another bumpy road. He ran his gaze over the women as best he could from his twisted position, satisfying himself that they had no visible bruises or wounds and they were at least still breathing. The next thought that slammed into him was the two dead security guards and poor Len, an earnest young man, dumped out like so much garbage. He had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.
    He couldn’t see where they were because there were no windows in the back. The men in the front seats were speaking low, in Spanish. He strained to hear their words, adept enough in the language to understand, if only he could make out the words.
    What the hell was going on here? And who were these men who had grabbed them so easily? Who knew just where to do this?
    Getting the information to plan this wouldn‘t necessarily have been hard for these men. He flew to San Diego a lot and it was common knowledge Il Maggiore was a favorite restaurant. Everyone from the mailroom clerk to his executive vice president had that information. The question was, who would pass the specifics of this trip along to these people and why.
    A man of his enormous wealth was a hot target. But Eli had come from nothing, building Wright International from a tiny one-man operation to the vast global empire it was one step at a time. A combination of brains and luck had helped him reach where he was today but despite the upscale home he lived in and the lifestyle he and his family led, he still couldn’t see himself as anyone but plain old Eli Wright.
    That was obviously a major error in judgment.
    As he was trying to make sense of it all, the van came to a stop. Seconds later the side door slid open and two men appeared.
    “Time to change transportation, señor ,” the taller one said, hauling Eli roughly out of the van and setting him on his feet.
    “My family,” he started to say.

    “All of you will be coming with us.” He peeked into the interior of the van. “It is good the women still sleep. Easier to transport.”
    “You didn’t have to kill the young man who was with us.” He could barely control his anger.
    The man gripping his arm chuckled, an unpleasant sound. “Not to worry. He’s just finishing his nap at the side of the road. It is hoped that by now someone has stopped to help him.”
    “You didn’t—”
    “Kill him? No, señor. That wasn’t part of our orders.”
    “Who is giving you these orders?” Eli wanted to know.
    “That’s not information you need to have. Shut up or I’ll have to hurt one of the women.”
    Eli ground his teeth together. If it had just been him he’d have pushed but he had to make sure everyone else was unharmed to the best of his ability. He blinked his eyes at the sudden assault of bright sunlight. They were at some kind of landing strip, out in the middle of nowhere. A large private jet whose configuration was unfamiliar to him sat on the tarmac near a single hangar. Squinting his eyes, he could make out the logo on the side—Mazatlan Textiles, with a swoop under the words in the design of a serape.
    He’d never heard of the company and he thought he knew every company of any size in Central and South America.
    He felt a knife slash the tape binding his ankles but before he could take a step a hand gripped his upper arm roughly.
    “You are out here in where no one can find you, señor ,” a heavy voice said. “No one here will pay any attention to you. I am going to walk you to that plane. At the first sign of foolishness on your part, we will