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she knew too much about fear.
    Cale finished cleaning up. He put a bandage over her arm. His fingers seemed to linger against her skin. “Where did you go?” Curiosity had deepened his voice.
    Her head turned, and she stared into his eyes.
    His jaw locked. His fingers—not covered in latex gloves any longer—rose to her cheeks.
    He’s wiping away my tears.
    She hadn’t realized that she’d been crying. Had the tears been due to her wound? Or her memories?
    Those stab wounds on Mercer’s chest... When she’d seen him in the hospital, looking so broken, she’d been sure that he was dying.
    But it would take a whole lot to kill Bruce Mercer.
    “You’re not an EOD agent,” Cale said, sounding absolutely sure.
    Her chin jerked up at that. “Don’t be so certain. I did a good enough job of saving you back there, didn’t I?” He would have taken a bullet to the back if it hadn’t been for her. Stitching up her wound hardly made them even.
    No matter what he might think.
    That steady gaze of his never wavered. “How’d you know the shooter was there?”
    “I saw the glint of his weapon.” She’d had only an instant to react. She’d shoved Cale with all of her strength.
    And saved him.
    Point for the debutante.
    He stepped away from her—or as far away as the small space would allow. “I want to know your story.”
    I’m not in the mood to tell it. So she needed to distract him. “Mercer honestly sent you down here without briefing you? I mean, do you usually just unquestioningly follow the guy’s every order—”
    He’d headed back into what she figured was supposed to be a den of sorts. She followed right on his heels. He spun around, and she had to pull up short so they didn’t collide.
    After a considering moment, he gave a nod and said, “I’ll tell you the mission I was given.”
    Uh-oh. She didn’t like the silky menace in his tone.
    “I was told that I needed to head down to Rio and find a party girl named Cassidy Sherridan.”
    A party girl? Well, that was the image she cultivated.
    Only that’s not the real me.
    “I was directed to follow her every move. To stick to her and make sure she remained safe at all times.”
    Her brows climbed. Her arm was still throbbing, but she ignored the pain. “That’s it? That’s all you were told?” Talk about being in the dark. Mercer must have grown even more paranoid about her in recent months.
    She’d give Cale a few details since he’d almost gotten shot.
    “That’s all until I hear from Mercer in—” he glanced at the black watch that circled his wrist “—forty-five minutes.”
    Not enough time.
    She’d have to talk fast. Luckily, she’d always been a fast talker. Cassidy exhaled slowly and began with the truth. “Four years ago, my best friend was abducted from a pub just outside of Dublin.” Four years ago, but the memory was just as fresh in her mind. Fear didn’t fade. “The men who took her said that she’d be returned if they were paid three million dollars. They got their money, but Helen never came home.”
    Not alive, anyway. Her body had eventually been found by the authorities.
    Helen’s death hadn’t been fast or easy. No one should die that way.
    “Since then, over a dozen other women—wealthy, young, well-connected women like Helen—have been taken. Sometimes...sometimes they are brought back, with only nightmares and shadows as their memories, but other times, their abductors leave their broken bodies behind.”
    He watched her in silence.
    She felt as if she’d just ripped open an old, too-raw wound...because she had. “The leader of the group is a man called the Executioner.”
    Cale’s dark brows rose.
    “He named himself—” arrogant, sick jerk “—when he...when he first contacted Helen’s father. He said that if he didn’t get his money, then Helen would face the Executioner’s knife. His knife.”
    And Helen had faced that knife. The blade had sliced away the beauty of her face before