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Andy’s defection, and this resultant change in her circumstances.
    She poured some whisky into her glass, and took a minimal sip as she waited for her mind to stop reeling.
    Andy, she thought. Andy—whom she’d trusted—had done this to her. Had cheated her, stolen from her, and left her to this creature, whom he knew she hated. Was this his idea of revenge for turning him down—to abandon her to the mercies of a man whom she knew wouldn’t take no for an answer?
    Was every man she came across going to betray her in some way?
    Her stomach churned as she tried to think what to do next. Her instinct was screaming to her to make a dash for it, but, although Clemmens was a big man, he was light on his feet, and she wasn’t sure she could out-run him. And the thought of being caught by him—subdued—was terrifying.
    No she would have to be more clever than that. Besides, she couldn’t simply leave empty-handed. Her wallet, with what ready money she possessed, was with her in her shoulder bag, but her passport was in her cabin with the rest of her things, and she needed it.
    However, he’d clearly been celebrating his purchase, and this could work in her favour. She’d seen him drink before and, despite appearances and his own bragging, he didn’t have the hardest head in Miami.
    She waited until he started shuffling through the papers, muttering with satisfaction, then swiftly tipped her drink down her skirt. It felt horribly clammy, and she immediately stank of spirits, but she could only hope Clemmens had imbibed enough himself not to notice that.
    She poured another modest amount for herself, then refilled his glass, pushing it within easy reach. His fingers closed round it, and he drank.
    He wiped his mouth with his fist, belched, and looked at her. ‘Andy tells me that once you’re in the sack you’re not nearly as prim and proper as you make out, sweetie.’ He laughed again. ‘I sure hope that’s true, because I pay by results.’
    She smiled at him. Raised her glass in a semi-toast. ‘Then I trust you’re prepared to be generous, Mr Clemmens.’
    Andy, you total bastard! Whatever you’ve done with the money, you could have spared me this—animal.
    She sipped, then sent the rest over her skirt, as he splashed more bourbon into his glass, spattering his papers in the process.
    He swore. ‘Get a cloth.’
    She obeyed reluctantly, hoping he wouldn’t notice her damp skirt. But he simply grabbed the cloth from her hand, and began to dab clumsily at the top document.
    ‘God, it’s hot in here.’ He ran a finger round the collar of his polo shirt.
    ‘Isn’t there a fan or something?’
    ‘There used to be.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe Andy took it with him.’
    ‘No, he took nothing but the asking price. I saw to that.’
    Her heart skipped a beat, but her tone held nothing but indifference. ‘Then it’ll be somewhere in the guest quarters.’
    ‘Well, don’t just sit there.’ He leaned back against the cushioned seat, closing his eyes. ‘Get it.’
    Laine rose and picked up her bag from the side of her chair. Was it really going to be this easy?
    She went straight to the tiny space she’d occupied since she came on board, and changed swiftly out of her ruined skirt into a pair of white jeans.
    She retrieved her passport, and thrust as much as she could carry into the smaller of her two travel bags, knowing that she needed to travel light.
    Then, soft-footed, she went up on deck. She’d just stepped on to the gangplank when Dirk Clemmens’ voice sounded just behind her. ‘Where d’you think you’re going, chickie? You come here, now, like a good girl.’
    As he reached for her Laine ran, hurling herself headlong on to the dock.
    Clemmens, panting close behind, made a grab for her but missed, and, bawling with rage, overbalanced and fell flat.
    Laine, landing awkwardly, twisted her ankle, but kept going somehow, biting her lip against the pain. A glance over her shoulder showed that a small