Adrienne knelt in her rose garden, gripping a shiny trowel in both hands high above her head. With a strangled samurai cry she stabbed the tool deep in her husband’s throat, expelling a low grunt as the metal bit and buried to the hilt. The soil was as reluctantly yielding as human flesh, the image bright in her brain. Vibrations from the tool sinking into the earth resonated in her fingers, in the bones and tendons, calling up a bloody memory that made her shudder and slam a mental door. She focused on her breathing, substituting visions of murder for a calming exercise some therapist from her past suggested: write down what you cannot change and throw it away. Let it go. She drew in the dirt:

I want

I need

Sweeping her hand across the words, she scattered them into oblivion, embarrassed even in the privacy of her own thoughts that she didn’t know what she wanted or needed. What she did not need was Dustin’s glib reply to her idea of a vacation. “A vacation from what?” His sneer echoed in her brain and kept her anger boiling, a reminder that her wants and needs were irrelevant.

Loosening the trowel, she dropped it to one side and yanked a feathery weed from the bed of mulch. The smell of damp earth layered with the musk of red roses was usually calming, but she could not quiet her thoughts. Furious with Dustin, and impatient with herself for expecting anything else from him. Why be angry at a dog for behaving like a dog? A waste of energy.

Dustin had left for work hours before she woke up, and the crunch of footsteps on decomposed granite did not compel Adrienne to turn around; he amused himself by sneaking up on her and she played her part by acting surprised. He would apologize for the heated discussion (nothing so passionate as an argument) of the night before, not quite sure why he was apologizing, but feeling it was required—and life would go on as it had for years.

A hand fell heavy on her shoulder; Adrienne turned with a ready false smile, expecting bland blue eyes but seeing pale green-gold hazel. She rose, stumbling on the knee pad.

“Gabriel.” Her voice breathy with surprise.

“Hello, Mrs. Berg.”

“Please, call me Adrienne,” she said automatically. “Did you bring Dustin home?”

“I dropped Dustin and his crew in Santa Barbara. They expect me to fly them back this afternoon.”

Adrienne shaded her eyes and craned her neck to see his face. She had only met Gabriel once, at a cocktail party a few days before. He was out of context in her backyard. Surreal. Electrifying.

* * *

The night they met, Adrienne was doing her practiced best to avoid conversation. Positioned at the fringe of a large group, she was close enough that no one felt obligated to rescue her, but far enough that she could feign interest without active participation. Eyes scanning the room, she paused on a man leaning in a shadowed doorway—a big man, broad-shouldered and tall. When her gaze landed on him, they locked eyes and a jolt shook her, as if she had touched her tongue to a lightning bolt. He had the clean-shaven jawline of a marble statue, a craggy nose that had been broken at least once, and a hint of curl in his black hair; light hazel eyes glowed in the olive of his skin. His mouth curled in a slow smile and Adrienne’s heart skipped a beat, butterflies took flight in her lower belly. She jerked her attention elsewhere.

When she looked back, he was gone. She had time to feel simultaneous frissons of relief and disappointment before a presence loomed over her. Even before she turned, Adrienne knew it was that man. The man with the golden eyes. He radiated heat, his scent earthy, warm and spicy. Dark chocolate and peppercorns.

“I know what you’re up to,” he murmured in a voice like rough silk.

Her skin hummed like a tuning fork. Adrienne half-turned and raised an eyebrow. “Am I so obvious?”

“You look bored,” he said, with that lazy curl of a smile. His lips were nearly a parody of the perfect mouth, marred only by a purple scar in the divot of his top lip. “Let’s make up stories about these people.”

“I know all their stories.” Adrienne took a sip of her drink. “They’re all boring.” She looked him up and down and turned back to her restless scan of the room. “Tell me your story.”

“Nah, you’ll probably think I’m boring, too. You have that look.”

“What look?” She narrowed eyes briefly before smoothing her face to social neutral.

“Like you are often bored.”

A puff of amusement escaped her. “Things I find interesting are usually done alone.”

“Please tell me what you do alone that is so interesting?” His smile was an eloquent smirk.

“Reading, writing, painting, gardening.” Adrienne opened her mouth as if to add something and sipped her drink instead, avoiding his mischievous eyes. She was keenly aware that she attracted cattiness; there were people here who would waste no time gossiping about Dustin Berg’s wife flirting openly at the Marin Civic Center fundraiser.

“Now you know everything about me,” she said. “Your turn, whoever you are.”

“I’m Gabriel. Lawrence Fife’s chauffeur.” He shrugged. “See? Boring. And poor.”

She flicked a glance at his perfectly tailored Armani suit. “Hello Gabriel, I’m Adrienne. Does Mr. Fife buy your clothes, you poor man?”

He flashed a quick grin that showed strong white teeth and a crooked right incisor. “You know your labels.”

“It’s part of my job.” She waved her glass in a brief salute to the room.

Gabriel slipped his hand under hers and brought the martini glass to his mouth. She was too surprised to stop him. The contrast of his thick, dark fingers, big-knuckled and calloused, against her thin, smooth white hand was provocative, elemental and raw as a Mapplethorpe photo or O’Keeffe painting. Shaken, she could not take her eyes from him.

“Straight vodka?”

Adrienne took a sip from the same spot where his lips touched. “It appears so.” She moved a step away; the heat of his body was overpowering, and she knew her cheeks were flushed. “What do you drive for Mr. Fife? Does he have any interesting cars or just boring old limousines?”

“A Bentley, a limo, and a Cessna.”

“Ooh, you’re a pilot. That’s interesting.”

“Not really, the chauffeur only sees the airports.” He cast a roving eye across the room before returning his heavy-lidded gaze to her.

“You’ve probably met my husband, Dustin Berg.”

“Yes, I know him.” Gabriel’s eyes shifted and he shot her a quick smile. “Sorry to throw you to the wolves but I have to go.” He slipped away before she could form a reply.

Mystified, Adrienne scanned the vicinity to see Dustin headed her way with Lawrence Fife in tow. She had met Fife a few times and was not a fan; his smiles never reached his muddy eyes, and she couldn’t bring herself to call him Lawrence no matter how many times he insisted. She pasted on an appropriate smile, noting a number of baby sharks in Fife’s wake, and she was soon surrounded by cutthroat young men in designer suits.

Dustin claimed his trophy with a possessive hand on the small of her back while Adrienne fluttered at his side, a canary in a gilded cage, pretty and pointless. The men talked in vague terms about an upcoming business trip and Gabriel’s name was mentioned. Dustin didn’t always share his schedule with her, and she didn’t really care where he went, but Adrienne actively avoided looking ignorant, so she didn’t ask where they were flying. She scanned the room with surreptitious glances over the top of her martini glass, but she never saw Gabriel again.

Until now.

“Why are you here?” At his stony expression, her bubble of inappropriate lust burst, and a quick clench of fear knotted Adrienne’s stomach. She didn’t know this man and she was home alone, the backyard secluded. Perfectly private.

Gabriel tucked something in his back pocket. “Your husband has a gym bag in his closet. Please take me to it.” He gestured towards the house.

Confusion creased her brow. “You flew all the way back here for his gym bag? I didn’t know Dustin owned a gym bag. He doesn’t go to the gym.”

“Please, Mrs. Berg.” Gabriel gestured again and moved close enough to press the tips of his fingers against her spine.

“You wait here and I’ll bring it to you.” Adrienne quickened her step but he easily kept up, his one stride to her two. She stopped at the back door. “Please wait here.”

He looked at her with regret darkening his eyes. “I’m coming with you.”

The light pressure of his hand turned into a push and the ball of fear in her guts grew greasy, thorny. “Gabriel, I’m really uncomfortable right now. I would rather you wait outside.” She used her most authoritative voice, painfully aware of how weak she sounded.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Adrienne, but you are about to become more uncomfortable.” He reached around her to open the door and pushed her inside. She let out a startled cry and pushed back; he clapped his hand over her mouth and a heavily muscled arm around her waist. “There’s no point in fighting me,” he growled, muffling her screams as she struggled in his arms. “Please, Mrs. Berg. Please don’t make me hurt you. I have a gag and I don’t want to use it. No yelling.” Her body gradually relaxed. He released her and motioned towards the stairs. “Where is Dustin’s bedroom?”

Thoughts racing and her eyes darting around the room, frantically scoping out escape routes, Adrienne planted her feet like a sprinter poised for flight. “Find it yourself, asshole.”

Gabriel clutched her elbow and uncoiled a thin rope from his back pocket—it was about three feet long and fashioned into a noose. “Do I need to put you on a leash?”

“Let go, you’re hurting me.” When he released his grip, Adrienne rubbed her elbow. “Take what you came for and go the fuck away.”

Silent, he gestured upstairs, his mouth a thin line.

She ran up the stairs, two at a time, Gabriel thundering behind her. At the top of the stairs, Adrienne abruptly whirled around; fists clenched and roaring in anger, she pushed against Gabriel’s chest with all her strength. It was like pushing a tree.

“Please, Mrs. Berg.” His expression regretful, amused and stubborn.

She slammed her elbow into his rock-hard stomach and he gave her another push, this one not so gentle. Stumbling, Adrienne spat a string of undecipherable curse words and turned right at the landing. Her suite was to the left; after ten years of marriage, the Bergs agreed that sleeping in the same room was not an option, one of the few aspects of their life where she put her foot down. Another was the choice to not have hired help; Adrienne remembered too well her resentful days of being a maid. In theory, Dustin took care of his own bedroom and bathroom. Adrienne kept the rest of the house clean and didn’t care if her husband wallowed in his own filth. She could not remember the last time she opened his bedroom door and was not surprised to find it locked.

She shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t have a key,” she said and staggered when Gabriel pushed her to one side and kicked the door open. “Jesus! What the fuck?”

He spun on his heel and gripped her shoulders. “Please sit down and be quiet,” he said, shoving her backwards until her knees hit the edge of the bed. “Stay.” He pressed hard on her shoulders. “Understand? Do not move a muscle.”

Adrienne shot daggers from her eyes, but his back was to her as he headed to the closet. The double doors opened to a space almost as large as the enormous bedroom. Gabriel rifled through the hanging clothes, ducking to look underneath, opened drawers, checking her with constant, quick glances. She measured the distance to the door; she would have to run past him to get out and she was certain she couldn’t outrun him, but every muscle in her body was tensed and ready to leap if an opportunity showed itself.

Gabriel pulled a long black duffel bag out of a tall cupboard. “Gotcha.” He carried it to the bed and dropped it at her feet. “Exactly where the stupid fucker said it would be.”

“What is that? What’s in there?” His face unreadable, she looked away. “Never mind, I don’t care. Just take it and go.”

He opened the zipper with a snaky hiss. “Three million in unmarked, one-hundred-dollar bills.”

Adrienne stared at the money, feeling windless and dizzy like she had been punched in the gut; her mind raced with possible reasons for that much cash to be in Dustin’s closet. Off-balance, lightheaded, she gripped the edge of the bed and pondered the enormous gap—the Grand Canyon—that suddenly appeared between who she thought Dustin was, and who her husband might be. On the heels of that, a bizarre feeling of lightness and euphoria came over her, imagining a life without Dustin that this money could give her. Freedom. She raised her eyes to Gabriel’s and tightened her jaw. “Now what?”

“I’m stealing this. And you’re my hostage.”

She sprang to her feet, but he snagged her around the waist before she took a step. He tossed her on the bed like she weighed nothing and straddled her, holding both her fists with one of his hands and covering her screaming mouth with the other. Leaning close to her face, he said in a low, soft voice, “This is happening. The more you fight, the more I’m going to hurt you.”

The sorrow in his expression and his calm, quiet voice clashed with his savage words. His weight squeezed every molecule of oxygen from her lungs, but she managed to bite his hand. When he jerked away in surprise, she croaked, “Swear you won’t rape me.”

He leaped off the bed. “Fuck, no, I won’t rape you. But I will hurt you if you push me. Do you understand? I’m taking this money and no one can stop me.”

“I won’t try to stop you. Take it and go. I swear I won’t tell anyone you were here. I don’t care about the money,” she babbled breathlessly. “You don’t need me, just take it and go.”

Gabriel pulled a knife from his front pocket, pushed a release on the side and a long, slim blade popped out with a sibilant snick. Adrienne pushed herself upright on the bed, scrambling until she hit the headboard, kicking at him with her dirty gardening shoes. He grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her back against his chest, sitting her between his legs on the edge of the bed and gripping her with his tree-trunk thighs.

“Stop it, be still.” He squeezed her until she went limp, airless. “You will record a message for your husband.” He pulled a small black device from his pocket. “When I say go, you say they will kill me if you try to find us. Got it? You say Dusty, let them have the money and they will let me go in two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” Panting, she squirmed, trying to see his face. This is not happening. This cannot be happening. He held her tight against his body, silent, solid and immovable as a boulder. “I’m not going with you for two weeks,” she sputtered, stalling, “and I never call him Dusty.”

With a swift stroke, Gabriel ran the edge of the knife along the sharp jut of her jawbone. Adrienne screamed in quicksilver bright pain, blood trickled hot on her throat, spattered her shirt and dripped dime-sized droplets on the bed.

He held the knife to her throat with his right hand, tape recorder in his left. “Don’t look for us for two weeks or they will kill me. Say it.”

Adrienne howled, frantically swiping at the blood snaking down her neck, wiping her bloody fingers on the bedspread. “Dustin! He’s fucking crazy!” she screamed. “Let him have the money!” She screamed again at the pressure against her throat. “Two weeks! He says I’ll be home in two weeks! Don’t try to find us!” The knife bit again, this time her collarbone. She shrieked, the sound of an animal caught in the jaws of a steel trap. “Stop cutting me!” Adrienne sobbed.

“Perfect.” Gabriel pushed her to one side, tapped a button on the recorder, and wiped the knife on the bed. He grabbed a pillow and pressed it to her face while she bellowed in rage and terror, pounding him with her fists and kicking frantically, futilely.

“Hold still,” he said. “I’m wiping off the blood.”

She struggled another moment before flopping bonelessly back on the bed, choking down sobs. Tears trickled into her ears and down her jaw to mix with the blood.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Gabriel pulled the pillow away. The cut on her jaw was still weeping and he pressed the pillow against the blood. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, but it needed to sound real. And you don’t scare easy.”

He looked close to tears himself, and his expression surprised her into silence. She stared at him while he checked her wound again. The next time they locked eyes, she spoke through gritted teeth. “Are you going to kill me?”

“We need to go.” Gabriel shouldered the bag of money and pulled her to her feet.

“Can I change my clothes?” She used the edge of her sleeve to wipe her nose, refusing to look at him. “I have blood all over my shirt.”

He blew a harsh whoosh. “Hurry, change and bring the clothes with you. Nothing else. We can’t let this look like you’re in on it or they won’t care if you die.”

“In on it? Dustin would never believe I helped you plan this. When he hears that recording, he’ll call the police.”

Gabriel gave her a somber look, his eyes filled with pity. “Dustin stole this money and he’s not alone. Do you think he wants to explain to the cops why someone would kidnap his wife? Or why he has three million dollars in a gym bag?” He waved his hand impatiently. “If you want to change clothes, you have one minute. Starting now.”

She stood on trembling legs and forced her knees to stiffen. “My clothes are in the other bedroom.”

He hoisted the gym bag over his shoulder, and kept one hand on her shoulder as they crossed the landing. He waited at the closed bedroom door, arms folded across his chest, watching her every move. Adrienne grabbed clean clothes from her closet and dashed to the bathroom, closing and locking the door. Using a wet washcloth, she roughly wiped away crusty, drying blood while scrambling through the drawers for a weapon. She jolted at a loud thud on the door.

“Hurry up, get your clothes on and open the door.”

“Give me a damn minute.” Every muscle tense and shaking, Adrienne changed into jeans and a black t-shirt. She flung open the door and shoved the bundle of dirty clothes at him. “If you’re keeping me for two weeks, I’m packing a bag.”

He shoved the clothes back in her arms. “You can wash these. It won’t look like you’re leaving against your will if you pack like you’re going on vacation.”

“Can I bring my toothbrush?” She fidgeted while he patted her down; he found tweezers in her front pocket, a nail file in her back pocket and a Lady Bic disposable razor in her sock.

Gabriel tossed her puny weapons in a drawer. “I’ll buy you a toothbrush.”

She snatched a yellow pill bottle by the sink. “I have to bring my thyroid pills.”

“He’ll notice them missing.”

“Listen, I have no thyroid function at all. If I don’t have my medicine, my body will start to fall apart and that’s not how I want to die.” Adrienne shook out a handful of pills, wrapped them in a tissue and stuck them in her pocket. “I’ll leave the bottle here.”

Gabriel settled the bag of money over his shoulder. “Fine. Now go, go, let’s go.” Downstairs, she darted for the front door and he grabbed her by a handful of t-shirt. She wrenched away from him, scowling, fists clenched. “Do not make me chase you,” he barked. “Use the kitchen door, my van is parked on the side.” He hulked over her as she stalked across the room. “No funny business. You’ll see the van, walk fast and do not make a sound.”

Tucked against the side of the house, hidden from the neighbors by a screen of thick bamboo, was a white van with a spray of delphiniums and Larkspur Flower Company painted on the side. Gabriel herded her with a firm hand on her shoulder, opened the sliding side door, and tossed in the bag of money. An air mattress covered most of the floor, an empty metal shelf was bolted to the side and a set of open handcuffs dangled from one narrow beam.

Adrienne backed away, bumping into his bulk. “Gabriel, you don’t have to do this. I don’t need handcuffs. Please don’t put me in handcuffs. I’ll be good. I’ll be still. I promise.”

“Get in and be quiet. I’m serious, I will gag you.” Grabbing her around the waist, he lifted her squealing into the van and climbed in behind her. “Hush!” He hugged her hard to his chest, forcing the air from her lungs. Tossing her gasping onto the air mattress, he swiftly cuffed both hands above her head to the metal shelf, reached into a red cloth bag by the sliding door, and pulled out a ball gag. “You think you’re uncomfortable now?” He shook the gag at her. “Don’t make me use this.”

Rattling the chains, breathing in quick gasps, Adrienne said, “I’m telling you, I don’t need to be restrained. I want to come with you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I won’t fight you. A two-week vacation from Dustin is fine with me.” She spoke fast and low, urgently. “He can see what it feels like to miss me. Or he can go to jail. I don’t care. This is the most excitement I’ve had in years,” she panted, heart racing. “I want to go with you.” She rattled the handcuffs again. “You don’t need these.”

“Nice try.” He pulled a hypodermic needle from the red bag. “But I don’t believe you.”

Gabriel knelt, squeezed the breath from her struggling body and sank the needle into her vein. After a few seconds, she went still and limp. He unlocked the handcuffs and positioned her gently on the air mattress. “I’m so sorry.”