Click on image to enlarge.

	Regular				Club
List Price:	$5.50				$4.68
You Pay:	$3.85				$3.27
You Save:	30%				40.55%

eBook Category: Erotica/Suspense/Thriller
eBook Description: When Conar 'Irish' Nolan abruptly vanishes and then reappears months later, addicted to heroin and near dead, only those closest to him believe his bizarre tale of having been abducted expressly for that purpose. Detective Rhiana Marek does and knows whoever is behind the abduction is still a threat, but can she piece together the bizarre puzzle before its too late to save the man she loves? Rating: Contains sexual content and adult language.

eBook Publisher: New Concepts Publishing, Published: 2007, 2007
Fictionwise Release Date: October 2007

This eBook is part of the following series:

• Charlotte Boyett-Compo's Windtorn Series

17 Reader Ratings:

Great	Good	OK	Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [245 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [244 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [210 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [689 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [235 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [206 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [256 KB] , hiebook (KML) [538 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [306 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [193 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [243 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [281 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [320 KB]
Words: 71616
Reading time: 204-286 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

The thirty-seven-year-old officer had been with the Florida Drug Enforcement Agency only two years when his life was drastically altered one cold, rainy November night. The last thing he remembered before his ordeal began was hearing someone call his name while he was getting into his car outside the apartment complex in which he lived. He stopped, car keys in his hand, as footsteps came toward him out of the drizzling night.

"Hey, pig!" someone else snarled.

He turned and an ultra white light was thrust into his face, blinding him. He threw up an arm to ward off the painful brightness.

Someone grabbed him from behind, another from the front. A sharp, stinging pain jabbed into the flesh of his upper right arm, causing him to yelp in surprise. His world slowed.

He was vaguely aware of hands holding him, dragging him; the sound of a van's door sliding back on its runners; other hands taking him, pulling him inside. The drug washed over him with such debilitating force all he could do was blink up at the men whose faces were hidden behind black ski masks.

"Gonna take you on a nice, long ride, pal." The voice was chilling, deadly, full of threat, and he wondered who had ordered his death. The face of Kiki Camareno, a friend and fellow DEA agent, now dead and gone, slithered across his foggy mind.

They cuffed his arms behind him, tied his ankles together. One man leaned over him and taped his eyes and mouth shut. An overpowering smell of duct tape--sourly-plastic and musky--drifted under his nostrils.

They took him to a hot and musty place filled with a cloying stench. When the tape was ripped from his eyes, they watered profusely. The air reeked of fertilizer and burned his nose.

Four assailants dragged him across a dirt floor, his legs useless against the numbness invading his system. Hard hands gripped his upper arms, supported him as he hung helplessly between two of his captors. One man gripped his chin in a cruel pinch and his head tilted upward so that he stared wide-eyed at the masked face pressing in close to his own. "You wanna have a good time, pig?" asked the man, his accent unmistakably Colombian.

"He's going to whether he wants it or not!" another man chortled.

His handcuffs were removed but he had little strength to free himself. He struggled--uselessly and ineffectually--before they pushed him onto his back and dragged his arms over his head. They snapped another cuff into place around his free wrist then he heard the rattle of metal against metal, the clink of the cuff locking as his wrist was secured to the top of the cot. His left wrist was jerked upward and chained to the cot, as well.

He whimpered as they removed his jeans and shackled his ankles to the foot of the cot.

The DEA agent cringed as the Colombian moved over him, putting out a hand to touch him.

"Nice," the Colombian whispered, running his palm over the thick muscle of the agent's thigh. He slid his hand between the agent's legs, to the inside of a tense thigh, probing for just the right place. "Very nice."

The agent thought he knew what was coming.

Thought he knew what they were going to do to him before they killed him.

As his torture began, he believed he would die before the night was over. He began to pray in earnest: "Hail Mary, full of Grace...."

He wondered if Kiki had done the same thing.

Long into the next few days, the agent lay where they'd chained him, wishing they'd kill him. He wanted them to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger or put a blade to his throat and, with one quick slice, end his torment. He hadn't expected to live through the ordeal. He hadn't wanted to. But he had. And he would later wish with all his heart that he had not.