Clint Becker knew he was in serious trouble the first minute his eyes fell on feisty Sarah Reynolds, a dynamite little package with too many curves, a sassy mouth, and an explosive temper. And right now, she was showing about as much common sense as it took to fill a thimble. Her indignant screeching as she was dragged down the long, winding staircase could probably be heard around the coast of Florida, and echoed throughout the house with enough force to break someone’s eardrums. She was apparently too dense to realize the two goons pulling her along were probably the same two who were going to kill her when the time came. Shaking his head with disgust, he ducked behind a door.
How come his cousin hadn’t warned him he’d be dealing with a little spitfire? There was nothing he could do but wait for the right time before making his move. The less he had to deal with her, the better their chances were of getting out of here alive. And besides, maybe if they roughed her up a little, she’d be more subdued by the time he got to her. It would certainly make her a hell of a lot easier to manage if she was submissive enough to appreciate the situation she was in.
He leaned against the wall, not for the first time wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.