Tony bent forward, waving the cashier's check Patrick had handed him into the guy's too-handsome face.

"So what have you got to say, pretty boy? I know you can add, and we both know this don't add up to what you owe."

Patrick sat up a little straighter. "It's almost half," he said, surprisingly calm for a man in his situation. Then again, maybe the b.a.s.t.a.r.d didn't understand the situation as clearly as Tony did. "Give me a little more time and I'll see you get the rest."

Tony chuckled, jiggling the fat at his girth. "You've had time, Donovan. More than you shoulda' had in the first place." The car turned sharply just then, pulling onto a narrow dirt road, rutted and overgrown with weeds. They were somewhere deep in the Malibu hills, on a chunk of private land away from the traffic where no one could see them, hear the b.a.s.t.a.r.d scream, or the thud of their silenced weapons. The kind of spot Tony preferred for this kind of work.

The car slid to a halt and he waited a moment for the dust to clear.

"Get out of the car." Grinding down on the door handle, he hefted his big bulk out of the limo. Woody Nicholson prodded Patrick in the ribs and they got out and stood in front of him, bone-thin Nicholson shoving his Glock nine-mil into Donovan's side, a smile of antic.i.p.ation splitting Woody's sallow face.

"I don't like you, Donovan," Tony said, shifting his attention back to the man in front of him. "I never did. You promised to make us some money or we never woulda' made you that loan. Instead all you've done is cause us trouble."

"I told you I would pay you and I will. I just need-"

Nicholson buried his fist in Patrick's stomach, turning the last word into a grunt and doubling him over. Donovan dragged in several deep breaths and started to lift his head, but Nicholson hit him again, splitting his lip and flinging blood all over his expensive white shirt.

"You beginnin' to get the picture, pretty boy?" Tony's own hand unconsciously fisted. "You don't mess with Tony Sandini-n.o.body does. We gave you time to get the money you owed and you haven't done it. You ain't paid." He grinned. "But you will."

He turned to Woody and motioned toward the trees off to the left, a thick copse of sycamores near the edge of a steep ravine. Nicholson grabbed his arm, but Patrick twisted away.

"I thought you were smarter than this, Sandini," he said. "Shooting me is going to cost you six million dollars-to say nothing of the trouble it's going to cause. Give me another two weeks and you'll be money and trouble ahead."

"And you'll be lounging on a beach in Mexico with one of your big-t.i.tted blondes. You friggin' lowlife-what kind of fool do you think I am?"

Patrick might have answered, but Jake Naworski wrenched an arm up behind his back so hard he clamped down on his jaw in pain.

Tony tipped his head toward the trees and the men dragged Patrick off in that direction. He was tougher than he looked. Jerking free, he managed a couple of good solid punches before they started pummeling him again. A wild blow landed on Ceccarelli's chin, knocking him into the dirt.

Tony smiled to think of Ralph with mud on his pristine, extravagantly expensive navy blue suit.

Tony watched a moment more, then headed back to the limo just as his cell phone started to ring. He recognized the number. Tony frowned, wondering what the h.e.l.l McPherson could possibly want since they had spoken less than an hour ago. Sliding his substantial bulk back inside the car, he pressed the phone against his ear and listened to his partner on the end of the line. The whole time, he kept wishing he was back at the hotel getting a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b from his little blond stew instead of sitting out here in the dirt.

Unconsciously nodding, he called out to the driver. "Hey, Mickey-if it ain't too late, tell them guys to hold off on Donovan. Tell 'em to bring him back over here."

The driver took off at a run and Tony returned to the phone. "You sure this guy's gonna pay us?" he said to his partner.

"According to my sources, Alexander Donovan's got more money than he can count. Apparently he's always been secretive about it. He figured if his son knew how much he really had, the guy would sink even deeper into booze and drugs. At any rate, he's offered to pay the bill and throw in a million for good measure. He says the money'll be waiting at Donovan's office by the time you get there. Just drive the guy back, drop him in the parking lot, and the money is ours."

Tony shrugged against the seat of the limo. "What the h.e.l.l? Money's money-why should I give a d.a.m.n where it comes from?"

He ended the call with McPherson and hung up the phone, turned at the sound of footsteps in the dirt outside the car. Woody Nicholson's bony frame appeared at the open car door, his jacket off, his knuckles sc.r.a.ped raw and oozing bright red blood.

"You sure you want him back?" Woody asked.

Tony grunted. "Sorry to put a crimp in your fun, but pretty boy here, just went from a lowlife to a precious commodity. Get his a.s.s back in the car and let's get the h.e.l.l outta here."

Seconds later, Patrick slid in through the opposite door wearing the evidence of Nicholson's handiwork-a black eye, bruises, a fat lip, and a b.l.o.o.d.y nose. Tony chuckled. At least he wouldn't be quite so pretty anymore.

No one spoke as they drove to the real estate office. Jake and Ralph clearly looked as if they'd been brawling, but Jake usually looked that way. Ralph's shirt was b.l.o.o.d.y and the pocket of his suit was torn. Tony had to give Donovan credit, he wasn't such a p.u.s.s.y after all.

It didn't matter. Not if that money wasn't there when they reached the office.

Tony tossed a hard look in Patrick's direction and leaned back against the red leather seat of the car.

Patrick sat rigidly as the limousine turned down Canon toward the parking lot of Donovan Real Estate. Julie's car parked in the distance caught his eye and he was glad to know she had arrived there safely. Then again, maybe her being there wasn't good. He didn't think the men would hurt her, but he couldn't be sure.

So far he wasn't sure about anything.

Like why they had brought him back here. One minute he was standing on the edge of a sharp ravine, his arms pinned at his sides, being beaten b.l.o.o.d.y by that slimeball Woody Nicholson and his two cronies. They were going to shoot him, he was sure, shove his body into the bottom of the ravine. G.o.d only knew how long it would have been until someone had found him.

Then, just when he thought his time had run out, the limo driver had appeared and he was dragged back to the car-albeit reluctantly-by Nicholson and his friends. Mopping the blood from his face with the handkerchief Sandini lent him, Patrick almost smiled. It certainly wasn't a situation he would have faced on Toril.

Gazing out the window through the black tinted gla.s.s, he waited as the limo drove toward the rear office door. Julie stood tensely beside it, next to Nathan Jefferson Jones, positioned like the linebacker he was, behind Patrick's father. The huge man wheeled Alex forward just as Tony Sandini swung open the heavy car door and stepped out onto the blacktop.

"You got it?" Tony said to the frail man in the chair.

"Every dime I promised," Alex said. "a.s.suming you have safely returned my son."

Sandini motioned toward the limo. "Get him outta there." Nicholson shoved him across the seat and Patrick climbed out onto the pavement, Nicholson and Ceccarelli sliding out behind him.

As soon as Patrick's feet hit the ground, Tony reached over and grabbed the suitcase out of his father's lap and handed it to Ceccarelli, who held it while he popped the shiny bra.s.s latches. It didn't take long to count the money, bundled as it was. When he finished, Tony jerked his head toward Patrick.

"He's all yours, old man," he said to Alex.

Nicholson shoved Patrick forward. "Have a nice day," he said with a smirk.

Patrick didn't answer. It wasn't exactly a nice day, since he felt as if he'd been run over by an eighteen-wheel truck. On the other had, he was still alive-which made it a wonderful day.

As the limo drove away, disappearing down Dayton into the crowded streets of Beverly Hills, his gaze swung to Julie and his father.

"Patrick!" Julie was instantly in his arms, hugging him fiercely, and he tightened his arms around her. "Thank G.o.d you're safe."

"A little the worse for wear," he said when she reached up to touch his bruised face and swollen lip, "but fine nonetheless."

"You don't look fine. G.o.d, Patrick." She went back into his arms and clung to him and he didn't make her stop.

"I'm all right," he said. "Really."

Reluctantly, she let him go and his gaze went in search of his father. The old man's eyes were fixed on his face.

"You should have come to me," his father said in the same tone of voice he had once used on his young disobedient son. "Fathers are supposed to help their children. Remember that and don't ever be afraid to come to me again."

Something tightened in Patrick's chest. Memories washed in, times in his childhood before his mother died when he had known his father cared, known that his father really loved him.

"How did you know? How did you raise the money? How did you get it so fast?"

Alex chuckled softly. "Julie had sense enough to call, thank the good Lord. As for the money...it seems I'm worth a good bit more than I might have previously let on." He chuckled again, a rumble in his thin chest. "Quite a bit more, actually."

Patrick said nothing, absorbing the old man's words, understanding why Alex had done what he had. Then he sobered. "I'll pay you back, Dad. I promise. I'll pay you every penny. I won't let you down again."

His father looked stunned. Patrick hadn't called him Dad since he was a little boy. Alex stared at him and his eyes grew moist with tears. "I know you will. I never doubted it for a minute. I'm proud of you, son."

Patrick felt the gentle touch of his father's hand, and an odd warmth settled in his chest. For a moment he found it hard to speak. "Thank you, Father." He glanced into Julie's upturned face, saw the happiness shining there. "I owe my life to both of you."

They smiled at him and Patrick smiled, too, his heart full of joy and love, emotions he had only begun to discover. He was thinking he had heard the phrase no place like home, but until today he had never really understood it. Now for the very first time, he realized what the saying meant.

For even with all of its problems, even after all that had happened, there was surely no place like the home he had found here on Earth.

From The Author.

I hope you enjoyed SEASON OF STRANGERS, the third in my paranormal series that started with SCENT OF ROSES, followed by THE SUMMIT. The books are about ordinary women who have extraordinary experiences. If you liked SEASON OF STRANGERS, I hope you'll look for the others in the series.

Next I'll be writing about the rugged Raines brothers of Wyoming-handsome, powerful men who dragged themselves out of poverty by their bootstraps to become the successful men they are today. Each brother's story is a romantic suspense beginning with Jackson, who gets caught in a dangerous intrigue with a lady named Sarah Allen, who once scorned him and now desperately needs his help.

Gabriel and Devlin's stories are also filled with adventure, suspense and romance.

I hope you'll watch for the books, beginning with AGAINST THE WIND, out next year. You can find information on my Web site at www.katbooks.com.

Until then, all best wishes and happy reading, Kat.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-1761-8.

SEASON OF STRANGERS.

Also available from New York Times.

bestselling author.

KAT MARTIN.

and MIRA Books.

THE SUMMIT.

SCENT OF ROSES.

The Heart Trilogy HEART OF HONOR.

HEART OF FIRE.

HEART OF COURAGE.

(coming in 2009).

The Necklace Trilogy.

THE BRIDE'S NECKLACE.

THE DEVIL'S NECKLACE.

THE HANDMAIDEN'S NECKLACE.