The window glass was tinted a poisonous dull green, matching the color of his eyes when angered. Rain beat down on the Manhattan panorama like steel bars. Alonzo didn't turn when the elevator door slid open, disgorging his subordinates with their captive.

"Put her there," he ordered, gesturing to the alligator leather sofa. "And cut the ropes from her wrists." His voice sounded mechanical as his fingers tightened around a crystal glass of Macallan whiskey. "Restraints interfere with the perception of skin during interrogation."

They threw her roughly onto the sofa, and Alonzo's gaze flickered toward her despite himself. Milky white skin like Snow White. Voluminous hips, rich curves. Not quite slender, but undeniably feminine and alive. Her skirt had ridden up above her knee, exposing plump thighs and luscious leg curves. He noticed it only peripherally as the door slammed shut behind his departing men.

The ticking of the Breguet clock cut through the silence every seven seconds. "This abduction," she began, voice breaking on the marble floor. "Dima will—"

"Dima," Alonzo interrupted, slowly turning around and placing his glass on the obsidian counter. "He's been trying to plant bombs in my exhaust pipe for three years. Now he trembles like a puppy before a meat grinder. You're just an expendable pawn in his game."

He moved closer, catching the scent of her perfume—something sweet yet dark. Something twitched inside him like a live wire. "Look at me."

She lifted her chin, eyes meeting his, and for one brief second, he felt a flicker of unease. Just one second.

Alonzo bent over, resting his palms on the sofa's armrests, trapping her between his hands. His jacket smelled of gasoline and gunpowder, a stark contrast to her trembling form.

"I need information," he said. "You'll give it to me—through your teeth or through other means. Your choice." With his right eye, he studied the pulse throbbing in her neck. With his left, he noted the pressure marks on her chest from the ropes.