Insatiable

And Meena, for the first time in her life, knew that she was the one about to die.

Chapter Thirty-five

7:00 P.M . EST, Friday, April 16

910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B

New York, New York

T he most amazing thing—to Meena, anyway—was that she never would have guessed

he was a killer. Not at first glance, anyway. He was dressed so nicely, in dark form-fitting

jeans, a cashmere sweater, and a long, black leather trench. The scarf around his neck looked

as if it were made from cashmere, too—at least from where Meena was standing—and brought

out the blue in his eyes…the kind of bright blue eyes that wouldn’t have been out of place on

some hunky blond heartthrob making his way down a red carpet or paddling a surfboard off a

sandy white Australian beach.

They hardly looked like the eyes of a killer.

Except that Meena had known that’s what he was from the moment she’d opened the

door and he’d brought the big bouquet of red roses down from in front of his face.

Why had she fallen for that old trick? That bouquet-in-front-of-the-peephole trick? She

deserved to get killed just for falling for a trick she’d used a million times herself in her own

scripts.

And now here she was, facing down death in nothing but her bra and a black silk slip.

She was furious with herself for not having grabbed a robe first, or something she could at

least have employed as a weapon…a can of hair spray and a lighter to use as an impromptu

flamethrower …even a shoe, for God’s sake, to throw at the guy.

But she hadn’t realized how close she was to death until now, when it was too late. All

she’d reached for was her BlackBerry, which in almost any scenario was pretty much useless.

And in this case it was just plain pitiful, unless she wanted to call some cops to come

over and be killed along with her.

Because no way was this guy going to let himself be arrested without a fight. She could

tell that just by looking at his handsome, pitiless face.

And of course, like any proper assassin, he already had a foot wedged firmly inside the

jamb, so she couldn’t slam the door shut in his face. It would just bounce harmlessly off the

edge of his steel-toed boot.

The fingers of his right hand rested on a you-know-what. Yeah. It seemed unbelievable,

but given everything else that had gone on this past week, Meena realized she shouldn’t have

been surprised. It was an honest-to-God sword hilt.

She held her breath as that blue-eyed gaze drifted toward her.

“I am not here for you, Meena,” he said, in a German-accented voice so deep, it seemed

to reverberate through her chest.

How could he know her name? She had no idea who he was. She’d never seen him

before in her life.

And yet…she felt as if somehow she’d known him forever.

Maybe that’s how everyone felt when they met their killer.

Or maybe it was just Meena.

He unsheathed the sword. The blade made a ringing sound in the stillness of the hallway,

clear as a bell, as it came out of its scabbard.

Meena swallowed hard.

It’s amazing what you think right before you die. All Meena could think, for instance,

was, Wow. No foreplay for this guy.

Then, Wait, that’s not even funny.

Then, Although actually, that would make a good line for Victoria on the show. Then,

But I’m not going to live long enough to write another episode for the show. This is so unfair.

She knew just by looking at her killer’s rock-hard, chiseled profile that there wasn’t the

slightest flicker of hope.

But it’s incredible what we’ll do to try to survive.

Meena pried her lips apart. Forced her tongue to moisten them.

“I know you’re lying,” she said. “You’re holding a sword . You’re here to kill me.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just tell me where he is, and I’ll let you live.”

Meena had no idea who—or what—he was talking about. She pointed at her purse where

it hung on the hook she’d slung it onto after coming home. “Look,” she said. “There’s plenty

of money in there. I just went to the cash machine. Take what you want and go. Otherwise,

there’s some costume jewelry my great-aunt Wilhelmina left me, but it’s all fake, I swear to

you….”

He looked annoyed. Meena felt her heart rate speed up. Way to go, Meen. Antagonize

your killer. That’s smart.

“I already told you, Meena,” he said, his dark blond eyebrows raised a little sarcastically.

“I have no interest in killing you. Only him. But if you are going to be difficult…”

Difficult . He had no idea how difficult Meena could be. Especially since she already

knew she was as good as dead.

Meena knew then that she had absolutely nothing to lose.

Which was why she chose that moment to hurl her BlackBerry at him with all her might.

Hey. It was all she had. That and her life.

Then she turned around and made a run for it.

Chapter Thirty-six

7:02 P.M . EST, Friday, April 16

910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B

New York, New York

M eena couldn’t exactly escape out the front door, since the sword-wielding maniac in a

trench coat standing in front of it had shut and locked it behind him.

But she figured if she could throw open the French doors to the balcony in the back

bedroom, then scream for help, someone would definitely hear her.

Mary Lou. Mary Lou would hear her.

If she was home. Which was unlikely, it being a Friday night.

But no sooner had Meena whirled around to make her escape than something impossibly

hard—and amazingly strong—locked around her bare ankle and flipped her to the floor. She

went sprawling down amid all the fallen roses, her right foot pulled out from under her before

she knew what was happening, her palms skidding on the parquet as she tried to break her fall.

She craned her neck to look down the length of her body in astonishment and saw the

man with the sword standing above her.

Wow. He was really fast. Meena had only just hurled her BlackBerry at him—and

hadn’t waited around long enough to see if it had hit him, though she’d thought she heard a

dull thud, then the smack of plastic parts hitting wood floor—and already he’d yanked her foot

out from under her?

What was he, bionic?

“Meena,” he said in the same calm, slightly bored voice, still gripping her foot. “You’ve

got nowhere to run to. I think you know that.”

The sad thing was, he was absolutely right. Even with the breath knocked entirely out of

her body from the force of her fall, Meena did know that.

She’d always wondered what it would be like when it was finally her turn to meet death

face-to-face.

But now that it was actually happening, she knew something else: that she wasn’t going

to go without a fight.

“I’m not going to die tonight,” she said from between gritted teeth. “Sorry.”

And she twisted around so that instead of lying on her stomach, she was on her back…

…and in a better position to grind her free foot into his groin. The only problem was, he

seemed to anticipate the move, since he let go of her ankle, and—so quickly Meena barely had

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