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Then, in a louder voice, my attacker yelled, “Stand up and stop fighting my men or your lady dies.”

Whit stood, his face pale, chest heaving. Two of the men he’d fought were unconscious by his feet. “Take me instead.”

“Whit!No.”

But he ignored me, staring fiercely at my attacker.

“Toss your gun to me,” my attacker said.

Whit didn’t hesitate. He tossed it, and it clattered at our feet, initials facing up. Tears burned in my eyes. He never told me who that gun belonged to, but I knew how much it meant to him.

“I’m here for Elvira. Please release her,” I said quickly. “I’ll come quietly but don’t hurt her or my friend.”

From behind me, a voice cut the air, sharp and familiar. “Bring them both on board.”

The man holding the gun lunged at me, covering my nose and mouth with a dirty rag. The chemical scent made me gag, and my eyes watered. Dimly, I heard Whit let out a furious roar. I struggled against the viselike bands across my ribs but the edges of my vision blurred.

I blinked, and the world turned darker.

I shut my eyes and saw no more.

They had put me in a tomb.

The walls were jagged, the color of a tawny mountain cliff. The space was narrow and crowded by crates and barrels. A single candle illuminated a small stretch of space. I struggled, but my hands wouldn’t move; something rough scraped the delicate skin around my wrists. My arms were pulled behind me, tight and uncomfortable.

“Whit?” I called.

“Here,” he said, walking around the pile of crates stacked one on top of the other. His hands were bound behind him, too, and there was a bruise forming on his right cheek. Blood oozed from his lip.

“You’re hurt,” I said.

He dropped on his knees in front of me. “You’ve been out for hours,” he said, his voice rough and urgent. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy. Thirsty. But I think I’m all right. What did they do to me?”

“That rag was soaked in chloroform,” he said, anger making his voice vibrate. “It wasdripping. I was scared they’d given you too much.”

“I’m fine,” I said, inching forward so our knees could touch. “Do you have anything we can use in your pockets?”

“They took everything,” he said bleakly. “The gun. Even the button.”

I groaned. “Please tell me you have a knife hidden somewhere.”

Whit grimly shook his head. “They found the one in my boot.”

“Intrepid criminals,” I said. “Have you seen Elvira?”

Again he shook his head. “It’s the first thing I did after they placed us in here. I checked every part of this wretched tomb. No Elvira, or signs that she’d ever been in here.”

A hard lump settled in my stomach. “Dios, I hope she’s—” I broke off at the sound of footsteps approaching.

Four men appeared at the head of the tomb, still dressed in dark clothing and wearing black masks. The one in the middle looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him. He was tall and narrow hipped. The other three might have fought Whit at the docks, because they were both limping slightly.

“Get up,” the tall man said.

Shaking, I awkwardly got to my feet. Whit did the same, but the three men immediately gripped his arms, hauling him away from me.

Whit kicked and struggled, and was rewarded with a fist to the face. He doubled over, gasping. They rounded him, kicked his stomach, his ribs. His grunts of pain roared in my ears. One of them flashed a dagger and swiped at his arm bent over his face to protect his head. Blood gushed from the long, deep scratch.