Page 46 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse

“You don’t, do you?” Mercer leaned in so close Rebecca could smell his breath. Cinnamon. Strange how a man could smell good and have such chiseled features and could also have eyes so devoid of empathy or mercy.

“Where is it?” he demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And she didn’t, though Rebecca had a feeling that sheshouldknow. That shedidknow. That if she could only swim through the torrents of confusion—

Mercer’s hand cracked against her cheek again. Rebecca cried out, her head whipping to the side. Hot tears trailed down her face.

“Do you think we’re not serious, Rebecca?”

He knew her name.

She shook her head, unable to speak. Her tongue was bleeding where she’d bit down on the force of Mercer’s smack.

“Where is it?”

“I really don’t know!” Rebecca cried. She pulled her knees up to her chest as best she could, but Mercer’s hand shot out and pushed her knees back to the floor.

“Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not!” Rebecca sobbed.

“Do you want me to send Bear back to the lighthouse to pay a visit to old man Edgar, the lunatic? And to yourfriend?”

She knew he was referring to Abel. The threat was obvious,and Rebecca looked to where Mercer crouched next to Bear. The man glowered down at her with beady eyes.

“Please...” Her words caught in her dry throat. Rebecca coughed wildly, and Mercer’s patronizing pat on her chest did nothing to help. Rebecca squirmed so he’d move his hand, which had invaded her privacy.

“What do you think, Bear?” Mercer pushed off his knees and stood.

“Storm’s not lettin’ up.” Bear’s resistance to going back out into the weather might be the saving grace for Edgar and Abel.

Rebecca prayed she could remember whatever it was Mercer was after.

“Then we wait it out.” Mercer kicked at the lone chair in the room, a straight-backed wooden one. It spun perfectly in line for him to flop onto it. His lazy sprawl indicated he intended on going nowhere. Bear turned his back to Rebecca and moved to the cold fireplace, kicking at ash and long burnt-out remnants as if wishing for a spark to ignite into a fire that would give off warmth.

They were all wet. The cabin was chilly.

Rebecca began to shiver. She couldn’t control the trembling of her head or her shuddering breaths.

“She’s cold.” Bear’s observation brought a snort from Mercer.

“Good. Maybe that will force it out of her.”

“Just t-tell me what it is you w-want.” Rebecca’s plea was reinforced by the stuttering caused by the cold.

Mercer’s movement was swift, and in a second he was on the floor, straddling her legs, his hand squeezing her chin as he forced her to look at him. “The papers.Whereare they?”

Knowing made it worse because it brought no clarity to her mind.

“You’re a tough one.” Mercer released her chin by whipping her head to the side. He sat back on her legs, his weight bearing down on her knees. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.” Crossing his arms, Mercerseemed to make himself comfortable on top of her lap, even as his weight crushed her and stole any ability to calm herself.

He tilted his head, studying her. “Do you even have them?”

Them. The papers. Rebecca tried to make sense of what he was saying. If she had any papers, she didn’t recall them, but they must be why she’d been attacked in the first place. What had she done? Had she stolen them?

Mercer reached out and tweaked her chin, lifting it with his thumb and forefinger, watching her close.

Rebecca stared down her nose at him, wary but unable to give him any answers even if she wanted to.