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terrified of water.
    Shane came up for another quick breath, determined to not come back up again until he found her. Alive. Olivia had to live. He would not even contemplate the possibility of losing her.
    Again and again he dove in, becoming more and more frantic by the minute. Every time he surfaced he allowed himself less and less time to breathe. Time that could save Olivia.
    As he gulped another breath to go back in, Alfie caught him by the collar. Shane ignored him and pulled downward, but Alfie, who was infinitely more massive than him, grabbed his head so Shane was looking up into his own tearful face.
    “Shane. It’s too late,” Alfie softly chided.
    Shane snarled and yanked away from him, but two of Alfie’s men caught him by the shoulders. “Fuck off, Alfie! Get your men off me, or I’ll kill them right now!”
    “Shane, mate, listen to me. It’s been two hours now. She’s dead.”
    “No!” Shane cried, his gut heaving, his breath ragged as salty tears coursed down his dirty face. It had been so long since he’d last cried that he hardly recognized the taste.
    Alfie nodded to his men to haul Shane up.
    “No!” Shane roared again, punching one of the divers in the nose. The officer slumped, and other agents came to his aid. Shane held his fist high, like a savage warrior ready to strike if they dared stop him. Even waist-deep in a river he knew he was a menace to any man.
    “Shane!” Alfie cried, jumping into the water with him and taking him by the shoulder. “Listen to me—she’s dead!”
    Shane roared and pushed him away again, but four more of Alfie’s men dragged them out, Shane kicking and punching. “Just one more time, one more time! I can’t leave her. She needs me!”
    “Shane, please!” Alfie wept, rubbing the tears and mud out of his eyes. “Don’t make this any harder.” He moved to embrace Shane, who flung him off instead.
    “It’s too dark,” Alfie gently urged. “In a few hours we’ll come back and restart the search.”
    “No! Olivia can’t wait that long. She needs me….she—”
    “Christ almighty,” Alfie swore. “She’s dead. Dead!”
    Shane stared at his friend as if he’d slapped him in the face, his fists digging into the muddy bank, unable to speak.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    Chelsea Harbor Marina, London, England, fourteen months later .
     
    While eyeing the dark-haired babe at the helm of a nearby boat, Shane Hart maneuvered the Olivia out of the Harbor. Already half cut with booze, he enjoyed the feeling of levity heightened by the sight of the woman’s barely there, white bikini, which did nothing to hide her slender but curvy hips and the legs that went on forever beneath her killer ass.
    Shane took a swig from his bottle of Jack Daniel’s and raised it to the sex goddess, who flipped her glossy, black mane from one shoulder to the other, rewarding his attention with a lazy, sexy smile.
    But Shane’s heart only harbored Olivia. And now with Olivia gone, other women simply morphed into one pale semblance of her.
    It had been all his fault. The kidnapper had called, bragging he’d caught himself a “rich bitch” and would make “wealthy blokes” like Shane pay. Because of that stupid article on him, Olivia had been kidnapped for a princely sum. He’d wanted his wife to pose next to him, and she had simply agreed to make him happy. She wasn’t the posing kind. It was a miracle she could play the cello in public without blushing. And he’d exposed her to criminals.
    He’d put the money, five thousand South African Krugerrands, into Olivia’s cello case as instructed. The voice told Shane to wait alone in his own boat docked at the Chelsea Marina Harbor until after dark.
    As a former commando, the British version of the marines, Shane had served in the United Kingdom Special Armed Forces Reserve, with 21 Regiment Special Air Service as a survival instructor and patrol medic.
    When he hadn’t been sewing his buddies up, he shot