Rod Harden, Alison McKenna

Sharae and Melissa

CHAPTER 1

Sharae Stevens sat back and rubbed her neck. It was eleven o'clock at night and she was tired after working late to finish a report for the next day. Shaking her head, she thought about her boss, Keith Cunningham. She could never figure out why Keith was in management. He always made his employees do his work, while he reaped all the glory-and she was the one who got stuck doing most of it. She should be the manager of the department, not him.

Of course, she was stupid enough to actually do his work. No wonder he took advantage of her all the time. Sharae sighed and finished the report, then quickly emailed it to Keith and logged off her computer. She stood up and stretched her five foot five willowy frame.

At twenty-six, Sharae still hadn't married, although she'd been engaged twice. She had blonde hair to the middle of her back, which she usually wore pinned back with barrettes. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds and her lips were full and sensuous.

After packing up her briefcase, she headed for the elevator, punched the down button and waited. When the doors opened, she stepped into the small cubicle, humming. Halfway down, the elevator slowed and came to a stop on the fifth floor. She chuckled to herself. She wasn't the only one working late.

The doors slid open and she looked up to see a man dressed in black step into the car. The sack he carried over his shoulder moved and writhed, twisting against his back. To her horror, Sharae realized there was a person in there!

“Shit!” the man cried. “I thought the fucking building was empty.” He dropped the sack to the floor, and Sharae heard a muffled cry of pain.

“What are you do-” she started to ask, but before she could finish, the man slapped her viciously across the face. Stumbling back, reeling in pain and confusion, she lifted her hands to fend off more blows. Quickly the man grabbed her wrists, twisting her around violently and forcing her arms behind her back.

More muted moans and whimpers emanated from the sack. Sharae tried to pull her arms free, but the man held them tightly pinned with one of his large burly hands. He seemed to be searching his pockets for something. The elevator door slid closed and the car continued on its way.

“Please,” she cried. “You can take my money. Just let me go. Don't hurt me."

“Shut up, bitch!” His grip grew tighter around her slender wrists. She heard a metallic clink and felt cold steel against her skin.