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brass
headboard, and my arms jerked to a stop. Eyes squeezed shut to
protect them from the burning light, I tugged and heard that
clicking again. There was something tight and cold on my wrists.
"Okay," I said, really irritated now, "who's the bastard that
handcuffed me to the bed?" Normally, I'd have snapped the cuffs
like strands of wet pasta, but daylight had rendered me pretty
close to helpless.
"You're not a morning person, are you?" It took me a minute
to identify that cold, deep voice, but once I had, I wished I
hadn't. If my heart had been beating, it would have stopped.
"Decker?"
"Right on the money, Amanda. Or should I say 'Draculette.'"
Amanda? How had he found out my real name? I never use it
when I'm hunting.
"I recognized you from the picture on the dust jacket of
your book," he explained, reading my puzzlement. He sounded as
if he were enjoying himself. "I really liked Shadowmaster, by
the way. It gave me a lot of ideas..."
Great, just great. That damn book keeps coming back to
haunt me--Beau found me the same way. Suddenly I realized
something. "The bit with the flash. You got th
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