Finally she heard him enter, closing the door more loudly than he usually did, as if to emphasize his lack of remorse. He’d wanted to retain the assassin’s services more than he’d wanted to keep her, and-

The bitter thought stuttered to a halt, and for a moment she felt her brain almost freeze in a sudden burst of comprehension. He’d wanted to retain the assassin’s services… There was someone else he wanted dead, wanted it desperately enough that he’d swallowed his pride and given-loaned-his mistress to another man. Maybe that meant he valued her more than his actions said; maybe this gave her an advantage.

Her brain felt as if it were gummed with molasses; before she had time to work through her thoughts, Rafael stepped through the open sliding doors onto the balcony, halting when he saw her. “Why are you out here?”

His tone was so casual that the thick, sulfurous rage surged again inside her, and she had to clench her fists on the folds of her robe to keep from launching herself at him and tearing at his eyes with her nails. She gulped in huge breaths of air, fighting for control, fighting to think. She had to do something, say something.

She lifted her head and he flinched, his eyes widening with shock. Drea was acutely aware of how she looked, with her swollen eyes and ravaged face. She’d never before let Rafael see her looking anything less than perfect, but this time she didn’t care how she looked.

In another sudden burst of clarity, this one even more stunning than the first, she suddenly knew exactly what she was going to do, what she had to say. The enormity of the plan was so stunning that if she let herself hesitate she might chicken out. Rafael had to pay, and she knew exactly how she would make him do it.