A still groggy Bella opens her dark eyes feeling rough hands fondling her lace covered breasts.  Trying to speak she coughs a little around the gag as her eyes flutter open trying to focus on her surroundings.  The movement of the van causing her to sway a little, her breasts pressing firmly into his groping hands.<br/><br/>Backing as far away as the confines of the van will allow, Bella's eyes fly open in alarm hearing his words.<br/><br/><em>"Do you know how long, Miss Di Silvestri, we've known about your poking around on our operation? Days? Weeks? Suffice to say we've known for a while, and you are now in big trouble..."  </em><br/><br/>Her ineffective struggles against the rope bonds at her wrists causes only a mild skin irritation, rubbing the skin raw underneath.  She shakes her head quickly with wide, panicked eyes as she looks around evaluating her situation.  The darkened van, the 'photographer' in front of her, gag, all of it spelled out trouble.  Great big huge piles of trouble.  Her trip to the middle east three months ago paled in comparison.<br/><br/>Swallowing hard to try to contain her panic, she works to control her breathing using that quack, supposed zen master's technique she learned during an investigation last year.  The guy may have been a fraud but that breathing trick sure did work.  Her breasts no longer heaved as she struggled to breath, settling back she takes stock of her current situation, visually memorizing every detail, listening to every sound, every clue to her location.  It may come in handy later.<br/><br/>Speaking slowly and quietly, as if to a particularly naughty child.  "Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me."