<strong>Susan Cochrane<br/>On a yacht<br/>With Mari and Emily</strong><br/><br/>"She's not the shooter."  Susan believed what she was saying with all her heart.  "Somebody bashed her on the head.  Look I was at the estate, I'm a street doctor."  Oh God, it was her, it was Jaguar Woman.  "I was tending to Cherry, one of the catfighters from that cluster fuck at the pitfights.  Nix is paying me, dammit!" Susan's face had been pale, now she was trying to flush.  Fear and desire were swirling in her mind.  Oh God, all that animal fury aimed right at her... and Oh God, she looked good, damn she looked good.<br/><br/>Which was a hell of a thing to think about somebody on the edge of killing you.<br/><br/>"You heard that cannon, Nix's guy was using a .50 cal rifle of some sort, the shooter would have been blown off the boat if he'd been hit.  I know this woman, she called me for help, I answered.  She's mixed up in this, sure, but look at her head, somebody smacked her a good one.  It was the shooter, it had to be.  It's her boat, sure, he hijacked it and her."  More desperately.  "She's a nice person, much nicer than you and me, no way is she mixed up in this!"<br/><br/>And Jaguar Woman only needed one of them.  Didn't mean that the one who lived would be let go.<br/><br/>Stress can do odd things to the mind, which was probably why she had a flashing vision of the deadly insanely animal hot Brazilian killer pinning her to a bed, the sound of tearing cloth in her ears as her shirt was torn off, struggling futilely as her hands were tied behind her back with her own bra.