Free Captive Secrets by Fern Michaels Page A

pore in his body, the jeweler squealed like a pig going to market. “What . . . wha . . . oh!”
    â€œShhh, I am about to remedy . . . your problem, Mynheer.”
    Amalie’s touch was light, almost playful as she caressed, tickled, and prodded, her strong, muscular thighs contracting against the jeweler’s flabby limbs. Her face, however, was impassive as she recalled other times when she had been used and abused by some of the white plantation owners. Because she was tall and long-limbed, those men had thought her impervious to pain and had not been gentle. She’d promised herself that someday she would be as cold and brutal with fat Dutchmen and foppish Spaniards.
    Barely audible moans and squeals of delight from the man beneath her brought her back to the job at hand. Her fingers stiffened as they moved downward to the patch of fair hair, and then lower still. With a lithe movement she slid between the man’s spread legs, her knees closing and then widening against his manhood. When he yelped with pleasure, she intensified the pressure.
    Long, velvety hair fell over her face, a veil to hide from the jeweler the contempt she bore him. She crooned soft words, words pleasing and sensual to the prone man beneath her.
    â€œYou’re hurting me!” the jeweler gasped.
    â€œBut it feels good, doesn’t it?” Amalie cooed as she pressed her knees against his throbbing testicles. When she released the pressure, the man sighed, and Amalie almost laughed. She waited a moment and then brought her knees together with such force, the jeweler’s head jerked backward in pain. The palm of her hand shot forward and upward against his chin in a single, savage thrust. His eyes widened in disbelief, then glazed over as his life drained quickly out of him.
    When Amalie had slid the chemise over her shoulders, she returned to the man lying on the floor. Working quickly, she pulled up his underdrawers and trousers, then dragged his body over to the chair he’d been sitting in. She continued to struggle with the man’s enormous weight until she had him propped in the chair. Next, she scattered all his books and papers about the floor. Finally she came to his cash box. Without a qualm, she emptied it of all but a few gold coins, then jammed the lid so that it looked as though someone had tampered with it. She savored the feel of the pouch in her hand. Weight meant money, power, and leverage.
    Without a backward glance at the jeweler, she let herself out the rear door of the shop into a deserted alley full of refuse and empty barrels. No eyes looked on her as she walked through the alley, her head high, her back ramrod stiff. She started to sing under her breath, a silly little tune the old priest had taught the children. She felt victorious. She had all but a few guilders of the jeweler’s money, and she still had the diamonds.
    Her next stop was the justice’s office, where she stood waiting in respectful silence until he raised his head from the papers on his desk.
    â€œI can see why you would be impatient after all these years,” Muab said, nodding. “I affixed my seal to this proclamation earlier today, thinking you would soon come into town. As of now all of your . . . father’s property and possessions, those that remain, are yours.” He handed over a packet of papers and wasn’t surprised to see the beautiful girl’s hands tremble as she accepted it.
    â€œThank you, sir, for your time and trouble,” she said quietly.
    â€œHrumph, yes, yes. You are now Amalie Alvarez. I’ve sent a letter off to the . . . to your father’s superiors, informing them of this action. It is entirely possible they will respond, but unlikely. Give my regards to Father Renaldo,” the justice said, dismissing her.
    â€œI will tell him you send your regards.”
    The justice watched the tall girl walk through the door, wondering what she would do now. His