Charlisse sipped the rum-laced tea Smithy had brought her and watched Isabel curled up on one of the leather chairs fast asleep. Although it was the middle of the day, the poor girl had sunk into the seat after Kent left and quickly nodded off. Drawing one last gulp of the pungent tea, Charlisse lay back on the pillow, hoping either the rum or her own exhaustion would transport her into unconsciousness. But the torment of her soul forbade any rest. Weak from loss of blood and now ...