Hostage to Love (Entangled Suspense), page 2
She berated herself, since the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “No. I was only going to ask if the others are being fed, too. But since you’ve brought it up…?”
He laughed, the sound deep, husky, and…manly. The latter thought unnerved her further, and it was all she could do not to clutch her head in despair at the sensation that threatened to seize her.
She knew about Stockholm Syndrome, and she felt more than one-hundred-percent sure it wasn’t what was happening here. And yet, she couldn’t deny that Charles Mwana held a fascination for her, like meeting a celebrity—albeit an unhinged one.
“The answer is yes and no, in that order. Here, I’ll prove it.” He picked up his own fork and took a mouthful of food from her plate.
She waited until he swallowed before she picked up her own fork. After a few, hearty mouthfuls, she put her fork down.
“The food is unsatisfactory?” he asked with a raised brow.
“No, it’s not that. I’ve eaten nothing but a few bites of bread for almost a week. If I eat too much too soon, it’ll do more harm than good to my digestive system.”
His head tilted to one side as he regarded her. “A delicate statement for such a strong woman.”
Her fists tightened in her lap. “You know nothing about me and cannot accurately judge whether I’m strong or not.”
“On the contrary, you’ve proven yourself a natural leader in the few weeks you’ve been here. Within a short time, you made certain key changes at the mission. And my men tell me you stopped the others, especially your priest, from misbehaving on the journey here.”
She glanced down at the pictures, desperately fighting back the feelings of vulnerability. “So you didn’t just watch my movements, you’ve been actively spying on me.”
He reached out, almost as if to touch a strand of hair that fell over her arm. At the last moment, he pulled back.
“I prefer the term ‘due diligence.’ Do you know what I discovered about you?” he asked.
Unable to speak, she just shook her head.
“You have an inner core of strength that’s admirable. The other three listen to you, look to you for guidance. They should thank you—it’s probably what has kept them alive.” The note of steel in his voice was back, and his jaw was set in a rigid line that struck fear inside her.
“What are you going to do with us?” she asked.
He fell silent for so long, she thought he wouldn’t answer her. Letting his fork clatter onto his plate, he rose. “Your priest is of no worth to me. He was only taken because your fondness of him meant you would be…cooperative on your journey. Provided he doesn’t cause any trouble, his stay with us will be brief.”
“And…the other two?” she ventured, wanting to believe him but knowing she couldn’t trust anyone with Mwana’s deadly reputation.
He shrugged. “There will be a simple monetary transaction which, should they cooperate, will see them free in a few days.”
She refused to feel any relief, because she knew anything could happen in hostage situations. “What…what about me? Will you set me free, too?”
The gleam in his eyes intensified, until a light burned so bright there, she held her breath. “I’m hoping we can come to an arrangement.”
Ice snaked down her spine. “An arrangement?” she all but whispered.
He nodded, and a swath of hair fell into his eyes. With a casual hand, he brushed it back and walked through the door. “We will discuss it in due course. In the meantime, if you wish, there’s water, a towel, and a change of clothes through there. Feel free to use them.”
And just like that, she was alone. Or alone as she could be, considering she was surrounded by dozens of men armed with assault rifles.
She took a proper look around, and for the first time, she noticed that although there was a living area and an alcove where a large basin filled with water stood, there wasn’t a sleeping area.
Unless, of course, Charles Mwana chose to sleep on the bare, mud-caked floor. She frowned. Somehow, the man who kept a well-stocked library and boasted an above-average intellect didn’t strike her as the kind to do so.
Which meant either this place wasn’t his permanent hideout…or her instincts about what was happening here were severely skewed.
That wouldn’t surprise her, of course. She’d been completely off base about her knowledge of men before.
Bitterness twisted through her as she went into the alcove and picked up the threadbare towel near the basin to wash. Her movements were mechanical as memories encroached, reminding of her other times when she’d let herself be totally and utterly misled.
No.
Those thoughts—that time—had no place here. What she needed to do was focus on keeping herself and the others safe. And on finding a way out of this situation.
Feeling clean and refreshed—albeit in her old, grubby clothes because she couldn’t stand the thought of wearing the clothes Mwana had laid out for her—she left the hut and went in search of Father Tom and the other two.
She found them in the last hut, with soldiers posted outside their door. The relief on the couple’s faces echoed her own, although their trepidation returned soon after.
“Do you know where they are taking us?” Hendrik asked.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
Father Tom, looking a lot less pale than he had a few hours ago, answered. “We heard the soldiers talking—luckily they spoke French so I got the gist of it. They’re moving us to another location at sundown. As soon as the boss returns from wherever he’s gone. He disappeared into the jungle an hour ago.”
So she’d been right. This wasn’t Mwana’s permanent bolt-hole. The new information struck a fresh chord of fear in her heart.
She was still praying she was wrong, that they wouldn’t be moved, when Charles Mwana returned and summoned them. He clutched a satellite phone and used it several times before they left the small camp. During his last call, his eyes strayed to her enough times to make alarm skate over her.
That he possessed such advanced technology didn’t surprise her. But had the leader discovered who she really was? The rebels had her passport, along with everyone else’s, but although she’d never gotten round to changing her name, it would only take a couple of calls to learn her true identity.
If he found out who she was, her ransom value would increase a thousand-fold. Provided he intended to keep her for her ransom.
Mwana led the group through dense underbrush for over an hour. Sharp leaves and thorny branches whipped at her face and tore at her clothes, while terrifying questions ricocheted through her mind.
She jerked to a stop as the thick foliage ended abruptly, and a steep cliff rose before them. Terror froze her blood, until his sharp bark jolted her into movement.
Try as she might not to imagine why he’d brought her here, she couldn’t prevent horrific scenarios from invading her thoughts.
She jumped again when he rapped the butt of his gun against the cliff face. But the sound was hollow, and on closer examination, she realized a large block of wood, colored to blend in with the rock, had been wedged into a hole, with the natural camouflage of foliage cleverly maneuvered to hide the opening.
There was an exchange of words as Captain Mwana spoke to whomever was behind the wall. Then the heavy wood was lifted away.
She could see nothing but a dark cavern as the soldier stood back to let them enter. Renewed dread paralyzed her legs.
“Enter, please,” Mwana said from beside her. The sound propelled her forward, the fear of being struck momentarily swamping the fear of whatever lay ahead of her.
Muttering a silent prayer, she took one step. And another. Until she was just inside the cave door.
As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she looked around. The cavern was a camp of sorts. Thin blankets were strewn about on the ground, and on a small camp stove, a pot of what smelled like the locally grown tea was brewing. Here and there, rust-coated kerosene lanterns burned but provided little illumination. She saw the rebels she’d noticed leaving earlier moving around within.
Relief eased down her spine. So she wasn’t about to be shot and left in the cave to rot. A hand at the small of her back shoved her toward the far end of cave. Here blankets had been laid side-by-side, but set apart from the area where the rebels were camped.
Her heart plummeted.
Far from being rescued or set free, as Father Tom had wistfully foreseen, it seemed they were bedding down for the long haul. Because surely if the rebels had gone to the trouble of providing shelter for them, then they didn’t plan on setting them free anytime soon.
She stared at the bedding…counted the places…
And rounded on Mwana. “Why are there only three beds?” It wasn’t a simple matter of insufficient bedding, because a stack of blankets stood next to the opposite cave wall.
“Because you, Miss Jones, will sleep elsewhere. Somewhere more comfortable.”
A dark premonition iced up her veins. “Where?”
For a moment he didn’t answer, and in the dim light of the cave, his eyes traveled from the top of her head and past her shoulders to her breasts, where he paused for a moment before moving down to her grimy, ripped, almost blackened linen trousers, to her severely tattered sandals and back up again.
With his lazy scrutiny, she knew exactly why there were only three beds on this side of the cave. His next words confirmed it.
“You sleep over there.” With his gun, he indicated a smaller cavern lit by a dim lamp and concealed by a soiled, torn, makeshift curtain, which she hadn’t noticed before. “With me.”
Chapter Two
Five days! She’d been missing for a total of five days!
Nick Andreakos recalled every second of the conversation with his head of security and the interminable phone calls that had followed, even now, forty-eight hours later. The longest forty-eight hours of his life, during which every subsequent report received from Jameson, his head of security, had brought worse news.
He raked a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense as he braced himself against the reinforced steel door of the cargo plane he’d hitched a ride on to keep from being thrown by the turbulence.
He looked around at the other occupants of the plane—seven men in all. Highly trained, highly expensive mercenaries. Men he wouldn’t normally interact with in his role as CEO of Andreakos Shipping, a conglomerate that spanned the globe and held a market position that made financial analysts drool.
These men wouldn’t hesitate to cut a man in half. They were the best of the best and exactly what he wanted. He would gladly pay ten, hell, twenty, times their going rate, if they guaranteed him success on this mission.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes to fight off the tension headache pounding his temples.
“I know you think you’re superhuman, but going without sleep before a mission like this is just asking for trouble.”
Nick didn’t open his eyes. He knew Alexandros, the cousin who was more like a brother to him, would be glaring at him with the same pained expression he’d used on Nick since they were kids.
“Yes, and I’m guessing all the sleep you got is the reason why you’re looking fresh-faced and perky right now?” he snarked.
Fact was, neither of them had slept in two days, not since Nick had made his phone call and Alex had canceled his plans and hopped on his jet from Athens to London.
Nick glanced over at Alex. Like him, Alex had Greek-American parentage, and they’d both served in the U.S. Marine Corps. For as long as he could remember, Alex had been there for him. Not that he wasn’t a pain in the ass when he chose to be. Like now…
“You forget I’m not vested in this gig. I’m merely coming along for the exercise. Sitting behind a desk day in and day out plays havoc with my six-pack,” Alex said.
Despite his lazy ribbing, Alex’s foot tapped impatiently on the bare metal floor. In fact, the only time either of them had sat down for longer than five minutes on this mission had been on the flight from London to Morocco, where they’d rendezvoused with the hired men. Sitting down made Nick feel like he was wasting precious time.
So he stood.
And he paced.
And he cursed Belle Winkworth-Jones Andreakos.
What on earth had possessed her to fling herself into the middle of a war zone thousands of miles from home? Granted, the unrest in Nawaka had only been minor when she’d first arrived there six weeks ago. But she could easily have returned home once the conflict escalated. Why the hell hadn’t she?
“Oh, and stop with all that pacing before you wear a hole in the plane. You’ll get your chance to interrogate her about all the things she’s done wrong when we bring her home,” Alex offered.
“I’m beginning to regret calling you. All you’ve done since you got to London is attempt to piss me off. Guess what? You’re succeeding.” The fact that Alex had guessed the reason for his angst rubbed him the wrong way.
Alex stood, too, his restless energy echoing Nick’s. “What did Wallace say when you called him?”
During the telephone conversation two days ago, his former commanding officer had brought him up to speed on clashes in the country neighboring where Belle had gone missing.
“Apparently, the skirmishes spilled into Nawaka only in the past three weeks.” Not surprisingly, Nawaka’s rich mineral deposits had finally proved too much temptation for the greedy few who wanted to exploit the country’s resources, and with the continued war and raging famine in that region, the porous borders had been very easy for the rebels to breach. “But the guy we’re dealing with, Mwana, has been in control of the area for the last five years. In the past year, he’s made inroads toward securing more and more of the country. Word is he also has a solid following.”
Alex cursed. “Theos, I hate that word—following. It’s a short step down from the word cult. And it almost always means you’re bound to do a crazy dance with one or two followers who’re bordering on fanaticism. Wallace say anything else?”
Nick shook his head. “His area of expertise is now Southeast Asia. He told me if Belle had gotten herself captured in Manila, he’d have been our man.”
Alex smirked and shook his head.
Still friends with General Timothy Wallace ten years after retiring his U.S. Marine uniform, Nick had thought of no one better to turn to, and the older man had come through for him. Within six hours, he’d assembled the men now aboard the plane and found a spare seat on a military jet to transport Nick to the American airbase in Morocco.
Frustration had gnawed at him when he’d been forced to hang around while the mercenaries strategized, counter-strategized, and waited for intelligence to come in from Nawaka. Knowing they were right had not made the wait any easier. And knowing he had to rely on others because his own military skills were hopelessly rusty after ten years’ disuse angered him even more.
He scanned the plane again, thinking how different this was from the way he normally traveled. The Andreakos private jets he and Alex owned, with their state-of-the-art systems and luxurious interiors, were a far cry from this shelled-out cargo plane with jump seats and guardrails lined up on the sides. But since they needed to call as little attention to themselves as possible, he had to settle for this mode of transport.
Wrenching himself from his thoughts, he glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time and willed the lazy hand sweeping its face to move faster. With a start, he noted the date—Friday the thirteenth.
No, he didn’t believe in stupid clichés and silly superstitions.
Still, he could do nothing to stop the chill creeping down his spine. He tore his gaze away and focused on John Allen, the leader of the group, as he approached.
“We’ll be landing in thirty minutes, sir. Transportation is already in place.” Allen was built like a Sherman tank, with bulging muscles testifying to an addiction to weightlifting.
“Fine. Have you gone over the details again with your men?”
“No need, Mr. Andreakos. They know what they’re doing.”
“Good.” Nick raised an eyebrow as the ex-special forces soldier hesitated. “Is there anything else?” Allen had expressed reservations about Nick’s presence on the plane, and he still sensed the other man’s diffidence.
When Allen shook his head, Nick turned away from him and shrugged on the Kevlar jacket he’d left on his seat. Strapping on the belt containing his handgun, he checked the GPS device in his breast pocket.
“For chrissakes, man, sit down. Before I make you,” Alex bit out. “We’ll find her. We’ll bring her home. And you can take delight in tearing strips off her. Or doing whatever it is that you two do when you’re pissed off with each other.”
Gritting his teeth, Nick sat down. After he secured his seat belt, he tilted his head back and rested it against the hard metal. Closing his eyes, he felt the fear he’d been holding back engulf him, his imagination throwing up scenarios that chilled him to the bone. What if he was too late? What if she was—
No. With steel will inherited from his Greek forebears, he cast the images aside and replaced them with positive thoughts.
What would his wife say when she saw him again for the first time in six months?
…
“No. I will not sleep with you.” Belle shook her head for emphasis. “You’ll put me in here with the rest.” She hoped her assertive tone would convey her determination not to succumb to Mwana’s despicable demand.
She watched his vivid scar dance in the dim light of the cave as a smile lifted his mouth.
“I’m not sure you understand. I don’t wish you harm. I only wish to keep you safe, Mrs. Andreakos.”
Cold dread invaded Belle’s bones. He’d found out who she really was.
“Yes, I know your real identity,” he confirmed, his voice markedly chillier than it had been this afternoon. “Which makes you all the more…interesting.”
“I assure you, it doesn’t.”
