Читать книгу A Royal Mission - Elizabeth August - Страница 11

Using only the full moon to light his way, Lance Grayson moved stealthily through the woods. His destination was the one-room cabin ahead. Its porch roof sagged in one corner and its windows were boarded up. Weeds, underbrush and small trees were reclaiming the clearing in which it sat. Pausing, he used night-vision binoculars to survey the scene in front of him. The place looked totally abandoned. Silently, he cursed. Time was running short for finding Victoria Rockford, and it looked as if this lead was a dud. Even worse, it was his only lead.

He adjusted the binoculars to survey the woods surrounding the cabin. Four of his best men were forming a perimeter circle. In a lowered voice, he spoke into the headset he was wearing, calling each man by name.

Each responded with, “In position, sir.”

So we all get some practice doing night reconnaissance, he told himself, trying to look on the bright side. It didn’t help. The photo he had of Victoria Rockford haunted him. She looked so alive, so vital, her face a strikingly beautiful version of the Thorton features. That she could die because he did not find her soon enough, tore at his very soul. It bothered him that this assignment seemed more personal, more urgent. He was normally much cooler, much more detached.

Aloud he said, “Hold your positions. Looks like a wild-goose chase, but I’m going to see it through as if our quarry is here.”

Making his way to a side window of the cabin, he looked through one of the spaces between the boards. With only slender rays of moonlight illuminating the interior, he could see very little. He was lifting the night-vision binoculars to his eyes when he heard it…a soft moan. Peering through the binoculars, he allowed triumph to flow through him. On a bed in a far corner lay a woman, handcuffed to the brass headrail, her feet bound with rope to the footrail.

“Looks like this might not have been a wild-goose chase after all,” he told the others. “The princess appears to be alone. I’m going in.”

Victoria Rockford fought the drugs she’d been given to sedate her and tried to focus her thoughts. Her struggle proved futile. Her mind remained foggy and the temptation to give in to sleep grew stronger. Her movements slow and weak, she closed her hands around the brass poles of the headboard and gave a jerk on the rope that bound her feet to the brass footrail of the bed. She’d done this a hundred times before. Each time she’d hoped that the bed would finally give way, crumble to pieces and allow her to escape. It hadn’t. She wanted to scream in frustration, but the gag in her mouth prevented that. Mentally, she cursed “The Whisperer,” the name she’d dubbed her kidnapper, and vowed vengeance should she ever get free. When she got free, she corrected herself, refusing to consider the alternative.

Hearing a footfall on the porch, she froze. An adrenaline rush brought some clarity to her sluggish mind. Her captor came twice a day to feed her and to allow her to use the facilities. Blindfolded so that she could not tell if it was day or night, her sense of time had been severely affected. Still, she was certain it was too soon for him to be returning. Normally, by the time he came, the drugs had worn off enough that she had more coordination. Had the time come to find out why she’d been kidnapped? Fear threatened to overwhelm her. Her jaw clenched. She would not go down without a fight.

The door squeaked, signaling that it was being opened. She lay perfectly still, gathering her energy for one final battle. The footfalls approaching her were softer, more cautious than usual. Had her captor sent someone new? Maybe this person would not be so careful.

A beam of light shone on her face.

“Miss Rockford, I’m Captain Lance Grayson,” a man said, switching the light off before working her blindfold loose. “I’m here to help you.”

Victoria blinked several times before she was able to focus. Even then, with only the moonlight, she could make out very little about the man in the cabin. He was dressed all in black and wearing the sort of high-tech gear she’d seen on SWAT teams in cop movies. She wanted to believe he was here to rescue her, but she wasn’t ready to trust anyone. Her being kidnapped didn’t make any sense. What did the kidnapper have to gain? Her father, Malcolm, wouldn’t pay a penny to see her safe. Of that she was certain. Until she knew what was going on, she would remain on her guard.

The man finished removing the gag, then tossed it aside. Next he produced a small kit of lock-picking tools and unfastened the handcuffs. While he worked, he checked in with his men. Assured the perimeter was secure and that no one was approaching, he ordered his jeep brought to the front of the cabin.

Victoria wondered if she were having a drug-induced dream, or maybe even an hallucination. It seemed as if she had been in the cabin forever. Maybe her mind had snapped.

Having freed her hands, the man took out a knife and cut the bonds holding her feet. “Can you sit up?” he asked, easing her into an upright position.

Her head swam and nausea threatened. This was no dream. A nightmare, maybe. But no dream. “I don’t feel so good,” she murmured, her hands fastening around his upper arm for support. The muscles beneath her palms were granite hard. Even in her drugged state a curl of feminine excitement wove through her. In the next instant, it was replaced by a rush of fear. If he should turn that strength against her, she would have little chance of surviving. As she cursed her continued weakness and inability to coordinate her movements properly, her head lolled forward and came to rest on the arm she was clutching.

“You’re going to be fine,” the man assured her. Then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her outside to the waiting vehicle.

His strength stunned her while the heat of his body flowed through her, combating the chill in the night air. No longer did she doubt his existence. Her imagination was good, but not that good.

Fighting a fresh wave of grogginess, she peered hard at his face when he settled her on the passenger side and fastened her seat belt. His features were angular and set in a grim expression with no hint of even the barest softness. He was what she would expect her kidnapper to look like, not her rescuer.

Fear rippled through her. Like the good-cop, bad-cop ploy she’d seen used on television police dramas, maybe her kidnappers were playing a game with her. Maybe, for some reason, they needed her cooperation now and thought this was the way to get it.

“I noticed her suitcases are inside. Get them and toss them in the back of my jeep,” the man ordered a subordinate who had driven the jeep to the front of the cabin.

Victoria looked to see who her rescuer was talking to. His companion, too, was dressed all in black. In her dazed state he appeared a shadow image, the kind that drifted in and out of nightmares, scaring the dreamer. A shiver shook her.

She heard her proclaimed rescuer again talking to others through the headset he wore. Looking toward the woods, she saw no one else. Were there other shadowy helpers, or was that part of the game? she wondered. It was hard to think. Sitting back in her seat, she closed her eyes and tried to will her mind to clear and her body to regain its coordination. The endeavor proved too exhausting and darkness encompassed her.

Hoping that at least one of the kidnappers would show up to be captured, Lance issued orders for his men to remain and keep watch over the cabin. “And now to get you to a safe location,” he said to Victoria, climbing into the driver’s seat. Receiving no response, he looked to his companion. She was slumped forward.

Concern swept through him. He felt her pulse. It was beating slowly but regularly. He checked her breathing. It, too, was regular. “Miss Rockford.” He spoke her name tersely.

Her eyelids appeared too heavy to open. “Water,” she requested, her voice hoarse.

Lance grabbed a flask and held it to her lips.

Never opening her eyes, she drank her fill, then slumped against the seat.

Satisfied she was merely in a drugged sleep, Lance drove away from the cabin. Still, he could not stop himself from continually glancing at her. The worry that there could be more wrong with her than merely the effects of drugs taunted him. He frowned. Emotions dulled a person’s instincts, made them unreliable. He didn’t like that. He was a man used to being in total control; a man who had trained himself not to allow anything to distract him from his purpose.

The road was uneven and he hit a pothole, jarring the vehicle. Victoria surfaced with a groan. “My head,” she moaned. In the next instant she was asleep again.

“That does it,” he growled, unable to fight what felt very close to panic for her well-being. Pulling over to the side of the road, he again checked her pulse and breathing. Lifting her eyelid, he flashed a light in her eyes. The pupils were even and reactive. From the emergency medical training courses he’d taken, he knew all signs pointed to simple drug-induced sedation. Still, this time, with this patient, he would be more thorough.

Victoria once again became semiconscious, her demeanor fearful. “What’s going on?”

“I was just checking to see if you were all right.”

Victoria clamped her mouth shut.

The thought that she had incredibly kissable lips flashed into Lance’s mind. Thoughts like that are totally unprofessional, he admonished himself sternly and turned his attention back to the business at hand. “Were you hit on the head? Did you sustain any other blows?”

She seemed to concentrate. “I don’t think so,” she said at last.

Lance studied her face for bruising, then gently ran his fingers through her hair to feel for any lumps on her head. As the long dark tresses wove through his fingers, they produced a seductive effect that threatened to vanquish his mission from his mind. Quickly satisfying himself that she had no lumps or bruises, he broke the contact.

The gentle massage of his fingers had a soothing effect, and Victoria found herself wanting to purr. When he stopped, she felt deprived. He could be making certain you’re in good enough shape for whatever evil he still has in store for you, she cautioned herself, angry that she’d allowed the delicious feel of his touch to weaken her guard. For all she knew, he could be The Whisperer. This last thought sent a chill through her.

He opened a water flask and held it to her lips. “Drink,” he ordered.

This time prudence won out over thirst. “No.”

“You need the water to wash the drugs out of your system,” he coaxed.

Her thirst was growing stronger. She’d drunk before and the water had been drug-free, she reminded herself. Still, she refused to trust the man beside her. “You drink first.”

He smiled, a pleased expression in his eyes, giving the impression that he approved of her behavior. Raising the flask to his lips, he took a swallow.

Deciding the water was safe, she allowed herself to drink. As they pulled back onto the road, her mind seemed to clear a bit and the hope that the drugs were wearing off flowed through her. Testing her body, she tried shifting in her seat. The attempt required a huge expenditure of energy and produced few results. I just need a little nap, she told herself, closing her eyes.

It was daybreak when Lance arrived at his cottage on the northwestern shore of the island nation of Thortonburg. No one knew he owned this place. It was a part of his life he’d kept entirely private. Lifting Victoria out of the jeep, he carried her inside and found himself thinking that she felt very good in his arms. Immediately, he scowled at himself. That was not a thought he should be having about this woman.

“Bathroom,” Victoria murmured against his shoulder.

Carrying her into the facility, Lance stood her on her feet.

She was wobbly and obviously nauseous, but she was determined to take care of her needs in private. “I can do this by myself,” she said tersely.

Lance wasn’t convinced, but he backed out into the hall. “I will leave the door open. If you think you may fall, yell.”

He heard her sluggish movements, then the sound of splashing water.

“Are you finished?” Lance asked, worried she would fall and seriously injure herself.

“Yes,” she replied.

Entering the bathroom, Lance found her holding on to the sink as if to keep from crumpling into a heap on the floor. He scooped her into his arms and strode to the bedroom where he gently laid her on the bed. He removed her shoes, then tossed a light cover over her. Finally he went outside to retrieve her suitcases from the jeep and brought them to the bedroom.

Standing beside the bed watching her sleep, he noted that her color was returning and that her breathing was deeper. With luck the drugs would soon be out of her system.

He showered quickly, then dressed in slacks and a pullover shirt. After checking to see if his guest had awakened and noting that she hadn’t, he made himself some breakfast. But instead of eating in the kitchen, he carried his food into the bedroom. There, he sat in a chair watching Victoria Rockford as he ate. Fury toward the men who had done this to her grew more and more intense. He vowed he would not rest until Malcolm Rockford and his accomplice were captured. And Lance and the Thortons were more than convinced Malcolm was the self-proclaimed “Justicier.”

Again, the thought that he was taking this case much too personally taunted him. “It’s my duty to find those men,” he countered tersely under his breath, needing to speak the words aloud to assure himself they were the truthful reason behind his feelings. Victoria Rockford could never be anything other than someone he was duty-bound to protect.

Victoria turned onto her back and stretched. A smile played at her mouth. She’d been dreaming that she’d been rescued. A ruggedly handsome face, cold and unsmiling, filled her mind. Her smile vanished. Rescued, or merely changed prisons? She frowned. Silly girl. It was just a dream. She stretched again. Her breath locked in her lungs. She was able to move freely. Opening her eyes, she raised her hands upward and looked at them. Her bonds were gone.

More alert now, she realized she was lying on a much softer, much more clean-smelling bed. She opened and closed her eyes a couple more times to bring them into clearer focus. Sunlight streamed through an open window and the room smelled of sea breezes. Was she still dreaming?

Her gaze traveled around the room. The decor was masculine and a little stark, but she liked it. Turning her head as far to the right as she could, her whole body suddenly became rigid. Seated in a chair near the bed was the man she had been dreaming about. He was no longer dressed all in black or equipped with the high-tech equipment, but the face…the stern, cold-featured face…was the same. And he was armed. He wore a leather shoulder holster that housed a very dangerous-looking weapon. She thought she saw a momentary flash of relief in his eyes as he rose and approached the bed, but her guard remained strongly in place.

“Would you like some water?” he asked.

She recalled that he’d given her water before and it had been safe to drink. Attempting to ease herself into a sitting position, she was assailed by a wave of dizziness. She squeezed her eyes shut to fight the sensation.

“Are you all right?” the man asked with cool composure.

“Dizzy,” was all she could manage to reply.

“That’s a natural reaction after having been drugged.” Seating himself on the side of the bed, he slipped his arm behind her shoulders and eased her up so that she could swallow. “Drink. The fluid will help.”

Victoria obeyed. As the bout of dizziness subsided, she became acutely aware of the strength of the arm holding her. Although a great deal of the past days remained a blur, that part…the sturdiness of her rescuer…she remembered vividly. The thought that if he was on her side she would never have to be afraid again filled her mind.

He waited until she’d drunk as much as she wanted, then laying her down gently, he asked, “How do you feel now?”

“Like my body is a two-ton weight,” she replied honestly, the struggle to shift herself continuing to require tremendous effort.

“That, too, is natural. I’ll bring you some soup.”

She noted that he spoke to her in an efficient, factual manner, politely but with no emotion. Friend or foe? She could not be sure. Whichever he was, he wasn’t worried about her escaping, she noted. He left her free of bonds when he exited the room.

Long ago she’d vowed that she would not passively accept whatever fate life dealt her. Determined to regain her strength and coordination so that if she must fight for her freedom she would at least have a chance, she forced herself into a sitting position, her legs dangling off the side of the bed. The movement helped. Her body felt a little less leaden.

Still, her neck remained so weak, her head drooped downward until her chin rested on her chest. Drawing in a deep breath, she grimaced at the whiff of body odor. She needed a bath. Even more importantly, nature was again calling. Easing herself off the bed, she stood beside it. Her legs felt rubbery. When she tried to walk, she tottered and was forced to grab hold of one of the rear posters for support. “Rats!” she cursed in frustration. “And mice! And snakes!”

Lance was pouring the soup into a pan when he heard her. He raced back to the bedroom, fear for her jolting him as he entered. She was pale as a sheet and looked as if she was going to fall any second. “You’re not strong enough to walk around on your own yet,” he barked, reaching her in long strides.

“That part I figured out,” she returned curtly.

“You need to lie back down.” He tried to loosen her grasp on the bedpost so that he could get her back on the bed.

Victoria refused to budge. “What I need is to use the facilities.”

“You have spunk. Most people in your condition, both men and women, would still be lying flat on the bed and yelling for help.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “All right. Let go of the post and I’ll take you there.”

Acutely aware of his arm across her back and his hand holding her at the waist, she released her hold. His touch had a curiously invigorating effect as if she was gathering strength from him. When he placed his other hand in front of her, offering it for further support, she took hold and began to move forward, out of the room. For someone so strong, he was incredibly gentle. And she thought she’d seen real concern in his eyes when he’d come bursting into the room.

Straightening a little to maintain her balance, she glimpsed his gun and a chill of fear curled through her. Don’t be too quick to trust him, her inner voice cautioned. He could simply be under orders to see that you’re not injured for the time being.

“You said something about mice and snakes? Did you see any?”

Realizing he was worried that she was hallucinating, Victoria smiled dryly. “No. My parents never allowed my sister and I to use profanity, so when we would feel the need to curse we would name things we found disgusting.”

They had reached the bathroom, and Victoria released her hold on him and took hold of the door-jamb. “I can take care of myself from here.”

He regarded her doubtfully.

She glared up at him. “I insist.”

Carefully, he freed her.

Using the wall for balance, Victoria entered the bathroom and closed the door, but instead of reveling in her privacy, she found herself missing her host’s support. With her forehead pressed against the wall for stability, she unfastened her pants, pushed them and her panties down, then sat. The drugs were definitely wearing off. Her movements, although still sluggish, were more coordinated.

With her elbows on her knees, she rested her head in her hands. Memories of her incarceration in the cabin flooded over her. Being escorted by her current host had been a great deal different than being escorted by The Whisperer. The Whisperer’s touch had left her feeling groped and unclean.

Her gaze turned to the tub. The need to wash off The Whisperer’s touch overwhelmed her.

“Are you all right?” the man asked through the door.

“I’m fine. I’m going to bathe.”

“I don’t think you’re steady enough yet.”

“I’m going to bathe,” she returned, her voice holding no compromise.

His silence gave away his reticence, but finally he said, “If you feel faint, yell.”

Victoria remained sitting while she stripped. Once finished, she stared at the pile of discarded clothing. “I think I’ll burn them.” She was certain she recalled seeing her suitcases in the bedroom. If that had been merely wishful thinking, she would borrow something from her host, but she was never going to slip one toe into the clothes on the bathroom floor ever again.

Climbing into the tub, she drew the shower curtain and turned on the water. As the hot water cascaded over her, she was certain nothing had ever felt this good. Her legs were still weak and when she bent over to pick up the bottle of shampoo on the side of the tub, dizziness threatened to send her reeling. Sitting down under the flow of the water, she waited until the sensation had subsided, then lathered her hair.

Luxury. Absolute luxury. She issued a sigh of pure pleasure as she rinsed the suds out of her hair, then soaped her body.

Standing by the door, fresh towel in hand, listening for any sign of trouble from inside, Lance frowned more darkly at himself. If she required help, he needed to be there in an instant. Time to bite the bullet.

Opening the door, he entered the room. The shower curtain prevented him from seeing her, but the remembered feel of her in his arms gave his imagination fodder and he found himself visualizing her nude body, wet and sudsy. Fire ignited within him. Erase that thought! he ordered himself.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

Startled by his voice, she scooted to the back of the tub and peered around the curtain. “What are you doing in here?”

Lance had never seen a woman look more desirable. It took a great deal of effort, but outwardly he maintained a cool, indifferent facade. “I figured that if you fainted, I wouldn’t be much help in the hall,” he said with staid formality, while inwardly he fought a bout of lust more powerful than any he’d ever experienced.

She let the shower curtain fall between them again, seemed to take a moment to rinse thoroughly, then reached her arm around the curtain. “May I have a towel?”

Lance placed the towel in her hand. In his mind’s eye he visualized her first drying her hair, then rubbing down her body. His imagination was definitely working overtime. Anger that he was having so much trouble keeping his mind on the business at hand raged through him. This was not like him at all. Even in situations where he could not control all of the elements, he was always in total control of himself. Victoria Rockford was having a very disquieting effect on him.

“I’m certain I can make it back to the bedroom on my own,” she said through the curtain.

Lance would have liked nothing better than to obey the dismissal in her voice. But he couldn’t. “I’ll just stick around and make sure you don’t need a helping hand.”

The towel securely in place, Victoria pulled back the curtain.

Lance felt numb. She was even sexier than he’d imagined. Duty, man. Remember your duty, he ordered himself. Stepping back, he gave her room to step out of the tub. When she teetered slightly, he caught her by the elbow. The contact sent a charged current of heat racing through him.

Acutely aware of his touch, Victoria was startled to realize that she had no desire to pull away. Instead, she liked the feel of his hand…it made her feel secure, safe. He’s allowed you to see him. If he’s one of the bad guys, he’s probably planning to kill you eventually! she reminded herself and the safe feeling vanished.

When he released her quickly after they’d reached the hall, Victoria recognized that he’d held on to her for only as long as was absolutely necessary for her to regain her balance. Glancing toward him covertly, she saw his shuttered expression and her fear increased. On one hand, he was taking very good care of her. But on the other, his cold, impersonal behavior indicated that he did not consider her someone he wanted to befriend.

Able to make it back to the bedroom on her own, she entered and closed the door. Curiously, she missed her stoic companion’s presence. You really are muddled, she mocked herself. She didn’t even know if he was friend or foe. And right now, her money was on foe.