Читать книгу Eye of the Beholder - Ingrid Weaver - Страница 10

The guards must be blind, Glenna thought as she limped along the shadowed corridor. How else could they call Rafe ugly? Yes, his scars were unpleasant to look at. The network of white-streaked, ravaged skin was evidence of horrible suffering. Puckered gullies sliced his right cheek and gave the corner of his mouth a sardonic twist. In addition, his nose was large and bent in the middle, as if it had been broken at some point in the past.

But couldn’t the guards see the intelligence in his eyes? How could they miss the strength in the angle of his jaw and the pride in the tilt of his head? Didn’t they notice how he ignored the pain his leg must be giving him in order to lend her support as she walked?

She had known men who were as pretty as purebred puppies but who had ugliness in their smiles. What appeared on the surface didn’t matter if what lay underneath was rotten. And she couldn’t believe Rafe was rotten inside. His deeds were constantly proving otherwise.

The corridor branched into three. The guard who had been leading the way in front of them turned to his right. One of the two who were behind them prodded Rafe in the back with his rifle. Rafe stumbled briefly, his nostrils flaring. Whether it was to control his pain or his temper, Glenna couldn’t tell. He tightened his arm around her waist to pull her more firmly to his side, somehow managing to take even more of her weight off her sprained ankle.

She gave him a small smile of gratitude, but he didn’t acknowledge it. His gaze was flicking all around them, as if cataloguing every possible detail of their surroundings.

Glenna decided to follow suit. She realized the floor was now sloping upward. The scent of damp cement that had permeated the room where they had been held wasn’t as sharp here. They must have been in a basement and were now being taken to the ground floor of the house.

It wasn’t any ordinary house, though. She’d known when their captors had brought them in from the truck that this house was large. She hadn’t realized how large until now.

What had Rafe called the hijackers? Garden variety drug smugglers with delusions of grandeur? The drug business must be booming, if they could afford a place like this.

They reached a thick wooden door. One of the guards turned a key in the lock and they were ushered through. Glenna blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the light from a huge crystal chandelier that blazed overhead. They had emerged in the corner of a large foyer. A majestic staircase curved along the far wall, opulent bouquets of tropical flowers rested on delicate antique tables, and all of it was reflected in a marble floor the color of a forest. She had no more than a glimpse of a set of intricate wrought iron entrance doors before the guards pushed them through another door into a dark paneled office.

A slim, dark man in a white suit sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He looked up as they came in. “Ah, my visitors have arrived,” he said into the phone he held. An accent tinted his words with a soft lilt. “We shall continue our negotiations, yes?”

The door slammed behind them. Glenna glanced over her shoulder and stared straight into a gun barrel. She quickly turned her head.

The white-suited man was watching her, his fingers working over the telephone receiver with long, lazy strokes. The glossy mustache on his upper lip lifted in a smile. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am Leonardo Juarez, your host. And what is your name, delightful lady?”

She didn’t know how to respond to this parody of civility. She remained silent.

Juarez gestured with a flick of his fingers. One of the guards stepped forward and shoved his gun butt into Rafe’s stomach. Rafe made no sound as he jerked with the impact, but Glenna cried out.

“You will answer me next time I ask you a question,” Juarez said, his smooth tone reflecting nothing of the brutality he had instigated. “Now, I would like to know your name.”

“Glenna Hastings,” she blurted out immediately.

“Very good. And the, what is the word, the Frankenstein here. What is your name, sir?”

Rafe held himself perfectly still, his gaze a sliver of steel as it targeted the man behind the desk. “Rafal Marek, master sergeant, serial number seven zero—”

“Yes, yes. Name, rank and serial number. You are Delta Force, I presume?”

“Rafal Marek, master sergeant, serial number—”

“Do not be tiresome. I know the policy of your government. For this situation, they would have sent only their best.” He repeated their names into the phone, then pointed at Glenna and crooked his finger. “Please, come here for a moment, Miss Hastings.”

She saw the guard lift his rifle again. She pulled away from Rafe’s support and limped to the desk.

Juarez smiled and tilted his head, as if he believed the curving of his thick lips was attractive. “It is Miss Hastings, is it not?”

She nodded.

“American men truly do not appreciate beauty.”

Oh, God. He had the dead, black eyes of a lizard. If he smiled again she was going to be sick.

He crooked his finger once more, motioning her to his side.

Glenna wanted to run back to Rafe. She needed to touch him, to feel his support. He was her anchor in a world gone crazy. But if she went to him, he would likely be struck again. She wouldn’t fall apart, she wouldn’t. Holding her head high, trying to act as stoic as Rafe, she put one hand on the edge of the desk for support and made her way to the other side.

Juarez looked boldly at the thin shell that covered her breasts. He ran his palm down her bare arm. “So soft. I wonder if you are as silky as that garment you wear. Shall I see?”

She swallowed a surge of bile.

“But business before pleasure. What a shame we meet under such…inconvenient circumstances.” He sighed and held the telephone toward her. “Take it.”

She clutched the receiver as if it were a lifeline and lifted it to her ear.

“Let them know you are enjoying my hospitality, Miss Hastings,” Juarez said, taking a cigarette from a silver case on his desk. He lit it leisurely, leaned back in his chair and regarded her through drifting white curls of smoke. “And tell them one of you will be killed tomorrow at midnight if they do not release Arturo. My brother.”

“Do you think he was bluffing?” Glenna asked.

They were back in the underground storeroom that served as their prison, so Rafe couldn’t see her expression, but he heard the truth of what she believed in her voice.

She was no fool. She must realize that the people who were capable of hijacking an airliner and shooting the pilot in cold blood were capable of anything. He didn’t consider lying to her about this—he had more respect for her than that. “No,” he said.

“I didn’t think so.”

He braced his back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, stretching his wounded leg in front of him. He needed every second of rest he could get. “From the looks of Juarez’s phone, he has several lines. Those indicator lights on the side would tip him off the minute someone tried to dial out, so we won’t be able to call for help from inside the house. We need to get out as soon as possible. We’ll give them two hours to go about their business, then we’ll move.”

“But my ankle, your leg…”

“With the timetable Juarez has set, it’s our only option, princess.”

“My name is Glenna.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean any offense.”

“No, I’m sorry.” She shuffled along the floor until she reached his side. She sat down and placed her hand on his knee. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I guess I’m just a little…stressed.”

His lips twitched at her understatement. “You’re entitled. You handled the business with Juarez well, Glenna.”

“Do you want to know the truth?”

“Sure.”

“I thought I was going to throw up all over his stupid white suit.”

Rafe grunted, “Maybe you should have. It would have cooled him off.”

“Sure, and then they would have hit you again.”

“Don’t worry about me. This is my job.”

“You should ask for a raise.” She moved her hand from his knee to the silk bandage on his thigh. “How does your leg feel?”

This time, he did lie. He’d checked the wound when their captors had allowed them to use a bathroom after their meeting with Juarez and he’d found it was getting hot, the edges puffy and tender. The infection must have set in the moment he’d been shot. “Fine.”

“The bandage feels dry.”

“The bleeding stopped. I told you it wasn’t serious.”

She patted his thigh gently, then skimmed her hand along his hip to his waist. She spread her fingers just beneath his ribs. “What about here? Are you okay? That guard hit you pretty hard with that gun.”

“No problem. I saw it coming and flexed before he hit me.”

“Flexed?”

“My abs.” He could feel her touch warm him through the fabric of his jumpsuit. What would it be like to feel her hand on his bare skin? “Tightens everything up to deflect the damage.”

“Oh. Is that a Delta Force trick?”

“Not really. Houdini used to do it all the time.”

She stroked her fingertips across his stomach, tracing the contours of the muscles he’d just mentioned. “But didn’t Houdini die when someone punched him?”

His pulse throbbed heavily at her caress. And it was a caress, he couldn’t interpret it any other way. He caught her hand to keep her from exploring further. “He wasn’t ready for it. It ruptured his appendix. Glenna, don’t.”

“What?”

“It’s a reaction to our situation.”

“What is?”

“The way you’re touching me.”

There was a brief silence. When she spoke again, her voice was low and defiant. “I don’t care. I won’t have any regrets. Or don’t you like it?”

“That’s not the point.”

“When Juarez touched me, I felt as if a slimy lizard were crawling over my skin. Is that how I make you feel?”

“Of course not, but—”

“He plans to kill one of us tomorrow. He’ll probably start with me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“That Latin lover nonsense was just for show. A Delta Force commando is more of a prize as a hostage than a special events planner for the Winston Hotel chain.”

Just as he thought, she was no fool. He’d come to the same conclusion himself.

“So why shouldn’t I spend my last few hours touching you?” she finished.

He twined his fingers with hers and brought their joined hands to his chest. “I’ve already explained that. You can’t keep thinking every minute is going to be your last. Life goes on, and that’s the hard part.”

There was a silence. “That’s a strange thing to say,” she murmured.

“Forget it.”

“No. I want to know what you meant.”

“When we get out of here, I’ll tell you, okay?”

“How can we get out? We’re unarmed, we don’t know where we are, neither of us can walk far let alone walk fast and—”

“Don’t give up, Glenna. You’re stronger than that.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You’ve gotten this far, haven’t you?”

She sighed. “Do you think our government is going to release Arturo Juarez?”

He hesitated. “What’s your guess?”

“From what I saw of this place, these drug smugglers are very rich and powerful. You said the local police were probably involved, didn’t you?”

“It’s the only way to explain what happened at the airport. We hadn’t known Leonardo Juarez was operating out of Rocama. To have a base as well established as this house, his influence must stretch all the way to the top levels of the government. Someone had to have been bribed back at the airport in Jamaica, as well, so the hijackers could get aboard your flight in the first place.”

“It must have been tough to apprehend a member of the Juarez family. I don’t think our government is going to let him go.”

“That’s my guess, too. But either way, I’m not going to let you die. I promise you.”

“Why do I believe you, Rafe?” She pressed her head to the hollow of his shoulder. “I don’t understand. I never believe promises, but I believe you. Is that a reaction to the situation, too?”

“No. I’m just a trustworthy kind of guy.”

She made a sound that was too shaky to be a laugh. “And isn’t it just my luck that we have to meet like this?”

“A woman like you must have someone waiting for her to come home. You must have your pick of men.”

“A woman like me?”

“Refined, classy.” He lowered his head, catching the scent of lemons. “Beautiful,” he added softly.

“Thank you.”

“And once you get home, you’re going to regret what you’re doing now.”

“You’re wrong. I have no one, Rafe. No boyfriend or lover to go home to. Only a day planner full of appointments and an apartment full of books.” She rubbed her lips against his chin. “So don’t tell me about regrets.”

He tipped his head away. “Glenna, don’t.”

“Why? Are you married?”

“No.”

“Then do you have a girlfriend or a fiancée?”

“With this face?”

She braced the heel of her hand against his chest and lifted her head. Her features were no more than a pale blur, but the fierceness in her expression was somehow immediately discernible. “That man shouldn’t have called you ugly, Rafe.”

“Hey, I’m used to it. I know what I look like.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Are we talking about the same thing here? Didn’t you get a good look at me in the light?”

“If you mean your scars, yes, I saw that. I had already felt them.”

“What?”

She brought her hand to his face. Butterfly light, she brushed his ruined cheek. “When you were unconscious, I felt them. I can’t imagine how painful it must have been.”

He jerked his head away from her touch.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” And that was another lie. The pain she caused wasn’t physical, like the ache in his leg, but it was no less tangible.

She sounded as if she actually cared. She didn’t, of course. The tenderness in her voice and in her fingers was merely a byproduct of this situation. It was textbook hostage-scenario psychology. She was grateful to him, she regarded him as her rescuer, she was mistaking gratitude for attraction.

He couldn’t take this personally. He could have been anyone else and she would have been behaving the same way. Any warm body would do in the dark. She needed comfort, she needed understanding. She sure didn’t need his own body reacting as if this were real. He would be the worst kind of bastard if he took advantage of her vulnerability.

She curled her legs and snuggled against him, pressing her breasts to his chest. “What you look like makes no difference to me, Rafe.”

There, she had just proved him right, he thought. “Glenna…”

“It’s what you are inside that matters.”

God help him if that was the case, because he was as much a monster on the inside as he was on the outside. “Glenna, you don’t know me.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve seen what you do.”

“All I am is a man trying to do his job.”

“Are all you Delta Force heroes so noble?”

He snorted. “I told you before, I’m no hero. And I’m sure as hell not noble.”

“Then there’s no reason you can’t hold me, right?” She lifted his arm and draped it over her shoulder. “You did it before.”

He didn’t want to argue with her twisted logic. “Glenna, we should be conserving our energy right now. Try to rest.”

“Mmm. You said we should wait two hours before we move, right?”

“More like one hour, forty-eight minutes now.”

“Then we have enough time.”

“For what?”

Her breath tingled over his lips. “For this,” she whispered, pressing her mouth to his.

He could blame it on surprise, but he’d known this was coming. He could blame it on his weakened state, but he’d been in worse shape than this before and had remained in control of the situation. So there really was no excuse for the way he sat there and let her kiss him.

Oh, man, it felt good. Her lips were cool and sweet and he could have wished that the moment might last forever. He could have wished it, but he didn’t. He knew better. The deeper they got into this now, the worse it was going to be when they were back in the world.

He said her name, a caution, a warning. But instead of pulling back, she slid her tongue along his parted lips.

The intimate contact jolted him. Had he thought she was cool? No, there was passion in this woman. He’d known that from the moment he’d focused his binoculars on her face. He’d wanted to know what was beneath her layer of control. Now she was showing him.

But she thought he was noble, she thought he was a hero. She wouldn’t be kissing him if she knew the truth.

He clasped her cheeks. He started to ease her head away.

She made a low sound in her throat and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

Rafe shuddered. Instead of pushing her away, he slid his fingers into her hair and returned the kiss. One hour, forty-one minutes, he thought. Then they had to stop. Then they had to move.

In the meantime, he was enough of a bastard to give her what she wanted.