Читать книгу By Request Collection Part 3 - Майя Бэнкс, Robyn Donald - Страница 17
ОглавлениеGASTANO’S smile broadened as Lexie shook her head and put her hands to her ears. When he tossed her a pair of earphones she clapped them on, only to realise they weren’t connected to the communications system.
Ice touched her skin. Something, she thought feverishly, was wrong. Rafiq didn’t like the count; he wouldn’t have sent him for her.
Her eyes flicked to the man piloting the chopper. He wore an official flying suit, the emblem of the rearing horse clear on it. Only this horse had wings. Chastened, Lexie let out a small huff of air.
She was being over-dramatic. After all, what on earth could there be to be afraid of? This was a Moraze Air Force helicopter, and the pilot was clearly a serviceman. Besides, Felipe was no threat to her.
So why did she now feel an instinctive unease in his presence?
Folding her hands tensely in her lap, she looked down at the countryside, the green of sugar cane fields giving way to the jungle of the escarpment. Perhaps Felipe had been offered a chance to see the famed horse herds?
Indeed, once they’d reached the plateau, she leaned forward and to her delight saw a herd below. They didn’t seem alarmed; after a quick gaze upwards they resumed grazing, as though the helicopter was a regular sight in their sky. For some reason, that made her feel better.
But when the chopper headed for a collection of buildings, she frowned as it banked and dropped towards the ground.
It looked like ruins. Some sort of industrial complex, not very big—a sugar mill on a back country road, perhaps. Indeed, when she looked down she could see that there had once been a house there, but it had been burned to the ground.
Startled, she searched for signs of people, but nothing moved in the shrubby vegetation around the stone buildings. The cold patch beneath her ribs increased in size.
What was going on?
The chopper landed with a slight bump and a whirl of dust. The engines changed pitch, and Gastano indicated that she get out.
Lexie made up her mind. She shook her head.
Felipe’s smile widened. He groped in a bag at his feet to produce a small, snub-nosed black pistol that he aimed straight at her.
The colour drained from her skin. Instead of words the only sound she could make was a feeble croak of disbelief, and then something hit her, and in a violent pang of pain she lost consciousness.
Lexie huddled on the stone floor, reluctantly accepting that this was no nightmare; tied at the wrists and the ankles, she was propped up against a wall in what looked like an abandoned sugar mill somewhere in Moraze. Forcing herself to ignore the thumping of her head and the nausea, she tried to work out what had happened.
Why had Felipe snatched her from the castle?
A swift glance revealed that she seemed to be alone, but instinct stopped her first impulsive attempt to free her hands. Instead she strained to hear—something, anything!
But the only sounds were placid, country noises—a distant bird call, low and consoling, and a soft sigh of wind seeping through the empty windows, sweet with the fragrance of flowers and fresh grass.
A second later she stiffened. A faint whisper—alien, barely there—grated across nerves already stretched taut. Lexie froze, trying to draw strength from the solidity of the stone building, the fact that fire and desolation and the inexorable depredations of the tropics, hadn’t been able to turn it into a complete ruin.
That faint, untraceable sound came again and once more she strained to pinpoint it. Was it a thickening of the atmosphere, a primitive warning that bypassed more advanced senses to home in on the inner core that dealt with raw, basic self-preservation?
Or was she fooling herself?
Slowly, carefully, hardly daring to breathe, she inched her head around. Nothing moved in the gloom, but she knew she wasn’t alone in the shadowy building. There were plenty of places to hide—behind the wreckage of machinery seemed the most likely.
Footsteps from outside swivelled her head around. Rafiq, she thought in anguish, wondering how she knew it was him. If her senses spoke truly, he was walking into a trap. Surely he wasn’t alone? Panic knotted her stomach as she tried to work out what to do.
Scream a warning? But was that what Felipe wanted? He hadn’t gagged her.
The footsteps stopped, and her mind ricocheted from one supposition to another. Possibly Felipe thought he’d hit her hard enough to keep her unconscious for longer.
And knowing Rafiq, he’d come in whatever she did, she thought, stifling her panic. But surely—oh, God, surely—he wouldn’t come here alone and without weapons?
Head pounding, she struggled to hear more.
And caught it—the barest whisper of motion from outside the doorless building.
Lexie bit down on her lip. Rafiq had to know she was here; he wouldn’t have come otherwise. She mustn’t call out.
But oh, it was so hard…
A jerky flow of movement caught the corner of her eye. Not breathing, she whipped her head around and saw the dark figure of Gastano take a step from behind the machinery so that he could see the doorway more clearly.
Her heart juddered to a stop when she realised he was still holding the pistol. So he meant to kill Rafiq.
Everything else forgotten, she opened her mouth, only to have her yell forestalled by Gastano’s voice, bold and arrogantly satisfied.
‘So you came, de Courteveille. I knew you would—stupidly chivalrous to the end.’
For a second Rafiq’s silhouette in the open door shuddered against the light, then blended into the dimness inside.
Lexie closed her eyes, nausea gripping her. That moment of clarity had revealed he carried no weapon.
And then he spoke, his voice cool and dispassionate. ‘Now that M’selle Sinclair has fulfilled her function as bait, I suggest you let her go. She’s not necessary to you any longer.’
With a wide smile, Gastano strolled over to stand above Lexie like a conqueror. ‘I have no intention of letting either of you go until you agree to my terms. Come closer—you are too far away.’
He’s getting off on this, Lexie realised with sick fear.
And he was totally confident that he held all the cards.
Holding her breath, she watched Rafiq move silently towards them. It was too dark for her to see his face, but she could tell from his gait that he was ready for anything that might happen. She opened her mouth to tell him that Gastano was armed, but was forestalled by her captor.
Sharply he said, ‘That’s close enough.’
Rafiq took another step, and Gastano swung the pistol around until it was directed straight at Lexie. He swung it back to fix onto Rafiq, and said between his teeth, ‘You will do everything I say, when I say it, or suffer the consequences. Take one step backwards.’
Rafiq didn’t move, and Gastano prodded her with his foot. ‘If you do not, then Alexa will die,’ he said calmly. ‘Oh, not now, and not quickly—she will die at my disposal. The same way your sister did.’
Hani? Into Lexie’s mind flashed the photograph of the girl, vivid, bright, her face full of impudence and joy. Rafiq’s sister. And Gastano? Bile caught in her throat.
Gastano’s eyes never left his antagonist’s face, and she could feel the confidence oozing from him. ‘It was quite clever of you to realise that I had plans for Alexa. But you underestimated me.’
Gastano’s laugh was a taunt as he switched his gaze back to Lexie for a second.
‘You should perhaps have been a little more careful of her feelings before you made love to her, sir.’ He pronounced the last word with a gloating emphasis that made it an insult. ‘Women are inclined to be upset when they are made use of so flagrantly. But I’m sure she suspected that there had to be an ulterior motive to your lovemaking. Alexa knows she is no beauty—unlike your charming but so naïve sister.’
And while an appalled and horrified Lexie was digesting this, he finished on a sneer, ‘Besides, you are no better than I am. You decided that the best form of revenge would be to seduce the woman I intend to marry. You were wrong—I still intend to marry her, and neither you nor she will prevent it.’
The fear gripping Lexie slowly receded before an icy realisation. She thought she heard her heart break, shatter into a thousand brittle pieces in her breast, each one stabbing her with a pain that would never go away.
At the centre of this war between the two men was Gastano’s treatment of Rafiq’s sister.
Lexie herself was merely a bystander, a pawn used by both men in a battle that had nothing to do with her. Rafiq’s lovemaking must have been a coolly calculated move to at least shake what he thought might be her loyalty to Gastano.
But he’d come to rescue her.
Rafiq stood like stone, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes never leaving the man. ‘You bastard,’ he said gutturally, his voice low and shaking with fury, hands so tightly clenched Lexie could see the whiteness of his knuckles in the gloom. ‘You’ll rot in hell for what you did to Hani.’
Gastano shrugged dispassionately. ‘She had choices,’ he said with callous indifference. ‘No one forced her into my bed. No one forced her to take drugs or to prostitute herself so that she could pay for them.’
Ruthlessly Lexie pushed the choking sense of betrayal to the back of her mind. Rafiq had to have some sort of plan. And here on Moraze he had the advantage of local knowledge.
The count understood that too, so he was pushing Rafiq, trying to get him off balance. But a glance at Rafiq’s face, drawn and darkly anguished, shook her.
It appeared Gastano was succeeding.
Yet although Gastano might pretend to despise Rafiq he was watching him closely, his finger poised on the trigger of the revolver.
As long as he kept that unwavering focus, Rafiq was in danger.
Her pulses quickened. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man in the world. You’re just a gutless big-noter,’ she said contemptuously.
Gastano swung around. At any other time she might have laughed at the shock in his face, but as soon as the pistol wavered from its lock on Rafiq, she lashed out with her bound feet, catching the count more by luck than good judgment on the side of the kneecap.
He lurched sideways, his finger tightening on the trigger. Ducking reflexively, she felt the wind of the bullet against her cheek. Her eyes clamped tight shut and her heart pumped so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else.
A choked sound forced her eyes open in time to see Rafiq fell Gastano with one blow. The count went down into a limp heap; Rafiq dropped on one knee to check him out, then got up and headed towards her in a lethal, silent rush. She gasped as he grabbed her and hurled her brutally behind what seemed some sort of press.
‘Are you all right?’ he demanded, running his hands over her with a gentleness so at variance with the brutality of the blow he’d delivered, she could only stare dumbly at him.
A flurry of shots echoed through the building.
‘Silence,’ Rafiq growled into her ear, shielding her with his body as she struggled to get up.
A voice called out in the local language. Rafiq answered, holding her still as a man raced around the side of the vat.
His answer to Rafiq’s swift question was one succinct word.
Rafiq eased up, supporting her while he rapped out an order. The newcomer pulled a knife from somewhere on his person and handed it over, and Rafiq slashed the cords that held her wrists and ankles together.
Chafing her wrists gently, he said, ‘You are safe now.’
‘I’m all right,’ she muttered, still stunned by the abrupt change of situation. She dragged in a sharp breath as the blood began to return to her hands and feet.
‘He fooled me into thinking he was truly unconscious.’ Ignoring her shivers, he began on her ankles, his fingers soothing yet firm. ‘I should have been more careful. He had a knife, and was heading for us when one of my men shot him. It was too quick a death for one so foul, but the best outcome, nevertheless. Otherwise he’d have had to be put on trial.’
Intuitively Lexie guessed why he hadn’t wanted that—the details of his sister’s degradation would have become common knowledge. He needed to protect her reputation.
She opened her mouth to speak, and he demanded, ‘Did he hurt you in any way?’
‘Except for hitting me on the head, no,’ she said huskily.
He swore harshly, then demanded, ‘Were you unconscious?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a headache now?’ He leaned forward and raised her eyelid, staring intently and impersonally into her pupils. ‘No, they don’t seem dilated, but you could have concussion. Stay still.’
Frowning, she said, ‘I did have a headache, but I feel better now.’
‘Adrenalin,’ he said, getting to his feet.
Desperate to know, she asked, ‘Tell me, who—how did whoever shot him get here?’
‘There are three army snipers here. The plan was that I should keep him occupied while they crept into place, but you put paid to that. They had only just got here when you lashed out at him—we were lucky one got a clear enough sighting to be able to knock him down.’
‘I see,’ she said numbly, wincing as feeling cascaded painfully back into her feet and hands. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’
His expression hardened. ‘He sent a message from the helicopter. I came up in another one.’
A man came through and said something. Rafiq shook his head and gave a swift order, then got to his feet.
‘We will soon have you out of here,’ he promised, and moved noiselessly away.
Feeling sick, she eased back against the wall, dragging the damp, slightly musty air into her lungs. It smelt sweet and thick and heavy with the scent of past sugar harvests, the faint, spirituous flavour making her gag.
She realised she was shivering; icy tremors seemed to soak right down into her bones. Shock, she thought distantly, and set herself to mastering it. By the time Rafiq came back she’d managed to regain enough composure to control everything but her chattering teeth.
‘Don’t try to talk,’ he commanded as he picked her up and carried her out towards the waiting helicopter.
Back at the hospital she had a shower, a medical checkup that revealed she didn’t have concussion, and an injection to counter any infection in the abrasions around her wrists and ankles.
Also, she strongly suspected the next morning, waking up in the hospital bed, some sedative to give her the night of dreamless sleep she’d just enjoyed.
Late that morning she was sent back to the castle in a limousine, with a very solemn Cari and a bodyguard.
She didn’t see Rafiq for another two days. He sent her a note saying that because of the fallout from Gastano’s death he’d be busy, and that he wanted her to do nothing but recover.
Misery ate into her, but she told herself stoically that she needed time to get her strength back—strength to leave Moraze and Rafiq without making an idiot of herself.
On the morning she woke with a clear head, she said to Cari, when the maid brought her breakfast tray, ‘I’m getting up today.’
‘Yes, the doctor is coming this morning to make sure you are recovered.’ Carefully Cari positioned the tray over Lexie’s knees.
Lexie opened her mouth, then closed it. She knew it was no use fighting Rafiq’s dictates. And anyway, it was sensible to get an all-clear. ‘And after that I’m getting up properly.’
Instead of leaving, the maid stood, her hands held tightly behind her back. In a subdued voice she said, ‘If I had thought just a little I would have known the helicopter was not sent by the Emir. He would never have told it to land on the terrace.’ She bit her lip, anxiously scanning Lexie’s face. ‘I thought it was so romantic. I am truly sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ Lexie said hastily. ‘You weren’t to know. Don’t worry, Cari. Apart from this bump on the head, I wasn’t hurt, and all’s well now.’
But once alone, she pushed the tray away. Although she felt the effects of Gastano’s wickedness like a smeary feather brushed over her spirit, it was Rafiq’s betrayal that shattered her.
She took a deep breath because she just had to accept that, grit her teeth and get on with life. If she faced facts and kept her head high, she’d cope.
But although she’d always known that he didn’t love her, it hurt in some shrinking, vulnerable part to know that his actions had been a cynical exercise in revenge. Poor fool that she was, she’d treasure the memories for the rest of her life, but Rafiq? Well, after she’d left Moraze, he’d probably never think of her again.
Or only as the unwitting agent of change who’d helped him avenge his sister’s death.
Stoically she forced down breakfast and endured the medical check-up, which resulted in a complete clearance. It took all of her strength to smile and thank the doctor. When she got back to New Zealand she could indulge in whatever form of breakdown she preferred, she thought drearily, but until then she had to stay in control.
Late in the afternoon, Rafiq came to see her. After she’d satisfied his queries about her health, she said firmly, ‘I’m ready to go home now. Can you recommend a good travel agent?’
He paused, then said, ‘There are some things I need to explain to you.’
Rapidly, before he had time to go further, she said, ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. I understand why you did what you did. Your sister—’
Not a muscle moved in the arrogant face, and his voice was cool and flat as he cut her off. ‘My sister died because of Gastano. I suspect he targeted her for the same reason he chose you—because she had access to a world he desired above everything else. Also, he enjoyed defiling innocence.’
Humiliated, she stared at him. He was almost certainly right.
Stone-faced, Rafiq said, ‘Did you know he was a drug dealer?’
‘No!’ Her skin crawled.
He searched her face keenly. ‘Did he ever offer you drugs?’
‘Once,’ she said quietly, so appalled she felt physically ill. The conversation in the ruins had played through her mind over and over, and she’d accepted that Felipe must have had something to do with the drug trade, but the thought still horrified her. ‘I didn’t think he was a user, but I supposed that he knew how to get them. Even in New Zealand drugs are easy enough to get if you really want them. It never occurred to me he was a dealer.’
Rafiq’s brows drew together. ‘Sit down,’ he commanded, and when she stayed defiantly upright he caught her up and carried her to a chair.
In the strong grip of his arms the familiar magic washed over Lexie, drowning out everything but aching need and memories of passion. Until Rafiq deposited her onto the chair, with care but no tenderness, as though he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
Hope died a wretched death. She could have crossed her arms over her breasts and rocked with wailing despair, but pride kept her upright, steadied her gaze, forced her lips to move. ‘Do you believe me?’
‘Of course,’ he said with a faint air of surprise. ‘Like all men of his stamp, Gastano could read people—it must have been obvious to him that you were not a good candidate for addiction.’
‘Was he an addict?’
‘No. As you heard in the old sugar mill—’ He paused a moment before finishing in a level, emotionless tone, ‘He turned my sister into one.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Totally inadequate though her words were, it was all Lexie could think of to say.
Still in that clinical, dispassionate tone, he went on, ‘When she realised that the man she thought she loved had deliberately betrayed her and seduced her, she could not live with the pain and humiliation and she committed suicide.’
Lexie said again, ‘I’m so very sorry.’
‘She was eighteen at the time, in her first year at university.’
