Seduced by His Target. Gail Barrett

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ thought they’d moved out of the area.”

      “That’s what they said. Obviously, they were wrong.”

      Henry slumped back against the rock and closed his eyes. “So what are we going to do?”

      “Get you to a hospital, for one thing.” He needed medical attention at once—an oxygen tank, a CT scan and several days of bed rest, preferably at a lower altitude.

      But how could they escape? Henry wouldn’t last on foot. A jolting race down the mountain on horseback would make his concussion worse. And even if they could slip past their captors, where would they go? She had no idea where they were. She couldn’t roam aimlessly around the Andes in the darkness with an injured man in tow.

      But neither could she leave him behind.

      Her gaze gravitated back to the men. She didn’t want to bargain with their kidnappers. But what other choice did she have? And maybe they’d made a mistake. Maybe they’d captured the wrong people—and she could convince them to let them go.

      “Stay here,” she murmured to Henry. “Let me deal with this.” Inhaling to gather her courage, she rose and walked to the entrance of the cave.

      The captor with the turban stopped sharpening his knife at her approach. His gaze pinned hers, and she abruptly stopped, a stark chill scuttling through her nerves. His eyes looked cruel and utterly ruthless, as if every trace of humanity had disappeared from his soul. And she knew instinctively that this thug would kill her in a heartbeat without a qualm.

      He muttered something she couldn’t hear to the dozing man. That man roused himself and sat upright, and her disquiet edged up a notch. He had the same full beard and swarthy skin, but he was heavier, with a coarse, flat nose and fleshy lips. He also wore a scarf, the black-and-white-checkered kaffiyeh that the Arabs wore. His silver tooth winked in the light.

      Shuddering, she crossed her arms, the impression that they were Middle Eastern growing stronger now. But even with their head coverings it didn’t make sense. They had to belong to a drug cartel. She was in the mountains of Peru, not the Middle East.

      But the way they continued to stare at her with something akin to hatred in their eyes...

      Memories bubbled up, fragments from news reports she’d read—how Middle Eastern terrorists had formed partnerships with South American drug cartels who smuggled them into the United States.

      Nonsense. She couldn’t go off the deep end and let paranoia skew her thoughts. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Oiga,” she said in Spanish. “Excuse me.”

      Neither man answered, and her belly made a little clutch. They had to understand Spanish. Unless they spoke an indigenous language, like Quechua or Aymara...

      She racked her brains, scrambling to remember the handful of phrases she’d learned. “Imainalla-kashanki. Hello. Do you speak Spanish?”

      The third man lumbered to his feet. He turned, and his gaze slammed into hers. And for a moment, she couldn’t move. The intensity in his eyes held her riveted, cementing her in place. Startled, she took in his dark, slashing brows, his collar-length coal-black hair, his high, bold nose in his chiseled face. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders tapering to a flat belly and muscled thighs. His mouth was hard, his onyx eyes unreadable, not providing any hints of his thoughts. But his hot black eyes simmered with intelligence, prompting another flurry of nerves.

      This was the man who’d attacked her. She couldn’t mistake him. The scratches she’d carved on his cheeks gave him away.

      He wasn’t exactly handsome. Taken individually, his features were too rough-hewn for that. But he was striking, incredibly so, from the sharp perception in his unwavering eyes to the day’s growth of beard stubble darkening his jaw. He reminded her of a primitive warrior, an ancient desert sheikh.

      A man she’d do well not to underestimate.

      He skirted the fire and headed toward her, then stopped a few feet away. This close, she could see the straight, inky lashes fringing his eyes, the stark grooves bracketing his grim mouth, the sensual shape of his bottom lip. Her nails had barely missed his left eye, and one long scrape ran from the upper edge of his cheekbone into his beard stubble, adding to his ruthless look. He was half a head taller than she was, putting her at eye level with the hollow of his muscled throat. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes.

      For several seconds, he didn’t speak. Instead, he continued to study her, spurring her heart to an off-kilter beat. Then he lowered his gaze, letting it travel slowly over the length of her, causing her heart to race. His gaze flicked back to hers, the impact no less powerful this time. And she couldn’t mistake the sexual awareness flitting through his eyes.

      The answering warmth in her body shocked her. Appalled, she hugged her arms.

      “What do you want?” he asked in English. Flawless, American English.

      “You’re American?”

      “No.” He didn’t elaborate, but she angled her head, studying him with even more interest now. Few nonnative speakers had an accent that perfect. He must have spent time in the States—which might make him sympathize with them.

      “Listen,” she began. “I don’t know who you were after, but you must have made a mistake. I’m a doctor. So is Henry, the man I’m with. You must have confused us with someone else.”

      He folded his arms, the motion emphasizing the breadth of his muscled chest. “We didn’t make a mistake.”

      Taken aback, she tried to recoup. “If you’re after a ransom—”

      “We’re not.”

      Her heart skipped. They had to be. Ignoring his answer, she tried again. “I can get the money. I have a friend, a photographer. She can come up with whatever you want. Just take us to a town where I can contact her.”

      His black eyes continued to hold her. Firelight danced on his swarthy skin, emphasizing the harsh hollows of his granite face. “I told you. We don’t want your money.”

      “But then...” She glanced at the other men. Their fixed stares further unnerved her, and she tightened her grip on her arms. And suddenly, visions spun through her mind of terrified captives paraded across the television screen, pleading desperately for their lives—and then slain. Did these men intend to kill them?

      No. She quashed a burst of dread. She couldn’t start imagining the worst. They probably planned to negotiate a prisoner swap, to force the Peruvian or American government to free a jailed criminal in exchange for them. FARC had used that tactic in Colombia for years. Maybe these men were doing the same.

      But that brought dangers of its own. She couldn’t risk the public exposure, no matter how much she wanted to get free. She’d spent too many years on the run, always moving, always changing her identity, carefully staying out of the limelight to evade the enemies dogging her. Not only was her powerful family hunting her down, but she had a gang executioner on her trail, a man who needed to ensure her silence after she’d chanced upon his crime. And if he ever figured out who she was, he wouldn’t just go after her. He’d pursue the other two witnesses, her closest friends.

      But as much as she wanted to bolt she couldn’t worry about herself right now. She had to СКАЧАТЬ