Hopefully the FBI would keep a lid on his abduction for as long as possible, but with last night’s massacre, it was only a matter of time before the story broke. His mom and brothers would be worried, as would his colleagues. While he was sorry about their pain, there was nothing he could do about it right now.
He looked at the filthy water in the wash bowl. “We also need to get out of here before we get so weak or sick we can’t physically move more than a few yards without assistance. Feds will have people looking for us, but we can’t assume they’ll find us or that they will be successful in a rescue without accidentally killing us both.”
That was the most dangerous time to be a hostage—during a rescue attempt. It was something he tried to avoid when he was running a K&R case, but he wasn’t in charge of local police or military, and he generally didn’t get much of a say about rescue attempts. He held Haley’s steady blue gaze. “We need to work together. Whatever happens. Understand?”
Up close, those eyes of hers were like planets. Staring into them was like looking at the cosmos for the first time.
“Partners,” she agreed.
He kissed her knuckles, which were knotted tightly with his. “Strength, Haley. We’ll get through this but don’t expect it to be easy.”
They both tensed as footsteps approached the hut.
Chapter Ten
As an adult, Haley had never been scared to speak her mind. She knew how to stand up for herself and advocate for her position. Hell, Dermot said she was a steamroller when it came to getting what she wanted. She didn’t quite see it that way, but maybe he had a point.
She’d run away from home at sixteen and managed to finish school, thanks to her determination and the love and care of her obscenely wealthy grandmother. Back then, she’d discovered that men in general wanted her to be seen and not heard, so she’d made a point of loudly voicing her opinions and objections as often and as frequently as required to prove a point.
Apparently, pointing the barrel of an automatic rifle at her was a much better way of shutting her up than her father’s threats had ever been.
“Out,” the guard ordered. He had greasy hair and grazed knuckles. A green, fringed scarf covered his nose and mouth, but the hostility in his dark eyes was easily identifiable.
For all Haley’s usually ballsy bravado, she didn’t even consider defying him. She’d never dealt with this type of humanity before. Her inexperience embarrassed her, revealing failings she hadn’t been aware of.
She was aware of them now.
Savage released her hand, and she climbed stiffly to her feet. He held his ribs as he attempted to stand, and she tried to help him, but the armed guard grabbed her upper arm and dug his filthy fingernails into her skin.
Ouch.
“Outside. Now.”
She ducked through the low door, and the man pushed her from behind, and she sprawled onto the dirt.
A large group of men stood around laughing. Her pulse skittered, and her heart beat so violently she worried it was going to burst. Quentin followed her out of the hut, shoulders hunched over, still favoring his side. She didn’t know if he was pretending to be hurt or if they’d actually broken a rib or two when they beat him. She hoped it was the former. She staggered to her feet and another man shoved her next to Quentin, who put his arm around her shoulders to steady her.
His embrace provided such an intense feeling of comfort—it made no sense, and yet she yearned for it never to end. She knew he couldn’t protect her if these rebels turned nasty. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told him she didn’t want him to intervene if they decided to attack her. He was one man against a heavily armed mob. Brute strength would not get them out of this nightmare. They couldn’t fight their way to freedom, and she didn’t think she could survive without him.
And survival was all that mattered right now.
Quentin Savage’s presence was her most precious weapon of all. The thing that kept people alive even during the worst atrocities.
Quentin gave her hope.
It was tenuous at best.
Their captors were dressed like guerrillas in army fatigue pants and shirts over droopy, sweat-stained t-shirts in every color from orange to what had probably once been white. Most wore headscarves over the bottom half of their faces and were draped in bullet belts. All of them carried automatic weapons.
Were they violent extremists or some sort of tin pot revolutionaries? Either way, they wouldn’t like dealing with a woman as an equal, she didn’t need anyone to explain that to her feminist heart. It was implicit. They ignored her and addressed Quentin. It might have been cowardly, but she was relieved.
One man stepped forward. He wore a clean-looking uniform with a buttoned-up shirt, black pistol holstered on his thigh. Extendible baton in his hand. He wore a hat and dark sunglasses and didn’t sport a bandana. He was clearly the leader from the way he spoke and carried himself. “So you’re the FBI agent.”
The FBI agent?
The words gave Haley chills.
Quentin nodded. His skin was pale, and blood crusted in his hair from the scalp wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.
“You have me at a disadvantage.” Quentin’s words made her smile on the inside. “Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” He held out his hand to shake, but the other man ignored it. So much for introductions.
“How did you escape from the hotel last night?” the man barked.
Quentin cocked his head. His expression was mildly quizzical. “We heard gunfire and hid in the jungle.”
The leader slapped the baton into his open palm as if getting a measure of its weight. “You were not in your room?”
Quentin shook his head, and the man looked confused. “We took a stroll in the garden before we headed to bed. We were supposed to leave first thing in the morning and wanted to enjoy our last night on Nabat.”
Haley didn’t know why he lied. Maybe so these bandits would underestimate their badassedness? Climbing down the outside of a building? Hiding in the jungle at night? She hadn’t even blinked.
“Can I ask why you attacked the hotel last night? What is it that you want?” Quentin was polite without being obsequious. Factual without being judgmental. It was his tone, Haley realized. Firm without being confrontational.
“You Americans,” the man sneered. “Carrying out your proxy wars in other countries and raping lands of precious resources for your own gain.”
Haley didn’t know what direction the guy was going in. Was he an environmentalist, or did he simply hate Americans?
“You think you can come here and take whatever you want. Kill whoever you want without consequences?”
Oh, hell. Haley looked down at the camo pants she wore with trepidation and knew where the guy was going with this little show and tell. The terrorist leader caught her gaze when she glanced back up. She could not force herself to look away or lower her jaw, even though Quentin’s words about fading into the background roared through her mind.
The man held out the baton and pointed to the pants. “Where did you get those?”
“I found them?” She tried to sound subservient, but definitely failed.
Quentin tensed beside her.
“You killed two of my men.” He addressed Quentin this time, because obviously a woman couldn’t do that. Haley was angry that she hadn’t been able to do that. She was mad at the assumption. Mad at the reality. She knew women who were badass as hell. She wasn’t one of them.
“Two men attacked my wife. I did what I had to do to protect her.”
The leader brought the baton down hard on Quentin’s shoulder. Haley covered her mouth and tried to hold back a scream. Quentin didn’t try to defend himself. He crashed to his knees.
This was all her fault. If she’d turned off her cell phone, not only would she not have attracted their attention, those men wouldn’t be dead, and these bandits wouldn’t have known anyone was still alive on the island, and Quentin wouldn’t be getting
the shit beaten out of him.
Two men grabbed Quentin by the arms and hauled him upright. The leader punched him in the stomach with the end of the baton, and two other men joined in with punches and kicks.
Quentin gagged and grunted, bent double.
Haley wanted to cry out or throw herself in front of him to protect him, then remembered what he’d told her about not trying to rescue him. He’d expected to be beaten. But it was one thing to agree in theory. It was another to watch him being hurt.
She wanted to beg and plead for them to stop but was terrified to make a noise. Her whole body shook. From fear, terror, dehydration, shock. From enduring what was happening to Quentin and being helpless to stop it. From fear she’d be next, and it would be worse because they wouldn’t just hit her. They’d violate.
Everything she thought she knew about the world had been ripped away. This was who she really was. This scared, pathetic, silent wretch.
“Enough,” the leader snapped. The men immediately stopped hitting Quentin. Then the leader pointed at her legs.
Haley froze again.
Oh, god.
“Those clothes do not belong to you. Take them off.”
When she hesitated, the bastard went to strike Quentin again.
“Stop! Please stop. I’m doing it.” She quickly began undoing the button and zipper of the pants, thankful beyond reason that she was wearing Quentin’s gym shorts beneath. She was taller than everyone here except Quentin, and they all stared at her like she was an alien being. The men around her seemed disappointed she wasn’t naked—but if they really wanted to see her bare, she wouldn’t be able to stop them. The commander had complete control of hers and Quentin’s life, and he knew it. Their complete destruction was one simple order away.
She hated all the eyes on her. It was one thing to be the center of attention when you felt confident in your world, another entirely when surrounded by heartless killers. The last thing she wanted was this warlord’s interested gaze on her long legs or blonde hair.
She quickly tugged the trousers over her boots. “There. There are your pants.”
“Pick them up and bring them here,” the leader commanded quietly as his men watched with avid gleams in their eyes.
She didn’t hesitate. She wasn’t about to start a battle of wills with a mini despot. She squatted down to pick up the dusty pants, well aware that the men’s gazes took in every detail, especially the curve of her ass. She shook the pants out and folded them as best she could. She held them out to the man with her head bowed.
She was going to be smart and as strong as she was able. Rescue would come. It was just a matter of time. She was counting on Alex and Dermot, and the FBI who’d want their man back. And maybe a few Special Forces soldiers for good measure. They’d get them out of here. She just had to survive long enough to be rescued.
“Not to me.” The commander sneered like she was dimwitted. She gritted her teeth. “You give them to Lyrita who lost a husband and the father of her children when your husband murdered him.”
The crowd of men parted, and a young woman wearing a brightly colored dress and a head scarf walked forward. Her expression was angry as she snatched the pants out of Haley’s hands. Then she spoke in some local dialect and spat at her. Haley jerked back, startled.
Had it been the tall skinny wannabe rapist or short burly one who’d been married to the woman? Big loss, Haley was sure. Forget that she and Quentin had been fighting for their lives—
She clamped down on all the things she wanted to say. This was not about reasoned debate. Starting an argument could get them both killed.
“It seems that you took us because we’re American…” Quentin stated.
Deflecting attention away from her.
“Americans think they own the whole world!” the commander went off on another rant.
God, she could fall for a guy like Quentin Savage. The fact he was good in bed was an added bonus, but not even in the top ten reasons she wanted to kiss him on the lips.
Finally, the commander ran out of steam in his monologue, but he wasn’t done. He circled around them both, and she felt him brush up behind her. Butterflies rose in her stomach, as large as the exotic birds that flew from branch to branch amongst the trees.
Oh, god.
“You are the big negotiator, correct? The man who helps get US captives free?” The crowd followed his lead and jeered, although Haley couldn’t imagine they all spoke English or understood what their leader was saying.
The leader grabbed her hair and roughly forced her to her knees, sending shock ricocheting through her body. He drew a knife and held it against the bottom of her nose. The sting of the blade had her swallowing convulsively. She’d never imagined there could be something worse than rape.
Two men grabbed Quentin when he lunged for the commander.
“I’m going to cut off your pretty wife’s nose. See how much you enjoy sleeping with an ugly monster at night.”
Haley shook from fear. She’d never considered being disfigured. Didn’t know if she’d be able to stand the physical pain or the mental anguish. Did that make her shallow, or human? She swallowed slowly, her throat painfully dry while her palms were slippery with sweat.
Quentin didn’t meet her gaze. He was looking at the commander. “It seems like the only objective that serves is punishing me, which I realize you believe I deserve. But is that how you’d want your wife treated if our roles were reversed?” he asked. “Is your idea of justice for the oppressed to punish innocents?”
The commander moved the knife to her throat, and Haley’s pulse took off like a freight train careening off the rails.
“Talk me out of slitting her throat, and maybe I’ll just cut off her ears or fingers…”
The fear was so overwhelming it made reasoned argument impossible. She wanted to beg for her life but didn’t dare move a single muscle.
“Unlike me, my wife comes from a wealthy family. You see the diamonds in her ears? Her watch? They’re worth thousands of dollars. If you want to send a political message to the US, then do that with me, but she’s a valuable asset. Her family won’t pay if you disfigure her.”
“They’ll pay.” The commander laughed. “They always pay.”
So he’d done this before?
Quentin shook his head. “Not Haley’s family. They’re a bunch of snobs. Looks and appearance are everything to them. If she’s mutilated, they won’t want her back or in the news. They’d rather you just kill her.”
She tensed as the commander moved the knife from her throat and came dangerously close to slicing her face as he pulled the diamond studs out of her ears one at a time, examining the hallmark. They were from Tiffany’s.
“Give me your watch,” the man demanded, holding out his hand.
Her hands visibly shook as she removed the timepiece. It was an antique her grandmother had bequeathed her and had sat in the old woman’s safe for sixty years. The idea of giving it up wrenched, but it was better than losing her nose. “I-it’s a rare Cartier model made in 1926. There are only four of them left in the world.”
She had never been more grateful for the trappings of wealth than at this moment where she was bartering them for body parts. It was barbaric and sadistic, and the commander was clearly enjoying scaring the shit out of her.
“Maybe I’ll let you keep your pretty face for now. My men might prefer it that way when the time comes…” The threat was implicit. This was how he intended to keep her in line. Pure fear of consequences. Cowed obedience.
She tried not to lose herself in Quentin’s gaze, but she was so grateful he’d managed to think of something to say that had prevented the monster from maiming her, even temporarily.
The commander turned back to Quentin. “And you are also valuable, Mr. FBI.”
Someone took a photograph of her, and she blinked against the glare of the flash. They did the same to Quentin, whose only reaction was the subtle tightening of his jaw.
“Ah, but you underestimate yourself. What do you think it is worth for every freedom fighter in the world to see you at our mercy?” A smirk twisted thick lips.
“Is that what you want?” Quentin asked. “Credibility on the world stage?”
“You think I lack credibility?” The terrorist leader stared at Quentin for long, unnerving seconds. So long, in fact, that the flies that buzzed around Haley started to settle. She itched to swat them but dared not move. Dared not break the spell or draw attention back to herself. Too chicken. Too cowardly. She ground her teeth and hated this man, all of these men, except Quentin, and she hated herself most of all, for not being brave enough to stand up to them.
As the commander stood in front of Quentin, staring him down, Quentin returned the look but with no animosity. His gaze was measured and respectful. He wasn’t going toe-to-toe with the guy. He was doing what Alex taught her was the most important thing about self-defense—defusing the situation. Avoiding a fight.
Considering how easily Quentin had taken control of their predicament last night, and killed two men with his bare hands, she wasn’t fooled by his impassiveness, but this bandit seemed to be. He chuckled, turning and barking an order at his men in his own language. They all laughed and started to scatter. All Haley could see was the man’s pistol on his hip so close she could reach out and snatch it…
Quentin clasped her hand in his and squeezed in warning, helping her to her feet to disguise the movement. She let out a long, shuddering breath. Her throat was so dry, she was beginning to sway from dehydration.
“Would it be possible to get some water, Silahkan?” asked Quentin with a slight bow. “And use the lavatory? It would be a great kindness, especially for my poor wife.”
The subtext “weak woman” was in there but right now, she felt weak, and it suited their purpose.
The commander turned slowly back to face them. Then he nodded to the guy who’d brought them out of the hut earlier. “Ramon. Take them to the latrine.” His smile turned a little evil. “But it is Lyrita who is in charge of your food and comfort. She will bring you water and food when she has time.”
Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2) Page 9
