He did not want to be responsible for Haley being mutilated, but they needed to make an escape plan and not succumb to fear of the threats. Easy to say when you weren’t the one who stood to lose a piece of your face, although he was pretty sure they’d want his whole head when the time came, and not just part of it.
He tried to scope out the place while keeping his head bent and only moving his eyes. Judging from the main house, and the small, sturdy, wooden barracks, this appeared to be a semi-permanent camp. Terrorist HQ.
Didn’t mean these people owned this property. It was probably abandoned, or they’d killed the original owner and taken over the place.
The ramshackle huts that some of the people lived in looked as if a strong wind would blow them over. Presumably, they didn’t want to invest time or energy building more permanent structures when they’d have to leave everything behind in a hurry should the authorities find them. But the presence of women and children suggested they were fairly confident the authorities wouldn’t find them here…it was a conundrum.
Something about the leader, plus last night’s highly orchestrated attack made Quentin think the guy had been in—or more worryingly, was still in—the military, which meant this group might be smarter than your average K&R opportunists.
They were Muslim, but most Indonesians were Muslims—peaceable ones.
Was this group affiliated with IS or Al Qaeda? Or did they have a local axe to grind?
Ironically, he didn’t know much more about them standing in the heart of their camp than he would back in his office.
He tried to gauge the size of the island but couldn’t. The dense jungle canopy meant he had no visual beyond ten or twenty feet in any direction. He caught a glimpse of the blue ocean to the south. Overhead, the leaves were impenetrable, except for the narrow line along the track.
Quentin glanced up at the thin slice of bright blue sky. A satellite could pass right above them and he doubted it would spot the buildings or the people walking around on the ground below.
No cell tower in sight. The commander probably had a radio in his house or the barracks or both. Getting to that and sending a message might alert the authorities to their position, but he and Haley would be dead or moved to a new island before rescue had the chance to arrive.
Was this the same group who’d kidnapped the Alexanders and Darby O’Roarke? If so, where were they being held? Quentin hadn’t seen any sign of them, but Haley had spotted a yacht which could be the Alexanders’—or some other poor traveler unlucky enough to pick the wrong spot for a secluded vacation.
The fact Darby O’Roarke was a single woman who’d been working alone meant the chances of her being assaulted or even forcibly married to one of the creeps who stole her was high. It was part of the reason Quentin had pretended Haley was his wife although, at the time, it had also been a desperate bid to keep her alive. The gambit had paid off and now meant they’d be less likely to be separated. Quentin needed that proximity if he wanted to try to keep her safe, and to take her with him when he made his bid for escape.
They arrived at “their” hut on the edge of the camp. Behind was thick forest and a steep drop off. The scenery was wildly beautiful and intimidatingly remote.
Escape? Escape where?
A woman shrieked behind them, and he slowly turned. Lyrita, the widow who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, scurried toward them holding a covered bowl of something and a jug of water.
The guard said something to her, but she swung the food away from him and gave Haley a fierce show of teeth along with an audible snarl.
Lyrita held the bowl out toward him, and he took it and bowed slightly to appear less threatening. “Terima kasih.”
It meant “thank you” in Bahasa Indonesian. Although most of the islands had their own indigenous languages more than 220 million people spoke the official language. Hopefully, she was one of them. Unfortunately, Quentin only knew two phrases. Please, and thank you so that was the end of his conversational piece.
The woman glowered. Then she spat in the jug of water and thrust it at Haley who had to lunge to catch it before it smashed on the ground.
“Terima kasih,” Haley shouted after the furiously swaying hips of the retreating woman.
The woman threw her hands up and shrieked in outrage again.
Quentin hid a smile. The fact Haley had a sense of humor despite everything they were going through meant she might survive this nightmare.
Hopefully.
He remembered what she’d said about being raped before, and that old familiar rage stirred. But that was for another time. They needed to face these new dangers head-on, one minute at a time. Kidnappings often took months to resolve, but Quentin wasn’t going to stick around that long if he could help it.
He’d been in the Army, and he’d undergone jungle survival training in Borneo, which wasn’t dissimilar to this environment. He had enough survival skills to get himself out of here, assuming they didn’t restrain or beat him half to death first. It was getting them both out that might prove difficult, but he was not leaving Haley behind.
The guard ducked his head into the hut as if looking for reinforcements—maybe a couple of handy dandy Navy SEALs, which would have been okay under the circumstances. As an Army guy, he would prefer Delta Force, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The guard turned back to them and jerked his rifle to urge them inside.
Quentin indicated Haley go first. “After you, my love.”
She quirked a brow at him but went ahead anyway. He didn’t want the guard to be alone with her if at all possible. Not even for a moment. He’d seen the way the man’s eyes followed her and the way he couldn’t keep his hands off her, even if it was in the guise of pushing her around.
He knew that mother-fucking type.
Quentin ducked through the opening, and the door was shut and padlocked behind them. Hardly Fort Knox, but a tiny gap in the rushes showed the guy slump down against a nearby tree, staring resentfully their way.
Getting away wouldn’t be easy, but Quentin was confident he could pick the lock as long as the guard fell asleep.
He and Haley sat side-by-side on the cot, silently contemplating the jug of water and the covered bowl which he set on the ground in front of them. Thirst was making his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, and his stomach grumbled.
He hadn’t expected to be fed. Not yet. Although who knew what was under the lid. Could be anything from fried spiders to jungle rat. It could also be a cruel joke. He had killed Lyrita’s husband after all.
It could be red ants or warm turds.
“Ready?” he asked.
Haley nodded and took a sip from the jug of water, spittle or no spittle. He felt ridiculously proud of her in that moment, and almost rolled his eyes at himself. Jerk.
She passed the jug to him, and he took a sip too. She seemed to know without him saying anything that they needed to ration the water, but not too slowly in case the damn guard came in and took it away from them again, or kicked it over in a rage.
Quentin cautiously removed the lid on the food dish. Haley held on tight to her stomach and then let out a breath of relief that sounded almost like a laugh.
Fried crickets.
Okay.
This wasn’t so bad.
He picked one up and bit into the crunchy insect. It wasn’t awful. Food was food, and it didn’t taste bad. Kind of nutty.
Haley tentatively reached out and put one in her mouth too.
“Pound for pound insects have more protein than beef,” she told him with a grimace.
He nodded, impressed. “Did you do a SERE school or something?”
Search, Evasion, Resistance, Escape was a staple of military training.
She shook her head and pulled a face as she chewed. “I’m not a personal fan of pain or deprivation.” She picked up another insect. “I had a massive crush on Bear Grylls.” She crunched the hindquarters. “Do you think she spat on these too?”
> “I think you could take that bet to the bank.”
She huffed out a horrified laugh. “I don’t even care anymore. I know we can’t afford to get weak from lack of food.”
He had another drink of water and offered it back to Haley who took it.
They both looked at their bowl of crickets.
“I don’t know whether to be grateful we’re getting fed or suspicious and wonder if they are lulling us into a false sense of security,” he told her honestly. “The guards seem pretty lax with security, almost to the point where it’s like they know that, even if we try to escape, we’ll fail. I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact the island is uninhabited except for this rebel group, and they presumably guard the boats. I mean, maybe there is a helipad or even a runway somewhere…”
“Can you fly a plane?”
“Unfortunately not.” He laughed and then caught himself. It wasn’t funny.
“What do you think they want with you?”
“I don’t know.” He cleared his throat, not wanting to tell her his worst fears, but that would be foolish. They couldn’t keep secrets if they were going to trust one another. “It could be a routine ransom demand. There were a couple of American seniors who were kidnapped off their yacht in the South China Sea about six months ago. The yacht was never found—a thirty-eight-footer. A militant group have been asking for a ransom of ten million dollars. The family have been selling everything they own trying to raise the cash, but they have only been able to gather just over a million bucks. Another young woman was taken a day or so ago. A grad student volcanologist. No demand yet, but it usually takes a few days before they try to make contact with the relatives. They probably think if they have me, the government will have to negotiate, but that’s not how this works.”
Haley touched his hand. She did that often, he’d noticed. Touched him. He liked it. He liked it a lot.
“I could raise enough money to buy all our ways out of here.”
Quentin shook his head. “And then this organization is empowered to go out and kidnap more Westerners. And they’d keep asking for more money until they bleed you and the other families dry. The government will never allow a ransom to be paid for me—if they did, they’d open up every US official in the world to the K&R game.”
Haley’s mouth twisted, obviously unhappy with his reply. “Seems like they are already in the kidnap-and-ransom-US-officials game.”
“True, but give them that kind of cash and imagine the weaponry they could purchase and how many people they could hurt with it.”
She tucked her knees up to her chin, obviously disappointed it wasn’t so simple. He was disappointed too.
They sat quietly, side by side. Finally, she spoke again. “You said it could be a ransom demand. What else could it be?”
He looked away. “A PR campaign. They might be planning to torture me,” he cleared his throat, needing to be honest, “us, live on the internet to raise their cachet in the terrorist world and give the US the finger. Also, to give those other families more incentive to come up with the ransom. The fact that they now know you’re wealthy means I think they’ll keep you alive.”
“With or without a nose?” She looked like she was going to be sick. “Do you have a plan that will keep me from losing my mind?” She picked up another fried cricket and crunched down on it with determination.
He put his arm around her and leaned his head against hers. She was beautiful and smart and hadn’t completely freaked out despite living a nightmare. First rule of survival—don’t freak out.
“You’d have made a great agent, you know.”
She laughed but didn’t sound happy. “Because I’m so brave?”
“You are brave.”
“I have done nothing except hide behind you since we met.” She looked disgusted at the idea.
“We did do something else.” He bumped her shoulder gently.
Her eyes flared at the reminder, and a zing of attraction passed between them as she laughed. “And I’m glad we did. It’ll be something positive to remember if…”
He’d been going for a distraction but had obviously failed.
“Is it wrong that I’m happy I stumbled into your bedroom last night, and not someone else’s?” she said quietly.
They stared at one another for a long moment, the air heated between them.
“Not wrong. I’m happy it was me too. I haven’t felt like that since—” He cut himself off. Haley Cramer wasn’t the sort of woman who’d appreciate being compared to his late wife, and Abbie deserved better. And maybe Haley would have slept with anyone who’d rescued her, simply to reassert her control over her body. He didn’t know where to put that thought or the slight feeling of hurt that accompanied it. They had bigger issues to deal with.
He cleared his throat. “I thought we’d try to escape sooner rather than later, even though they’ll be watching us closely to start with. I think we could probably pick the padlock and creep out while it’s dark. Head down to the cove and steal the yacht or another boat.”
“It’s risky.” Her eyes were huge.
“It is. They’ll punish us if we get caught, and it will make today look like a kid’s birthday party.”
“They might be guarding the boats,” she warned.
“I assume they will be. But if we can’t get to the boats, we can hide out in the jungle until we figure out another way off this island. It’s better than sitting here at these guys’ mercy.”
“I agree.” She shivered and rubbed at the goosebumps that had formed on her arms. “The longer we stay, the worse it’s going to get. I’d rather die trying to get out of here than wait for that asshole to cut off my goddamn nose.”
He kissed her hair, the scent of smoke lingering there. She turned and smiled at him, and he found himself looking at her lips and then blinked, horrified at himself. What the hell was he thinking with all the touchy-feely shit? Just because they’d had sex, and he needed this human connection didn’t mean she would welcome it. She was the victim of multiple assaults—
She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, as if they were a real married couple and an affectionate peck was par for the course.
“In case they’re watching,” she murmured quickly, her cheeks heating a glorious red.
The little he could see of the guard suggested the man was sleeping.
A lump lodged in his throat. After years of being emotionally dead when it came to women, he’d finally met someone he could care about again. Haley Cramer. Who looked like a million bucks even without all the gilding, and who was sharp and honest and resilient.
Odds were they’d both be dead in a week.
The universe sure did have a twisted sense of humor.
Even if they got to the yacht, the bad guys had speedboats, and radios and AKs and knew their way around these parts. He had some old SERE’s training, a lot of determination, and the help of a woman who apparently liked mad English survivalists.
He picked up another cricket, determined to keep up his strength. Then the ground shook beneath his feet, and Haley screamed.
Chapter Thirteen
“So on top of everything else, we’re sitting on an active volcano?” Haley couldn’t believe their luck. What the heck had she done to upset the universe? Whatever it was, she was ready to repent.
“Seems like it.”
Their captors were chattering excitedly, but their attention seemed intent on the mountain, not them.
Quentin had a good poker face and was probably trying not to scare her, but she was done being courageous.
“How can you be so calm?” she hissed. They were both careful to keep their voices low enough that the guards couldn’t overhear their conversation.
He gave her a lopsided smile. The fact that the man was gorgeous despite being dirty and disheveled and having a jaw darkened with scruff didn’t make anything okay.
Nothing was okay.
Especially her being angry with him.
Tears filled her eyes, and she tried to stop them, but they rushed her defenses and started leaking out of her face. God, she hated tears. She found herself hauled against a strong male chest and then she started quietly sobbing. Not wanting to draw the guard’s attention, she stuffed her hand into her mouth as Quentin rocked her back and forth, the way a parent might a child. Except it was a comfort she’d never received from her aloof father, and it made Quentin’s actions even more poignant.
“It’s okay, Haley. I’ve got you. For as long as it takes, I’ve got you. Let it all out.”
Tears blinded her, and sobs wrenched out of her chest despite her attempts to keep quiet. He rubbed his hands up and down her spine, absorbing some of her pain, soothing some of her fear and hurt. He murmured nonsense sounds against her hair and she wept and wept, unable to get a hold of herself. After several minutes, she shuddered and stilled. She was done.
Quentin dipped a tiny corner of the blanket in the water and dabbed her face.
“I’m sorry.” She felt better, more in control now. She didn’t even know the last time she’d cried. Probably when Alex Parker had been incarcerated in that Moroccan jail on some bogus charge, and she thought she’d lost him forever. “I didn’t mean to fall apart. We haven’t even been here twenty-four hours, and I’m whining like a baby.”
He squeezed the excess water from the blanket and dropped it back onto the cot.
“My turn tomorrow.” He gave her a smile that was subtle in its humor, but she suddenly remembered he was the one who’d been beaten several times, and she hadn’t even asked if he was okay.
“Are you injured?” She stopped squeezing him so tight. “I didn’t even ask. Your ribs—”
“They hurt a little, but I was laying it on thick for our friends. The punches weren’t fun, but they weren’t that damaging. I’m not pissing blood which is a good sign.”
She tried to forget the feel of that steel blade beneath her nose. “I don’t want to think about how much worse it could get or think about how long we might be stuck here.”
Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2) Page 11
