Nic watched in frozen horror.
Lina looked past her attacker, her eyes speaking volumes as she stared at Nic. While Mr. Auburn Hair licked and bit his way downward to Lina’s belly, the girl lifted one hand and motioned to Nic. At first Nic didn’t understand, but when she tugged on her torn sundress, Lina nodded, and Nic knew the girl was telling her to take off her clothes. Reluctant to strip, Nic debated what to do, but decided to trust Lina, who had no doubt faced this situation on numerous occasions. While Mr. Auburn Hair clawed Lina, Nic removed her sundress, her transparent lace bra and matching bikini panties.
With the skill of an experienced courtesan, Lina guided Mr. Auburn Hair toward the bed. He staggered once, then fell into the bed, laughing as he pulled Lina down on top of him. As if suddenly remembering Nic, he glanced across the room and motioned for her to join them.
Dear God, she couldn’t do this. She was no meek lamb who would go willingly to the slaughter.
When he ordered her to come to him, his speech slightly slurred, Nic forced her legs into action and slowly made her way toward the bed. As Nic drew near, Lina slid down over Mr. Auburn Hair’s penis, taking him inside her.
“You great lover,” Lina told him as she began riding him.
While Nic stood at the edge of the bed, waiting, but for what she didn’t know, Mr. Auburn Hair grunted with release. Not until Lina crawled off him and stood up did Nic realize that he was not simply resting after sex, but that he was unconscious.
“What happened to him?” Nic asked. “Did he have a heart attack?”
“Wine.” Lina smiled.
“The wine?” Realization dawned. “Oh my God, you drugged the wine.”
“His wine, yes.”
“You did this for me, didn’t you? Oh, Lina, you’ve bought me some time, but at great cost to you. How can I ever thank you?”
“I am whore since thirteen,” Lina said.
“Oh, Lina, I’m so—”
Lina held up her hand in a Stop motion. “He sleep all night. You”—she pointed to Nic—“and me”—she pointed to herself—“in bed when he is awake.”
“Yes, I understand. If I’m in bed with him and he doesn’t remember what happened, he might believe that we had sex. But what do I do if he wants sex in the morning? We can hardly drug his orange juice.”
“He will not,” Lina said. “He cannot.”
“He can’t?”
Lina stuck her index finger straight up, and then folded it in half.
Nic almost laughed. “The drug you put in the wine not only knocked him out but ...” Nic mimicked Lina’s finger gesture.
“Old medicine from island,” Lina said. “Plants grow here. I make and hide.”
Nic saw Lina in a whole new light. Not as a pitiful victim, a sex slave doomed to endless humiliation and abuse, but as a cunning young woman who had not completely surrendered control to her masters. She didn’t fight in an obvious way, but in a very subtle, very careful way. Nic had just learned a valuable lesson from her newfound friend.
Griff finally left the office suite around four that morning, went to his study, and eventually fell asleep on the sofa sometime after five. When he woke, his left shoulder ached where it had pressed awkwardly against the sofa arm, and he felt groggy and slightly disoriented. Sitting up, he folded the upper half of his body toward his knees and stretched his neck, shoulders, and back as he stared down at his feet. He lifted his hands, placed them on either side of his head, and rubbed his temples.
He needed coffee.
Barbara Jean would have coffee in both the kitchen and in the office. All he had to do was go to either place for a much-needed caffeine boost. But he dreaded leaving the quiet haven of his private den. His friends and employees meant well, their actions coming from sincere concern for his wellbeing and their love and respect for Nic, but he couldn’t bear the looks of pity in their eyes.
Coming up slowly onto his feet, Griff clutched the back of his neck and massaged the sore muscles. As much as he would like to, he couldn’t hide away in here all day. Staying alone in his study, thinking about Nic, imagining what she might be experiencing, wouldn’t help her. All it would do was drive him crazy.
Griff walked across the semidark study, shards of morning light slipping through the shuttered windows. He opened the door and walked out into the hall. The buzz of a wide-awake and active household met him the moment he emerged from his seclusion. As he neared the kitchen, the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying lured him closer, but when he heard the drone of female voices, he paused, his hand on the kitchen door.
You’re going to have to eat and sleep and interact with others if you have any hope of staying sane while you search for Nic.
He shoved open the door and walked into the kitchen. The voices he had heard belonged to Barbara Jean Hughes, Maleah, and Griffin Rest’s longtime cook, Mattie Glover. All three women turned and stared at him.
“Morning,” he said as he headed for the coffeemaker.
“Did you get any sleep?” Barbara Jean asked and then motioned to Mattie, who immediately filled an empty plate with bacon, eggs, hash browns, and a couple of biscuits.
“Yeah, I got some sleep.” Griff poured the hot, black brew into a mug, lifted the mug to his mouth, and savored the first sip.
“Sit down and eat,” Barbara Jean told him as Mattie set the overflowing plate on the table.
“Yes, ma’am.” Griff placed the UT orange mug beside his plate, pulled out a chair, and sat across from Maleah, who lifted her gaze to meet his. “How about you? Did you and Derek get any sleep?” The couple had gone upstairs to bed around three this morning, an hour before he had sought solitude in his study.
“Some,” she replied. “Derek’s in the shower. He’ll be down soon.”
Griff eyed the food in front of him.
“I took it upon myself to call Charles David last night before I went to bed,” Maleah said. “I thought he should know that Nic is missing.”
Griff snapped his gaze up from the breakfast plate and met Maleah’s hostile stare. “Right. Yes, of course. He did need to know. Thank you.” Griff hadn’t given Charles David, Nic’s younger brother, a thought.
“He’s going to take the first flight out of San Francisco this morning.”
“Then he’s coming here?”
“Eat now, talk later.” Barbara Jean cast Maleah a scolding glare.
Maleah downed the last drops in her coffee cup, scooted back her chair, and stood. Just as she walked over and put her cup in the dishwasher, Shaughnessy Hood came barreling into the room.
“Good. You’re up.” Shaughnessy looked at Griff. “Sanders wants to see you right now. He has a lead on where Linden may have taken Nic.”
Without giving his breakfast another thought, Griff shot to his feet and hurried out of the kitchen. Shaughnessy lumbered along behind him, his size sixteen shoes pounding against the wooden hallway floor.
As they rushed to the office suite, Maleah caught up with them. Sanders met Griff at the door. He held up several computer printouts.
“There is a privately owned island, off the coast of Belize, south of Mexico, in the Caribbean Sea that could be where Linden took Nicole,” Sanders said, and without taking a breath added, “I contacted the deputy prime minister personally, explained the situation, and he agreed to cut through all the red tape. The information we needed just came in a couple of minutes ago. The title for the island shows that it is owned by Kroy Enterprises.”
“Kroy again,” Griff said. “Do you have the exact location?”
Griff’s heartbeat strummed inside his head. They could be in Belize in a few hours. Was it possible they had actually found Nic so easily, that there was a chance they could bring her home today?
“Shelter Island consists of nine acres of heavily wooded land and is located northwest of the Cat Cayes range. There is no landing strip on the island, so unless Linden took Nicole there by helicopter, he had to have taken her by boat.”
“We have several freelance operatives we can trust.”
“I want to know if and when a private jet owned by Kroy Enterprises landed in Belize or Mexico or—”
“Rett’s handling that now.” Sanders glanced at Everett Dawson who was at that moment on the telephone.
Griff scanned the office, saw that Sanders, Rett Dawson, Shaughnessy, and Maleah were the only people in the suite. “Where’s Luke Sentell? He hasn’t left yet, has he?”
“Luke hasn’t come up to the main house this morning. I assume he’s still asleep down at the bunkhouse,” Maleah told them.
“Get him,” Griff said, his voice deadly calm. “I need him to postpone his trip to Europe.”
Maleah turned and immediately left the room.
They could wait to gather more info, to be absolutely certain that Nic was being held captive on Shelter Island, but Griff wasn’t willing to postpone doing what his gut told him to do now. Yeah, sure, they could be walking into a trap. Or the mastermind behind Malcolm York’s resurrection could have planted the info leading them straight to Shelter Island as a decoy. Linden could have taken Nic anywhere. For all they knew, she could be halfway around the world by now.
Before Mr. Auburn Hair began to rouse, Nic slipped into the robe hanging on the bathroom door and tossed Lina the matching gown. While Nic poured the contents of the wine bottle into the commode and flushed the merlot, Lina kept watch over the sleeping hunter. Just as Nic came out of the bathroom, a loud knock rocked the heavy wooden door seconds before Anthony Linden swept into the room, a package under his arm. He glanced from Nic to Lina and then at Mr. Auburn Hair, who rolled onto his back and mumbled incoherently, apparently coming out of his drug-induced sleep.
“It would appear you two wore him out.” Linden grinned at them. “Neither of you look the worse for wear.” He walked over to Nic, ran the back of his hand down her back, and into the V of her robe. “I find the bruises on your neck exciting. I’m sure other men will, too.”
Nic cringed at his touch. Bastard!
“Lina, leave us,” Linden said. “Go to your quarters and pack. You’ll be leaving the island in less than an hour.”
They were on an island. She knew it. That was the reason she had been transported from the airplane to a boat. Apparently there wasn’t a landing strip on the island.
Lina hurried from the room without a word of protest or a backward glance at either Linden or Nic. Once the door closed behind the servant girl, Linden turned to Nic again. The way he ogled her made her uneasy.
Mr. Auburn Hair grunted, kicked back the covers to reveal his naked body, and cursed loudly as he tried to sit up.
Linden lifted the small package from under his left arm and handed it to Nic. “Fresh clothes. Shower now while you can and get dressed.” He glanced at the grumbling man who struggled to get out of bed. “I’ll take care of our guest.”
Nic didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the package and ran into the bathroom. If only there was a lock on the door. But there wasn’t. Either man could easily barge in on her. But Linden had said for her to take a shower while she could. Did that mean it could be a while before she got the chance again?
After removing the robe, she hung it on the back of the door, and then turned on the shower and stepped under the lukewarm spray. Working quickly, she washed her hair before she soaped, scrubbed, and rinsed her body. In less than five minutes, she had bathed, towel-dried her hair, brushed her teeth, applied deodorant, and dressed in the skintight jeans and cotton T-shirt Linden had provided. No bra. No panties. Not a good sign.
She stood in front of the wall of mirrors above the double-sink vanity and inspected the bruises on her neck. Mr. Auburn Hair had choked her when he’d wrapped his hands around her neck as he kissed her.
Last night, she’d gotten lucky, thanks to Lina. But Linden said they were transferring the young woman off the island today. Did he suspect what she’d done to Mr. Auburn Hair? Or were her services simply required elsewhere? When Lina went away, Nic would lose her only ally on the island.
She walked over to the closed door and listened, wondering what was happening in the bedroom. If Mr. Auburn Hair had caused a ruckus, she hadn’t heard it while she was in the shower. She cracked the bathroom door just enough to peek into the bedroom. It appeared to be empty. There was no sign of either man. She eased the door open and walked out of the bathroom.
Alone in her gilded cage, Nic slumped down on the chaise longue, a sense of hopelessness weighing down on her. She was on an island, probably somewhere in the Caribbean, but she had no idea exactly where. Could she reasonably expect Griff to find her? Yes, damn it, if it were humanly possible to locate her, Griff would do it. At this very moment he was using every resource available to the Powell Agency to search the world over for her. She simply had to stay alive, to do whatever was necessary to keep herself and her baby safe until Griff came for them.
But between now and then, what was going to happen to her? If not for Lina, Mr. Auburn Hair would have raped her last night, probably more than once. Was he only the first of many men she would be expected to service? Last night, she had been nothing more than part of the hunter’s package deal—winner take all, and that included a woman for the night. How many more would there be? And how would she deal with them without Lina’s help?
Nic closed her eyes. “Please, God,” she whispered, “help me stay strong. Help me survive. Keep my baby safe.”
Malcolm York looked out from the wall of windows in his penthouse suite in Mayfair. The lovely view of Hyde Park had been one of the reasons he had leased the two apartments that covered approximately ten thousand square feet, which was quite enormous for this area of London. A local real estate magazine had boasted that these duplex penthouses could well be the most impressive penthouses in London, possibly in the entire world.
Malcolm liked owning impressive things. This penthouse was only one of his many possessions, including his garage of automobiles, his yacht, his stable of Thoroughbreds, the castle in Scotland, a ranch in the U.S. and a number of private islands around the world. Although his international business concerns required that he occasionally travel, he preferred spending most of his time here. But quite soon, a matter of the utmost urgency would require him to leave for a rather extensive period of time. He had finally managed to obtain the means by which to even an old score, to at long last exact overdue revenge against his most grievous enemy.
Despite his eagerness, he knew that he must be patient. All good things come to those who wait.
In due time, he would introduce himself to Nicole Baxter Powell, but until then, Linden would take very good care of her. The man had his instructions. Malcolm wanted Griffin Powell’s wife to be introduced to every aspect of the businesses that had made him a billionaire and learn firsthand how her husband’s vast wealth had been accumulated. Money that Powell and Sanders and Yvette Meng had stolen. They were all three murderers and thieves. However, he knew that Yvette and Sanders were now, as they had been on Amara, nothing more than Griffin Powell’s accomplices.
Malcolm smiled at the thought of his archenemy moving heaven and earth trying to find his beloved wife. Nicole was the carrot he would dangle in front of Powell, giving him hope that he could find her and save her.
False hope.
But in the days and weeks—perhaps even months—ahead, he would enjoy himself immensely as he brought Griffin Powell to his knees and made him beg.
As laughter bubbled inside him, Malcolm checked the time. His personal assistant had been sent to pick up his guest and bring him here for a visit. As if on cue, Yves Bouchard stepped from the private elevator entrance into Malcolm’s luxurious apartment. Having delivered her employer’s guest, Martine took the elevator back down to the ground floor.
With open arms, Malcolm met Bouchard and encompassed his compatriot in a welcoming hug. As they
broke apart, Malcolm said, “I am so pleased that you accepted my invitation.”
“Surely you do not think I would come to London and leave without seeing you.”
Bouchard could be charming when he chose to be, but Malcolm knew, perhaps better than anyone, what a ruthless bastard his old friend really was. But who among his friends did not have a few flaws?
“Will you be here in London for long?”
“A few more days,” Bouchard said as he followed Malcolm into the massive dining/living room area that spanned the length of the building. “I dined with Harlan last night. He mentioned that you were planning a hunt sometime soon. I don’t hunt as much as I once did, but if you will be personally hosting the event, I would like to be included.”
“Of course, of course. Without question, your name always heads the list when I host a hunt. And you are always welcome to bring a guest with you.”
Malcolm indicated for Bouchard to sit beside him when he stretched out comfortably on the thickly padded leather sofa. “I am working on the details to make this hunt one my guests will never forget. It has been years in the making, so be patient, my friend.”
“Perhaps you will give me a petite hint.” Bouchard indicated a miniscule measurement by bringing his thumb and forefinger almost together. “What will make this hunt unforgettable?”
Beverly Barton Bundle Page 89
