The Captive

by Elle Kennedy

  We. His use of the word only served as a reminder of who he truly was. He was working with these men. Holding her captive. All so he could score a few bucks. It was perplexing, because even now, she couldn’t bring herself to call this man greedy. He lacked that hungry glint in his eyes, the one that every other man in this nasty group seemed to possess.

  “Why do you need the money?” she blurted out, unable to let go of the disturbing notion.

  Deacon shrugged. “Why don’t I?”

  “Are you planning on buying a yacht? A fancy villa? Cars, women, expensive gadgets?”

  Discomfort was written all over his face. “No, I’m not planning on buying any of those things.”

  “Then why?”

  His mouth opened, then closed, his strong throat bobbing as he swallowed repeatedly. Her question seemed to bring him great distress, which only piqued her curiosity. No, it wasn’t curiosity, she quickly amended. She didn’t want to know a damn thing about this man. But if she could figure out what made him tick, she might be able to use it to her advantage.

  Unfortunately, he decided to ignore the question altogether. “If you need anything during the night, to use the bathroom, a glass of water…just knock on the door,” he said in a rough voice.

  “Deacon,” she called after him, but he was already gone.

  As the door closed and the lock slid back into place, Lana sagged against the uncomfortable wooden headboard of the bed.

  And started to cry.

  * * *

  She was trying to be quiet, but Deacon clearly heard Lana’s muffled sobs as he walked down the narrow hallway toward the living area. He’d made her cry. Somehow, that notion brought a slice of pain to his chest. A part of him wanted to turn around and comfort her, but he fought the urge. Damn it. He was losing control here.

  Lana’s question continued to buzz around in his brain like a relentless hornet. Then why? Why did he need the money? Why was he doing this?

  He almost wished he’d gone along with her accusations, lied and told her it was all about greed. But it wasn’t. Everything he was doing now, everything he’d done in the past, could all be credited to one simple thing: survival. He did what he did in order to survive. In order to ensure that never again would he be defenseless. Powerless.

  Is that really why?

  Deacon faltered. Truth was, a part of him wasn’t even sure why he still did this. He didn’t have buckets of money, but he had enough to live on modestly if he wanted to. He wasn’t a scared and hungry teenager anymore, desperate to survive. He didn’t need to take on so many assignments, especially not ones like this, that made him so damn uneasy. So why?

  Because you’re a bad person.

  The little voice spoke in a flat, unyielding tone. It was a conclusion he’d reached years ago, after spending too many nights lying in bed and wondering how on earth he’d gotten to this point. He supposed he could always quit. But then what? He’d spent too many years living dangerously, often on the wrong side of the law—no way could he quit now and live as a respectable citizen.

  This attraction for Lana was going to get him in trouble, he knew that. Yet he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t control the ripples of desire that shook his body each time he was in the same room as her, or the way his palms tingled, begging him to touch her. Or how every cell in his body screamed for him to whisk her away from all this. To keep her safe and protected and…happy. He wanted to make her happy.

  God help him.

  “How’s the girl?” Le Clair demanded when Deacon stepped into the living room.

  Echo and Kilo were sprawled on the two couches, catching some shut-eye before they relieved the others, who were patrolling the perimeter. Le Clair ran a tight ship, and his men were nothing if not efficient. Trip wire had been laid around the cabin, which would go kaboom if anyone tried to get near it. Motion sensors were installed on every window, and the entire interior was rigged with explosives, too, designed to eliminate evidence in case they needed to get out in a hurry. They hadn’t bothered with cameras, since the area was so deserted they’d easily see or hear anyone approaching.

  Tango and Charlie were stationed up in the hills, sniper rifles at hand and eyes on the clearing below, while Yankee and Oscar walked the perimeter, armed to the teeth. The sleeping beauties, Echo and Kilo, would man the next shift, and Le Clair had taken up residence on the front porch, muttering into his cell phone for most of the evening.

  Deacon, of course, was on babysitting duty, though he was secretly grateful for the task. For some reason, he didn’t want any of the other men around Lana.

  “She’s getting ready to go to sleep,” Deacon informed the boss. “I’ll stand guard outside the door for the night.”

  Le Clair looked pleased. “Good.”

  “I’ll just use the john and then—”

  “First we need to talk,” the boss cut in.

  Le Clair gestured for Deacon to follow him out on the rickety old porch. They stepped outside, and the wood beneath Deacon’s feet creaked in protest from the weight of his black boots.

  “You came highly recommended, Holt,” Le Clair began, sounding wary. “But that stunt you pulled at the airstrip… I won’t tolerate that insubordination, understand?”

  Deacon gave a humble nod. “I know. I was completely out of line, and I promise you, boss, it won’t happen again.”

  Those silver eyes fixed Deacon with a deadly look. “You have the hots for her, don’t you?”

  Deacon’s head snapped up in surprise. “What? Of course not.”

  Le Clair chuckled. “Don’t apologize for it. Even I’ve noticed she’s a sweet piece of ass. And if this were any other job, I might even be lenient about it, let you have some fun with the girl.”

  Deacon swallowed down the bile suddenly coating his throat. Fun? Was he actually hearing this? Though he couldn’t say it surprised him that Le Clair had given his men free rein with the targets in the past. He was simply that sadistic.

  “But this one’s different.” Le Clair’s face went grave. “She’s high-profile, and we can’t bring her back to her daddy carrying some bastard child because you knocked her up while taking your jollies. You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” Deacon muttered.

  “So keep your hands off her, and don’t give me any more trouble, all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now get back inside and man the door.” Le Clair suddenly let out a laugh and glanced at Deacon with surprising sympathy. “Not your ideal assignment, is it, Holt?”

  “What do you mean?” Deacon asked, wary.

  “I know you’d rather be out with the other men, walking the perimeter, instead of hand-holding a rich princess. I admit, I gave you the job to punish you for your earlier outburst, but it seems like our sweet Miss Kelley responds well to you.”

  If you only knew…

  “She hasn’t caused any trouble thus far, so I’m inclined to keep her under your watch.” Le Clair’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  “Not at all, sir,” Deacon said quickly.

  “Good.” Le Clair pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his black pants, and with that, the conversation was over.

  With a nod, Deacon headed back inside, where he leaned against the door for a moment, collecting his composure. He knew Le Clair didn’t suspect a thing, but the man’s taunt about Deacon having the “hots” for Lana Kelley had hit the mark. Hot was precisely how he felt toward the woman. Just the sight of her made his groin tighten.

  And the knowledge that Le Clair had also noticed Lana’s ethereal beauty sent uneasiness soaring through him. If Le Clair even looked at her the wrong way, Deacon wasn’t sure what he would do. He’d promised to keep her safe, and he had no intention of letting Le Clair get his grubby hands on her.

  But he couldn’t challenge Le Clair, either. From the moment Deacon had accepted this gig, he’d known it wouldn’t be like the others. The people he’d worked
for in the past were innocent little lambs compared to Paul Le Clair. The man was a stone-cold killer, with a total disregard for other human beings, not to mention a complete lack of restraint. If Lana so much as sneezed wrong, Le Clair wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, and that troubled the hell out of Deacon.

  God, his head was spinning. It was becoming tiring, trying to stay focused on this job. He had Le Clair breathing down his neck, Lana gazing at him with those betrayed blue eyes, his conscience yelling at him for his part in this, his brain reminding him that survival and self-preservation should always come first.

  It was getting hard keeping it together, and the assignment had just begun.

  How on earth was he going to see it through without going absolutely freaking insane?

  * * *

  The loud ringing of her cell phone drew Sarah Mistler Kelley from a troubled sleep. Instantly alert, she reached for the phone, which she’d set on the antique mahogany nightstand by the luxurious bed in the guest room of Vivienne Kemp’s rambling beach house. Sarah had been staying with her old friend ever since the news of her husband’s infidelities hit the tabloids. The wife of a senator, Sarah had gotten used to being hounded by the press.

  But never for this reason.

  Swallowing down the golf-ball-size lump in the back of her throat, Sarah glanced at the caller ID. Her bitterness heightened. Hank. The number flashing across the screen of her BlackBerry was that of her husband’s cell phone—it was not the long-distance number she’d been hoping for.

  Sighing, she set the phone back down. Hank had been calling non-stop since she’d walked out of their Beverly Hills mansion. She’d diligently avoided each call, and tonight would be no different.

  Sarah leaned against the headboard, listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the wooden stilts beneath the enormous house. The ocean was choppy tonight, as turbulent as her emotions. A terrible feeling had been gnawing at the pit of her stomach since yesterday evening, when her daughter hadn’t phoned as she’d promised.

  Lana was a big girl, Sarah was well aware of that, but a part of her still wasn’t able to accept it. Lana would always be her baby, the tiny miracle that had come to her when she’d considered herself too old to bear any more children. And she’d forever have a soft spot for her youngest, the lone female after a long line of big, strapping boys.

  The phone rang again, making her jump. She’d opted for a utilitarian ring tone, unlike the fancy Mozart symphony her husband had chosen for his phone. Hank Kelley was all about flash. Always had been, always would be.

  Sarah’s lips tightened when she saw his number again. Twice in two minutes. The man must be getting desperate.

  “Good,” she muttered to herself.

  He deserved to feel desperate, after the way he’d treated her.

  The ringing stopped, but the relief she experienced didn’t last long, as the phone came to life again a second later.

  Concern sparked in her belly. This couldn’t be good. Three calls. Biting back her anger, she picked up the phone and said, “What do you want, Hank?”

  “Sarah! Thank God!”

  Her body instantly tensed, and not just because she was talking to her estranged husband. There was deep worry lining that gruff voice—and Hank wasn’t prone to worrying. When a problem arose, he brushed it off, letting someone else take care of it, and it was usually his wife who ended up cleaning his messes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked immediately. “Is it one of the children?”

  He paused for a long beat. “Have you spoken to Lana?”

  That nagging feeling that had plagued her for more than a day came rushing back. “No, I haven’t. She was supposed to call me yesterday when she got to Florence, but she never did.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  Sarah clutched the phone tighter, her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip. “What’s going on, Hank? Do you know why Lana didn’t call me?”

  There was a deafening silence.

  “Hank.”

  “She’s disappeared,” he finally said.

  Sarah’s heart stopped. “What do you mean, she’s disappeared?”

  “She boarded the train in Paris, and nobody has seen her since. And this morning…I got a call.”

  Terror swept through her like a flash flood. “Who from?”

  “I don’t know.” Her husband sounded so distressed she had to fight a spark of sympathy. “Whoever it was, he said he’s got Lana. I didn’t believe him at first, but I’ve been calling around and I can’t find her, damn it! Her landlord said she hasn’t been back at her flat, her professors haven’t heard from her…it’s like she vanished into thin air.”

  A chill shuddered through Sarah’s body. “I knew something was wrong,” she whispered. “When she didn’t call…I felt something was wrong. Oh, God. Hank, who could have taken her?”

  Another beat. “We both know I have a lot of enemies, darling.”

  Anger exploded in her stomach, not just because he’d called her darling, when, at the moment, he had no right to call her anything of the sort, but because she knew if Lana had disappeared, it was all Hank Kelley’s fault.

  “What enemies?” she demanded. “Who has her?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  He was lying to her. Sarah had given this man more than thirty years of her life. She knew him better than he knew himself. And she always knew when he was lying.

  “What did you do?” she asked coldly.

  He sounded dismayed. “Darling, I—”

  “Don’t you dare darling me! Tell me, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time, and what does it have to do with our daughter?”

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “Complicated?” She was practically roaring now, but was far too upset to lower her voice. Vivienne’s bedroom was on the floor above hers, and she prayed she didn’t wake her long-time friend. “Our daughter has disappeared, and you know something about it! So you better uncomplicate it and tell me the damn truth. What exactly did the caller say?”

  “I told you, just that he has Lana, and that if we call the police, there will be repercussions.”

  Sarah paled. “They’ll kill her?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” He hesitated. “We can’t contact the police yet, not until the man calls back.”

  Sarah gave an unladylike curse. “So you want to sit around and wait?”

  “I’m going to get her back, Sarah.”

  The confidence ringing in his tone made her want to hit something. “Sure you will,” she spat out. “You constantly bring all these problems on our family, promise to take care of them and, in the end, you only cause a greater rift between us. Cole can barely look at you! Chase refuses to have any contact with us, depriving me of my only grandchildren! And now Lana is gone.”

  Sarah fought for breath. She was suddenly seeing stars, the turmoil of the past few weeks finally beginning to take its toll on her. Her husband had cheated on her, after she’d given him years and years of devotion, and now, because of some foolhardy decision he’d made, their only daughter was missing.

  “You had better get her back,” she warned, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold the phone steady anymore. “Do you hear me, Hank Kelley? You’ve done a lot of awful things in your lifetime. You’ve hurt me more than I can ever say. But I swear to you, Hank, if anything happens to our baby girl, I will never forgive you for this. Never.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Four days. Lana could barely comprehend how four days had passed and she was still being kept against her will in a desolate cabin in northern California. Why hadn’t the kidnappers contacted her family yet? Or maybe they had, and her family was refusing to negotiate with them….

  She forced the scary thought from her mind, fixing her gaze out the small rusted window in the bedroom. No, her father would never stand for this. Hank Kelley, despite his many flaws, would never allow his daughter to be held captive for
a second longer than necessary. Maybe Le Clair was the one stalling. He could always be holding out for more money.

  More money for what, though? What was this even about? A straight-up ransom thing? Or did it have to do with her dad’s recent scandal? Could Le Clair be blackmailing Hank—maybe threatening to reveal some more damaging information? None of this made sense to her. There were no answers, no clarity. Just the knowledge that she was a prisoner.

  Moving to the window of the bedroom, Lana examined the barren land through the dirty windowpane. Her pulse quickened when she caught sight of Charlie standing several yards away, a rifle slung over his shoulder and his shaved head gleaming in the pale afternoon sun. The man’s dark gaze was sharp as a hawk’s, moving left and right in a practiced sweep of the area. She suspected the others had taken up similar positions to guard the cabin.

  To make sure nobody approached unseen—and that she couldn’t escape.

  Trapped. She was utterly trapped, and a rush of pure helplessness hit her body. Her hands slid down to her still-flat belly, stroking it protectively.

  “It’s okay, baby,” she whispered. “We’re going to get out of this.”

  She’d begun talking to the baby often over the days. She hoped he or she was finding her voice reassuring. It reassured her, too, despite the fact that she’d never been prone to talking to herself.

  “Your granddaddy is going to pay the bad men whatever they want,” she continued softly, stroking her stomach. “And then we’ll go home. You’re going to love your grandparents’ house. It’s big and beautiful and you’ll have so much room to play….”

  Her voice drifted, as she realized she had no clue if she and the baby would even live in the Beverly Hills mansion. She probably ought to get her own place, or maybe find a cozy little ranch house in Montana, near the Bar Lazy K, her brother Cole’s ranch. But her mother would probably want her close by. Mom would adore being a grandma. Her eldest brother, Chase, had two kids with his wife, but Lana’s mother didn’t get to see them often. Only once a year, when she flew out to Chase’s cattle station in Australia. Chase hadn’t returned to the States since he’d left at the age of eighteen, determined to be rid of his father.