by Rebecca York
My God, had Victor Zanov decided he wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer? The audacity of that idea took her breath away. Under the covers, she clenched her fists, struggling for calm, unwilling to be the first to speak.
When she said nothing, he filled the silence. “I’m sorry for the devious method of bringing you here, my sweet.” He spoke in excellent English, but with the pronounced Russian accent that she remembered.
The endearment made her cringe. “You don’t think kidnapping me is immoral and illegal?” she managed to ask.
He raised one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I spoke to your father about marrying you, and he was opposed to the idea. But I’m sure he’ll come around—after you give him some cute little grandchildren.”
The enormity of the statement made her gasp.
Ignoring her reaction, he went on. “I’ve arranged the ceremony for tomorrow.”
While she struggled to process that news, he continued to fill her in on his plans. “It will be an elegant but small affair. A few of my closest friends and associates will be coming in by boat. But I think you’ll find the reception festive.”
She tried to hold her voice steady when she answered, “I can’t marry you.”
“Of course you can, and you will.”
“I have to go home. My father will be frantic. Did you tell him where I am?”
“I will—after I insure that you’re mine.”
The way he said it made her go cold all over. Then another terrible thought struck her, and she caught her breath. “What happened to Eden?”
“She’s perfectly safe. My men left her with that bodyguard, Mr. Cunningham. And as for going home, this is your new home. You’re here on my private island in the Caribbean. It’s even better guarded than your father’s estate.”
Before she could respond, he added, “Of course, if you’re totally opposed to marrying me, I can drop you off where I picked you up and fetch Eden instead.”
Camille drew in a sharp breath. “Eden?”
“Yes. She’s my second choice, of course. But she’s almost as lovely as you are, and I think she’d be quick to comply.”
Camille took in his words. Her younger sister had never been strong. This man would break her spirit, and then her health would go downhill. But could he even get Eden? Dad probably had her locked up at the estate. Still, if there was a chance of Eden’s getting kidnapped, Camille had to protect her.
When she gave a little nod of acquiescence, he continued in a satisfied voice. “I’m glad you’re being pragmatic. And of course, I’ve thought of your every need. The closet is full of clothes that are perfect for you. And you’ll love the facilities here. It’s like your father’s estate, but on a far more luxurious level. You’ll love the pools, the gardens, the food. Our chefs are excellent. You can have the best of any cuisine you like, although I hope you’ll want to try some of my Russian favorites like black caviar and chicken Kiev.” He paused and gave her a considering look. “And as for the intimate aspects of marriage, you’ll find I am an excellent lover. I’m looking forward to teaching you some pleasures you might not have encountered before.”
The words and their wealth of meaning struck her like a dagger in the chest, and she fought not to scream that he was the last man on earth she’d want to make love with.
Maybe her expression warned him that he was going too fast. “I’ll give you some privacy now. You can get dressed—or if you’d like to make love with me before the wedding, you can stay in bed. Either way, I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”
When the door closed behind him, she was alone again—and struggling not to scream.
She could feel tears stinging the backs of her eyes, and she took a moment to will them away. She would not cry. Crying would do her no good.
She had to stay focused—on escape. Maybe she couldn’t do it before the wedding. And, oh Lord, maybe not even before the wedding night. Would she have to let him rape her? Because that’s what it would be. Her whole body clenched as she imagined Victor Zanov’s hands on her breasts, his mouth covering hers.
He wasn’t a bad looking man. He was smart—or perhaps cunning was a better word. She knew he’d taken advantage of the chaos in Russia after the breakup of the Soviet Union to make millions. Now he obviously kept himself fit, and his features would have been pleasing if they hadn’t concealed what she knew was a ruthless determination. In the safety of her home, she hadn’t understood the depths of that determination.
She tried to dredge up what else she knew about him. It wasn’t a lot because she hadn’t really been interested in him. Dad had met him at an international energy conference, and they had been friendly in the way of men who had business interests in common. Zanov had access to sources of oil that her father wanted to use in some of his European manufacturing plants. They’d struck a deal for the oil, but Zanov had pressed for a personal relationship.
When he’d broached the subject of marrying Camille, he’d probably expected her father to let his new friend have the daughter. After all, hadn’t Victor made an honorable proposal? But Dad was not the kind of parent who would force his daughter into a loveless marriage for business considerations.
She glanced toward the door, remembering her captor’s words of warning before departing.
Throwing back the covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. But the knockout drug was still having an effect, and a wave of dizziness struck her as her bare feet hit the tile floor. If she hadn’t braced her hands against the bed, she would have fallen over. When she was feeling steadier, she crossed to the door and tried the knob. It was locked from the outside.
Turning she hurried to the window and pulled the drapes aside. The expanse of glass was large, but the panes were covered with bars.
Next she stepped into the bathroom. It also had a window, that opened into a walled courtyard completely surrounded by the house. To get out that way she’d have to somehow get up to the roof and crawl across.
How many minutes had passed since Zanov had left her? She wasn’t sure about the time, but she was sure he wasn’t going to find her in this sexy gown.
She washed quickly in the bathroom, then found a walk-in closet filled with clothes. In a chest of drawers were panties and bras that fit. After pulling them on, she grabbed a pair of white slacks and a long-sleeved turquoise blouse, both of which were the perfect size and color for her. She could have put on sandals but she choose socks and running shoes—in case she did get a chance to make a break for it.
Again she struggled not to sob—or laugh hysterically. How many women in the twenty-first century would find themselves in a situation remotely like this? Maybe in medieval Europe or something. But not now.
You couldn’t kidnap an American citizen and force her to marry you. But Victor Zanov had done it. And he’d said this was his private island. Did that mean he made the laws here—and they could be anything he wanted?
She clenched her fists, wanting to pound her hands against the walls. But she couldn’t indulge in meaningless gestures, she had to keep her cool—and think her way out of this.
Still, it was hard to stay calm in the face of his boast. He’d talked about pleasures she might not have tried. What did he mean by that? Would he force her to do things she found disgusting?
She thrust those questions out of her head. Better to focus on escape. She knew Nick would move heaven and earth to rescue her. But would he have any idea where to look?
CHAPTER FOUR
In the Norland command center, Nick paced back and forth, struggling for calm.
It didn’t help when Teddy announced from the TV monitor, “They filed a false flight plan.”
Samuel Norland answered with a string of curses.
“But I’m checking destinations within the flight range of the aircraft.”
“And?” Norland snapped.
“Two years ago, Zanov bought an island just east of Cuba. He paid the Cuban government twenty-five milli
on dollars for it.”
Nick whistled through his teeth. “That’s a lot for a private vacation spot. And a nice chunk of money for the Castro government.”
“The property is about a mile long and half a mile wide with an airstrip and heliport. There was already a hacienda on the island, but he’s been busy making improvements to the house and the grounds.
“I’m moving a satellite into position over it,” Stinger said. “We should be able to monitor activity there.”
“We still can’t be sure he’s got Camille,” Nick muttered. “But I’m going to start planning an assault on the property.”
He turned away from the grateful look Samuel Norland gave him. He didn’t want to get the man’s hopes up—or his own hopes up, for that matter—but he had to proceed on the assumption that Zanov wanted to marry Camille, not harm or kill her.
He prayed that was true, because if he couldn’t get Camille back, he didn’t know what he was going to do.
From the moment he’d set eyes on her pale, sweetly beautiful features, he’d been captivated—and cursed the position he was in. He was working for her father, which meant a relationship with her would be completely inappropriate. And more than that, he knew he was the wrong guy for a woman like Camille. He’d come from a downscale background, to put it mildly, and led a rough life. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from dreaming of making love with her. In fact, that’s why he’d taken the day off—because he’d been trying to cool himself down. Which meant that he hadn’t been doing his damn job.
In his mind, he’d wanted to turn things around and make her the unsuitable one. Like he’d tried to tell himself she was a spoiled rich girl. And sometimes he’d been able to keep his assessment of her at that level. She was rich. And although she tried not to let that warp her judgment, she made assumptions that other people didn’t. Like if she left her clothes on the floor, someone would hang them up. Or if she wanted bagels and cream cheese for lunch, someone would go out and buy them for her.
But she didn’t throw her weight around—or throw tantrums when she didn’t get her way—two traits he’d noted in her younger sister. In reality, he’d seen Camille as a rich woman in a terrible position. Her father had made enemies, and he thought the only way to protect his daughters was to restrict their freedom. Camille had dealt with that the best she could. Better than Eden, who could never be trusted to do the smart thing. Of course it had been her idea to plan an afternoon escape. And Camille had gone along—maybe even to keep an eye on her little sister. Now she was in big trouble. The worst trouble he could imagine.
He’d never met Victor Zanov—the guy he’d started thinking of as the Big Z—because of the man’s inflated opinion of himself. He’d hated the guy’s smug face the moment he’d seen it on the monitor.
Jesus, the guy was going to marry her and fuck her, not necessarily in that order. But Camille was smart. She wouldn’t panic. She could handle him—he hoped.
oOo
Camille had opened the drapes and was looking out the window at a pretty garden, the vista spoiled by the bars, when she heard the door open again. Fighting the instinctive way her body stiffened, she slowly turned.
Zanov was back, looking as crisp and comfortable as before.
She watched him take in her outfit, his gaze sweeping over her body, and she felt as exposed as when she’d been wearing that lacy nightgown. She was a lot more covered up now, but she was pretty sure he’d looked at her while she was out cold.
“Very nice,” he said. “The slacks and long sleeves will keep the sun off your skin until you’re used to the weather down here, but I would recommend a hat.
Taking his advice, she walked back to the closet and pulled one of the broad-brimmed straw hats off a shelf. Still holding it in her hand, she returned to him.
“Let me show you my island paradise,” he murmured.
“Are there bars on all the windows?” she countered.
He gave a regretful shake of his head. “No. It’s just a precaution until you accept your situation here.”
As your captive, she mentally clarified, still trying to deal with her new reality.
He went on, pretending to give her a choice. “We’ll walk around a little, then come back and have a bite to eat. Unless you’d like to reverse the order and eat first.”
“No, that’s fine,” she answered, thinking that it would be hard to choke down any food. But she’d have to do it because making herself sick or weak was a stupid strategy. She had to be at her best if she was going to escape from here.
As soon as they stepped into the hall, she saw that . . . Victor . . . she might as well get used to calling him by his first name, was not alone. Two tough-looking men like the ones who’d grabbed her at the shopping center were there. They were wearing green uniforms and carrying assault rifles.
Victor spoke to them in what she assumed was Russian, and they answered in the same language. From the tone of their voices, it sounded like he was asking if there were any problems and they were assuring him everything was fine. Had he brought his guards from his homeland? Or had he made them learn his language? Would he make her learn it?
As she stepped out of the room, they dropped back a couple of paces, then followed the king of the island and his bride-to-be down the hallway, which led to a formal sitting area furnished with what looked like antique chests and tables mixed with comfortable contemporary sofas and chairs. On the walls were tasteful paintings that might have come from galleries in Europe. As in her room, the Spanish tile floor was covered with a beautifully patterned Oriental rug. She focused on the details because it was a lot easier to think about furnishings than why she was in this place.
“This is the formal living room,” Zanov said, snapping her attention back to her captor. “But I use the den more. It functions as a media room.”
He kept acting like everything was perfectly normal as he showed her the den and then a dining room with a long ornate table and ten chairs.
Off to the side in an alcove was a smaller wrought iron table and chairs that seated four. “I like to have a relaxed breakfast and lunch in here or on the patio,” he said. “And of course, you also have a view of the artificial lagoon from here,” he continued, his tone revealing how proud he was of his home and the surrounding grounds.
She and Victor finished their tour of the rooms he wanted to show her, including a stop in the kitchen where she was introduced to the chef and his staff who acted like the king had stopped by to make sure the soup was simmering at the proper temperature.
But she noted that the king hadn’t taken her everywhere in the large house, and she wondered what he was holding back. Probably he had a communications center and an armory, although that might not be in the main building. Was there a safe room where she could lock herself in and call for help? Her father had one at home. A bullet- and bomb-proof chamber inside the house where nobody could get to you. It was stocked with food and also communications equipment. Surely Victor would have something similar, but just as surely, he’d be able to get inside.
One place he hadn’t shared was his bedroom, and she supposed he was keeping it as a surprise for their wedding night.
An image of the two of them in bed leaped into her mind and she struggled not to shudder. Silently, she made a pact with herself. When she started getting grossed out about Victor screwing her, she’d think about making love with Nick instead.
The plan brought a little smile to her lips that Victor caught.
“I see you like my humble home,” he said, completely misinterpreting her thoughts.
“Why yes,” she answered, giving him the approval he obviously wanted. “And I’d love to see the gardens.”
oOo
The men at the Norland estate and at Decorah headquarters were gathered around a couple of monitors, staring at a satellite view of Victor Zanov’s private island. There was no cloud cover, and the image was crystal clear. It was like being in a helicopter hovering over th
e property.
Behind the sprawling hacienda was an impressive patio area and pool.
“It looks like he spent as much money turning the place into his own private Disney World as he paid for the property,” Samuel muttered. Like the Norland estate, Nick thought, but he didn’t point that out.
“There are gardeners and guards all over the place,” he said instead. “But there’s no proof he’s holding Camille there.” He wanted to punctuate the observation with a curse, but again he held his tongue. He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut, but he knew Bobby Cunningham felt worse. He was sitting by himself, biting his nails and probably praying that the satellite image would yield some useful information.
As they stared at the screen, all of them hoping for some clue, a flicker of movement near the back of the house caught Nick’s eye. He saw two figures step onto the patio between the artificial lagoon and the house. It was a man and a woman.
Beside him, Samuel Norland gasped. “It’s her. It’s Camille.”
Nick studied the woman. Her slender figure was covered by white slacks and a turquoise blouse, and a broad-brimmed hat hid her hair and face. As far as he was concerned, Samuel’s certainty about the woman’s identity was from wishful thinking. Nick couldn’t even tell how tall she was compared to the man because it was almost impossible to determine their relative heights from the overhead satellite view. Probably she was young, or at least in good physical shape, from the easy way she walked.
He took another look at her clothing. She could have worn the long-sleeved blouse to keep the tropical sun off her arms—or to minimize contact with her companion. And her choice of shoes was also interesting. Running shoes. That didn’t necessarily imply that she was planning to run, but it did give her the option.
