by Rebecca York
If this was going to work, he had to stay calm and focused, or the two of them would end up dead.
“You’ve done all the prep you can,” Frank said. “Get some sleep.”
“Is that possible?”
“I’d sing you a lullaby if I thought it would do any good,” Frank replied.
Nick knew it was true. Frank had always gone above and beyond when it came to the men and women who worked for him.
“The boat will be in position when you wake up,” Frank said.
“Right.”
When they signed off then, Nick sprawled on the wide bunk of the master cabin. He couldn’t stop worrying about Camille—and praying that Zanov was going to keep his hands off of her until tomorrow night—when Nick had planned a big surprise for him.
Somehow, he managed to drift off. The alarm he’d set woke him at five thirty, and he climbed out of bed, hit the bathroom and went up on deck.
Bobby was waiting for him with coffee and a protein drink.
“It should be me,” he said as they checked over the equipment.
He wanted to tell the wet-behind-the-ears bodyguard that if he tried it, it would turn into a suicide mission. Maybe it would be for Nick, too. But he was going to give it his best shot because he simply couldn’t leave Camille with Zanov. He felt his anger rising when he thought about the way the Russian had simply grabbed what he wanted. Then he gritted his teeth and reminded himself that success depended on staying cool.
“You never would have taken them shopping,” Bobby muttered.
“Eden can be very persuasive.”
The younger man flushed, and Nick continued. “I’ve got the best chance of getting in there and getting her out.” As he spoke, he stripped to the bathing suit he was wearing under his clothing. The team’s first thinking was that he could go in using a Zodiac, a small inflatable boat. But they’d decided there was too much chance of being spotted. Instead, Nick was swimming to the island, taking the carefully chosen equipment he’d need in a waterproof knapsack that he strapped to his back.
When the yacht was as close as they dared, Nick went down the ladder into the water, then started swimming. He was on the uninhabited side of the island, where there were fewer men stationed.
It was a forty-minute swim, but finally he heard waves breaking on the shore. Staying low, he let himself drift in on an incoming swell. He rested for a few minutes in the surf, but dawn was about to break, and he wanted to be well into the jungle by the time the sun was up.
As he sprinted toward cover, a man dressed in a green uniform and carrying an AK47 stepped out of the shadows. He was facing half away, but he must have seen Nick’s running figure from the corner of his eyes.
Shit. Just his luck to pick a landing spot where one of Zanov’s guards was stationed.
The man looked sleepy—and surprised—like he’d never expected anyone to be stupid enough to crash Zanov’s party, which gave Nick a split- second advantage. As the guy raised his weapon to blow the invader away, Nick ducked low, plowing into the guy’s midsection and taking him down to the sand.
The guard struggled to get off a shot, but Nick had already drawn the knife strapped to his leg and rammed it up between the man’s ribs, into his heart.
The guy went still, and Nick dragged him back the way he’d come, slashing across his throat before dragging him and his weapon beyond the breakers and into deep water. As the tide carried him out, blood spread out around him, and Nick saw a shark zero in on the easy target. With any luck, Zanov would think the guard had met with some kind of accident.
Nick listened intently for any sign that the security man hadn’t been alone. When nobody else appeared, he used a branch to wipe away the evidence of the fight in the sand. After tossing the branch into the waves, he disappeared into the jungle, pausing to listen for any other guards. Satisfied that he was alone, he stripped off the pack and laid it on the ground next to a stream that came down from a hill on the island’s interior. They’d found the spot by satellite, and Nick rested for a moment while he opened the pack and took out his radio. He did a very quick test, making sure he could communicate with the boat, but broadcast for only a few seconds in case Zanov’s men were monitoring communications in the area.
After establishing contact, he ducked under the water. Then he changed into clothing that looked like the green uniforms of the security guards, picked up the pack again and headed along the edge of the jungle. They’d also seen a small boat pulled up into the underbrush. When he found it, he made sure it was sound, then pulled it farther under cover, noting it was just to the right of four coconut palms. Satisfied, he headed cross country toward the estate, staying off the trails and moving through the thick vegetation.
He slowed his pace as he reached the edge of the manicured gardens and headed for the patio around the pool. The Decorah team had guessed that Zanov might hold the reception and the ceremony there, and as Nick surveyed the area with binoculars, he decided that was a correct assessment.
From his hiding place in the underbrush, he saw Zanov come out of the house and inspect the preparations. If he could have leaped out of the bushes and taken the man down, he would have done it, but he knew that was a foolhardy approach. And when he spotted a patrol fanning out in the untamed area, he faded farther back into the wilderness.
oOo
Camille woke with a jolt, everything from the day before zinging back to her with terrible clarity. Her eyes shot to the wedding dress on the stand. It was still there, and she knew there was no use hoping for a miracle.
This was her wedding day—the day every woman had dreams of since she was a little girl, and Camille was no exception. But not this wedding. It should be a day of joy, sweet anticipation and perhaps a little bit of trepidation. She could imagine waking up in her bedroom in the big house where she’d grown up, her sister down the hall and her father already in the breakfast room, a nervous wreck at the idea of giving his little girl away.
Well, he was probably a nervous wreck, all right. But not for the usual reasons.
Did he even know she was getting married today? Had he figured out where she was? She didn’t know the answers to those questions. All she could do was hope against hope that Nick Cassidy would get her out of here.
When a knock sounded at the door, she sat up and pulled the covers up over her. Again Mary Ann came in without asking for permission, and again she carried a tray.
“I’ve brought you a nice breakfast,” she said cheerfully. “Eggs Benedict, croissants with butter and blackberry jam, fresh-squeezed orange juice, coffee the way you like it with lots of cream and a little sugar.”
This time Camille didn’t bother to ask how the other woman knew her preferences.
She took the tray on her lap and lifted the covers off the dishes. The idea of starving herself had some appeal. But that would only make her more vulnerable to Zanov, and she didn’t want to put herself in that position.
“Take your time,” Mary Ann said in her fake cheerful voice. “Then we’ll make you all beautiful for the ceremony. You can have a nice long bath. After that we’ll do your hair, then your nails, fingers and toes. We’ll save the makeup for last so it will be nice and fresh.
The chipper recitation almost took Camille’s appetite away, but she managed to get down some of the egg dish and a little croissant and jam. She washed it down with the coffee, thinking that this was like a prisoner’s last meal.
The hairstyling, manicure and pedicure took several hours. Then Mary Ann did the makeup.
Standing back she gave her work a critical inspection. “You look beautiful.”
Camille’s throat was too clogged to answer.
“Really, you don’t know how lucky your are. Victor will spend his life making you happy.”
oOo
Lying prone in the shelter of the jungle, Nick watched the activity on the patio. The employees finished the setup, stocked the bar and put out some of the food. Then guests began arriving
, hard-looking men in tuxedos and their wives or mistresses in expensive gowns, probably trying to outdo each other. Nick hadn’t spent much time with the guest list, but he guessed that these guys had made their money in similar fashion to Zanov’s—or perhaps in more frankly illegal activities.
Most of the men seemed to be around the groom’s age, and the women were much younger—like Camille. As the guests chatted in little groups, Nick slipped back into the jungle and retrieved his knapsack. Quickly he unpacked his work clothes, then grinned as he began putting on the tuxedo pants. By the time he’d gotten into the formal shirt, cummerbund, jacket, and black shoes, he was dressed approximately like the wedding guests, except that he was actually wearing black running shoes to give himself better traction. He also concealed his Sig in a shoulder holster and stuffed a couple of extra magazines into his pockets, thinking that Zanov had probably prohibited weapons among the party guests. If he was searched, the weaponry would be discovered, but hopefully nobody was going to put their hands on him.
Instead of hurrying back to the wedding location, he stopped to center himself and do some of the deep breathing exercises that Frank had taught him.
When he got to the edge of the patio, a guard was standing a few yards away, his AK47 across his chest, an aberration at a wedding celebration.
Ignoring the man, Nick stepped out of the bushes and strode toward the bar, then into the shadows near the house.
So far so good. Nobody was looking at him. He might as well have been invisible. That observation made him hold back a laugh. Then he sobered as he saw Zanov, clad in a tuxedo with a red tie and cummerbund, walking among his guests, talking to some of the men. Some patted him on the back in congratulations. Others said a few words to him, and he responded cheerfully, obviously enjoying being the center of attention on his wedding day.
Nick watched him, struggling to keep his emotions in neutral when he longed to pull out his pistol and shoot the man who thought he simply had to snap his fingers to get his way.
oOo
Mary Ann looked at her watch. “The ceremony is in forty-five minutes.”
Camille gasped. “So soon?”
“Yes. The reception will be in the afternoon because Victor wants the guests off the property before nightfall. So let’s put on that lovely dress.”
Camille wanted to suggest, “You put it on and surprise him,” but she only nodded wordlessly as Mary Ann walked over to the hanging stand, turned the dress around and began undoing all the tiny buttons down the back.
It took a long time, but not long enough. Although Camille wanted to run screaming from the room, the door was locked, and her only option was to put on the dress and pray for deliverance.
It didn’t come.
All too soon she and Mary Ann were leaving the room. Someone thrust a graceful bouquet of white roses and baby’s breath into her hands, and she clutched it to steady herself as she and Victor’s assistant walked to the back of the house. Camille looked out, seeing a group of about twenty men and women sitting in chairs facing a lattice archway covered with orchids. The cluster of guests was another jolt of reality, but the worst part was seeing Victor Zanov standing at the front, ready to receive his bride.
Tasteful classical music had been playing in the background. When the short, dark-skinned man standing in the archway spotted Camille, he nodded toward the side of the patio, and the traditional Mendelssohn’s Wedding March began to play.
“Sorry your father isn’t here,” Mary Ann murmured. “You’ll have to walk down the aisle by yourself.”
What if I faint, she wondered. Would that get her out of this awful marriage, or would Victor simply give her smelling salts and go on as if nothing unusual had happened?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nick drew in a quick breath as he caught sight of Camille, standing in the doorway by herself, looking achingly beautiful and vulnerable in an expensive wedding gown. The makeup she wore enhanced the perfection of her face, but makeup couldn’t hide the raw nerves simmering below the surface of her polished exterior. Feeling his protective instincts surge, he flicked his gaze away, struggling to detach himself from the scene, knowing that if he didn’t keep himself under strict control he could get them both killed.
She walked down the aisle alone, between the rows of folding chairs, her hands clutching a graceful bouquet and her gaze fixed straight ahead as though she was walking to her execution. When she reached the wicker archway, Zanov stepped up beside her and took her arm, the gesture speaking volumes. Maybe she flinched. Nick couldn’t be sure. But Zanov leaned over and whispered something to her, and she straightened her shoulders and looked toward the man who was standing with a large leather-bound book. Not a bible, Nick decided. It looked like a loose-leaf binder.
He read the traditional marriage ceremony, pausing for bride and groom to say, “I do.”
Zanov had a ring for Camille, but apparently he didn’t plan to wear one, so it wasn’t a double-ring ceremony. Maybe he liked to pretend he was single when he stepped out on his wife, which Nick was sure he was intending to do.
The farce of a ceremony was over all too quickly. Camille stood stiffly when Zanov kissed her. Not a passionate kiss, but just enough to let everyone know that she officially belonged to him now.
She looked shell-shocked when she turned around to face the crowd, her eyes scanning the smiling men and women as though she was hoping for rescue. Her gaze swung past the guests, and for a moment she zeroed in on Nick.
oOo
Camille drew in a quick breath—part relief and part shock.
Nick was here! She’d known he would come for her. And he’d done it, against all odds.
And then she couldn’t see him anymore. It was like he had appeared for an instant and then vanished. The way he’d sometimes done back at her father’s estate. Only this time had been so brief that she wasn’t sure that she had seen him at all. Her mood went from high to low as quickly as if someone had dropped her off a cliff. And now she was sure she had made the whole thing up because she desperately wanted it to be true.
Her new husband was speaking. “Let’s greet our guests.”
Camille blinked, struggling to focus on reality and not wishful thinking.
When she didn’t move, he followed her gaze, staring into the shadows where she thought she had seen Nick, and she realized that if by some miracle he was there, she had just made a bad mistake. The last thing she should do was clue in Victor that someone had crashed his party.
“Our guests are waiting to greet us,” he repeated, his hand on the small of her back, exerting steely pressure, reminding her who held the power in this relationship.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She wanted to scream that she was far from all right. But Victor was beside her, and everyone was watching her. She gave a small nod and straightened her shoulders. It helped to tell herself that she was playing a part—like in high school when she’d been in some of the productions her private school had put on. She’d gotten some of the best roles because she’d been good at sinking into a character—which was what she had to do now. Later, when they were alone, it would be more difficult, but among the wedding guests, she could fall back on her skills not only as an actress but also as a hostess.
She let Victor lead her to a group of people standing and talking. The men were tough looking and the women were flashy. They were all looking at her speculatively.
“So how long have you known each other?” a willowy brunette asked, her voice tinged with an accent Camille couldn’t place. She seemed to be with a man who was twenty years her senior—like most of the women, come to think of it. All of them looked like they were the second or third wives of men who could afford hefty divorce settlements.
“A couple of years,” she answered.
“He’s certainly kept you a secret,” a grizzled man with a scar running from the corner of his mouth to his left cheek said. “How did you meet?”
“Vi
ctor was a guest at my father’s estate,” she answered, still playing the role she’d been assigned.
“Samuel Norland?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised . . .” he started to say, then apparently thought better of it.
Victor filled the conversational gap. “Yes, Samuel and I got to know each other quite well when he was negotiating for some of the oil in my pipeline through Ukraine. He asked me to his charming estate on Longboat Key. Camille and I hit it off so well that I invited myself back several times, so that I could enjoy her company.”
Although she didn’t remember it that way, she didn’t correct him. And he didn’t add that he’d kidnapped her so he could keep up the enjoyment.
“You’re such a lovely bride,” a blond woman said. She was wearing a skin-tight gold dress that clung to her curvy figure. “Thank you,” Camille answered, trying to look like she gave a fig about how she looked.
Russian folk tunes had begun to play, and Victor raised his voice above the music. “I’ve brought in food and drink from the mainland. Please enjoy yourself.”
One of the waiters was standing by with a tray holding shot glasses of clear liquid.
Victor motioned him over. “Vodka. In the tradition of my homeland.”
“A toast to the bride and groom,” a short bald man with a heavy Russian accent proposed. Raising his glass he said, "May the happy star that brought you together shine on you for many, many years. Let us raise our glasses to the newlyweds and their happy future!"
He and several of the men downed shots. On the next round, Victor joined them.
She supposed it was futile to hope that he’d get too drunk to do anything but sleep tonight.
Now that the ceremony was over, the crowd was relaxed and prepared to have a good time at their host’s expense. As she watched them, Camille was thinking they’d be very surprised if it turned out that Victor had invited a bunch of his rivals to his wedding so he could kill them.
