Kidnapped!

by Jo Leigh

  She didn’t mind. In fact, all she wanted was to surrender completely, let herself fall into this, into her dream become flesh.

  He pulled away, only to return, nipped her bottom lip, then soothed her with the flat of his tongue. Kissing was wonderful. Better even than in her feverish imagination.

  He moaned with his passion and hunger, and she laughed, it was so good. She’d made him moan. This sexy, experienced man of the world.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She sighed. “I’m perfect.” Then she kissed him.

  He pulled her closer, and now that he had her, he let go of her chin to stroke her hair, to touch her cheek. Just as she pulled back to bare her neck, the door opened, throwing light all over the bed.

  Tate jerked away as if she’d been caught doing something nasty.

  “Hey, what the hell?” Michael said, leaning forward to block her from the intruder.

  “Sorry to break up the party, but—What the—?” Jazz rushed to the side of the bed and held up the empty cuff. “Are you kidding me?”

  “They were uncomfortable,” Michael said.

  “I’ll show you uncomfortable.” Jazz shoved his gun into the side of Michael’s cheek. “Get up. Now.”

  Without moving, Michael said, “Tate, you just relax, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Jazz said.

  Despite the immediacy of the threat, Michael moved off the bed with incredible grace. The moment he stood, Jazz poked him in the ribs with his gun. “Cuff her.”

  “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “Cuff her or I’ll do it.”

  Michael obeyed, and her hand was once more above her head in a position that simply couldn’t be comfortable. That was the least of her problems. Where were they taking Michael? God, what if he didn’t come back?

  “Please, can you tell me what’s going on?” she asked.

  “Shut the fuck up—that’s what’s going on.” Jazz made Michael take his cuff off the metal bar, then Jazz cuffed his hands behind his back.

  “I’ll be back,” Michael said. “You just get some rest.”

  She would have laughed if she’d had any control over her breathing. Or her heartbeat. It was all she could do not to beg Jazz to let him go, and when they left the room, slamming and locking the door behind them, she fell apart.

  ED WAS STILL IN HIS big chair, but the dishes were gone. There were navigation charts on the table, two different cell phones, a laptop and a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket.

  Ed looked up when Michael was pushed in front of his chair. “What was all that?”

  “They were out of the cuffs.”

  Ed’s gaze moved to Michael. “Really?”

  “It’s a handy parlor trick.”

  “I’ll remember that. Do you have the account number?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too soon. I need some time.”

  “You don’t have time.”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter if you have the account number. You can’t get the money without Tate. She has to be there in person to sign the papers or the bank won’t transfer that amount of money.”

  Ed just stared at him. He didn’t move or frown or anything. “Jazz, uncuff him.”

  Jazz seemed affronted by the idea, but the keys came out and Michael was soon rubbing his wrists.

  “You go back in there and you make sure this lady is going to do everything we need her to do. If she doesn’t, we’ll kill Charlie. Then her. Then you.”

  “TATE? CAN YOU HEAR me?”

  Tate blinked as she pulled in an inadequate breath.

  “I’m back. I said I would be back and I am. Can you look at me, Tate?”

  It felt as if she were swimming up from the bottom of the ocean. There was light up there and warmth and safety, but it was so very far away.

  “Come on, honey. You can do it. You’re all right. Nothing’s going to hurt you tonight. I’ll be here the whole time and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She jerked her hand again. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to get loose or if she just needed the pain to jar her out of her nightmare.

  “Shit, you’re bleeding again. We need to get you to the bathroom so I can change the bandage.”

  “Michael?”

  “I’m right here, Tate.”

  “They took you and I thought—”

  “I know. But I promised—and I don’t break my promises.”

  She focused. He was right next to her. The overhead lights were on, so she could see he wasn’t hurt. And he wasn’t cuffed. “What did you promise them?”

  He sat back. “What?”

  “What did you promise them? It’s okay. I know you had to tell them something or they would have killed you.”

  “You’re right. I did. I needed to buy us some time.”

  She could feel the real world become solid around her. The pace of her heart slowed, the tunnel vision expanded. It occurred to her that Michael had become her new safe place.

  “I told them you have a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. That I was going to persuade you to give me the account number and that Martini would be able to transfer fifty million of your money into his account.”

  She thought about what he’d said for a moment. She could see the logic. If they thought they could get that much money, her life became a lot more valuable. “Actually, you’re right. I do have a numbered account at the Grand Cayman Bank. But there’s no way he can make that transfer. Not if I don’t sign the papers in person.”

  “I was right?”

  She nodded. “I’m surprised you’re surprised. I figured a spy like you would know all about my finances.”

  “I don’t know anything about them. It’s not germane. Well, it wasn’t until a few hours ago.”

  “Is that going to botch the deal? The fact that I have to sign the papers?”

  “No. In fact, I think it can work in our favor. I’m pretty sure they’re getting the ransom tonight. They’re not going to be reckless about it, either. There’s no way we’re getting off this boat just yet. But if Ed believes you have to sign, then we’ve got all the way to the island to perfect our escape.”

  “I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I’m not that good a swimmer.”

  “He’s going to have to get fuel, supplies. There will be opportunities.”

  “I don’t know…. Remember what Jazz said—there’s a big ocean and a lot of hungry fish.”

  “The man who kidnapped you is Ed Martini. He’s one of the biggest bookies in the States. For fifty million dollars he’s not going to take any chances. You’ll be fine.”

  “Until I sign the papers.”

  “It won’t come to that.”

  “I’d like to believe you.”

  “I came back, didn’t I?”

  She smiled. “Yes. You did.”

  “What do you say we get that bandage changed.”

  WILLIAM CHECKED HIS watch again as he drove slowly along the Sixty-fifth Street traverse. In a few minutes he would be at the carousel, and a few minutes after that he’d put the bag full of money in the red bin.

  The drive in itself had been terrifying. He hadn’t been behind the wheel in four years, and that had been in England. It meant nothing. To get his daughter back he would have walked here on his hands.

  He’d obeyed the kidnapper’s instructions to the letter, but after his discussion with Sara, he knew that someone from inside his organization had to be involved. He would deal with the incredible idiocy of the whole concept of fake kidnappings later. For now, he was looking at Michael Caulfield as the most likely traitor.

  Sara’s conviction that he would never do anything to hurt Tate was simply another nail in his coffin. William had hired Caulfield because he was supposed to be the very best at what he did. But he hadn’t paid enough attention to why the man
had been discharged. There was the whole unsavory business with the brother.

  There was no question that he would get to the bottom of this. There was also no question that whoever had taken his daughter would pay with his life.

  He had already passed the dark and shuttered Tavern on the Green. Everything was closed at this hour. However, the carousel was still illuminated. He would have preferred softer lights with some character to them, but these lamps weren’t to entrance, they were to scare off the drug users and the teenagers who looked for dark corners to get their thrills.

  He had to get close to the red-crossed trash bin. Not because of the instructions but because five million dollars was heavy and he wasn’t a strong man. He wished he had followed his doctor’s advice about exercise.

  None of it would matter if he didn’t get his girl back. He’d gone all these years with her safety as his vanguard. No matter where they’d traveled he’d spared no expense. Without Tate, he had nothing.

  There it was. The only red-marked trash receptacle near the carousel. Though it was large, he’d have to work at getting the bag inside.

  He parked the borrowed Cadillac. Stafford had wanted to drive it himself, but William had to do this alone. At least the Cadillac was easier to maneuver than his limousine. Once outside, he took the key to the trunk and lifted the lid. The gym bag was securely zipped. No casual passerby would think it contained blood money.

  He took in a deep breath and hauled the bag up and over the rim of the trunk. Staggering as he walked the few steps to the marked bin, he had to rock his body so the bag would hit the opening.

  After a moment to catch his breath, he shoved the bag into the bin until the whole thing fell. And fell.

  He looked down, bracing his hands on the edge of the bin. There was no bottom. There was a trash-bin-size hole dug through the cement and the earth beneath. But all William could see was the end of his world.

  WITH HER NEW BANDAGE and the comfort in knowing she wouldn’t have to be cuffed again at least for the rest of the night, Tate finished up in the bathroom, grateful there were guest toiletries, including a couple of toothbrushes still in their boxes. She wasn’t crazy about using the soap on her face, but as she washed she realized just how insane that was.

  She was still alive when it could have so easily gone the other way. In fact, not much about this kidnapping had turned out like her fears.

  Because of Michael.

  She stared into the small mirror above the sink, wincing at the woman who looked back. Her eyes were red and puffy, as were her cheeks. She looked as if she’d been through hell. She had looked like this when he’d kissed her, and now it felt quite suspicious. Had he just been trying to keep her distracted? Calm her down? Probably. Shouldn’t she mind a lot more?

  Of course, she’d clearly gone quite mad when the truth had penetrated that she’d really been kidnapped. How insane does a person have to be to worry that her new potential boyfriend might not like her skin tone when on the brink of death? If they lived through this, she would definitely need a new therapist.

  Well, she couldn’t stay in the head all night. It just seemed so odd that he was out there. That they would be sharing a bed.

  That sucked her breath right out of her lungs.

  They were sharing a bed. It might be her last night on Earth. The math wasn’t difficult. She thought of the kisses and how it had felt to finally have a real man want her. Even if it was all an act, she didn’t care. As far as last wishes went, this was a good one.

  A shudder shook her body as once again reality and delusion smacked into each other. This was so different than anything she’d imagined—and she’d imagined so much. In her nightmares there was no rest, no relief from the terror. There was certainly no kissing and no trust that somehow she’d survive.

  A tap on the door sent her heart into overdrive.

  “Tate? You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  He needed to brush his teeth, to get himself ready for bed. Although she’d like to, she couldn’t stay here for the rest of the night.

  She took one last glance in the mirror—which was not terribly smart, considering—then went into the small bedroom.

  Michael stood by the door, an easy smile on his lips. Part of her ease with him was a conditioned response. Michael only took off his sunglasses when they were having their wonderful conversations. The more she connected with his gaze, the calmer she felt.

  “You need something?” he asked. “There are some clothes in the drawers. Maybe you could find yourself something more comfortable to wear.”

  She couldn’t. The idea of wearing someone else’s things…

  “I’ll be out in a minute. The door’s locked. You’ll know if someone’s trying to come in.”

  She looked at the door, then back at Michael. Selfishly she wished he didn’t have to go, even for a few minutes. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I know,” he said. A moment later he was in the head and she was alone. Only it didn’t feel quite so bleak.

  She went to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Bikinis. Many of them. All so tiny they made her blush. Second drawer down had cover-ups, but they were mostly transparent. God, what must go on in this boat.

  She shook her head at her prudishness. She’d been around a lot of sex in her life, even though she hadn’t been the one having it. In her fancy prep school she’d spent many a night wearing headphones so she wouldn’t have to hear the grunting coming from the other bed.

  In college things had gotten more personal. Graydon had taken her to parties where the drugs and alcohol had flowed like water. Inhibitions were nonexistent, and she’d become inured to the sight of her fellow students going at it like bunnies.

  But then she’d retreated to her world of fear, and so much of the outside world had taken on sinister tones. At the very least it had become unfamiliar. More real by far was her fantasy life. It was in bed she truly lived. That’s where all her plans were, her dreams. And that’s where sleeping with Michael made sense.

  She breathed deeply, closed her eyes. Pictured herself as a warrior, complete with combat boots and semiautomatic weapon. A minute of positive self-talk and she got into bed.

  If she’d known she was going to be kidnapped, she would have dressed differently. Certainly she wouldn’t have worn the linen pants. But this was what she had and she’d cope. By tomorrow…No, she wasn’t going to think about tomorrow. Her only decision at the moment was about her shoes.

  They were pumps, two-inch heels. Great for shopping at Prada, lousy for self-defense—but better than her bare feet. The idea of sleeping in them was disconcerting.

  Nothing to be done about it. She lifted the pillows and pulled back the comforter. The blanket Jazz had brought wasn’t terribly warm, and as long as they could be comfortable, she supposed they should be.

  Fully dressed, she climbed into the bed and pulled up the covers. She plumped the strange, too-firm pillow beneath her head and closed her eyes.

  This was going to be one long uncomfortable night.

  She sighed at the absurd thought. What, was she expecting a designer kidnapping?

  Well, that made her laugh because, yes, that’s exactly what she’d expected. Designed to her exact specifications with three gourmet meals a day and furry handcuffs and a stop to it all at her first whim.

  God, she was some piece of work.

  “Tate?”

  She looked up to find Michael standing by the bed. He was clearly concerned at her outburst, but he’d also caught her contagious laughter, so he was grinning, too.

  Which made everything funnier. By a lot.

  “Tate,” he said, trying hard to keep his cool. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m a first-class twit,” she said, although she doubted he understood her because she really couldn’t stop laughing.

  “You’re a what?”

  The way he looked at her, so shocked his eyes had wide
ned and he was actually blushing, let her know he’d misunderstood. She struggled once more to get some decent breaths. “What did you think I said?”

  “Nothing that you would ever say.”

  Then she got it. “I said twit.”

  “Aah. Much better.”

  That was it. She was crying now. Laughing so hard her stomach ached.

  He sat down, grinning and shaking his head.

  It was just the kind of scene she’d dreamed of, in her bed, alone, in the dark. Everything about him was perfect. The situation wonderful, like something out of a Nora Ephron romantic comedy. Except for the danger that hovered a whisper away.

  Before she could catch her breath, he was next to her under the covers and she was in his arms.

  9

  SHE TREMBLED IN HIS arms, and all he could think about was going into the saloon and killing everyone on the boat. Maybe that’s what he should do—end this thing right now. Of course, he had no idea what kind of weapons were stashed up there. He could take Jazz out, but it was more than a fair bet that Ed had a gun on him, and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill everyone in front of him. Martini didn’t get to be in his position without a lot of buried bodies.

  Despite Michael’s fury at his brother, he didn’t want Charlie to die. And Charlie would go down first, there wasn’t much doubt about that. As terrible as it sounded, he’d be willing to risk it if it meant getting Tate off the boat and to safety.

  That was the wild card. In the old days he’d never consider pulling off a job with so many unknowns. That was how people got killed. Before he’d take out a position, be it a hostage takeover of a plane, a bunker or a terrorist cell, he and his men would know everything there was to know about the targets. There were always risks, but his job was to minimize them, not subject this terrified woman to living her last moments in her worst-case scenario.

  “It’s okay, Tate,” he whispered. “I’m here. I won’t leave you. I won’t let them hurt you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “No need to apologize.”