Eye of the Beholder (4 page)

“Oh, be careful,” Glenna said. “The bleeding’s almost stopped. You have a wound in your left leg.”

“Right. Forty-five caliber from the feel of it.” He ran his hand over his thigh and found a twisted piece of fabric. Something was wrapped over the leg of his jumpsuit just above the knee. “What’s this? Did they bind it?”

“No, I did that. I used my jacket for a bandage. It’s all I could think of.”

Her jacket? She had used that elegant silk outfit to sop up his blood? For some reason, the image jarred him. “Thanks.”

“I turned it inside out before I used it.” There was a whisper of movement, the slide of skin on cement. Her voice came from a spot near his shoulder. “I know it’s not sterile, but it was the best I could do.”

He traced the edge of what he realized had to be a sleeve and found a knot. “Thanks again. Are you a doctor?”

“No, I’m a planner.”

“A planner?”

“For the Winston Hotel chain. I coordinate special events like conventions and fund-raisers. It’s…” Her voice became muffled, as if she rubbed her face. “It all seems so trivial now.”

Not trivial, he thought. Just a long way from here. A woman like her belonged in a different world, where men wore suits and drank bottled water at health clubs. The last man to touch her probably had manicured nails and wouldn’t know a bivouac from a bidet.

Still, she had done a good job binding his bullet wound, he realized as he loosened the knot. He eased back the torn edges of his jumpsuit and gingerly probed the area. Fresh waves of agony rolled over him. Despite the chill in the room, sweat dampened his upper lip, but he continued his exploration. He had to know the extent of the damage if he was going to plan an escape.

“Sergeant Marek? Rafe?”

It was more of a furrow than a hole. The bullet had tunneled into the fleshy part of his thigh and then passed through the other side. Messy, but good. He withdrew his hand and tipped back his head, steadying his breathing before he replied. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

Sure, he thought. She could press her body against his again and take his mind off this pain. “It’s just a flesh wound,” he said, using Flynn’s euphemism for anything that didn’t involve shattered bones. He repositioned the makeshift bandage.

“But—”

“I’ve had worse. It’ll heal on its own.” True enough, as long as idn’t get infected, he thought grimly. Under these conditions, infection was extremely likely, and usually deadly. He’d have to make his move soon, before the infection set in, or he wouldn’t be able to move at all.

“Maybe we can ask for a doctor.”

He snorted. “We’re not going to stick around that long, Glenna. We’re only alive because they needed more hostages. They must still be hoping to negotiate.”

“Who are those people, anyway? Are they terrorists?”

“No. Just your garden variety drug smugglers with delusions of grandeur.” He gave her a summary of what he knew, including the demands the hijackers had originally made. But as he spoke he realized that the demand for the jet fuel must have been a sham meant to throw them off the trail—the hijackers had never intended to leave this island. This was where they were based. “I don’t think they’re going to release us, whatever happens. They have nothing to gain by showing mercy. That’s why it’s imperative that we escape as soon as possible.”

He braced his knuckles on the floor, got his feet under him and straightened up to stand. Pain knifed along his leg to his groin at the change in position, but he fought it back and limped toward the darkness that marked the nearest wall. He ran his hand across the surface. Cement block. If it had been wood, there might have been a chance of prying a board loose, but without tools, he couldn’t realistically consider this way an option. Moving cautiously, he made a circuit of the room, exploring their prison by touch, searching for any windows, any break in the mortar, but the only opening was the door. He got down on his stomach and laid his cheek against the floor to peer through the crack.

What he saw wasn’t encouraging. A long corridor, the legs of a chair, the butt of a rifle and three pairs of scuffed brown leather army boots. Three men. Armed. Probably paramilitary trained like the group at the airport.

Still, they wouldn’t be expecting an escape attempt so soon. He’d have the element of surprise on his side. If he got Glenna to provide a distraction, and if he managed to get a weapon away from one of those guards before they sounded the alarm, then they might be able to make a run for it. They would have to move fast, though. Otherwise…

He pushed off the floor and moved back to where he’d left Glenna. His leg would be good enough to carry his own weight for a short distance, but he wasn’t sure whether it would bear Glenna. “How’s your ankle?” he asked.

“Sore.”

He used her voice to zero in on her position, then sat down and groped in front of him. His fingers brushed her knee and he heard a sudden intake of breath. “Sorry,” he said. “I forgot you scraped the skin there in your fall.”

“It wasn’t bad. It’s not bleeding anymore.”

“It probably wasn’t deep enough to leave a scar.”

“I’d say my appearance is the least of my worries right now.”

She wouldn’t feel that way once they got out of here, Rafe thought. He traced her leg downward, grasped her calf and brought her foot to his

Her palms slid over the floor behind her. “What are you doing?”

“Checking the damage.” He ran his fingertips over her injured ankle. There was a spongy swelling where he judged the bones should be. He felt his way down to her foot. “Can you move it?”

“Yes.” She wiggled it. “A bit.”

“Where are your shoes?”

“They fell off on the trip here.”

“I don’t think your ankle’s broken, just twisted. But you won’t be able to walk far on it tonight, especially barefoot.”

“You can’t very well carry me in your condition.”

“Not for long, no.”

She hesitated. “You could make it on your own.”

How could she think he would even consider that? Rafe wondered. On the other hand, she had no idea how he felt. Why would she? He had trouble figuring it out himself. “When we go, we go together.”

“But if I can’t walk…”

“Then we get a vehicle. Trust me, Glenna, I’m not leaving you.”

Trust me.
She didn’t really have a choice, Glenna thought, yet she had trusted him from the first moment she had looked into his eyes. Now all she needed to do was to hear his voice, and she believed him.

Was it some kind of side effect of their situation? she wondered. Or maybe it was all wrapped up with this new lease on life she suddenly had, something to do with not squandering the time she had left.

Whatever was behind it, she didn’t want to deny her feelings. He was wide-awake and very aware, yet that sense of intimacy she had felt when she had touched him earlier hadn’t faded. If anything, it was deepening.

Rafe’s hands were large and strong, like the rest of him. His fingers were warm against her skin. His inspection of her ankle was justified and completely clinical…and yet her nerves tingled at his touch.

He was a Delta Force commando. He really did storm hijacked planes and rescue people for a living. Who would have thought that a man who did what he did could be so gentle? Like his surprisingly soft hair, like the laugh lines around his eyes, there was much more to Rafe Marek than the tough exterior. She leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. “Thank you, Rafe.”

“What for?”

“You saved my life.”

He set her foot on the floor. “Sure. From the frying pan into the fire. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly home free yet.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m still better off than I was. You gave me another chance at life, and I’m grateful for the way—”

“I was doing my job,” he said gruffly.

Why did her gratitude make him uncomfortable? She smiled. “How much do they pay heroes these day

“Hero? You’ve got the wrong man, princess.”

She didn’t think so. She curled her legs to the side and leaned closer. “Rafe?”

“What?”

“Would you hold me?”

“Listen, Glenna, you don’t know what you’re saying. I’ve seen this happen before in hostage situations. You’re feeling the strain of the situation and—”

“No, I’m feeling chilled,” she said, calmly interrupting him. “I used my jacket for your bandage.”

He hesitated. “So you did.”

“That left me with just this sleeveless shell, but if it would bother you…”

He muttered something under his breath and pulled her into his arms.

Glenna sighed as she fitted her cheek against the hard curve of Rafe’s shoulder. She was no fool. She knew their situation was grave. And he was probably right. She was feeling the effects of stress…but she didn’t care. This man had given her a reprieve from death. Was she going to waste it?

No, she wasn’t. She was going to savor every moment. From now on, she would rather have regrets for something she had done, rather than something she had restrained herself from doing.

Who knew how much longer either one of them would be alive? And when was the last time she had shared anyone’s embrace? She couldn’t even remember.

That was a rather sad commentary on her life, wasn’t it? She could remember practically every word that was said at the meeting she’d attended yesterday. She could recite the phone numbers of florists and staffing agencies in every major North American city where a Winston hotel was located. She had a gold-embossed leather day planner that was filled in for the next two years…but she had no idea when she had last felt a man’s arms around her.

Rafe’s fingers splayed over her back, urging her to lean more fully against him. “You might as well try to get some sleep.”

“I doubt if I’ll ever sleep again.”

“You’re still feeling the adrenaline,” he said. “You’ll crash when it wears off.” He moved his hand to her neck and brushed her hair aside to rest his fingertips over the pulse beneath her ear. “Relax, Glenna. I’ll keep watch.”

Could he feel the way her heart pounded? she wondered. Did he know how wonderful his skin felt against hers? She had never been comfortable with casual touching. She preferred a handshake to a hug and an air-kiss for a greeting. But somehow she
needed
to touch him. “Thanks, Rafe.”

“No problem. You need to rest and recover your strength. As soon as you can put more weight on your ankle, we’ll make our move.”

“But—”

“We’ll get out of this. I promise. I’ve been in worse spots. The whole key is you’ve got to keep a clear head“Control,” she murmured. “That’s what I kept telling myself in the plane.”

“You did great, by the way.”

“I didn’t have any choice.”

“There’s always a choice. When I was watching you in the doorway—”

“You were watching me? How? I didn’t see you.”

“I was there, Glenna. Even now, the rest of my team is probably searching the area. Once we get out of here, we’ll find some way to hook up with them and you’ll be back home in…” He paused. “Where are you from?”

“New York,” she replied. “It seems so far away.”

“Sure, but you’ll be back there before you know it. Once you’re debriefed at the base, I’ll see that you’re flown directly—”

“Rafe, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather take a train.”

A low rumble sounded in his chest. “Right.”

Glenna felt a smile tug at her lips. The noise he had made was more of a grunt than a laugh, but she liked the way it had felt against her cheek. She’d like to hear it again. “Rafe?”

“What?”

But whatever she was going to say ended in a gasp as the door to their prison was flung open. Before it had slammed against the wall, Rafe was on his feet, once more placing himself between her and the weapons that were aimed directly at them.

“Dios,”
someone muttered. “You are right. He is one ugly bastard.”

Chapter 3

T
he guards must be blind, Glenna thought as she limped along the shadowed corridor. How else could they call Rafe ugly? Yes, his scars were unpleasant to look at. The network of white-streaked, ravaged skin was evidence of horrible suffering. Puckered gullies sliced his right cheek and gave the corner of his mouth a sardonic twist. In addition, his nose was large and bent in the middle, as if it had been broken at some point in the past.

But couldn’t the guards see the intelligence in his eyes? How could they miss the strength in the angle of his jaw and the pride in the tilt of his head? Didn’t they notice how he ignored the pain his leg must be giving him in order to lend her support as she walked?

She had known men who were as pretty as purebred puppies but who had ugliness in their smiles. What appeared on the surface didn’t matter if what lay underneath was rotten. And she couldn’t believe Rafe was rotten inside. His deeds were constantly proving otherwise.

The corridor branched into three. The guard who had been leading the way in front of them turned to his right. One of the two who were behind them prodded Rafe in the back with his rifle. Rafe stumbled briefly, his nostrils flaring. Whether it was to control his pain or his temper, Glenna couldn’t tell. tightened his arm around her waist to pull her more firmly to his side, somehow managing to take even more of her weight off her sprained ankle.

She gave him a small smile of gratitude, but he didn’t acknowledge it. His gaze was flicking all around them, as if cataloguing every possible detail of their surroundings.

Glenna decided to follow suit. She realized the floor was now sloping upward. The scent of damp cement that had permeated the room where they had been held wasn’t as sharp here. They must have been in a basement and were now being taken to the ground floor of the house.

It wasn’t any ordinary house, though. She’d known when their captors had brought them in from the truck that this house was large. She hadn’t realized how large until now.

What had Rafe called the hijackers? Garden variety drug smugglers with delusions of grandeur? The drug business must be booming, if they could afford a place like this.