Seduced by His Target (6 page)

She glanced at the low-growing trees silvered with moonlight and sighed. She didn’t blame these farmers for cultivating coca. They lived in houses without windows or lights, with no running water, no schools for their children or health care, just barely scraping by. The profit in coca lay further up the chain with the drug cartels. These poor people were just trying to eke out a living, growing a product that met an insatiable foreign demand.

A minute later she reached the edge of the hamlet. She spotted the horses grazing beside the path, the three captors talking in a moonlit field, and turned around. Not wanting to draw their attention—or worse, reveal that she was plotting an escape route—she followed the scent of wood smoke to the cooking fire instead.

The farmers fell silent as she approached. Too ravenous to care about their disapproval, she beelined to the soup pot, salivating at the tempting scent. A woman filled a large pottery bowl with rice, then dumped a ladleful of stew over top and handed it to her. Nadine shot her a smile of thanks, wove through the sullen men to a log and sat.

The stew was amazing—thick and hot, a delicious blend of potatoes, chicken and peppers, and bursting with seasonings. She’d devoured half the bowl before she could force herself to slow down.

But then Rasheed appeared in the line. He headed her way a moment later, carrying his own big bowl of stew. She tensed as he sat beside her, his nearness scattering her pulse. And suddenly she was far too conscious of his hard thigh resting close to hers, the glint of firelight in his jet-black hair, the warmth emanating from his big frame.

Disgusted at her reaction, she scowled. What was it with this man? So what if he was attractive? So what if he’d saved her from Amir? He wasn’t her ally. She’d overheard what he’d said to the other men, how they planned to dispose of Henry when they reached the town. And while he’d suggested resting overnight, he hadn’t done it out of kindness. He only wanted to expedite their trip so he could hand her over to her father—the man who wanted her dead.

And the disappointment she’d felt when she’d heard his words was beyond absurd. She couldn’t build this man up into some kind of savior just because he’d rescued her. He was still violent. He’d nearly engaged in a knife fight with Amir. If he really cared, if he had any real compassion inside him, he’d let them go.

He turned his head, and his dark gaze stalled on hers. And for an instant she imagined she saw it again, that glimmer of sympathy in his dark eyes.

Which only proved she was losing her mind.

“How’s your face?” he asked.

“It hurts. What do you think?”

His gaze roamed over her jaw, his scrutiny somehow sensual, and her heart fumbled several beats. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, right.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

He angled his head to meet her eyes. “I am sorry. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Sure. That’s why you kidnapped me.”

His strong jaw flexed. “I’ve got a job to do. It’s not something I can talk about. But I don’t wish you any harm.”

“Then let us go.”

“I can’t.” Regret tinged his voice—and damned if he didn’t sound sincere.

She lowered her gaze to her stew, but her appetite had deserted her. And suddenly, she was so tired, so incredibly confused. Who was this man? Why was he bothering to be nice to her? He’d protected her from Amir, risking his life on her behalf. But he’d also captured her and was planning Henry’s death. So which was the real man—the kidnapper or the protector? Did he care, or was he playing some kind of twisted mind game to amuse himself?

She closed her eyes, too tired to figure it out. And for the first time, despair spiraled through her, the terrible dread that she might not survive.

No.
She refused to think that way. She’d been in dangerous situations before, and she’d always made it out alive. But what if she didn’t this time? What if she couldn’t save Henry? What if that dear doctor died because of her?

There
had
to be a way to escape. She had to put her mind to it and come up with a plan, no matter how impossible it seemed. She wasn’t going to let these people win.

Forcing herself to think, she focused on the half a dozen farmers standing around the fire, drinking
pisco
and coca tea. These men made their living producing coca. They harvested the leaves and converted them to paste, which they sold in the nearest town. To make the paste they needed chemicals, gallons of it— kerosene, gasoline, ammonia—which wouldn’t be easy to transport on these mountain trails.

Unless they had a truck...

That thought gave her pause. She hadn’t seen any signs of a vehicle. She hadn’t even seen a proper road. But if they had one, they’d probably park it near the pit where they made the paste.

Her hopes ticked up. She racked her brains, trying to remember what she’d heard about making paste. First they harvested the leaves and dried them. Then they put them in a
pozo,
or pit, and added water and kerosene. To avoid hauling water, they’d probably build the pit near a stream.

And if she could find that pit, she could find whatever vehicle they used to transport the chemicals—hopefully, a car or truck.

She stole a glance at Rasheed. He watched her with steady eyes, and her pulse increased its beat. She’d never fool him. He’d never let her out of his sight. Unless... She rose.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

She gestured toward the path behind the cooking fire. She’d seen enough villagers come and go while she’d been eating to figure out where it led. “The ditch—or whatever it is they use. Why? Do you want to come with me?”

His gaze stayed on hers for a heartbeat. A long second later, he shook his head. “No, go ahead. But Nadine...don’t try anything rash.”

Not bothering to answer, she returned her bowl to the bucket by the fire. Then she started down the moonlit path leading away from the huts, trying to act nonchalant. But she didn’t have much time. She had to locate the coca pit and hurry back before Rasheed grew suspicious and came to investigate.

The stench told her when she’d reached the right place. But a sudden crackle in the underbrush caught her attention, bringing her to a stop. She held her breath and listened hard, scouring the darkness around the path. Nothing. Probably some nocturnal animal hunting for food.

Still, in case one of the kidnappers was lurking nearby, she slipped behind the wooden screen and used the ditch. Then she took another, narrower path through the woods, following the sound of a rushing stream.

Seconds later, she reached the creek. She washed her hands, the icy water a shock to her nerves. The stream itself wasn’t wide, maybe ten feet across, but it probably flowed straight from the snowcapped peaks. She rose and glanced around, not sure which way to go. But if she were dumping toxic chemicals into the river, she would choose a spot downstream.

Clicking on Henry’s penlight, she headed along the bank. She picked her way through the bushes and rocks, tripping over branches and rotting logs. But several minutes later she stopped. There was still no sign of a pit. For all she knew it could be miles in the other direction. And she was running out of time. If she didn’t head back soon, Rasheed would divine her plan.

Deciding to keep going to the next bend, she continued hiking downstream. The creek twisted and curved, and then she spotted another path, probably leading straight from the coca fields. Her excitement mounting, she picked up her pace. And then she saw it—the pit where they made the paste.

It was literally a hole in the ground lined with a plastic tarp. They’d built a lean-to around it to protect it—a crude, wooden structure with a metal roof. Various supplies were piled outside—barrels containing chemicals, coils of plastic tubing, wooden poles to stir the paste. Hardly a high-tech operation, but it sufficed.

She continued past the pit, and her heart made another leap.
A pickup truck.
So she’d been right! And there was the road—a rutted tractor trail disappearing into the woods. She could sneak out later with Henry and hightail it to the nearest town.

Thrilled at her discovery, she hurried to the truck. It had a flat rear tire, rusty doors and barrels piled in the bed. But she didn’t care. As long as it ran, she would drive it on the rims.

Assuming she could find the key.

She shone the penlight through the window and looked inside. No key.
Damn.
One of the villagers must have it. But maybe Henry knew how to hot-wire an engine. She’d go straight to his hut and ask.

But then a twig crackled behind her. Her heart lurching, she whirled around. More branches snapped, and panic jolted her into gear. Someone was following her. Scared now, she darted up the path leading through the coca fields.

But the moon was too bright, the trees too low to conceal her for long. Afraid her pursuer would see her, she ducked behind a cluster of bushes and hid.

The crashing sound grew closer. Her pulse racing, she peered through the branches at the path. A man came into view, and her breath stopped cold.
Amir.

He paused a few feet away. Then he slowly turned, checking the brush nearby. She held herself dead still, praying he wouldn’t notice her. Even in the darkness, he gave her the creeps—his big body vibrating with menace, hatred simmering from him in waves.

She’d grown up around men like him. She’d seen her father batter her mother. She watched her brother bully her gentle sister-in-law into meekness with his vicious fists. But Nadine didn’t cower to anyone. She’d learned to stand up for herself early on. She refused to let anyone dictate her life or rob her of her precious dreams, no matter how hard they tried to intimidate her.

But she still had to evade Amir.

He turned and headed back toward the creek. She waited for several more seconds, then rose and stepped toward the path. Without warning, a man grabbed her from behind, his big hand muffling her startled cry. Then he dragged her behind the bushes again.

“Quiet,” he whispered in her ear.

Rasheed.

Stunned, she obeyed. His rock-hard body held her immobile. His steely arm banded her waist. And questions spun through her mind. Where had he come from? Why on earth would he help her hide? A split second later, Amir came back into view, and her heart went into a freefall. If Rasheed hadn’t stopped her, she would have walked right into a trap.

Amir stood on the moonlit path. Endless minutes ticked past. Then he swore and whirled around, heading toward the creek again.

For a minute, neither moved. She stayed frozen in Rasheed’s iron arms, struggling to think. But she was far too conscious of his callused palm grazing her mouth, his ragged breath rasping in her ear, the concrete angles and ridges of his muscled body wedged against her back.

Then he released his hold on her and stood. “Come on,” he murmured, pulling her to her feet. “But be quiet.”

Keeping his hand on her forearm, he dragged her along the path toward the huts. She stumbled behind him, the quick pace making her breathless as she tried to keep up. They cut through the grove of trees, finally reaching the hut closest to the chicken coop. He pulled her through the door and let her go.

A second later, a kerosene lantern stuttered to life. He set it on a wooden crate, and a halo of light revealed the room. Beside the crate was a cane-backed chair. A straw pallet lay in one corner, a stack of dishes and tools in another. Clothes hung from pegs on the walls.

Rasheed swung around to face her, and for the first time, she got a close look at his face in the dim light. The fury in his eyes took her aback.

“What the hell do you think you were you doing?” he demanded.

“I... Nothing.”

“You were trying to escape.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was just—”

“For God’s sake, Nadine. Don’t you know how dangerous that was? That man, Amir. Don’t you know what he’d do if he’d caught you there?”

“Of course I know. He hit me, didn’t he?” Her jaw still throbbed as proof.

His eyes blazed even hotter. A muscle leaped in his granite jaw. “That was nothing. A man like that... If he’d caught you...” His voice was close to a shout. “I warned you not to do anything dumb.”

Her own temper flared. “Dumb? What’s so dumb about trying to escape? What do you expect me to do? Just sit here like a helpless lump?”

“I expect you to listen to me.”

“Listen to you? After you kidnapped me?”

“You don’t understand.” Exhaling roughly, he shoved his hand through his hair. “It’s not just you and Henry. The villagers... If you escape, they’re going to take the blame.”

Her mouth went slack. She stared at him, so angry she could hardly speak. “You’d hurt them? You’d punish those poor people if I left?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The proof was in his eyes.

And that was the final straw. He’d grabbed her from her tent. He’d tied her up and knocked her unconscious, hauling her across the mountain in the pouring rain. She was filthy and tired. Every part of her body ached. And if that wasn’t enough, at the end of this journey both she and Henry were going to die.

“You people are something else,” she choked out. “Dragging those poor farmers into this. They’re just minding their own business and trying to get by. And Henry—he’s a good, kind man who was trying to make a difference in the world. But you don’t care about them, do you? It doesn’t bother you to have their deaths on your hands.”

A flush climbed up his face. His jaw tightened to steel. And a warning sounded in her mind, the realization that she ought to be careful, that maybe she’d misjudged him since he’d rescued her from Amir. But she’d been pushed too far for restraint.

“Men like you are selfish,” she continued, her voice trembling. “You think your stupid beliefs give you the right to take whatever you want. But you’re wrong. What you believe is wrong. And you’re not going to win.”

Her chest heaved. Her eyes stung, but she blinked back the tears, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She would not show any weakness around this man.