by M. L. Rhodes
Good God, girl, get a grip! He's your kidnapper!
True. However, the man in black, unknown factor he was, still seemed a better alternative than anything else she might face here. Maybe if she could get on his good side...
As if on cue, she heard the latch jiggle on the door, and the man himself strode in, dominating the room with his presence. He wore black jeans again, and had on a slate-gray knit shirt that clung to his lean but muscular upper body like a second skin. His brown, shoulder-length hair was loose today, giving him even more of a bad boy appearance.
Elizabeth let out a soft, appreciative huff of breath without thinking, and another warm tingle shot through her. She'd forgotten since last night just what a visual impact he made. He was nothing at all like blond, pressed and polished Lionel. No, this man was beautiful in an earthy, physical, dark-and-dangerous way.
He relocked the door, set a plate and Styrofoam cup on the small, scarred wooden table, then turned to her and speared her with a cold stare.
Her warm tingle turned to a chilly shiver. Okay, maybe he wasn't such a great alternative after all. He looked furious this morning.
Out of instinct, she rose and backed away from him. Not that she had far to go ... she was already almost against the wall.
"Close the curtains,” he barked.
The creases on his forehead and thin lines radiating from his mouth indicated he wasn't in the mood for arguing or dawdling, so she pulled the curtains closed again with shaking hands.
"I ... I was just looking out."
"You can't escape. Even if you got out of this room, my men would stop you before you left the yard."
"Why are you keeping me here? I want to go home."
"I would imagine you do. But your wants are the least of my concerns."
He held up something she hadn't seen him carrying ... her wallet.
"Elizabeth Sandringham.” Her name was said with almost a snarl, as if the very sound of it repulsed him.
"You found my purse! I thought I'd lost it in the bar."
"Oh, yes, I found it. Ramirez was going through it this morning, looking for trinkets of yours he could keep. I let him have the cash. A nice roll of U.S. bills, along with a hefty supply of pesos."
"But that's—!"
"You won't be needing the money. However, we certainly don't want him using your credit cards, now do we, Elizabeth? Then your wealthy family might be alerted to your whereabouts."
"You ... you know who I am?"
"Elizabeth Jane Sandringham. Twenty-eight years old. A resident of Boston, Massachusetts. Which would, I believe, make you the daughter of Charles Sandringham of the Sandringham hotel empire. Oh, yes. Your driver's license was quite informative. And your family name says everything else I need to know.” Again, that bitter disgust oozed from his tone.
"Weren't you supposed to be walking down the aisle with your fiancé in your father's fancy Acapulco hotel in a couple of days? Your fiancé is a retired U.S. senator's son, as I recall. Quite the catch. It's been in the newspaper. The big event of southern Mexico."
"Yes,” Elizabeth murmured. But then, trying to regain some bravado, she shot out, “All the more reason you need to let me go. It's going to be pretty obvious to my fiancé and family that something's happened to me when I don't show up for my rehearsal dinner tonight."
He laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound, but again with the bitter edge. “What rehearsal dinner would that be, Señorita Sandringham? According to this morning's paper, you called off the wedding and deserted your sweetheart. Left him at the proverbial altar. He claims you betrayed him and ran off with another man."
A red haze of rage crept into Elizabeth's vision. “That weasel! He knows exactly why I called off the wedding, and it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with...” She couldn't even get the words out.
"Spare me the melodrama. Whoever got into your pants and made you decide to abandon your future husband is not of interest to me."
"I didn't—don't have another man! He's telling lies about me to cover—"
"Silence!” His dark-eyed gaze bore into her. He flung her wallet toward her and it landed with a thunk on the scratched wooden floor a few inches from her.
She knelt to retrieve it.
"Get up,” he ordered. “I have some questions for you this morning, and I suggest you give me straight answers."
Elizabeth rose. He was already furious about something, and the last thing she wanted was to make him angrier. She couldn't forget his gun pressed to Ramirez's testicles last night—the gun that rested against his back even now—and the very real threat in his voice when he said he'd shoot. She sensed this wasn't a man to push too hard.
"Last night. Why were you in the bar?"
"I went in to call for a taxi to take me back to Acapulco. I didn't have my cell with me and needed to use the phone."
"Why did you leave Acapulco? And how is it you ended up in El Piojo?"
"I...” She winced. She had no interest in sharing her evening with Lionel. “I left because I was angry at my fiancé. I wasn't really thinking. I just got in the cab and told the driver to take me far away. That little town is where we ended up. But after he left I knew what I really needed was to get to the airport so I could go home. And the airport was in Acapulco."
"You were at the bar by yourself? You didn't talk to anyone, weren't meeting anyone?"
"I was by myself until your men cornered me. Why are you asking me these questions?"
"Let's talk about the shooting, shall we?” He clasped his hands behind his back and paced in front her, his cowboy boots thunking on the floor. “Why would Galista's men have an interest in killing a white woman from Massachusetts?"
"No one was shooting at me specifically! And I don't even who this Galista is. I told you, I was in the bar by chance. How am I supposed to know why someone would go postal? Ask your creepy men. Maybe they know."
"I have discussed it with my men, at length. And, in fact, Galista's team didn't seem to want them or anyone else in the bar...” His gaze narrowed. “Only you, Señorita Sandringham."
"Me? Have you completely lost it? I came to Mexico to get married. Why would some bad guy want me? You better talk to your men again. They were happy campers to be shooting their guns at anyone or anything that moved in that bar, so maybe those other guys were after them."
He studied her for a long minute, his face hard, thoughtful. “Did anything unusual happen to you over the past day or two?"
"Besides being kidnapped and mauled by your men, you mean?"
The look he gave her had her biting her tongue in regret.
"Let me make this easy for you.” His voice was laced with steel. “I want you to tell me everything you've done, every place you've been, and anything out of the ordinary you might have seen over the last two days."
"What?” She looked at him in shock. “You're joking, right?"
His cold stare was his only response.
"I was getting ready for a wedding. We had family flying in. I was a lot of places."
"Such as ... and start at the beginning, please."
With a sigh she sank to the floor. “This is ridiculous."
"You woke up day before yesterday and...?"
Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. “Fine, I'll play along. I woke up day before yesterday and...” She squinted as she tried to recall what she'd done. “...I ordered room service. After that, I showered, dressed, and went down to the restaurant and met with the catering team about the wedding reception. Then Lionel and I went to the airport to pick up his cousins from New Jersey. We took them to lunch back at the hotel."
"And in the afternoon?"
"Lionel had to call his office, so I went swimming in the hotel pool, then my step-mother made me go shopping with her. Don't expect me to tell you the stores we went into because I wouldn't even know where to start—she's a nightmare shopper and we probably hit them all. In the evening, I had a quiet dinner with my dad because my step-m
other was resting and Lionel had gone back to the airport to get his best ... man.” She had to swallow past the lump in her throat. “After that I turned in early because I was tired."
He peered at her through those dark, intense eyes. “What about yesterday?"
"Lionel and I met with the priest at nine to go over our vows. I had a last-minute fitting for my dress right after that, and I'm not sure where Lionel got off to.” Probably to spend time with his friend.
"We planned to meet for lunch at a restaurant Lionel had discovered. He gave me the address and we met there at noon."
"What restaurant?"
"I think it was called El Tulip something."
"El Tulipán?"
"That sounds right. After lunch I met with the florist, came back to my room to discover Genevieve—my step-mother—had taken off with all my underthings and replaced them with a bunch of frou-frou lingerie I hated. So I went to her room and we had a spat. And I didn't get my regular stuff back,” she grumbled under her breath.
She glanced up at the man in black, and for a brief second she thought she saw a flash of humor in his coffee-colored gaze, but it was gone in a heartbeat so she was certain she'd imagined it.
"And after that?"
"After that, Lionel and I were supposed to meet my dad and Gen for dinner, but...” She dragged in painful breath. “Instead we had a fight. That's when I left the hotel. You know the rest."
"And you can think of nothing else? Nothing odd that happened to you?"
"No. There's nothing else. They were just two normal days.” Yeah, normal. She dropped her head onto her drawn-up knees and did her damnedest to fight back her misery.
All was silent for several minutes.
Finally, she heard him walk to the other side of the room. “Come over here. I want to look at your hands."
"They're fine. Go away."
"No arguments. Come here."
Once again his tone indicated he wasn't in the mood to play games, although he didn't seem quite as angry as he had when he'd first come in the room.
Knowing he wasn't going to leave until she did what he said, she pushed herself to her feet. He stood by the bed, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for her. With a grimace, she headed toward him. But it was the oddest thing ... the closer she got to him, the more she could smell his scent, and a vague but enticing memory of strong arms around her and softly whispered words of comfort came to her.
This man's arms? His words? Could it be possible?
No, no way.
But desire curled in her veins as she suddenly remember him kissing her last night ... and of her wanton response. She stamped it out forthwith. Kidnapper, she reminded herself. And from the look on his face, he wasn't planning on showing her mercy anytime soon. No, the strange memories probably weren't memories at all. He'd gotten her drunk. The warm arms and comfort were a dream brought on by her inebriated state and her longing to believe this hell wasn't really happening.
"Sit on the bed."
Elizabeth sank onto the mattress, and he pulled up the chair where he'd sat last night.
With a gentle touch that belied the fierce scowl on his face, he unwound the bandages. Elizabeth winced when she saw the cuts on her palms. Her left one looked worse than her right, but they were both sore.
He dabbed at her palms with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol—the medicinal variety, which sat on the bedside table. Her eyes stung with tears, but she refused to let them fall or utter a sound. She wasn't going to get out of here by acting like a wimp and falling apart over something as little as a few cuts.
When he'd finished his torture, he studied her hands again. “I think it's best to leave them unwrapped now. They'll probably heal better if air can get to them."
She shrugged. Her hands hurt, but it would be easier to function without the bandages.
"I brought you something to eat—huevos and frijoles. It's on the table.” He rose. “I recommend you don't try to go on a hunger strike or come up with any other reckless schemes."
Elizabeth glared up at him. “I'm not an idiot. You don't have to treat me like one."
"I thought all rich girls liked to play games."
"What is it with you? Why do you hate me so much? I didn't ask to be here, remember? And if I'm such a pain in your butt, you could do us both a favor and let me go."
His eyes narrowed and he shook his head.
"Why? Because now I've seen your miserable, filthy hideout? Seen your psycho minions? For crying out loud, I don't even know your name! Yeah, I could be a real threat to you.” The sarcasm rolled off her tongue in waves. She lurched to her feet and stomped toward the table.
He caught her arm and tugged her around to face him. “You also have that rich girl sharp tongue, don't you?"
"Whatever.” She tried to jerk away from him, but he didn't let her go. His long fingers dug into her flesh—not enough to hurt, but enough she knew if she tried again to pull away it would.
"Are you going to rape me? Get it over with then. Everyone else has no problem abusing and using me.” The last was said under her breath. But then a flicker of fear washed over her. Good God, what had she just said? She raised her startled gaze to the man in black. “I ... I..."
He shook his head as if in disgust. But the cold look that had been in his eyes since he walked into the room softened. “I have no plans to rape you.” His voice was low and gravelly. His grip eased up, then he uncurled his long fingers from around her arm and let her go. “I told you last night ... no one's going to hurt you, and that includes me. And for the record, my name is Miguel."
"Please, I know you think you can't let me go, but I swear, I wouldn't tell anyone about you. I don't even know where we are."
"You mistake my intentions. It's not my safety I'm concerned with. It's yours.” He stroked her cheek for a brief moment in a surprisingly gentle gesture that belied the way he'd treated her all morning.
"Because of your men? Because of what they'd do to me?"
"They'd rape you and kill you with no remorse. But, unfortunately, they are not the extent of your problem. Whether you like it or not, Galista's men came to that bar last night looking for you."
"I told you—"
He pressed a long finger over her lips. “I know what you told me. I know you don't believe what I've said and what I'm about to say, but listen carefully anyway because your life might very well depend on it."
Her heart fluttered in fear at the serious expression on his face.
"Whether you want to hear it or not, there is something about you Galista doesn't like. The attempt on your life last night wasn't successful. But Galista doesn't accept failure. His men will come after you again and again until they succeed. If they found you at the bar, that means they went to your hotel first and followed you there."
"This is insane,” she whispered, shaking her head. But the possibility that someone might have followed her last night sent a chill up her spine.
"That it is. But it doesn't change the fact you are in very real danger.” His forehead furrowed and his eyes blazed. “As long as you do what I say and try nothing foolish, you'll be safe with me."
"And what? You'll keep me locked in this room forever?"
"Not forever, no. But for now. Even if I took you back to Acapulco, they'd find you and kill you."
"I want to wake up in my bed and find out this has all been a bad dream,” she whispered.
The man in black stroked her hair, yet another surprising, gentle gesture. His clean, masculine scent eddied around her, and again she had another flash of that dreamlike memory of arms protecting her and softly whispered words.
"It won't be forever. Just be patient and you'll get out of here."
"I don't even know what you and your men want or what you're doing ... but if it's money ... if you ransomed me, my dad would pay whatever you asked. And then you'd be rid of me. And I swear I wouldn't ever tell—"
He pushed her away, all hint of softness gone. Hi
s eyes were back to that stony, bitter sheen of earlier. “Of course, how silly of me. Your rich daddy will pay whatever I want to get you back. Listen carefully, Señorita Sandringham. Maybe you're used to getting your way by flashing your money around, but that won't work here. Your father doesn't have enough money to buy me off. I'm not for sale."
He turned on his heel, stalked to the door, threw it open, then slammed it behind him. The lock clicked into place with a fateful snap.
As Elizabeth stared at the stained wood that still shivered from the force of his exit, a new wave of despair washed over her. She stood for several long minutes, too heartsick and frustrated to move. He had to be wrong about someone wanting to kill her. It was probably just an excuse he was using to make her believe he was going to keep her safe so she wouldn't try to escape.
Why then did his serious expression haunt her so much?
CHAPTER 3
Miguel unlocked the door to his room after several hours. It had taken him that long to get his temper under control.
Every time he thought about Elizabeth Sandringham telling him her rich father would pay whatever he wanted to get her back it surged anew. But he'd finally forced at least an external calm by telling himself that, just because Elizabeth was rich didn't mean she was of the same ilk as Rosalinda. It didn't mean he had to take his old anger out on her.
When he'd discovered who she was, and seen in the morning paper Ramirez had brought in after his night of carousing, that Elizabeth had jilted her fiancé for another man, it was hard not to make comparisons between the two women. Damned hard. And even after all these years, he still remembered with vivid clarity just how deeply Rosa's manipulation and deceit had delved, and how much he'd lost because of his blind trust.
He'd learned much from that experience, a lifetime's worth of lessons, and it was those lessons he fell back on now—with his men, this goddamned job, and with Elizabeth Sandringham. He didn't know how much of her story was truth. She'd acted genuinely shocked and outraged at her fiancé's claim she'd run off with another man. She'd also come across as sincere that she had no idea why Galista would want her dead. But he'd seen actresses at work before. Rosa had been one of the best. So even the most innocent eyes and the loudest sobs crying foul were no guarantee of sincerity.