by Elle Kennedy
Lana didn’t understand her older brother’s decision. Their dad might not be the best paternal role model, but he was still family. She had no intention of ever abandoning her family the way Chase had.
God, she missed them. Cole and Dylan, the handsome serious twins. Jake, with his reckless love of adventure. Jim, only a year older than her and yet her biggest protector. And her mother. God, she wondered how Mom was faring. First the shocking revelation of Hank’s affairs and now her daughter kidnapped.
Tears stung Lana’s eyes. She moved away from the window, just as the lock clicked and the door swung open. Deacon’s broad frame filled the doorway. He held a small plate loaded with thin slices of carrots and celery.
“I thought you might want a snack,” he said, his features creased with hesitation.
She swiped at her tears with the sleeve of her burgundy mohair sweater. “Thanks,” she said dully, sinking onto the edge of the bed.
Deacon handed her the plate, and though she was too depressed to eat, she mechanically bit into one carrot and forced herself to chew. The baby needed nourishment, and she refused to deprive it of a solitary thing. So far, she hadn’t experienced any morning sickness, which was fortunate. She had no clue how she’d explain it to Deacon, who would be the one taking her to and from the bathroom if her stomach began to rebel.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Gee, Delta.” She used the name she heard the other men call him, mostly out of spite. “I’m doing great. I’m locked up in a tiny room. I’m not allowed to go outside. I get all my meals brought in to me like I’m a naughty child who can’t eat with the grown-ups. I’ve been kidnapped. By a man I had sex with, no less. Oh, and my back hurts. Any other questions?”
“You’d like to go outside?”
She faltered. Seriously? Out of everything she’d just unloaded on him, that was what he hung on to? But she decided to dial down on the anger. Truth was, she was tired of being cooped up inside.
“Yes, actually, I would.”
“Put on your coat then. It’s windy out there.”
She hid her shock. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, she set the plate down on the desk and reached for the knee-length red parka her captors had given her. She had a feeling red was a deliberate choice of color. She’d be more likely to stand out in this bland landscape if she tried to run.
She put on the coat, zipped it up to the neck, then undid her ponytail and let her hair loose. She noticed Deacon watching her with an indefinable expression, his serious eyes resting on the long blond tresses falling over her shoulders.
“What?” she said, oddly defensive.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go.”
She didn’t object as he took her arm and led her out the door. She suspected idyllic strolls in the mountains weren’t what Le Clair had had in mind when he’d arranged to kidnap her, and she was grateful that Deacon was being so nice about it.
Nice?
She’d obviously gone nuts. There was nothing nice about any of this. She was a prisoner, for Pete’s sake.
“Stockholm syndrome,” she mumbled under her breath.
Deacon cocked his head. “What?”
“Nothing.”
When they entered the living room, Lana saw Tango, aka Scar Cheek, lying on one couch, while the enormous man she now recognized as Kilo sat in a ratty old recliner, his eyes closed. Those eyes snapped open the moment Deacon and Lana entered, and a harsh scowl immediately spread across the man’s mouth.
“What’s she doing out here?” Kilo demanded, glaring at Deacon.
“Getting some air,” Deacon replied lightly.
“Does the boss know about this?”
“He will soon.” Deacon kept his tone casual as he walked Lana to the front door.
The moment they stepped on the porch, a gust of wind slammed into her, making her hair blow around in all directions. But the chill of the breeze was nothing compared to the cold gunmetal-gray eyes they encountered.
“What’s going on here, Delta?” Le Clair snapped when he caught sight of them. He’d been sitting on a white wicker chair with a cell phone in his hand, but he stood the moment they came outside.
“Miss Kelley requested some air,” Deacon said quietly. “I didn’t think you’d object.”
Le Clair’s gaze zeroed in on Lana, then rested on the tight grip of Deacon’s hand on her arm. After a second, his features relaxed and he gave a shrug. “Fine. Make it quick.”
“Yes, sir.”
They descended the creaky porch steps and ventured farther, their boots crunching against the stiff dead grass as they walked across it.
“How can you answer to that man?” Lana muttered, keeping her voice low so it didn’t carry with the wind.
“I have no choice. Everyone answers to someone, Lana.”
“Well, I’d never work for a man like that. He’s evil.” The wind snaked its way under her hair, lifting stray strands and whipping them around. “Has my father been contacted yet?” Deacon hesitated.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
The admission seemed difficult for him, and it surprised the hell out of Lana. So her dad knew about the kidnapping? He knew and he’d sat around twiddling his thumbs for four days now?
A terrifying thought slid into her head. “Is he refusing to pay?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” she echoed. She stopped walking, planting her hands on her hips. “What is going on, Deacon? You said this was about money.”
“It is.” His tone didn’t sound so convincing anymore.
Fear gathered in Lana’s stomach. “Then why am I still here? Why hasn’t an exchange been made?”
His chest rose as he drew in a long breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated.
Silence fell between them. They began to walk again, moving around the small clearing. Lana could feel Le Clair’s gaze on them, and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingled. In the distance, the mountains towered over the landscape almost ominously, and yet they brought a strange sense of comfort. At least she had an idea of where she was. If she got the chance to speak to her family, she knew she needed to figure out a way to give them a clue of her whereabouts.
Trying to be discreet, she glanced around, looking at the bushes across the clearing, the scattering of boulders to her left. Maybe if she could find a way out of the bedroom in the middle of the night, she could run toward those rocks and—
“Don’t even think about it,” Deacon said sternly.
She guiltily avoided his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re plotting your escape.” He let out a heavy sigh. “There are motion sensors rigged all over this mountain, Lana. Outside your window, too. You’d only be wasting your time.”
She tried to hide the disappointment weighing down on her chest. Well, at least she’d tried.
She and Deacon came to a stop underneath a cluster of tall redwood trees with knotted branches and thick leaves. The sun had disappeared behind a patch of gray clouds, and it was cooler beneath the trees. Lana tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat, shivering slightly.
“You’re cold. We should go in,” Deacon said roughly.
“No,” she protested. “Don’t put me back in the room. Not yet.” She leaned against the gnarled brown bark of one of the tree trunks and glanced at him warily. “Did you really grow up in Boston?”
He looked surprised by the question. “Yeah, I did.”
“So that wasn’t a lie?”
“No. I’m from the east coast, like I said.” He shrugged. “Though I haven’t been back there in two decades.”
“Why not?” She immediately berated herself for the display of curiosity. He was her kidnapper! Next thing you knew, she’d be wielding a machine gun and calling herself Patty Hearst.
“Never had any reason to go back.” Another shrug, this one indifferen
t.
“No family?” Another mental kick in the shin.
He shook his head. “My parents died when I was fifteen.”
Despite all common sense, a rush of sympathy slid through her. “That must have been tough.” She paused. “How did they die?”
He hesitated for several long seconds, and when he finally spoke, his answer chilled her to the bone. “My father shot my mother in the head before turning the gun on himself. Good old murder-suicide.”
Lana gasped. “Oh, God. Why…why did he do it?”
“To this day, I still have no clue.” His entire face had darkened, making him appear lethal, unapproachable.
“That must have been awful,” she whispered. “Did you go to live with family? Grandparents? Aunt and uncle?”
Deacon’s eyes grew shuttered. “No.”
“Then where—”
“Delta! Bring her over here!” came Le Clair’s hard shout, officially putting an end to the conversation.
Lana found herself overwhelmed with sadness as she followed Deacon. Her brain reprimanded her for being affected by Deacon’s horrifying tale, while her heart wept for the angry, grief-stricken teenage boy who’d lost his parents in such a gruesome way. She fought the urge to squeeze his arm and shifted her focus to Le Clair, who’d walked down the porch steps to meet them.
When Le Clair stuck his cell phone in her direction, all thoughts of Deacon and his painful confession flew out of Lana’s head in one fell swoop. “Say hello to your father, princess,” Le Clair ordered, “and make it fast.”
Joy exploded in Lana’s body like a burst of Fourth of July fireworks. Her father! Oh, thank God, this was finally going to be over!
She grabbed at the phone like a passenger on a sinking ship grasping for a life preserver. “Daddy?” she said urgently.
A hiss of static, and then her father’s familiar voice came on the line. “Lana! How are you? Where are you?”
Her dad sounded as if he might be fighting tears, and Lana blinked back the moisture seeping from her own eyes. Think! she ordered herself. She had to be smart, had to give her dad a clue about where she was.
She let out a wobbly breath and spoke into the mouthpiece, slowly, evenly. “I’m fine, Daddy. I know we haven’t always gotten along, but I want you to know that I love you. And on the remote chance that I survive this ordeal, I hope we can elevate our relationship to a higher place—”
“Time’s up,” Le Clair snapped, and then the phone was snatched out of her hand. Her captor repeated the same warning into the mouthpiece. “Time’s up, Kelley. You know what to do.”
Le Clair jammed on the disconnect button and shoved the cell phone into the pocket of his impeccable wool trousers. Then he glanced over at Lana with a smirk. “So you and Daddy don’t get along, huh, princess?”
Actually, they got along great, but Lana had been grasping at straws. She’d tried revealing her location in the mountains with the words remote, elevate and higher place, but she had no idea if Hank had picked up on it.
The sound of her father’s voice still echoed in her mind. She’d never heard him sound so frantic, so broken-up. He’d always been the smooth-talking senator, but during those precious few seconds, he’d sounded like a worried, heart-broken father. The thought made her sick with anxiety. The rest of her family must be going out of their minds, too.
“He’s a hard man to love,” she said vaguely, in response to Le Clair’s mocking query.
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he answered, smirking again. “Your sweet mother must be finding it difficult to love him, too, if what the news stories are saying is true.”
Lana had no desire to talk about her parents’ marital problems with this son of a bitch. Gritting her teeth, she turned to Deacon. “May I go back to my room now?”
Le Clair let out a laugh. “Ah, I see I hit a nerve. By all means, Delta, take our princess back to her royal chamber.”
Deacon led her back inside, and the second they were alone in the bedroom again, he spun around, his hazel eyes flashing with fury. “What the hell are you doing, Lana?”
She almost stumbled from the force of his glare. “What are you talking about?”
“‘Elevate our relationship to a higher place’?” Deacon made a frustrated noise. “Don’t think I didn’t pick up on what you were doing, dropping hints to your father.”
“I did no such thing,” she lied. “I was merely expressing my regret that Daddy and I don’t have a closer relationship.”
“Bullshit.” The anger in his eyes faded, replaced by a rueful look. “That was risky. You’re very lucky Le Clair didn’t figure it out.”
She offered a tiny shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
To her surprise, his mouth twitched, as if he were suppressing a grin. “Whatever you say, princess.”
She undid her coat and draped it over the broken chair by the desk, then headed to the bed and sat down cross-legged. Outside, the sun was completely obstructed by thick gray clouds, and the damp breeze drifting in from the open window hinted at impending rain.
She still felt shaken up by the conversation with her father, but she refused to let Deacon see it. Call it a family trait, but Kelleys had been trained from birth not to show weakness. But Lord…her father had sounded so devastated. As tears prickled her eyelids, she blinked a few times, then put on a careless front and raised a brow at Deacon.
“Do you guys have any books out there?” she grumbled. “Or a magazine? You can’t expect me to sit here for the rest of my time here doing absolutely nothing. I’ll die of boredom.”
A strange expression crossed Deacon’s face. “Actually, I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I have something for you.”
She tamped down her curiosity as he left the room with brisk strides. Less than a minute later, he reappeared in the doorway, holding a stack of sketching paper, yellowed from age, and a small plastic bag filled with…coal?
“I found this in the living room,” he said, sounding awkward as he held up the paper. “And I got the charcoal from the fireplace. I figured you could use it to sketch something, as long as you’re here.”
The warmth that flooded her chest was incredibly inappropriate. Not to mention infuriating. So what if he’d scrounged up some art supplies? That certainly didn’t make up for the fact that he was a willing participant in her abduction.
“Thanks,” she said woodenly, determined not to let the gesture affect her.
Deacon set the materials on the desk and edged back to the door. “I’ll check in on you later,” he murmured, and then he was gone.
Lana stared at the closed door, wondering why it was that she softened up whenever Deacon was around. She kept having to remind herself that he had kidnapped her. She wasn’t allowed to like the man, not anymore anyway. She wasn’t supposed to feel touched that he’d remembered how much she loved art, and that he’d risked facing Le Clair’s wrath in order to take her outside.
Yep, she wasn’t supposed to do any of that, and yet she was.
“See that, baby,” she whispered to the precious life growing inside of her. “Daddy brought us some art supplies.” Her tone suddenly hardened. “Now, if he’d just quit being a jerk and let us go, then Mommy will be really happy.”
Unfortunately, she knew that wasn’t going to be an option. No matter how many times Deacon promised he’d protect her, he wouldn’t free her. Which meant she was stuck here, at least until her father gave these men what they wanted.
The only problem was, something made her think that money might not be the answer to her problems.
You know what to do.
The words Le Clair had barked at her father floated into the forefront of her brain. What did that mean? What exactly did they want her father to do? Each day that passed here in these isolated mountains brought the ominous suspicion that this entire situation was a lot bigger than money, that she and her father might be caught up in something neither of them was capable of hand
ling.
And that, more than anything that had happened so far, scared her to death.
CHAPTER 6
By the time the two-week mark of Lana’s captivity rolled by, Deacon was growing considerably wary about this job. Two weeks was a long time to keep a hostage. A very long time.
He didn’t like it one bit.
As he prepared a grilled cheese sandwich for Lana’s lunch, he mulled over the situation, wondering if he should approach Le Clair with his concerns. The boss was beginning to look frazzled these days, spending most of his time on the porch mumbling into his cell phone, though to whom he was mumbling was a mystery to Deacon. He got the feeling Le Clair wasn’t happy with the way things were going, but Deacon wasn’t privy to the details. Was Hank Kelley refusing to pay up?
Deacon’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown as he cut the sandwich in half and set it on a chipped yellow dish. He knew Lana was growing frustrated, too, and deeply impatient. He checked on her frequently, and their afternoon walks had become a daily ritual. At first she’d pressed him about his childhood, trying to get more details about his parents’ deaths, but she’d eventually given up when he remained vague about it, and proceeded to chatter on aimlessly about her own life. He knew it was her way to get her mind off her current predicament, but Deacon had started clinging to the stories she told.
He felt as though he knew everything about her now. She told him wry anecdotes about her overprotective older brothers, spoke of her parents with deep emotion, raved about art, modestly described some of the sculptures in her recent body of work. The more time he spent with her, the more he liked and respected Lana Kelley. Which was why this assignment was starting to trouble him. He didn’t want to see her get hurt, and the way Le Clair angrily muttered into that cell phone of his didn’t bode well for Lana.
“Lunch,” he said gruffly as he entered the back bedroom.
Lana’s head lifted at his arrival. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a sheet of sketching paper. Her long blond hair fell onto her face, and her slender fingers were stained black from the charcoal.