“All right, let’s go,” Jimmy said.
He didn’t bother replacing his mustache, and the three of them went down in the elevator together in silence. When they reached the lobby, Tara prayed wildly that a score of policemen would jump out from behind the counter and produce a handcuffed Tine.
It didn’t happen. Some tourists walked by, chattering in French. A group of Americans went past, boisterously discussing the delicious meal they’d had for lunch.
Then a tall man with broad shoulders and a Latin accent suddenly threw his arms out toward Tara.
“There you are! Come, give your old amigo a hug!”
Tara gritted her teeth as the man embraced her. He reached past her, smiling as he shook hands with Jimmy and Tanya.
“Now. Out front,” he ordered under his breath.
They stepped outside. A black limousine swept into the circular drive. The man who had met them tipped the doorman and hugged Tara’s shoulders again—then shoved her into the back. She stumbled, because he was pushing Jimmy and Tanya in almost on top of her.
Instinctively, she grabbed for something to hold. A hand came out, steadying her, becoming a vise around her wrist as she sat down, horrified, next to Tine.
For a moment she could only stare at him. He hadn’t changed a bit. He was still trim, sandy-haired, with blue eyes, as handsome as only the all-American boy next door could be, the high school football team quarterback, tanned, broad-shouldered, appealing.
Except that now she knew. Knew that his smile hid a wealth of cruelty. That the glitter in those blue eyes was the glitter of avarice.
He smiled at her, a smile that grew broader and harder as she tried to wrench her hand away.
“I’ve missed you, Tara.”
She didn’t respond; she only returned his gaze coldly while icy trickles of fear skated down her spine.
“Leave her alone, Elliott,” Jimmy said.
Tine chuckled. “Just what will you do, big man?”
“I have the mask—she doesn’t.”
“That’s right. But Tara and I have a few old scores to settle.”
“Where’s Ashley?” she demanded.
“You’ll see her soon. Just sit tight, sweetheart. We’ve got a little drive ahead of us.” His fingers curled around hers. Suddenly he stretched her arm out, catching sight of Rafe’s magnificent diamond—the ring she still couldn’t remove.
All traces of his smile disappeared. “You were going to marry him?”
“I am going to marry him,” Tara lied smoothly.
“Take it off.”
“It doesn’t come off.”
He smiled again. “I’ll see that it comes off,” he promised her. “One way or another.”
Tara lowered her lashes, fighting the temptation to scream with fear and rake her nails across his face. She had to be calm; there was Ashley to remember.
She stared at Jimmy and Tanya, who sat silently, hand in hand.
The limo’s windows were darkly tinted. She had no idea of where they were going, except that they were beginning to climb high into the mountains, and it seemed that the afternoon sun was waning. It would soon be dark.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Tine said softly, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “You really haven’t got anything to worry about—not for a while yet.”
But she did. He was right next to her. Very fit, a strong man, agile and powerful. She had learned that once the hard way. It seemed that every nerve in her body cried out. She couldn’t bear being next to him.
She had no choice.
She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth tightly and prayed for the ride to end—no matter what that end brought.
“Another ten minutes or so and we’ll be home,” Tine said, as if he were addressing a group of old friends. “Home, Tara. Nice, cozy home. Luxurious, intimate.”
She still refused to react, and he laughed, a grating sound that was entirely horrible.
* * *
Rafe returned to the hotel in disgust—not one of the men in the lineup had even remotely resembled the man who had tried to abduct Tara the day before.
The only good thing about the trip had been that he had been able to spend some time with Lieutenant Costello, the one man who had given him a serious hearing when he had attempted to find Jimmy two years before. Of course, by the time that Rafe had realized Jimmy was missing, it had been long after the night on the mountain. The lieutenant had been stunned to hear that the man had actually existed; he’d admitted that they’d suspected Tara Hill of inventing him in a wild bid to exonerate herself. Costello was a good man; Rafe definitely felt more comfortable knowing that the police now believed wholeheartedly that Tine Elliott was alive and well and in their country. Costello assured him that it might take time, but they would find him.
He knew something was wrong as soon as he reached the hallway. He didn’t think the detective would have left—and he knew damn well that Sam would never have voluntarily deserted his post.
He hurried into his room. It was empty; nothing seemed amiss. He rushed to the connecting door, ready to break it down if she didn’t answer him.
He didn’t have to break the door down. It was locked only on his side. And he hadn’t locked it.
He burst through. Tara was gone, and there was no sign of Ashley. The room was neat and clean—no sign of a scuffle, at least.
Trying to remain rational and calm, he started toward the phone to call the police, but he never reached it. The phone was ringing in his own room, and he raced back to answer it.
His hello was anxiously hopeful.
“Rafael Tyler?”
“Who is this?”
“Just listen carefully. I have a number of people you care about here. Your brother. And—”
“My brother!” Jimmy. Jimmy was alive. Rafe had always believe that, but...
Where the hell had he been? Why hadn’t he called, written, let those who loved him know that he was all right? Why in God’s name—
A chuckle interrupted his thoughts.
“Yes, I have him. Your brother. Excuse me—stepbrother. Yes, I have him. It was the strangest thing! I’ve been pulling my hair out for the last two years looking for that boy myself. Seems I did hit him last time. Good hit, right in the head. Erased his memory. He’s been wandering around down here with a native girl all this time—and then Tara shows up and triggers something in the boy’s memory. It all worked out real well. So now I have him—and his Venezuelan girlfriend. I also have a redheaded model and, oh, a lady who we both know and love. The illustrious Tara Hill. Nice rock you gave her, Tyler. And I have a paranoid detective, and an old man.”
“Elliott!” Rafe breathed between his teeth.
“How perceptive, Mr. Tyler.”
“If you touch her, Elliott, you’re a dead man,” Rafe said quietly.
“Well, that rather remains to be seen, doesn’t it? I want the mask, Tyler.”
“I don’t have the damn mask, and you know it.”
“True. But you’re going to get it for me. You and your brother.”
“You can have it. But I not only want Tara back here—entirely safe and sound—but the others, too. I want them released, and then the mask is yours.”
“Now, now, you know it’s not that simple. First things first. I’ll meet you at the glass factory—way out in the open. At midnight. I’ll have your little brother with me. He’ll tell you where the mask is and how to get it. And he’ll be careful, because he knows I’ll shoot his girlfriend if he lies. And you’ll behave, too, I’m certain, because there’s an entire memory lane that I could travel down with Tara—before I shoot her. Now, if you’re even five minutes late, I’ll start proving my point by shooting the old-timer. Got it all? Oh, no police. If I see anyone with you, anyone remotely near you on that mountain, I’ll begin by breaking his kneecaps.”
“I’ll be there at midnight. Alone.”
“See that you are. You know, I’m smiling at your girlfriend right now
, Tyler. Ah, memories! She’s something, isn’t she? Just like a centerfold, huh?”
Rafe almost snapped the phone wire; it took all his willpower not to reply.
“How nice, a silent pair. Don’t mess up, Tyler, huh?”
The phone went dead. Rafe started to click it to call the police, then wondered if Tine Elliott had enough power behind him to have the wires tapped.
He sat down, shaking. He tried to fight back the rising sensation of panic. He reminded himself that his brother was alive, though he’d never believed in his heart that Jimmy could be dead. And it made sense: injury, amnesia. Jimmy would have never let them go crazy with fear if he had been able to do anything about it. He had been hurt, but he was alive. Rafe should be grateful for that, at least.
But he couldn’t be grateful. He felt too much panic. Tine Elliott had Tara. Tara. All that he could see in his mind’s eye were pictures of her. The beautiful soft silver fox fur clutched to her throat. Her eyes on his when they had met over the marble tiger. Tara...that night in her apartment. Half asleep, her guard down, the attraction calling to them both.
Tara...the softness of her lips. The beauty of her passion. Her love pouring around and over him, and becoming more a part of him than his flesh or his blood or even his mind. He couldn’t stand the fear, the horror, knowing what Tine Elliott had done to her, knowing that Tine Elliott had her again.
You can’t panic! You can’t sit here like a helpless idiot! he screamed silently.
Something inside him came to the fore, something sharp that reminded him that he’d never been helpless in any situation before—he’d always looked to action. But then, he’d never been in love before, not like this. This time another person was the essence of his soul, and the danger was all directed toward her.
Think! Act! By God, of all the times in his life, this was when he most needed to be effective!
Rafe forced himself to breathe deeply. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He looked at his watch. Eight o’clock, and it was almost completely dark outside.
Four hours. Four hours in which Tine Elliott could be doing anything to anyone.
Not to anyone. Tara.
He inhaled, exhaled, and gripped his fingers to stop them from trembling. How many people did Elliott have working for him? Probably not more than five or six—it would be too dangerous for him to have any larger a group.
Rafe knew he was probably being watched. But he hadn’t been told not to leave his room. He’d have to risk it.
But he didn’t have a damn thing to go on.
He walked back into Tara and Ashley’s room, blindly groping for some kind of clue. The beds weren’t perfectly made, he thought. And it seemed that the makeup and perfume bottles on the dresser were a little out of order, considering the kind of organization both girls were accustomed to, being quick-change artists.
Someone had been here. Either to take them...or check the room out after they had gone.
He sat down on the bed. If anyone had left him anything, it was surely gone.
He stood up, pacing the room, reminding himself that he had never been a defeatist. He paced and prowled, looking at the carpeting, stripping the beds, searching through the drawers. There was nothing.
But then he paused, opening the top drawer again. Tara’s leather handbag was there. He pulled it out and dumped the contents on the table.
He almost raked the entire mess on the floor with disgust, then paused. Among the lipstick, compact, wallet, address book, pencils, pens, stamps and other paraphernalia was an old shopping list. He studied it, tossed it aside, and noticed another slip. It looked like the floor plan for a runway.
Except that it wasn’t. It was some kind of a map. And it had been written by Jimmy and meant for him. At the bottom the words “Tanya’s walk” were written.
His blood seemed to race and make him dizzy for a minute. He sat down on the bed and studied the map more closely. He began to make out the mountain by the glass factory. The forests, the main road, the dirt paths. Shacks and houses.
His fingers started to tremble again. Jimmy had been here. Tine Elliott had bided his time well. Jimmy had come to Tara; Elliott had snared them both together. But Jimmy was alive, and apparently he remembered something, someplace.
Rafe rushed out of the room. He had no illusions. Tine meant to get his hands on him, too, and probably dispose of the lot of them together. That way there would be no one except for an overburdened police department left to hound him.
No, he had no illusions. That was why he had to reach Elliott before Elliott could reach him. And he couldn’t charge in like a fool; he had to have help. With luck, Elliott would count on his feelings, on his sense of panic. Elliott would be pretty damn sure that Rafe would do exactly what he had promised, that he wouldn’t go to the police, that he would be where he’d said at midnight.
Midnight would be too late.
CHAPTER 14
They stopped once along the way. Tine got out of the car, but when Tara and Jimmy would have burst into conversation, they halted, because the man who had met them in the lobby took Tine’s place—smiling and pointing a pistol at Jimmy’s face.
Tine returned, pleasantly informing her that he’d made an important call. She knew that he wanted her to cry and plead and question him, so she didn’t. He had contacted Rafe, she knew. She didn’t need to ask, and she was sure that he wouldn’t tell her anything until he felt like it, so she was determined not give him the pleasure of her anguish.
But with him next to her, Tara’s only help was a complete retreat into herself. She had to think about something else. Of course, that was nearly as painful, because she thought about Rafe. The funny thing was that she’d felt that she had been betrayed by him just as she had been by Tine.
And now she knew. There were no comparisons between the two men. Rafe had lied to her—by omission. But he would never have hurt her. And he had lied only because he’d loved his brother.
And she’d never known fear with Rafe. Not the kind of horrible fear that was engulfing her now. He’d tried to talk to her.
She lowered her head, wishing bitterly that she’d given Rafe a chance. She’d been afraid to believe him. Afraid because she loved him so much. And right now she wanted nothing more in the world than to be back with him. To give him the chance to tell her that though their love might have begun in deception, the magic between them had been stronger than anything else, and if they let it, it could be with them forever.
But oh, God, did he really love her?
What did it matter now? She was certain that whatever else he had in mind, Tine did not intend to let her go.
By the time they came to a halt, Tara was numb—it was her only defense. She didn’t know where they were, only that they had left the sophistication of the city behind, and the poor ramshackle cliff dwellings that crowded the mountains were far behind, too. They had climbed deep into the upper countryside, where there were few roads and few houses, and where the bracken and trees were the only life to be found. Rocks and treacherous ledges abounded here, and the darkness had fallen swiftly tonight, like evil wings.
“Here we are, love,” Tine said. “Home. Please, come in.”
He didn’t help her out of the back; he jerked her out. Jimmy started to protest.
“Should have left that mask alone, kid,” Tine said, then added, “along with the lovely Miss Hill. Let’s keep moving, huh?”
Tara was glad to move, except that she didn’t know where to go. She could barely make out the dusky path before her. As soon as they had gotten out of the car, it had been driven away. She realized with a sinking sensation that it appeared that there was nothing up here, nothing at all.
No one would find them.
“You remember the way, Saunders, don’t you?” Tine asked pleasantly. “Back to the great scene of your crime.”
“Where are Ashley and the others?” Tara demanded.
“Straight ahead, love. We’ll have a nice little r
eunion with them, and then we’ll have a nice little reunion alone. Sound cozy?”
She didn’t answer. He prodded the small of her back, and she started walking along a narrow pathway through the trees.
She spun around to face him. “You can let Ashley go now. What good is she going to do you? And Tanya. Why on earth—”
“Tara, shut up. Go.”
She turned around and started walking again. Jimmy was behind Tine. Tanya silently followed him.
The man with the pistol was behind Tanya.
Tara wouldn’t have known that they had arrived if the hut hadn’t been pointed out to her. It was made of wood and tin and seemed to blend right into the cliff that harbored it. As they approached, the door burst outward. There she saw the man who had nearly abducted her. He spoke to Tine in Spanish; Tine answered him.
“Go on, love. You want to see Ashley, huh?”
Tara went in, stepping past her assailant with distaste. She entered some kind of a crude living room with an ugly-looking fifties couch and a few chairs and a table.
She didn’t see Ashley or Sam, or the unknown detective. She looked at Tine, and he indicated that she should go down a hallway.
She did; there was another man standing in a doorway. Tara ignored the massive weapon slung over his shoulder and raced past him.
Ashley was there. Ashley and Sam and a young, strapping Venezuelan man. The detective, she assumed. Sam and the detective were sitting on a cot; Ashley was pacing.
“Ashley!”
The door slammed and was bolted behind the newcomers; Tara was barely aware of it. She was dizzy with relief that Ashley seemed to be unharmed.
Tara rushed to her. The two of them clasped their arms about each other. Tara felt Ashley quiver, and felt her self-loathing grow stronger, having dragged others into this. “Oh, Ashley!” she said, then turned. “Oh, Sam...”
But Sam, straight and proud, was standing with a wonderful grin on his face despite the circumstances. He had seen Jimmy, and they were in each other’s arms, a barrage of questions and answers going back and forth between them. Then the detective starting talking in Spanish, and Tanya entered the conversation, but Tara finally got Sam’s attention so she could make sure he was all right.
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