A doctor had conducted a complete exam of her physical wellbeing the day before. She’d shuddered when he did the pelvic exam, but gritted her teeth and endured. She hadn’t been raped. He’d given something of an excuse after seeing the bruises and then he’d prescribed her a strict diet of light meals, supplements and lots of water, he’d declared her battered and dehydrated, but otherwise healthy. She would make a full recovery. At least, her body would. Her mind was a whole other matter. And her heart… let’s just say, she was feeling ever more removed from the man she expected to come to her rescue now that she was in safe arms and he still hadn’t surfaced.
After continuously probing the doctor throughout the exam about Caroline, he’d finally caved and informed her that her friend wasn’t quite as resilient. He’d put Caroline on IV fluids and medications to help combat an infection she’d contracted.
They could've been killed, or ransomed or raped, or both, and no one would've known. No one would've been able to save them.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up and Celine spun around, gripping the thick balcony behind her for support when she spied a woman dressed in a blue burka standing in the middle of her room. The woman didn't move, merely stood there, staring at her through the blue screen over her eyes. Celine felt the fear taking control - her heart sped up, her throat closed off - and she was helpless to stop it.
“Solana, what’re you doing in here?” Mr. Mankel came into the room and Celine’s knees wobbled in relief.
The woman said something to him that Celine couldn't hear and abruptly left the room. Mr. Mankel shook his head and came out onto the balcony to join Celine.
“I'm sorry, I'm afraid my daughter is very curious about our American guests.”
“You make your daughter wear that...that cage?”
“Only when we have company coming. I'm afraid local Muslims are very strict, and I cannot risk offense as this is my home.” He stepped up to the balustrade, leaned on his elbows and stared out onto the horizon.
“Why can’t I leave? Where is Caroline? Who are you?”
Mr. Mankel chuckled. “So full of questions.”
Celine opened her mouth to question him again, but he held up his hand and turned to her. “You can’t leave because I have a full staff of locals in the palace. I don’t want any of them to see or know about you just in case they have any ties to any part of your kidnapping. Caroline is down the hall being guarded full time by my personal bodyguards, as are you. I work in many ways for the U.S. government and it’s a role that is classified. You’ll have to take my word that I am working diligently to get you out of this country as soon as possible.”
His long, detailed answer took some of the wind out of her sails and left her grasping. “You live here full-time?”
“Unfortunately, yes, at least for now.”
Celine didn't have to imagine the regret in his voice. This place was wild and exotic, but at the same time backwards and deadly. “I can't imagine. What I wouldn't give for a pair of jeans and tennis shoes.”
Mankel's gaze raked her, a small smile in place. “You shunned the scarf I see.”
“No way am I ever wearing one of those. I respect the local custom, but don’t embrace it for myself.” Celine gave a polite shudder.
“It is that or death for them. I think you might feel differently if you lived here.” Mr. Mankel's response was as measured as his tailored suit.
“Don't you ever wear anything besides suits?”
The fine lines around his dark eyes crinkled with laughter. “That's one thing I miss about America, the bluntness. People aren't afraid to say what they think.”
Celine blushed, realizing she overstepped the boundaries.
“Don't be embarrassed, it's refreshing. I can only take so many servants bowing to me and catering to my every wish without getting sick to my stomach, you know? Besides, I know the local styles must be a shock, that’s why I had my servant purchase suitable western clothing for your trip home, I hope you like them.”
Mankel snapped his fingers and A’idah rushed in, eyes bowed, a golden foil-wrapped gift outstretched. Mankel took the box and the servant melted away. He then handed it to Celine.
She took it, gingerly at first. “For me?”
“Yes, of course. Go on, open it.”
She ripped into the wrapping with the enthusiasm of a toddler with her first Christmas present. Inside lay a pair of jeans, a loose flowing blouse made of exquisitely woven material and a deep blue silk nightgown. She blushed instantly, holding the intimate garment in front of Mr. Mankel, but clutched the clothes to her chest like a gem.
“I hope it’s suitable?” He asked hesitantly.
“Yes, it’s perfect.” She would slip into the gown as soon as he left. Her current attire already seemed to tighten and constrict.
“Perfect, my manservant will be pleased. Has A’idah said or done anything to offend you?” Mankel kept his voice soft and gentle, a strange sort of scary monotone.
Beneath Celine sensed a hidden darkness. “No, not in the least, she has been nothing but respectful and helpful. It's just that, after the past two weeks...”
“Yes, of course, there must be a stark difference in my home and that hovel where you were kept prisoner. I'm sorry if I've offended you.”
“No, please don't think that.” Celine blew out a sigh. “I don't think I said thank you for saving me and Caroline. When I think about what could've happened, what he could've done –”
Mankel cut her off abruptly. “Don't think about that ever again. My walls are patrolled twenty-four hours a day and I have a full security detail at all times. I dare to say we are safer here than the president of the United States. Besides, tomorrow you'll be leaving.”
“Leaving?”
“Yes, the senator is flying in on his private plane. You'll be escorted to the airport and before you know it you'll be out of this country.”
“Does Caroline know?”
Mr. Mankel straightened to his full height, a good foot taller than her. A man like that was too big for a suit, but he seemed to wear it like a second skin. Even more strange was his black hair and black eyes, the only evidence of his age the bright silver at his temples. “She does, I had the pleasure of delivering the news myself.”
“Can you take me to her? A’idah said you have to escort me. I need to see her.” Celine didn't bother trying to hide her desperation. Caroline had become part of her, more than a friend. She needed to talk to her.
Mankel's lips turned out into a slight frown. “I'm afraid she's already turned in for the night. She seems to be having a bit slower recovery than yourself.”
Celine blinked away the sudden onset of tears at the helplessness of her situation and stared out at the last rays of sunset over the horizon. God, she hated this godforsaken country and its archaic rules. If she were at home, she'd march down the hall herself. She would already be with Caroline because no one would have stopped her. But here, she needed a male escort and to be covered from head to toe just to walk down the hall.
“I'll put on a head scarf. I promise I won't disturb her; I just need to see her.” She couldn't look at him as she swallowed what little pride she had left and begged.
“Not tonight. Tomorrow morning. I have some business to attend to and I'll make sure I'm free to escort you.”
She managed a nod, feeling like she was some sort of little girl asking her father for permission to go play and being told no. She would never, ever take her freedoms for granted again.
“Good, now tell me a little bit more about yourself. What's been your education? Any foreign languages? College?”
Celine startled at the abrupt change in conversation. “I had a little French in high school. No college. I went into business for myself, opened my own shop back home.” She couldn’t bite back the pride that filled her when she talked about her studio.
“An entrepreneur. I knew I detected a stern nature. That’s good. And what about family?
Brothers and sisters?”
“No.” No one that cared, anyway. “My mom disappeared when I was little.”
“Disappeared? As in, she was kidnapped?”
A hot blush stole up her neck. “No, she got addicted to drugs and ran off with someone else.”
Mankel cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged, the hurt at her mother’s betrayal had stopped affecting her years ago. “It’s happened to lots of families. I survived just fine without her.”
Mankel paused, as if in deep thought and then continued. “Your dad?”
She shrugged, pretending that his choosing his new wife over his daughter didn’t really hurt that bad. “He got a new wife and didn’t like having the responsibility of raising a teenage daughter.”
“And what about a husband or a boyfriend?”
“No, there's no one.” Bitterness crept in, catapulting her next words out of her mouth. “And what about you? Do you have a wife or girlfriend? Family besides your daughter? Did you go to college?”
Mankel gave a short laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. “I apologize; I wasn't trying to interrogate you.”
For some reason she didn't believe him.
“I had a wife who died in childbirth, along with Solana's twin sister. I've been roaming ever since and unfortunately for my daughter, dragging her along with me.”
His words took the wind out of her suspicion. She needed more rest; yes, that was it. She needed sleep. Here she was, imagining all sorts of vile thoughts about the man who saved her and put her up in a palace. A legitimate palace. “I'm so sorry. I think these past couple of weeks might be affecting my brain.”
Idiot. Her dad had been right about one thing - Celine's big mouth would land her in trouble at some point in her life. I bet dad never imagined this.
“Don't apologize, I was asking too many questions. Besides, you should be resting, not standing here chatting with an old man. Let me help you back to the couch.” Mankel held out his arm expectantly.
Celine took it, not wanting to offend him more. “Thank you.”
He escorted her back to the couch and helped her sit. “Do you need anything else?”
Besides Caroline? “No, thank you.”
“Father, your guest has arrived,” Solana reappeared in her blue burka and Celine fought the urge to cringe.
“Escort him to the library.”
Solana bowed and backed from the room, gone as quickly as she'd arrived.
“Celine, it has been my pleasure. I'll leave you to your rest and see you off in the morning. Please make use of your new attire. I must go, as you well know, business waits for no one.”
Mankel bowed and left, leaving Celine clutching her new clothes and alone with the feeling she'd missed something very important.
Chapter 6
Jack Mankel extended a hand to the slight blond man perched on the edge of his antique 18th-century sofa. “Mr. Sven, so nice to meet you.”
Sven took his hand in a delicate handshake and allowed it to flutter back to his leg. “I'm here to inspect the merchandise. If I find it to my satisfaction, then we can complete the transaction.”
“And what did your employer think of the photos?” He’d taken plenty of pictures from the hidden cameras scattered throughout Celine’s bathroom and bedroom. She would add a nice bonus to his checking account.
And after the way Celine had hungrily gripped the seductive clothing he’d purchased for her, he was fully confident she’d be ready for viewing fully.
“Quite stunning. He's very interested, but you must understand photos are not enough for a purchase of this magnitude.” Sven tapped his cheek and stared up at Mankel through lashes too thick to ever be considered manly.
“Of course, please follow me. You'll be able to observe her at your will.” Mankel led the way from the room. The sooner he could dispose of Celine, the better. His spies had already reported Task Force Scorpions, TF-S, presence about a hundred kilometers from their location. They would pinpoint him soon, of that he had no doubt, and he needed to see to his final preparations.
He'd trained the men on TF-S. He knew just how smart they were and that they now worked for Senator Cotter. His lip curled at the thought. Not much longer. Once he got rid of the extra girl, he'd turn his full attention to his true plan and Cotter would fall, right along with TF-S.
He headed across the polished marble foyer, scattered with priceless Persian rugs, and up the equally impressive winding marble staircase. This was the kind of home he deserved; the kind of life he deserved. Too bad the United States government hadn't seen it that way. If they had, he would've been perfectly content in a nice three-story brownstone off Main Street in D.C. instead of the little shit hole the piss ant salary he'd been allotted allowed him to purchase. Forced to drive secondhand cars and work gruesome hours, all the while covering up top-secret government intel; secrets more valuable than the government realized.
But he'd realized early on and started collecting information, and when he got enough, he made his move, brokering a deal with the now dead leader of the Islamic State of Afghanistan, ISA, and catapulting himself into a life of wealth.
“Your home is very impressive,” Sven commented as Mankel turned right down a long sunlit corridor lined with sculptures.
“I'm sure your employer's is equally so,” Mankel replied. Except Dmitri Stanislov wasn't surrounded by desert. The man ruled his estate right in the heart of Russia without fear of interruption from anyone.
Mankel paused at a narrow door partially concealed behind a column and potted plant. “Please hold your questions until after your observation. I would ensure the purchase has no knowledge of the transaction so transport will be completely compliant tomorrow.”
“Of course, that is assuming I approve.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Mankel replied and eased open the door. He led the way through the tight hall, using the track lighting along the floor and its dim glow as a guide until he saw the filtered sunlight up ahead. He stopped beside a heavily filigreed grate in the wall and glanced through, ensuring she’d taken the bait of the silk gown.
Celine stood near the balcony, the revealing garment displaying her curves to perfection. Her beauty was unquestionable and right up the Russian’s alley. Mankel gestured for Sven to peer through.
The palace had been built nearly two centuries ago by the sultan known as the Iron Amir, who was known not only for his penchant for war but for pleasure. He'd had large suites built for his slaves with hidden passages to spy on them. He'd never used them before now, but the set up was perfect for his current situation.
Sven peered inside the room for a few minutes and then nodded and stepped back, trying to hide his excitement. Mankel escorted him back out in to the hall and to the library in silence. Sven resumed his perch on the sofa and Mankel sat in the matching love seat, a low 17th century coffee table set with fresh tea and cakes between them. “Well?”
“My employer usually prefers his women with longer hair, but there is no doubt she is a great beauty and will add to his collection. And her history?”
Mankel crossed his ankle over his leg and steeped his fingers. Celine had verified the history he’d had gathered in the past day. “She speaks English and French, educated through high school. Owns a small store back in the States. Her family is poor and she has little involvement with them at this time in her life. They will cause no trouble.”
Sven poured a cup of tea and took a sip from the delicate china. “Does she have a husband? Children?”
“No. She is alone.”
Sven carefully replaced the teacup and saucer, his blank expression easing. “She bruises beautifully. Dmitri will like that, but she is damaged goods. Are you certain she is clean?”
“No, my doctor did a full inspection. All of her test results came back negative.”
“I will have to insist on a lower price due to the…obvious injuries. It will take time to get her bac
k to full health for her new master to enjoy fully.”
“What do you have in mind?” Mankel asked.
“One-hundred thousand American dollars.”
Mankel scoffed, settling in for the haggle. “A girl like her would easily sell for a minimum of one-hundred seventy-five.”
Sven paused, as if in thought, but Mankel could easily detect the calculating gleam in his eyes.
“One fifty.”
“Deal.” The tense muscles down Mankel's back relaxed and he gave a mental sigh of relief. Celine Latimer had been an unwelcome intrusion on his plans, but as a sex slave to a Russian aristocrat, she would cause him no trouble. And had, in fact, fattened his bank account nicely. “Perfect, I'll have her escorted to your plane in the morning.”
“No, I will meet you here.” Sven handed him a piece of paper. “We will assume ownership of the girl at this location and you will receive payment there.”
“As you wish.” He cared little about what needed to happen to remove this dead weight off his back. The true plan ahead of him was what would demand his unerring scrutiny, and couldn’t allow another mistake the size of Celine Latimer to get in his way.
Chapter 7
“Miss Latimer, wake up. It's time to go.”
Celine stretched and cracked open an eye to see A’idah standing at her bedside, wringing her hands in front of her.
“It's okay A’idah, I'm up.” She needed to put the girl at ease. She always seemed to be looking over her shoulder, but for what, Celine hadn't figured out.
“I will lay out your clothes for travel while you shower. Can I bring you some coffee or juice?” A’idah stepped back from the bed and Celine sat up and swung her legs over the side.
“You don't have to bring me anything, A’idah.” Having someone at her beck and call had been nice, but now it was too much. She could take care of herself, just like always. “I can take care of myself.” She spoke it aloud, even if only to convince herself.
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