Seduced by His Target (5 page)

He looked lethal. Almost feral. Every inch the warrior—the kind of man she’d always feared. And yet...standing in his embrace with his big hand cradling her jaw, his wide shoulders sheltering her from the world, she felt completely safe.

Which didn’t make a whit of sense.

“I...I’m fine,” she managed to whisper.

His eyes stayed locked on hers. Something seemed to pass between them, something she couldn’t name. Then he dropped his gaze to her mouth, and for one wild moment, her heart went completely berserk. And a myriad of emotions roiled inside her—relief, gratitude.

Desire.

He blinked and lowered his hand. “Come on. We need to go.” He turned and strode through the trees.

Shaken, she watched him leave. What had just happened? Had he been intending to
kiss
her? And had she been about to let him? Had she completely lost her mind?

Stunned at her behavior, she gathered the water bottles from where she’d dropped them and returned to the gurgling stream. She was glad he’d defended her. She couldn’t bear the thought of that creep, Amir, putting his hands on her.

But why had he done it? He had no reason to come to her aid. Was he merely defending his male pride and claiming her as his property—or something more?

Thoroughly confused now, she knelt on the bank and splashed cold water on her battered face. She had to proceed with care. Rasheed might have come to her rescue this time, but he was still the one who’d kidnapped her. She couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t let herself care about him. She couldn’t fool herself about who—or what—he was.

And she definitely couldn’t desire him.

Now she just had to convince her treacherous body of that.

Chapter 4

R
asheed rode down the trail a short time later, still incredulous at what he’d done. He’d stupidly challenged Amir. He’d nearly blown his cover and given himself away. He’d jeopardized five years of painstaking work, five years spent laboring in the training camps and insinuating himself into the Rising Light hierarchy to stop these murderous thugs. He’d endangered the success of this critical mission, putting the fate of thousands of innocent civilians in doubt.

All because of this insane attraction to his captive, a woman he couldn’t trust.

He shifted in his saddle, trying not to jostle the injured doctor collapsed like deadweight against his back. He eyed Nadira—Nadine, he silently corrected—ahead of him on the trail, her slender shoulders slumped, her slim hips swaying as the mare descended the rocky slope, and knew he’d had no choice. He’d had to intercede. The sight of Amir putting his hands on her had razed his self-control. There’d been no damned way he could stand aside and let him hit her, even on the off chance that it was all a ploy. It went against everything he believed in and who he was.

The problem was that he’d done far worse than defend her. He’d done more than nearly give in to the urge to kiss her and slake his body’s long-dormant needs. He’d come dangerously close to letting her penetrate something inside him, allowing her mesmerizing eyes to crack open the lid on his buried emotions—and tempting him to care.

And that was a danger he couldn’t afford. His work ruled his life now. He couldn’t go back, couldn’t resurrect the man that he once was, no matter how much she appealed to him. That part of him was dead.

To be safe, he had to maintain his distance from her, especially if she was here at her father’s request. Although frankly, the more time he spent around her, the harder that was to believe. Her fierce resistance to any orders, her rush to protect Henry at any cost—even her refusal to use her Jaziirastani birth name—suggested that she was exactly what she seemed: a victim in this affair. Then again, these terrorists were shrewd. He wouldn’t put anything past them in their quest to root out a traitor, especially on a mission this big.

The gelding lurched, and Rasheed adjusted his grip on the doctor’s wrists, trying to keep him from falling off. Regardless of his doubts about Nadine, there was one thing he knew for sure. Henry had nothing to do with the upcoming attack. He was an unlucky bystander, an unfortunate do-gooder whose admirable intentions had placed him in the terrorists’ path. Now Rasheed had to convince these men to leave him behind—or Henry might pay for that generosity with his life.

The horses continued plodding downhill. The creak of the leather saddles, the muffled thud of their hooves broke the silence of the mountain air. Mulling over his course of action, Rasheed glanced at the sheer peaks towering overhead, the rows of cultivated coca now encroaching on the wilderness. A hawk soared silently past, the predator a stark reminder that he had to proceed with care. Manzoor was astute. If he wanted to persuade him to release Henry, he had to be careful not to tip him off.

Manzoor reached a clearing a moment later and drew his horse to a halt. The group straggled to a stop beside him, the buzz of insects loud in the air. Nadine slid off her horse without a word, dropped the reins and staggered off, seeking the privacy of the nearby shrubs.

The other men swung down. Rasheed inhaled and steeled his nerves. This was it. It was time to make his move. He knew he was taking a risk. These terrorists would perceive any concern as weakness—or worse. But he had to do something about Henry. And he had to do it now, before Nadine came back and overheard.

“We have a problem,” he told Manzoor, who was taking a map from his saddlebag. He waited until the leader looked up, then gestured toward the doctor sleeping against his back. “This man isn’t going to make it. His condition is getting worse.”

Manzoor unfolded the map and shrugged. “The woman is a doctor. Let her deal with him.”

“She tried to, but he’s too sick. The ride is making him worse. We need to leave him behind.”

“We can’t.” Clearly dismissing the subject, Manzoor turned his attention to the map.

Rasheed slid a glance at Amir. The terrorist stared back, his eyes simmering with resentment, and Rasheed bit back a curse. He didn’t want to give Amir another reason to suspect him, but for Henry’s sake, he had to persist.

“He’s too weak to ride anymore,” he continued. “He keeps passing out. He can’t be that important to our plans.”

Manzoor raised his head. Annoyance flickered in his black eyes. “He’s not important. But the woman won’t try to escape while he’s along, so he stays.”

Rasheed couldn’t argue with his logic. Nadine obviously cared about the older man. And using him to control her was a surefire way to keep her in line. “I understand that. But I’m telling you, he can’t hold on.”

“So let him fall,” Amir cut in. “That will teach him to pay attention.”

“A fall will kill him.”

“So? Why do you care?”

“I
don’t
care.” Rasheed chose his words with caution, aware that he was walking a tightrope, and that a slipup would invite more suspicion of him. “He doesn’t matter to me. But I do care about the success of our mission. And the doctor’s a complication we don’t need. He’s only slowing us down.”

Manzoor’s gaze went to the sleeping man. “We only need him until we reach Buena Fortuna. We’ll dispose of him there.”

Rasheed’s heart skipped a beat.
Dispose
could only mean one thing. If the concussion didn’t kill Henry before they reached the town, Manzoor would. He wouldn’t leave any witnesses behind.

And it made sense. According to his intelligence briefings, Buena Fortuna was the town where the drug plane would pick them up. The plane would fly them to the staging area on San Gabriel, a small, private island controlled by the drug cartel off Colombia’s Caribbean coast. There they’d make their final plans before entering the United States. And it was Rasheed’s last chance to meet with the undercover operative who’d infiltrated the cartel and tell him what he’d learned.

Except he hadn’t learned anything of value yet.

“How far is it to Buena Fortuna?” he asked.

Manzoor looked at the map. “Twenty-five miles. We’ll reach it in the morning if we push through.”

Twenty-five miles!
Hell.
It was way too soon. He needed more time than that to question Nadine and find out what she knew.

Keeping his voice indifferent, he perservered. “He won’t make it that far. I say we spend the night in a village to let him rest.”

But Manzoor only shook his head. “No, we will ride through the night. We don’t have time to waste.”

Rasheed curbed his frustration, knowing he had to back off. “You’re in charge. But the horses are worn-out. They’ll collapse before then. And the man won’t do us any good if he dies along the way.”

Manzoor only grunted in reply.

Rasheed pulled out his canteen and drank, but his thoughts continued to spin. What a mess. He had to get Henry to safety before his usefulness ended and Manzoor had him killed—assuming the doctor didn’t die before then. And yet, he also needed information about this case, vital information that only Nadine could provide. And as soon as he spirited Henry to safety, she’d try to leave.

But could he justify delaying Henry’s rescue for the mission’s sake? And what about Nadine? If she was as innocent as he strongly suspected, didn’t he have an obligation to help her escape? But could he really trust her? What if he misjudged her? Could he risk making a mistake of that magnitude?

The branches of the dense shrubs moved. Nadine emerged a second later, her head down, her long, black hair spilling over her arms. She walked straight to the mare, her movements stiff, her discolored jaw bearing the imprint of Amir’s fist. Then she glanced at him, her eyes shooting daggers, and his hopes sank.

She’d heard.
She now knew they intended to kill Henry when they reached the town. And if he’d learned anything about this woman, it was that she’d never capitulate. She was going to do something reckless to get her companion free.

Swearing at his predicament, he tightened his grip on the reins. He had to stop her. He couldn’t let her risk her life. But if he interfered—even to protect her—she’d trust him even less.

She mounted the mare, her expression hostile—whether from anger or pain, he didn’t know. But he did know one thing. He’d just made this complicated situation even worse. He had to help the injured doctor. He couldn’t tip off the terrorists and ruin his chance to stop the attack. He also had to contend with Amir, a man clearly gunning for revenge.

More importantly, he had to get close to Nadine and find out more about the terrorists’ plans. And he had to do that without giving in to the attraction simmering between them like a cauldron ready to blow.

But if she was the innocent he believed, he’d just guaranteed that she wouldn’t trust him. And yet, if there was any chance she was in league with these terrorists, he couldn’t trust
her.

So which was she—her father’s accomplice or a victim?

With time running out, he had to decide on an answer fast.

* * *

The kidnappers were going to kill Henry. She had to get him to safety quickly. And she couldn’t trust Rasheed to help.

That horrible realization had plagued Nadine as they rode down the mountain for the past few hours, fording streams and traversing coca farms, moving relentlessly closer to Buena Fortuna, the town where Henry would die.

That near kiss hadn’t meant anything to Rasheed. The compassion in his eyes wasn’t real. It had only been an illusion, a pathetic fantasy forged by her desperate mind. She was completely on her own here. And even though Manzoor had finally relented, agreeing to stop for the night in this mountain village, she only had hours, maybe a day at most, to help Henry escape.

And she still didn’t know how.

Trying not to panic, she knelt in the hard-packed dirt beside Henry in a hut the terrorists had commandeered. He lay on a sleeping pallet made of straw, an alpaca wool blanket pulled up to his neck, his face almost as gray as the whiskers covering his chin. The wooden door was ajar, the rustles of nocturnal creatures and chirp of crickets filling the night. The thatched roof formed a peak overhead.

“I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble,” he murmured. “I’m a total pain in the ass.”

She studied him in the lantern’s glow. Dark circles underscored his eyes. The pale light wavered, casting shadows over his face, emphasizing the gaunt hollows of his cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not a pain.”

“You could escape without me. I’m slowing you down.”

“No, you’re not. Now stop worrying about it.”

His tired blue eyes met hers. “I’m serious, Nadine. Take one of the horses and ride for help. It’s the only chance we have.”

Her heart skipped. Had he overheard the terrorists’ plan to kill him? But no, they’d been speaking in Jaziirastani. He couldn’t have understood.
Thank God.

Because the last thing he needed was a worry like that. She refused to even tell him why the men had kidnapped them. He needed all his strength to get well.

“Would you leave without me?” she countered. When he grimaced, she gave him a pointed look. “Exactly. And I’m not leaving without you, either. We’re in this thing together. Now just concentrate on resting and getting stronger. I’ll think about it tonight, and tomorrow we’ll make our plans.”

He reached out and squeezed her hand. A faint smile reached his eyes, edging out the pain. “You’re a good friend, Nadine.”

Hardly. She’d gotten him into this disaster. He’d been kidnapped because of her. And now his fate was in her hands.

The wooden door creaked, and she turned her head. An old woman came through the door, lugging a pot of food. Barely five feet tall, she wore a thick wool cardigan sweater, several layers of skirts, and the usual tire tread sandals on her swollen feet. Her face was weathered and brown, her hip-length braids threaded with gray, her age somewhere between forty and ninety, impossible to discern.

Nadine rose, towering over the tiny woman, and helped her set the pot on the wooden crate serving as a table beside the bed.
“Gracias,”
Nadine told her. The woman smiled, revealing gaps in her stained teeth, and murmured something in return. The farmers spoke a variant of Quechua, not Spanish, making communication hard.

Not that they needed words. The terrorists’ guns had made their meaning clear.

But Nadine still wished she could thank her properly. The terrorists had forced the villagers from their beds and demanded food. And while she was glad for Henry’s sake, their strong-arm tactics made her cringe.

“You’d better get some rest,” Henry urged her. “I’ll be okay here.”

“You sure?”

“I’m just glad to get off that damned horse. When we get out of these mountains, I’m never riding again.”

If
he got out of these mountains. He might not survive unless she came up with an escape plan fast.

But he was right. A hot meal and a good night’s sleep would help him more than anything she could do right now. She eyed the steaming stew, the mouthwatering scent of chicken reminding her that she hadn’t had a decent meal in days.

“All right,” she said. “But promise me you’ll drink more tea.”

“I will. I’ll even chew those disgusting leaves if you insist.”

“I do.” She crossed the dirt floor to the door, then summoned a smile she didn’t feel. “Don’t worry, Henry. I promise I’ll get us out of this mess.” She refused to fail this man.

She ducked through the low doorway and stepped outside. Then she paused and peered into the darkness, surprised her ever-present guard wasn’t hovering nearby. But the men had pegged her correctly. They knew she wouldn’t leave without Henry. And in his weakened condition, he couldn’t go far.

But there
had
to be a way to escape. Still thinking that over, she started down the moonlit path between the huts. Calling the settlement a village was an exaggeration. It consisted of half a dozen mud huts perched on the edge of the mountain, surrounded by coca plants. She passed a chicken coop and shed, heard the grunt of a rooting pig. But there was no sign of a road, no other way out that she could see, only this narrow dirt trail through the terraced fields.