Hostage to Love (Entangled Suspense) (2 page)

“Please…just tell us why we’re here.” She forced firmness she was far from feeling into her voice.

His blue eyes lost a touch of warmth, but his smile remained in place as he stepped closer.

She swallowed, her heart lurching before hammering against her ribcage.

“You’ve subsisted on bread and water for the past five days. Surely you wish to partake of more substantial sustenance to regain your strength?”

Father Tom lurched unsteadily on his feet. “Keep your food. Just tell us why we’re here!”

Captain Mwana turned toward him, and like a flash of lightning, cordiality had disappeared, replaced by a fearsome, icy regard. Belle smashed down her fear and planted herself between the two men, facing their captor. From the corner of her eye, she saw the other soldiers move toward them.

“We appreciate your offer of food and water. And afterward, perhaps we can have an explanation of why we’re all here?” she said with a lift of her chin, while with one hand behind her back, she waved frantically for Father Tom to stay put.

For several tense moments, Captain Mwana ignored her, his deadly focus trained on the old man. Finally, Father Tom retreated to the large, flat rock.

Seemingly satisfied that he wouldn’t be any more trouble, the rebel leader turned his attention back to her. “All in good time, my dear.” His tone had once again returned to that of charming host.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Edda and Henrik sag with relief as the tension eased tangibly. But the stone-heavy dread in Belle’s stomach didn’t dissipate.

With a jerk of his head, the rebel leader indicated one of the smaller huts. The soldier nearest the Dutch couple barked an order. Edda jumped and clung closer to her husband as they were led away.

Beside her, Father Tom tried to stare down their captor, but Mwana’s eyes were once again riveted on her face, his sharp, speculative regard boring almost invasively under her skin.

“Come with me,” he instructed, stepping back to indicate the large hut.

“Where are you taking her?” Father Tom demanded.

“It’s okay, Father.” She pressed a reassuring hand on his arm and nudged him toward Edda and Henrik.

He seemed set to protest, but her murmured
no,
meant for his ears alone, convinced him to refrain. In any case, Mwana had decided not to bother with an answer.

He stood at the door to his hut and beckoned her with a gracious gesture that seemed at odds with her circumstances.

On unsteady feet, she approached, fighting the wave of apprehension that threatened to sweep her away with its unrelenting tide.

Stepping into the hut, she was engulfed by coolness that brought immediate relief from the scorching sun. Extensive bookshelves took up one solid wall. There were books on philosophy, politics, economics, and classic literature. Although their first meeting had been brief—Charles Mwana had stopped their missionary truck on the way to the city and exchanged words with the driver before welcoming Belle to the mission—she’d allowed herself to believe that the man who held a stranglehold on Nawaka to the point where the current government all but bowed to his every wish was nothing but a ruthless thug who chose to hide in the jungle, despite the charisma he seemed to exude.

Looking around, her fear escalated. Whatever else Charles Mwana was, he was not a simpleton. Clearly, her capture was no spur-of-the-moment opportunistic grab.

She took a few more steps into the living area of the hut, and her heart sank.

Pictures of her covered the surface of a coffee table made entirely out of the clean slice of a mahogany tree trunk: images of her playing in the dirt outside the mission with the young children, of her unloading supplies from the mission truck, and even ones of her sitting alone under a large moabi tree, reading in the dusk.

Icy numbness encased her chest. “You’ve had me under surveillance since I arrived at the mission.”

“Surveillance is such an unpleasant word. More like keeping a friendly eye on you,” he murmured in that deep, disconcertingly mesmerizing voice.

She turned to face him. “Friendly? Is that what you call being dragged through the jungle for five days straight with nothing but bread crusts to eat?”

He spread large, golden brown hands upward in a cajoling gesture. “I regret that. If there had been an easier way, I would’ve employed it.”

“An easier way to do what? What exactly is the end game here? It can’t be because you craved the pleasure of my…our company.”

His steady blue gaze raked lazily over her, pausing in uncomfortable places before rising to recapture hers. “Don’t underestimate the power of your charms, Belle, or the time and effort it’s taken to bring you here.”

The sound of her name on his lips made her skin crawl, but it was nothing compared to the sheer terror his words created inside her. Before she could summon the courage to ask what he meant, there was a knock on his door.

He answered in fluent Nawakan. A soldier entered, bearing a tray loaded with food. The heady smell of cassava and the spinach and fish sauce she’d grown to love since arriving in Nawaka hit her nostrils. Her stomach growled with the pain of denied nourishment, and she swayed where she stood.

The urge to resist the food provided by her captor crossed her mind for a single second before she dismissed its folly. To stand any chance of surviving this…whatever
this
was, she’d need all her strength. She’d never been one to cut her nose off to spite her face.

No, her many flaws lay elsewhere, far, far from this nightmare.

“Sit.”

She sat in one of the two armchairs that graced the room. The soldier placed the tray directly on top of the pictures on the coffee table. Mwana made no move to remove them, forcing her to glance at the unnerving images of herself that stared back at her.

“Eat,” he commanded, pushing one plate toward her.

She started to reach for the heavily scratched utensils and paused. A gleam of amusement lit his eyes as he stared back at her. “You think I would go to all this trouble to bring you here only to poison you?”

She berated herself, since the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “No. I was only going to ask if the others are being fed, too. But since you’ve brought it up…?”

He laughed, the sound deep, husky, and…manly. The latter thought unnerved her further, and it was all she could do not to clutch her head in despair at the sensation that threatened to seize her.

She knew about Stockholm Syndrome, and she felt more than one-hundred-percent sure it wasn’t what was happening here. And yet, she couldn’t deny that Charles Mwana held a fascination for her, like meeting a celebrity—albeit an unhinged one.

“The answer is yes and no, in that order. Here, I’ll prove it.” He picked up his own fork and took a mouthful of food from her plate.

She waited until he swallowed before she picked up her own fork. After a few, hearty mouthfuls, she put her fork down.

“The food is unsatisfactory?” he asked with a raised brow.

“No, it’s not that. I’ve eaten nothing but a few bites of bread for almost a week. If I eat too much too soon, it’ll do more harm than good to my digestive system.”

His head tilted to one side as he regarded her. “A delicate statement for such a strong woman.”

Her fists tightened in her lap. “You know nothing about me and cannot accurately judge whether I’m strong or not.”

“On the contrary, you’ve proven yourself a natural leader in the few weeks you’ve been here. Within a short time, you made certain key changes at the mission. And my men tell me you stopped the others, especially your priest, from misbehaving on the journey here.”

She glanced down at the pictures, desperately fighting back the feelings of vulnerability. “So you didn’t just watch my movements, you’ve been actively spying on me.”

He reached out, almost as if to touch a strand of hair that fell over her arm. At the last moment, he pulled back.

“I prefer the term ‘due diligence.’ Do you know what I discovered about you?” he asked.

Unable to speak, she just shook her head.

“You have an inner core of strength that’s admirable. The other three listen to you, look to you for guidance. They should thank you—it’s probably what has kept them alive.” The note of steel in his voice was back, and his jaw was set in a rigid line that struck fear inside her.

“What are you going to do with us?” she asked.

He fell silent for so long, she thought he wouldn’t answer her. Letting his fork clatter onto his plate, he rose. “Your priest is of no worth to me. He was only taken because your fondness of him meant you would be…cooperative on your journey. Provided he doesn’t cause any trouble, his stay with us will be brief.”

“And…the other two?” she ventured, wanting to believe him but knowing she couldn’t trust anyone with Mwana’s deadly reputation.

He shrugged. “There will be a simple monetary transaction which, should they cooperate, will see them free in a few days.”

She refused to feel any relief, because she knew anything could happen in hostage situations. “What…what about me? Will you set me free, too?”

The gleam in his eyes intensified, until a light burned so bright there, she held her breath. “I’m hoping we can come to an arrangement.”

Ice snaked down her spine. “An arrangement?” she all but whispered.

He nodded, and a swath of hair fell into his eyes. With a casual hand, he brushed it back and walked through the door. “We will discuss it in due course. In the meantime, if you wish, there’s water, a towel, and a change of clothes through there. Feel free to use them.”

And just like that, she was alone. Or alone as she could be, considering she was surrounded by dozens of men armed with assault rifles.

She took a proper look around, and for the first time, she noticed that although there was a living area and an alcove where a large basin filled with water stood, there wasn’t a sleeping area.

Unless, of course, Charles Mwana chose to sleep on the bare, mud-caked floor. She frowned. Somehow, the man who kept a well-stocked library and boasted an above-average intellect didn’t strike her as the kind to do so.

Which meant either this place wasn’t his permanent hideout…or her instincts about what was happening here were severely skewed.

That wouldn’t surprise her, of course. She’d been completely off base about her knowledge of men before.

Bitterness twisted through her as she went into the alcove and picked up the threadbare towel near the basin to wash. Her movements were mechanical as memories encroached, reminding of her other times when she’d let herself be totally and utterly misled.

No
.

Those thoughts—that time—had no place here. What she needed to do was focus on keeping herself and the others safe. And on finding a way out of this situation.

Feeling clean and refreshed—albeit in her old, grubby clothes because she couldn’t stand the thought of wearing the clothes Mwana had laid out for her—she left the hut and went in search of Father Tom and the other two.

She found them in the last hut, with soldiers posted outside their door. The relief on the couple’s faces echoed her own, although their trepidation returned soon after.

“Do you know where they are taking us?” Hendrik asked.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Father Tom, looking a lot less pale than he had a few hours ago, answered. “We heard the soldiers talking—luckily they spoke French so I got the gist of it. They’re moving us to another location at sundown. As soon as the boss returns from wherever he’s gone. He disappeared into the jungle an hour ago.”

So she’d been right. This wasn’t Mwana’s permanent bolt-hole. The new information struck a fresh chord of fear in her heart.

She was still praying she was wrong, that they wouldn’t be moved, when Charles Mwana returned and summoned them. He clutched a satellite phone and used it several times before they left the small camp. During his last call, his eyes strayed to her enough times to make alarm skate over her.

That he possessed such advanced technology didn’t surprise her. But had the leader discovered who she really was? The rebels had her passport, along with everyone else’s, but although she’d never gotten round to changing her name, it would only take a couple of calls to learn her true identity.

If he found out who she was, her ransom value would increase a thousand-fold. Provided he intended to keep her for her ransom.

Mwana led the group through dense underbrush for over an hour. Sharp leaves and thorny branches whipped at her face and tore at her clothes, while terrifying questions ricocheted through her mind.

She jerked to a stop as the thick foliage ended abruptly, and a steep cliff rose before them. Terror froze her blood, until his sharp bark jolted her into movement.

Try as she might not to imagine why he’d brought her here, she couldn’t prevent horrific scenarios from invading her thoughts.

She jumped again when he rapped the butt of his gun against the cliff face. But the sound was hollow, and on closer examination, she realized a large block of wood, colored to blend in with the rock, had been wedged into a hole, with the natural camouflage of foliage cleverly maneuvered to hide the opening.

There was an exchange of words as Captain Mwana spoke to whomever was behind the wall. Then the heavy wood was lifted away.

She could see nothing but a dark cavern as the soldier stood back to let them enter. Renewed dread paralyzed her legs.

“Enter, please,” Mwana said from beside her. The sound propelled her forward, the fear of being struck momentarily swamping the fear of whatever lay ahead of her.

Muttering a silent prayer, she took one step. And another. Until she was just inside the cave door.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she looked around. The cavern was a camp of sorts. Thin blankets were strewn about on the ground, and on a small camp stove, a pot of what smelled like the locally grown tea was brewing. Here and there, rust-coated kerosene lanterns burned but provided little illumination. She saw the rebels she’d noticed leaving earlier moving around within.