Seduced by His Target (10 page)

It was the bleakness shadowing his eyes, that glimpse of remembered pain that had really laid waste to her walls. She was a sucker for the underdog, and this man had a tortured soul—which was exactly why he was wrong for her. Because even if he’d kissed her senseless, even if he’d shaken up her preconceptions, making her feel totally, erotically alive, she couldn’t deceive herself. Rasheed was a damaged man. Infiltrating that terror group had come at a cost. They would have tested him, making him do unspeakable things to prove his loyalty to their warped cause.

And he’d paid a price for that. She hadn’t missed the desolation in his voice, the naked pain hollowing his eyes. Living outside the bounds of human decency—even with good intentions—had left its mark. Making him unpredictable. Unreliable. Wounded in ways that even a physician like her couldn’t heal.

No matter how much he tempted her to try.

They turned the corner, entering the main dirt road through town, and Rasheed took hold of her arm. Knowing that this was it, that she had to play the part of the resisting prisoner in case the terrorists were lurking nearby, she intentionally dragged her heels. But her reluctance was far too real. Every survival instinct she possessed screamed at her to turn around, break free from this mess and run like the devil before her last chance for liberty disappeared.

“So tell me about your family,” Rasheed said, his husky voice drawing her gaze.

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the basics—who everyone is, the family dynamics, how they get along.”

Struggling to focus on her family, she frowned. “Well, my mother died when I was a teenager. Aside from my father, there’s just my brother, Sultan, and me. And his wife, Leila. He got married just before I left home. He’s six years older than I am.”

“He runs a real estate company?”

“That’s right. He started off working in my father’s bank after college. He got his degree in finance. Somewhere along the line he went into business for himself.” She shrugged. “I don’t know much about him now, except that he’s successful and still lives at the family compound in McLean.” She’d kept tabs on him, checking online as the years went by to make sure she didn’t run into him.

Rasheed gave her a nod. “Go on.”

A barefoot child darted past. She sidestepped to avoid him, and Rasheed loosened his grip on her arm. “My father pretty much ignored me until I was older. He doesn’t have much use for girls. He only started paying attention to me when he decided to marry me off.” She’d been a commodity to him then, something he could sell to enhance his prestige. “Sultan was his favorite, being a boy.”

“How did you and your brother get along?”

She made a face. “We didn’t. He’s a bully. He bossed me around and made my life hell. My father encouraged him to torment me. He thought it made him a man.”

Rasheed’s strong jaw flexed. His eyes narrowed a fraction, taking on a deadly slant. “And your mother?”

Nadine exhaled, wistfulness whispering through her at the memory of her mom. “She was wonderful—kind, generous, courageous.... I don’t know what I would have done without her. She braved my father’s anger to make sure I had an education. She wanted me to have a life in America, to be someone in my own right and have the opportunities she never had. She died of cancer when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

She nodded, grateful for his sympathy. “It was. She was my ally. She brought me books, covered for me when I took part in academic things.” Even taking beatings for it at times. “And she opened an account for me in another bank without my father catching on. She deposited money in it for years, putting away money in case I needed to escape. I withdrew it just before I ran away. I wouldn’t have survived without it. I owe my life to her.”

For a moment they didn’t speak. They continued down the dirt road toward the airstrip, her thoughts lost to the memories, the tropical sun making her sweat.

“And your brother’s wife?” he finally asked.

“Leila? What about her?”

“Any chance she could be involved in this?”

“I’d be shocked if she was. She’s too meek.” Naturally shy, her husband had further bullied her into submission with his cruelty. “But I didn’t really know her that well. They got married around the time my mother died, about a year before I left home. And she didn’t speak much Jaziirastani back then, just Farsi. She came from Iran.

“But my brother...” She suppressed a shudder at the thought of Sultan. “I wouldn’t put anything past him. He was mean when I was a kid. Sadistic. He’s probably worse now. And I told you, he and my father were always close. So if my father is involved in this, I’d bet money that Sultan is, too.”

The airstrip came into view. Her heart began to jackhammer, her anxiety rising several rungs. A small plane now waited on the runway, stacks of coca paste lined up beside it. Several men she didn’t recognize loaded the packages into the cargo hold.

Rasheed tugged her to a stop in the shadow of a building, out of view of the other men. And as she watched, he began to transform. The muscles of his face turned taut. His expression hardened, every trace of gentleness melting away. And suddenly, he looked exactly like a terrorist—dark, deadly, remote.

The kind of man she’d always feared.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked.

She inhaled, wondering again if she’d lost her mind. “I’m sure.”

His gaze burned into hers. His mouth turned even grimmer, the planes of his face like stone. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you, Nadine. I promise.”

“I trust you.”

But gazing into his lethal eyes, the memory of that kiss still hovering between them, she was far less certain about her heart.

* * *

Had he made a mistake? Should he have risked bringing Nadine to the drug cartel’s island? What if something unforeseen came up, and he couldn’t get her back out?

Racked with doubts, Rasheed stared out the small plane’s window four hours later as they prepared to land at San Gabriel Island off Colombia’s Caribbean coast. His CIA handlers wouldn’t have approved it. Involving an untested civilian in an operation of this magnitude presented too many uncertainties, no matter who or what she knew.

But he needed Nadine’s help. He needed her insight into her family to help break this case open and stop the upcoming attack. It was the only hope he had.

Still, as the plane decreased in altitude, and the terrorists began stirring in the seats ahead, he couldn’t halt his mounting unease. Because no matter how hard he tried to rationalize it, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he’d done the right thing, his instincts warned him otherwise. Something was about to go wrong.

And he couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it now.

The plane banked left. Rasheed stared out the oval window at the white sandy beaches beneath its wings. Beyond the shore was the turquoise water, ranging from bright aqua near the island to dark navy as the depth increased. He spotted the coral-colored mansion fronting the shore, the guest cottages tucked beneath the palm trees on either side, the sparkling, in-ground pool. He knew from his intelligence briefings that the cocaine processing labs were deeper in the jungled interior, conveniently out of sight—along with storage buildings and housing for the guards and staff.

The pilot made his final approach. He lowered the landing gear and raised the flaps, then dropped onto the paved runway with a gentle thump. The plane zipped along the manicured tarmac, splashing through puddles left by an earlier thunderstorm, and came to a stop near the end. While the engines powered down, a crew scurried up with a rolling staircase and opened the cabin door.

The terrorists all stood. Amir shot him a scowl, his eyes filled with undisguised resentment, and the foreboding inside Rasheed grew. The captives’ escape had humiliated Amir, subjecting him to their leader’s ridicule, and increasing his desire to see them dead.

Even more worried about Nadine’s safety, he jerked his head at her. “Let’s go.” He kept his expression hard, his voice curt, knowing any sign of friendliness would alert Amir.

He waited for her to stand, then preceded her down the narrow aisle, stooping over slightly to keep from bumping his head. He ducked through the open hatch, his belly tightening as he stepped into the waning sunshine and went down the flight of steps.

The moist tropical air filled his lungs. A cool breeze rolled off the ocean, bringing with it the scent of salt. He scanned the coconut palms swaying in the breeze, the whitewashed hangars flanked by royal poinciana trees.

His mouth twisted at the irony. The island looked like a pricey tourist destination, an exclusive, high-end resort—and no wonder. The drug cartel generated billions of dollars trafficking cocaine, a fortune they used to influence police and politicians throughout the world. And this was their leader’s domain. Everyone here was on his bankroll. His armed guards patrolled the grounds. No one came or went, or even entered the airspace around the island without permission from the cartel. Even the Policía Nacional stayed away.

Nadine came to a halt at his side. Rasheed grew tenser still, the nagging anxiety inside him increasing as several black sedans sped across the tarmac, their engines growling in the quiet air. They screeched to a stop, and two men emerged from the lead vehicle—the short one distinctly Hispanic, the taller man Middle Eastern. Both wore black suits, the weapons in their shoulder holsters creating a telltale bulge.

Then suddenly, Nadine went rigid beside him, her quick gasp putting him on alert. He shot her a glance, her shocked reaction provoking his instinctive need to protect.

“What is it?” he whispered, the foreboding he’d been fighting mushrooming into full-blown dread. What was wrong? Where was the danger? What the hell had made her so afraid?

Her gaze stayed stalled on the newcomers, every remaining scrap of color leaching from her face. “That man. The tall one on the left. That’s my brother, Sultan.”

Chapter 7

S
he’d just tumbled into a nightmare. Her worst fear, the situation she’d spent the past fifteen years trying to avoid had finally come to pass.

She was back in her family’s power.

Nadine stared at the man striding toward her on the runway, the absolute horror of her predicament sinking in. She hadn’t seen him since the day that she’d left home, pretending to head to the market, and fleeing for her life instead. But it was him. She could never forget the brother who had made her childhood hell.

She took in his powerful, planklike shoulders, the arrogance in his rapid strides. Sultan was older, of course, his waist and torso thicker, his jawline beginning to sag. As a boy, his handsome, teen-idol looks had masked his true nature, lending him a deceptive charm. But now... Now his black eyes blazed with cruelty. His lips formed a merciless slash. The years had stripped away all pretense of civility, revealing the sadistic man beneath.

His measured steps brought him closer. Pure panic took root inside her, triggering the desperate need to flee. Every survival instinct she possessed screamed at her to turn on her heels and run.

But there was nowhere to run. She couldn’t escape. Her captors would gun her down before she’d made it a dozen feet. And she knew that was what he wanted, what he thrived on—that outward display of fear. Sultan was worse than any animal. He was a predator who took pleasure in his prey’s terror, deriving a rush from the kill.

He came to a stop beside her. Summoning all her strength, she lifted her head, forcing herself to meet his gaze dead-on.

“Nadira.” A perverse kind of excitement rang in his voice. “Did you think we’d given up on you?”

She clamped her lips to keep from answering. Any response, no matter how innocuous, would provide him with an excuse to lash out.

He took another step toward her. She inhaled, his woodsy oud oil cologne assaulting her senses, a smell she’d long ago come to loathe. “I told you we’d find you if you tried to run,” he said. “I warned you that you couldn’t escape.”

Sweat trickled down her back. Her knees quivered badly as she battled to hold his gaze. But she was not going to buckle. No matter what he said, no matter how hard he tried to intimidate her, she was not going to reveal any fear. She was older now, stronger. She would not let him tyrannize her.

Irritation flickered in his eyes at her failure to respond. She knew it would fester inside him and fuel his hatred, making him more violent when he got her alone.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he warned, echoing her thoughts. He turned to the armed man at his side. “Take her to her quarters. I’ll show these men to theirs.”

The Hispanic man stepped forward. Short and powerfully built, he had dark olive skin, flat, unblinking eyes, a thick mustache and close-cropped hair. A snake tattoo writhed along his neck, adding to his menacing look. “This way,” he said, his English heavily accented.

She swallowed hard, everything inside her rebelling at the command. But unable to see an alternative, she followed him to a sedan with dark tinted windows, trying her hardest to appear unfazed. He opened the rear passenger door and jerked his head. “Get in.”

She took a step toward the car, but couldn’t resist glancing back at Rasheed. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, his dark eyes carefully shuttered, obscuring any inkling of his thoughts. A pang of betrayal knifed through her, disillusionment that he hadn’t helped.

But this wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t known Sultan would be waiting on the island. And what did she expect him to do? Pull out his gun and start shooting? Take on all these armed men alone? There was no way he could rescue her now. And unless he stayed in his undercover role, the men would kill him, too.

Besides, he’d warned her of the danger. She’d come here with her eyes wide-open. He hadn’t deceived her about the risks.

She climbed into the car. The guard slammed the door, locking her in. She stared straight out the tinted windshield, ice freezing inside her, knowing that nothing would save her now. She was at her brother’s mercy.

And with every passing moment, her chance of survival was fading fast.

* * *

Nadine had never been the type to wait for help. She’d learned early on in her childhood that if she wanted to improve her circumstances, she had to do it herself. So why was she so desperate to see Rasheed?

Knowing she was acting ridiculous, she hung up her bath towel several hours later and combed out her freshly washed hair. It was futile to pin her hopes on some knight-in-shining-armor deliverance that would never come to pass. Even if he wanted to, Rasheed couldn’t come to her aid. He had to protect his mission—a mission far more vital than rescuing her.

And obsessing about him wouldn’t help. So what if he’d kissed her until her toes curled? So what if he’d turned out to be a good guy who wanted to bring her family down? Her brother’s presence on the island had destroyed their plans. She was utterly on her own now. No matter what Rasheed had originally intended, she had to get out of this mess herself.

Determined to focus, to figure out some kind of escape plan, she crossed the room to the window and stared out. But the irony of her surroundings hit her hard. For the past six weeks she’d been camping in the mountains, sleeping on the hard ground and bathing in frigid streams. Now she’d landed in the pinnacle of luxury—a private cottage complete with polished marble floors, a king-size bed with a plush duvet and a bathroom straight from a decorating magazine. It had a minibar filled with snacks, a closet crammed with designer clothes in various sizes and nearly every comfort she could possibly require.

Except for one—her freedom. The iron bars on the windows proved that.

Sighing, she gazed out the window at the dusky night. Palm trees curved along the flagstone walkway. Bougainvillea climbed a trellis across the courtyard, their petals fluttering in the eastward breeze. She was in one of a series of tiny guest cottages tucked behind the main residence, just yards from the pristine beach. Aside from the bars on the windows, armed guards acted as sentries, ensuring her captivity.

She collapsed into the nearest armchair, still trying to formulate a plan. But realistically, what could she do? She was locked in a room on an island, miles from the Colombian mainland in the middle of a shark-infested sea. Even if she could sneak out of her prison, even if she could evade the drug cartel members patrolling the grounds, how could she possibly escape? She could hardly swim to land.

No, any way she looked at it, she was trapped.

A tapping sound came from the door. Her heart skipped, then sprinted hard, the air in her throat turning to dust.
Sultan.
Oh, God. He must have come to confront her. But would he bother to knock?

She rose and crossed the room, the slap of her borrowed sandals on the marble floor tiles sounding like a death knell in the quiet room. Bracing herself, she swung open the door. But instead of her brother, a woman wearing a black burka waited outside, holding a tray of food. “Dinner,” she announced.

Nadine stared. The last person she’d expected to find on the drug cartel’s island was a woman dressed in full
hijab.
But something about the woman’s voice seemed familiar, prodding a memory she couldn’t quite conjure up.

She stepped back to let her in. “Thank you. Please put it on the table.” Still trying to place that voice, she followed her into the kitchenette.

The woman set down the tray and lifted her veil. Nadine gaped at her, struggling to contain her shock. “Leila?”

She barely recognized her sister-in-law. Her complexion had turned sallow and pale. Her once-lustrous hair was lank and gray. Her cheeks were oddly flat and asymmetrical, the bone structure apparently diminished, thanks to repeated battering by her husband’s fists. And she’d suffered damage to her facial nerves, causing a palsylike droop to the left side, making her lips appear deformed.

At thirty-six, she was only four years older than Nadine. She looked more than double that age.

“Hello, sister.”

Nadine quickly inhaled, trying not to look aghast. But the change in her appearance made her reel. Leila had been a shy, pretty bride of twenty-one when she’d come to D.C. to marry Sultan. Within months, her reticence had turned to terror, her bruised body bearing the proof of his cruelty.

And now, fifteen years later...the years had aged her dreadfully, robbing her of her former beauty. Even her eyes looked dead, as if Sultan had beaten out every spark of life she’d once possessed.

And Nadine knew with a soul-deep certainty that if she had submitted to her father’s dictates, if she’d gone through with the marriage he’d arranged, she would have ended up like Leila—broken, defeated, abused.

But why was Leila here? Her brother wasn’t the type to treat his wife to a tropical vacation. Perhaps he’d wanted a servant along, someone to tend to his comfort and carry out his commands.

“Leila! What a surprise.” She embraced her and gave her a kiss. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

Leila smiled. Or at least, she tried to. One side of her mouth curved up, but the other stayed slack, turning the smile into a grimace instead.

“I’m having surgery. Didn’t you know?”

“Surgery?” Nadine frowned. “What kind? Are you sick?”

“No, nothing like that. There’s a famous plastic surgeon on the island. A world-renowned specialist.” She lifted her hands to her face. “He’s going to fix my cheeks and jaw.”

Nadine blinked, certain she hadn’t heard right. “A plastic surgeon? Here? Is there even a hospital?”

“Yes, of course. Sultan arranged it all.”

Staggered by her announcement, Nadine sank into the nearest chair. Her brother had brought Leila here for cosmetic surgery. But why? This story didn’t make any sense.

Not that there weren’t good plastic surgeons in South America, even great ones. Cosmetic surgery was widely accepted in the region, and top doctors were in high demand. And it was possible the drug cartel kept one on staff. But there were also plenty of top-notch surgeons in the United States. And cost couldn’t be an issue with the money her family had. So why come here, to this remote Caribbean island to have work done?

More likely her brother feared an arrest. Any American surgeon with half a brain would figure out the cause of Leila’s injuries and report him to the police. Of course Sultan would worry about himself.

“I’m not doing it out of vanity,” Leila added. “I would never do that. But my looks have faded.” She fixed her gaze on her clasped hands, a flush climbing up her sunken cheeks. “Sultan can barely tolerate being intimate with me when I have so many flaws. He insisted I have it done. And I want to please him.”

Nadine’s shock morphed into outrage. Her brother had battered his wife, causing permanent damage, and now demanded she have surgery to repair what he’d done? And all because he couldn’t stand to look at her?

“Don’t do it.”

Leila’s gaze shot up. “Why not?”

“You don’t owe him anything, Leila. Don’t subject yourself to surgery because of him.”

“But I want to. I want to please him.” She sounded mystified.

Nadine inhaled, struggling to calm herself. She wasn’t going to change Leila’s thinking. They’d been through this before, when she’d lived at home. Leila’s subservience was too ingrained. She’d been raised to defer to her husband, and years spent acquiescing to an abusive monster had reinforced that trait.

“What exactly is the doctor going to do?” she asked instead.

“Implants, I think. To give my cheeks a better shape.”

Nadine thought about that. Inserting implants wasn’t terribly risky if done right, but a lot could still go wrong. An infection could set in. A botched job could leave her even more deformed. And if the surgeon used counterfeit products, devices made from inferior materials, he could cause disfigurement or even death.

“Who’s the surgeon?”

“I don’t know. Sultan says he’s famous, though.”

But where had he trained? Who was the anesthesiologist? What kind of emergency equipment did the hospital have? “Tell me you at least had a physical and got cleared for surgery.”

Leila shook her head. “Sultan said I didn’t need one. He has arranged everything, and I trust his judgment.”

Right. Trust the abuser. More anger flared inside her, along with disgust. “When is the operation?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon?” She frowned. “Can’t you delay it for a day or two? At least give me a chance to check things out. I’m a doctor now. I can make sure everything’s okay.”

“There’s no need. I told you, Sultan has everything arranged. Now I have to go.” She dropped her veil over her face and turned away.

Nadine scrambled to her feet. “Wait. Don’t go yet. I wanted to ask you about my father.” Leila didn’t have any power in the family, and was loyal to her brother to boot. But she lived at the family compound. She’d seen visitors, deliveries, knew everyone’s schedules now....

But Leila only hurried to the door. “I can’t talk now. I’ll see you tomorrow, after the surgery. I’ve already stayed too long.” She slipped through the door and left.

For a moment, Nadine stood motionless, replaying their conversation in her mind. Leila was undergoing cosmetic surgery at Sultan’s request. There was a plastic surgeon on the island, probably employed by the drug cartel. And Leila was submitting to the procedure in an effort to please her husband, willingly risking who-knew-what kind of dangers in a sick attempt to be a dutiful wife.

Still frowning, she crossed the room to the window and looked out. She caught sight of Leila scurrying down the path, her long, black robe flapping around her ankles, her identity fully concealed.

Her face burned, anger warring with disgust. She wasn’t sure what made her madder—a brainwashed woman like Leila or a culture that repressed women and tolerated abuse.

And if she’d ever needed proof about men’s penchant for violence, her sister-in-law provided it in spades. Nadine would never understand it. Nor could she fathom the thinking of victims like Leila, women brought up to believe the abuse was normal—or worse, that it was their fault. All she could do was mend the damage and help these misguided women regain some dignity in their downtrodden lives.