Eye of the Beholder

“You did great, by the way.”

“I didn’t have any choice.”

“There’s always a choice. When I was watching you in the doorway—”

“You were watching me? How? I didn’t see you.”

“I was there, Glenna. Even now, the rest of my team is probably searching the area. Once we get out of here, we’ll find some way to hook up with them and you’ll be back home in…” He paused. “Where are you from?”

“New York,” she replied. “It seems so far away.”

“Sure, but you’ll be back there before you know it. Once you’re debriefed at the base, I’ll see that you’re flown directly—”

“Rafe, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather take a train.”

A low rumble sounded in his chest. “Right.”

Glenna felt a smile tug at her lips. The noise he had made was more of a grunt than a laugh, but she liked the way it had felt against her cheek. She’d like to hear it again. “Rafe?”

“What?”

But whatever she was going to say ended in a gasp as the door to their prison was flung open. Before it had slammed against the wall, Rafe was on his feet, once more placing himself between her and the weapons that were aimed directly at them.

“Dios,” someone muttered. “You are right. He is one ugly bastard.”

Chapter 3

The guards must be blind, Glenna thought as she limped along the shadowed corridor. How else could they call Rafe ugly? Yes, his scars were unpleasant to look at. The network of white-streaked, ravaged skin was evidence of horrible suffering. Puckered gullies sliced his right cheek and gave the corner of his mouth a sardonic twist. In addition, his nose was large and bent in the middle, as if it had been broken at some point in the past.

But couldn’t the guards see the intelligence in his eyes? How could they miss the strength in the angle of his jaw and the pride in the tilt of his head? Didn’t they notice how he ignored the pain his leg must be giving him in order to lend her support as she walked?

She had known men who were as pretty as purebred puppies but who had ugliness in their smiles. What appeared on the surface didn’t matter if what lay underneath was rotten. And she couldn’t believe Rafe was rotten inside. His deeds were constantly proving otherwise.

The corridor branched into three. The guard who had been leading the way in front of them turned to his right. One of the two who were behind them prodded Rafe in the back with his rifle. Rafe stumbled briefly, his nostrils flaring. Whether it was to control his pain or his temper, Glenna couldn’t tell. He tightened his arm around her waist to pull her more firmly to his side, somehow managing to take even more of her weight off her sprained ankle.

She gave him a small smile of gratitude, but he didn’t acknowledge it. His gaze was flicking all around them, as if cataloguing every possible detail of their surroundings.

Glenna decided to follow suit. She realized the floor was now sloping upward. The scent of damp cement that had permeated the room where they had been held wasn’t as sharp here. They must have been in a basement and were now being taken to the ground floor of the house.

It wasn’t any ordinary house, though. She’d known when their captors had brought them in from the truck that this house was large. She hadn’t realized how large until now.

What had Rafe called the hijackers? Garden variety drug smugglers with delusions of grandeur? The drug business must be booming, if they could afford a place like this.

They reached a thick wooden door. One of the guards turned a key in the lock and they were ushered through. Glenna blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the light from a huge crystal chandelier that blazed overhead. They had emerged in the corner of a large foyer. A majestic staircase curved along the far wall, opulent bouquets of tropical flowers rested on delicate antique tables, and all of it was reflected in a marble floor the color of a forest. She had no more than a glimpse of a set of intricate wrought iron entrance doors before the guards pushed them through another door into a dark paneled office.

A slim, dark man in a white suit sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He looked up as they came in. “Ah, my visitors have arrived,” he said into the phone he held. An accent tinted his words with a soft lilt. “We shall continue our negotiations, yes?”

The door slammed behind them. Glenna glanced over her shoulder and stared straight into a gun barrel. She quickly turned her head.

The white-suited man was watching her, his fingers working over the telephone receiver with long, lazy strokes. The glossy mustache on his upper lip lifted in a smile. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am Leonardo Juarez, your host. And what is your name, delightful lady?”

She didn’t know how to respond to this parody of civility. She remained silent.

Juarez gestured with a flick of his fingers. One of the guards stepped forward and shoved his gun butt into Rafe’s stomach. Rafe made no sound as he jerked with the impact, but Glenna cried out.

“You will answer me next time I ask you a question,” Juarez said, his smooth tone reflecting nothing of the brutality he had instigated. “Now, I would like to know your name.”

“Glenna Hastings,” she blurted out immediately.

“Very good. And the, what is the word, the Frankenstein here. What is your name, sir?”

Rafe held himself perfectly still, his gaze a sliver of steel as it targeted the man behind the desk. “Rafal Marek, master sergeant, serial number seven zero—”

“Yes, yes. Name, rank and serial number. You are Delta Force, I presume?”

“Rafal Marek, master sergeant, serial number—”

“Do not be tiresome. I know the policy of your government. For this situation, they would have sent only their best.” He repeated their names into the phone, then pointed at Glenna and crooked his finger. “Please, come here for a moment, Miss Hastings.”

She saw the guard lift his rifle again. She pulled away from Rafe’s support and limped to the desk.

Juarez smiled and tilted his head, as if he believed the curving of his thick lips was attractive. “It is Miss Hastings, is it not?”

She nodded.

“American men truly do not appreciate beauty.”

Oh, God. He had the dead, black eyes of a lizard. If he smiled again she was going to be sick.

He crooked his finger once more, motioning her to his side.

Glenna wanted to run back to Rafe. She needed to touch him, to feel his support. He was her anchor in a world gone crazy. But if she went to him, he would likely be struck again. She wouldn’t fall apart, she wouldn’t. Holding her head high, trying to act as stoic as Rafe, she put one hand on the edge of the desk for support and made her way to the other side.

Juarez looked boldly at the thin shell that covered her breasts. He ran his palm down her bare arm. “So soft. I wonder if you are as silky as that garment you wear. Shall I see?”

She swallowed a surge of bile.

“But business before pleasure. What a shame we meet under such…inconvenient circumstances.” He sighed and held the telephone toward her. “Take it.”

She clutched the receiver as if it were a lifeline and lifted it to her ear.

“Let them know you are enjoying my hospitality, Miss Hastings,” Juarez said, taking a cigarette from a silver case on his desk. He lit it leisurely, leaned back in his chair and regarded her through drifting white curls of smoke. “And tell them one of you will be killed tomorrow at midnight if they do not release Arturo. My brother.”

“Do you think he was bluffing?” Glenna asked.

They were back in the underground storeroom that served as their prison, so Rafe couldn’t see her expression, but he heard the truth of what she believed in her voice.

She was no fool. She must realize that the people who were capable of hijacking an airliner and shooting the pilot in cold blood were capable of anything. He didn’t consider lying to her about this—he had more respect for her than that. “No,” he said.