Betrayed (15 page)

He didn't move, and finally she really did close her eyes, knowing it would be better if she got some sleep, since she had no idea what they would be facing in the morning. Somehow she managed to drift off, but her slumber was marred by dreams of her brother. Men were chasing him, catching him, doing things to him that made her gasp.

And it was all her fault.

She struggled toward consciousness and woke in the gray light that gathers before the sun comes up. Everything that had happened the day before came back to her in a rush. The good and the bad.

Making love with Shane had been more than she could have imagined. Then he had turned away from her, and she'd felt as though a piece of herself had been torn away.

She glanced over at him. He was sleeping in his chair, his gun still in his lap. She wanted to go to him. But she'd woken up feeling like she'd stabbed her brother in the back. She was praying that he was all right, but she had to
know.
She was sure Shane wouldn't want her to call Alesandro. But she had to do it if she could.

Could she sneak out of the boat and get back before Shane woke up?

She had to try.

Elena eased quietly off the bed, stopping to check that she hadn't wakened Shane.

When he didn't move, she breathed a small sigh and crossed the room. From the hall, she stopped again to check on him, then made a stop in the bathroom where she put on her sandals. They were still damp and stiff, but better than walking barefoot on the rough boards of the dock.

In the main cabin, she searched the countertops and drawers, looking for a phone and making a frustrated sound when she didn't find one.

***

Shane had been watching Elena through slitted eyes. He hadn't trusted her from the start, and now she was practically proving that she was up to something sneaky. Unless, of course, she was only getting up to go to the bathroom and didn't want to wake him.

But he wouldn't bet she was doing something innocent, not from the look on her face. The moment she went down the hall, he got out of his chair and quietly crossed to the doorway. He could hear her moving around in the main cabin, opening drawers and cabinets—apparently looking for something—but he stayed well back, out of sight. He heard the bell that he'd set up as an alarm give a hollow clank, presumably because she was holding on to the metal.

He cautiously made his way to the back of the boat in time to see her climb through the opening in the canvas. Once she was out of the cabin, he crept forward, watching her cross the deck and stand for a moment before starting toward the side where the boat was tied to the dock.

***

On the dock, Elena looked around, trying to get her bearings. About fifty yards away was a massive red-brick house. A mansion in what she recognized as colonial style, like at Williamsburg. It had a large center structure and smaller wings on either side. If anyone was home, there was no sign of them. Maybe they were so rich that they could afford to keep a house where they only came on weekends.

If she tried to get into the main building, she'd probably set off an alarm. But to her right was a swimming pool, and beside it was a building that was big enough to be a family home. She suspected that it was only a guesthouse or a pool house. Maybe there was a phone in there.

She hurried down the pier to a path made of stepping-stones. It led to the main house, so she turned off onto the lawn. Running across the open space, she made it to the smaller building and moved to the side away from the main house, where she looked in a window.

She saw a large room with a ceramic tile floor and comfortable sofas and chairs that looked like they were covered in fabrics that wouldn't be ruined by the pool water. There was a fireplace at one end of the room. At the other end was a kitchen area. And on the counter was what she'd been looking for—a phone. A landline, which she hoped meant the phone was in working condition and didn't need a battery charge. But could she get in there?

She started moving around the house, testing doors and windows. There were two bedrooms in the back with sliding glass doors that were locked, as were the windows. Then she came to one that seemed to give when she pushed at it. She worked it up and down, feeling it loosen more. Finally the upper sash came free, and she felt some of the tightness in her chest ease, thankful that she didn't have to break a window to get in.

After pushing the sash all the way up, she climbed inside. She was in a room that had a television and several video-game controllers.

The main seating area was down the hall, and she hurried there, then crossed to the kitchen counter. Relief flooded through her when she picked up the phone receiver and heard a dial tone.

She knew she couldn't talk long. Someone might be able to trace a call if they had time. She'd just make sure her brother was okay and then hang up. She punched in Alesandro's cell number and waited with her heart pounding as the phone rang. One, two, three, four rings. Was something wrong? Finally he picked up, and she let out the breath she was holding.

“Alesandro.”

“You finally called.
Gracias
a
Dios
.” His voice sounded strange, like it hurt to move his lips.

“Where are you? Are you all right?”

“No, I'm not all right,
estúpida,
” he said, his tone turning hard and derisive.

She caught her breath at the way he'd addressed her, then struggled for calm. He was like this when he was upset.

“What's wrong?”

“Thanks to you not doing what you said you'd do, those men have me.” He made a strangled sound, and she could hear the pain in his voice now. “They've been beating the crap out of me, and it's all your fault.”

“No.”

“Oh yes. They want that thing you took from Blake's office. They're going to kill me if you don't turn it over.”

She caught her breath again.

“Where are you?” he demanded. “They can send someone to pick you up.”

Before she could answer, the receiver was yanked from her hand and slammed back into the cradle. She had no idea who was behind her. The homeowner? The thugs? All her muscles tensed as she prepared to defend herself as best she could. Or perhaps to explain why she was trespassing.

When large hands spun her around, she saw that Shane was standing behind her.

His eyes glittered with anger. Anger at her and maybe at himself as well. When his hand tightened on her arm, she winced. “I knew I couldn't trust you,” he growled. “Too bad I couldn't stay awake.”

“You can trust me,” she said weakly.

He answered with a harsh laugh. “Then what the hell are you doing, sneaking off the boat so you can tell them where we are?”

She swallowed hard. “I wasn't going to tell them that.”

“But you were trying to make sure I didn't know you were leaving the boat.”

She answered with a little nod.

“I'd love to hear exactly what you think you're doing,” he said, punching out the words. He kept his hand on her, but he took his eyes from her face for a few seconds to scan the grounds outside the guesthouse.

She fought the need to wrap her arms protectively around her shoulders. Lifting her head, she said, “I woke up worried about my brother. I was worried those men had gotten him, and he told me they had. They hurt him. Badly, I think.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “I have to take that SIM card back to him, or they'll kill him.”

“And what do you think will happen then?”

“I'll save him.”

Shane snorted. “It sounds like that card is the only thing keeping him alive—and you and me, for that matter. I mean, come on. As soon as they get what they want, they'll kill us all.”

“No,” she whispered.

“We're witnesses.”

She didn't answer, but now that she'd had a chance to think about it, she was afraid he might be right.

She saw his eyes narrow.

“What are you thinking?”

“I'm wondering if they can trace us through that phone call.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “I wasn't going to talk long. I didn't talk long.”

“You were in the middle of what sounded like a long conversation when I got here.”

She closed her eyes and opened them again. “He sounded awful. I…”—she raised one shoulder—“made some mistakes. I'm sorry.”

“Which mistakes were those? Sleeping with me—or making that phone call?”

“The phone call,” she answered, but she couldn't help wondering about her foolish seduction the night before.

***

Shane shook his head, trying to decide what to believe. He'd caught her in a compromising position, but she could be telling the truth about her motives. The trouble was, he was too emotionally involved to figure that out. But one thing he knew, if he let her get away from him now, she was going to get herself killed.

“I was worried about my brother,” she said again in a low voice.

“Is he worth it?”

“I don't know. But he's my family.”

Shane snorted. “I'm pretty sure he wouldn't put his life on the line for you.”

Her expression turned sad. “I think that's right.”

“Then why risk getting killed for him?”

She answered quickly. “My values aren't the same as his. I have to be loyal to him.”

Even as he made a dismissive sound, Shane knew what she meant. At least about loyalty. His wife had pulled the rug out from under him, proving she didn't give a damn about their marriage. He'd been soured on the whole human race until he'd met Max Lyon and Jack Brandt under pretty trying circumstances. That night in jail had been a shortcut to getting to know their characters. He'd seen they were both determined and sure of their values—which appeared to be the same as his. And over the months they'd been together, he'd come to know them better than anyone else he'd ever met.

Their lives meant something to him. Too bad he couldn't say the same thing for Elena's brother. From what he'd seen of the sorry-assed guy, he was a user who didn't give a damn about anyone but himself.

Which brought Shane's thoughts back to his own ex-wife. Probably, she'd never really loved him. Probably, she'd seen him as glamorous and a good catch. But before long, she'd started stepping out on him when she thought he wouldn't find out. On an intellectual level, he knew all women weren't like her. But it was hard to trust one of them again. He'd let down his guard with Elena last night. It looked like that had been a mistake.

He knew she was looking at him, waiting for him to decide what to do. He turned toward the main house, scanning the facade. So far, it appeared that no one was home. But there was no use taking chances.

“I want to make a phone call,” he said. “Go outside—where I can see you through the window. But not on the side where you can be seen from the pool deck.”

“Who are you calling?”

“If I wanted you to know my business, I'd let you stay inside,” he clipped out.

He watched resignation bloom on her face. “Okay,” she whispered.

Turning, she exited the guesthouse. Staying on the side away from the mansion, she stood where he could see her, staring in through the window.

He kept his gaze on her as he crossed to the phone, picked it up, and made a call.

The man on the other end of the line picked up on the first ring.

“Glad I caught you.”

“Shane?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you all right?”

“Basically.”

“What happened?”

“I'll tell you when I see you. Can you pick me and Elena up?”

“Of course. Tell me where you are.”

***

Elena waited outside, watching Shane punch in a phone number. She tried to imagine whom he was calling. And why. Was he going to turn her over to Lincoln Kinkead? Or maybe he was calling someone at Rockfort Security, the company where he actually worked.

She thought about that as she watched him—just as he was watching her. She saw he was waiting for someone to answer. Then she saw when the person on the other end of the line picked up. She could tell he was relieved to have gotten through, and she tried to decide what that meant. Was someone coming down here to get them? Or were they going to another meeting point? Their car was back at the safe house—unless the police had taken it away—but she didn't think they'd go back there to get it, not after the thugs had found the location.

Her tension mounted as she watched him talking. Luckily, the call was short. Shane hung up the phone and motioned for her to come back into the house.

She didn't like the speculative look on his face as he studied her. She wanted to ask, “Now what?” but she kept the question to herself. What she truly wanted was for him to put his arms around her and pull her close. She wanted to know that she hadn't totally messed up their relationship by sneaking out to make the phone call, but she couldn't say any of that. And she had to wonder at her own motivation.

She'd trusted him with her emotions enough to make love with him. But she hadn't trusted him with her fears about her brother. That made an interesting contrast.

She saw him cross to the kitchen area and start opening cabinets and the full-sized refrigerator. He found a carton of milk, opened it, and made a face before putting it back. Instead he gestured toward several cans of soft drinks. “The milk's bad, but these should be okay.”

She took a Coke, popped the top, and took a few swallows while he took several boxes out of the cabinet. Cookies and crackers.

She munched on some, watching him do the same.

“We'll go back to the boat and get rid of the evidence that we were there. Of course, the owners might wonder where some of their clothes went,” he muttered under his breath, “unless they've got so many that they won't miss them.”

Again, she wanted to ask who he had called, but she kept the question locked behind her lips.

After their unorthodox breakfast, he wiped down any surfaces they might have touched. Then he closed the window where they'd both entered. Finally, they exited through the side door, and he led the way back to the boat, where he started straightening up the bed. “Get your clothes,” he ordered.

She retrieved them from the bathroom and brought them to the cabin.

Shane held out a plastic bag. “Put them in here.”

When she'd finished, he added his clothing from the night before, then gave her a long look. “Are you going to get into trouble if I leave you for a few minutes?”

“Of course not.”

“Then stay here while I deep-six these.”

She watched him get off the boat, pick up some rocks from the shoreline, and put them in with the clothing. After making some holes in the bag, he went down to the end of the dock, slung the bag around in a circle to give it momentum, and threw it far into the water, where it quickly sank below the surface.

When he returned, he looked at his watch, which was apparently still functioning after their late-night swim. “Still too early to leave.”