No one would ever know.
Leyla’s lungs constricted and her heart thudded wildly. Fear and panic coalesced into one big, greasy ball in the center of her stomach.
Another death in Leyla’s tight-knit family would decimate her mother. And her brothers.
She closed her eyes, praying they were looking for her. And Sean, too. He would know something was wrong by now, wouldn’t he?
But how would they locate her? And even if they did, it would probably be too late.
Leyla glanced at the water bottle in Gagnon’s cup holder again. She should have had more when she had the chance. She needed to fortify herself. She couldn’t count on anyone to find her, and she needed to escape somehow.
She looked at the pilot with that big headset over his ears. He’d watched her through his mirrored aviators as Gagnon’s two armed thugs loaded her onto this thing, and he hadn’t even flinched. He’d acted like it was perfectly normal, like flying bound captives around was something he’d done before.
The thought made her queasy again.
At least the Vikings had stayed behind. Wherever they were going now, it was just her and Gagnon, plus the pilot.
Leyla didn’t know what to make of that.
Gagnon glanced over and caught her watching him. He scowled.
“You have no one to blame but yourself.”
Hysterical laughter bubbled up. “How is that?”
He shook his head. “If you’d had that drink with me instead of spying”—he reached over and chucked her chin, and Leyla recoiled—“then this wouldn’t be happening.”
Then what wouldn’t be happening? She wanted to scream the question at him, but instead she turned away.
Spying.
So he obviously knew about her snooping through his office.
Had Amelia done something similar? Had she eavesdropped on the wrong conversation, or snapped a picture of something illegal, or witnessed something she shouldn’t have?
She studied Gagnon’s face, seeing him clearly for the very first time. The man was a narcissist. In his warped view, the entire world revolved around him. Everything was all about his image and his business empire and perpetuating the idea of his boundless wealth. Everything he owned—the cars, the house, the plane, even the “artwork” lining his walls—was about showing off his supposed success to the world. He didn’t care whom he hurt or cheated or murdered, as long as he came out ahead.
It was all about him.
The engine noise suddenly changed pitch, and the chopper swooped lower. Leyla clutched her abdomen and struggled not to heave up the contents of her stomach.
“You don’t like flying?”
She glanced up, and he was smiling at her.
“Amelia didn’t either.” He crossed his ankle over his knee, as though they were having a normal conversation. “She liked boats, though. Most women do.”
Leyla stared at him, not bothering to conceal her contempt.
She glanced at the water again. Were they headed for a boat way out here? She didn’t know how far offshore they were, but it was well beyond the yachts and catamarans that cruised around the island.
“Hey.”
She looked up, and Gagnon’s face was serious now. The flat look in his eyes filled her with icy terror.
“Ride’s almost over,” he said. “Enjoy it while you can.”
•••