Page 106 of SEAL's Promise

When she couldn’t ignore the pain in her shoulders any longer, Rachelle glanced at her ankles. No restraints. Excellent. She wiggled further up the bed and was able to lower her hands by propping herself against the headboard.

Rachelle tried to listen to the conversation in the cabin and minutes later admitted defeat. She overheard a handful of words, none of them confirming Cal’s identification of Falcon.

A spot behind her ear heated. Rachelle’s eyes widened. Fortress must have activated the tracker. Relief swept over her in a tidal wave. Cal was coming for her. Her job was to stall and hold on until he arrived.

She could almost hear Cal’s voice telling her to rest while she had the chance. Rachelle closed her eyes, drifting until a change in engine noise brought her to full wakefulness. Soon, landing gear dropped, and the jet bumped along the tarmac.

Rachelle’s gaze locked on the bedroom door, waiting. Heavy footsteps sounded as someone approached. Seconds later, a man opened the door, turned on the light, and strode inside. The man was large, taller and broader across the chest than Cal.

Black eyes assessed her. Seeming satisfied that she was fully awake and alert, he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a key that he shoved into the lock on the handcuffs. A quick twist and she was free. “Let’s go,” he growled. “He’s waiting.”

“Who sent you for me?”

A hard, calloused hand clamped around her wrist and jerked Rachelle to her feet. “Move.” Black eyes shoved her toward the door.

She stumbled up the aisle to the exit on shaky legs. In the fading light, she scanned the area. A private airstrip. But where? They could have landed anywhere, even a foreign country. She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious.

Black eyes gripped her upper arm in a bruising hold and propelled her down the stairs, righting her when she stumbled on the tarmac. “Don’t even think of running.” He inclined his head toward the group of men standing guard around the jet. “You won’t make it ten feet without being captured again.”

Since an escape attempt would be futile at the moment, she walked to a waiting SUV. Rachelle would have a chance to escape. She’d be ready.

The gunman opened the back door and shoved her inside. He crowded in beside her, forcing Rachelle to scramble across the seat.

Another gunman climbed behind the wheel and drove the SUV from the airstrip. Neither said a word to her or each other.

She looked for road signs and realized the airstrip was on private property. No roads with signs.

Fantastic. Not only was she in the company of hired gunmen heading toward a meeting with the man who had commissioned them to kidnap her, she had no idea where she was. That was all right, she reminded herself. She might not know her location, but Fortress had activated the tracking tag. Cal knew where she was. He’d find her.

The SUV turned into a long, winding driveway that led to a large mansion of gray stone. Instead of stopping at the front of the house, the driver drove to the back.

After he parked, both men hopped out. Black eyes yanked Rachelle from the vehicle and pushed her toward the rear entrance of the mansion.

A cook and her helper paused in their meal preparation to glance over their shoulders. After a look at Rachelle, they resumed their work. She wouldn’t have help from them. If Falcon was behind the abduction, this probably wasn’t the first time someone entered his home under duress.

They walked through the kitchen and along several hallways until Black eyes stopped in front of a closed door and knocked.

“Come,” came a curt reply from inside the room.

Her captor opened the door and dragged Rachelle into a large library with a high vaulted ceiling, heavy wooden bookcases, and a matching massive desk at the right side of the room.

Behind the desk sat a distinguished-looking man with silvery blond hair and ice blue eyes. A middle-aged Ken doll.

Black eyes pushed her forward until she stood in front of the desk. “Rachelle Carter, sir.”

The man rose, his gaze raking over her, eyes glittering. “So, you’re the cause of so much trouble.”

“Who are you?” But she knew. Rachelle recognized his photo. Don Hale, Under Secretary of State, the political heavy hitter. Cal told her to stall. She’d follow his order.

A cold smile curved his mouth. “You don’t lie well, Ms. Carter. I don’t like liars. You should remember that for the sake of your health.”

“What do you want with me?”

“You don’t have anything I want.”

Her stomach lurched. No, she supposed she didn’t since Hale preferred underage girls instead of consenting adults. “Then why kidnap me?”

“Such an ugly word, kidnap.” His tone came out silky. “You’re bait for a deadlier problem.”

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