Page 21 of The Captive
“Bullshit.”The anger in his eyes faded, replaced by a rueful look.“That was risky.You’re very lucky Le Clair didn’t figure it out.”
She offered a tiny shrug.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
To her surprise, his mouth twitched, as if he were suppressing a grin.“Whatever you say,princess.”
She undid her coat and draped it over the broken chair by the desk, then headed to the bed and sat down cross-legged.Outside, the sun was completely obstructed by thick gray clouds, and the damp breeze drifting in from the open window hinted at impending rain.
She still felt shaken up by the conversation with her father, but she refused to let Deacon see it.Call it a family trait, but Kelleys had been trained from birth not to show weakness.But Lord…her father had sounded so devastated.As tears prickled her eyelids, she blinked a few times, then put on a careless front and raised a brow at Deacon.
“Do you guys have any books out there?”she grumbled.“Or a magazine?You can’t expect me to sit here for the rest of my time here doing absolutely nothing.I’ll die of boredom.”
A strange expression crossed Deacon’s face.“Actually, I, uh…” He cleared his throat.“I have something for you.”
She tamped down her curiosity as he left the room with brisk strides.Less than a minute later, he reappeared in the doorway, holding a stack of sketching paper, yellowed from age, and a small plastic bag filled with…coal?
“I found this in the living room,” he said, sounding awkward as he held up the paper.“And I got the charcoal from the fireplace.I figured you could use it to sketch something, as long as you’re here.”
The warmth that flooded her chest was incredibly inappropriate.Not to mention infuriating.So what if he’d scrounged up some art supplies?That certainly didn’t make up for the fact that he was a willing participant in herabduction.
“Thanks,” she said woodenly, determined not to let the gesture affect her.
Deacon set the materials on the desk and edged back to the door.“I’ll check in on you later,” he murmured, and then he was gone.
Lana stared at the closed door, wondering why it was that she softened up whenever Deacon was around.She kept having to remind herself that he had kidnapped her.She wasn’t allowed to like the man, not anymore anyway.She wasn’t supposed to feel touched that he’d remembered how much she loved art, and that he’d risked facing Le Clair’s wrath in order to take her outside.
Yep, she wasn’t supposed to do any of that, and yet she was.
“See that, baby,” she whispered to the precious life growing inside of her.“Daddy brought us some art supplies.”Her tone suddenly hardened.“Now, if he’d just quit being a jerk and let us go, then Mommy will bereallyhappy.”
Unfortunately, she knew that wasn’t going to be an option.No matter how many times Deacon promised he’d protect her, he wouldn’t free her.Which meant she was stuck here, at least until her father gave these men what they wanted.
The only problem was, something made her think that money might not be the answer to her problems.
You know what to do.
The words Le Clair had barked at her father floated into the forefront of her brain.What did that mean?What exactly did they want her father to do?Each day that passed here in these isolated mountains brought the ominous suspicion that this entire situation was a lot bigger than money, that she and her father might be caught up in something neither of them was capable of handling.
And that, more than anything that had happened so far, scared her to death.
CHAPTER 6
By the time the two-week mark of Lana’s captivity rolled by, Deacon was growing considerably wary about this job.Two weeks was a long time to keep a hostage.Averylong time.
He didn’t like it one bit.
As he prepared a grilled cheese sandwich for Lana’s lunch, he mulled over the situation, wondering if he should approach Le Clair with his concerns.The boss was beginning to look frazzled these days, spending most of his time on the porch mumbling into his cell phone, though to whom he was mumbling was a mystery to Deacon.He got the feeling Le Clair wasn’t happy with the way things were going, but Deacon wasn’t privy to the details.Was Hank Kelley refusing to pay up?
Deacon’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown as he cut the sandwich in half and set it on a chipped yellow dish.He knew Lana was growing frustrated, too, and deeply impatient.He checked on her frequently, and their afternoon walks had become a daily ritual.At first she’d pressed him about his childhood, trying to get more details about his parents’ deaths, but she’d eventually given up when he remained vague about it, and proceeded to chatter on aimlessly about her own life.He knew it was her way to get her mind off her current predicament, but Deacon had started clinging to the stories she told.
He felt as though he knew everything about her now.She told him wry anecdotes about her overprotective older brothers, spoke of her parents with deep emotion, raved about art, modestly described some of the sculptures in her recent body of work.The more time he spent with her, the more he liked and respected Lana Kelley.Which was why this assignment was starting to trouble him.He didn’t want to see her get hurt, and the way Le Clair angrily muttered into that cell phone of his didn’t bode well for Lana.
“Lunch,” he said gruffly as he entered the back bedroom.
Lana’s head lifted at his arrival.She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a sheet of sketching paper.Her long blond hair fell onto her face, and her slender fingers were stained black from the charcoal.
“Thanks,” she said absently, her hand moving quickly across the paper, adding details to the face in her sketch.
Deacon was startled when he realized it washisface.She was drawing him, and from the looks of it, the likeness was uncanny.Apparently she was very, very good at what she did.
