Page 22 of The Captive
After adding one last smudge underneath his left eye, she set down the charcoal and stood up, accepting the wet napkin he handed her and scrubbing at the tips of her fingers.Then she picked up the plate and took a bite of the grilled cheese, chewing fervently.
“I’m starving,” she said between mouthfuls.
Deacon hid a smile.He glanced at the portrait she’d left lying on the floor, noticed the other papers scattered next to it and realized she’d done a few more sketches.Faces.
He frowned.Tango’s sharp mouth and prominent scar glared up at him, while another sheet displayed Le Clair’s feral features and thin lips curled in a sneer.
“You’re drawing us,” he said uneasily.
She chewed slowly, nodding.“It’s not like I have any other subjects.”
His uneasiness intensified.“Can’t you sketch the mountains?”
“I already told you, I do faces.That’s what my work is about, bringing interesting faces to life.”
Maybe so, but she’d done a lot more than that here.She’d cataloged each one of her kidnappers, producing accurate sketches that any law-enforcement agency could use to nab each and every one of them.Including Deacon.
Lana gave him a knowing look.“I’ll rip them up when I’m done.Don’t worry,Delta,the cops won’t see these.”She swallowed the last bite of her sandwich and set the plate down on the desk.“But you will get caught,” she added.“You know that, right?”
He didn’t respond.
“You guys won’t get away with this,” she continued, her blue eyes glittering with defiance.“My family will find me.”
Her words made his chest squeeze in the most disconcerting way.You guys.It sent a streak of agony through him that she associated him with the others.But why shouldn’t she?He’d been a full participant in this abduction, and she had every reason to despise him.Yet she didn’t seem to.
“Why?”he burst out.
Her forehead wrinkled.“Why will they find me?Because they’re—”
“No,” he cut in.“Why don’t you despise me?”
She fixed him with a sad stare.“Who says I don’t?”
His heart twisted.“Do you?”
Her silence tore at his insides like a ravenous scavenger.He didn’t know why, but the thought of Lana hating him was almost unbearable.He knew he was the bad guy here, that he’d taken her against her will in order to score a wad of cash, but he didn’t want to be the object of this woman’s hatred.Lana Kelley was…she was an incredible woman.She’d handled her two-week stint as a hostage with the utmost grace, and the inner strength that radiated from her pores impressed the hell out of him.She was smart, gorgeous, funny when she dropped her guard long enough to loosen up around him.She was a woman he’d be proud to call his own, if he weren’t such a cold, lifeless ghost of a human being.
“No.”
Lana’s quiet voice sliced through his thoughts, making him glance up in shock.“No?”he echoed.
“I don’t hate you.”She shook her head in bewilderment.“I should, right?I should want to rip your throat out for what you’re doing to me.So why don’t I?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted hoarsely.“You have every right to hate me.”
“Maybe…maybe it’s because I don’t believe you’re one of them.”She gestured to the door, as if to point at the men beyond it.“They’re all greedy.Heartless.Especially Le Clair.He doesn’t seem to care one bit that he’s got me locked up in this cabin like a prisoner.”
She let out a shaky breath.“But I get the feeling thatyoucare.”She met his eyes.“Am I crazy?Am I patheticfor believing that?God, for all I know, you’re playing me, making me think you actually give a damn, but really—”
“I give a damn,” he interjected, stunned by the slight crack in his voice.“I’m not playing you, Lana.”He was embarrassed by the next words that popped almost unconsciously from his mouth.“I’ve never met anyone like you.That night at the Louvre…it was…”
He trailed off awkwardly, but Lana wouldn’t let it go.“It was what?”she said softly.
“It was really nice.”He lifted his shoulders, then let them sag.“It was the first time in a long time I felt…at peace.”
She bit her bottom lip.“Do you…um, have a girlfriend?”
Her question shocked the hell out of him.“What?”
