Destination Wedding (3 page)

“And?” Norland snapped.

“Two years ago, Zanov bought an island just east of Cuba. He paid the Cuban government twenty-five million dollars for it.”

Nick whistled through his teeth. “That’s a lot for a private vacation spot. And a nice chunk of money for the Castro government.”

“The property is about a mile long and half a mile wide with an airstrip and heliport. There was already a hacienda on the island, but he’s been busy making improvements to the house and the grounds.

“I’m moving a satellite into position over it,” Stinger said. “We should be able to monitor activity there.”

“We still can’t be sure he’s got Camille,” Nick muttered. “But I’m going to start planning an assault on the property.”

He turned away from the grateful look Samuel Norland gave him. He didn’t want to get the man’s hopes up—or his own hopes up, for that matter—but he had to proceed on the assumption that Zanov wanted to marry Camille, not harm or kill her.

He prayed that was true, because if he couldn’t get Camille back, he didn’t know what he was going to do.

From the moment he’d set eyes on her pale, sweetly beautiful features, he’d been captivated—and cursed the position he was in. He was working for her father, which meant a relationship with her would be completely inappropriate. And more than that, he knew he was the wrong guy for a woman like Camille. He’d come from a downscale background, to put it mildly, and led a rough life. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from dreaming of making love with her. In fact, that’s why he’d taken the day off—because he’d been trying to cool himself down. Which meant that he hadn’t been doing his damn job.

In his mind, he’d wanted to turn things around and make her the unsuitable one. Like he’d tried to tell himself she was a spoiled rich girl. And sometimes he’d been able to keep his assessment of her at that level. She was rich. And although she tried not to let that warp her judgment, she made assumptions that other people didn’t. Like if she left her clothes on the floor, someone would hang them up. Or if she wanted bagels and cream cheese for lunch, someone would go out and buy them for her.

But she didn’t throw her weight around—or throw tantrums when she didn’t get her way—two traits he’d noted in her younger sister. In reality, he’d seen Camille as a rich woman in a terrible position. Her father had made enemies, and he thought the only way to protect his daughters was to restrict their freedom. Camille had dealt with that the best she could. Better than Eden, who could never be trusted to do the smart thing. Of course it had been her idea to plan an afternoon escape. And Camille had gone along—maybe even to keep an eye on her little sister. Now she was in big trouble. The worst trouble he could imagine.

He’d never met Victor Zanov—the guy he’d started thinking of as the Big Z—because of the man’s inflated opinion of himself. He’d hated the guy’s smug face the moment he’d seen it on the monitor.

Jesus, the guy was going to marry her and fuck her, not necessarily in that order. But Camille was smart. She wouldn’t panic. She could handle him—he hoped.

oOo

Camille had opened the drapes and was looking out the window at a pretty garden, the vista spoiled by the bars, when she heard the door open again. Fighting the instinctive way her body stiffened, she slowly turned.

Zanov was back, looking as crisp and comfortable as before.

She watched him take in her outfit, his gaze sweeping over her body, and she felt as exposed as when she’d been wearing that lacy nightgown. She was a lot more covered up now, but she was pretty sure he’d looked at her while she was out cold.

“Very nice,” he said. “The slacks and long sleeves will keep the sun off your skin until you’re used to the weather down here, but I would recommend a hat.

Taking his advice, she walked back to the closet and pulled one of the broad-brimmed straw hats off a shelf. Still holding it in her hand, she returned to him.

“Let me show you my island paradise,” he murmured.

“Are there bars on all the windows?” she countered.

He gave a regretful shake of his head. “No. It’s just a precaution until you accept your situation here.”

As your captive, she mentally clarified, still trying to deal with her new reality.

He went on, pretending to give her a choice. “We’ll walk around a little, then come back and have a bite to eat. Unless you’d like to reverse the order and eat first.”

“No, that’s fine,” she answered, thinking that it would be hard to choke down any food. But she’d have to do it because making herself sick or weak was a stupid strategy. She had to be at her best if she was going to escape from here.

As soon as they stepped into the hall, she saw that . . . Victor . . . she might as well get used to calling him by his first name, was not alone. Two tough-looking men like the ones who’d grabbed her at the shopping center were there. They were wearing green uniforms and carrying assault rifles.

Victor spoke to them in what she assumed was Russian, and they answered in the same language. From the tone of their voices, it sounded like he was asking if there were any problems and they were assuring him everything was fine. Had he brought his guards from his homeland? Or had he made them learn his language? Would he make
her
learn it?

As she stepped out of the room, they dropped back a couple of paces, then followed the king of the island and his bride-to-be down the hallway, which led to a formal sitting area furnished with what looked like antique chests and tables mixed with comfortable contemporary sofas and chairs. On the walls were tasteful paintings that might have come from galleries in Europe. As in her room, the Spanish tile floor was covered with a beautifully patterned Oriental rug. She focused on the details because it was a lot easier to think about furnishings than why she was in this place.

“This is the formal living room,” Zanov said, snapping her attention back to her captor. “But I use the den more. It functions as a media room.”

He kept acting like everything was perfectly normal as he showed her the den and then a dining room with a long ornate table and ten chairs.

Off to the side in an alcove was a smaller wrought iron table and chairs that seated four. “I like to have a relaxed breakfast and lunch in here or on the patio,” he said. “And of course, you also have a view of the artificial lagoon from here,” he continued, his tone revealing how proud he was of his home and the surrounding grounds.

She and Victor finished their tour of the rooms he wanted to show her, including a stop in the kitchen where she was introduced to the chef and his staff who acted like the king had stopped by to make sure the soup was simmering at the proper temperature.

But she noted that the king hadn’t taken her everywhere in the large house, and she wondered what he was holding back. Probably he had a communications center and an armory, although that might not be in the main building. Was there a safe room where she could lock herself in and call for help? Her father had one at home. A bullet- and bomb-proof chamber inside the house where nobody could get to you. It was stocked with food and also communications equipment. Surely Victor would have something similar, but just as surely, he’d be able to get inside.

One place he hadn’t shared was his bedroom, and she supposed he was keeping it as a surprise for their wedding night.

An image of the two of them in bed leaped into her mind and she struggled not to shudder. Silently, she made a pact with herself. When she started getting grossed out about Victor screwing her, she’d think about making love with Nick instead.

The plan brought a little smile to her lips that Victor caught.

“I see you like my humble home,” he said, completely misinterpreting her thoughts.

“Why yes,” she answered, giving him the approval he obviously wanted. “And I’d love to see the gardens.”

oOo

The men at the Norland estate and at Decorah headquarters were gathered around a couple of monitors, staring at a satellite view of Victor Zanov’s private island. There was no cloud cover, and the image was crystal clear. It was like being in a helicopter hovering over the property.

Behind the sprawling hacienda was an impressive patio area and pool.

“It looks like he spent as much money turning the place into his own private Disney World as he paid for the property,” Samuel muttered. Like the Norland estate, Nick thought, but he didn’t point that out.

“There are gardeners and guards all over the place,” he said instead. “But there’s no proof he’s holding Camille there.” He wanted to punctuate the observation with a curse, but again he held his tongue. He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut, but he knew Bobby Cunningham felt worse. He was sitting by himself, biting his nails and probably praying that the satellite image would yield some useful information.

As they stared at the screen, all of them hoping for some clue, a flicker of movement near the back of the house caught Nick’s eye. He saw two figures step onto the patio between the artificial lagoon and the house. It was a man and a woman.

Beside him, Samuel Norland gasped. “It’s her. It’s Camille.”

Nick studied the woman. Her slender figure was covered by white slacks and a turquoise blouse, and a broad-brimmed hat hid her hair and face. As far as he was concerned, Samuel’s certainty about the woman’s identity was from wishful thinking. Nick couldn’t even tell how tall she was compared to the man because it was almost impossible to determine their relative heights from the overhead satellite view. Probably she was young, or at least in good physical shape, from the easy way she walked.

He took another look at her clothing. She could have worn the long-sleeved blouse to keep the tropical sun off her arms—or to minimize contact with her companion. And her choice of shoes was also interesting. Running shoes. That didn’t necessarily imply that she was planning to run, but it did give her the option.

Nick’s stomach tied itself in knots as he watched the two people walk around the estate. Gardeners would turn to the man and nod or even bow slightly, and it was obvious that he was the top dog in this environment. But there was no way to determine the woman’s status—except that she was with him. Was she getting a tour, or were they just taking an afternoon stroll?

Camille, this is Nick. We’re watching you. I’m watching you. Look up,
he silently urged her.
Look up so I can see your beautiful face.
Camille, if it’s you, look up at me.

And then the miracle happened. As though she knew he was viewing her from thousands of miles above the earth, she tipped her head up, and for a heart-stopping few seconds, he saw that it
was
Camille.

“Oh my God!” he breathed.

“Thank you, Lord,” Samuel Norland and Bobby Cunningham both exclaimed.

“I got a photo,” Teddy said from Decorah headquarters. The screen split, and they all stared at Camille’s upturned face. She looked pale and tense, but there was no evidence that she’d been harmed. Nick silently prayed that was true.

On the satellite view, they watched the couple walk toward a three-tiered fountain, then around the pool and farther out onto the property. Nick took in every nuance of their body language. He wasn’t holding her hand or draping his arm around her waist or shoulder, but he kept moving a little closer to her, and she kept moving to the side, trying to get farther away. Nick could see she wasn’t comfortable with him, but she wasn’t trying to make a break for it, probably because she could see how well guarded they were.

“He’s giving her the deluxe tour of his kingdom,” Teddy Granada said with a snort. “I guess he isn’t modest about showing off his wealth.”

“And she looks like she’s paying attention. Maybe she’s searching for a way to escape,” Stinger added.

“Not by herself,” her father said. “We have to send in an assault team to get her out of there.”

“Which opens up a lot of room for screwups, including getting her killed,” Nick shot back, his gaze fierce as he focused on Camille’s father.

“But we have to rescue her before . . . ” Samuel didn’t finish the sentence, but they all knew what he was thinking.

“What if Zanov decides that if he can’t have her, nobody can?” Nick asked, knowing he was being tough on the billionaire father but also knowing he had to be the voice of reality.

He saw Norland cringe.

“We have to play this smart,” Frank Decorah said from one of the wall screens, bringing their attention back to the man who had run Decorah Security for more than twenty years. His success rate was outstanding, and he should be the one to make the judgment call, no matter what desperate plans the terrified father was considering.

“The smaller the strike force the better,” he said. “We’ll use a team offshore standing by if they’re needed, and one man who can slip onto the island without being detected.”

“Who?” Norland demanded, obviously put out that they weren’t sending in a marine strike force.

“If anyone can do it, it’s Nick Cassidy,” Frank Decorah answered.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Well, what do you think?” Victor asked, obviously expecting a gushingly response to his magnificent property as he and Camille walked back to the patio. They were taking a charmingly planted route through sunny gardens where several parrots sat on the branches of large trees. Apparently their wings were clipped because they made no attempt to get away.

“It’s beautiful,” Camille answered. That was the truth if you simply considered the careful plantings and artful touches like the stone statues and vases, but it felt to her like walking through a beautiful cemetery.

“I’m glad you approve,” the man beside her said, and she wanted to scream that she didn’t approve of anything—not the place or his plans.

They were approaching a man who was spreading mulch around some flowering shrubs. Just before they reached him, he dropped the bucket he was holding, dumping mulch onto the path.

Victor rushed forward, shouting something angry Camille couldn’t catch. Probably Russian again. As Victor raised his hand, the man cringed back. But before the king struck the poor fellow, she could see him struggling to get control of himself.