what is your name, delightful lady?”
She didn’t know how to respond to this parody of civility. She remained silent.
Juarez gestured with a flick of his fingers. One of the guards stepped forward and shoved his gun butt into Rafe’s stomach. Rafe made no sound as he jerked with the impact, but Glenna cried out.
“You will answer me next time I ask you a question,” Juarez said, his smooth tone reflecting nothing of the brutality he had instigated. “Now, I would like to know your name.”
“Glenna Hastings,” she blurted out immediately.
“Very good. And the, what is the word, the Frankenstein here. What is your name, sir?”
Rafe held himself perfectly still, his gaze a sliver of steel as it targeted the man behind the desk. “Rafal Marek, master sergeant, serial number seven zero—”
“Yes, yes. Name, rank and serial number. You are Delta Force, I presume?”
“Rafal Marek, master sergeant, serial number—”
“Do not be tiresome. I know the policy of your government. For this situation, they would have sent only their best.” He repeated their names into the phone, then pointed at Glenna and crooked his finger. “Please, come here for a moment, Miss Hastings.”
She saw the guard lift his rifle again. She pulled away from Rafe’s support and limped to the desk.
Juarez smiled and tilted his head, as if he believed the curving of his thick lips was attractive. “It is Miss Hastings, is it not?”
She nodded.
“American men truly do not appreciate beauty.”
Oh, God. He had the dead, black eyes of a lizard. If he smiled again she was going to be sick.
He crooked his finger once more, motioning her to his side.
Glenna wanted to run back to Rafe. She needed to touch him, to feel his support. He was her anchor in a world gone crazy. But if she went to him, he would likely be struck again. She wouldn’t fall apart, she wouldn’t. Holding her head high, trying to act as stoic as Rafe, she put one hand on the edge of the desk for support and made her way to the other side.
Juarez looked boldly at the thin shell that covered her breasts. He ran his palm down her bare arm. “So soft. I wonder if you are as silky as that garment you wear. Shall I see?”
She swallowed a surge of bile.
“But business before pleasure. What a shame we meet under such…inconvenient circumstances.” He sighed and held the telephone toward her. “Take it.”
She clutched the receiver as if it were a lifeline and lifted it to her ear.
“Let them know you are enjoying my hospitality, Miss Hastings,” Juarez said, taking a cigarette from a silver case on his desk. He lit it leisurely, leaned back in his chair and regarded her through drifting white curls of smoke. “And tell them one of you will be killed tomorrow at midnight if they do not release Arturo. My brother.”
“Do you think he was bluffing?” Glenna asked.
They were back in the underground storeroom that served as their prison, so Rafe couldn’t see her expression, but he heard the truth of what she believed in her voice.
She was no fool. She must realize that the people who were capable of hijacking an airliner and shooting the pilot in cold blood were capable of anything. He didn’t consider lying to her about this—he had more respect for her than that. “No,” he said.
“I didn’t think so.”
He braced his back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, stretching his wounded leg in front of him. He needed every second of rest he could get. “From the looks of Juarez’s phone, he has several lines. Those indicator lights on the side would tip him off the minute someone tried to dial out, so we won’t be able to call for help from inside the house. We need to get out as soon as possible. We’ll give them two hours to go about their business, then we’ll move.”
“But my ankle, your leg…”
“With the timetable Juarez has set, it’s our only option, princess.”
“My name is Glenna.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean any offense.”
“No, I’m sorry.” She shuffled along the floor until she reached his side. She sat down and placed her hand on his knee. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I guess I’m just a little…stressed.”
His lips twitched at her understatement. “You’re entitled. You handled the business with Juarez well, Glenna.”
“Do you want to know the truth?”
“Sure.”
“I thought I was going to throw up all over his stupid white suit.”
Rafe grunted, “Maybe you should have. It would have cooled him off.”
“Sure, and then they would have hit you again.”
“Don’t worry about me. This is my job.”
“You should ask for a raise.” She moved her hand from his knee to the silk bandage on his thigh. “How does your leg feel?”
This time, he did lie. He’d checked the wound when their captors had allowed them to use a bathroom after their meeting with Juarez and he’d found it was getting hot, the edges puffy and tender. The infection must have set in the moment he’d been shot. “Fine.”
“The bandage feels dry.”
“The bleeding stopped. I told you it wasn’t serious.”
She patted his thigh gently, then skimmed her hand along his hip to his waist. She spread her fingers just beneath his ribs. “What about here? Are you okay? That guard hit you pretty hard with that gun.”
“No problem. I saw it coming and flexed before he hit me.”
“Flexed?”
“My abs.” He could feel her touch warm him through the fabric of his jumpsuit. What would it be like to feel her hand on his bare skin? “Tightens everything up to deflect the damage.”
“Oh. Is that a Delta Force trick?”
“Not really. Houdini used to do it all the time.”
She stroked her fingertips across his stomach, tracing the contours of the muscles he’d just mentioned. “But didn’t Houdini die when someone punched him?”
His pulse throbbed heavily at her caress. And it was a caress, he couldn’t interpret it any other way. He caught her hand to keep her from exploring further. “He wasn’t ready for it. It ruptured his appendix. Glenna, don’t.”
“What?”
“It’s a reaction to our situation.”
“What is?”
“The way you’re touching me.”
There was a brief silence. When she spoke again, her voice was low and defiant. “I don’t care. I won’t have any regrets. Or don’t you like it?”
“That’s not the point.”
“When Juarez touched me, I felt as if a slimy lizard were crawling over my skin. Is that how I make you feel?”
“Of course not, but—”
“He plans to kill one of us tomorrow. He’ll probably start with me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“That Latin lover nonsense was just for show. A Delta Force commando is more of a prize as a hostage than a special events planner for the Winston Hotel chain.”
Just