Elizabeth August - A Royal Mission

Hearing a footfall on the porch, she froze. An adrenaline rush brought some clarity to her sluggish mind. Her captor came twice a day to feed her and to allow her to use the facilities. Blindfolded so that she could not tell if it was day or night, her sense of time had been severely affected. Still, she was certain it was too soon for him to be returning. Normally, by the time he came, the drugs had worn off enough that she had more coordination. Had the time come to find out why she’d been kidnapped? Fear threatened to overwhelm her. Her jaw clenched. She would not go down without a fight.

The door squeaked, signaling that it was being opened. She lay perfectly still, gathering her energy for one final battle. The footfalls approaching her were softer, more cautious than usual. Had her captor sent someone new? Maybe this person would not be so careful.

A beam of light shone on her face.

“Miss Rockford, I’m Captain Lance Grayson,” a man said, switching the light off before working her blindfold loose. “I’m here to help you.”

Victoria blinked several times before she was able to focus. Even then, with only the moonlight, she could make out very little about the man in the cabin. He was dressed all in black and wearing the sort of high-tech gear she’d seen on SWAT teams in cop movies. She wanted to believe he was here to rescue her, but she wasn’t ready to trust anyone. Her being kidnapped didn’t make any sense. What did the kidnapper have to gain? Her father, Malcolm, wouldn’t pay a penny to see her safe. Of that she was certain. Until she knew what was going on, she would remain on her guard.

The man finished removing the gag, then tossed it aside. Next he produced a small kit of lock-picking tools and unfastened the handcuffs. While he worked, he checked in with his men. Assured the perimeter was secure and that no one was approaching, he ordered his jeep brought to the front of the cabin.

Victoria wondered if she were having a drug-induced dream, or maybe even an hallucination. It seemed as if she had been in the cabin forever. Maybe her mind had snapped.

Having freed her hands, the man took out a knife and cut the bonds holding her feet. “Can you sit up?” he asked, easing her into an upright position.

Her head swam and nausea threatened. This was no dream. A nightmare, maybe. But no dream. “I don’t feel so good,” she murmured, her hands fastening around his upper arm for support. The muscles beneath her palms were granite hard. Even in her drugged state a curl of feminine excitement wove through her. In the next instant, it was replaced by a rush of fear. If he should turn that strength against her, she would have little chance of surviving. As she cursed her continued weakness and inability to coordinate her movements properly, her head lolled forward and came to rest on the arm she was clutching.

“You’re going to be fine,” the man assured her. Then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her outside to the waiting vehicle.

His strength stunned her while the heat of his body flowed through her, combating the chill in the night air. No longer did she doubt his existence. Her imagination was good, but not that good.

Fighting a fresh wave of grogginess, she peered hard at his face when he settled her on the passenger side and fastened her seat belt. His features were angular and set in a grim expression with no hint of even the barest softness. He was what she would expect her kidnapper to look like, not her rescuer.

Fear rippled through her. Like the good-cop, bad-cop ploy she’d seen used on television police dramas, maybe her kidnappers were playing a game with her. Maybe, for some reason, they needed her cooperation now and thought this was the way to get it.

“I noticed her suitcases are inside. Get them and toss them in the back of my jeep,” the man ordered a subordinate who had driven the jeep to the front of the cabin.

Victoria looked to see who her rescuer was talking to. His companion, too, was dressed all in black. In her dazed state he appeared a shadow image, the kind that drifted in and out of nightmares, scaring the dreamer. A shiver shook her.

She heard her proclaimed rescuer again talking to others through the headset he wore. Looking toward the woods, she saw no one else. Were there other shadowy helpers, or was that part of the game? she wondered. It was hard to think. Sitting back in her seat, she closed her eyes and tried to will her mind to clear and her body to regain its coordination. The endeavor proved too exhausting and darkness encompassed her.

Hoping that at least one of the kidnappers would show up to be captured, Lance issued orders for his men to remain and keep watch over the cabin. “And now to get you to a safe location,” he said to Victoria, climbing into the driver’s seat. Receiving no response, he looked to his companion. She was slumped forward.

Concern swept through him. He felt her pulse. It was beating slowly but regularly. He checked her breathing. It, too, was regular. “Miss Rockford.” He spoke her name tersely.

Her eyelids appeared too heavy to open. “Water,” she requested, her voice hoarse.

Lance grabbed a flask and held it to her lips.

Never opening her eyes, she drank her fill, then slumped against the seat.

Satisfied she was merely in a drugged sleep, Lance drove away from the cabin. Still, he could not stop himself from continually glancing at her. The worry that there could be more wrong with her than merely the effects of drugs taunted him. He frowned. Emotions dulled a person’s instincts, made them unreliable. He didn’t like that. He was a man used to being in total control; a man who had trained himself not to allow anything to distract him from his purpose.

The road was uneven and he hit a pothole, jarring the vehicle. Victoria surfaced with a groan. “My head,” she moaned. In the next instant she was asleep again.

“That does it,” he growled, unable to fight what felt very close to panic for her well-being. Pulling over to the side of the road, he again checked her pulse and breathing. Lifting her eyelid, he flashed a light in her eyes. The pupils were even and reactive. From the emergency medical training courses he’d taken, he knew all signs pointed to simple drug-induced sedation. Still, this time, with this patient, he would be more thorough.

Victoria once again became semiconscious, her demeanor fearful. “What’s going on?”

“I was just checking to see if you were all right.”

Victoria clamped her mouth shut.

The thought that she had incredibly kissable lips flashed into Lance’s mind. Thoughts like that are totally unprofessional, he admonished himself sternly and turned his attention back to the business at hand. “Were you hit on the head? Did you sustain any other blows?”

She seemed to concentrate. “I don’t think so,” she said at last.

Lance studied her face for bruising, then gently ran his fingers through her hair to feel for any lumps on her head. As the long dark tresses wove through his fingers, they produced a seductive effect that threatened to vanquish his mission from his mind. Quickly satisfying himself that she had no lumps or bruises, he broke the contact.

The gentle massage of his fingers had a soothing effect, and Victoria found herself wanting to purr. When he stopped, she felt deprived. He could be making certain you’re in good enough shape for whatever evil he still has in store for you, she cautioned herself, angry that she’d allowed the delicious feel of his touch to weaken her guard. For all she knew, he could be The Whisperer. This last thought sent a chill through her.

He opened a water flask and held it to her lips. “Drink,” he ordered.

This time prudence won out over thirst. “No.”