Gail Barrett - Seduced by His Target

Making a quick decision, she pulled on her hat and coat. She didn’t relish getting soaked, but she couldn’t shirk her responsibilities. They all had to work together to make this trip a success. And Henry couldn’t offer much assistance in his weakened state.

She picked up the flashlight and flicked it on. Careful not to disturb her tent-mates, she crawled over her sleeping bag to the storage area near the door.

Suddenly, the flap whipped back. Startled, she glanced up, catching sight of a man’s dark face. He hurtled inside in a burst of cold and rain, knocking the wind from her lungs as he slammed her down.

Chapter 2

Rasheed sprawled over the writhing woman, struggling to get her under control. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to involve the other women in the tent and risk their capture, too. But his target bucked and squirmed beneath him, yanking his hair, raking her nails down his cheek, making it difficult to hold on. Then she dug her thumbs into his eyes.

He reared back in the nick of time. Damn. Whoever this woman was, she knew how to fight. Fed up, he grabbed hold of her arms and dragged her outside the tent into the blustery storm.

Rain lashed his face. The wind clawed at his hair and clothes. The woman managed to jerk one hand free and lunged toward him, jabbing her finger into his armpit, sending pain shuddering through his nerves, despite his coat. He swore, but didn’t let go.

Instead, he tackled her to the ground then flipped her over and sat atop her, using his weight to hold her down. But she trapped his feet against her side and knocked his arms loose in a move so quick it caught him unprepared. Then she rolled him over and tried to stand.

His respect for her grew, even as his training kicked in. He still didn’t want to harm her. But damn it, he had to play his part. And frankly, she was better off with him than the real terrorists, who’d probably kill her if she tried to resist. Using brute force, he took her down again, ignoring her yelp of pain.

Knowing he had to hurry, that too much could go wrong if he drew this out, he whipped out a scarf and secured her wrists behind her back as she thrashed and struggled to rise. Thunder boomed. Lightning crackled in the sky, illuminating the woman’s furious green eyes. His breath sawing, he wrapped another scarf around her mouth, muffling her angry cries.

Then he stood. Breathing heavily, he pulled her upright. She took a quick step back, intending to run, but he went in low and scooped her up. Then he slung her over his back in a fireman’s carry and loped toward his waiting horse.

She squirmed, and he staggered off balance, nearly dropping her in the mud. The wind howled past. The skies seemed to open up, the rain bucketing down so hard he could barely see. He made it to the horse, then tossed her over the saddle, and started to untie the lead.

But she wriggled loose and fell. Lightning scissored the sky, followed by a vicious crack of thunder. Already spooked—and with a woman now crawling beneath his hooves—the gelding reared and tried to bolt.

Swearing, Rasheed dived at his captive and dragged her from beneath the trembling horse. He had no choice now. She’d get killed if she tried to run. And he couldn’t reason with her. She’d never cooperate with a kidnapper, even if it was for her own good.

Wishing he could avoid it, he gripped her neck, bearing down on the pressure points. Short seconds later, she slumped, unconscious, to the ground. He spared a moment to soothe the gelding, then picked up the woman and draped her over the pommel, positioning her so she wouldn’t fall.

“Easy,” he told the prancing horse. Still trying to catch his breath, he unhitched the lead and sprang into the saddle, adjusting his prisoner across his thighs.

Lightning erupted in a staccato burst, revealing the billowing sheets of rain cleaving the night. Rasheed glanced at the camp, taking in the chaotic scene. One man lay on the ground. Another chased the mules as they galloped off. The tents flapped like sheets on a clothesline, their stakes torn loose by the savage storm.

He sent a fleeting wish for the medical team’s safety, hoping they’d be all right.

He was less certain about the spitfire in his lap.

Holding on to his unconscious captive, he wheeled his gelding around. He spurred him into motion, cantering to the trailhead where the leader of the terror cell lay in wait. Then, with the thunderstorm raging around him, he raced off into the night.

* * *

Nadine regained consciousness bit by bit. Her forehead throbbed. Her throat felt bruised and raw. Every inch of her body ached, from her incredibly sore ribs to the fire scorching through her shoulder blades. And she couldn’t seem to move her arms.

Someone had kidnapped her. The realization flooded through her in a rush. Henry. Lauren. Manny. Oh, God. Where were they? Panicked, she wrenched open her eyes. Then she blinked, struggling to orient herself and make out shapes in the inky night. Flames from a campfire flickered several yards off. The rain had stopped, but moisture clung to the air, so she doubted much time had passed. More impressions began to emerge from the darkness—the low rocks slanting above her, the trickle of nearby water, the chill from the stone floor seeping into her bones. She was in a cave, her hands bound, her back propped against the wall.

She’d dressed before the attack, so she still wore her jacket and jeans. But she’d lost her cap, and her wet hair clung to her neck and cheeks, adding to the cold. Her arms were completely numb.

She wriggled her icy fingers, then pulled on her restraint, unable to loosen the knot. At least her kidnappers had removed her gag, enabling her to breathe.

But who had captured her and why?

She turned her head, focusing on the campfire outside the cave. Three men sat around it, a row of boulders at their backs. To the right were several horses, their saddlebags piled nearby. To the left was a sheer rock wall. Smoke from the campfire rose in lazy wisps, then dissipated in the pitch-black air.

Trying not to attract their attention, she studied the men again. One lay on his side, asleep. Beside him, a man wearing a white turban cleaned his weapons and whistled an off-key tune. The closest man sat facing the campfire, his back to the cave, his collar-length black hair gleaming like obsidian in the wavering light.

They all had jet-black hair. The two she could see best had swarthy skin and beards. Were they Hispanic? Middle Eastern? Her heart swerved hard at the thought.

But that was ridiculous. They couldn’t be Middle Eastern, despite the turban the one man wore. They had to be drug runners. Who else would be traveling through the Andes on horseback—and kidnapping foreigners, no less?

Besides, who these men were, or why they’d brought her here didn’t matter right now. She had to concentrate on getting free.

Except...where were the other prisoners? Surely they hadn’t only kidnapped her?

Frowning, she ran her gaze around the cave again. This time, she caught sight of a man lying prostrate in the shadows, and her heart missed several beats. Henry. She couldn’t mistake his gray hair. And of all the people to kidnap...he was already suffering from altitude sickness. He couldn’t take any more abuse.

But where was the rest of the team? Her uneasiness growing, she struggled to remember details about the attack. But all she recalled was a kaleidoscope of jumbled impressions—slashing rain, a heavily muscled man knocking her down, the scream of a frightened horse. The storm had been too fierce, the raid too fast. Maybe the other team members had gotten away.

And if they had, they’d immediately mount a rescue...or maybe not. They wouldn’t know where the kidnappers had gone. The rain would have erased their tracks. And even assuming they did catch up, they couldn’t take on a drug cartel. It would be suicidal to try, especially since Manny had the only gun. No, they’d head straight down the mountain to the nearest town and summon help.