He would never get the images out of his head--not ever--of Elle stripped naked, her skin covered in blood-red stripes, swollen bruises marring her soft skin. Worse, her brilliant mind shattered, her spirit nearly broken. He wanted--no, needed--to hunt and kill the animals who'd done that to her. There was no room for anything else in his mind or his heart. He would get her back and find a way to put her back together. She'd managed to glue him back together and he'd find a way to do the same for her.
The radio in his ear crackled. "Tell Hannah to bring up the wind," Matt's voice intoned. "We're approaching the island. Team two is entering the water and team one is going to be vulnerable as hell."
Matt slipped his earpiece into a waterproof container and waited while his other team members entered the water. He looked at the three remaining. "Don't play the hero. If they don't let you onto the island, be agreeable to leaving immediately. These boys may be trigger-happy. We don't have any intel on them."
"Yeah, yeah, Mama," Kent Bastion answered. "We'll be good."
The three men looked at one another and snorted in derision. Matt shook his head and somersaulted backward into the sea. He swam away from the boat, gave them the go-ahead and the boat proceeded in the direction of the island. He glanced at the sky. Already he could feel the difference. The weather beginning to deteriorate, the wind picking up, the dark, heavy, clouds boiling angrily.
He signaled and his team went underwater, swimming the remaining distance to keep from being detected. They moved fast, knowing Kent and his men, James Berenger and Luke Walton, had no weapons if something went wrong. It took longer than he would have liked, and Matt was aware of every moment his teammates were without backup. The necessary wind Hannah brought in to aid team one ultimately hindered them as the waves built and the undercurrent grew stronger. He knew the first team would have to convince the guards that the regular maintenance crew was gone for the evening because of the storm and they'd been sent out instead.
Jonas was standing by to intercept another phone call if any questions were asked. Fortunately, Kent's father was Greek. It was a huge part of the reason they'd chosen him for the assignment. Not only did he look the part, he spoke the language fluently and had a reputation for talking his way out of any situation.
Matt sent up a silent prayer that he'd keep the guards talking until they were able to get there and give backup to the three "electricians." As they approached the rocks, he signaled to Rick and Jock to break off and make their way to the helipad. Tom followed him to land, where they removed their swimming gear in silence, packing it into the bag they'd brought to secure everything and take with them when they left. A small detonator was put in the bag as a precaution. If they couldn't retrieve it, they would blow it up on departure. Slinging weapons over their shoulders and around their waists, they caught up the bag for team one. Matt and Tom took off running through the shadows to try to catch up with the other team, who had a good twenty-minute start on them and had been driving a vehicle.
The villa was on the west side with the power station beyond that to the east. The boat had docked on the southern side, so as they swam to shore, they'd angled just to the southwest, cutting the distance they had to run as much as possible. The wind hit them in blasts, although Matt had to hand it to Hannah--she angled the wind to aid their speed, rather than hinder it. He was always amazed at Hannah's abilities and precision when sending or calling the wind. And Kate--his heart turned over just thinking about his quiet, nonadventurous fiancee--she was a woman with a steel cord running down her spine, someone to stand beside him, not walk behind him. Each of the Drake sisters would give everything she had, everything she was, to get her youngest sister back.
Matt slipped his earpiece in, commenting as he and Tom maneuvered around guards. "From this angle I can see two men on the roof of the villa. They're not all that alert, the wind is really slamming them, but there might be more. Two on the southern side, in the rocks, but moving position up toward higher ground as the waves increase in height and strength." He gave the coordinates, knowing Jackson and Jonas would be mapping out each guard's position as information came in.
"We've got rolling patrols," Tom hissed and sank down into the shadows.
Matt dropped with him, lying prone, his gun in his fist as he watched the vehicle and guards go slowly by, flashing spotlights along the crevasses of the boulders and into the brush. He counted the seconds, each one ticking by a beat of his heart, each passing moment increasing the risk to the three men who had been driven to the mini power plant.
He was up and running the moment the vehicle had passed out of sight. Staying to the shadows, but increasing his speed over the uneven ground, avoiding the manicured drive he knew the roving patrols would most likely stick to in the storm. The waves broke over the rocks as the storm began slowly to increase in strength. If Gratsos had any psychic talent, the Drakes had to be careful, using a soft touch and making the storm as natural as possible so he wouldn't feel a sudden surge. Matt didn't know much about how it worked, but Kate said they could feel the brush of psychic energy when it was used.
The power plant loomed ahead, a small structure behind a chain-link fence. The gate was open, a vehicle sitting sideways by the open door. Tom and Matt slipped inside the fence and made their way to the door. Tom caught the handle and waited until Matt was in position before pulling the door open so Matt could slide in, gun steady in his hand while Tom covered him. He cleared the immediate area, moved forward to give Tom entry and cover. They went forward in standard search-and-clear formation as they moved through the rows of wires until they heard the sound of voices.
"Yes, Mr. Gratsos," the disembodied male voice said, "he's telling me they want to leave anyway. The weather is growing worse and they're afraid of getting stuck here. Our regular workers were unavailable, they'd already gone home in anticipation of the storm."
There was a short silence and then the guard sighed heavily. "Of course, Mr. Gratsos, we searched them. There were no weapons on them."
Another silence followed, this one briefer than the first. "There are three because one is serving an apprenticeship." The guard fought to keep exasperation out of his voice. "Yes, sir. They'll have to work fast to stay ahead of the storm." His voice lowered. "We may have to put them up for the night."
Matt crept around the floor-to-ceiling rows, trusting Tom to take out the guard when he finished his conversation with Gratsos. His entire being was focused on the safety of team one. The three men faced him, fingers locked behind their heads, all looking indignant. Kent looked especially annoyed, his brows pulled together as he glared at the guard who had his back to Matt.
"We can leave," he snarled. "This is bullshit."
"Have patience." The guard sounded bored. "He's checking your IDs."
Kent looked at the other two. "What does he think we plan to do? Steal with all you guards around?"
Something heavy fell on the floor in the direction of the guard who was calling Gratsos. "Clear here," Tom's voice confirmed in Matt's ear.
Matt cleared his throat. The guard pointing his weapon at team one swung around, his finger tightening on the trigger instinctively. Matt shot him. "Let's go. We need to disable the generator."
ELLE pried open her eyelids, forcing herself to take short, shallow breaths to ease the pain in her body. She'd tried to warn the doctor they'd brought in, and that had earned her another beating. She hadn't saved him. She hadn't saved anyone--least of all herself. She was certain Stavros might have killed her--he was enraged by her resistance--if it hadn't been for Sid. The bodyguard had once again stepped in and saved her, although she wasn't certain why. She had seen the look on his face, and for a moment she'd thought he might actually kill his boss when, hearing her screams, he had broken into the room, risking his own life.
Stavros killed easily, yet he refused to even argue with Sid when Sid intervened. Stavros had walked out, shaking with anger, but still, he'd left Sid to pick up the pieces, trusting
the bodyguard with her when he wouldn't even allow his own brother to lay a finger on her. Sid had been gentle, washing her, checking her ribs, whispering to her in Russian, telling her to stop fighting, to just endure, to wait. For what? She didn't even have a sense of time anymore.
Elle wondered for the millionth time if she had dreamed Jackson's voice. If anything was real. Everything around her seemed hazy and faraway. What had roused her from her semistupor, an urgent feeling that wouldn't let go of her? She didn't want to actually feel, or think; she wanted to slip back into that place where no one could touch her. But . . . She turned her face toward the long glass wall and looked out to the sea.
The wind slammed against the building, rising to a shriek and then retreating, only to return with full force, knocking, again and again. Her breath caught in her throat. The wind. Watch for the wind. She tried to sit up and found she couldn't move. She pulled experimentally at the cuffs on her wrists. He'd tied her to the bed. Stavros didn't ever need a reason; he wanted her to know she existed at his whim--that whatever he chose to do, he would do, and she was powerless. He drove the point home to her often. He was tired of her fighting him, and in truth, she was tired of it, too.
She looked toward the glass again, moistening her dry lips. Had Jackson come? Had her sisters sent the wind to tell her they were coming for her? She didn't dare hope. A prickly sensation crept down her spine and she knew without turning her head that Stavros had entered the room. She let her head fall back on the pillow and braced herself for his touch.
"I thought the storm might be making you nervous," he said. "The glass always makes it seem as if you're out in it, when really you're safe." His voice was very solicitous and she wondered, not for the first time, if he really believed himself in love with her. And if he did, it was a sick kind of love--ownership she wanted no part of.
"It is a little nerve-wracking," she admitted, surprising him. His eyes went wide at her answer. She rarely responded to anything he said or did, her only real way of keeping control.
Stavros looked pleased. Immediately, as if to reward her, he crossed to her side and bent down to brush a kiss over her mouth. Elle forced herself not to turn her head. She didn't respond, but she let him have her lips again, a big victory for him.
"Were you missing me?"
She swallowed the bile rising. "I was lonely." She turned her head toward the glass. "And the wind . . ."
"Don't worry, my sweet. This house is a fortress. Nothing will destroy it."
He'd better hope his psychic barrier never came down, because if it did, she would take down his house and everything in it.
"I have to use the bathroom." She hated that she flushed red when she said it. He loved the humiliation of her having to ask. Sometimes he made her "ask properly"--asking "please" and thanking him afterward, even when he stayed in the room with her. She'd never detested anyone more in her life. At least she wasn't so apathetic that she couldn't feel her hatred of her captor.
"Of course, Sheena." His hands were gentle as he took off the cuffs on her wrists. "Good girl." He smiled, rubbing at the bruises on her skin. "You didn't fight this time and break the skin."
Only because she'd been unconscious, or asleep--she couldn't tell anymore. Elle glanced again out the window, trying not to hope, forcing herself not to reach out to see if Jackson or her sisters were close.
"Are you afraid of storms?" Stavros unlocked the cuffs on her ankles and rubbed her legs, his fingers lingering over her wounds.
Elle took a breath and let it out, letting him see how fragile and vulnerable she felt. If it lulled him into a false sense of security, she would concede to him almost anything. She nodded her head. "I try not to be. I know it's silly."
It was probably the most she'd exchanged with him since he'd first taken her prisoner. How long now? She didn't know, but it seemed as if he'd become her entire life.
Stavros helped her to sit up, holding her when she swayed a little, still holding the sheet over her body. "I've told you not to be modest around me," he reminded her. "I like to look at your body."
Involuntarily she tightened the hold on the sheet. At his look of annoyed impatience, she took another stab at playing to his ego. "I don't feel very attractive right now. My hair is tangled and my bones are sticking out." She'd always been thin, but now she looked like a scarecrow. "The doctor said . . ." She trailed off, looking away from him. "I don't like you seeing me like this."
"You're beautiful, Sheena. He doesn't know what he's talking about. You've been ill, that's all." Stavros tugged at the sheet until she reluctantly dropped it, and then he helped her to swing her legs over the side of the bed.
The room spun for a moment. She was weaker than she realized. She waited for the world to right itself and stepped upright onto the floor, leaning on Stavros a little more than she wanted. He wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to walk to the bathroom. The wind slammed against the glass wall and Elle jumped, turning to look over her shoulder at the darkened sky. The clouds spun, whipping around, slowly forming pictures, taking her breath. Long hair blowing wildly with the wind, six distinct faces, looking left and right, searching . . . searching.
Elle's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to walk over to the long glass wall, not away from it. She could feel her entire mind reaching for those faces. See me. I'm here. But she didn't dare try to use telepathy, not with the barrier up and Stavros in the room. She could only hold her breath and pray that they would see her--feel her. The faces turned almost as one, eyes wide open and sharp, piercing the veil of the storm, hair swirling around in the clouds, as her sisters looked at her. And she looked at them.
Elle felt each distinct heartbeat in her body like a drum playing in her head. She felt each beat like thunder clapping in the sky. There was no mistaking her sisters. She sagged against Stavros, her knees going weak with relief. Tears burned behind her eyelids. They had come for her. It wasn't her imagination. She wanted to weep and laugh at the same time. Instead she forced herself to undergo the humiliation of using the bathroom with Stavros watching her every move. It sickened her that he needed such control over her, that he enjoyed his petty power issues. She washed carefully and made her way back into the room.
"May I sit for a few minutes?" She shivered, feigning cold, when it was sheer excitement. "I have a difficult time lying in bed when the wind is so strong."
She never asked for concessions and Stavros all but beamed, his dark eyes sliding over her with evident pleasure as he gallantly escorted her to the thickly cushioned chairs and settled her into one, retrieving a blanket to tuck around her.
She smiled wanly. "Thank you."
A bolt of lightning lit the sky and threw the grounds into sharp relief. Rain began to splatter against the glass in big, fat drops. Tears. Her sisters weeping for her destroyed soul. The thought came unbidden, but once she had it, she knew it was true. There was nothing left of the Elle that had left home so many weeks ago. She was gone and whoever was left in her empty shell of a body was lost.
"Was that so hard, Sheena? Asking for my help?"
She lowered her eyes and shook her head, cringing inside that she had to play this disgusting game. She wanted to think of it as she used to, her undercover persona outwitting her prey, but she no longer felt strong and in control. She wasn't strong. She might never be again. She continued to look out the window, not wanting to see Stavros's handsome face. He was the devil incarnate, and just looking at him filled her with fear. She thought him invincible and it frightened her to think that he might get his hands on her sisters.
"Sheena." His voice was purring softly and filled her with terror. "Look at me."
He couldn't possibly be reading her mind, the psychic energy barrier was in place. She could always feel that low hum, hurting in her head. She made herself look away from the hope the storm brought, to meet his dark, hooded eyes.
"See, my sweet, life doesn't have to be difficult, if you just do as you're told." S
tavros swept his arms to encompass the room. "You can live a beautiful, privileged life here with me, having our children, having anything you want."
"Why me, Stavros? I'm not like the women you're usually with." Not tall and beautiful, just intriguing enough to get his attention to be invited to his parties. She wasn't one of the statuesque blondes he'd seemed to prefer.
He took her comment as a plea for reassurance. "Is that what concerns you, sweetness? That you're not going to hold my attention?"
Her stomach turned over. The last thing she wanted was to hold his attention. She forced her mind to keep up. It was so hard to think, but if she could just engage with him sitting a distance from her, not touching her, she could wait for a signal. Oh God. She could wait for the energy field to come down. That's what they had to be doing--taking down the energy field. Her heart jumped with anticipation. Stavros would be very sorry he ever laid a hand on her if that field came down.
Elle looked at the man, hoping he couldn't see her hatred of him. She forced a casual shrug, searching for the right words to appeal to his massive ego. "You're like a fairy-tale prince, and don't pretend you don't know it. Every write-up about you describes you that way, and look in the mirror. I'm no princess."
Stavros leaned toward her, looking more pleased than ever. "You're exotic, Sheena, a very rare jewel. And I know jewels. I searched the world over for a woman like you."
He had the purring quality to his voice again, meant to mesmerize her. He reminded her of a cobra hypnotizing prey. She suppressed the shudder and drew the blanket closer around her. Elle was thankful to her sisters as the wind slammed against the villa hard, drawing her gaze naturally so she could look away from those watchful eyes.