“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen,” Leo replied, watchful, but Colin could read nothing else in the man’s gaze, and for some reason that annoyed him.
“Don’t seem too concerned,” Colin gritted out. With a shove, he pushed Leo aside and stumbled toward the door.
“Colin, that’s not fair,” Ella said. “Please, wait, we’re making a plan.”
Colin threw the bedroom door wide and moved into the hall. “And as you’re making plans, they’re getting farther away!”
He could hear them following but didn’t dare slow his pace. Panic pushed him forward. They’d keep her alive, he had to believe that. They needed her but he needed her more.
Akshay and Fran looked up as he swept down the steps toward the front door. At their feet were knapsacks.
“Colin?” Fran asked.
“Thank the gods, you’re all right,” Akshay said.
Colin gave him a quick jerk of his head, but didn’t have time for sentimental reunions. “Weapons, I need weapons.”
“Colin, you don’t even know where she is!” Ella said, coming to rest beside him.
“The island.”
Akshay handed him a pistol. “What island?”
Colin shoved the weapon in his waistband and took the knife Fran offered. “The map pointed to an island off the coast. A map Bea and I uncovered while at a forgotten temple.”
Bea, just saying her name made his heart lurch. Was she well? Was she injured? If Demyan had done anything to her, he’d see the man tortured to death himself.
“The islands of Bombay,” Akshay murmured, his dark brows drawn together in thought.
Colin strapped the knife to his thigh, annoyed and confused by his own lack of information. “No, it was between the Seven Islands. It … it pointed to nothing.”
“Something underwater then?” Fran asked.
“Perhaps,” Colin replied, taking a brief moment to mull over the possibilities. If it was underwater, they didn’t have a chance in hell of finding the statue. At the moment, he didn’t give a damn. The realization left him shocked. He finally understood Leo’s lack of interest. When he had his wife, how could he care? If he had Bea by his side, the statue would be a minor irritation in his life instead of the consuming pain it had always represented.
Colin shook aside the feeling. “We have to go. Now.”
“We have men trailing them,” Leo explained, always so bloody rational.
Colin started toward the door. “I don’t care. I’m leaving now.”
“If he gets the statue, we’re all as good as dead,” the old man mumbled. “Who knows what could happen.”
Colin spun around, his hands fisting. “Who the hell cares about the statue!”
They were stunned into a moment of silence.
“Oh, Colin, of course we’re worried about Bea,” Ella whispered. “But you more than anyone knows how important that statue is.”
“Not as important as she is,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
Leo nodded, then looked toward the old man. “Did you get any information?”
“As I said before, they’re headed to the coast, directly west,” the old man said. “That was all I got out of them before they were out of hearing range.”
Colin brushed off the man’s odd comment, too impatient to care. It made sense. Due west would land them directly where the map pointed.
“We’ll all go then.” Ella started toward the knapsacks.
“No! You’ll slow me down.” Colin yanked open the front door.
“You can’t go alone,” Ella cried out. “It will take only a moment to finish packing.”
Colin ignored them and started down the shallow steps to the front garden. Horses were saddled and waiting. They’d been preparing to leave. It gave him some hope, but they weren’t fast enough for him. Already the sun was hot and rising; they were wasting valuable time.
“Then we’ll follow,” Akshay replied.
“I’ll go with him,” the old man said, hobbling toward another mount. “Sam will stay with you, in case you need him.”
Colin latched on to the pommel and pulled himself onto his mount. “No offense, old man, but I’m in a hurry.”
“You’ll need his powers, Colin,” Leo said, standing on the front stoop.
Colin froze for a brief moment as the words settled into his muddled mind. Powers? He slid the old man a glance.
In his own saddle the old man meet his gaze, a twinkle of defiance in his faded blue eyes. “That’s right. You, Sam, and Ella here aren’t the only ones. I’ve got my own special talent.” Without another word, the man kicked his mount, urging the beast forward.
“And what would your powers be?” Colin demanded, nudging his mount into a cantor until he made it to the man’s side.
The old man looked at him, something flickering in his eyes … amusement … but something else … determination. “I can read minds, my boy.”
Confusion gave way to shock. The old man didn’t wait for his response, but clicked his tongue and his mount burst forward, stirring up dust in his wake.
Stunned, Colin could merely watch him go. Only one man that he knew of had the power to read minds, and that man was supposed to be dead.
“You coming, boy?” the old man called out.
Colin nudged his heels into his mount’s side and burst forward, his anger and ire directed at the man in front of him. “Yes, Father, I’m coming.”
Chapter 26
“Wake up.” A soft tap on the side of her face stirred Bea from the dredges of unconsciousness. She’d been dreaming … a lovely dream. She’d been with Colin, pressed next to him in his bed. She groaned, turning her face away from the persistent gnat. She didn’t want to wake up. Darkness provided relief. Relief from what, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to investigate.
Another tap, this time sharper. Her skin stung, yet she still didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes, for something warned her, hovering on the edges there, that she wouldn’t like what she found when she awoke.
“Please, wake,” a persistent feminine voice called out. Not Ella. No, even half-conscious, Bea recognized that the woman had an accent. French, perhaps? But that couldn’t be possible. She was … where the hell was she?
Confused, Bea blinked her eyes wide. Dark clouds loomed above, rolling and tumbling across the sky as if in a hurry to get somewhere important. She wasn’t sure what time it was. With the lack of light, it could have been morning, or evening. In the distance, birds cried and a soft rumble faded, then pulsed to life as if coming closer … closer.
“Where am I?” she managed to croak through parched lips.
A soft, cool breeze ruffled her clothing and hair. In the air hung the scent of brine and salt … the ocean. She curled her fingers, sand collecting under her nails and confirming her suspicions. She was at the ocean. Suddenly, the memories crashed down, suffocating.
Colin.
The woman muttered something, but over the rush of blood to her ears, Bea couldn’t hear.
Colin shot.
Colin dead.
A deep ache ripped through her insides, tearing at her soul. She closed her eyes, fighting the sting of tears. Colin was dead. With a choked sob, she rolled to her side, curling into a tight ball, her face pressed into the warm, gritty sand.
“I’ve brought you water.” The woman was speaking again.
Why wouldn’t she leave her alone? A gentle hand settled atop Bea’s head, but she didn’t move, didn’t bother to respond or open her eyes as the tears rolled across her nose and cheeks before pattering to the ground. Over and over in her mind she saw him … Colin with that stunned look upon his face as he tumbled to the ground. Colin as the brilliant red blood spread across the white linen of his shirt. She hadn’t been able to say good-bye, to tell him she loved him, to kiss him once more. Just once more …
“You must drink something,” the woman insisted.
“Allez en enfer,” Bea whispered harshly.
&n
bsp; The woman sighed. “If you want to live, you must drink, and telling me to go to hell won’t help. I may be the only friend you have here.”
Anger burned in the pit of Bea’s belly, raw and consuming, replacing the deep ache. She opened her eyes just enough to glare at the woman.
“My name is Adelaide,” the woman explained as she cradled a clay jar to her chest. A brilliant blue scarf covered her head, the ends flapping on the breeze.
She was small, but curvy. If they fought, who would come out the victor? “Maybe I don’t want to live and don’t tell me you’re a friend.”
The woman settled back on her heels and gave her an exasperated look. She was dressed in men’s clothing, as Bea was. But whereas the woman’s clothing was just that, clothing, Bea’s was so much more. Colin’s shirt. Colin’s trousers. She resisted the urge to bring the material close and breathe in his scent.
The woman lifted a black brow, the color striking against her pale skin. “Ah, your true love. Is that why you won’t live?”
Bea didn’t respond; she owed her no explanation. She owed no one anything. Instead, she found mindless, numbing escape in focusing on the ocean ahead, where gray waves crashed upon the shore and an odd fog hovered over the sea. It didn’t matter what this French woman said. Nothing mattered. No one could hurt her more than they already had.
The woman inched forward, so close Bea was forced to look at her. She was attractive, she’d give her that much, with her long black hair and brilliant blue eyes. Blue eyes that reminded Bea of Colin. The thought tore at her gut with renewed pain so fierce, it was difficult to breathe. How would she possibly go on with such memories?
Adelaide darted a glance back over her shoulder. It was then that Bea noticed Henry and Sergio near a rowboat on the water’s edge. Anger like she’d never felt roared through her body. She bolted upright, intent on rushing toward her cousin when the French woman turned back toward her.
Her intense gaze gave Bea pause. “And what if I told you your true love lives?”
Bea’s heart skipped a beat, even as her mind denied the accusation. “I’d say you’re crueler than I thought.”
The woman frowned and settled the clay jar in the sand. “Nevertheless, it’s true.” She stood and brushed her long, dark braid over her shoulder. “So, if you want to be well for him when he arrives, perhaps you want to drink and keep your strength.”
She turned then and walked away.
Bea couldn’t move, too stunned to do anything more than repeat the woman’s words over and over again in her head.
“And what if I told you your true love lives? “
Her heart leapt in her throat. Could it be true? How could that pixie woman possibly know if Colin lived? It was mad. So why, then, did hope flare to life, a tiny flicker that warmed her shattered heart?
Bea swallowed hard and reached toward the clay jar the woman had left behind. Tentatively, she brought the vessel to her lips. The water was warm and barely slipped down her dry throat but she kept drinking for Colin’s sake. He would come for her. He still lived. She had to believe that. Tears had dried on her face, leaving her skin tight and itchy. But she didn’t care about her appearance. In her mind remained the thought that Colin might be there at any moment.
With renewed energy, she took in her surroundings, intent on finding her escape. A long, white beach on either side. Behind her, thick vegetation. Just there, not far, two fishermen were pulling in a net next to their battered boat. The only sign of life on an otherwise desolate beach. Would they help her if she screamed?
“Finally,” Henry said, strolling toward her and demanding her attention. He didn’t pause until he was only feet from her, his hands on his hips. The sight of him made her nauseous. “You’re awake. How do we get the statue?”
She was surprised by his question, although she refused to show it. If he didn’t know how to get the statue, why had he taken her? She tilted her head back and looked directly at him. His clothing was tattered and worn, the white linen shirt stained, his hair mussed. The eyes of a man she thought she knew, now the eyes of a stranger. Fury flared through her body, churning bitterly in her gut. He’d ordered Colin shot as if he were nothing.
“You know, you always were a pathetic, greedy sod even as a child.”
His jaw clenched, his throat working. She knew what would happen yet she didn’t try to defend herself. It would be pointless. She didn’t flinch as his arm came down and the back of his hand met her cheek. The force sent her tumbling to the side, her face hitting the beach. Bea lay there for a brief moment, staring at the tiny crystals of sand, resisting the urge to retaliate. Now was not the time. Her skin burned and tears pooled in her eyes, but she’d die before she’d let them fall. Slowly, she settled her hands underneath her chest and pushed upright.
“He’s coming,” Adelaide called.
Bea jumped to her feet, even as her weak legs threatened to give out. For one brief, wonderful moment, she thought the woman spoke of Colin. The smirk on Henry’s face fell and Bea’s hope flared.
Large palm fronds parted and an Indian man strolled into the clearing, machete in hand. Bea held her breath, waiting. Another man appeared, the green turban atop his head showing his ethnicity also as Indian. The leaves parted once more and a tall, gangly man stepped onto the sand. Bea’s hope dissipated. Fear fought with fury. He surveyed his surroundings like a king would a newly conquered territory.
Demyan.
Finally, his gaze fell on Bea. She shuddered and looked away, focusing on the waves once more, barely aware of what Demyan and Henry spoke of as he came closer … closer to her.
It was only when he stopped directly in front of her that she managed to make eye contact. The silence stretched seemingly forever; still she wouldn’t break but continued to stare at him determined to show no fear.
A small smirk lifted the corners of his mouth, as if he thought her bravery amusing. “I see you found her, Henry. Well done.”
“Thank you.” Henry smiled, but Bea noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was annoyed with Demyan.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that Henry and Demyan were working together, but she was. Who else was involved?
“What will you do with me?” she demanded, annoyed her voice quivered.
Demyan’s gaze flickered up and down her body. “That is not your concern.” He turned toward the two Indian men and muttered something in a language that sounded like Hindi, but wasn’t. They nodded and rushed to the small rowboat, not once glancing her way, and she knew, at that point, that no one would help her. Frantic, her gaze scanned the beach, hoping to see Colin come striding through the vegetation, rifles in tow.
“The necklace.” Demyan held his hand out toward Henry. It was then that Bea noticed Leo’s ring on his finger. She wasn’t surprised that he’d found the piece when they’d left it behind.
Henry’s cheeks flushed. “But—”
“Now, Henry.”
Demyan quirked a brow, a man completely sure of himself. Henry paused for one brief moment, then reached under his shirt and pulled a pendant free. It was some sort of man, dangling from a silver chain. It had to be Ella’s necklace, Bea realized with a start. The necklace Henry had stolen from Ella over a year ago. Stunned, Bea could merely watch as Henry jerked on the chain until it broke and, with annoyance working over his face, dropped the pendant into Demyan’s pale hand. Demyan had both pieces. That couldn’t be good.
“Now then, shall we?” Demyan turned back toward her. “You and I are going on a little trip.”
He slipped the necklace into his trouser pocket and latched on to Bea’s upper arm, his hand cold and painfully tight.
“I am coming as well, aren’t I?” Henry whined like a child wanting to play with his older brother.
Demyan started toward the shore, pulling Bea along with him so her bare feet shuffled through the warm sand. “No room, Henry.”
Henry snorted, his nostrils flared, and rushed after them like
a bull about to charge. It was almost comical, and Bea might have laughed if she hadn’t been so afraid.
“We are partners, Demyan,” Henry said. “I demand to be allowed to go.”
Demyan actually paused, as if thinking over the answer. Bea took the time to catch her breath and mull over her possibilities. Almost of their own free will, her eyes dropped to Demyan’s pocket. The necklace was close … so close. She knew it was important, but why, she wasn’t sure. Could she reach it? And then what … somehow escape a gaggle of men with pistols?
Finally, Demyan sighed and turned to face Henry like a father preparing to reprimand his son. “You tire me.”
Before Bea could blink, he lifted his hand and pulled the trigger of a small pistol.
Bea gasped, jumping in surprise. Henry didn’t even have time to beg for his life. Blood was already soaking his shirt. Her cousin’s knees buckled and he slumped toward the ground. Bea merely stood there with her mouth gaping open, watching as he died. No one went to help him; not even the fishermen down the beach did more than glance their way. No one helped Henry, and no one would help her.
“I find I don’t need you anymore.” Demyan started forward toward the boat, dragging Bea along with him.
But her feet refused to work and she could barely stay upright. She wanted to be glad Henry was dead, how badly she wanted to be glad! She glanced back. His body lay upon the sand, unmoving. The sight sickened her. Her stomach churned, and she had to tear her gaze away for fear she’d get sick.
Too much death. Too much hate. Too much violence. Bea felt oddly numb as Demyan stood on the shore, but pushed her toward the small boat. She stumbled into a wave, the water splashing up her body, soaking her clothes and leaving the bitter taste of salt in her mouth. The two Indian men grabbed her arms and hauled her inside the vessel, dropping her to the floor as if she were a fish caught from the bowels of the ocean. Soft hands latched on to her upper arms, pulling her backward into a warm body. The feminine scent of flowers told her Adelaide was huddled beside her.
“Shh,” the French woman whispered, wrapping an arm around Bea’s waist and pulling her close. “Shhh, du calme. It will be over soon.”