Reluctant Hostage. Margaret Mayo

can assure you,’ she snapped, ‘that I haven’t the slightest idea at all where Rebecca is. Did you tell the police yesterday that I was here?’

      ‘I didn’t actually go to see them,’ he admitted coolly. ‘They have their methods; I have mine. I’m actually quite enjoying this game. I’m looking forward to the pleasure of making you suffer.’

      ‘You’re out of your mind!’ she spat. ‘You can’t keep me prisoner for ever.’ He looked coldly sinister in his dark glasses, and she had never felt so frightened in her life, but her chin jutted and she glared at him fiercely. ‘In any case, what were you doing with so much money on the boat? You ought to have had more sense.’

      ‘They were the takings from one of my restaurants,’ he informed her coolly.

      Libby’s brows rose. She had wondered what he did for a living. ‘I still think it was pretty stupid leaving money lying around. It would be temptation for anyone.’

      ‘It was in my safe,’ he rasped.

      Libby swallowed hard. So it definitely hadn’t been taken on impulse; the whole affair must have been planned. ‘You keep laying the blame on Becky,’ she snapped, ‘but I don’t think it was her at all. Judging by those dresses in her wardrobe, she isn’t short of money. Why should she feel the need to steal?’

      ‘And how did she buy those clothes?’ Warwick sneered. ‘Have you noticed that they have designer labels? My guess is that I’m not the only person to have fallen prey to her light fingers.’

      Libby’s breath hissed out in anger and, swinging her arm in an arc, she slapped him across the face. ‘You bastard! You know nothing. Becky isn’t a thief; she would never do a thing like that. You’re wrong, you’re very wrong, and I hate you for even suggesting it. If she’d been planning to run away she would have taken everything with her.’

      ‘Then you tell me where she is now, and where my money is? Normally my manager takes it to the nightsafe at the bank, but he was away, ill, so I brought it home, planning to bank it myself the next morning. As it happened I was called away early and when I got back—bang!—both it and your sister had gone.’

      Libby had to admit that it looked suspicious, but she was still confident that he was wrong. ‘You’re only surmising it was Becky,’ she snapped.

      ‘There is no other assumption,’ he insisted icily. ‘That money wasn’t the first thing to go missing after she began working for me.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ choked Libby. ‘What are you saying?’ It got worse by the minute.

      ‘A watch, a ring, a cigarette-lighter. Odd little things, things I thought I’d mislaid until the money went missing and I began to put two and two together.’

      Libby began to feel ill. It couldn’t be true, she wouldn’t let it be true, but what other explanation was there? Without another word she scrambled to her feet and bolted back down to her cabin. Her whole body trembled with cold and fear and worry as she perched herself on the edge of the bed. She still refused to accept that her sister had stolen Warwick’s money, and yet all the evidence was against her.

      Would Warwick turn Rebecca over to the police if he found her? Would she be sent to prison? Or if the money was returned would he drop all charges and let them both go home? Could he do that now that it had been reported? None of the consequences bore thinking about.

      How easily she had played right into his hands. He had trapped her with soft words and kisses, and she had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Why, why, why hadn’t she been suspicious? Didn’t it make sense that, if no boy at home was interested in her, a good-looking man like Warwick Hunter, who could probably have his pick of any girl, wouldn’t spare her even a passing glance? She really was a prize idiot. How he must have laughed behind her back!

      Libby tried to think what her fate would be now. What he intended doing with her, to her! How long was he planning to keep her his prisoner? She closed her eyes and shivered. There was only one thing of which she was certain: Warwick Hunter wouldn’t touch her again; he wouldn’t need to put himself through the purgatory of pretending to like a woman who hadn’t an ounce of sex appeal.

      To give him his due, he had put on a good act, but that was all it had been, she knew that now, and he would undoubtedly feel relieved that the farce was over and he could treat her with the contempt he felt she deserved.

      There was no doubt about it—she must escape, as soon as possible, and she must do all in her power to try to find her sister. It might be best to go back home in case Rebecca tried to contact her there. Already two days had gone by since she’d left. What if her sister had been telephoning? What if she really was in some kind of trouble, and needed her help—nothing to do with Warwick’s money, but something else altogether?

      Still feeling chilled through to her marrow, Libby tugged off her nightdress and took a hot shower before pulling on her jeans and T-shirt again. She did not even contemplate unpacking. At the very first opportunity she would escape. She must be ready at all times.

      Again she looked at her sister’s clothes in the wardrobe, and again she felt uneasy. Rebecca most certainly wouldn’t willingly have left these behind. Such expensive clothes would mean a lot to her. She hadn’t gone of her own free will, that was for sure. But, if she hadn’t, where was she? What had happened to her?

      Libby pulled open the top drawer of the dressing-table, expecting to see her sister’s sexy underwear, and was taken aback when she discovered it was empty. Every drawer was empty! There was nothing at all except those few dresses in the wardrobe. No shoes, no handbag or passport, no money, no shorts, suntops or bikinis. Nothing!

      It suddenly put a whole new complexion on the picture. Libby asked herself angrily why she hadn’t thought to look in the drawers last night. Why had she assumed that because of the dresses everything else would still be there? It looked now as though Rebecca’s departure had indeed been planned. Perhaps she hadn’t had room for those dresses? Perhaps she had thought it would be easier to buy new ones?

      Libby felt faint, and sat down. Everything was transpiring now to make her sister look guilty, and she did not want to believe it; in fact she refused to believe it. There was still some other explanation—there had to be; it was just a matter of finding it.

      She sat a long time before venturing out into the galley, where she made herself a cup of tea she did not drink and toast she did not eat. She thought of Warwick up there on the flybridge, and found it difficult to believe that the only man she had ever found exciting was now her biggest enemy.

      The way he had looked at her a few minutes ago, the way he had spoken, the way his whole body had rejected her, was like a nightmare in itself. They had been so close the day before, emotionally as well as physically, and she had been sure he felt the same. Now she knew that he was simply a very good actor.

      Crawling out on to the deck, Libby prayed the sunshine would inject some heat into her icy limbs. At this moment she felt that she would never be warm again. She remained sitting with her back against the cabin, her hands around her knees, until they reached Lanzarote. She had no wish at all to speak to Warwick again.

      He carefully nosed the boat into a harbour that was much smaller than the marina at Puerto Colon, but as soon as he came down to tie up Libby disappeared into her cabin. Within minutes her door banged open. ‘Get your bag,’ he said brusquely.

      ‘I’ll stay here,’ she snapped back.

      ‘And run away the moment my back’s turned? I’m not that much of a fool, Elizabeth. I’ve arranged for a friend of mine to look after you while I conduct my business.’

      As if I were a child! she thought angrily. ‘If you’re that worried I’ll escape, why don’t you take me with you?’ she yelled, her purple eyes flashing. ‘Or lock me in. Wouldn’t that be a better proposition?’ It seemed more in keeping with the type of man he was turning out to be.

      He did not answer. With her wrist firmly clamped in one of