Seduced by His Target. Gail Barrett

was going to escape these men.

      But she had to help Henry recover first. Her own stomach growling, she opened the flap on the saddlebag and rooted inside for food. She unearthed a container filled with some kind of jerky, several bags of dried fruit and nuts and a cache of coca leaves. She set the food on a towel with a bottle of water, then gently nudged Henry’s arm. “Henry, wake up. You need to eat.”

      He opened his eyes with a groan. “What?”

      “Come on. You haven’t eaten in hours.”

      Grimacing, he sat up straighter and glanced around. “Where are we?”

      “I don’t know. We’ve been heading north toward the border with Colombia.” She handed him the water bottle. “We’ve descended quite a bit, though, so you should start feeling better before too long.”

      “I hope so. My head...”

      Nadine peered into his bloodshot eyes. “Your pupils look normal. How’s your vision?”

      “Better. Clear. And the ringing in my ears has stopped. But I’m tired. And this blasted headache...”

      “Try to eat something, and then you can take a nap.” She pulled the towel closer, making it easier for him to reach.

      “I don’t suppose you have any painkillers?”

      “No, just the coca leaves.”

      Henry grunted. “Looks like I’ll get some firsthand experience with folk medicine this trip.”

      “I’d rather get you to a hospital.” Not that she discounted the coca leaves. A natural analgesic, the locals had used them for centuries to treat everything from broken bones and malaria to asthma and fatigue. But Henry needed more medical care than that.

      Nibbling a slice of jerky, she turned her mind back to their main problem: how to escape. Their medical team would alert the authorities, of course. But they’d been too high in the mountains to reach civilization for at least another day. And until they did, until the government could mobilize their forces and send out someone to search for them, she and Henry were on their own.

      But Henry couldn’t hike. He’d never survive a flight on horseback with the kidnappers in full pursuit. And even if they had the supplies, even if they wanted to hide out in the mountains until their kidnappers gave up and left, Henry didn’t have the luxury of time. So unless a miracle occurred, they were out of luck. She’d have to wait until they reached a town where they could find a car.

      She glanced at Henry again. He’d collapsed against the tree trunk, already asleep, a half-eaten slice of jerky in his hand. Hoping the nap would do him good, she returned her attention to the three men concluding their prayers. A minute later Rasheed broke away from the group and headed her way.

      Her heart began to drum. She dropped her gaze, feigning fascination with her jerky as he joined her at the tree. He lowered himself to the ground beside Henry and reached for the bags of food, and she struggled to stay aloof—but he was too blatantly male to ignore. She took in the impressive breadth of his shoulders, the thick tendons roping his tanned arms, and her pulse beat faster yet.

      Rasheed’s gaze tangled with hers. Her nerves made a little hum. He studied her with the clear sexual interest she’d come to expect from men. But his expression seemed more thoughtful, more assessing, as if she were a mystery he was trying to solve.

      “So what kind of doctor are you?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling in the quiet air.

      “A good enough one to know that Henry needs help.”

      He glanced at the sleeping doctor, then back to her. “I meant, do you have a specialty?”

      “Why? What difference does it make?”

      “None at all.”

      Averting her gaze, she hugged her knees. She didn’t want to talk to her captor. She didn’t trust this attempt at civility, this sudden desire to act nice. It was probably a good cop, bad cop routine he’d worked out with the other men, a way to make her malleable.

      But if there was any chance he’d intercede on Henry’s behalf, it wouldn’t hurt to cooperate—up to a point. “I’m a plastic surgeon.”

      His dark brows rose. “Is there a need for that out here?”

      “There’s a need for it everywhere people suffer abuse.” She shot him a pointed look. “Men like to inflict pain. Women and children pay the price.”

      Rasheed looked away—but not before she caught an emotion stealing through his eyes, a hint of something bleak.

      His reaction threw her for a loop. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected—a snarky remark about BOTOX or maybe a shrugged dismissal, reactions she’d experienced often enough. But for a second, Rasheed had looked...haunted, as if she’d triggered a memory that caused him pain.

      Was that why he’d become a terrorist? Had he suffered a personal loss, experiencing a pain so devastating that he’d gone rogue, and lashed back at society? He didn’t seem the terrorist type—he treated Henry with a basic kindness that seemed at odds with his violent life. And she should know. She’d seen the real deal—men like her brother with his ingrained cruelty. And try as she might, she couldn’t quite see Rasheed that way.

      So maybe he’d started out as a good guy and then gone off the rails. Or maybe he’d been brainwashed into extremism, an idealistic young man searching for meaning who’d fallen victim to a radical ideology.

      She didn’t care. She couldn’t. This man was a criminal. His life, his past, whatever private suffering he’d endured didn’t matter to her. She had to keep her focus on where it belonged—getting Henry free.

      He downed a handful of nuts, then packed up the remaining food. “We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

      “Already? We just got here.” She glanced at Henry in alarm. “Can’t we let him rest for a while? He needs to sleep.”

      “Sorry.”

      “But—”

      “We can’t.” His voice rang with finality. He took out a couple of empty water bottles and a packet of purification tablets, and set them on the grass. “Go fill these up in the stream.”

      “What? You think I’m your servant now?”

      “No, I think you need the water. I’ve got enough for myself. But if you and Henry want to go without...” He got to his feet with a shrug. Then he picked up the saddlebag and strode off.

      She opened her mouth to protest. But damned if he wasn’t right. She had to take care of Henry, even if it meant following this man’s orders—for now. Still scowling, she gathered the bottles and rose.

      But as she worked her way through the bushes and undergrowth toward the mountain stream, more doubts spun through her mind. She wasn’t prone to illusions. She didn’t indulge in useless fantasies. She was good at reading people—she’d had to be to survive the years she’d spent on the streets. So why did Rasheed seem so different to her? Was it merely wishful thinking? Was it an aftereffect of the kidnapping, a result of the trauma she’d been through? Or was there a chance that she was right, and he actually cared about them?

      She didn’t know. And until she was sure, she had to watch her step. Rasheed was smart. She hadn’t misjudged the intelligence in his penetrating black eyes. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake with Henry’s life at stake—not to mention her own.

      When she reached the creek, she headed upstream to a spot where the water ran clear and fast. She knelt and filled the bottles, adding the purification tablets to make it safe. That done, she took a minute to wash her hands and face, letting the cold, clean water soothe her nerves.

      Behind her, a chinchilla scurried through the grass. Birds twittered in a nearby shrub. The warm breeze rustled the trees, the tranquil scene at odds with the nightmare her life had