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Belle held her breath,terrified of what Mwana’s reaction would be to Nick’s bald statement. Nick wasn’t aware that Mwana carried a hidden gun as well as the knife. Her heart hammered as she prayed Nick wouldn’t give him cause to use it. For the umpteenth time, she tried to catch his eye so she could signal him somehow, but he evaded her.
Look at me!
But his gaze remained on her captor.
Fear and frustration engulfed her. She glanced around wildly, trying to find something, anything, to balance the odds in their Favor.
She noticed movement in her peripheral vision. A few feet away, Bertrand’s foot twitched. He was regaining consciousness.
Praying Mwana wouldn’t notice, she pretended to wilt against him. When he hoisted her up, she repositioned herself closer to the butler. She waited until Mwana started talking, then sagged again. This time she got close enough to subtly nudge Bertrand with her foot.
The foot twitched again and to distract Mwana, she spoke loudly. “Please, I can’t breathe,” she moaned, and saw Nick’sfists clench tighter. It tore her apart to see what her preteens did to him.
Again, she tried to capture his attention, to signal she was all right, but he was focused with deadly intent on Mwana. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bertrand’s foot move, then slowly withdraw completely from her field of vision.
Mwana hoisted her up, his arm pressing against her windpipe. “Never mind, my sweet. We’re getting out of here now. I’m tired of talking. Tell your husband to move, would you? I hate to resort to violence, and your skin is too lovely to mar with knife wounds.”
This time Nick’s eyes connected with hers, but only for a split second, and the look in them stilled her heart. Raw, murderous intent, calm, deadly determination, and an indecipherable emotion twisted together to chill her blood.
She knew he wouldn’t let the other man leave with her. Nick would rather die than let her go.
And it was that thought which scared her the most. The thought of him in danger made her insides churn with fear.
Mwana shuffled forward, dragging her along.
Nick took a sideways step, his stance loose and easy, as if making way for them.
She closed her eyes and made her decision.
Thank God for stilettos. She stamped down hard on Mwana’s foot.
The next few moments blurred into one. The instant Mwana’s arm loosened its hold on her, Nick lunged forward and yanked her away, spinning her aside. She crashed against the sink, but managed to stop herself from falling.
Nick grabbed Mwana’s arm holding the knife and landed a punch in his solar plexus.
The madman didn’t even wheeze in pain. Calmly, he reached behind him.
“Watch out, Nick, he’s got a gun!” she cried, trying to get round Nick again.
“Belle, get back!” he bellowed.
Expecting the gun to be levelled at them any second, her stomach lurched with terror. She struggled to get past Nick, but his body blocked her, pinning the hand with the knife against the cupboard.
Mwana continued to grope, and after a second, a look of incomprehension crossed his face.
He spun around.
And came face to face with Bertrand, who held Mwana’s gun firmly in his hands. The butler looked bruised, but not bloodied, thank God.
Mwana turned back to Nick, a look of pure hatred burning in his eyes. With a curdled cry, he lunged.
Nick met him halfway, this time with a fist to his jaw. Mwana crashed back against the granite kitchen island. He scrambled to rise, and again Nick punched him in the face. The sickening crunch of shattering bone ricocheted through the kitchen.
Mwana flailed backwards and lost his balance. Nick aimed a kick squarely at his ribs. The rebel leader grunted in pain and went down like a sack of potatoes. Belle heard a horrid crack as his head slammed against the stone corner of the counter, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Nick, barely breathing hard from his exertions, stood looking down at Mwana’s still form, his face expressionless. Then he turned to Belle and tugged her close.
His hands gently cradled her face. “Are you okay?”