Page 10 of The Captive (The Kelley Legacy #5)

F our days. Lana could barely comprehend how four days had passed and she was still being kept against her will in a desolate cabin in northern California. Why hadn’t the kidnappers contacted her family yet? Or maybe they had, and her family was refusing to negotiate with them….

She forced the scary thought from her mind, fixing her gaze out the small rusted window in the bedroom.

No, her father would never stand for this.

Hank Kelley, despite his many flaws, would never allow his daughter to be held captive for a second longer than necessary.

Maybe Le Clair was the one stalling. He could always be holding out for more money.

More money for what, though? What was this even about?

A straight-up ransom thing? Or did it have to do with her dad’s recent scandal?

Could Le Clair be blackmailing Hank—maybe threatening to reveal some more damaging information?

None of this made sense to her. There were no answers, no clarity.

Just the knowledge that she was a prisoner.

Moving to the window of the bedroom, Lana examined the barren land through the dirty windowpane.

Her pulse quickened when she caught sight of Charlie standing several yards away, a rifle slung over his shoulder and his shaved head gleaming in the pale afternoon sun.

The man’s dark gaze was sharp as a hawk’s, moving left and right in a practiced sweep of the area.

She suspected the others had taken up similar positions to guard the cabin.

To make sure nobody approached unseen—and that she couldn’t escape.

Trapped. She was utterly trapped, and a rush of pure helplessness hit her body. Her hands slid down to her still-flat belly, stroking it protectively.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered. “We’re going to get out of this.”

She’d begun talking to the baby often over the days. She hoped he or she was finding her voice reassuring. It reassured her, too, despite the fact that she’d never been prone to talking to herself.

“Your granddaddy is going to pay the bad men whatever they want,” she continued softly, stroking her stomach. “And then we’ll go home. You’re going to love your grandparents’ house. It’s big and beautiful and you’ll have so much room to play….”

Her voice drifted, as she realized she had no clue if she and the baby would even live in the Beverly Hills mansion.

She probably ought to get her own place, or maybe find a cozy little ranch house in Montana, near the Bar Lazy K, her brother Cole’s ranch.

But her mother would probably want her close by.

Mom would adore being a grandma. Her eldest brother, Chase, had two kids with his wife, but Lana’s mother didn’t get to see them often.

Only once a year, when she flew out to Chase’s cattle station in Australia.

Chase hadn’t returned to the States since he’d left at the age of eighteen, determined to be rid of his father.

Lana didn’t understand her older brother’s decision. Their dad might not be the best paternal role model, but he was still family. She had no intention of ever abandoning her family the way Chase had.

God, she missed them. Cole and Dylan, the handsome serious twins.

Jake, with his reckless love of adventure.

Jim, only a year older than her and yet her biggest protector.

And her mother. God, she wondered how Mom was faring.

First the shocking revelation of Hank’s affairs and now her daughter kidnapped.

Tears stung Lana’s eyes. She moved away from the window, just as the lock clicked and the door swung open. Deacon’s broad frame filled the doorway. He held a small plate loaded with thin slices of carrots and celery.

“I thought you might want a snack,” he said, his features creased with hesitation.

She swiped at her tears with the sleeve of her burgundy mohair sweater. “Thanks,” she said dully, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

Deacon handed her the plate, and though she was too depressed to eat, she mechanically bit into one carrot and forced herself to chew.

The baby needed nourishment, and she refused to deprive it of a solitary thing.

So far, she hadn’t experienced any morning sickness, which was fortunate.

She had no clue how she’d explain it to Deacon, who would be the one taking her to and from the bathroom if her stomach began to rebel.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Gee, Delta. ” She used the name she heard the other men call him, mostly out of spite.

“I’m doing great. I’m locked up in a tiny room.

I’m not allowed to go outside. I get all my meals brought in to me like I’m a naughty child who can’t eat with the grown-ups.

I’ve been kidnapped. By a man I had sex with, no less.

Oh, and my back hurts. Any other questions? ”

“You’d like to go outside?”

She faltered. Seriously? Out of everything she’d just unloaded on him, that was what he hung on to? But she decided to dial down on the anger. Truth was, she was tired of being cooped up inside.

“Yes, actually, I would.”

“Put on your coat then. It’s windy out there.”

She hid her shock. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, she set the plate down on the desk and reached for the knee-length red parka her captors had given her.

She had a feeling red was a deliberate choice of color.

She’d be more likely to stand out in this bland landscape if she tried to run.

She put on the coat, zipped it up to the neck, then undid her ponytail and let her hair loose. She noticed Deacon watching her with an indefinable expression, his serious eyes resting on the long blond tresses falling over her shoulders.

“What?” she said, oddly defensive.

He cleared his throat. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go.”

She didn’t object as he took her arm and led her out the door. She suspected idyllic strolls in the mountains weren’t what Le Clair had had in mind when he’d arranged to kidnap her, and she was grateful that Deacon was being so nice about it.

Nice?

She’d obviously gone nuts. There was nothing nice about any of this. She was a prisoner, for Pete’s sake.

“Stockholm syndrome,” she mumbled under her breath.

Deacon cocked his head. “What?”

“Nothing.”

When they entered the living room, Lana saw Tango, aka Scar Cheek, lying on one couch, while the enormous man she now recognized as Kilo sat in a ratty old recliner, his eyes closed.

Those eyes snapped open the moment Deacon and Lana entered, and a harsh scowl immediately spread across the man’s mouth.

“What’s she doing out here?” Kilo demanded, glaring at Deacon.

“Getting some air,” Deacon replied lightly.

“Does the boss know about this?”

“He will soon.” Deacon kept his tone casual as he walked Lana to the front door.

The moment they stepped on the porch, a gust of wind slammed into her, making her hair blow around in all directions. But the chill of the breeze was nothing compared to the cold gunmetal-gray eyes they encountered.

“What’s going on here, Delta?” Le Clair snapped when he caught sight of them. He’d been sitting on a white wicker chair with a cell phone in his hand, but he stood the moment they came outside.

“Miss Kelley requested some air,” Deacon said quietly. “I didn’t think you’d object.”

Le Clair’s gaze zeroed in on Lana, then rested on the tight grip of Deacon’s hand on her arm. After a second, his features relaxed and he gave a shrug. “Fine. Make it quick.”

“Yes, sir.”

They descended the creaky porch steps and ventured farther, their boots crunching against the stiff dead grass as they walked across it.

“How can you answer to that man?” Lana muttered, keeping her voice low so it didn’t carry with the wind.

“I have no choice. Everyone answers to someone, Lana.”

“Well, I’d never work for a man like that. He’s evil.” The wind snaked its way under her hair, lifting stray strands and whipping them around. “Has my father been contacted yet?” Deacon hesitated.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Yes.”

The admission seemed difficult for him, and it surprised the hell out of Lana. So her dad knew about the kidnapping? He knew and he’d sat around twiddling his thumbs for four days now?

A terrifying thought slid into her head. “Is he refusing to pay?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” she echoed. She stopped walking, planting her hands on her hips. “What is going on, Deacon? You said this was about money.”

“It is.” His tone didn’t sound so convincing anymore.

Fear gathered in Lana’s stomach. “Then why am I still here? Why hasn’t an exchange been made?”

His chest rose as he drew in a long breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated.

Silence fell between them. They began to walk again, moving around the small clearing.

Lana could feel Le Clair’s gaze on them, and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingled.

In the distance, the mountains towered over the landscape almost ominously, and yet they brought a strange sense of comfort.

At least she had an idea of where she was.

If she got the chance to speak to her family, she knew she needed to figure out a way to give them a clue of her whereabouts.

Trying to be discreet, she glanced around, looking at the bushes across the clearing, the scattering of boulders to her left. Maybe if she could find a way out of the bed room in the middle of the night, she could run toward those rocks and—

“Don’t even think about it,” Deacon said sternly.

She guiltily avoided his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re plotting your escape.” He let out a heavy sigh. “There are motion sensors rigged all over this mountain, Lana. Outside your window, too. You’d only be wasting your time.”

She tried to hide the disappointment weighing down on her chest. Well, at least she’d tried.