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“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? All you’d have to say is that it’s your turn to keep the baby, and I’d be the one forced to prove otherwise. By the time they got the mess straightened out, you’d be long gone.” He shook his head. “No, chèr’. The only place I know I’ll get justice is in my neck of the woods.”
His neck of the woods. Where, exactly, was that? From his use of the word chèr’, she guessed Louisiana…but she couldn’t be sure. Cajun communities in Texas, Mississippi, even South Carolina and California, also used the term. She certainly couldn’t ask him where he was from. If she was Camryn, she’d know.
Kate stiffened in fury as he gripped her arm and forced her into step beside him. He seemed pretty darn sure of himself. Maybe she’d tell the authorities her real name and charge him with kidnapping her! Perhaps then she’d be granted custody of Arianne.
“Don’t worry about your suitcases,” he said. “I’ll send my driver in to get them once I have you situated in the van.”
Situated? In a van? She didn’t like the sound of that.
“Oh, and just in case you’re planning on screaming when we step outside,” he murmured, settling his palm against her nape, “all I have to do is apply the right amount of pressure here—” his thumb pressed into the sensitive indentation near her hairline “—to render you unconscious. You’d then have to make the entire trip bound and gagged.” His hand remained cupped around her nape, making her all the more aware of his strength and heat and male toughness. “The choice is yours, chèr’.”
She couldn’t wait to have him thrown in jail for kidnapping her…and to get full, permanent custody of Arianne.
Assuming, of course, he really did intend to hand her over to the authorities. As he ushered her out the door, through the garage and into the back of a van with heavily tinted windows, her hands in cuffs and her neck encircled by that strong, ruthless hand, Kate began to have her doubts about that. If he hated Camryn enough, a man like him might simply murder her.
She wouldn’t give in to the steadily mounting fear, though. She couldn’t afford the luxury of cowardice.
Arianne needed her.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE’D NEVER BEEN a prisoner before. She was definitely one now.
Mitch had escorted her to the rear bench seat in a maroon passenger van parked just outside her garage. The van’s tinted windows stopped outsiders from seeing in…which, of course, prevented the prisoner inside from signaling for help. The handcuffs binding her wrists behind her back also greatly curtailed her chances of attracting attention.
A dull sense of fear throbbed through her like a toothache.
He settled in beside her, blocking her access to the door. Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans that emphasized the musculature of his chest, arms and thighs, he gave the impression of immense, ruthless power barely contained. He sat close enough for Kate to feel the heat from his sinewy arm, and she shifted as far away from him as possible in the suddenly tight confines of the back seat.
“Are these handcuffs really necessary?” she asked. “How on earth do you think I could possibly escape?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past you, Cam,” he murmured.
She bit back words of protest, afraid that if she didn’t, he’d gag her.
The driver, a dark, burly man wearing a black sports cap, a sleeveless green muscle shirt and tattoos on his impressive biceps, drove the van west from Tallahassee on I-10. Kate wondered how long the ride would be. And if she would survive it.
She truly was at the mercy of these men.
Mitch distracted her from her growing fear by reaching over the seat for her purse, which his cohort had carried to the van along with her luggage. As Mitch rifled through the contents of her suede handbag, she held her breath.
Her goal of reclaiming Arianne could very well depend on her impersonation of Camryn. The identification cards in her wallet would give her away. Although she could explain away the driver’s license in the name of Kathryn Jones by saying she’d applied for it under her alias, its date of issue was nearly a year ago. If Mitch noticed the date, he’d realize that Camryn couldn’t have been in Tallahassee at that time.
Another problem was the campus identification card naming her as Kathryn Jones, Ph.D., professor of history, Florida State University. Why would Camryn have gone to the trouble of manufacturing that?
Kate breathed freely again only when her captor nudged aside her wallet and pulled out, instead, a small container of pepper spray. She’d actually forgotten about that neat little defensive weapon. Since she had no intention of escaping before she discovered who he was, where he lived and where he’d sent Arianne, she hadn’t concentrated on arming herself.
“Put this up for safekeeping, Darryl.” He tossed the pepper spray to his driver, who caught it without taking his eyes from the road. “Wouldn’t want my sweet bride bringing more tears to my eyes, would I?”
His sweet bride. The sarcasm was heavy in his otherwise light tone. Was he angry, not only because Camryn had taken the baby, but because she’d left him?
After latching the purse closed, he tossed it behind the seats, where they’d stored her luggage. Kate gave silent thanks that he hadn’t examined her identification cards and unmasked her as an imposter. He probably would have dropped her off on the side of the road, leaving her no means of tracking Arianne. Unless, of course, she caught the license-plate number of the van—a feat she hadn’t managed when he’d hurried her into the vehicle. But even a tag number didn’t assure success of tracking down a determined person. For all she knew, the van could be stolen, or rented under a false name.
She made a mental note, though, to check the tag number at the first chance, as well as dispose of her identification cards, if those opportunities ever arose.
Her captor leaned forward and folded down the seat in front of them into a low bench. He then lounged back in his seat, extended his long legs across the bench and rested his arm along the back of her seat. The pose brought him even closer to her, while his vivid green gaze locked with hers. “So, tell me…why did you run with Arianne? And what have you been doing since you left? I’d like to know what kind of life my daughter has been leading.”
Although he spoke softly, there was no mistaking his anger. Would something she’d say provoke him to violence? Her fear intensified. She was afraid to answer, yet afraid to remain silent.
Her drumming pulse and sweating palms brought back memories of childhood terror: late-night visits at the girls’ dorm from a staff member in the children’s home who talked gently, then lashed out with his belt…brutally, repeatedly, in a frenzied rage. He’d been fired when the girls had built up the collective nerve to report him—and he’d never applied that horrifying strap to Kate or Camryn—but the fear itself had scarred them both.
Kate would always be wary of quiet-talking, angry men.
“Well?” His tawny brows drew together in an impatient frown. “What have you been doing with Arianne?”
The very depth of her fear tripped some internal switch of Kate’s. Imprisoned though she was, she wouldn’t give in to the terror. She had to fight as she always had—by keeping in mind who she was and where she intended to go in life. She was no longer a helpless, parentless child in a world controlled by strangers, but a respected member of her community, a well-esteemed educator, whose word in court would carry considerable weight. She would fight her fear by keeping her wits about her, by using those wits against her captor until she knew enough about him to be sure of finding Arianne.
Straightening her spine, she gazed at him in her most quelling manner, the one that set wayward students to stuttering. “First you tell me…where have you sent Arianne?”
He stared at her in some surprise. Had he frightened Camryn so badly that she’d stopped talking back to him? Afraid that it might be so, Kate braced herself for a physical blow.
“You don’t need to know where she is,” he finally replied, his tone curt now rather than soft.
“Then you don’t need to know where she’s been.”
A muscle flexed in his lean jaw, but he remained exactly as he’d been, in a deceptively casual pose with his arm resting on the back of her seat. The silence spun out into a long, tense standoff.
“If you really care about her, though,” Kate added, “you do need to be aware of her dietary requirements.”
“Dietary requirements?” he repeated in blank amazement, as if he’d never heard the term but found it fascinating.
“It means there are certain foods she can’t—”
“I know what it means. I’m just surprised you do.” His eyes had narrowed on her in a searching look that told her he hadn’t meant the retort as an insult; he clearly was surprised that she’d used the term.
She saw then what she’d missed before—the keen intelligence in his eyes. Its magnitude startled her. She’d assumed that he, like the other men in Camryn’s life, had more brawn than brains.
He was absolutely right. Camryn wouldn’t have worded the concept quite that way. In fact, she probably wouldn’t have given the subject itself more than a passing thought.
Kate compressed her lips in self-annoyance. To succeed in this impersonation, she’d have to stay in character. “I’m just telling you what the doctor said. Arianne has digestive prob—uh, stomachaches when she eats the wrong foods. It took a while, but we figured out the ones she can and can’t eat.”
“Like what?”
At least he’d bought the explanation, it seemed. Which had, after all, been true. Now she had to concentrate on finding clues to who was keeping the baby. Anxiety over Arianne’s welfare clawed at her insides. “I’d rather talk to whoever is taking care of her.”
“You’ll speak to me. No one else.”
She shrugged, glanced away and adopted Camryn’s most vacuous look. She hoped he couldn’t detect the concern radiating from her heart like solar power.
“What can’t she eat, Camryn?” Annoyance resounded in his deep, gruff voice.
She pursed her lips in the provocative way Camryn would to signify a secret she was keeping.
His jaw shifted; his gaze hardened. Perhaps he did care about Arianne, in his own twisted way. He probably viewed her as a prized possession—a trophy in his war with Camryn.
Kate wondered if he would resort to violence now. She’d sensed his temper rising.
After a long, disgruntled stare, though, he drew a cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number. His tone, when he spoke, was brusque. “How is she?”
Kate watched as he listened, her heart picking up speed. She desperately wanted to know the answer to that question. His rugged, angular face gave nothing away. She envisioned gangsterlike characters dealing with her sweet, frightened baby. She prayed that they’d be gentle. Caring. Competent…please, God…
“Have you fed her yet?” he asked into the phone.
Kate strained to hear the reply. She thought she heard peals of distress. Like a baby crying…Mama-Mama!
Her restraint broke, and she turned to Mitch imploringly. “Please bring her to me! She won’t understand why I’m not there. Seeing only strangers will scare her.”
“You’re not getting your hands on her again.”
“You don’t really care about her at all, do you? If she’s given milk-based formula, she’ll get sick. She’ll be in misery all night.”
“Don’t give her milk,” he uttered into the phone.
“Soy-based formula,” she stressed, and emphatically named a particular brand. “And no baby foods with spices, preservatives or added sugar. I feed her only fresh fruits and vegetables that I puree myself.” Her throat cramped; her eyes misted. “She likes sweet potatoes, and…c-carrots.” Turning her face away from him, she croaked in a half whisper, “And pears.”
Determinedly she fought against the tears. She would not cry in front of him.
“Sweet potatoes, carrots and pears,” he repeated into the phone. “And fix ’em yourself. You know—with a blender.” After a moment, he continued, “Of course you’ll have to wait till you get home to do that. Until then, give her soy formula and, uh, crackers or something. Without salt or preservatives. I’m counting on you, Joey.”
Joey. Mitch’s accomplice was named Joey. Whoever he was, she couldn’t imagine him caring for the baby with the same nurturing tenderness that she herself would. She hated to imagine anything less. Anguished, she stared out the window at the blur of roadside forest whizzing by.
After he’d ended his conversation with the mysterious Joey, Mitch muttered, “Now you know how I felt for six whole months.”
She refused to believe him. He had no heart.
“But then, this is probably just another grand performance of yours to win my sympathy,” he said. “Don’t waste your time. I’m not about to let you go, or give you access to my daughter.”
Horrible man!
“If you really cared about her,” he continued, “you wouldn’t have deprived her of a father, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.”
Kate tightened her lips in dismay. Grandparents, aunt, uncles, cousins? She’d never considered the possibility that Mitch had a family. It somehow made him seem more human. It also triggered an age-old response in her that she couldn’t help—envy. A family with parents and siblings was, to her, an unattainable dream.
She had to remind herself that the simple fact of having a family didn’t make this man a worthy father. He’d forced his way into her home. Kidnapped her. Kept her in chains. She had no trouble believing he’d abused Camryn and the baby.
If he had, he’d deserved every miserable minute of his six months’ worth of anxiety. Assuming, of course, that he’d felt any. This kidnapping could just as easily stem from a sick desire to control his wife.
And as far as his family went, they were probably at the root of his antisocial behavior. She’d do everything she could to get Arianne away from him. As soon as she figured out how. She had to think, think, think!
The first logical step would be to learn his full name and where he lived. A peek at his driver’s license would certainly help. Could she possibly lift his wallet? She’d never tried to pick a pocket before.
And she couldn’t try now with her hands cuffed.
She shifted a tentative gaze to him. Her heart accelerated as their gazes locked. “I, um, don’t mean to complain, but…uh…these handcuffs are getting uncomfortable.”
He didn’t look in the least sympathetic. But after a tense, silent moment, he shifted in his seat, drew a small key from his jeans pocket and reached around her. The heat of his nearness, the surprising appeal of his musky scent, the utterly masculine presence he radiated, clouded her mind with an uncomfortable awareness.
Yes, indeed, the man was dangerous. Although she loathed him, she understood why her sister had been attracted to him. He was all man. And Kate herself had relatively little experience with the breed. She literally held her breath until the handcuffs swung free of her wrists and he drew his well-muscled body away from her.
She rubbed her wrists and averted her gaze.
Mitch settled back in his seat feeling nothing but resentment toward her. She was damn lucky he hadn’t wrung her pretty neck. She’d ripped out his heart by taking Arianne and kept him in agony for six long months…and didn’t seem a damn bit sorry for it, either.
In fact, he sensed only an odd determination in her—one that he didn’t understand. What was she up to? Something about the way she looked at him, the way she held herself, the tone of her voice, even the words she chose, seemed so…un-Camryn-like.
He had no doubt the change was deliberate. She was obviously a better actress than he’d realized. Diabolical, even. He had a fairly good guess as to why she’d changed. She’d probably set her sights on a guy who preferred a classier image for his woman than the one she’d been projecting.
Her long, platinum-streaked blond hair, which she’d usually worn flowing in sexy disarray, had been replaced by a primly braided, dark blond upsweep. That alone was enough to change her image completely. Also missing was the dramatic makeup that had added a wicked allure to her natural beauty. If she was wearing makeup at all, it was minimal. And she wasn’t sporting her usual jewelry—a profusion of bracelets, rings and necklaces, as well as big, dangling earrings. Now she displayed only a single sapphire ring, one demure gold chain and tiny gold studs at her ears.
Her clothes were another remarkable difference. She’d always favored tight short-shorts, halter tops and high-heeled strappy sandals. When she’d gone out for the evening—which she often had—she’d donned sensational low-cut dresses, usually in red or black. Always sexy, even after the pregnancy had compromised her chorus-girl figure. Now she wore relatively long khaki shorts, a simple sleeveless white blouse and low-heeled sandals.
Not that she wasn’t still sexy. She was. Maybe more so. But he’d be damned if he’d think about that.
Disgruntled that he’d even noticed, he watched the passing scenery.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the changes in her, though. Like the cotton underwear she’d packed in her suitcase instead of her usual see-through lace. Her current lover apparently wanted a woman drastically different from the real Camryn. Poor bastard.
The deception went much deeper than her clothes or appearance. Even her household had undergone a change. She’d never shown the slightest interest in making their house a home. It had never been more to her than a temporary resting place. The house she now lived in was as cozy and elegant a home as he’d ever seen.
But then, maybe the house wasn’t hers. Because the investigator had spotted her yesterday—on the Fourth of July—he hadn’t had the chance to discover anything at all about her current activities—whom she lived with, what she owned. Not that any of that information mattered much, now that he had her.
Mitch assumed the house belonged to the new man in her life. That would explain the house, the furniture, the leather-bound books, the piano. The guy was in for a rude awakening when Camryn’s true colors began to shine through. Which, in time, they would.
It had taken Mitch himself quite a long while to understand her true character. When they were first married, she’d promised to be a good mother. She quit smoking and drinking for her unborn baby’s sake, and actively tried to win his family’s approval. Though their marriage wasn’t based on love, he’d believed they stood a chance of making their parenthood work. By the fourth month of her pregnancy, though, the novelty of being his wife had worn off, and she’d begun sneaking off to bars and casinos every night in search of new thrills.
She had him served with divorce papers one month after the baby was born. She’d been ready to move on to greener pastures. Too bad she hadn’t stayed to follow up on the legal details…like whether the divorce had gone through.
She’d put on quite a show for the court proceedings, especially at the custody hearing. She’d pulled her hair back with a bow, used very little makeup and wore a sweet yellow sundress to court. Fortunately for him, the judge knew her from various local bars and understood a good deal about her true character. Otherwise, he might not have believed Mitch when he’d testified to her negligence with Arianne.
Camryn was and always would be a self-centered party girl who wanted her kicks regardless of who suffered, including her infant daughter.
And that brought up more questions about this drastic change in her. If she was aiming to please a man, why had she chosen someone who clearly preferred a more sedate woman? Didn’t sound like Camryn’s idea of fun. Maybe the guy had money. Or…power.
That was a disturbing thought. Maybe this dramatic change in persona was part of a plan to arm herself with money and power. The poor sap she was involved with would probably meet them in the courtroom with a highpowered attorney and deep pockets full of ready cash. The prospect only strengthened his resolve to get her to Louisiana to face a judge who knew the true story. No amount of money or legal shenanigans would sway Judge Breaux—not when it came to the welfare of a child.
But what if she convinced the judge that motherhood had changed her into a decent, caring, model parent?
That had to be the driving force behind the change in her. Anxiety surged through Mitch. He knew Camryn enough to be sure that the differences were only superficial. When she had achieved her ends, she would revert to her old fun-craving, irresponsible, negligent self.
