Stolen Life (Beauty in the Stolen 2)

The sun is gloriously warm in the clear blue sky. It makes me regret not taking a cap and sunglasses. Instead, I close my eyes and tilt my face to the warmth as he rows us away from the shore toward the middle of the river.

For a while, all I hear is the distant call of a hadeda and the splashing of the water as he dips the oars. Out here, the violent roar of the waterfall a kilometer or so away is mere pleasant background noise. I open my eyes to take in the scene. He’s a portrait of strength and virility, his arms bulging and his pecs flexing as he steers us deeper into the water. I imagine him wearing nothing but that necklace. I’ll definitely strip him naked when we get to our destination.

A boulder of rocks on the right slows the flow of the water, creating a natural dam. Beyond the boulder, the river speeds up and crashes over rapids. The surface is quiet here, quiet enough for rowing, but strong currents mill below. It’s not safe for swimming. Plus, there could be hippos and crocodiles. We won’t be dipping our toes in the water unless he’s rowing us to a beach on the opposite side with safety nets that make swimming possible, like the ones I’ve seen in Lake Malawi. Even in the boat we’re not one hundred percent safe. Hippos are known to capsize small boats.

Where is he taking us? I have my answer when he stops smack-bang in the middle of the river and lowers the oars into the boat. We’re floating with me facing the jetty and him the opposite shore.

I shoot him a puzzled look.

“Strip,” he says.

“What?” I look around. “Here?”

“Yes, here.”

He’s got that determined light in his eyes that says he won’t be reasoned with. Appeasing him, I unbutton my shorts and wiggle them over my hips. The movement rocks the boat, but he doesn’t seem worried about being capsized. He waits patiently for me to remove my T-shirt.

When I’ve stripped down to my bikini, he holds out a hand. “Give me your bag.”

It doesn’t make sense. “Why?”

He leans over and takes it where it lies at my feet, making the boat rock dangerously. I grab the edges, sucking in a breath when the cold water splashes over the sides and onto my arms and stomach.

He unzips my bag, takes out my phone, and dumps the bag into the water. I stare at the pink faux leather that drifts on the surface, unable to form a coherent thought as the contents sink to the bottom. I look on dumbfoundedly as the bag swallows water. The pink dunks under the surface, the color fading to a muddy, nude-pink before turning brown like the river.

Something is wrong.

Something is terribly wrong.

My heart hammers a beat between my ribs as I look back at him. “What are you doing?” I swallow. “Why did you tell me to strip?”

He looks me dead in the eye. “To make sure you’re not wearing a wire.”

He knows.

Shit.

“Ian, I can explain.”

“Quiet.”

He unlocks my phone and swipes across the screen, going through my messages or whatever. How did he find out? Did he have me followed? My mind races back to my meeting with Wolfe. Except for his men, there was only that driver. He took a photo of the falls with his phone like everyone does. Only, now I know better. He took a photo of me.

“Ian,” I say in a tremulous voice. “Why did you bring me here?”

He lifts his gaze fleetingly to mine. His normally expressive eyes are void of emotion. “This is a safe place to talk.”

It clicks into place—why he brought me out here in the middle of the river and why he dumped my bag into the water. He’s making sure our conversation can’t be transmitted in any way. He’s being careful to destroy any possible bugs.

“I love you,” I whisper, clutching the pendant around my neck. “You know that.”

It’s like a knife in my stomach when he doesn’t acknowledge the words. When he stills, I know he’s found the recording on my phone. I don’t even try to stop him when he presses on play.

He doesn’t spare me. He makes me listen to every word. He plays the whole conversation, right to the very end. When it’s finished, he extends his arm over the water, opens his fingers, and drops the phone.

Only then he lets me see what’s going on inside him. Disappointment burns in the depth of his brown eyes. The amber flecks simmer with hurt. I know what he feels, because I felt it when Danai handed me Wolfe’s note.

“Ian, I—”

A movement on the jetty catches my eye. Ruben. He stands on the edge like a soldier on guard. What he holds in his hands sends a bolt of shock through me—a sniper rifle.