Stolen Love (Beauty in the Stolen 3)

She was right. She needs a doctor. A hospital. Only, there’s no hospital where she’ll be safe. Hospitals are obliged to report gunshot wounds, not to mention that Wolfe will keep an eye on the nearest hospitals. He’ll send a notice to every private clinic and state facility from here to South Africa to be on the lookout for Africa’s most wanted criminal and a woman with a gunshot wound.

Son of a bitch.

Why does Wolfe want her dead? He could’ve arrested us. Well, he could’ve tried. Instead, he went for a kill shot. That bullet was aimed straight at her heart. If I hadn’t pushed her, she wouldn’t be breathing now. He’s covering his ass. Cas must know or have something he doesn’t want to come out. That something is more important to him than catching me. Seeing that I’m his career obsession, that something must be huge.

I think fast.

My safest hideout in the current situation is the chalet in Lesotho, a tiny, mountainous country in the middle of South Africa, but the property is located on one of the highest mountaintops. It’s far away from hospitals and doctors. Plus, the altitude of almost four thousand meters isn’t ideal for someone with a heart condition. The oxygen level is too low.

Mozambique is too far. She’ll bleed out before I get there. Botswana isn’t an option either. I’m not on good standing with the king. There’s a good chance he’ll have the authorities waiting for us when I land on his soil.

There’s only one option left.

Keeping under the radar, I use the secure satellite phone and dial the only person who can get me what I need. It’s Christmas and dinner time. There’s a good chance he won’t take the call.

After four rings, he picks up.

Thank fuck for miracles.

It’s never been easy for me to ask for anything, but I don’t hesitate. For Cas, I’ll go down on my knees. “Damian, it’s Ian. I need your help.”

My heart pounds as three seconds of silence stretches.

Finally, he asks, “What do you need?”

I sag in my seat, swallowing a sigh of relief. “A surgeon. Blood transfusion. A safe place for a couple of days.”

His voice isn’t the one belonging to the kid I still have in my head. It’s deep and gruff, reminding me he’s grown into a man. “For you?”

“No.”

He doesn’t waste time with useless questions. He only asks the ones that matter. “Blood type?”

“O positive.” I know, because I know everything about Cassandra Joubert, no matter what she calls herself these days.

“Injury?”

“Gunshot. Shoulder.”

“Vitals?”

I touch two fingers to the carotid artery in her neck. “Unconscious. Pulse is weak but steady. Her breathing is normal.”

“Allergies?”

“None,” I say. “She has dilated cardiomyopathy.”

“How long since she got shot?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“It sounds as if you’re in the air,” he says.

“Helicopter.”

“How far are you from Joburg?”

I check the controls. “I can make it in three hours.” If I cut straight across Botswana.

His manner is efficient, confident. “I’ll send you coordinates. There’s a helipad for landing.”

“You can use this line. It’s secure.”

“I know,” he drawls. “I’ve already verified.”

Good. That means he’s as careful as I was hoping. “I’ll let you know when we’re—”

The line goes dead. He hung up.

“Close,” I mutter, finishing my sentence.

I grip her hand. “Hold on, Cas.”

Her skin is cold, too cold. That coldness seeps into me and settles over my heart. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. All I know is none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t kidnapped her that night outside of Sun City.

Two men dressed in white tunics wait next to a gurney when I land on the roof of one of the highest skyscrapers in Johannesburg. They’re at the door on Cas’s side even before I’ve cut the blades. When one of the men releases her safety belt and reaches for her, my growl tears through the air. He drops his hands, his gaze shifting cautiously to me as I come around the aircraft and lift my woman into my arms. I lay her onto the gurney as gently as I can and cover her with the space blanket the other man provides.

I run alongside as they wheel her toward the rooftop entrance. A guard armed with an automatic rifle opens the door. Out of habit, I take stock of our surroundings. An alarm panel on the wall beeps as the metal door closes. The metal is reinforced. You can’t cut through it, and it’s fire and explosion resistant. The red eyes of cameras dot the ceiling, walls, and floor. They’re fucking everywhere. Lasers alarms too. The beams are invisible. Heat-sensitive, no doubt.

Another guard stands at the explosion-resistant door at the end of the short hallway. He looks into a retina scanner to open the door. We enter an iron vault fit with scanners. A female guard who waits inside drags a scanner over Cas after doing the same with me. The guard who entered with us pats me down. Once we’ve gone through the scanners, we move through another scanner that reads body temperature. When the green light comes on, the vault door opens.