Stolen Life (Beauty in the Stolen 2)
She’s gorgeous in her sleep, innocent, and I don’t have the heart to wake her. I linger only long enough to cover her with the sheet. Even though the windows are protected with mosquito screens, I tie the strings of the mosquito net together. With her chronic medication, she can’t take malaria pills. Even if she could, I wouldn’t allow it. The side effects are too damaging on the liver and neurological system. If anyone on the property shows the slightest symptoms of a cold, we immediately have them tested. Treatment is effective. This is one of the rare cases in which prevention isn’t better than cure.
Like every morning, I set out her pills with fresh water. I make sure her phone is charged and leave it next to the pills. Caressing her shape one last time with my gaze, I take the rifle and leave quietly.
The sun is up when I get back to the main building. Leon and Ruben are waiting on the deck, each with a steaming mug in his hands.
“Ready?” I say as I climb the steps.
The question is redundant. They went out to get laid—a tradition to take off the edge before every heist—but they would’ve ensured they got enough sleep to be alert and in top shape. In our occupation, negligence isn’t an option.
Ruben chucks what’s left of his coffee onto the lawn. Leon leaves his mug on the table and grabs the bag that stands ready at his feet.
Shona and Banga come to greet us.
“Be safe,” Shona says.
“Take care of Cas.” I look one after the other in the eye. “Don’t let anything happen to her.”
I don’t have to say more. They understand the implications of disobeying orders. More than that, they’re too loyal to want to displease me.
We don’t take the Jeep. I always leave the Jeep for the staff to use. Everyone working at the lodge knows how to drive.
Ruben dumps the bag in the back of the Hummer.
Leon takes the passenger side. He’s not driving so that he can check the last-minute details on the app on his phone.
“We better go. The pilot is waiting,” my brother says before shutting the door.
I get into the driver’s side, suppressing the urge to tell Ruben to drive so I can send Cas a text message. I don’t want the guys to think I’m distracted, which I am.
The moment we hit the road, I go into operational mode. The familiar adrenaline starts pumping, and my mind is tactical again. The only difference is that where my heart used to be empty, it’s now filled with new sentiments, the most foreign of those fear.
I’ve never had this much to lose.
Chapter 9
Cas
He left.
I know it the minute I open my eyes, even before I register the empty space next to me in bed. As if our spirits are connected, it’s an instinctive knowledge. The room smells of him, of that hint of tobacco. It’s not the scent that always lingers as an afterthought of his presence. It’s stronger. Has he been back while I was sleeping? Of course he has. My pills and phone are set out on the nightstand.
My chest constricts, and breathing becomes more difficult.
Ian left.
A sudden quietness assaults me. The birds are chirping outside. It’s not that kind of quietness. It’s the kind when all your visitors leave at once, and you’re left alone in an empty house.
I get up, untie the mosquito net, and follow the scent of honey and coffee to the desk. Ian left a tray. I lift the silver lid from the plate. French toast drizzled with honey. Next to the tray lies a catalog the size of an encyclopedia, and on top of it one of the roses from the vase. I pick up the flower and inhale its sweet perfume before turning my attention to the catalog. The address at the bottom says Milan, Italy. It’s a famous European brand. I fan the pages. Casual wear, formal wear, sleepwear, underwear, dresses, shoes, handbags—you name it. The pricelist in the back boasts ridiculously high numbers. I let the catalog fall closed.
I shouldn’t have let him go like that. I hate Ian for locking me up, but I can’t help but worry about him. What he does is dangerous. Now that he’s wanted for murder, his life is at stake. If ambushed, the cops will shoot before asking questions. That’s how Wolfe works. He doesn’t play by the rules or care about following laws or else he wouldn’t have blackmailed me into becoming an informant for him.
Murder or not, I want Ian. What does that say about me? When he’s close, I can’t think straight. His presence is too big. I can only see the village he rebuilt and the people he takes care of. When I see, hear, feel, and breathe him, he blinds me to the crimes I should be focusing on. Yet he’s not here now, and my eyes are wide open to everything he is. That doesn’t prevent me from being worried sick.