Stolen Love (Beauty in the Stolen 3)

The longer I spend time with him, the blurrier the lines get. While my body is getting stronger, my noble reasons for granting him freedom become fuzzier by the day. The only way of ensuring I don’t fall under his spell again is to keep a distance. It’s hard to do when he sets out my pills, feeds me, and washes my hair. I get the feeling I’m not succeeding in keeping him at arm’s length due to my applaudable efforts, but because he’s allowing the distance. He’s giving me space. Like always, everything happens on his terms.

Damian and Lina visit every day, sometimes with and at other times without the kids. They bring food, clothes, and medicine. When, four days later, it’s finally time for us to leave, they see us off at the helipad.

Lina takes my hands in hers. “If you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”

Ian got me a new cell phone, but I didn’t want to risk anyone finding Lina’s number on it. Instead, I’ve memorized her number.

“Same for you,” I say with humor. We both know she can’t call me and ask the normal things one girlfriend asks of another, like if I want to go shopping together or if I can babysit so she and her husband can go out.

Damian nods at Ian. “My connection at the control tower cleared your route, but keep low.”

Ian offers his brother a hand. “Thanks.” His lips tilt. “I owe you.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Damian says, returning the handshake.

Ian helps me inside the helicopter and secures my safety belt. The tin-like contraption still scares me. I give a nervous wave as we lift off.

Putting an arm around Lina’s body, Damian guides her back into the building.

Hart Diamonds is painted in silver letters over the roof. The letters grow smaller as we lift higher. Ian hands me a pair of earphones for the noise. I fit them and sink lower in my seat. I’m tired from the small exertion of climbing the stairs to the roof, but I don’t want him to know for fear he’d leave me behind. The doctor ran tests. My heart condition is stable. My exhaustion is just from a combination of the energy the healing is taking and the stress.

After forty minutes, the citrus farms on the outskirts of Rustenburg come into view. The green gorge with its small waterfall lies in the distance.

I glance at Ian. “Are you sure about this?”

“The cabin is the most obvious place Wolfe will look for us.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We hid out there once, remember?”

Only too well. I pull my hand away. He tenses, but he doesn’t comment.

He circles once. The area is quiet. No holiday makers are hiking in the mountain. It’s the first week of January. The schools have reopened and most people are back at work. That was part of the reason why we decided to return to the Kloof. It will be quiet with no visitors during the week.

When he’s identified a suitable outcrop, he lands the helicopter in a clearing not far from the waterfall. He puts my gun on my lap before cutting the blades. We keep an eye on the surroundings, making sure the coast remains clear. After a beat, he cuts the engine.

We packed light, not that there was much to pack. I reach for my backpack, but Ian grabs both mine and his and swings them over his shoulders.

“I can get that,” I say.

He flashes me a smile as he leads the way. “I’m just being a gentleman.”

A footpath leads to the camping area at the bottom of the gorge. The climb down is steep. At one place, I have to grab the ledge with both hands to keep my balance. Even without the minimal weight of the backpack on my back, I’m battling to breathe by the time we reach the slippery stone shore of the waterfall. We stop to rest and have a drink of water before making the remainder of the short walk to the cabin.

The cabins aren’t fitted with alarms. Ian easily picks the lock. The cabin is neat and tidy, minus linen. It has been cleaned after the last holiday makers left. The cleaning staff won’t come around until the next time the cabin is rented, which could be the coming weekend. The Kloof is always popular on weekends in the summer, even out of holiday season. Our only chance of being spotted is when the security guard does his rounds, but the cabin is one of the more secluded ones, and the night guard normally comes past around seven. We just have to keep quiet and not shine any lights until after.

“Here,” Ian says, pulling out a chair for me by the table. “You need to rest.”