Stolen Love (Beauty in the Stolen 3)

There’s nothing left to do but to wait. If everything goes as planned, Wolfe will come looking for us at the hideout we used when Ian was last in Rustenburg. Since Wolfe didn’t report us, only he and Hackman know about the cabin. It’s an obvious hiding place, too obvious, but we’re bargaining on Wolfe believing that’s why we’ll be here, because we think it too obvious for him to suspect we’ll use it again.

Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades and down my cleavage. The bark of the branch digs into my ass. Keeping my balance is tricky. After a few minutes, my muscles cramp. I move a little. The branches rustle. Ian holds his finger to his lips, motioning for me to be quiet.

A line of ants march along the side of the branch. Some of them venture off their path, climbing over my leg. A stinging pinch nips me in the side. The burn makes me gasp. I swat at the cause of the pain, almost toppling to the ground. Gripping the trunk behind me, I manage to balance myself. When I’m certain I won’t fall, I lift the hem of my shirt. My skin sports a red mark. An ant bite.

As I’m inspecting the cause of the sting, another ant makes it past the waistband of my jeans. I flick it off.

Ian gives me a worried look. He mouths, “What?”

I shake my head, indicating I’m fine.

Another ant bites just as Ian checks his phone and holds up a finger.

Shit.

That’s the signal. Wolfe just set off the alarm. He’s one kilometer away.

I brush off the ants, using one hand to grip the branch above me for balance. The leaves shake and swish. I’m making noise, but I better get rid of the little buggers before Wolfe is close enough to notice the disturbance in the tree.

Pulling myself up with one arm, I sweep my feet over the branch to kick off as many of the ants as I can. When I don’t spot any more, I settle back down on my perch. A few leaves flitter to the ground as my movement shakes the branches around me. I follow Ian’s example, taking my gun from my holster and flicking off the safety. Finally, the leaves and twigs still.

A hawk calls from the mountaintop. Our heated voices drift from the cabin, spoiling the peaceful chirp of the birds in the Acacia trees. My heart thumps in my chest, the sound louder in my ears than any other. A branch cracks. I freeze. The thumping in my chest reaches a crescendo. I don’t dare to move for the fear of making a sound. I don’t breathe. I keep my gaze trained on Ian. His expression is alert but calm. He’s sitting as still as a statue on his branch, his gun clutched in his hand. His quiet confidence grounds me.

Leaves crunch close by. Pinching my eyes shut, I reach for courage from deep within. My lungs burn from holding my breath. I don’t have a choice but to drag air into my lungs. My breaths turn erratic as my heart protests about the stress. Instead of inhaling noisily through my nose, I breathe through my mouth.

The leaves that had fallen under the tree with all my jostling scrunches under a sole. A black dress shoe appears in my vision. A blond head follows. Wolfe. He’s keeping low, creeping right underneath me with a Glock aimed in front of him.

The green leaves on the grass are a dead giveaway. Green leaves don’t fall by themselves. If Wolfe notices them, he’ll look up. I keep my weapon aimed at his head. With how much strain the simple act of breathing is putting on my body, it takes enormous effort to keep my hand steady. I tighten my finger on the trigger when Wolfe advances another step. Ian gives me a small shake of his head. My heart beats in my throat as I wait for Wolfe to spot the leaves, but he’s obviously not a good tracker. His attention is fixed on the cabin.

I have a good shot. I can pull the trigger now. The only thing preventing me from doing so is the promise I made to Ian, that I’d let him lead. A ship doesn’t have more than one captain. I promised Ian my trust, and I give it as I wait for his signal. Yet he doesn’t move. He sits immobile as Wolfe moves in a crouched position under his tree.

Do it. Give me the signal, Ian.

Wolfe moves toward the side of the cabin, and still Ian doesn’t make a move. A few more steps, and the opportunity is lost. I don’t question Ian’s decision. I don’t distract him by being rebellious. I continue to give him my trust. That’s what he needs to execute this mission. That’s how his gang operated successfully. They trusted each other. Until I came along and screwed it all up. Blinking sweat from my eyes, I suppress the thought as quickly as it has formed. What happened, happened. Harping on it won’t change anything. It certainly doesn’t help me to focus.