Stranded with the Prince Page 13

  Roberto had told the dumb bastard not to go out into the night alone. But Marco had wanted the woman badly. Like most young thugs his age, he had little discipline. In any case, looked like he was out of the picture permanently.

  Roberto watched his enemies’ lair with patience. He couldn’t directly approach the crevice. He had to wait for them to leave it, had to be patient until he had a better opportunity. With any luck, they’d go foraging in the woods where he could easily sneak up on them. If they went to the beach—open land—he would just have to wait. Now that he knew where they were hiding, the rest should be easy.

  He didn’t for a moment consider hiding from them, keeping out of their way.

  They’d killed Marco and José.

  He had unfinished business with the prince, anyway. And they had seen his face. He was in no rush. He was so close now, the death of those two was a done deal. Everyone back home knew that he never let go of revenge. And he never left witnesses.

  Chapter Ten

  Lazlo had gone off to find Roberto and get the radio. To kill Roberto and take the radio, Milda thought. She couldn’t picture the man handing over the damn thing any other way. Which meant a fight to the death.

  She had refused to keep the gun for that very reason. After some heated words, Lazlo had agreed to take it, but insisted that she should at least have the knife she’d taken when she’d charged in to rescue him.

  He was too stubborn to accept that she was too weak to fight off anyone, no matter what weapon he left with her. Her arms trembled too much to hold the heavy handgun steady. Even the knife…

  If it came to hand-to-hand combat, she was dead. End of story.

  Not that she thought the prince would let things come to that. He would defeat Roberto and then he would come for her. He would get them off the island somehow. She trusted him.

  That was new.

  So was the bad case of hero worship she was developing for him. He made sure she was fed, kept her warm and saved her from Marco. And he was a dashing prince. Nobody could blame her if she had a few stars in her eyes when she looked at him.

  A considerable change from before they’d gotten stranded on the island.

  Desert Island Syndrome?

  She didn’t think so. She had the opportunity to see the prince under duress, stepping up to the plate, so to speak. And she liked what she’d seen.

  Liked it too much, perhaps.

  Especially his kisses.

  Stop right there. There was no way she was going down that road. He was a client. A high-profile client. As high-profile as she was ever going to have for as long as she lived.

  Thank God she wasn’t developing a crush on him or, God forbid, any feelings. She was definitely smarter than that. The fact that she cared for him was completely normal. She cared for all her clients. A marital consultant was no good without an empathetic personality. And really, there was no such thing as too much caring when it came to another human being.

  Soon she would find a match for him and he’d be married to a lucky woman. Very lucky. And the fact that she was feeling morose all of a sudden had nothing to do with jealousy. Which would have been ridiculous…completely.

  A small noise came from her right, drawing her attention from the twisted path of her thoughts. She clutched the knife tighter, stiff with fear as Roberto stepped out of the bushes.

  Oh, God.

  She hadn’t killed him then, with that rock. But he would know that she’d tried. She could expect little mercy.

  The man pointed a gun at her, identical to the one Lazlo had taken. Standard-issue royal guard weapons. “Toss the knife to me.”

  He had quick eyes and likely just as quick hands. He probably figured he could handle her with one arm tied behind his back.

  He was right.

  But she didn’t obey. Not the least because her muscles refused all movement.

  “The knife.” Roberto raised his voice, scowling with impatience. There was something savage in his face, in the way he took a deliberate step forward. His clothing—a Valtrian royal guard uniform he’d gotten from one of the men he’d killed—was dirty and torn. “The knife,” he repeated, with venom in his voice.

  And she had to admit that she didn’t really have a choice. That she could defend herself against a seasoned killer had never been more than a fantasy. She couldn’t defeat this man, not on her best day, and today was far from that.

  If she put up some desperate fight now, she’d be shot for sure. But if she went along with him, maybe that would give Lazlo enough time to return and save her. She tossed her sole weapon toward the man, worrying that this could be her biggest mistake yet. But the knife was no good against the gun anyway, even if she had the strength to wield it.

  He picked it up and stuck it in his belt. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

  A moment of relief came. Maybe he would take her back to his campsite. And Lazlo would be there, waiting. Then her sad reality hit. “I can’t.” She didn’t have the strength to follow his orders. No way could she march halfway across the island.

  “Walk or die.” The look in his eyes said it wasn’t an idle warning.

  I’m walking to Lazlo. The thought gave her enough strength to push to her feet shakily. She took a few steps, steadied herself, took a few steps more and realized she might be able to pull it off after all.

  She headed up the hill, but Roberto shoved her in another direction. He wasn’t taking her to his camp. They were walking away from Lazlo, not toward him.

  She dragged her feet, desperate for an idea that might set her free, trying to come up with something that would help her get away from the man. A quick scan of her surroundings didn’t help any. There were plenty of loose rocks, but she was too weak to throw with any force, her arms too unsteady to hit her aim.

  “That way.” He motioned with the gun. “Keep moving forward.”

  She did as he asked, hanging her head in defeat, her gaze falling on the colorful beads that circled her wrist. She brought her hands in front of her and slid the bracelet off. He said nothing. She took that to mean he hadn’t noticed. So she snapped the band and, every twenty feet or so, she surreptitiously dropped a love bead. The dots of color seemed pitifully small on the ground. Even she could barely see them, and she knew what she was looking for. But she could think of no better way to leave a trail for Lazlo.

  Roberto marched her up the hillside, keeping in the cover of the bushes. He kept looking back. Was he afraid of Lazlo? He should be. But thinking of him distracted Milda and she tripped, scraping her palms on the ground. Which was the least of her problems. Roberto swore and kicked her. Pain shot down her thigh.

  Getting back to her feet took all her strength, but she did it, not wanting to give him any further reason to abuse her.

  He took her around the side of the hill, into a long valley she hadn’t yet seen. Old ruins littered the hillside here. The view would have been breathtaking under other circumstances.

  “That way,” he directed her, panting.

  She was out of love beads. Desperation made her glance around for another idea, but nothing came to mind. She was too sick and too tired to think. She simply put one foot in front of the other, telling herself that he wasn’t going to kill her as soon as they reached their destination. If he wanted to shoot her, he could have done that at Painted Rocks, where he’d found her.

  He had a plan for her. And if she went along with it, she could gain time, maybe enough time for Lazlo to find them. That was her only hope.

  She put one foot in front of the other and plodded forward until he signaled that she could stop at last. She was beyond tired and thirsty.

  The large stone boxes and boulders seemed solemn, the figures etched into them barely visible, worn down by rain during the past centuries. Some were broken, some surprisingly whole. One still had its lid on, although shoved to the side.

  Roberto picked that one. “Get in there.”

  She stepped up to it and p
eeked in, seeing nothing but dirt and leaves the wind had blown inside. Still, the stone box gave her the creeps. “Please don’t do this.”

  His face was as hard as the stone carvings around them. He didn’t seem to be in the mood to bargain. He shoved her roughly, banging her hip against the box.

  “Okay. Wait.” She moved at last. If she didn’t climb in there on her own, he certainly had the strength to make her, and possibly injure her in the process.

  “Get your head in,” he ordered, and swung his arm her way.

  She ducked quickly.

  “And stay down.” He heaved against the lid.

  Panic squeezed her chest.

  The lid didn’t budge. Thank God for small mercies.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered as he walked off.

  This was her chance. She had to do something. But she was too weak to take advantage of the opportunity. If she could climb out and run for the trees… He was coming back all too quickly, with a branch that he wedged against the lid to use for leverage.

  And to her horror, the lid began to slide over, inch by inch. Until now, she’d been willing to go along with whatever he said, because she was playing for time. He hadn’t shot her immediately. Obviously he was saving her for something. She didn’t want to think about what that something might be—using her to trap Lazlo, or worse. But now, as the lid closed above her, she realized that Roberto might just mean to kill her slowly. Maybe he was out of bullets.

  She should have thought of that before. He might have been bluffing with the gun. Or maybe not. He’d gotten the knife away from her. If he wanted to kill her, he could have used that, too. She was too scared to think straight, to come up with an idea to trick him somehow, to figure out how to escape.

  “Please don’t,” she begged, the most she was capable of at the moment. “Please. I’ll do anything you want me to do. Don’t lock me in here.” The idea was more than she could bear.

  He merely grunted with effort as he worked.

  Suddenly, the branch snapped, sending him staggering back. He swore. She looked up through the gap, at the clear blue sky. He might not have sealed the box, but the lid was on far enough so there was no way for her to squeeze out.

  He swore again, whacking the lid with the broken end of the branch. She ducked instinctively.

  “What happens now?” she asked after he quieted—not really expecting an answer, but unable to stop herself from asking, her heart racing so fast she felt as if she was on the verge of a heart attack.

  “You wait for me.”

  Like she had another choice.

  She was alive. She tried to focus on that. It worked for about thirty seconds. Then she thought of something that chilled her to the bone.

  What if Lazlo succeeded in killing Roberto, and Roberto never came back for her?

  ROBERTO HEADED BACK toward his tent, as satisfied with himself as a man could be. He had a feeling that, when the prince had headed out that morning with a gun, the man was going after him. They were evenly matched now. Each had a weapon. That was why he’d decided to get some leverage.

  Now the woman was his, and she was locked up. If things went well and he didn’t need her, he could leave her where she was. She wouldn’t get in his way again. And he would teach her a lesson, too, for hitting him over the head. He rubbed the bump and winced.

  Yes, all in all, she had to die. But if things went badly, first he would use her as a hostage.

  José and Marco were dead. Not that their deaths were a complete disadvantage. He might be able to better blend in without them once he reached the mainland. The authorities were looking for three men. Now he’d be alone.

  And he had an idea how to reach the mainland. To hell with the raft that could fall apart as easily as the first had. He’d gotten this far. He didn’t plan on drowning now.

  Eventually, probably soon, someone would come to pick up the prince and the others. There had been four of them on the island. Which meant that probably only one boat would come, two at the most. With only a handful of escorts, if he was lucky.

  He could pick them off one by one, as soon as they reached the beach, before they knew what hit them. And then the boat, and freedom, would be his.

  WHERE THE HELL was the bastard? Lazlo went through the campsite where he’d been tortured not long ago. A fresh pile of dirt showed him where José was buried. He checked the tent. No weapons. No radio. But he did find the food and water the three men had stolen from his guards. He didn’t take anything. If he succeeded in taking out Roberto and getting the radio back, he could call for help and they’d be rescued before the day was out. If he failed…

  He wouldn’t.

  He couldn’t let anything happen to Milda. She was the one for him. He didn’t stop to examine that thought. He would think about that later. Right now, he needed to focus on doing whatever it took to keep her safe.

  As the sun moved higher on the horizon, he headed for the top of the hill to give himself a better view of the island. Waiting at camp would have probably worked, Roberto would most likely come back to eat. But when? The man could be out there, wandering around the island all day. And Lazlo didn’t want to wait. Milda was no longer as deathly sick as she’d been during the night, but he was worried about the poison she’d most likely ingested. He wasn’t sure what the long-term effects would be. She needed medical help as fast as he could get it to her.

  The sun above was merciless, although dark clouds were gathering on the bottom of the horizon—a storm that might hit before noon, or miss them entirely. Sweat rolled down his face. Low, prickly bushes scratched his legs. He kept going.

  The heat was even more unbearable at the top. The faint breeze that moved meant little without any shade. He spotted a couple of fishing boats in the distance, all of them too far away to see him waving. Shooting his gun wasn’t an option. Roberto could be close. Lazlo was reluctant to give away his location and have the man sneak up on him. Nor did he want to waste any of his few remaining bullets.

  He surveyed the section of the island he could see from where he stood. The beaches and the rocky hillside were clear. Of course, Roberto could be in any of the wild groves. Or on the other side of the island. Taking a look at that required another short climb around the impressive rocks that blocked his way.

  He made it over, handhold by handhold, was almost clear when he slipped and banged his bad knee. Sharp stones scraped his skin as he slid. He would definitely be adding new scars to the old ones on this trip. The least of his problems.

  He went even slower, and paid closer attention to every foothold. Then he made it to flat ground at last and took a moment to take stock, using his shirt to stanch the bleeding. He didn’t mind the pain—he was used to getting banged up on the racecourse—but he wanted to make sure that he was in good fighting shape when he met Roberto, and that meant he had to minimize blood loss as much as possible.

  When his wounds were taken care of, he did take a more careful look around. Again, the beach in the distance was deserted. This side of the hill looked over a valley facing another hill that was somewhat lower. Etruscan ruins dotted the landscape here and there. From his childhood visit, he knew there were more among the trees as the elevation got higher. The Etruscans loved building their cities on the top of hills.

  No movement anywhere.

  He waited at least half an hour, scrutinizing every spot that he could see from his position. Then, when he was nearly ready to give up and try something else, he spotted Roberto, as the man hustled across one of the clearings near the beach.

  Lazlo took careful note of the direction in which the man was headed, then took off after him. He aimed to cut him off, but when he reached the spot where he thought Roberto would be by then, he found it empty. Had the man turned? If he hadn’t continued in this direction, that meant he’d either turned right, toward the beach, or left, toward his campsite.

  Since food and water would be waiting only in the tent, Lazlo headed that way. He moved
as fast as he could and as quietly as possible. He meant to end this deadly game of hide-and-seek today. After half an hour or so, he was rewarded by a slight noise up ahead.

  He immediately stilled.

  The noise was repeated. Someone moved in the woods about a hundred meters ahead, walking away from him.

  He followed carefully, lengthening his steps to close the distance. He went around in a half circle, and this time managed to get in front of the man, which gave him the advantage of picking the ground where they would meet. He chose an ancient olive tree for cover.

  And stepped out in front of Roberto just as the man was plodding through a sparser area in the woods, with nothing to hide behind.

  “Put your hands in the air.” Lazlo kept his gun on the man.

  Roberto didn’t even have a chance to draw his weapon. He looked startled, but not particularly rattled.

  He even allowed a small sneer.

  “I want the radio and your weapon.”

  “And if I don’t give them, you shoot me?” The man foolishly mocked him.

  “I’d prefer to secure you for now, then give you over to law enforcement later. You don’t have to die on this island.” He had to give the bastard something to make him cooperate.

  But he didn’t seem all that excited by the offer. “Better here than in prison.” The man spat, his face reddening with anger.

  “Toss your weapon and the radio.”

  Roberto hesitated then shrugged, as if he didn’t care, as if he knew the gig was up.

  But Lazlo didn’t let down his guard. “The weapon first.”

  As if to spite him, Roberto reached for the radio on his belt instead, unclipped it, tossed it in a high arch. Lazlo could barely see it, having to look toward the sun. He had to move his hands for the catch. He couldn’t afford to let the thing drop and smash on the rocks at his feet.

  But as he stopped aiming the gun at Roberto, the man went for his own weapon. By the time Lazlo had the radio and the gun trained back on the man, he was facing down the barrel of Roberto’s gun.