The Duke’s Covert Mission Read online

Her red dress. Cinderella. Three men in masks.

  Paulo’s dead eyes.

  Each image blipped into her clouded brain and brought her to a new level of awareness.

  “Oh, God.”

  She’d been kidnapped.

  A silent scream rasped through her lungs.

  She placed her palms on the cold, concrete floor beneath her and shoved herself up to a sitting position. She shut her eyes against the pinball effect of marbles bouncing off the inside of her skull. Once the marbles stopped rolling and the pain eased into the dull throb of a mere headache, she opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings.

  She was in a basement. A rusted furnace sat in the far corner, a flight of open-backed wooden stairs disappeared into the exposed ceiling joists above her, and a pair of small windows were set high on the cinder-block walls that entombed her.

  She’d figured out the where and the what. What she didn’t understand was the why.

  Ellie Standish didn’t get kidnapped.

  She followed the rules and minded her manners and took care of other people. She didn’t make enemies.

  Why?

  She was a plain, unremarkable woman.

  Woman.

  For one hideous, horrible second she thought… She ran her hands down her body. She’d been unconscious. Had they…?

  She brought a hand to her chest and forced herself to exhale.

  Bruised and sore. Scared out of her mind. But not violated.

  Ellie sat where she was and simply breathed for several minutes, muting the urge to panic.

  When she could think halfway rationally again, her shy-woman’s mind took over. It had always been her way to take stock of a situation before speaking or acting. If she had a plan, if she knew her way around a place or people, she was less likely to freeze up, more likely to act on her natural human instincts.

  So much for her night on the town. Morning had come, or maybe it was afternoon, she couldn’t pinpoint an exact time from the sunlight filtering through the greasy windowpanes.

  Her Cinderella dress had been transformed into rags during the night. The skirt was torn at the waist seam, and a palm-size smudge dirtied one hip. A two-foot length of lace trim dangled like a tail from her petticoats. One of the shoulder straps had been ripped from the bodice, leaving it up to the gown’s stiff boning and tight fit to keep her decently covered. She tugged at the dipping neckline and let her arm rest there, in a gesture of self-defense rather than an attempt to find any real warmth. As her fingers drifted up to her neck, she clutched at the bare skin there.

  The ruby choker.

  Gone.

  She touched her bare earlobes. The diamond drop earrings.

  Gone.

  She plowed her fingers into the messy upsweep of her hair. Lucia’s tiara.

  Gone.

  Along with the beaded purse in which she’d carried her own silver watch in.

  “Oh, no.” Ellie rubbed her hands up and down her arms, oblivious to the ache of bruises that dotted her skin.

  They’d robbed her. They’d stolen Lucia’s self-designed jewelry and Ellie’s own, less-valuable trinkets.

  She blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. It didn’t make sense. Yes, she’d worn diamonds and rubies—works of art. But there would have been hundreds of other guests at the ball with far more expensive jewelry and purses and wallets to steal.

  Something more than a simple theft was going on here. This felt personal.

  Drugging her. Murdering Paulo. Abandoning her here—wherever here was—didn’t make sense.

  Abandonment.

  That was when the silence registered.

  That was when the panic gathered strength.

  “Hello?” Her voice echoed off the walls and got swallowed up by the damp air. “Hello?”

  New York City was a constant hum of traffic and people, machinery and music.

  The silence here pounded in her ears, mocked her attempt at bravery.

  This wasn’t New York City.

  She scrambled to her feet. “Hello!”

  She’d been abandoned in the middle of nowhere. Abandoned! Her teeth chattered from fear as much as from cold. Left behind. Unnoticed. Forgotten. Never missed. Alone.

  “Help me!” Her native European accent thickened as an age-old fear seized the opportunity to resurrect itself.

  She dashed for the stairs but was jerked to a sudden halt that toppled her off her feet. The hard landing jarred her hands and triggered a jolting reminder of her battered knees. But the pain didn’t frighten her half as much as the ominous clank of metal scraping against metal behind her. Ellie rolled over onto her bottom and yanked up the hem of her skirt.

  “No.” She tapped her fingers at her temple, nervously pushing at her nonexistent glasses. “No!”

  A steel band had been cuffed around her left ankle. And a shiny new chain of stainless steel had been padlocked to the cuff. She traced the path of interlocking links, each the size of a golf ball, to a steel O-bolt anchored into the center of the concrete floor.

  Chained to the floor like one of the elephants she’d seen at the Korosol Royal Circus last year.

  Ellie climbed to her feet and, like that sorry animal, paced as far as the chain allowed.

  Whoever had put her here had measured the trap carefully. Even at its fullest length, with her leg stretched out behind and her body tilted forward as far as she could go, she was still a good two feet from the bottom of the stairs. The windows hovered above the reach of her outstretched hand. The only thing within her grasp was the broken-down furnace and a knee-high wooden stool.

  “All the comforts of home,” she whispered. If one was a condemned prisoner on death row.

  Ellie sank down onto the stool and hugged herself, refusing to surrender to futile tears.

  “You’ll think of a way out of this, Ellie.” She tried another pep talk, but the echo of her voice did little to encourage her. She’d made it all the way from her mountain home to the capital city of Korosol la Vella. She’d made it across the ocean to America. She’d made the harrowing journey through crosstown traffic into the heart of New York City.

  “I’ll make it out of here, too.”

  The question was—how?

  Her jewelry was gone, along with her purse and her stole.

  And her shoes.

  Anything that might be used as a weapon had been taken from her. The tiny canister of pepper spray in her bag. The house key attached to it. The heels of her shoes.

  Ellie sat up a little straighter as she latched on to one hopeful thought.

  If they’d disarmed her, that meant her kidnappers were coming back. They hadn’t abandoned her. Yet. They’d prepped her for their return.

  As if the thought of her abductors had the power to summon, she heard a key turn in the lock at the top of the stairs. Ellie shot to her feet and moved behind the stool, putting the one available obstacle between her and her visitor.

  The door opened and a single, bare lightbulb switched on over the bottom of the stairs, bathing her in an austere circle of light and creating a translucent wall of dust motes in the heavy air. The tread of footsteps on the stairs told her it was a man, one who was balanced and sure on his feet, despite his bulky silhouette.

  Ellie squinted to see who had come to visit her in her prison cell, but the lightbulb created shadows that hid the man’s face. He moved through the curtain of dust and she could see that better illumination wouldn’t help her identify him. He wore a black knit stocking cap that covered everything but his eyes.

  Just like the men last night.

  Ellie shivered as he walked toward her. He seemed to grow larger and suck up more of the breathable air with each step. She jumped back, needing space, needing room to run. “Don’t come any closer.”

  He stopped. Though she couldn’t see his eyes in the play of light and shadow, she felt his stare. Her skin crawled as if his hands and not his assessing gaze were touching her.

  “What do you want
with me?” Her voice sounded as shaky as her backbone.

  No answer.

  His hefty shape had been deceptive, as well. She curled her toes into the cold concrete as he set a blanket, a canteen and a handful of silvery foil envelopes on the floor in front of her.

  “What are those?” she asked, looking at the items that had been piled like an altar offering before her.

  In answer, he picked up one of the silver packages, straightened and tossed it to her. Ellie caught it out of pure reflex. “That wasn’t a difficult question, was it?”

  The man said nothing.

  Like one of the questionable souvenirs from her brother Nicky’s mercenary days, she recognized the markings on the bag as a military field ration. Applesauce.

  “I suppose you want me to eat this?”

  He nodded.

  Damn, the man’s silence was unnerving. It distracted her from thinking. She could only react.

  “Is this how you killed Paulo?” The man’s head jerked up. “Did you poison him?”

  The only sound she could hear was her heart pounding.

  Just when she thought she might scream from the tension in the air pulling at her, the man took the packet from her hands and tore it open. He stuck his finger inside, scooped out a dollop of beige paste and lifted his mask high enough so she could see him eat it.

  She caught a flash of inky black beard stubble, but nothing more. Even before the image registered, he’d covered his chin and handed her the packet.

  She’d barely touched her dinner the night before because of nervous anticipation of the ball and had slept through any other meal since. Food might help her headache. And she’d need sustenance of some kind to keep up her strength and keep herself mentally sharp.

  Her companion’s watchful stillness made her think she’d need every ounce of strength and intelligence she could muster in order to survive this…this…

  “Why have I been kidnapped?” she demanded, tilting her chin up with an authority she didn’t really feel.

  His shoulders lifted with a cocky bit of “don’t care,” but he gave no answer.

  “Why won’t you say anything?”

  She dipped her finger into the packet and scooped out a bit of the dry paste. Tentatively she carried it to her mouth and tested it with her tongue. If she used her imagination, she could taste something that reminded her of apples and sawdust. But it was hard to imagine anything with her keeper standing so utterly still just a few feet away.

  The goose bumps that had assailed her earlier pricked her skin again at his eerie silence. “You know, it’s very rude not to talk.”

  And nerve-racking and frightening and out-and-out intimidating.

  Ellie had never been one to complain. She’d been raised to make the best of things. To solve her own problems. To endure.

  But the words came tumbling out now. “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t have much money. The jewels you took don’t even belong to me.” The man was made of stone. “I can’t help you if I don’t know why I’m here!”

  Her little outburst left her feeling flushed and useless. And, damn it all, she had always found a way to make herself feel useful. She so desperately hated feeling helpless and unnecessary.

  Expendable.

  “Are you going to kill me, too?”

  For a moment she thought he might actually speak. She heard a sound from behind his mask, a quick intake of breath. Ellie caught her own breath and held it, waiting for his answer. But…

  Nothing.

  Her breath whooshed out, along with her defiance.

  Like the good, dutiful girl she’d been raised to be for the twenty-six years of her life, Ellie opened the bag and squeezed out another bite. She allowed the dry applesauce to sit on her tongue a moment, letting her saliva add enough moisture to make it palatable.

  Now that she had done what he asked, the man began to circle her. While she ate, Ellie followed him with her eyes, noting any details that a man dressed in black from head to toe might reveal.

  He wore black cargo pants, with a shadowy camo print and lots of pockets. They were tucked into a pair of calf-high military boots. A knife handle protruded from the top of a nylon sheath attached to the right boot. Ellie turned her head, quietly chewing, keeping him in her sight.

  She recognized him as the driver of the second car last night. The one with the dead body in the trunk. She didn’t know much about the ways to kill a man, but she’d seen Paulo’s bulging eyes and protruding tongue and knew the young man’s death hadn’t been an easy one.

  This man could have killed Paulo. Just by looking at him, Ellie had no doubt that this man had killed before.

  His black knit shirt hugged broad shoulders and expanded over the swell of his chest. Then it clung farther down, revealing a flat stomach and narrow waist. He stood as tall as her brother—an inch or two over six feet—and was all sinew and muscle, as lethal-looking as the sleek steel sidearm riding in a black leather holster at his hip.

  When he disappeared from the corner of her vision, Ellie spun to her right and watched him walk around the other side. She’d never studied a man so boldly before. And while his silence unnerved her, there was something oddly mesmerizing about the pantherlike precision of his movements. Ellie’s heart stuttered, then beat again. Her breasts expanded against the stiff confines of her gown. Her perusal of the mysterious visitor bordered on fascination.

  And she was ashamed that survival might not be the only reason she kept staring at him.

  “Who are you?” Her fingers slipped to her temple, nervously searching for her absent glasses. She curled the flailing fingers into a fist and pulled it down to her chest. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  Fascination or no, this man was her captor, she his prisoner. His chained, secluded prisoner, who’d been left in the dark in both the literal and figurative sense.

  “What do you want with me?” She breathed in deeply, but her cool bravado was quickly failing her. “Who are you?”

  He ended his circle where he’d begun, standing in front of her, barely an arm’s length away.

  Was he toying with her? Mocking her? Trying to scare the very heartbeat out of her?

  He was succeeding more than he could possibly imagine.

  “Talk to me.” Her demand sounded dangerously close to begging. “Show your face, you coward!”

  She had finally pushed him too far.

  He closed the distance between them, swooping in like a hawk, moving so swiftly that she shielded herself with her arms and backed away. The chain at her ankle rattled. A frightened sob shook her, but she caught the gasp between clenched teeth.

  Ellie was transfixed. Caught in a deadly snare of unknown intent. He never touched her, but she trembled all the same. She could smell him now. He was heat and soap and exotic spice.

  And from the middle of that black mask he marked her with eyes of such an intense dark blue they seemed unreal. He held her in place with those eyes. Beautiful eyes. Demon eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” Ellie dropped her gaze, unable to withstand the power of his. She struggled to breathe. “Don’t hurt me. Please.”

  And then the man tormented her in the most unexpected way. With her chin tucked to her chest, her gaze firmly fixed on the floor, he lifted his hand. She could see now, in her peripheral vision, that his hands were the only visible part of his body. Five fingers of streamlined power, scarred and callused, reached for her. Ellie curled into herself, bracing for a grab or slap or… The hand closed in on her face, and she could see a fine dusting of black hair along the dark tan of his skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the moment when his fingers would touch her. But she couldn’t block out the heat from his skin. It seemed to scorch her cheek.

  “Please.” Her body convulsed on a frightened sob.

  “Sinjun!”

  The heat at her cheek evaporated at the shout from above. Ellie’s eyes popped open, and she saw the man in black tuck his hands into his pocke
ts and cross to the base of the stairs.

  “Is she awake?” The short, stocky creep who had given the orders and injected her with a knockout drug last night tromped down the stairs, commanding the room with his blustery voice.

  Then the walls themselves seemed to shake as the giant from last night followed a few paces behind. Like the silent man, they were both dressed in black—from ski mask to military boots to the guns strapped at their sides.

  Ellie’s chest expanded with the first deep breath she’d taken since the man who’d brought her food and water had first begun to circle her. Recognition of her three kidnappers brought with it a healthy amount of fear and caution, but she seized on the anger that their reappearance triggered in her. She threw her shoulders back and tipped up her chin. “I demand to know why you’ve done this to me.”

  The small man laughed. “She demands.”

  The big man responded with a hitch and lift of his shoulders, in what she supposed passed for a laugh at her expense. Her gaze flitted beyond them to the silent man. No movement. No laughter. Nothing.

  And then Ellie realized she couldn’t let her attention wander. The short man had walked right up to her, close enough that she could smell the cigarette smoke that permeated his clothes. She knew that smell.

  Her silly fantasies about Prince Charming had been destroyed by the man who smelled like that. “You’re the substitute chauffeur from last night.”

  “Bingo.” He sounded almost pleased that he’d made an impression on her. “How’s our princess doing this afternoon?”

  Princess?

  He plopped a plastic pail down on the stool and sniffled loudly beneath his mask. “How do you like the fancy accommodations, Your Highness?”

  Highness.

  A light of understanding flashed on in Ellie’s head.

  Oh, my God. Of course! They thought… “I’m not—”

  Fortunately he interrupted her protest, giving Ellie time to see the wisdom in keeping her identity a secret. “We furnished all the comforts of home, sugar. Even a bucket for you to do your necessary business.”

  Shock sailed through Ellie, clearing the path for the helpless fear that followed. These men thought they’d kidnapped a princess. The short man’s taunting sarcasm aside, they wouldn’t be pleased to learn that they’d nabbed a lowly secretary by mistake.