“We need to go. Now.”
“Celine, your shirt…” Caroline’s voice trailed off. “You need clothes. We both will if we want to blend in.”
Celine glanced down at the dark purple bruises alreadyforming on her chest. Blood caked at the corner of her mouth. She ached all over.
Not now. She didn’t have time for this now. “We can search the house. Come on.” Celine helped Caroline to her feet, swaying a bit under a rush of dizziness.
The man moaned and moved his hand. Without thinking, Celine grabbed a pitcher laying sideways on the floor and brought it down. Hard.
The man fell back, unmoving.
“We have to get out of here, now.” She grabbed the ends of her torn shirt and tied them together in a knot below her breasts. There was no time for clothes. If he woke and found them, he’d make her wish she was dead. Together they limped over to the door. “Just keep your head down and stay close to the wall.”
“Okay.”
They plunged through the door, out into the glaring heat and bright sun. Blinded, Celine let go of Caroline and stumbled. She hit something warm and solid and a pair of arms wrapped around her.
She screamed.
Panic overtook her and she struggled like a wild animal, but her already depleted strength disappeared rapidly, leaving her panting and hopeless, still locked in the man’s grip.
“It's okay Celine, I'm here now.”
Celine glanced up on hearing English, staring in shock into the very cultured and refined face of a suit-wearing man. It wasn’t Aaron.
He offered her a modest smile and gently steadied her. “My name is Jack Mankel. I've been sent by Senator Tom Cotter to bring you both home.”
Her white knight had failed to show.
Chapter 3
Jack Mankel,a.k.a. Mr. J, fought the urge to pull the bottle of sanitizer from his pocket and wash his hands from being in this filthy hovel in the middle of the desert. The peasant Afghan, Hassan, argued over the price for the girls in such a guttural accent he could barely understand him. But he didn't need to understand much to know the man was demanding an exorbitantly high sum of money or that he had kidnapped two girls instead of just Caroline Cotter as directed.
Mankel wanted to put a bullet in the ignorant swine's head, he restrained the urge. He hadn't stayed hidden so long by letting his baser instincts rule his actions. Bullets and guns left DNA and evidence, which could possibly lead to his location. Besides, the situation could be easily remedied.
He forced his lips into a smile. Here, no one knew he was a former CIA operative turned traitor, nor did they care, but the man would care when he found out who Mankel worked for. “Zafar el Abdul ordered the capture of this girl only,” he said as he thrust his finger at a photograph of the girl with the long, blonde hair. “Now you've given me an extra girl, more trouble to deal with, and you've treated this high-value target carelessly.” Mankel relished the fear growing in the man's wide black eyes. “Zafar will not be pleased that you have dishonored him, and now you haggle for more money?”
The man stuttered, his steady stream of words faltering under a crushing wave of fear. No, the name Jack Mankel meant nothing, but the name of the most prolific terrorist in the entire country of Afghanistan meant life or death to this poor poppy seed farmer.
Hassan fell to his knees and prostrated himself on the floor. “Sir, please, I did not know. Please, please take the girls, I ask for nothing, only that you not speak of this to Zafar.”
Mankel embraced the surge of power running like white lightning through his veins. This job was so much more satisfying than acting as a middleman in the CIA, running teams here and there, but ultimately at the mercy of whatever punk managed to promote above him because his daddy knew people. Jack Mankel had been a nobody. He’d worked his way from the ground up, making the right connections, gathering intel. Using his above average intelligence to climb higher. But it had all meant nothing in the end.
Jack learned the hard way that bloodwasthicker than friendship and even his best friends would betray him for greed.
He’d taken that hard-learned lesson to heart.
Here, he held power over life and death, had slaves at his beck and call, and enough money to buy a small island and retire. But not before he finished his plan. There were people in the States that had to pay, and no matter what he did, he would make sure they knew who destroyed their life. Besides, he was having too much fun toying with Hassan. Mankel tapped his lower lip. “I don't know. You've bungled the whole thing. These girls are barely alive. What if they die on the way back?”
The man crawled like the filthy pig he was across the floor, grasping at Jack's polished shoes to kiss the tips. Jack clenched his teeth and looked up at the ceiling, having to fight with every fiber not to jerk back and kick the man in the face.
“I beg of you sir, please, please, he will kill my family. My entire village.”
As if this ridiculous little village wouldn't be better off wiped from the face of the earth. Mankel glanced at his Rolex and said, “I'll need to think about that.” He stepped back and walked to the door, ignoring Hassan, who scrambled after him.
“I beg of you. I will do anything. Anything.”
“I will let you know my answer within the hour.” Mankel nodded to his security guard, who opened the door to the last black Range Rover in the line of SUVs. The girls had already been loaded into one of the other cars without hassle.
