She hid her shock. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, she set the plate down on the desk and reached for the knee-length red parka her captors had given her. She had a feeling red was a deliberate choice of color. She’d be more likely to stand out in this bland landscape if she tried to run.
She put on the coat, zipped it up to the neck, then undid her ponytail and let her hair loose. She noticed Deacon watching her with an indefinable expression, his serious eyes resting on the long blond tresses falling over her shoulders.
“What?” she said, oddly defensive.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go.”
She didn’t object as he took her arm and led her out the door. She suspected idyllic strolls in the mountains weren’t what Le Clair had had in mind when he’d arranged to kidnap her, and she was grateful that Deacon was being so nice about it.
Nice?
She’d obviously gone nuts. There was nothing nice about any of this. She was a prisoner, for Pete’s sake.
“Stockholm syndrome,” she mumbled under her breath.
Deacon cocked his head. “What?”
“Nothing.”
When they entered the living room, Lana saw Tango, aka Scar Cheek, lying on one couch, while the enormous man she now recognized as Kilo sat in a ratty old recliner, his eyes closed. Those eyes snapped open the moment Deacon and Lana entered, and a harsh scowl immediately spread across the man’s mouth.
“What’s she doing out here?” Kilo demanded, glaring at Deacon.
“Getting some air,” Deacon replied lightly.
“Does the boss know about this?”
“He will soon.” Deacon kept his tone casual as he walked Lana to the front door.
The moment they stepped on the porch, a gust of wind slammed into her, making her hair blow around in all directions. But the chill of the breeze was nothing compared to the cold gunmetal-gray eyes they encountered.
“What’s going on here, Delta?” Le Clair snapped when he caught sight of them. He’d been sitting on a white wicker chair with a cell phone in his hand, but he stood the moment they came outside.
“Miss Kelley requested some air,” Deacon said quietly. “I didn’t think you’d object.”
Le Clair’s gaze zeroed in on Lana, then rested on the tight grip of Deacon’s hand on her arm. After a second, his features relaxed and he gave a shrug. “Fine. Make it quick.”
“Yes, sir.”
They descended the creaky porch steps and ventured farther, their boots crunching against the stiff dead grass as they walked across it.
“How can you answer to that man?” Lana muttered, keeping her voice low so it didn’t carry with the wind.
“I have no choice. Everyone answers to someone, Lana.”
“Well, I’d never work for a man like that. He’s evil.” The wind snaked its way under her hair, lifting stray strands and whipping them around. “Has my father been contacted yet?” Deacon hesitated.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
The admission seemed difficult for him, and it surprised the hell out of Lana. So her dad knew about the kidnapping? He knew and he’d sat around twiddling his thumbs for four days now?
A terrifying thought slid into her head. “Is he refusing to pay?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” she echoed. She stopped walking, planting her hands on her hips. “What is going on, Deacon? You said this was about money.”
“It is.” His tone didn’t sound so convincing anymore.
Fear gathered in Lana’s stomach. “Then why am I still here? Why hasn’t an exchange been made?”
His chest rose as he drew in a long breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated.
Silence fell between them. They began to walk again, moving around the small clearing. Lana could feel Le Clair’s gaze on them, and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingled. In the distance, the mountains towered over the landscape almost ominously, and yet they brought a strange sense of comfort. At least she had an idea of where she was. If she got the chance to speak to her family, she knew she needed to figure out a way to give them a clue of her whereabouts.
Trying to be discreet, she glanced around, looking at the bushes across the clearing, the scattering of boulders to her left. Maybe if she could find a way out of the bed room in the middle of the night, she could run toward those rocks and—
“Don’t even think about it,” Deacon said sternly.
She guiltily avoided his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re plotting your escape.” He let out a heavy sigh. “There are motion sensors rigged all over this mountain, Lana. Outside your window, too. You’d only be wasting your time.”
She tried to hide the disappointment weighing down on her chest. Well, at least she’d tried.
She and Deacon came to a stop underneath a cluster of tall redwood trees with knotted branches and thick leaves. The sun had disappeared behind a patch of gray clouds, and it was cooler beneath the trees. Lana tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat, shivering slightly.
“You’re cold. We should go in,” Deacon said roughly.