Page 25 of Stolen Faith
Rowan looked around, his gaze at first darting and shifting as he blinked, but in a matter of moments, his attention sharpened and he did a slow, thorough inventory.
“A cabin?” Rowan’s voice was raspy, and Brennon figured he was as thirsty as him. Must have been a side effect of the sedatives. Back in the mansion room, there’d been a bathroom with a faucet they could drink from. Hopefully the one interior door in this cabin also led to a bathroom, though running water felt too fancy for this place.
If Rowan had feelings about the dead-head horror show, he hid them well.
Brennon tried to roll his shoulder, suddenly becoming aware of the tender spot where the tranquilizer dart had pierced his skin. “From a cinematic perspective, trust me when I say a cabin in the woods is no place you want to fucking be.”
A slight groan drew their attention to Izabel. She slowly, gingerly lifted her head, wincing as she did so, her neck no doubt feeling the same strain his had.
She glanced up, her eyes going right to the tripod-mounted camera set up several feet in front of her. The camera was pointing directly at her. It was the one thing in the room, besides them, that didn’t fit in this dirty cabin full of dead things.
Izabel’s gaze swept over them next, assessing. Her gaze lingered on Rowan’s heavily restrained form.
“I was right.” She cleared her throat, swallowing hard. She licked her dry lips. “This is a kidnapping for ransom.”
Brennon agreed that her assumption was most likely correct, and he started to say as much, but the way Rowan continued scanning the room gave him the impression their soon-to-be husband didn’t agree.
“Rowan?” Brennon asked.
He said nothing.
Brennon was no expert when it came to kidnapping, despite having written a few capture scenes for movie scripts, but didn’t the fact that the camera was pointed at her prove she was the target?
“The camera is for a proof-of-life video, right?” Brennon asked Izabel.
“Yes. Whomever is handling negotiation for my parents may have given the kidnappers a specific phrase. They’ll record me saying it, as proof that I’m still alive.”
“So this probably means they’re negotiating right now.” Brennon nodded at the camera.
“Yes.”
“Why move us?” Rowan asked quietly. “Transport is when prisoners are most likely to escape.”
Izabel responded as if the answer should be obvious. “Several possible reasons. Privacy. To ensure we weren’t heard or seen before they received the money. Maybe they had to. It’s possible that my parents’ people were close to finding us.” Now Izabel frowned.
“What?” Brennon asked.
“Nothing, just…that second one isn’t likely. The safest way to get someone back is just to pay. Rescue attempts usually result in casualties.”
“Maybe the FBI insisted they try to track them,” Brennon said.
Izabel shook her head. “No, my parents wouldn’t involve the authorities.”
“What? Why not? The bad guys always say ‘no cops,’ but you’re not supposed to listen to them. They’re the bad guys.”
“First of all, paying ransom gets people back alive. High-risk raids like in movies get people killed.”
“But…but they look so cool.”
Izabel laughed, as Brennon had hoped. Rowan was eyeing him like he was nuts. Brennon winked. Rowan blinked and then his lips twitched with a smile. The man was the definition of calm under pressure, and Brennon was relieved that he wasn’t in this alone. He felt consoled by Izabel’s calm reassurances that they’d be freed once the ransom was paid, and he felt safe, knowing that Rowan was there, assessing and analyzing, his military mind working overtime.
“Negotiations take time,” Izabel went on. “For a variety of reasons.”
“What reasons?” Brennon leaned one shoulder against the rough wall.
“Well, for starters, they needed to ensure we were kidnapped by criminals, not terrorists.”
“Um…okay?” Brennon was a little worried that Izabel was still loopy from drugs.