Chapter Sixteen
Charles Mwana was waiting for him—albeit at first glance he looked nothing like the rebel soldier they’d seen on screen two days ago.
Mwana had gone to great lengths to disguise himself. His light brown hair had been dyed black, and the livid scar had been hidden under carefully applied prosthetic makeup. Combined with the black-and-white waiter’s outfit, there was no way he could’ve been picked out as a threat.
Dear God, the man had dared to enter their home!
Mwana had one arm locked around Belle’s shoulders, and the other held a deadly looking knife to her throat.
The air left Nick’s lungs in a painful punch. He tried to breathe through it as he assessed the situation. His insides twisted when he saw his wife’s ripped dress. She’d also lost a shoe.
He couldn’t bear to look into her eyes. He didn’t dare. He knew he’d lose it completely if he saw so much as a hint of pain in her face. So he kept his eyes on her captor as he stepped into the room.
Mwana’s voice stopped him. “Good of you to join us. You were almost too late. We would’ve taken our leave by now if your butler hadn’t got in the way. Sorry I had to get rid of him. He was making a nuisance of himself. But I’m glad you’re here. Now you get to pay for destroying my life.”
Devastation raged through Nick’s insides as he took another step and saw Bertrand slumped next to the fridge. Looking closer, he saw the Frenchman’s chest rise on a shallow breath. Thank God! He breathed a fraction easier and made a silent promise to triple the man’s salary.
“How exactly did I destroy your life, Mwana?” he demanded. The first rule of engagement—keep the enemy talking. “The way I see it, you brought everything down on yourself. Oh. Clever disguise, by the way.”
A cruel smile curved the African’s thin lips. “It fooled your security downstairs. Just as I’ve been fooling your bunch of toy soldiers all over the world. Where are they, by the way? Let me guess, they’re still chasing their tails in Bumfuck, Germany, correct?”
The man’s ingenuity and precise knowledge of Allen’s movements threw Nick for a nanosecond, but he rallied. “You know very well where they are since you handed them your colleague, Francis.” He strove to keep his voice calm and even.
“Ah, yes, Richard. Do you believe in fate, Mr. Andreakos?”
Nick shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
“Well, Richard was a bit like your wife here. He came to Nawaka on a mission. Except he lost sight of what that mission was. One little fatal slip with a local girl, and he was lost. Fate brought me in, and I rescued him. Just as I intend to rescue my sweet Belle.” Mwana’s arm tightened around her shoulders.
She choked out a moan.
Nick’s gut clenched, but his gaze stayed on his quarry. “I’m not going anywhere. Why don’t you put the knife down?”
“I wish I could. But I’m reluctant to let go of my precious bounty a second time, you see.”
“She’s not yours, Mwana. She never will be.”
An ugly expression crossed the bastard’s face. “That’s where you’re wrong. We had…we have a connection. She made a promise to me in Nawaka. You’ve tried to brainwash her into believing otherwise, but what we felt for each other is still there, and this time you will not stand in my way. I will claim my prize.”
“So you don’t intend to harm her?”
The rebel leader frowned as if Nick spoke a foreign language. “Of course not. Why would I? She’s mine.”
The words made him sick with nausea, but he forced himself to focus. “Then put the knife down,” Nick suggested again. He took another step forward fighting the fear shuddering through his body. “If she’s truly yours, you have nothing to worry about.”
“No can do. You’ve proved to me time and again that you’re not a gentleman. You can’t be trusted. And don’t think I don’t realize what you’re doing. Be assured, I will use this knife on your butler if you come any closer.”
Nick paused. Bertrand was close enough to make the threat a deadly one.
Belle let out a sound of distress.
Black rage roared through Nick’s veins, but he stayed where he was. Fighting to clear the haze of fury before his eyes, he tried to think rationally. There was no way the man was leaving here with Belle, that was a given, but Nick needed to find a way to stop the bastard before he even made a move.
Keep him talking. “You were telling me how you came to be here,” he prompted.
“My puppet turned out to be very resourceful.”
“Francis?”