‘Good.’
He had said that the kidnapping had been well organised. Hopefully they were not in the hands of maniacs. There would be a ransom demand and Rico’s bank or his family or whatever, she thought vaguely, would pay up and they would be released just as soon as the money was handed over.
‘Will they want money for me?’ she muttered helplessly.
‘I doubt it.’
She was worthless. His own assertion to the kidnappers drifted back to her. And she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, an innocent bystander caught up in something that was nothing to do with her. And it was his fault. But for him she wouldn’t have been in that car park! On the other hand, if anything happened to Rico—if, for instance, stress made him drop dead with a coronary—the kidnappers might just kill her to get rid of her. ‘Surplus to requirements’… Nobody was going to pay for her release!
‘Are you healthy?’ she whispered.
‘Very.’
In silent relief she nodded. But still she couldn’t believe that it was real. Just twenty-four hours ago she had not even known that Rico da Silva walked this earth. Helplessly she pointed out to him that this time yesterday they had not even met.
‘And wasn’t ignorance bliss?’
‘I don’t see why you have to be so nasty!’ Bella snapped. ‘Personally I think I’m taking this very well. I’ve already been threatened and assaulted by you—’
‘By me?’ A lean hand thrust the beaded strands aside. Poised in the doorway, Rico surveyed her with incredulous, blazing golden eyes. The cool-as-ice impression was only on the surface, she registered. Beneath it lurked a deep well of near-murderous rage, rigorously suppressed and controlled.
‘Yes, by you. Then I get thumped and drugged and kidnapped. I wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for you!’ she suddenly spat.
‘And I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for you.’
‘I b-beg your pardon?’
Black lashes dropped, screening his piercing gaze. ‘Forget I said that—’
‘Oh, no, as you once said to me, don’t keep me in suspense!’ she shrieked.
‘Cool down… and grow up,’ Rico drawled in a soft tone that none the less stung like acid. ‘How we got here is unimportant. The only item on our agenda now is survival.’
Bella studied the floor, tears burning at the back of her eyes. It was shock. She was still in shock. She wanted to ask him what he had meant just now. She wanted to know what had happened after she’d blanked out back in that car park. But she pinned her tremulous lips together instead.
‘Let’s eat.’
Eager to do something, she leapt off the chair and opened the fridge. It was bunged to the gills. Great, she thought for a split-second. Her next thought was entirely different. Dear God, how long were his kidnappers planning to keep them here? And, assuming that they hadn’t added to the hoard when they’d realised that they had not one but two victims requiring sustenance, that was an enormous amount of food… most of which wouldn’t keep that long even in a fridge—salad stuffs, cold meats, cheeses, milk, bread, butter. All perishable.
‘There is a stock of tinned goods in the cupboard as well as extra lights and several batteries, plates and cutlery.’
‘We could light another lamp—’
‘We don’t need it. Anything that we don’t need we save,’ he reminded her.
Bella burrowed into the cupboard, locating a tin of stew. ‘If you light that stove, I could heat this on that little hotplate.’
‘There’s no fuel.’
‘We could smash up a chair or something,’ Bella persisted, shivering.
‘The ventilation in here is wholly inadequate. Fumes might not escape. We could be suffocated. The stove cannot be lit.’
The boss man had spoken. Bloody know-it-all! Her teeth ground together. It was freezing cold and it was likely to get considerably colder. He had a lot more clothes on than she had. And where the heck was she to sleep? One bed. Two dining chairs. A metal floor. Guess who would get the floor?
She found a bowl and peeled some leaves off a lettuce, before marching through to the sink which had the sole water supply. When she returned she stood at the cupboard, her back turned to him, washing the salad. And guess who gets to prepare the meal? she thought caustically.
She felt slightly foolish when she turned round to find that he already had two plates on the table, sparsely filled. The pieces of hacked cheese and the tomatoes complete with stalks made her mouth unexpectedly curve up into a grin. He was even less domesticated than she, but she liked him for making the effort.