My head ached.
Not just ached. That description didn’t touch the pain of the jackhammer that had-taken residence behind my forehead. I didn’t dare open my eyes. Any light would liquefy my brains. What horrible thing had I done—had I drunk—to deserve this?
I groaned, and someone pressed a glass of water into my hand.
I murmured my thanks, took deep, grateful sips, and returned to sleep where the jackhammer was muted.
The next time I surfaced my head still ached, but not with the same skull-shattering intensity.
My thoughts were sluggish, like they couldn’t be bothered to hurry after what I’d put my brain through.
Thor could fill me in.
Mark!
I remembered everything in a rush. The chase after the woman with the box. The fight. The widening of her eyes. Thor on the ground as his body spasmed. The cloth held against my nose and mouth. My stomach churned and panic chilled my fingers.
Where was Thor?
And where was I?
I slitted my eyes. Just enough to allow muzzy light. I was in a bed. An insanely comfortable bed.
I lifted the top sheet and peeked. I was fully dressed.
Relieved air whooshed from my lungs.
I wiggled my toes, flexed my feet, and wriggled my shoulders. I was in one piece. One pained, confused, worried piece.
I forced my eyelids to completely open, and the room came into focus. The walls were—I blinked three times—stone. A soft golden stone, but definitely stone. Was I in a dungeon?
A sumptuous rug covered the floor. Crisp white linens covered the bed and an unlit chandelier dripped ten thousand crystals. This was definitely a five-star dungeon. But a dungeon was still a dungeon.
I turned my head the other direction. A window and door were cut into the stone.
Both were open and they accounted for the soft light that filled the room.
I sat up and noticed a second open door. The bathroom.
There was no question. I needed a visit there before I contemplated escape.
The carpet was lush beneath my bare feet, and I stood still for long seconds finding my balance. My head hurt and my stomach was sour, as if I’d downed a bottle of Veuve by myself. If only.
No Champagne for me. Instead, I’d been drugged and kidnapped. I hated being kidnapped.
Rather than pull the covers over my head (definitely a temptation), I shuffled into the bathroom, splashed water on my face and opened the new toothbrush the thoughtful kidnappers had left on the vanity.
When mint replaced the sour taste of fear in my mouth, I studied my reflection.
My hair was a mess. My dress was wrinkled. And purple half-moons hung beneath my eyes.
I wrinkled my nose at my reflection, then turned at a sound in my room.
“Good morning, Miss Fields.” A tiny woman with dark hair and hooded eyes held out a tray. “I brought you coffee.”
I settled my hands on my hips and tried to sound commanding. “Where am I?”
“Uçhisar.” She wore a simple black dress and sensible shoes and didn’t seem remotely impressed by my posturing. “It’s a town near Goreme.”
As if I knew where that was. I scowled at her. “Where?”
“In Cappadocia.”
That sounded vaguely familiar. I searched my memories. My best friend Mia had visited Cappadocia and posted about it. A luxury hotel built onto a cliff. Phallic rock formations. Hot-air balloon rides at sunrise. “How did I get here?”
“You arrived early this morning. Is the bed to your liking?”
I stared at her with my mouth hanging open. Why pretend that I was a guest? “Who owns this house?”
“Mr. Köse. He hopes you’ll join him for breakfast.”
“Ahmet Köse?” Yurgi’s friend?
She nodded and put the tray down on an intricately inlaid dresser.
“My friend, where is he?”
“Your friend?”
“Mark Stone. The man I was with in Mersin.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything. You’ll have to ask Mr. Köse.” She pointed at a wardrobe. “There’s a fresh dress for you, and Rose will bring you cosmetics in a few minutes.”
I closed my eyes and focused on counting my breath. Inhale for four. Hold for four. Exhale for four. Measured breathing was supposed to help ease stress. It wasn’t working. My shoulders and neck were tense, and my lingering headache pounded against my skull. “I’d like to see Mr. Köse immediately.”
“He’s not available.”
“But—”
“Thirty minutes. Then he’ll answer your questions.”
“What’s your name?”
“Nehir.”
“Why am I here, Nehir?”
“Thirty minutes. I’ll come for you.” She offered up an apologetic smile and left me.
I considered following her, but it wasn’t as if I could force her to answer my questions. I had no choice but to wait.
Wait. Drink coffee. Plan an escape. I poured a cup from the French press and drank greedily.
Clutching the cup, I sank onto the slipper chair next to the window and took stock.
I was alone somewhere in the middle of Turkey. I had no phone. No money. No shoes. And I didn’t speak the language. My best option—my only option—was meeting with Ahmet Köse. Also, if Yurgi’s friend meant me harm, why tuck me into a luxurious bed?
I couldn’t plan an escape until I had answers. Why had Köse abducted me? What had happened to Thor? Had the kidnapper left him in the street? And Consuela? Was she still locked in the bathroom? If so, she’d be furious.
Where was the box?
Did Köse have it?
I drained my coffee and went back for a second cup.
“Miss?” A girl, no more than thirteen, held out a white plastic bag. “For you.”
“Thank you.” I accepted her offering.
The girl, who had the same dark hair and eyes as Nehir, gave me a shy smile.
“You’re Rose?”
She shook her head. Was Turkey like Greece, where a nod meant “no”, and a shake meant “yes?”
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.” Her voice was as soft as Rose petals.
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
“With your mother?”
My question earned another shake of her dark head.
“Is Ahmet Köse your father?”
Her eyes widened and she lifted her brows and tutted as if my question were ridiculous.
I opened the bag and found a hairbrush, what looked like moisturizer, hair ties, lipstick, mascara, and blush. Too bad there was no concealer, the skin beneath my eyes could use it.
“Thank you. Is there anything for a headache?”
She frowned.
I touched my forehead. “My head hurts.”
“I’ll ask.” She backed out of the room, leaving me with the drugstore bounty.
I topped off my cup, then retreated to the bathroom, where I did my best with what Rose had left me. It took ten minutes to transform from a walking corpse into someone I recognized. The dress—kaftan—Nehir left for me helped. It was a delicate gold silk. All I needed was some chunky jewelry to channel Iris Apfel. And shoes. I was fairly certain the style icon wore shoes. Nehir hadn’t provided any.
With ten minutes left to wait, I paced. Each minute without answers lasted an hour. When Nehir appeared in the doorway, I turned too quickly and swayed.
“You are unwell?” A frown creased her forehead.
“Headache.”
She pursed her lips. “I will see you get ibuprofen.”
“Thank you.”
“This way.” She led me from the bedroom onto a broad veranda. Jasmine scented the air, and the hint of exotic spices tickled my nose. I looked out at a valley marked with outlandish rock formations that had been converted to houses. The houses looked delicate, almost lacy, especially next to the traditional stone houses topped with red tile roofs.
A man who looked a few years older than my stepfather sat at a linen-covered table and took in the view. His face was long and thin, and his cheekbones were as sharp as blades. He had salt and pepper hair and the air of someone accustomed to getting their way.
He shifted his gaze, noticed me, and stood. “Miss Fields, welcome.”
As if I were a guest and not a prisoner. No apology. No explanation.
He held out his hand, and I was tempted to ignore it, but angering the man who held me captive was not the smartest plan.
I needed to flutter my eyelashes, behave like a bemused party girl, convince him I was harmless. I ignored the almost visceral need to rage and shook his hand.
His palms were warm and rough, with calluses that belonged to a man who labored. “You are even more beautiful than your mother.”
This was the part where he expected me to blush prettily and tell him how charming he was.
Not happening. The anger burning up my veins wouldn’t allow it. I extricated my fingers. “Why am I here, Mr. Köse?”
He blinked, and I saw a shift in his brown eyes. “Yurgi did you no favors when he put the box in your hands.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Please.” He waved at the chair across from his. “Sit.”
The table was covered with food—sesame covered bagels, black olive tapenade, three kinds of cheese, jams, flat breads covered with soft cheese and nuts, a carafe of pomegranate juice, a carafe of hot tea, and a French press.
I sank onto the deeply cushioned chair.
“Nehir is bringing us sucukla yumurta.”
Whatever that was.
“Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee.” I watched him press the plunger on the press and pour.
He offered me the cup. “Do you trust me, Miss Fields?”
I took it and stared at him. Long seconds passed. I said nothing.
A small smile curled his lips. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“You kidnapped me.”
A small, amused smile curled his lips. “I prefer to think I rescued you. There are dangerous people after that box.”
“I was safe with Mark.” Safe-ish. If I ignored what happened at Dimitriou’s and the men who’d invaded our island.
“The man we took down with a taser? If he is your bodyguard, I am not impressed.” Köse leaned back in his chair and looked down his impressive nose. “One does not trifle with the SVR.”
Well, duh. In a perfect world, I’d have zero interaction with Russian spies and assassins. “I assume it was the SVR who came to Yurgi’s island. Mark dealt with them.” As had I, but I kept my involvement to myself.
“The caretakers were killed.”
How did he know that?
“The SVR wants the box,” he told me. “They will not give up.”
“Why not?” I demanded. The contents might be damaging, but why did Putin care? It wasn’t as if he’d face justice.
“That I cannot answer.” Köse laced his fingers together and stared at the view.
I wondered if he couldn’t answer or wouldn’t. “Mark, the man I was with, what happened to him?”
“I assume he’s still in Mersin.”
“The last time I saw him he was spasming on the sidewalk.”
He shrugged. “Tasers have no lasting effect.”
“Your people left him on the sidewalk?” I stood.
“They were not instructed to bring him. Please. Sit.”
My patience was at an end. “Why am I here?”
“You tracked the box.” He was stating the obvious.
“And?”
His index finger tapped the table. “How?”
Presumably he had the box. If someone took a few minutes to search it, they’d find my tracker. “I removed a GPS tracker from one of my suitcases and put it in the box’s lining.”
“You opened the box?”
“Yes.” Which was how I knew it pertained to the Russian president.
“What was inside?”
I stared at him. “Don’t you know?”
“I want confirmation.”
“A gun.” I didn’t trust Köse. The opposite. And he didn’t need to know I’d taken the photographs, documents, and flash drives.
His gaze sharpened. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
He rubbed a palm across his lips. “You’re sure?”
I looked him in the eye and lied. “Positive.”
Nehir appeared and put a hammered copper pan on the table. Inside the pan were fried eggs topped with some kind of dried sausage. She also handed me a white plastic bottle. “For your headache.”
“Thank you,” I told her.
“My favorite.” Köse waved at the platter. “Sucukla yumurta. You must try it. Please, Miss Fields. Sit. Eat.”
I shook two ibuprofen into my palm. “I need to return to Mersin.”
“That is not possible.”
“Mark is there. My dog is there.” And if she was still locked in the bathroom, she’d be livid.
“Please.” Köse nodded toward the food covering the table. “Eat.”
I ignored his request. “Who stole the box from the yacht club?”
“My people.”
“Why?”
“I worried you were negotiating with Dimitriou.”
“His house was ransacked. People were killed.”
“The SVR.” He heaped eggs and sausage and olives onto his plate. His tone was mild, as if Russian spies invading his friend’s house didn’t bother him in the least.
“He was your friend.”
“Sit.” His voice was sharp, as if he’d lost patience with me.
I sat. But only because I needed a sip of coffee to wash down the pills.
His gaze bored into me. “The box held nothing but the gun?”
“What else would there be?” I tried to sound innocent.
He regarded me with narrowed eyes. “No papers? No flash drives?”
“No. One of your friends might have taken them.” I wasn’t a great liar. If Köse believed me, it was because he saw a party girl, incapable of deceiving a man.
“My friends?”
“Yurgi, Dimitriou, Dal Cho, or Maksim Volkov.”
Köse’s already thin mouth slimmed to an unforgiving line. “How much did Yurgi tell you?”
“That you passed around the box to keep it safe.”
“And you thought we went to all that trouble for a gun?”
“Mr. Köse, you have years of experience and knowledge. As does Yurgi. I wouldn’t dream of questioning how you manage your affairs.”
He pursed his lips and studied me. Closely.
“If something is missing from that box, it disappeared before Mark and I got it.” I swallowed. “You took the box from the yacht club?”
“A Greek associate. One of my men was to retrieve the box in Mersin.”
“But someone beat him to it.” The woman we’d chased.
“SVR.”
I swallowed. She’d been a Russian spy? “Mark and I followed her, then your people attacked us.”
“Yurgi would not want you near anyone from the SVR.”
“He should have thought about that before he gave me the box.”
“As I said, he did you no favors.”
“The SVR wanted the gun. Why do you want it?”
He bent and reached under the table. When he sat straight, he deposited the box—the box I wished I’d never fetched—on the table. “To keep it safe.”
I didn’t believe him. “I’d like to speak with Yurgi.”
He offered me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It barely reached his nose. “It would be a shame to interrupt his honeymoon.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind, given that you kidnapped me and left my boyfriend in a gutter.
“Your boyfriend?” He made the word sound ridiculous.
“We’re together.”
“Yurgi approves?”
He did, but that was neither here nor there. “Yurgi doesn’t get a say.” I winced internally. I was supposed to be a party girl, not an independent woman.
Köse’s brows lifted. “American girls have too much freedom.”
Whatever. “I’m sorry I can’t help you with your box.” I tried to sound sincere. “Please, may I have a ride back to Mersin?”
He rubbed his chin and fixed his gaze on the valley below us. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He looked as if he might say yes, as if he might call for a car and put me in it.
I crossed my fingers in my lap.
He opened his mouth to give me his answer, but the sound of gunfire interrupted him.