Chapter 2

2

Bea

B ea ducked quickly, hiding behind the dense potted plants lining the second-floor patio.

She’d convinced Julio, the head gardener, to let those plants grow thicker, arguing she loved looking out at them when she walked out of her room. If he saw through to her real motivation—that those plants provided her with a safe place to eavesdrop on her uncle—he didn’t let on.

Her heart hammered a staccato beat against her chest. She could have sworn the newcomer looked up right at those plants before he crossed the downstairs patio and disappeared into the staircase on the opposite side, following one of her uncle’s henchmen.

Like many haciendas, the house was designed around a spacious central patio. In most homes, the patio was usually a place for leisure and recreation, the center of family life. Her uncle, of course, had ruined that as well, and instead dug up a pool that took up easily two thirds of the space, leaving only a narrow space for walking from one side of the patio to the other.

Bea sighed, hating the sight of that water. Her uncle didn’t even like swimming.

He destroyed the patio because he could. Just like he does with everything else he owns.

She wondered who the newcomer was. She’d only gotten a quick glimpse at him, but he didn’t seem like her uncle’s usual visitor. First of all, he wasn’t Colombian. And he didn’t seem American either. His English accent was broader, his vowels longer than usual. Suddenly, it struck her. She’d had a teacher who spoke like him once, back when her father was still alive. Back when she’d been allowed to go to school. The man was Australian. The thought made her shiver. Could her uncle’s empire be expanding in that direction as well?

Why is nobody stopping him? Don’t they realize ? —

Bea put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from sobbing. Her uncle hated it when her face looked like she’d been crying.

She steeled herself. Her uncle wasn’t going to tell her anything about his visitor. If she wanted to know who this man was, and what he was doing here, she was going to have to figure it out for herself.

She wondered which room had been assigned to him. The house was arranged around the inner courtyard in the traditional fashion — with a zona de día, or living area — on the ground floor, and two staircases on opposite corners of the house, both leading up to the zona de noche , or sleeping quarters. The rooms facing south were reserved for the master of the house and his family. Only two of those three bedrooms were occupied right now, one by her uncle and one by Bea.

As luxurious as her suite was, every night Bea cried herself to sleep, wishing she could move to one of the rooms on the opposite end of the courtyard, further away from her uncle. But she knew better than to suggest such a thing, knew just how much it would anger him if he knew.

Once upon a time she’d loved her uncle, but that had been a long time ago, before her father died. Ever since her uncle had become her legal guardian, ever since he’d taken her out of the convent school and brought her to this strange, empty house, their relationship had become strained.

Now, nothing she ever did was enough. The only way to please him seemed to become … less … in every sense of the word. Sometimes, she looked at herself in the mirror and barely recognized the version of herself staring back.

Recently, he’d begun looking at her strangely, as if she were an object he had plans for. Bea didn’t want to contemplate what those plans might be, but if it had something to do with the newcomer, Bea had to know. She couldn’t afford to stick her head in the sand like an ostrich, as she’d been doing over the last year.

Bea didn’t have any friends anymore, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew what a friend would say. A friend would tell her nothing’s going to get better unless you make it so.

If she had to guess, her uncle’s guest would be sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms overlooking the gardens. Those rooms were all connected by a long balcony that ran along the outside of the house.

Bea steeled her spine against what she had to do, knowing it was now or never. This was no time to second guess herself.

She crept along the upper inner balcony, listening intently for any sounds. At this time of day, her uncle was always downstairs, and staff members had no reason to be up here once they were done cleaning.

She stood outside the first door, straining to hear anything beyond the sound of her beating heart. There was nothing—only silence. Before she could change her mind, she turned the knob and made her way inside, breathing a sigh of relief as she confirmed it was, indeed, empty, and quickly closed the door behind her.

Though outside the sun was shining, the room was in half-shadow because of the heavy curtains blocking out most of the light. Her uncle insisted all rooms should be kept this way, arguably, to keep the heat out and protect the valuable items of furniture from the light of the sun.

Bea sighed. She hated darkness. If she ever had a place to call her own, she’d tear down the curtains and live perpetually in the light.

Her ballet flats made no sound against the antique Persian rug. She stepped gingerly around a heavy armchair that would have looked more at home in a French palace than in a Colombian hacienda. She reached past the heavy curtains to unlock the balcony door latch, inhaling sharply at the resulting click. A part of her wanted to run back, but she’d come too far to do so now. She forced herself to step forward and into the light, careful to leave the door behind her ajar in case she needed to make a quick getaway and to avoid locking herself out.

She walked forward, heading slowly towards the next window.

The curtains were open.

Bingo.

Craning her neck to look into the room, she kept the rest of her body plastered against the wall. Her muscles tensed as she caught sight of the man. He was alone, still wearing the same faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t been carrying a bag.

He’d taken off his boots and was fiddling with something on the sole of one boot. As Bea watched, the man took out a small square object and placed it behind some books on the bookshelf.

What the hell is he doing?

She was one hundred percent sure she hadn’t said the words out loud, nor had she made any sound, but something—some sixth sense—seemed to alert the man to her presence. He looked up.

Bea flattened herself further against the wall, her heart threatening to burst out of her mouth. When nothing happened, she relaxed lightly, pushing her head back against the stone.

Then the balcony door clicked open. She could imagine him popping his head outside. Please stay inside. Please don’t come out.

She strained to hear something, her heart pounding so hard she wondered if this was what the beginning of a heart attack felt like.

And then he was there. He’d moved so silently she hadn’t even realized he’d stepped outside.

Bea turned, ready to run, but once again the man was too quick, blocking the way. She realized now just how much taller than she he was. Tall, with broad shoulders and slim hips. Not that she was looking down at his hips.

“Hello there.” His deep voice held a trace of surprise.

Despite her fear, a part of her mind remained detached enough to confirm her earlier assessment of his Australian accent. The rest of her struggled, panicked.

Who cares where he’s from? You need to get out of here!

“I’m Rogue,” he continued, as if her silence made no difference to him.

Rogue. Bea committed the name to memory. It suited him. With his brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail, his chiseled jaw, and those intense stone-gray eyes, he looked rakish and … dangerous. Very dangerous. Fear—sour and liquid—filled her. She should have stayed in her room. She should have known better than to approach any friend of her uncle’s.

Run.

Now.

Before it’s too late.

He must have sensed her fight-or-flight response kicking in. His hand whipped towards her, his fingers wrapping themselves against her wrist.

“Not so fast. Who are you?”

Bea tugged against his hold. The man’s fingers tightened inexorably. Not tight enough to hurt—there was no pain, only a strange, unexpected warmth—but tight enough to let her know she wasn’t going anywhere until he decided to let her go. Bea gave a small whimper.

The man’s gray eyes flashed with something unexpected for an instant but, by the time she blinked, they were stone again. “Who are you?” he asked again. There was a light threat in his voice now, and Bea had to clench her teeth to stop herself from crying out. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure.

“I’m nobody,” she finally said. Which was close enough to the truth. She was nobody here. Or less than nobody. She was just a pawn in her uncle’s dark chess game.

His hold on her wrist relaxed infinitesimally. She shouldn’t have been able to tell, except that all her focus, all her attention, was on that small expanse of skin. She felt it and knew it was her chance.

“I came to see if you needed more towels.”

His eyes finally left her face. She felt his gaze as it roamed down her body, then up again. She could feel it like it was a physical touch. Warm and?—

She cringed.

What are you doing, Bea? Have you lost your mind?

She held her ground and waited. Would he believe she was a maid? She wasn’t carrying any towels, but knew where to find them, if she needed to, inside the second cupboard in the hallway.

Something flashed again in his eyes. This time, she recognized it for what it was. Curiosity. That wasn’t good. The last thing she wanted was for one of her uncle’s friends to be curious about her, but there was nothing she could do now except wait. She forced herself to stay still.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then he smiled, those full lips lifting almost lazily. And if he’d been good-looking before, that smile turned him into a devastatingly handsome man. Something inside her belly clenched, which was unexpected, because he was a man, and men weren’t safe. Friends of her uncle, even less so. The warning bells in her head grew louder, a cacophony of sound.

She jerked her eyes away, but not before she caught that strange flash in his eyes. Something dark and jaded and … dangerous.

His fingers skimmed around the pulse point on her wrist, and she knew he’d be able to feel her agitation, regardless of how still she held herself. “I don’t need more towels,” he finally said, letting go. She pulled her hand back, only just restraining herself from touching the spot where his fingers had been moments earlier. “Just information.”

Information .

She almost laughed out loud. He wanted information from her? Bea knew information made the world go round. But trying to get information from her was like?—

Her eyes were drawn to a yellow shape flying across the sky. A male saffron finch. Probably looking for his mate. Bea knew more about birds now than she’d ever thought she would. The previous owner of the house had been an avid birdwatcher and had left dozens of bird books in the downstairs library. Bea had nothing, if not time, and she’d discovered she enjoyed looking at the birds.

“Information,” he repeated, speaking slowly, as if to a dull child.

Bea almost laughed. He was more likely to get information out of the finch that had just flown by than out of her.

But she didn’t say that. Instead, she waited. She was good at waiting, but then, he seemed to be pretty good at it, too.

“Where are we?” he asked.

It was the last thing she’d expected him to ask. And it was a dangerous question. She cocked her head sideways. Maybe a trick question. But what could he?—

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, taking a small step back. “I just need to know where we are.”

One step, and suddenly she could breathe again. “That way is Sincelejo,” she said, pointing south. “It’s a thirty-minute drive.” She hadn’t seen him arrive, but he must have come in a car. There was no other way in or out of the hacienda, as she well knew, unless you could fly.

“Thank you,” he said, and took another step back. Bea took that as her cue to run past him, back into the room she’d first come out of. She locked the latch and stepped inside, pulling the curtains tight behind her, waiting for her heart beat to slow down.