“I’m so sorry . . .” She could barely get the words out past her broken voice.
Axel stood again, clearing his throat. He pocketed the ring, his expression locked up tight. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Three
THEY seemed to trek for miles . . . and miles. Endless sand and desert, dotted only by brittle brush, even as snowcapped mountains surrounded them. Mystery felt as if they’d be lost out here forever. The thought of never seeing her father again chilled her veins with icy panic. The weather didn’t help. The desert at night was freezing.
Axel had long ago ordered her to eat the sandwich her captor had left. He also put on his jacket and made her wear Alvarez’s. He had to be exhausted, too, but he just kept putting one foot in front of the other, looking up at the sky periodically, then checking an old-fashioned compass he’d pulled from his pack.
“How are you doing?” he asked suddenly in the silence broken only by the sound of footfalls on the never-ending sand.
Ready to fall over. Beyond exhausted. “Fine.”
He smiled grimly. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a terrible liar?”
Despite everything, she smiled. “My dad. Apparently, I’m not as good as the professional liars he works with. That’s what he calls actors. He stays behind the camera—rather than in front of it—more often now, but over the years, he says he’d heard every lie ever told.”
“I’m sure. You sound fond of your dad.”
She smiled up at Axel. “He’s really fabulous. The press isn’t always kind, and I know he’s had a well-documented love life, but as a father, I couldn’t ask for more. What about you?”
“My dad did the single-parent thing, too. I’m the third of four boys, so he always had his hands full. But he tried to do right by us.”
Mystery nodded. She didn’t want to pry, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t deeply curious about this soldier who’d saved her life. “Where’s your mom?”
“Who knows?” He shrugged. “She wanted more excitement than a small town could give, so she left.”
His conversational tone stunned her. That was it? “Do you miss her?”
“It wouldn’t do me any good. Besides, it was a long time ago. You still miss yours?”
Everyone knew about her mother’s death. It had been the stuff of tabloids since the police still classified it as “unsolved.” Some believed her mother had committed suicide. Others were convinced her father had murdered the wife he hadn’t wanted and couldn’t afford to divorce. But the DA had never been able to gather enough evidence to indict him—or anyone. Mystery wished she had someone to blame and hate for taking away the woman who had birthed and loved her. Her father had many faults—an eye for the ladies and a wandering dick among them. But he wasn’t a killer.
“All the time. Maybe . . . it’s different for me. Mine didn’t leave; she was taken. I know if she’d had a choice, she would have stayed.”
“Sounds like it.” He paused, sending her a direct stare full of honesty . . . and a surprising dose of concern. She wouldn’t have been able to see it out in the desert except the moon was full and bright tonight. “You know there will be a media fervor when we make it back, right?”
She felt every pound of that pack on her back with each step, but she refused to wince. “I’m used to that. I was three when Dad won his first Oscar. It hasn’t slowed down since. The spotlight is all I’ve ever known.”
Granted, she usually stood just outside its bright light, but the glare caught her every so often.
“Interesting life.”
“It’s whatever you get used to, I think.” She shrugged. “Everything is a trade-off. I’m not that fond of the limelight, but being the only child of Marshall Mullins opens doors.”
“You going to follow in your dad’s footsteps?”
People asked that a lot. She shook her head. “I’m not much for the whole . . . Hollywood scene. I prefer books. My dad thinks it’s funny, but I like mysteries.”
He sent her a speculative glance. “So why were you at a nightclub when you were taken?”
“I let some of my friends talk me into it.” And wasn’t she annoyed with herself? “I was also leaving. I’m sure they stayed for hours. Was my dad all right when you saw him?”
Axel’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “He’s really worried; I won’t lie. Your disappearance shook him. He kept waiting for a ransom note.”
“He never got one?” That surprised her.
“Unless he’s received one in the last eighteen hours, no.”
Mystery shook her head. “That makes no sense. I mean, none of this does. My captor didn’t say much, just kept me isolated. He didn’t mention any demands he or his boss planned to make. The weirdest part is, the morning I arrived, the bastard holding me drew blood.”
Axel frowned. “He cut you?”
“No. He took out a syringe and physically drew my blood like a phlebotomist, then said something about waiting a couple of days. I have no idea why or what that’s supposed to mean.”
That frown of his became a downright scowl. “I don’t know, either, but I’m sure once your father hears this, he’ll look into it.”
He would, but Mystery just wanted this incident behind her. She wanted to be away from Hollywood, the club scene, the press. She certainly didn’t want to fixate on some freak’s motives and try to find logic.
“Yeah. Sure.” She tried to send him a wobbly smile.
He continued his strong, sure cadence through the desert. Something about his face fascinated her. Big, kind of square, not at all refined . . . and she still couldn’t stop staring. He wasn’t so much handsome as rugged. Mystery had grown up knowing many of the most gorgeous men on the planet. People had labeled her as one of the most beautiful celebrity children, which kind of creeped her out. Suri Cruise and those Jolie-Pitt kids qualified. She had her mom’s hourglass figure, a fall of dark hair that in no way resembled the sea of California blondes around her, and a wide mouth some Internet sites speculated would look great giving blow jobs. The individual parts of her didn’t add up to the most stunning sum, in her opinion, but whatever. What mattered was that she was alive.
“We’ve gone five or six miles. Let’s stop for a water break.” He paused near an outcropping of rocks and sat his pack down, extracting her half full bottle.
“I’m not thirsty. I can conserve awhile longer.”
“No. It may be cold and dry tonight, but you’re still working up a sweat. You have to replace your fluids.” He thrust the bottle at her with a demanding stare.
She sighed and took it. “Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?”
A faint grin crept across his face. “All the time. Some people actually like it, princess.”
Mystery suspected that he alone understood the punch line to his joke, but she was too tired to care what it might be. Instead, she washed the taste of sand out of her mouth with a couple of swigs of water. He’d put a water purification tablet in the bottle before he’d let her drink it, and it had a strange chemical taste, but she could stomach it if that meant not getting sick.
She handed the bottle back to him.
He just shook his head. “Finish it.”
Then he lifted his own bottle and polished it off in four long swallows. She watched his thick neck working, the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he gripped the plastic with his large hand. Then the reason for her fascination with him hit.
Besides being her hero, he was a man.
Yes, she’d been surrounded all her life by members of the opposite sex, some even very attractive in that polished, Hollywood, metrosexual way. But Axel was a walking, talking billboard for testosterone. He oozed it, gave it off as easily as others exhaled carbon dioxide. It hung around him like a pheromone. He would never worry about whether his hair looked just right or if his pants weren’t perfectly fashionable. He wouldn’t care if he was seen at the right restaurants or what anyone thought of him. Axel was one hundred percent secure in himself and his masculinity.