“You lied to me and you stole from me,” his deep voice rasped. “If you were a man I’d cut your tongue out and you’d lose a hand.”
Tally wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them for protection.
“Where is the memory card?” he demanded.
Tally hugged her knees even tighter. “What are you talking about?”
“You know perfectly well.”
“I don’t.”
He said nothing now, just stared at her, his expression hard, unforgiving, brooding. His eyes were dark like coffee and a deep line seemed permanently etched between his black eyebrows.
He finally spoke. “I saw you. I was watching.”
Tally shuddered. She felt his anger and scorn, it was also there in his eyes and the mocking tilt of his lips but she wouldn’t let him know it bothered her. And she wouldn’t act afraid, or acknowledge that she was stuck here. Stranded and powerless.
“I want it,” he added softly. “Now.”
“It’s mine!” she answered fiercely, even as she bowed her head. She couldn’t give him the memory card, she couldn’t. It was hers, all she had of the past few weeks.
“Before you tell me no again,” he added even more quietly, “before you tell me another lie, know that in my world thieves lose hands. Liars lose tongues. Think for a moment. Decide if your photos are worth it.”
Tally couldn’t look at him now. All thoughts of being tough and strong were crumbling. “Please,” she whispered. “Please let me keep the card. You can have the camera.”
“That’s an odd thing for a tourist to say.”
Slowly Tally lifted her head, swallowing around the lump of fear.
“You told me you were just a tourist,” he added, his dark eyes boring into her, staring so hard, so intently she felt as if he were seeing inside her, all the way to her heart. “You lie. You steal. What else do you do?”
She shook her head, terrified.
“Perhaps you aid the insurgents. Those who want to be rid of us. Those that take our land from us.”
“I help no one—”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I’m not political. Yes, I’m a photographer, but I’m not political, I take no sides, I do not even know the history of these border wars you talk about.”
“Prove it.”
She looked at him for a long unblinking moment. “How?”
“Give me the memory card back. I will look at the photos. I shall see for myself if you tell the truth.”
She couldn’t look away from his dark eyes, or his hard features, each strong, defined—nose, jaw, cheekbone, brow bone. “What if you don’t like my work?”
He shrugged. “I’ll erase it.”
Tears filled her eyes and she hated herself for being weak and emotional but she was in agony. Those photos were months of work, work in nearly unbearable heat, work in wretched conditions, work where she’d sacrificed comfort and her own health to get just the right shots. “Please don’t erase my work. I’ve weeks and weeks of shots on that memory card. I haven’t downloaded anything in ages since I’ve been traveling.”
He was still, very still and his hard gaze reproving. “Why did you lie to me?”
She searched his face, searched for a sign of compassion or comprehension. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”
He stared down at her, expression shuttered, and when he spoke his voice was cold. “No. I don’t understand.” Then he walked out and for a moment Tally did nothing and then leaping from the bed, she chased after him.
“Wait,” she shouted, running to catch up with him. “Wait, please. Please!” She caught his sleeve, tugged on it. Her legs were shaking, her heart pounding and her mouth tasted sandy and dry.
Reaching into her bra, Tally pulled out the memory card and with a trembling hand gave it to him. “Take it. Look at the photos. See what I’ve done, see my work for yourself. If certain pictures offend you, then erase those, but I beg you, please don’t delete everything. Please leave me something.” Her voice cracked, broke. “I’ve spent months here, months in the desert, months away from my family. Please don’t take it all from me.”
Silently he accepted the memory card, his large hand wrapping around the small disk. Tally met his gaze, and blinking back tears she held it, looked him square in the eye, looked without pretense or pride. She was asking him to be fair, that’s all she wanted. For him to be fair.
Legs still shaking, she walked back to her tent, and dropped weakly onto the low bed.
This wasn’t good. So not good.
This is exactly what her mother always warned her about. This was what her friends had predicted. This was what her editor cautioned every time Tally set out on a new expedition. But she’d been a photographer for years and although she’d been in some tight spots, she’d never had serious trouble. She’d been doing so well traveling on her own until now. But this…this…was bad.
CHAPTER THREE
TALLY wasn’t alone long. Almost immediately her captor returned with her camera and bag. He dropped them on to the bed next to her and she grabbed them, held the camera and case to her as though they were her last lifeline to the outer world.
“Why?” she stammered, looking up at him.
He shrugged. “You said the camera wouldn’t work without the memory card.”
For a moment she didn’t see where he was going with this, and then she understood. Even as she searched her camera bag she knew all the memory cards were gone. He’d kept them. Her pleasure in having the camera returned dimmed. “I shouldn’t have given you it back,” she said bitterly. “I should have protected my pictures.”
“It didn’t matter if you gave it back to me or not. The card you took from the camera was blank. It was a new memory card. I switched the cards before I left the camera out.”
Tally shoved a hand through her hair, pushing it off her face. She was so hot she wanted to scream. Throw things. Pick a fight. “You didn’t. You’re bluffing.”
“Bluffing?” His gaze locked with hers. “Is that what I think you just said.”
Her heart pounding, she held his gaze, showing him once and for all she wouldn’t be intimidated. “Yes. That’s what I said. Bluffing.”
“I don’t bluff, and what I did was test you.” His dark eyes burned. “You failed.”
“I’m not surprised,” she flashed. “And just a little FYI, it’s hard to feel sympathy for you, or your causes, when you so blatantly disregard other people’s needs and feelings.”
“You have no idea who or what you’re dealing with, do you?”
She did, actually. He was a bandit and a kidnapper and it wouldn’t be wise to push him too far but she was so angry now she wasn’t thinking straight. “You don’t test people.”
“Of course you do. It’s smart. It’s strategy. One must know others strengths and weaknesses.”
“And you think you know mine?”
“I know you’re not to be trusted.” His lips compressed, and he looked hard, knowing, controlled.