Glancing down, she saw the swollen reddened tips of her breasts and felt a mixture of shame at the memory of her wanton behaviour, coupled with a newly awakened awareness of her sexual needs. Diego had satisfied her last night, but now she felt ready to play again. It seemed that her body was determined to make up for being a late starter in experiencing sensual pleasure.
It was immediately apparent that she was alone. Diego must have dressed—his jeans and shirt were missing—and only her bra and knickers were strewn on the floor where he had thrown them after he had removed them with her willing cooperation.
The pale pink sky outside the cave reassured her that it must be early morning and thankfully it seemed that the kidnappers had not yet arrived. Fear sent a cold chill down her spine and self-disgust churned in her stomach. While she had made love with Diego, Becky had spent another night in terror, held prisoner by the criminal gang who had snatched her.
Feeling guilty that she had temporarily forgotten about her sister, Clare stood up and pulled on her nun’s habit, before covering her hair with the veil. Of course she would explain to Diego that she wasn’t really a nun and also explain about Becky being kidnapped. He would probably argue when she asked him to leave her alone at the cave, but to save her sister’s life she must follow the kidnappers’ instructions and meet them on her own.
She picked up her rucksack and the case of money and stepped outside, but there was no sign of Diego or the Jeep. She vaguely remembered that she had been woken by what had sounded like a shout. Unease made her skin prickle. Where was he? She was about to call him, but hesitated. The forest was eerily silent without the usual cacophony of birdsong, and she sensed that she was being watched.
‘Senhorita Marchant?’
A man stepped out from the trees to one side of Clare. She whirled round to face him and inhaled sharply when she saw he was holding a gun. He, and the two men who followed him into the clearing, looked of Hispanic origin, dark-eyed and swarthy-skinned, with an air of menace about them that filled her with dread as she imagined them hurting her sister.
‘Where’s Becky?’
The man with the gun seemed to be transfixed by her habit and veil. He glanced at the briefcase. ‘You have the money?’ When she nodded, he held out his hand for her to give him the case.
‘I want to see Becky first.’ Clare could feel her heart thumping painfully hard in her chest. She had never thought of herself as particularly brave. But her bravery had never been tested when she had lived an ordinary, unexciting life in a leafy north London suburb, she acknowledged. She pictured her father, waiting desperately for news of his daughters, and her fragile mother who was struggling to regain her health after suffering a stroke. Her parents would be devastated if Becky did not return home and Clare knew she was the only person who could secure her sister’s release.
She curled her fingers tightly around the handle of the briefcase and stared unflinchingly at the kidnapper when he pointed the gun at her. For some reason she remembered Diego’s admiration when she had ignored her exhaustion and helped him dig the Jeep’s wheels out of the mud on the road to Torrente. He had made her feel like she was stronger and capable of achieving more than she’d ever realised. Her heart lurched as she wondered where he was and prayed he was safe.
It took all her will power to prevent her hand from shaking as she reached out and calmly pushed the gun away so that it was no longer aimed at her. ‘Would you really shoot a nun?’
To her surprise and relief, the kidnapper lowered the weapon to his side and a dull flush mottled his face. ‘My apologies, Sister. I was sent here to collect a ransom. I did not realise I would be meeting uma noiva de Cristo.’
Clare silently thanked the Mother Superior, who had persuaded her to dress as a nun for her protection. ‘I will pay the ransom when my sister is released and transport has been arranged for us to return to England.’
The man shrugged. ‘You must come with us,’ he said, pointing through the trees to a four-by-four with blacked-out windows parked near the road. He looked at Clare and made the sign of a cross. ‘I am sorry, Sister, I just do my job.’
* * *
Torrente looked as deprived and rundown as Diego had described it. The main road was busy with street traders selling their goods from the back of carts, and barefoot children played in the piles of rubbish heaped in the gutters. There was an air of despair about the place, and Clare noticed several young women—some did not look much older than girls—dressed in revealing dresses and towering heels, trying to attract the attention of men who were willing to pay for sex.
The kidnapper who Clare had overheard his companions call Enzo drove through the town and turned up a winding road leading to a huge villa that stood on top of a hill. Whoever lived here was certainly not poor, she thought, as electric gates opened to allow the four-by-four to pass through and closed with an ominous clang behind them. The lush, beautifully manicured grounds were patrolled by armed security guards, and the guards at the front door looked at her closely as she followed Enzo inside.
She had a vague impression of gleaming white marble walls and flashy gold decor, but her heart was beating so fast with fear that she was finding it hard to breathe. They walked along what seemed like miles of corridors before Enzo stopped and opened a door, indicating for Clare to enter the room. She stepped inside and her legs almost buckled with relief when a familiar figure jumped up from a chair and ran towards her.
‘Becky!’ Clare flew across the room and flung her arms around her sister. ‘Are you all right? They haven’t harmed you?’ Another wave of relief surged through her when she saw that Becky’s ears, revealed where her long ash-blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, were perfectly fine. Clare wondered briefly who the severed piece of ear she had been sent by the kidnappers belonged to. But, thankfully, her sister seemed to be unhurt, and in fact looked as beautiful and elegant as she always did, despite having been held captive for a week.
Compared to Becky, Clare knew she must look like a grubby urchin from a Dickensian novel in her crumpled, mud-stained clothes. She realised that her sister was staring at her veil.
‘Why are you dressed like that?’ Becky pulled the veil from Clare’s head and watched her hair tumble around her shoulders. ‘Thank goodness you haven’t cut your hair short. It’s your best feature.’
‘It was a disguise. I was helped by some nuns in Manaus and the Mother Superior suggested that I should wear a habit and veil as protection from the criminals in Torrente who are apparently God-fearing, although they don’t fear the police.’
Becky gave a shaky laugh. ‘I thought for a minute you had actually joined the church. Wearing the veil makes you look like a very realistic nun.’ She glanced across the sitting room to a door which led into an adjoining room. ‘Don’t you think so, Diego?’
Shock robbed Clare of the ability to speak as she spun round and stared at Diego leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his broad chest and his lips curved into a familiar cynical smile that was not reflected in his hard as steel eyes. ‘You certainly convinced me, Sister Clare,’ he drawled.
‘I WAS GOING to tell you, but I didn’t get an opportunity to explain,’ Clare muttered. She and Diego were walking along a corridor, following the gang member Enzo, who had ordered them to go with him. Clare hadn’t had a chance to replace her veil, and she felt vulnerable now that her guise of a nun had been blown. The way Enzo’s eyes had insolently roamed over her made her skin crawl.
She wondered if the person called Rigo, who they were being taken to, was the leader of the kidnappers. She was worried that she’d had to leave Becky in the room where they had briefly been reunited. But hopefully this Rigo would accept the ransom money and allow her and Becky, and Diego, to go free, she told herself.
Diego shot her