Her expensive international service was sketchy at best. Dylan had tried dialing out for help several times in the past hour, with the same frustrating result. All she was doing by refusing to give up was wasting precious battery time. She'd lost the cell phone charger and the power converter doohickey a few days into the trip; now she only had two bars of juice left, and this current ordeal seemed far from over.
As if to punctuate that fact, the lock on the door snicked free and someone twisted the crystal knob from outside.
Dylan hurriedly powered the device down and stuffed it under the pillow behind her. She was just bringing her hand out as her posh prison door swung open.
Rio strode in carrying a wooden tray of food. The aromas of fresh sourdough bread, garlic, and roasted meat drifted in ahead of him. Dylan's mouth watered as she caught a glimpse of a thick, grilled sandwich heaping with sliced chicken, marinated red peppers and onion, cheese, and crisp green lettuce.
Oh, God, did it look wonderful.
"Here's your lunch, as promised."
She forced a careless shrug. "I told you, I'm not going to eat anything you give me."
"Suit yourself."
He set the tray down on the bed next to her. Dylan tried not to look at the scrumptious sandwich or the cup of ripe strawberries and peaches that accompanied it. There was also a bottle of mineral water on the tray and a short cocktail glass with a generous two-and-a-half-finger pour of pale amber liquid that smelled sweet and smoky, like very pricey Scottish whisky. The kind her father used to pickle himself in nightly, despite that they couldn't afford his habit.
"Is the liquor to help me wash down the sedatives you put in the food, or did you put the mickey in the drink?"
"I have no intention of drugging you, Dylan." He sounded so sincere, she almost believed him. "The drink is there to relax you, if you need it. I'm not going to force anything on you."
"Huh," she said, noticing a subtle change in his demeanor from before. He was still immense and dangerous-looking, but when he stared at her now, there was a sober, almost pained resignation about him. Like he had some unpleasant business that he needed to get out of the way.
"If you're not here to force anything on me, then why do you look like you're delivering me my last meal?"
"I came to talk to you, that's all. There are some things I need to explain to you. Things you need to know."
Well, it was about time she got some answers. "Okay. You can start by telling me when you're going to let me out of here."
"Soon," he said. "Tomorrow night we'll be leaving for the States."
"You're taking me back to America?" She knew she sounded too hopeful, especially when he was still including himself in the scenario. "Are you going to release me tomorrow? Are you letting me go home?"
He walked slowly around the foot of the bed, over to the wall with the shaded window. He leaned one shoulder against the wall, his tattooed, muscular arms crossed over his chest. For a long minute, he didn't say anything. Just stood there until Dylan wanted to scream.
"You know, I was supposed to meet someone in Prague this morning - someone who knows my boss and has probably already called him to ask about me. I'm booked on a flight back to New York this afternoon. There are people expecting me back home. You can't just pluck me off the street and think no one is going to notice I'm gone - "
"No one is expecting you now."
Dylan's heart started to thud heavily in her chest, as if her body was aware something big was coming even before her brain was fully on board with it. "What...what did you just say?"
"Your family, friends, and your place of work have all been informed that you are safe and sound, but expect to be out of contact for a while." At her certain look of confusion, he said, "They all received an e-mail from you a few minutes ago, letting them know that you were taking some extra time off to see more of Europe on your own."
Anger flared in her now, even stronger than the wariness she knew just a second before. "You contacted my boss? My mother?" The job was of little concern to her at the moment, but it was the thought of this man getting anywhere near her mom that really set Dylan off. She swung her legs off the bed and stood up, practically shaking with rage. "You bastard! You manipulative son of a bitch!"
He drew back, out of her path as she charged at him. "It was necessary, Dylan. As you said, there would have been questions. People would have been worrying about you."
"You stay the f**k away from my family - do you hear me? I don't care what you do to me, but you leave my family out of this!"
He remained calm, considerate. Maddeningly so. "Your family is safe, Dylan. And so are you. Tomorrow night, I will be taking you back to the States, to a secret location that belongs to those of my kind. I think once you're there, a lot of what you're going to hear now will be easier for you to understand."
Dylan stared at him, her mind stumbling over his odd choice of words: those of my kind.
"What the hell is going on here? I'm serious...I need to know." Ah, hell. Her voice was quaking like she was about to lose it in front of him - this stranger who had stolen her freedom and violated her privacy. She would be damned before she showed any weakness to him, no matter what she was about to hear. "Please. Tell me. Give me the truth."
"About yourself?" he asked, his deep, accented voice rolling through the syllables. "Or about the world you were born to be a part of?"
Dylan couldn't find words to speak. Instinct made her hand move up to the back of her neck, where her nape seemed to tingle with heat.