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well as she could be under the circumstances. But more than once during the flight, she had fought the urge to throw up. If she did vomit, she would pass it off as nothing more than motion sickness. She intended to keep the fact that she was pregnant a secret from her abductor. If Griffin Powell’s wife was worth a king’s ransom, what would Griff’s wife and child be worth?
    Having gone over half a dozen different scenarios during her seclusion, Nic had come to the conclusion that until they reached their destination and she acquired more information, she couldn’t devise a workable plan of action.
    Suddenly she felt the plane begin to descend. Was the pilot preparing to land? Surmising that at least three or four hours had passed since she had awakened from her drugged sleep and found herself on the plane with Linden, Nic tried to think of exactly where over the U.S. they might be. Linden had said they were traveling south. If he had been telling her the truth, then calculating four hours plus however many hours she had been asleep, they could be about to land somewhere in Mexico or Central America or even on one of the Caribbean islands. If she was allowed to talk to Griff, she would find out a way to give him a clue to her whereabouts, assuming she could figure out where they were.
    As the plane continued its slow, steady decline, Anthony Linden unlocked the bedroom door and motioned to her. “We’ll be landing shortly, Nicole. It’s time for me to prepare you for departure.”
    A short time later, she understood what he’d meant by preparing her. Within minutes of their arrival at only God knew where, Linden yanked Nic to her feet, pulled her hands behind her back, bound her wrists, and then quickly gagged and blindfolded her. With a tight grip on her upper arm, he guided her off the plane. The moment the warm air swooshed around her, Nic sucked in a deep breath. Almost hot except for the balmy breeze, the weather was decidedly tropical. Linden hadn’t been lying. They had flown south.
    Once her feet hit solid ground, she was all but dragged away from the plane and to a waiting vehicle. Not a car or truck. As the driver, who hadn’t spoken a word, jerked the gearshift into reverse and backed up, Nic realized she was seated beside someone—probably Linden—inside a jeep. No seat belt restraint, just the tight grip of a large, hard hand manacled around the back of her neck. Keeping quiet and staying alert, she breathed in the scents and listened to the sounds. She might not be able to see where she was, but she could use her other senses.
    She knew only that they were south of the continental U.S., possibly in Mexico or even farther south in one of the Central American countries. She had no idea exactly where Linden was taking her or what awaited her upon their arrival. But she did know that she was a hostage, that she had been kidnapped because she was Griffin Powell’s wife, that she was soon to be the guest of a man who called himself Malcolm York. And she suspected that the odds of her coming out of this alive were slim to none.

Chapter 4
    Shortly before dawn, Griffin Powell emerged from his study, an unconscious Yvette in his arms. He had survived the past few hours and come through the darkest moments of his life solely because of Yvette’s sacrifice. After learning that Nicole was missing, probably kidnapped by Anthony Linden, Griff had gone mad. The magnitude of his anger and frustration, coupled with his guilt and anguish, could have destroyed him. He had been on the edge of the abyss, inches from taking an irrevocable plunge. He would have lost his mind had Yvette not used all the power of her unique psychic talents to absorb enough of his emotions to restore his equilibrium. Long ago, she had saved him in a similar manner. He owed her not only his life, then and now, but his sanity.
    If only he had explained everything to Nic. If only he had been completely honest with her from the very