Your Next Breath

by Iris Johansen

  It will be fine, Delores. This is only a little bump in the road. Trust me. I’ll see that you’re protected from that bitch.

  He had always protected Delores, from the time he’d first met her when she was sixteen.

  She had been lush and beautiful and belonged to one of his men, Javier. One night, he had found her in his bed and what had followed had been a sexual marathon that had still left him hungry for her. He’d known even then that he’d always have to have her.

  “So good.” She curled up closer to him and rubbed against him like a cat in heat. “I knew you’d be like this. I’ve been watching you. Javier didn’t like it. He said if I cheated on him, he’d beat me.”

  “Screw him.”

  She laughed. “Not anymore. I’d rather screw you. I have other plans for Javier.” She kissed him and whispered, “Would you like to hear them?”

  “Yes.”

  “You send for him. We tie him in a chair and make him watch us make love. Then you remove his penis in the most painful way possible. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

  He was getting hard just thinking about it. The blood, the pain, the emotional hell. “He must have really displeased you.”

  “Not really. He was easy to handle. But I don’t like threats, and I’m through with him. He might cause trouble for us later. And I’ve watched you, and I know you like what I like. The blood. The terror.” She raised herself on one elbow. “Don’t you like the idea of making a man who’d had me into a eunuch? It would make me all the more yours.” Her eyes were glowing down at him. “I knew from the moment I saw you that we were going to be together. I want to be only yours … except when we want to play a little. This would seal it, wouldn’t it?”

  “Sealed in blood.” His finger outlined her nipple. His mind was full of the picture she had drawn, and his body was excited and ready. “And then we’ll do a little more fine carving before we put poor Javier out of his misery.”

  “Poor?” She chuckled. “He’ll deserve it. He’s in my way. He’s in your way. I’m your woman. You’ve got to protect me, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. Forever.” He reached for his phone. “I’ll call Javier.”

  Forever, Delores. I promised you forever. I won’t let Ling steal it from you.

  * * *

  “Santos has to know about this airport,” Catherine said as she got off the private jet. She glanced around the ten or twelve hangars that had been well camouflaged from the air. “It’s perfect for drug trafficking and within miles of the border.”

  “Which is exactly why he doesn’t use it,” Dario said as he jumped down to the ground. “The police keep a close eye on what goes on here.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “Why should it?” He grinned. “I’m an honest businessman who contributes generously to the children-and-orphans fund of the police department. Plus a little on the side. They prefer dealing with me rather than the cartels. Their bribes are more generous, but I make sure that mine can’t be traced. Occasionally, I’ll take out a cop killer or a child molester, and I’m a hero for a while. In short, I’m very … comfortable for them.”

  “And very clever,” Cameron said as he joined them. “But I don’t need a hero at the moment. I need to know where I can find Eduardo Montez. He’s in this village?”

  Dario nodded. “That’s the word I have.” He nodded at the Jeep parked by the third hangar. “He’s supposed to be living in the basement of San Marcos’ church at the edge of the village. He’s been there since he fled Guatemala City after his brother was killed.”

  “A church?” Catherine repeated. “A strange hideout.”

  “Not really,” Cameron said. “Not when you know his background. I told you that he had three other doctorates besides his medical degree.”

  “And they are?”

  “Chemistry, mechanical engineering.” He paused. “And theology.”

  “So he would feel very at home in a church. But the resident priest must be very lenient,” Catherine said dryly as she got into the passenger seat of the Jeep. “Particularly if he had to confess to causing the death of his brother.”

  Dario shrugged. “Montez is a doctor. A doctor is a very valuable commodity in a small village like this. Father Gabriel might have been willing to balance the risk of hiding a fugitive from a drug cartel against that value.”

  “Or maybe the priest just wanted to save his life when he learned it wasn’t the police who were after Montez,” Catherine said. “It’s possible.”

  Cameron nodded. “I’m not arguing. A priest is a priest. They don’t have a secular mind-set. I was taught several disciplines by priests in Tibet. Anything is possible with them.” He got into the Jeep, and added grimly, “But I’d feel better if Montez had chosen someone to shelter him who had a better chance against Santos.” His gaze went to the small church nestled in the foothills. “Step on it, Dario.”

  * * *

  “Go, Eduardo!” Father Gabriel’s voice was urgent as he threw open the door of the small spare bedroom. “Now. I just received a call from Carlo, at the restaurant in the village. Two men were there asking questions about me.” He paused. “And about you.”

  Eduardo Montez wasn’t even surprised. He’d known it would come sometime. He’d thought it would be before this. He leaped to his feet. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t want to bring this down on you. You should have let me go when I told you about Santos.” He was pulling on his jacket and grabbing the backpack and medical kit he always kept beside his bed. “How much time do I have?”

  “Not long.” He jerked open the door leading to the garden. “Go through the rain forest to the monastery, as we planned. I’ve told Brother Benedict to give you shelter.”

  Montez paused as he reached the door. “Come with me.”

  Father Gabriel shook his head. “I would only slow you down. I’m no longer a young man, and this arthritis is not—”

  “Then I won’t go,” Montez said desperately. “You don’t know what Santos’s men will do to you. I told you, they killed my brother. For nothing, Father. For nothing.”

  “You don’t know. It may have not been for nothing. God may have had a plan for you.”

  “I won’t go without you.”

  Father Gabriel hesitated. “I’ll go and hide in the village. Will that satisfy you?”

  “No, but it’s better than your staying here. Now. Hurry. Go now, Father.”

  He nodded. “As soon as I see that you’ve reached the forest. It’s in your hands, Eduardo.”

  “Father, please, you have to—” He could see he wasn’t moving the priest. Father Gabriel was only smiling as he gestured to the forest. “Very well, I’ll go. Hurry. Please, hurry.”

  Montez started running through the garden toward the forest.

  God, he’s one of yours, protect him.

  Please. Don’t let me have killed another innocent man.

  * * *

  Smoke!

  Not a thick, black smoke, but a mere gray wisp curling out of the upper windows of the church. Catherine hadn’t even been able to see it until they were within a hundred yards of the church.

  “Shit!” Cameron said. “Pull over, Dario.”

  Dario was already pulling to the side of the road. “There’s only one car, and no one is in it.” He ran toward the black Volvo parked in front of the church. “I’ll wait for them to run out. You go inside, and see what—”

  “I don’t need you to tell me what to do, Dario,” Cameron said. “Catherine, I’ll go in the front door. You take the side entrance.”

  “Right.” She was drawing her gun as she reached the heavy, ancient oak door. She threw open the door and stepped to one side to avoid fire.

  Nothing.

  But the smoke was now pouring out of the church, and it had turned black. She could barely see, her eyes were stinging.

  Where was Cameron? He should be in the church by now.

  Shots!

  Straigh
t ahead and to the left.

  Someone was running down the aisle toward her.

  A bullet splintered the wood of the pew next to her.

  She fell to the floor and aimed at the dark-haired man in loose gray pants and white shirt whose gun was firing with every step he took.

  The next bullet came too close.

  Take him down fast.

  She rolled to one side and took her shot.

  He grunted, fell to his knees.

  And then fell forward.

  More shots, somewhere up ahead, near the altar.

  Cameron?

  She couldn’t see anything for the smoke.

  She jumped to her feet, held her breath, and ran toward the altar.

  Cameron met her before she got there.

  “Out!” He took her elbow and started running for the front entrance. “This place is going up like a tinderbox.”

  “The priest? Montez?”

  “The priest is dead. He was lying up at the altar when I ran in the front entrance. I shot the man who had killed him.” He threw open the oak door and ran down the stairs toward Dario. “But I didn’t see anyone resembling Montez. Maybe the priest managed to warn him, and he ran out the back.”

  It made sense, unless another of Santos’s men had spirited Montez away, Catherine thought. But that was doubtful considering the action that had been exploding when she and Cameron had run into the church.

  So assume Montez had gotten away.

  And go after him.

  She ran down the steps and around the side of the church.

  A garden with a small fountain.

  A hundred yards beyond that garden, the rain forest, dense foliage, no houses.

  Footprints?

  No footprints at the rear door of the church that led to the garden.

  But that didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be prints in the rain forest. The earth would be moist, saturated, and Montez would be in too much of a panic to try to erase those prints. He was a doctor, not a hunter or soldier.

  She started toward the dense shrubbery that bordered the rain forest.

  “It would have been polite to invite me to go along before you decided to disappear,” Cameron said as he fell into step with her.

  “I would have called you,” she said absently. “I wanted to make sure that Montez was on foot and didn’t have a car stashed in the back. He should have taken that precaution. But maybe it’s somewhere in that rain forest. We have to move fast in case he—”

  “We are moving fast. I told Dario to keep an eye out in case anyone else shows up in the village and to try to smooth things over with the local police and villagers. These people lost their priest and their church. They’re not going to be pleased.”

  “Neither am I,” she said wearily. “The deaths keep going on and on.”

  “But these weren’t targeted because of you, Catherine.”

  “How do I know that? Cause and effect.” She shook her head. “But I can’t think of that right now. Santos wants Montez, so I can’t let him have him. He might be of value to him, or he might know too much. Montez may be the key to getting to that bastard.” She moved toward the forest. “So if you want to come with me, keep up, Cameron.”

  “I’ll do my utmost to accommodate you.” He was moving quickly, every step catlike, his gaze focused on the ground. “I believe that’s not out of the realm of my capability.”

  * * *

  “He’s not even trying to mask his footprints,” Catherine said as she rose to her feet from examining a print four hours later. “I didn’t think he would. All he wants is to move as fast as he can and get away. I’d judge we’re about thirty minutes behind him.”

  “Twenty,” Cameron said. “And he could surprise you. If he feels trapped, he might turn on us. He doesn’t know who is following him, but he’ll think the worst. He may not know about the priest’s being killed, but his brother’s death was a warning that he couldn’t ignore.”

  “I know all that.” She increased her pace and went ahead of him on the trail. “So we’ll be careful. There’s no way that I want him to attack and have to take him down. He’s got to know something about Santos that could be useful. Why else are we here?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “But it might be better if we separated.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And tried to—”

  Cameron was gone.

  The trail behind her was empty, and the only sign of his passing was the faint stirring of the shrubbery to the left of the dirt path.

  Damn him.

  Heaven forbid that he work with her instead of going his own way.

  But it had also been her thought to separate, she thought grudgingly. She had just been about to tell him that they had to have a structure, a plan. And that plan could have involved going after Montez herself and leaving Cameron in the dust. It had occurred to her that a woman alone might seem less intimidating when she confronted Montez. It might keep Montez from panicking any more than he had already. The only thing that was important was getting Montez and making sure he wasn’t too damaged to talk to her.

  But Cameron had taken the initiative, and she didn’t know what he would do if he reached Montez first. There was no one more chillingly intimidating than Cameron, which meant that she definitely didn’t want that to happen.

  She broke into a run.

  * * *

  Montez was directly ahead of her.

  She could hear the crash of brush as he moved quickly, frantically on the trail.

  She could hear his harsh, strained breathing.

  But Montez was the only one she could hear. Cameron must be near, but, of course, she couldn’t hear him. He was trained to be silent as a ghost on the trail.

  Where are you, Cameron?

  Forget him.

  It was time to go for it.

  She darted to the side of the trail into the brush. Then she covered the few yards to where Montez was plunging down the trail.

  Identify and try to stop the fear.

  “Montez! Stop. I’m CIA. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Montez froze, cast a wild glance behind him, then started to run.

  At least he hadn’t drawn a gun on her.

  She ran after him.

  Five yards later, she tackled him.

  “No!” He turned, struggling.

  “Shh. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He froze, looking up at her. “Bitch.” His fist struck her jaw.

  Her head snapped back. Dizzy. She shook it to try to clear it.

  So much for thinking he wouldn’t be intimidated by a woman. It was clearly all too true.

  “Sorry.” She brought the edge of her hand down in a karate chop to his neck.

  He went limp.

  She sat back on her heels and drew a deep breath.

  “Not very well done.” Cameron was strolling out of the brush. “I was thinking I might have to step in, but that would have been very humiliating for you. He’s obviously a rank amateur.”

  She got to her feet. “Where were you?”

  “You obviously wanted to handle him alone, so I thought I’d let you do it.” He knelt beside Montez and took his neck in his two hands and turned it back and forth, examining it. “This karate move was done expertly, and so was the tackle. Otherwise, you deserved that clip on the jaw. Too soft, Catherine.”

  “Which is why I didn’t want you to—” She stopped and shook her head. “I thought there was a chance of not hurting him. He’s already lost two members of his family and Father Gabriel.” She shrugged. “It didn’t work out.” She knelt again and went through Montez’s knapsack. “A wallet with ID and two hundred dollars’ worth of quetzal. A few health bars and a bottle of water.” She went deeper. “A quartz rosary, a prayer book…” She pulled out a hand-bound book with a yellow cover that was the worse for wear. On the cover the title was typed in large print. Maggi. “This is some kind of computer manual or book. It looks like something a college kid would
have created for himself.” She was flipping through the pages. “No text. Formulas, mathematics, chemistry. I can’t make it out. Can you?”

  He glanced at it. “No, but I’m not a scientist. And I’m more interested in what you allowed Montez to do to you.” He lifted her chin and examined her jaw. “You’re going to have a bad bruise. You only barely came out on top on this one.”

  “I’m fine.” She felt a rush of tingling sensation and quickly leaned back, away from his hand. “Montez should be regaining consciousness soon. I have to find something with which to tie him while I talk to him.”

  “By all means. We wouldn’t want him to clip you again.” He got to his feet. “But I’ll do it. I’m usually prepared for any eventuality, and if I’m not, I improvise. It’s part of my training in Tibet with the monks. You stay with him and look alluring and helpless if he wakes up. Who knows? It might work the second time.”

  “I didn’t intend to appear helpless,” she said through set teeth. “Only nonthreatening. There’s a big difference as you—” She was talking to air. Cameron had vanished again into the forest.

  But he would return and probably with as many gadgets and ingenious self-made devices as MacGyver on that vintage TV show. It wouldn’t surprise her if he dug up a pair of handcuffs from somewhere, she thought crossly.

  Stop it. She was just annoyed because she had not performed well in his eyes. They were both professionals, and she had not wanted to seem less competent than she knew she was.

  What did it matter? she thought impatiently. Both she and Cameron marched to their own particular drummers. She answered only to herself or perhaps to Hu Chang. Certainly not to Cameron. She turned away from Montez and moved to the edge of the trail. Find wood and make a fire. She could do that while still keeping an eye on Montez and waiting for Cameron to come and dazzle her with his MacGyver-like ingenuity.

  And then she would sit down and plan how she was going to tell Montez about Father Gabriel and his own sister, who were the latest victims of Santos. It would be ammunition to make him talk to them, but not one she would take pleasure in using.

  Then don’t plan, let instinct lead her to the right way to handle him.

  If he could be handled. He was a man who was filled with panic and bewilderment, and that often translated to violence.