Angel Down

by Lois Greiman

  Her brows dropped a little toward her watercress eyes. Watercress? Holy fuck, he was losing his mind. “What do you have against him, anyway?”

  “Me? Nothing,” he said and settled onto the bed to undo his laces. “How about you?”

  “What about me?”

  He let his first boot fall to the floor. “What’d you think of him?” he asked and propped his right foot onto his opposite knee.

  She studied him for a long second before shrugging “I think he’s very…” She paused. He waited, but finally she shook her head as if her opinion wasn’t valid. “I think they planned to take out a drug lord.”

  “What!” He dropped his foot abruptly to the carpet, causing his thigh to throb. But he ignored it. Even Shep wouldn’t be dumb enough to waltz into the jungle to overthrow a drug lord whose position would be reassigned moments after the original fucker was gone. “You’re wrong.”

  “Not usually,” she said.

  He lifted a brow at her. For a fresh-faced pixie, she sounded as confident as a staff sergeant.

  “All right.” He made himself remain still. Forced himself to refrain from pacing. “What makes you think so?”

  “Something Jacobs said.”

  “So you don’t have any hard proof.”

  “Like a signed affidavit?”

  Sarcasm…from a sprite. What next? “What’d he say?”

  “That he took a drink now and then but—”

  Gabe snorted at the enormity of the understatement then raised an apologetic hand and motioned for her to continue.

  She did so after a moment. “He drinks some, he said, but he resented those who sold stuff to kids. He said people should pay for those crimes.”

  “Resented? That’s what he said?”

  “I’m giving you the gist.”

  Gabe scowled. It did sound like the type of sanctimonious crap Jacobs could shovel out with both hands. He took a calming breath, careful not to get too hopeful. Optimism could get you killed as quick as a landmine. “Okay. For the sake of argument, let’s assume you’re right. But there’s a drug lord for every acre of coca down there. How are we going to know if—”

  “I think his name means beautiful. Or maybe handsome.”

  He stared at her.

  She stared back. “Alano maybe, or Bello, or…” She shook her head. “Maybe Guapo? Or—”

  “Guapo Herrera?” A bomb detonated in Gabe’s stomach. He winced at the effects but kept himself steady.

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  He didn’t answer. Everyone had heard of Herrera. “What makes you think he had anything to do with Shep?”

  “Jacobs said the guy they were after was supposed to be beautiful, but he’s not.”

  He shook his head.

  “Guapo means handsome.” Her brows lowered a quarter of an inch over her…What the hell color were her eyes? “You really don’t know Spanish, do you?”

  He barely spoke the King’s English, but he didn’t see a reason to share that fact with her.

  Hurrying toward his bags, he pulled out a map and spread it across his bed. The blankets had gone AWOL some time ago. “From what I’ve heard, Herrera’s territory extends from here”—he stabbed his index finger near Pitalo then dragged it toward San Jose de Frague—“down to here.”

  “Then he’s expanding.”

  He jerked his attention to her, hiding nothing. “What are you talking about?”

  “Herrera. He must be claiming new territory.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  She moved in next to him, tone rife with excitement, warm body vibrant beside his damaged one.

  “Jacobs said they were supposed to rendezvous where the river meets the highway, but the waterway was engorged.”

  He skimmed the map. “That could be anywhere.”

  She shook her head. “There aren’t that many roads that we Americans would consider highways.”

  He considered that. “And the worst of the drug problems are in the remote regions of the southeast.”

  She nodded. “Jacobs said that once they rendezvoused, it took them two days to get to Alfonso.”

  “Alfonso? What’s that? A Colombian operative?”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think so.” Her face was flushed. “He said he thought they’d be sipping champagne and munching peanuts by supper

  time. Alfonso Bonilla Aragon is Cali’s international airport.”

  Excitement ignited in his gut. “They didn’t fly out of Bogotá?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “So we’re right. They must have been in the southern region.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Far enough away to take two days to reach the airport.”

  “While wounded.”

  “Which could increase their travel time considerably,” Gabe said and focused every ounce of his attention on the map.

  The next two hours were spent in plans and arguments and hypotheses. By the time the conversation wound down, they had pinpointed an area just north of the Ecuador/Peru border. Of course, that region included thousands of square miles of jungle.

  Gabe felt drained.

  He exhaled and straightened. “We’d better get some cot time. Once we reach Colombia, there won’t be much rest until we bring Shepherd home. You sure you have everything you need?”

  She didn’t answer him immediately. He turned toward her. Her eyes were wide and guileless, her full mouth soft against her ripe-preaches complexion. Worry shone clear as daylight on her face.

  Something coiled tight and cautious in Gabe’s gut. “You having second thoughts?” he guessed.

  She drew a deep breath, giving him a chance to brace himself for her resignation. He’d have to be a world-class ass to try to convince her to risk her neck for someone she’d never even met. But going in alone would considerably reduce Shep’s chances. The internal conflict was playing hell with his digestive system.

  “I’ll make every effort to be sure you get home without—” he began, but she interrupted him.

  “Jacobs thinks Shepherd’s dead.”

  The words hit him like a frag grenade, but he took a deep breath and let the impact roll over him. “Did he see his body?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  He exhaled slowly, releasing the balled-up tension as best he could while trying to ignore the twist of relief he felt knowing she wasn’t planning to abandon the mission. Not yet anyway.

  “But he says the others were supposed to meet them at the agreed rendezvous point. I think he believes Shepherd was killed by Herrera,” she added. Stark worry clouded her eyes, but he refused to be touched by her concern.

  “Yeah, well…” Gabe glanced at the map still stationed on the bed. Where was Shep? Where was the stupid bastard right now? “Jacobs has been wrong before.”

  “He said he wanted to wait, but they were badly wounded and they couldn’t—”

  Gabe jerked toward her. “Did he say he was a fucking coward, too?” He growled the words into her face then grimaced when she jolted back a pace. But she rallied in a moment, jerking up her chin and holding his gaze. “What’s with you and Jacobs?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said and forced away the guilt he felt for frightening her. Hell, she’d have to be an imbecile not to be scared. But she was obviously tougher than she looked. Then again, the same could probably be said of Tinkerbelle. “What’s between you two?” he asked and wished instantly that he had not allowed the words to leave his lips even though he sure as hell didn’t ask out of jealousy. Maybe a niggle of worry for her still existed, which was unfortunate, because in the Durrand family, chivalry could get you an ass-kicking as quickly as stupidity.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “I just met the man.”

  “You just met me, too,” he said and let the memory of them in a cramped restroom stall float unspoken between them.

  She stared at him, nostrils flaring a little. “You didn’t se
em to have any objections to my moral code twenty-four hours ago.”

  “I’m not questioning your scruples, sweetheart. It’s your lack of caution that worries me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She preened a smile but her eyes looked deadly cold and her tone was equally frosty. Every survival instinct in him suggested he drop the subject, but sometimes his instincts failed him.

  “If you’re itching to get yourself killed, there should be plenty of opportunity in a couple of days,” he added.

  She caught her breath. He silently ground his teeth. What the devil was wrong with him? He sure as hell didn’t want to scare her off. He needed her. But the thought of her life’s blood seeping into the jungle floor made him feel queasy.

  “You think Jacobs is dangerous?” she asked.

  Gabe scowled. That wasn’t the direction he’d planned for this conversation to go. But it was a safer direction. Anything was better than letting her think she might never return from Colombia. But he couldn’t stop his next words. “I lied,” he said.

  She stared at him. “About what?”

  “About…” Shut the fuck up, he told himself. “About…Shep and me.”

  She nodded, pixie face solemn. “I thought your feelings for him ran unusually deep.”

  Maybe it was a testament to his worry that he didn’t catch her drift immediately, but finally, he realized what she was saying and snorted. “I’m not gay.”

  “As I told you, I’ve got nothing against the homosexual community. In fact—”

  “I’m not—” he began again then exhaled heavily. “I owe Shepherd my life. That’s why I’m going in.” He glanced to the left. The world outside the window was as dark as hell. “’Cause I have to. But…” He ground his teeth. His right hand was throbbing. “I don’t know if I can keep you safe.”

  She stared at him.

  He glared back. “Did you hear me? I said there’s no guarantee you’ll—”

  “What do you think I am?”

  Her voice was low and earnest. Still, he couldn’t keep the word pixie from popping into his mind again. Luckily, he was a little bit smarter than he had feared and managed to keep from verbalizing the thought.

  “Listen,” he said. “I’ve done some research about you, too. I realize you’re pretty good with a rifle and—”

  “Pretty good?” Her back stiffened. She took a step toward him. “I’m fast. I’m accurate. I’m—”

  “And that’s terrific,” he said, closing the distance between them. “If your assailant is a paper target and if you have a rifle, and if you have time to sight. And if—”

  “I’ve had combat training.”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic. You can probably handle yourself one-on-one with any instructor who’s hoping to get lucky later in the day. But what if he doesn’t give a shit if you wind up dead?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but he rolled over her.

  “What if there’s more than one? What if there’re six of the bastards and none of them gives a damn whether you live through multiple rapes?”

  He winced. He hadn’t meant to be quite that brutal, but she just gritted her teeth.

  “What’s the matter, Durrand? You scared?” she asked. “You trying to find a reason not to save your best friend, after all?”

  He stared at her for a full three seconds then laughed out loud. The sound boomed against the walls like a cannon shot. “Damn right, I’m scared. I’m scared out of my fucking mind, and if you had half a brain in your head, you would be, too. They treat women like pigs down there. And that’s their own women. Blond American women with emerald eyes and lips that drive men out of their…” He shook his head, searching for the safe, politically correct track that his frantic mind kept jumping. Inhaling deeply, he tried to relax a smidgeon. “Jacobs is a goddamned saint next to half the men in South America.”

  “Again. What is your problem with him?”

  “My problem! Holy shit! My problem?” he snarled and felt the truth slip away from him. “He abandoned his team!”

  “He thought they were—”

  “Left them in a third world shit hole like fucking old boots.” His eyes stung, but dammit, Rangers didn’t cry!

  “Maybe he’s right.” Her eyes were solemn, her chin slightly lifted as if she expected a blow, but she didn’t back away. “Maybe Shep was already…already…dead when they shipped out.”

  His stomach threatened treason, but he calmed it then stared at her to the count of five. “Jacobs is never right,” he said finally and turned away.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Why don’t we take him with us? He knows the terrain. He knows the—”

  “Listen, Edwards…” Gabe turned slowly, keeping his temper in check. “If you think he’s such a great catch you can hook up with him when we’re Stateside again.”

  “I didn’t say he was a great catch. I’m just saying he’s not as bad as you paint him, and maybe—”

  “Is that why you punched him in the neck?”

  Her lips remained slightly parted, but her eyes narrowed. “I thought you left O’Grady’s. Thought you were picking up supplies.”

  He controlled his smile. If fourteen years in the Army had failed to teach him not to underestimate an opponent, life with three opinionated women had not…even if one of those women was only eight years old. “I did leave. But when I got to my car, I realized I’d missed dinner. So I went back and ordered a burger basket in O’Grady’s dining area. It wasn’t too bad. A little greasy but—”

  “You were spying on me!”

  “I couldn’t even see you from the other room.” That much was true, though Gabe had been painfully aware of what was happening inside the bar. “But when Jacobs started gasping and croaking and calling for help…” He shrugged. “It was hard not to notice.”

  She jerked her chin up a notch and turned toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You could stay here,” he suggested. “Save you the drive.”

  “No, thank you.” Her voice was almost painfully prim.

  “Listen…” Guilt or something like it gnawed at him. “I need you well-rested. You can have the bed. I won’t sleep more than a couple hours any—” he began, but she swung toward him before he could complete the sentence.

  “I’ll see you at 0400 and not a minute before. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said and opened the door for her. She marched through like a cadet on parade, face set, gaze straight ahead.

  He exhaled softly, knowing he was lucky as hell she hadn’t bailed yet. And knowing, just as surely, that life hadn’t taught him that much after all; he was still an idiot where women were concerned.

  Chapter 14

  “Get up, pig!” The order was punctuated by a shattering kick to the ribs.

  Pain slammed through Shepherd’s torso. He grunted and rolled onto his back, knees protecting his internal organs as much as possible. His wrists were tied behind him. His head felt too large for his body. Above him, a man called Treg grinned over the black sights of an AK-47. Beyond their small encampment, the jungle claimed the world.

  “What?” Shep squinted, trying to still the gong that banged relentlessly inside his cranium. “Is breakfast finally ready?” Witty. He was always so damned witty, but he was afraid his charm might be somewhat diminished by the fact that his bottom lip was split down the middle, making his enunciation dubious at best. “Hope ya didn’t burn the toast. And could I get a side of bacon? I’m a little tired of the swill ya been—”

  Treg kicked him again. Fire burned through Shepherd’s side and burst like fireworks inside his head. He gritted his teeth and struggled for consciousness. He wasn’t going to pass out. Not now. Not when he was alone with this waste of human flesh. Shep had lain, unmoving and silent for the past fifteen minutes, listening as Treg’s comrades trudged into the woods.

  “Get up!” the man snarled, but Shepherd shook his head. His brain felt numb and eve
ry fiber in his body screamed with pain, but he was coherent enough to be intimately aware of every weapon his captor possessed. There was the rifle of course, a serviceable weapon that was practically a third arm to these fucking rebels, but it would be heavy, and in Shep’s weakened state might well become a liability. A machete protruded from his captor’s drawstring waistband. It had possibilities. But it was the short blade tucked into Treg’s boot that Shep most coveted.

  “Nope,” Shep said. The refusal was no more than a grunt. “If there’s no bacon, I’m stayin’ in bed.”

  “Then I shoot you in the goddamned head!”

  Shepherd felt sweat wind a shivery course between his shoulder blades, but he’d reached his limit. Death or freedom. One or the other would be his today. “Guess you’re not scared of Guapo, then,” he said and forced a broken smile.

  Treg pulled his lips away from tobacco-stained teeth. “I ain’t scared of nothing.”

  “That must be ‘cause you’re too stupid to know better.”

  Shepherd could practically see the insult rumble through his captor’s brain. He watched anger bloom into rage on the man’s flat features. He leaned forward to grab his captive, and in that instant, Shep yanked his knees to his chest.

  Treg jerked up the rifle’s muzzle, but Shepherd was already kicking out, slamming his feet forward with all the strength his failing body could muster. His heels connected with the bastard’s chest. Treg tumbled to the ground, and in that instant, Shepherd propelled himself onto the other’s flailing form. The Latino’s eyes were wide, his mouth open for a scream, but Shep jerked his own head forward. Pain exploded inside his cranium as he connected with Treg’s brow, but his captor was already going lax and there wasn’t a second to lose.

  Rolling wildly onto his side, Shep wriggled downward in an attempt to wrench the blade from Treg’s boot. His fingers were numb, his arms practically immobile, but he finally managed to grab the blade’s wooden handle.

  Laughter boomed off to his right. Shepherd jerked his head up, searching for the source of the noise. The knife tumbled to the ground. He swore quietly, reverently, and tried like hell to find the blade again.