by Lois Greiman
There! Just beside the kidnapper’s still-inert body. Grabbing it in his right hand, he knelt and tried to locate the bonds around his ankles…the bonds just long enough to let him shuffle through the woods like a hobbled mule. The blade scraped his boot. Voices echoed off to his left.
He whispered a curse and jerked the knife a quarter inch to the right. It scratched against hemp. He sawed frantically. A few cords snapped. He tried to yank his feet apart, but the attempt was weak. He cut more frantically. A little more rope gave way. Almost there. Almost—
“Hey!”
Shepherd jerked toward the voice. The knife toppled from his numb fingers. Two men were staring at him, identical expressions of surprise stamped on their faces.
They chattered something in Spanish and raised their rifles. Point blank. They had him dead to rights. But death seemed worth the risk when the jungle was only yards away.
“Sit down! Down!” shrieked the nearest guard.
“Okay. Okay!” Shep said but instead he staggered to his feet. The frayed rope snapped, but not before it pitched him forward. He fell. A bullet whistled through his hair.
Beside him, Treg moaned and lifted his rifle. Drawing his knees up, Shep slammed his heels into the man’s head. Bullets sprayed around him, but he was already upright, up and racing erratically toward the anonymity of the trees.
Shouts and bullets and curses followed him but he was free. If he were going to die today, he wouldn’t die alone.
Chapter 15
“What do I call you?” Edwards asked.
Gabe gritted his teeth at the question and flicked his gaze to the ear-budded kid sitting in the aisle seat next to her. A heavy rap beat throbbed from the boy’s head. Holy shit, every single micro-sized chair on the airplane was filled. If the seating got any tighter, the passengers would have to be shrink-wrapped and hung from the ceiling. But he refused to allow himself to spill over what might laughingly be called an armrest into Edwards’ territory. He liked to think he possessed his share of self-control. But she was sex on steroids, at least as far as he was concerned, and the 747’s latrine wasn’t big enough for round two of the Battle of the Head.
“Kenny Chesney’s great isn’t he?” Gabe asked and watched the kid’s expression. The boy’s eyes didn’t even flicker. His head never stopped jerking to the irritating beat.
“What?” Edwards asked.
Gabe pulled his gaze from the boy’s enraptured face, confident his conversation with Edwards would be private. Ten minutes into the flight, he wasn’t sure about much of anything else. Keeping the contents of his stomach where they belonged was generally all he could think about while in the air. “What did you call your last serious boyfriend?”
Edwards’ brows jerked toward her hairline.
“We’re going to have to make up a cover story,” he said and faced forward again. Years of pretending he wasn’t prone to motion sickness had taught him it was best to focus on an immobile object straight ahead. “People get nervous when they find out I’m Army, and any yahoo with a cell phone can pry into other people’s business.” Himself excluded, of course. He was born to be a caveman. “Don’t make it too complicated. We’re on vacation. My name is Luke Lansky. I’m from Tennessee.”
She scowled, thinking. “So that people will underestimate you?”
He chanced a sidelong glance at her.
“I mean, it’s assumed that southerners aren’t the brightest birds in the branches.”
He raised a brow at her. “Sarge’s family settled in Cumberland more than a hundred years ago. It’s a good place to disappear.”
“Oh. I…” Color flushed her cheeks. “You don’t have an accent.”
“I thought I’d get more respect without it,” he said and managed not to laugh at her discomfort, mostly because his gut was trying to toss its contents into his esophagus. “Don’t get too fancy with your cover story. The chances of a SNAFU will be considerably reduced if we keep our stories as close to the truth as possible.”
She nodded, and for a moment, he thought she might be ready to move past her faux pas but he was wrong. “Listen, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disparage… I mean…there’s nothing wrong with the south. I just—” Her embarrassment looked physically painful. He watched her expression with interest. “You matriculated from the University of Michigan! The blue and gold with the…the badgers and the—”
“The wolverines,” he corrected.
“Yes. Sorry. The wolverines. Aggressive animals I guess with…” Her shook her head, words dwindling.
He watched her, fascinated. If she were any damned cuter, you could use her as a cake-topper. But that non-threatening demeanor might come in handy. It was unlikely anyone would take her too seriously. On the other hand, it made all his as-of-yet-un-quashed macho instincts sing like canaries. He quieted the irritating songbirds and make sure his expression was bland.
“Do you have a name preference?”
“What?” she asked and looked as if she might burst into another apology.
He leaned a little closer, in case the teenager seated next to her wasn’t as brain-damaged as he appeared. “What should I call you?”
“Oh. I don’t…” She shook her head. “Are we married?”
He had no idea why her question made his intestines crank up another half loop. But it probably wasn’t a good sign. “Do you want to be?”
He hadn’t thought her cheeks could get any redder. But he’d been wrong.
“I’m just thinking maybe it would be easier to share a room and…things if they thought we were.”
He said nothing.
“Colombia is a very…” She paused as if trying hard not to make any more pc blunders. “Moralistic country.”
“Except for the drugs and kidnapping and murders.”
“Except for that, yes,” she said. “They’re ninety-two percent Catholic.”
“All right.” He nodded solemnly. Her eyes were as wide and guileless as an infant’s, making him long to roll her in bubble wrap and send her back to the U.S. with FRAGILE stamped on her forehead. “So we’re Mr. and Mrs. Lansky. What’s your first name?”
“I want to be a doctor.”
He stared at her, deadpan. “You probably should have chosen different electives then.”
She smirked at him. “You said to keep our stories as close to the truth as possible.”
He quirked an eyebrow. It was about all the motion he could manage without tossing his cookies.
“Mom was always sure I could cure cancer if I set my mind to it.”
He couldn’t help but stare. The world might be headed to hell in a handbasket, but damn she was charming.
“Grand died of liver cancer when I was twelve. So when I graduated from high school, I took all the pre-med courses I could.” A shadow of sadness settled over her sunny features. “I think Mom was really disappointed when I didn’t continue.”
He didn’t fail to notice that she didn’t say anything about being unqualified for medical school. Shit, what kind of woman would give up being an M.D. to chase down drug lords in the bowels of a foreign country?
“Anyway, I’ll be Sarah. Dr. Sarah, an oncologist, in Colombia on my honeymoon.”
Honeymoon? Holy God! Did she think he was a monk, he wondered and resisted squirming in his undersized seat. “Never work,” he said. “If we were just married, they’ll expect us to spend all day in our room.” Where he would go fucking nuts if she were near. “We’ll say we’re on one of those wildlife tours.”
“An eco-adventure?” she asked then, “Good idea. We’re roughing it. We’ve been married a year and a half.”
As if a measly eighteen months would make a difference in his libido. “Okay.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an automotive engineer,” he said, and she laughed.
He cocked his head at her, careful not to move so fast as to upset the barfing gods. “Do you find all engineers amusing, or just
the automotive kind?”
“Do you even know what a pocket protector is?”
He scowled at her. It’d be great if she didn’t turn out to be crazy, he thought.
She cleared her throat and explained. “You’re never going to pass for an engineer. A fireman maybe or a…” Her gaze swept downward. The blush that had just started fading from her cheeks increased again. “Never mind. You’re right, an engineer’s fine.”
A fireman or a what? he wondered, but before he was stupid enough to ask, she tilted away from him. “I’m going to try to get some sleep,” she said and closed her pasture-green eyes.
In profile, she looked like an angel. Not the biblical kind with the sword and the kickass attitude. But the cutesy kind perpetrated by popular culture.
Holy hell, he should be horse-whipped just for thinking about her.
Chapter 16
El Dorado was suffering from universal anonymity. It looked similar to every other airport through which Eddy had ever traveled.
She waited on gray carpet near a beige wall beside tan plastic chairs. Their three recently claimed bags lay by her feet. Durrand waited for the fourth, a backpack far too large to be allowed as a carry-on. Boarding and disembarking had gone without a hitch. But then why wouldn’t they? Not wanting to raise any red flags, they had left every single weapon they owned in the U.S. Eddy missed her ASP something dreadful.
She had slept for a while on the plane, after which they had expanded their cover story a bit; they’d met online and had immediately been attracted to each other because of their mutual interest in adventure and environmental concerns. But the stranger who waited beside Durrand near the luggage carousel probably would never believe that Eddy’s interest had been sparked for such mundane reasons. Creamy skinned and curvaceous, she glanced up at Gabe through dark, forest-thick lashes. Her hair was inky black and a dimple winked in her left cheek when she spoke to him.
He replied.
The woman’s lush figure was packed into a dress as snug as a snake’s skin, but if Durrand noticed, he didn’t seem to care.
Maybe he really is gay, Eddy thought. Judging by the few panting minutes they’d shared in the Blue Oyster’s restroom, however, that explanation didn’t seem very plausible. On the other hand, during the bumpy six-hour flight south, he had kept his considerable brawn within the tight confines of his seat. If not because of differing sexuality, then why? True, Eddy was hardly irresistible. She was too flat, too pale, too apologetic, and too—
“You here for the tour?”
Her self-examination was interrupted by a nearby voice. She turned toward the speaker. He was balding, overweight, and midwinter pale. American, she thought. Possibly from the New England area. Maybe the Midwest.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The coffee tour. You’ve got the backpack,” he said and motioned toward the bean brown bag that lay near her feet. It was, she had to admit, similar to the one suspended from his plump shoulder. “The bus leaves in seven minutes. You want help carrying your packs? My name’s Nick, by the way. And yours is—” Eddy watched him bend as if to grab her luggage but Durrand’s booted foot stepped onto the nearest strap before he could.
Nick, hand outstretched, straightened slowly, gaze running up Durrand’s khaki-clad leg to his face.
“Luke.” Durrand’s voice was little more than a rumble, his expression about as friendly as a bulldog’s. “And this is Sarah.” He paused a second, as if to let the meaning of his words sink in. “My wife.”
“Oh. Oh!” Nick took a step back. “Well, it’s nice to make your acquaintance,” he said but his expression suggested it wasn’t all that great. “So you’re here for the coffee tour?”
“No,” Gabe said.
“Oh, my mistake. I thought she…” He motioned vaguely toward Eddy, flighty hand on the approximate level of her breasts. Gabe’s brows lowered another notch. Nick cleared his throat. “Well, what are you folks doing in Bogotá?”
Circumventing the backpacks, Eddy curled her fingers around Durrand’s arm. It was as hard as granite, tense with distrust and probably about a hundred thousand reps on the bench press. If he planned for anyone to believe he was anything other than military, he should probably learn to smile. Or at least quit growling. “We came to see the cloud forest while there still is one,” she said.
“You’re not here for the coffee?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Oh, well…that’s too bad,” Nick said, but the glance he gave Durrand suggested he’d probably survive his disappointment. “Nice to meet you anyway.”
“Yes, you too,” Eddy said.
They watched the little man hurry away.
“You okay?” Durrand’s voice was low.
Eddy glanced up in surprise and pulled her hands from his arm. It wasn’t the easiest thing she had ever done. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He stared down at her, expression as hard as his biceps, but maybe there was something a little softer in his eyes. Something he did a pretty fair job of hiding under normal circumstances. “Just be careful.”
“Careful of what?”
“Everything,” he said and returned to the carousel.
Eddy turned back toward their waiting bags. So…paranoia, she thought. She hadn’t expected to see that particular characteristic in such an intimidating man, but sometimes she caught him favoring his right leg or flexing his wounded hand, and maybe one never quite recovered from the kind of trauma he had seen. Physically or emotionally.
Then again, it wasn’t her place to psychoanalyze him. It was her place to help get Linus Shepherd back home. And to that end, she’d better get her ducks in a row.
Pulling her tablet from the nearest backpack, she googled Guapo Herrera. A dozen articles popped up relating to a multitude of businesses. He was the president of Juguetes Nuevos and the CEO of Amazon Textiles but it was his farm that interested her most: six thousand hectares of land just west of San Agustin.
She pulled up images of the area. Judging by the pictures, the hilly region was heavily forested and steeped in mystery. What better place to grow the lucrative coca bush? And for that matter…to hold a prisoner?
Then again, Herrera would have to be a fool to keep an Army Ranger captive. On the other hand, Shepherd would have to be just as idiotic to allow his captors to know he was military, and despite what Gabe had told her, she doubted Shep was any such thing. A showoff maybe. A blowhard and a prankster, but not a fool. Still, would a drug lord run the risk of holding a man like Shepherd hostage? A man with obvious survival skills? It seemed far more likely that he would kill such a man, but… She gave herself a mental shake. She wasn’t here to decide his fate. She was here to find him, alive or dead. So—
“Hey, pretty lady…”
She glanced up.
A young man with dreadlocks and amber-tinted sunglasses was grinning at her, one bare, tanned leg cocked, one scrawny arm sporting a bevy of brightly braided bracelets. “If you need a place to crash for the night, you could come on home with Elf.”
It took a moment for Eddy to realize he was speaking to her. Longer still to understand that he spoke of himself in the third person.
“Oh. No. Thank you,” she said.
He moved closer. His left ear was pierced in five places. His grin was cheery. “Elf has plenty of room,” he said.
“Well…” She was beginning to fidget. “That’s awfully nice of you…Elf, but I’m…” She felt her cheeks warm even before she forced out the lie. “Married.”
He grinned. “Elf don’t mind. We can still have us a few laughs. Why don’t you—”
“Seriously?” Durrand’s voice was desert dry.
Eddy jumped guiltily then zipped her gaze to her employer. He looked peeved, tired, and slightly nauseous. Guilt sluiced through her like a tidal wave, though honest to God, she didn’t know why.
“This your old man, pretty lady?”
She zapped her attention back to Elf. “Um, ye
s, this is Luke.”
He had to cock his head back a little to look into Durrand’s face. He was grinning when he did so. “You two here on your honeymoon or somethin’?”
“No, we’re—” Eddy began, but Durrand interrupted her.
“We’re here on behalf of the United States government.”
Elf’s berry-brown complexion paled immediately.
“Drug enforcement,” Durrand added.
“Oh, well, Elf’ll let you get to it then. Ciao,” he said and disappeared into the crowd, nimble as a wood sprite.
Eddy blinked. “I thought we were going to stick to our cover story.”
“Yeah.” Bending, Durrand added two more bags to his load. “And I thought you wouldn’t get hit on every minute and a half.”
Eddy snagged the last piece of luggage from the floor and hurried after him. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Well…” His long-legged stride made it difficult to keep up. And the crowds weren’t helping. She skirted an elderly woman carrying a spotted piglet, reevaluated the anonymity of Bogotá’s airport, and cruised up beside Durrand. “You’re acting like it is.”
“Listen…” His voice was very low. A muscle jumped in his salt block jaw. “You want to get funky with Jamaica Joe and American Dad on your own time, that’s your business. But right now, I need a linguist, not a supermodel.”
“A…” She blinked up at him and laughed. “A supermodel?”
He narrowed his eyes, surveying the crowd as if expecting spies to pop out from behind every coffee bar, but he needn’t have bothered. No one cared about two low-budget American tourists. “I should have brought Sims,” he said.
“Sims?”
“He’s dumb as a post, but at least he’s male.”
She felt her spine stiffen. “You think I can’t do the job because I don’t have a penis?”
“I think I don’t have time to spend protecting your virtue.”
“There’s nothing you have to worry about protecting!”
His brows rose a quarter of an inch. She fought off a blush.
