by Lois Greiman
“What about Don Juan?” she asked and shifted the glasses slightly to the left where a potbellied man with a crooked smile was flirting with a woman half his age.
Durrand paused for a second as he studied him. “Maybe he prefers knives.”
She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up a little though it made no sense. It wasn’t as if being shot was any more civilized than being stabbed.
“No gun?” she asked.
“Could be the señorita doesn’t care to be courted by a guy who carries a semi-automatic. There was a shrug in his tone. She tried to sound equally cavalier. As if she spent every day of her life debating the relative merits of various means of being murdered.
“Stranger things have happened I suppose,” she said and felt Durrand’s gaze slip to her face. Had she put the wrong inflection on the statement? Or maybe he knew she was scared out of her mind, but she refrained from long-winded explanations, swallowed any apologies that might be tempted to bubble to the surface and asked, “What do we do now?”
He remained silent. She turned toward him. He was still watching her, expression unreadable. “Durrand?”
He pulled himself from her gaze with a start and shifted his attention to the scene below. “We wait,” he said.
“For…?”
“Dark.” Crab-walking a few feet down the hill, he turned onto his back, rested his head against the slope behind him and stared at the vines above. “I don’t want to get us into a firefight.”
Firefight. The word made her feel a little woozy but she put her game face on. “What happens after dark?”
“We check out the buildings, try to avoid the hired guns, and search for signs of hostages.”
She nodded, slid down beside him, and hoped, just this once that dusk would fail to come.
But she was foiled again. At 1800 hours, the sun was settling into the high branches of the jungle just as it did every day of the year.
An hour later, they had checked the compound and come up empty.
“Looks like it really is nothing more than a coffee farm,” Eddy said. She kept her voice low. They stood alone in a long, dark shed that housed machinery she could neither fully see nor identify.
Durrand’s face was grim in the uncertain light. His voice was barely a rumble. “Why the weapons then?”
She shrugged. “Colombia isn’t exactly known for its tranquility, and caution doesn’t make them guilty. Maybe this is just one of Herrera’s legitimate holdings.”
“Or maybe we haven’t looked in the right corners,” Durrand argued and stepped between two rows of shelves that housed burlap bags full of what appeared to be coffee beans.
Suddenly, light exploded around them.
Eddy swung sideways, half squatting as if she could disappear into the dirt beneath her feet.
But the man in the red shirt was already aiming his handgun at her heart. The Beretta looked polished and well cared for. He spoke in Spanish.
“Hello.” His grin was cocky. His teeth were the color of tobacco. Behind him, the man she’d called Don Juan looked less certain. The fellow in the hat had pulled out a pistol. She had misjudged. It was a Ruger, not a Smith and Wesson. I should have known, she thought, foggily aware that now was not the time to worry about such things. “Welcome to El Rojo Del Amanecer. But I am curious. What do you do here?”
For a second, Eddy failed to speak, failed to verbalize so much as a salutation. Without glancing sideways, she knew that Durrand had disappeared. What would he do now? What should she do? And how much did these men know? She swallowed her fear, pressed her damp palms against her thighs, and punted. “I’m so sorry I’m trespassing.” Her English was quick with undisguised panic and almost inarticulate to her own ears. “I was—” she began and stepped forward, but Red Shirt raised the muzzle of his gun a fraction of an inch.
“Stay as you are, señorita.” His Spanish was low and smooth. “I have no wish to kill someone so pretty as you. Not before you answer a few questions, at least.”
She stopped, fear racing through her.
“Firstly…” He smiled, tobacco teeth winking. “What is it that you are doing on Señor Herrera’s private property?”
She shook her head. Maybe it would be best to pretend she didn’t speak Spanish. Or maybe she was screwed either way.
“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” She was using a disjointed mix of languages, letting her words roll together like tumbling stones. “But I’m lost and…and…alone.”
“Lost? Well, I am certain we can help her find her way, don’t you agree, Jax?”
“Sí.” Hat man smiled. “I have a compass right here,” he said and grabbed his crotch.
Don Juan scowled.
Red Shirt chuckled, never shifting his attention from her. “But first we must be rid of your friend.” He shrugged. “For you see, I fear two of you were seen entering this building.”
She shook her head as if confused by the language barrier.
“Maybe she will understand this,” Jax said and tipped up his Ruger.
But Don Juan grabbed his sleeve. “What are you doing?”
Jax jerked his arm free. “My job.”
“That does not involve harming women.”
The man in the hat snorted and turned toward Eddy just as the nearest shelves toppled sideways. The metal rack struck Red Shirt’s head. A filled bag caught Jax across the shoulders, bearing him to the ground. Don Juan jumped aside.
Eddy yanked her pistol from her waistband just as Durrand appeared around the rubble, rifle in hand. His eyes were narrowed above the polished black muzzle he trained on Don Juan.
“I got him,” Eddy said. Durrand glanced at her, jerked a nod and strode toward the downed individuals. Red Shirt was motionless, but Jax was moaning. His eyelids fluttered. He grabbed for his gun, but Durrand rapped him sharply beside the ear with the butt of his rifle. His hat tumbled off as he slumped into a stupor.
Retrieving the fallen weapons, Durrand tossed them aside and approached Don Juan. The Latino raised his chin, defiance and fear blending quixotically in his eyes.
Silence filled the space like darkness. Eddy could hear her own heartbeat.
“Tell him I’m going to kill him,” Durrand said into the quiet.
Eddy jerked her gaze toward him. “Wh-what?”
“Tell him he’ll be dead in ten minutes unless he tells me what I want to know.”
She shook her head. The motion felt frantic and out of synch. “He wasn’t the one who threatened…” She exhaled heavily, trying to find her equilibrium. “We don’t even know if he’s armed.”
Durrand didn’t glance toward her but kept his gaze perfectly level on their captive. “Tell him, Edwards.”
She swallowed, turned toward the Latino and spoke in Spanish. “We need information.”
The man’s lips curled up angrily. “You may kill me if you wish, chica. I will tell the hulking gringo nothing.”
Durrand stepped up closer. His eyes were deadly, his voice low. “What did he say?”
Eddy swallowed hard but kept her gaze steady on the Colombian. “He said if you’ll move back a little, he’ll consider your request.”
Durrand scowled, remained absolutely still for a moment, then took two steps to the rear, spread his feet, and let his hands fall beside his thighs. A warrior at the ready. “Ask him if he’s seen an American matching Shep’s description. My height but rangy, brown hair, blue eyes.”
Eddy nodded then addressed the Latino again. “What’s your name?”
He narrowed his eyes a little. “I am Alvaro Esteban Gallo.”
“Alvaro.” She said his name softly. “Do you have a brother…or perhaps a son?”
He gritted his teeth and narrowed Spanish black eyes. “If he so much as breathes my boy’s name he will curse the day he was born.”
“We won’t harm him.” She rushed the words out, seeing she had taken the wrong tack. “My husband…Luke…would never hurt your son.” She g
lanced at Durrand. He looked as formidable as a warship, as unforgiving as an Uzi. “He’s just looking for his brother.”
Alvaro watched her in silence.
“The brother of his heart,” she said and placed her free hand over her chest. “His name is Linus Shepherd. Perhaps you knew him by a different name, but he came to your country five weeks ago and has not been seen since.”
“Then perhaps he should have stayed in the land of the pale and not bothered the innocent people of my homeland.”
Eddy nodded. “We hope to take him back there. To return him to his loved ones and leave you and yours in peace.”
“Why do you tell me this?” He deepened his scowl. “Do you think me a kidnapper?”
“No!” Eddy said. “Of course, not.”
“What’s going on?” Durrand asked.
Eddy ignored him, her full attention focused on Alvaro. “I think you’re a compassionate human being. That’s why I’m talking to you instead of your companions.”
He flickered his attention to the men at their feet but didn’t bother to mention the fact that their unconscious state might make such a conversation difficult.
“Perhaps you’ve heard talk,” Eddy said. “Women like you, Alvaro. Maybe they’ve mentioned seeing an American. They would remember him. He’s handsome, like you. Tall, with dark hair and blue eyes.”
He shook his head.
“Shep’s got a tattoo. A horseshoe on his left arm.” Durrand said.
Eddy translated and watched the man wince.
Durrand lowered his head and stepped forward. “Where is he?” he growled, but Eddy grabbed his arm. He stopped, body still, gaze never leaving the other man’s. “Tell me or I’ll break your fucking neck.”
“What did he say?” The Colombian’s voice was no warmer than Durrand’s.
Eddy felt the situation spin toward hopeless. “Alvaro,” she said, tone teetering dangerously on panic. He shifted his dark gaze to hers. “We’re willing to pay for information.”
He snorted. “You think we Colombians want nothing so much as your money.”
And so far, there had been little evidence to the contrary. “What do you want?” she asked.
He raised his brows at her. Seconds ticked away. “The women of my country, they are beautiful,” he said finally.
“Has he seen him or not?” Durrand demanded.
They both ignored him, but in Eddy’s case, it was because she couldn’t force herself to look away.
Alvaro grinned. “But we do not see so many like you.”
She felt her fingers go numb as the gist of his words sunk into her soul. So this was, she realized, the moment of truth. The tipping point when she would learn how far she would go for a mission. For Durrand. To save another human being. The answer was disappointing. “I won’t have sex with you,” she breathed.
Alvaro opened his eyes wide then shook his head as if disappointed and a little disturbed. “I did not say anything about”—he paused—“such a thing.”
She wasn’t sure it was appropriate to feel embarrassed. She certainly shouldn’t feel chagrined. And yet she did. “What were you thinking?”
He shrugged then grinned a little, just a peek of the charm he had shown in the field on the previous evening. “I just want…What do you gringos call it? A flash.”
She blinked at him, feeling as if she was floating outside of her body, leaving this surreal world behind. “You want to see my…you want me to open my shirt?”
He smiled and shifted his attention to Durrand. There was challenge in his stance, anger in his gaze. “I’m a simple man.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Durrand asked, but Eddy didn’t dare look at him.
“I think he’s seen Shepherd,” she said. Her voice was breathless.
Durrand’s was taut with emotion. “Where?”
“Just…wait!” she said and exhaled carefully. “And don’t interrupt.”
He remained silent as she spoke to Alvaro again. “And if I…if I do as you ask… you’ll tell me what you know?”
He glanced at Durrand and grinned. “Sí.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I do not like this man,” Alvaro said, glaring at Durrand. “Yet…” He shrugged. “I do not wish him dead. I think, perhaps, sharing his woman’s charms will be punishment enough.”
She didn’t dispute his foolish assumptions. Instead, she reached down with her left hand and yanked her shirt, sports bra and all, up over her clavicle.
Durrand started as if shot.
Alvaro stared then grinned.
Eddy pulled her shirt back into place with a hand that shook. “Where is he?”
The man in the red shirt moaned. Eddy glanced at him, gut pitching. Surely Alvaro couldn’t afford for his companions to know he was spreading their secrets. But he shrugged, seeming unconcerned. “Guapo Herrera does not have him.”
Excitement punched up. “But he did?”
“Sí.”
“So you’ve seen him.”
He shook his head. “But I know that Quinto sent men to find him.”
“Find him?”
“I am told he escaped.”
“When?”
“Five days ago perhaps?”
“But they didn’t return with him?”
He glanced at Durrand as if assessing the danger there and wondering if Shepherd may have posed the same degree of threat. “Neither did they come back themselves.” His expression suggested it was no great loss.
“What happened?”
“One man was found dead. The other has not been heard from.”
“So they’re still searching for Shepherd?”
He shook his head. “I am told his tracks led onto Timoteo Santiago’s land.”
She shook her head, not understanding.
“Even Herrera’s worst bastards do not venture there,” he said and nodded with almost random boredom at the twosome beneath the shelves.
“Edwards—” Durrand growled, but the sound of an approaching engine interrupted his next words.
Alvaro shrugged. “On the other hand…they do sometimes come here in the small hours of the night.”
Durrand turned, shifting his gaze toward the door through which they had entered, but Eddy kept her attention on the Latino.
“Who is Santiago?”
“A man with many faces. A man you have no wish to meet.”
“Where does he live?”
“He has several homes, but his coca fields are to the east and south. I do not recommend you go there.”
She wouldn’t recommend any of the things she had done recently.
Footsteps sounded outside.
“Is there another way out of here?” she asked.
Alvaro stared at her for several long seconds, as if doing nothing more dangerous than assessing his next chess move. “A chica as lovely as you might find a door beneath the tarp at the back of this shed.”
“Where does the door lead to?”
“The jungle.”
She stared at him, heart pounding, mind spinning at the idea of a trap.
“Behind the shelves,” Durrand ordered quietly, gun muzzle steady on the Latino’s chest. “Both of you. Tell him if he yells I’ll—”
“Come on!” Eddy ordered and grabbing Durrand’s arm, pulled him toward the rear of the building.
“What are you doing?”
“Hurry!” she rasped and releasing his sleeve, ran between the shelves. In a second, he turned and followed.
The tarp was canvas, the trap door narrow. The tunnel beneath it was as dark as sin. But they made their way through it as quickly as possible and finally rose, hurrying up wooden rungs to emerge in the dim warmth of the jungle.
The insects were singing. The air smelled of hope and rain.
“What the hell just happened?” Durrand asked. His breath was coming hard. His eyes were fierce.
She turned away, stumbling through the darkness. “Herrera had Shepherd
, but he escaped.”
“Where is he now?”
“Alvaro wasn’t sure.”
“Yeah?” He was breathing hard as he hurried after her. “Is that why he had to look under your shirt?”
Chapter 38
Shepherd lay awake. He wasn’t at full strength. That much was certain. Twelve hours had passed since Curro had died, and Shep could wait no longer. Tonight, he would leave. The doctor usually visited him sometime before dawn, came to ask questions and when he did….
A noise outside stopped his thoughts. He dropped his head onto the pillow and lay still.
“I don’t know what I can do for him?” The voice was soft and feminine, immediately conjuring up a dozen sultry memories. Shepherd felt his breath catch in his throat. How long had it been since he’d heard a woman’s voice?
“Possibly nothing, my dear. But I thought perhaps just your presence would revive him. As I said…” Doc’s voice, though hardly a whisper, sounded as rough as a blow horn next to hers. “He is rarely awake, and when he is, he is barely coherent. Perhaps there is trauma to the head of which I know nothing. But I’m a simple country doctor and lack the appropriate tests. Therefore, there is little else I can do for him.”
Footsteps approached Shep’s bed. It took every bit of his flagging self-control to remain as he was. But he would wait until the doctor was within striking distance. He would wait, and then he would act.
“But…señor, he is he handcuffed.”
The doctor sighed. “I so hated to do it. But in all honesty, I know little of him.”
“Did you not say that Herrera’s henchmen had him?” There was a shudder in her voice.
“Yes, but was he merely an unfortunate passerby? Or was he, perhaps, in Guapo’s employ? As you know, that animal treats his own no better than he treats others.”
“You believe him to be one of Herrera’s men?”
“I think it possible,” Doc said. “But my vows as a physician insist that I do what I can to return him to full health. You understand that, don’t you?”
