Angel Down

by Lois Greiman

  “Take it easy,” he said, “Just relax for a minute.”

  “Are you nuts?” she asked and shifted her gaze along the rock wall. “I’m chained in a cave with no—” Her throat hurt when she gasped.

  “Don’t look at it,” Durrand demanded but she couldn’t help it. Manacled to the rock, not fifteen feet away, was a decomposing body. It sat with its back against the stone. A stick protruded from its right eye.

  “Edwards…” Durrand’s voice was low and steady. “Look away.”

  It took everything she had to close her eyes, to turn her head, to steady her breathing. For a moment, she thought she would vomit, but she refused the weakness and exhaled shakily. “I think you might have been right about Señor Tevio,” she said.

  “I wasn’t even going to say I told you so.”

  “Durrand…” She opened her eyes, avoided glancing at the corpse and settled her gaze on his. “I’m sorry.”

  “For saving my life when I was dumb enough to get shot in the chest?”

  She shook her head.

  “I sure as hell hope it’s not for the sex.”

  She tried to laugh and failed. “I don’t want to die here.” Her voice sounded pitifully weak, embarrassingly shaky.

  “We’re not going to.”

  “He did,” she rasped and couldn’t resist shifting her gaze sideways.

  “He’s not us,” Durrand said, but horror made it impossible to focus on his words. “Edwards, look at me.”

  She did so with difficulty.

  “You’re strong,” he said. “Incredible. Nothing stops you once you—”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not.”

  “You’ve beaten carjackers and drug runners and the Amazon already. What’s a pair of manacles and a leg wound compared to that?”

  “My leg—”

  “Is fine,” he said. “It’ll heal.”

  “How do you know?”

  “If it had hit the femoral artery, you’d already be dead.”

  She nodded. “Anyone ever tell you that you really know how to make a girl feel better?”

  “No,” he said. “Never.”

  Her laugh ended on a sob. Her gaze was being pulled back toward the corpse.

  “Focus on me, Edwards.”

  She did so with an effort.

  “Inhale,” he ordered.

  She tried, then coughed. The air was heavy with decay.

  “Exhale.”

  That was more successful.

  “We’re going to get out of here,” he promised. She nodded though she didn’t really know why. “Eventually, someone will come to check on us,” he added. “You’ll be half naked.”

  “What?”

  “You will have removed your shirt.”

  “Why?” Her voice sounded childish to her own ears.

  “To distract the guard.”

  She blinked. “Won’t it seem…” She shook her head. “Suspicious?”

  “You will have used it as a tourniquet for your leg.”

  She nodded again. The movement felt a little more fluid. “What if he doesn’t care?”

  “That you’re half naked?”

  Another nod. This one was almost normal.

  “Maybe you haven’t looked in the mirror lately.” His voice was soft.

  She scowled. “I don’t know—” she began, but he interrupted her.

  “He’ll care,” he said, voice firm again. “He’ll forget all about me and go straight to you. That’s when I’ll grab him.”

  “What if there’s more than one?”

  “I’ll shoot them with the gun I take off the first guy.”

  She nodded, trying to believe, but her mind stuttered with uncertainty. “What if he doesn’t get close enough?”

  “He will.”

  “What if—”

  “Holy God, Edwards, I’ve got a head wound. One more question could kill me. Ease up, will—”

  A noise from above startled them both. They twisted toward the sound.

  Eddy shook her head, frantic, unprepared. But a door was opening. Footsteps were descending. She snapped her attention back to Durrand. His eyes were wide, his mouth open. He twitched.

  “Durrand!”

  He shifted his gaze to hers and reached frantically toward her, but suddenly his hand fell away. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling and his head smacked hard against the wall behind him.

  “Durrand?” She whispered his name. Terror ripped her asunder. “Durrand!”

  He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. His eyes were wide and sightless, his mouth ajar.

  “Durrand, no. Don’t!” A sob escaped her lips. “I can’t—”

  “So he is dead.”

  She jerked her attention to the left. Two men stood against the far wall.

  “Help him,” she pleaded then switched to Spanish and tried again.

  But they laughed. “I do not think so, señorita.”

  “Please,” she said but the second man shrugged. Stepping forward, he kicked Durrand’s booted foot. It jiggled lifelessly.

  “Why would we shoot him if we wished for him to live?” he asked and smiled at her. “You, though, look well worth saving.”

  Terror swelled up on a fresh wave, threatening to drown her. She scooted back against the wall. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Of course, not,” said the tallest of the two and reached for her with a laugh.

  But suddenly, he was falling. Durrand’s hands snaked out. His chain rattled as it whipped around their tormentor’s neck.

  The second man snapped off a shot, then stumbled back, gurgling on his own blood. His friend’s knife protruded from his throat.

  The closest man struggled, feet swinging wildly, but Durrand tightened the chain around his neck. “The American,” he rasped. His face looked twisted in the sparse light from above. “Where is he?”

  “Go to hell!” the man’s voice was garbled Spanish.

  Durrand tightened his grip again. The guard squirmed, body jerked atop his captor’s outstretched legs. “Edwards, ask him where they’re holding Shepherd.”

  She spoke, voice shaking.

  He answered, Spanish rapid-fire fast.

  “He says he doesn’t know of any other hostages.”

  “I won’t harm him if he promises to do the same and tells the truth. I’ll let him get out of here alive.”

  Eddy caught the guard’s frantic gaze. His eyes were beginning to bulge. His knuckles were white where he gripped the chain around his neck. She steadied her voice and repeated Durrand’s words.

  The man’s body went still, but his breathing was raspy. “Señor Santiago has property west of here. A ranch. Few know it is his.”

  “How far?”

  “Two kilometers. Let me go and I will show you the way to—” he began, but Durrand jerked the chain tight. The man gasped, his body juddered and then he fell still.

  “No! You promised! You—” Eddy rasped, but Durrand spoke over her.

  “Get his keys.”

  She shook her head, shocked and appalled.

  “Get them!”

  “I—” she began and shifted her gaze to the corpse. It wasn’t until then that she saw the gun their captor had shoved up against Durrand’s thigh. She stared at it, unblinking, unmoving as the implication of his lies burst in her brain.

  “Eddy,” Durrand said. His voice had softened slightly. “We have to get out of here.”

  She blinked.

  “Someone may have heard the commotion.” His tone was summer night calm. “Can you reach his pocket?”

  The thought of touching the dead body was almost more than she could bear, but she stretched out a shaking hand. Her chain went taut. Pulling her left hand to the wall, she pushed as far as possible with her right but it was no use. “I can’t reach it.”

  “Hold on,” he said, and dragging the man by his neck, pulled him over his own body, shifting the corpse’s hips toward her.

  Eddy closed her eyes and slipped her hand i
nto his pocket.

  Chapter 49

  “Tell me about this Durren that will come for you,” Carlotta said.

  Shep had finally been given a pair of drawstring pants. But for reasons entirely unknown, he had been refused a shirt. He liked to think that had been Carlotta’s decision.

  “Durrand,” He corrected.

  “That is what I said.”

  “My mistake.”

  She gave him a look. He squelched a grin. “Why do ya wanna know about ‘im?”

  “No reason. I simply try to become not so bored.”

  “Or you’re interested in my life ‘cause I’m so damned charming.”

  “So damned conceit,” she said.

  “Conceited.”

  She quirked a questioning brow at him.

  “I’m so damned conceited,” he corrected and snorted, realizing she had played him. “Well, we’ll have time to work on your English when we get to Oklahoma.”

  “Oklahoma?”

  “Where all real men are born and raised.”

  “So this Durren, he is from the Oklahoma, too?” she asked and settled onto the bed beside him. It was wonderfully hard to think when she was so near.

  He frowned for a moment, remembering the time Durrand had saved him from a pair of streetwalkers he’d met in Guatemala. Shep would have sworn they were born women. “Maybe a couple come from Tennessee, too.”

  “Does he look like you?”

  “Why do ya ask?”

  She shrugged. “Hollywood would have us believe that all Americans they are tall and dark and handsome.”

  “Ya think I’m handsome?”

  Another elaborate shrug. “I was ask about your friend. Is he look like you?”

  “Well, I don’t like to brag.”

  “I think you lie,” she said.

  He stared at her.

  “I think you like very much to brag. Is he big as you?”

  “Durrand?”

  She nodded. “I only ask because I am the curious one.”

  “Well, he is tall and—” Shepherd began, but reality throttled him suddenly, stopping him in his tracks. “Shit!” he snarled and caught her hand but she stood, twisting out of his grip, eyes wide, expression troubled.

  “What’s going on?” His words sounded like a growl to his own ears.

  “Nothing goes on,” she said.

  But he yanked at his cuffs, rattled the bed. “You’ve seen ‘im.”

  “What? No!”

  He searched her eyes. “He’s here isn’t he?” He stood abruptly, stretching his arm to the side as he skimmed the room. “I need some boots and…” He stopped abruptly, speared her with his gaze. “Come with us.”

  “What do you talk of?” She waved wildly at his handcuffs. “You are chained to the bed.”

  He didn’t even glance at the manacles. “Where is he?”

  “I tell you, I did not see him.”

  “Carlotta!” he said and grabbed her hand again.

  Their gazes met in a clash of emotions.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. “I am told there are people in the hole.”

  “The hole? What hole? What are ya talkin’ about?”

  She winced. “Some say the señor has a pit at his…at his other property. A pit where others are sometimes kept.”

  “Prisoners?” He swore in silence. “He has other prisoners?”

  She winced. He tightened his grip on her hand.

  “Carlotta, ya have to leave here. I don’t care what he did for your family. You’re not safe. The man’s psychotic.”

  “He is not—” she began, but just then there was a shuffling noise outside.

  Shep snapped his gaze to the door and back. “Come with us,” he said again.

  “You are tied to the—” she began but her words stopped in midsentence as the door was flung open.

  Gabriel Durrand stepped inside. Blood coated the left side of his face. He was favoring one leg. But the shotgun in his hands looked damned steady. He glanced from side to side. When no one jumped from the shadows, he lowered the muzzle of his semi-automatic a quarter of an inch. “You coming or not?” The question sounded only mildly interested.

  Shepherd grinned. “I just need some clothes,” he said, but a spatter of distant gunfire tore away their emotional reunion.

  “Fuck the clothes,” Durrand growled and aiming at the bed frame, pulled the trigger. The metal screeched. Shepherd kicked it apart and pulled his arm free. Durrand tossed him a pistol and swung toward the door.

  But Shep turned toward Carlotta. “Please.” His throat felt tight, his heart too large for his chest. “Ya have to come,” he breathed.

  She shook her head, but there was uncertainty in her eyes, longing in her body language. His arm reached out of its own accord, pulling her close. He couldn’t help but kiss her.

  “Please.” He whispered the word against her lips.

  Silence held the world.

  “Sooner would be better,” Durrand warned, and suddenly Carlotta nodded.

  Shepherd kissed her again. Then turning, they charged out the door.

  Bullets spattered around them.

  “Head toward the river!” Durrand ordered.

  They sprang away. Behind them men yelled and swore and discharged their weapons in wild disregard.

  But a rifle from up ahead answered back. Bullets whizzed past them. Men grunted and died behind them.

  “Is that Sharps?” Shep yelled.

  “No,” Durrand said and turning, fired again.

  A man jumped and fell.

  “Halt!” someone ordered. He was close, too close.

  But a rifle sang from a few yards ahead. The villains yelped and drew back.

  “Indigo?” Shepherd guessed.

  “Edwards!” Durrand called, and suddenly a sharpshooter rose from the foliage nearly at their feet.

  “Out of ammo,” she rasped.

  Shepherd jerked in surprise, but there was no more time for questions. Only for running as best they could, stumbling and scrambling through the trees.

  Branches slapped them, roots tore at their feet, and three of them were wounded, slowing their pace; their pursuers were already closing the gap.

  But they pushed forward until suddenly, they burst onto a road. They staggered to a halt as a Jeep careened around a curve and skidded to a stop a dozen yards from where they stood.

  Timoteo Ortez Santiago stood in the back of the vehicle. Men with rifles flanked him on both sides.

  “Americanos! I call a truce.” he yelled. “Truly, I wish you no harm.”

  The sight of Doc Tevio’s head of security gasping on the floor following those same words, jerked Shep into motion. “The hell with that!” he snarled and snapped off a shot.

  Tevio grasped his chest and slumped sideways. Durrand and his sharpshooter lunged into the trees. Shepherd grabbed Carlotta’s hand, pulling her after the others, but she twisted back.

  “Señor!” she gasped.

  Shepherd dragged her with him. “Come on!”

  “No!” She jerked out of his grasp.

  Shepherd swung toward her.

  “Shep!” Durrand yelled and grabbed his arm. “Leave her!”

  Shepherd swung around, but Durrand was already raising his weapon. The butt of his rifle collided with the side of Shep’s skull. It was the last thing he remembered for a long while.

  Chapter 50

  “Sure,” Durrand said and stared at Shepherd, gaze level, voice dead steady. “Stay here if you want. Maybe this time you can convince your little chica that you’re preferable to the drug dealing murderer who financed Miller’s whole damn SNAFU.”

  The too small hostel thrummed with silence. Eddy glanced from one man to the other.

  “Maybe Santiago’s not the one who hired the hit on Herrera.”

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Durrand asked. “Your girl left you to return to him.”

  Shep ground his teeth. “She doesn’t know he’s a
drug lord.”

  “Oh, well then…” Durrand said and laughed, a low mirthless chuckle. “Looks like your taste is running toward the usual fare.” Rising abruptly, he stared down at the Okie.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Shepherd rose, too. He looked as lean and hungry as a wolf.

  “Let’s just take it easy,” Eddy said. They’d just endured two days of hell. Durrand had been sick with worry that he had hit Shepherd too hard. That his friend would never come to. But the cowboy had awakened while they were still traveling. Awakened and nearly tore the Pinto apart trying to return to Carlotta. Threats had been issued. Curses and accusations had followed, but they’d finally arrived in Borgata. Still, it was anybody’s guess if they would survive long enough to board their plane in two hours time.

  “It means…” Durrand said, head lowered slightly. “She must be dumber than a fucking box of rocks.”

  “She ain’t dumb,” Shepherd said. His voice was hollow.

  “Then she’s a drug lord’s wh—”

  Durrand never finished the word. Apparently, it’s difficult to talk when someone is slamming their knuckles into your jaw. He careened backward, snarled, then hunched forward ready to retaliate, but Eddy stepped in between them.

  “Quit it! Just quit!” she yelled and stretched out her arms as if she could hold them back by sheer force of will. They paused for a second, glaring at each other. “Listen…” Her voice was shaky. “My leg hurts like hell, we’re running out of time, and there’s been enough blood spilled in this country without the two of you acting like morons.”

  “The fucker cold-cocked me,” Shepherd snarled and shuffled to the left, ready to lunge again.

  “He couldn’t leave you in the jungle, Linus. He only hit you because he cares about you.”

  “The hell he did!”

  “The hell I did!” Durrand echoed. “I hit him because he’s a damned idiot who never thinks—”

  “And he’s sorry,” Eddy snapped, wresting her glare from one to the other. “Sorry he hurt you. Sorry he had to leave Carlotta behind. He didn’t want to do it. He just couldn’t bear the idea of losing you again.”

  Resentment throbbed in the air like a smashed thumb.

  “Is she right?” Shepherd asked finally, eyes hard on Durrand. “Are you sorry?”