by Kat Martin
Bree was exhausted to the point of collapse, and Derek was worried about her. He’d offered to carry her, but she had indignantly refused.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m tired, but I’m okay. Besides, it’s going to be dark soon. Hopefully, they won’t make us go much farther.”
Mercifully, her wish was granted an hour later. By then the rain had stopped and the sun had come out, a bright spot in an otherwise wretched day.
Derek spotted the camp ahead, a large open space dotted with canvas tents set up in a circle. Campfires burned in the middle, where what appeared to be Indigenous women worked to cook meals for the men who lived in the camp—somewhere around forty of them, Derek guessed.
Some of Batista’s soldiers came to greet their esteemed leader and his group of weary travelers, but the women continued their tasks, working to finish the meal before darkness swept over the camp.
“We made it,” Derek said, sliding an arm around Bree’s waist, keeping her close beside him.
“Thank God,” she said.
Pilar brought bottles of water, and this time they drank their fill. Derek could smell the juice of roasting meat dripping into the fire, and his stomach growled.
“Sounds like you’re as hungry as I am,” Bree said.
“Yeah, and the good news is, it looks like they’re actually going to feed us.”
Cisco showed up just then and prodded Derek with his rifle toward a row of tents off to one side of the clearing.
“You will stay in here,” he said, lifting the canvas flap and motioning Derek inside. Derek urged Bree into the tent first, and the cooking smells disappeared as they entered, replaced by the odor of wet socks and jungle rot.
“Tonight the women roast un cerdo to celebrate the arrival of El Defensor,” Cisco said, using the Spanish word for pig. “You will wait in here.” Cisco turned and walked away, the tent flap falling closed behind him.
Derek made a brief survey of their temporary quarters—at least he hoped they were temporary. He glanced over at Bree, who was doing the same thing.
“How do you like the new digs?” he asked. There were two narrow cots with a striped wool blanket folded on each and a small wooden table with a kerosene lamp on top and two wooden chairs.
Bree sank down wearily in one of the chairs. Both of them were wet, tired and hungry. “I guess it’s better than sleeping out in the jungle.”
“Yeah.” Derek made a cursory inspection of the interior but found nothing useful. He sat down across from Bree.
“How are your feet?” he asked.
“Not too bad. How about yours?”
“Not much worse than they were last night. But walking out of here could be a bitch.”
Bree gave him a worried nod, then looked up at a sound overhead, the whop, whop, whop of helicopter blades. Derek had noticed an open space through the trees off to one side as they had entered the camp. Now he knew what it was used for.
“Sounds like El Defensor is arriving in style,” Bree said, but Derek’s thoughts had already jumped ahead to how he could get his hands on the chopper and get them the hell out of there.
“Wait a minute.” Bree eyed him warily. “I can almost see your mind spinning. What are you thinking, Derek?”
“I’m a pilot, remember? I was just thinking we might not need to wait for your dad’s money.”
“You can fly a helicopter?”
He shrugged. “I took a few lessons. I never got my license, but I could manage to get us in the air.”
Bree’s eyebrows shot up. “You could manage to get us in the air?” she repeated, incredulous. “No way. We need to wait. Dad will pay and they’ll let us go.”
Derek didn’t press the issue. No need for her to worry unless they had no choice. “I hope you’re right,” he said.
A few minutes later, Pilar arrived with dry clothes, a long, gathered red skirt and off-the-shoulder white blouse for Bree and a clean pair of cargo pants and dry camo T-shirt for Derek.
“You will put these on and Cisco will take you to El Defensor,” Pilar said and left the tent.
Bree cast Derek a look, then turned around and started stripping off her clothes. Derek did the same, managing not to imagine Bree standing behind him naked, but it was a near thing.
They had just finished getting dressed, sliding their feet into woven leather, open-toed, huarache-like sandals, when Cisco opened the tent flap.
“You will both come with me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
BREE HELD DEREK’S hand as they crossed the clearing in the wake of Cisco’s stout, thick-shouldered frame. Night had fallen, the darkness lit by the orange-red glow of burning campfires.
A large tent had been set up a short distance from the rest of the camp. Cisco motioned them inside. Derek led the way, ducking his head, stepping onto a thick wool carpet that covered the floor in a bright-colored native design.
Bree let go of Derek’s hand as Rafael Castillo rose from an ornately carved wooden chair at a round, leather-topped table. A second man rose from the opposite side—blond, blue-eyed Julio Montez. His gaze ran over Bree, and a shiver of foreboding crawled up her spine.
Only Castillo approached, but it was Montez whose presence chilled her. She focused on the man with the scarred eyebrow, El Defensor, the leader of the group.
“Ms. Wingate.” Castillo took her hand and brought it to his lips as if he were a courtier instead of a terrorist. “A pleasure to see you again.”
Bree made no reply.
“I spoke to your father,” Castillo continued. “As you know, tomorrow is the last day for him to gather the necessary funds for your release. He assures me he will have them ready by the end of the day. Should that occur, the following morning, you will be transported by helicopter to the rendezvous site, where the money will be transferred by computer, deposited into an offshore account. After the transaction is complete, you will be released.”
She squared her shoulders. “Along with my fiancé, correct?”
He shrugged. “If that is your wish.”
“I won’t leave without him. You may tell my father that.”
Castillo flicked a nearly imperceptible glance at Montez before he answered. “As I said, that is your decision.” His lips tipped into a smile. “Enough talk of business. Tomorrow our goal will be met, our task here completed. Tonight we celebrate. You will enjoy a meal of roast pig served with machuca and boiled mashed plantains. Also pupusas, thick tortillas served with frijoles. You will drink our special horchata mixed with guaro, a liquor made of sugarcane. It is quite delicious.”
Montez said nothing, but his smug, predatory gaze made his intentions clear. No way was she drinking alcohol tonight.
“You are both dressed for the evening,” Castillo said. “Shall we join the festivities?” He offered her his arm, and though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she accepted, lacing her arm through his. She didn’t miss the dark look on Derek’s face as Montez held open the tent flap and she and Castillo walked past him into the night.
They paused next to the largest campfire in the circle, where a makeshift table and chairs had been set up and draped with a bright-colored, striped woven cloth. Castillo pulled out a chair and seated her, waited for Derek to sit down, then seated himself. An empty chair beside him waited for Montez.
Then one of Castillo’s men came forward, bent and whispered something that Bree couldn’t hear.
“I’m afraid you will have to excuse me,” Castillo said, rising. “Enjoy the meal, and perhaps we shall speak more later.”
Bree sincerely hoped not. The only thing worse than being with Castillo was the thought of being with Montez. She caught the glint of his blond head as he bent to speak to one of the young women who worked in the camp. They were prostitutes, Derek had told her, probably brought in for the occasion. Bree prayed Montez’s la
scivious attentions would fix on the other women and he would leave Bree alone.
Derek must have sensed her worry. As soon as Castillo walked away, he leaned toward her. “Stay close. I don’t trust that bastard. Hell, I don’t trust either one of them, but it’s Montez who’s set his sights on you.”
“There’s something scary about him. He gives me the creeps.”
A muscle tightened in Derek’s cheek as Pilar and another young woman walked up to serve them. They set two steaming plates of food on the table in front of Bree and Derek, along with two glasses of a milky-white liquid that smelled like cinnamon.
“Eat,” Pilar said. “You will want to be in your quarters before the men get drunk and go after the women.” She looked at Bree. “They will not care whose daughter you are.”
A chill swept through her. “What about you?”
With her onyx-black hair and high cheekbones, she was exotically beautiful. Her slender figure caught the eye of every man she passed.
“I am Cisco’s woman. They will not bother me.” Pilar turned and walked away.
Thinking of what could happen, Bree looked down at her steaming plate of food, but she was no longer hungry.
Derek reached over and took her hand. “I’m here. I won’t let any of them near you.”
But it wasn’t a promise he could keep. If the men or Montez decided they wanted her, there was no way one man could stop them.
Derek squeezed her fingers. “Eat, baby. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. You need to keep up your strength.”
He was right. As she watched him dig in with the gusto of a starving man, Bree forced herself to shovel a forkful of the roasted meat into her mouth. After the first two bites, her hunger returned, and she cleaned the rest of her plate.
She had just finished when she felt a presence and looked up to see Julio Montez standing next to her chair. Her stomach contracted, and she swallowed to keep down the food she had just consumed.
“Did you try the horchata?” Julio asked with one of his lascivious smiles.
She’d tasted the drink just to see what was in it, a combination of milk, sugar, cinnamon, vanilla and strong sugarcane liquor.
“I tried it,” she said.
“Perhaps you would join me for another glass. We could discuss your upcoming departure.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw the muscles across Derek’s shoulders tighten.
“I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well. The day was long and tiring. Perhaps another time.” She smiled, hoping to placate him at least for tonight.
He gave her a nod of understanding. “Of course. Tomorrow then. I’ll enjoy talking to someone from the United States. My mother is American. I went to college there for a while.” His English was perfect, she’d noticed, and he oozed enough charm to impress any number of women. But there was something in those ice-blue eyes that put her on alert.
Bree followed his gaze to the edge of the clearing, where a young prostitute stood waiting.
“Good night.” Montez gave her a final smile and strode off in the woman’s direction.
Bree’s stomach settled as relief filtered through her. She turned back to Derek, whose hard body still vibrated with tension. She rested her hand on his cheek and felt the roughness of his unshaven jaw. “It’s okay. He’s gone.”
The muscles across those broad shoulders relaxed. “He won’t bother you tonight. He’s got another woman to take care of his needs.”
The minute the words were out, a flash of heat darkened the gold in his eyes. It reminded her that Derek had needs as well. So did she. She wished they were somewhere else, a place where they could explore their attraction.
“Come on,” Derek said, rising. Taking her hand, he urged her up from the chair and led her back to the false safety of the tent.
“No lamp,” he said. “The less attention we draw, the better.” Fortunately, the moon shining through the canvas brightened the interior enough to see.
Bree eyed the narrow cots. “I wish we could sleep next to each other the way we did before.”
“Maybe this will help.” Derek rearranged the cots, pulling them together. “Best I can do.” She couldn’t get as close to him as she wanted, but she was really glad to have him there.
“When this is over—”
He caught her face between his hands and kissed her, long and deep. “When this is over, princess, I’m going to make up for all the hours I’ve wanted you and couldn’t have you.”
Bree nodded. “Yes, please,” she said.
* * *
WHILE BREANNA SLEPT, Derek lay awake considering his options. If there’d been any way he could have taken control of the helicopter and flown them out of the jungle that night, he might have tried it. But it would be dangerous enough in the daytime.
He’d never soloed in a chopper. Hell, he’d only flown one a couple of times. Aside from that, he needed to use landmarks to get his bearings. He only had a vague idea where they were, or which way would lead them to civilization.
Resigned to playing whatever hand they were dealt, he finally managed to fall asleep. He was the kind of guy who woke at the least disturbance, so he figured he’d be awake before danger could reach them. Since he’d barely napped on the plane or in the jungle, he needed the rest, needed to be at the top of his game for whatever they faced tomorrow.
There was no way to know what the terrorists would do when Wingate paid the ransom—assuming he managed to get it done. What happened tomorrow could mean life or death for one or both of them.
It was late when a noise near the tent penetrated his slumber—the grunting sounds of a man and a woman having sex. He felt Bree stir beside him. They weren’t touching, but they were as close as the cots would allow. The mating sounds grew louder, panting, harsh breathing, the woman’s moans of pleasure.
“They’re having sex,” Bree whispered. “Right outside the tent.”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded thick as he tried not think of Bree’s pretty breasts, of kissing a path down her tempting curves, of burying himself inside her.
She rolled onto her side and slid her arms around his neck. “Touch me, Derek. Please...”
“Jesus, baby.” But he couldn’t resist leaning over to kiss those soft pink lips. She tasted as good as she had before, something sweet and as wild as the jungle. Every nerve ending in his body ignited with desire for her.
“I need you, Derek.” She pressed her mouth against the side of his neck, trailed kisses down to his collarbone. It took every ounce of his will to ignore the plea in her voice and the blood burning through his veins.
“If they hear us, they might come into the tent. I’m not willing to share you with half a dozen men.”
She made a little sound in her throat, shuddered and eased away. “I know you’re right. I just... Tomorrow anything could happen. We could both die, Derek.”
“We could. Or we could get the hell out of here and spend the next week in bed somewhere safe. I could make love to you until neither of us could move.”
He caught the hint of a smile on her face. “I bet you’re great in bed.”
Derek grinned. “I’m pretty sure I won’t disappoint you.”
Bree turned to smother a laugh in his shoulder. Thank God, the grunting had stopped and whoever was out there had drifted off into the night.
“Get some sleep, darlin.’ We need to be ready for whatever happens tomorrow.”
She nodded and moved away from him. A few minutes later, he heard the sound of her deep breathing. He must have fallen asleep after that.
Light streaming through the canvas finally woke him. Bree was already up and dressed, sitting on the cot next to his.
“Good morning,” she said.
He smiled. “Well, look at you, princess. Already up and ready for the day. You been keeping w
atch so I could sleep?”
“You needed the rest, and it was my turn.”
Derek swung his legs over the edge of the cot and stood up. With the drunken men and women in the camp last night, both of them had slept in their clothes, or at least he had only stripped off his long-sleeved camo T-shirt. He plucked it off the end of the cot and dragged it on over his head, ignored the sandals and pulled on the heavy leather boots he’d worn in the jungle.
“Maybe we can find some coffee,” he said.
“I sure hope so.”
The morning air was humid but not yet hot. A layer of clouds circled the top of the mountain, but it was sunny this far down the hill. After making a stop at the camp latrine, they found Pilar, who rustled up tin mugs of the boiled coffee the women made in big blue porcelain pots.
Though the helicopter still sat in the flat spot Derek could see through the trees, there was no sign of El Defensor or Julio Montez, which suited Derek just fine. It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon that trouble arrived in the form of Montez.
CHAPTER NINE
BREE WAS WORKING with the women to prepare the evening meal while Derek worked with the men, digging a trench for a new latrine on a rise at the edge of the jungle. Cisco had insisted both of them work, saying they must contribute to the efforts necessary to keep the camp running.
Bree didn’t mind. Doing something helped her pass the hours while they waited for word from her father. Derek worried it was just an effort to separate the two of them. Bree prayed he was wrong.
Shoving back a loose strand of blond hair that had escaped her ponytail, she tightened her grip on the bare tree branch she was using to stir the men’s dirty clothes in a big iron pot of boiling water. It was a hot, cloudless afternoon, worse working over the flames of the fire. She was careful to keep her ankle-length, gathered red skirt safely out of the way.
“Well, Ms. Wingate, I see they’ve put you to work.” The sound of Julio Montez’s voice sent a trickle of fear down her spine. She didn’t know what it was about him that put her on edge, but she trusted her instincts, particularly where this man was concerned.
