“Don’t beat yourself up about it. There’s nothing wrong with trying to do the right thing,” Dan said. “You have to live with your choices at the end of the day.” He stared at a point on the floor beyond the map, his thumb tapping the paper. Was he thinking of his own poor choices, or trying to get in a dig about hers? If it was the latter, he didn’t know the half of it.
“Yes, but in this case, Flore is the one who suffers if I choose wrong.”
He conceded her point with a tip of his head, a frown marring his chiseled features. “Let’s think this through,” he said. “Since St. Isidore’s borders are essentially closed, I assume the prospective parents don’t come here.”
“They probably fly into St. Lucia like you did.”
“Right. Then the children are taken over either by boat or small plane.” He looked at her with his eyebrows raised. “I’m thinking about the airfield we passed. There are several more scattered around the island. I wonder how many of them have security like that, though.”
“You think they’re hiding illegal activity? But wouldn’t that mean the NGOs are in on it?” she asked.
“Not necessarily. The security contractors could be taking money from the NGOs and the smugglers.” He rubbed his chin before continuing. “They might not be smuggling kids, but I’d bet they’re up to something there.”
So they had to look for private runways that could be used to smuggle children out on small aircraft. “But if they go by boat, they could come and go from almost anywhere. The more remote, the better.”
He frowned. “Yeah. Pretty much impossible to figure out without a lot of manpower that we don’t have.”
Her sense of optimism deflated. What were they doing? She had no clue where to begin trying to find Flore and the others. Looking for those children on this island would be like trying to find grains of salt among the sand.
Hopeless.
Dan stood and stuffed his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t reach for Alexa’s hand when her shoulders sagged. He could sense the despair settling over her like a fog. “Hey, we’ll figure something out.”
She released a long sigh and nodded, her eyes downcast.
Fuck it. He pulled her into his arms and held her. There was only so much a person could take. Despite the way she’d hurt him, she didn’t deserve this. No one did.
She relaxed into his embrace, her trembling easing, even as he kept himself alert. He stifled a groan as she clung to him and his body warmed.
Reluctantly, he put gentle pressure on her shoulders and she straightened, looking up at him. Her sea-blue eyes held him hostage as desire speared through him. If he closed the gap a few inches, he could taste her sweet lips again…
Idiot. He released her and stepped back so fast she nearly lost her balance. “We should…”
“Yeah.” She blinked and then nodded, straightening her shirt.
Crouching, he eyeballed the map for the locations he’d choose if he were planning to smuggle people or things off the island. And then, thank you Jesus, the borrowed cell phone rang. “Hey, Man of Steele, whatcha got for me?”
Kurt ignored the nickname they’d been using for him since long before he had bionic legs. “I tracked down some detail on the runways,” he said. “The one the NGOs use near Terre Verte is owned by Vent et Mer Enterprises. They rent out use of the airstrip and provide the security. The one down south is owned by actor Brandon Marlowe, strictly private, though not monitored as far as I can tell. The airfield a couple miles northeast of you is part of the Bent Palms Resort. The company that used to own it went belly up, so it belongs to a bank in the Bahamas right now.”
But if they planned to smuggle the kids out by boat, he and Alexa were screwed. A boat could leave from just about anywhere on the island, especially if it were headed for a yacht anchored offshore the way Dan’s was right now. At least he hoped it was still there and hadn’t been stolen by pirates or rebels.
Luxury vessels weren’t common around the island. Anyone with money had gotten the hell out of Dodge before the hurricane hit. They needed to focus on fishing boats. Nobody would think twice about seeing a trawler leave port.
The five main fishing villages that still had working boats were up north on the Caribbean side—the western coast—like Terre Verte. That part of the island had been the least damaged by the storm, but it was also where the majority of the population lived. Flatter terrain meant more plantations, resorts, and cities, which meant more jobs.
Dan circled the villages on his map. “Any word on the history of black market adoption here?”
“So far nothing.” Kurt sighed. “There are no registered adoptions from St. Isidore by Americans in the last year. The children could have been listed as coming from St. Lucia or Barbados or even Haiti, though. The adopting couples might not realize it’s a scam if they’re getting babies or young children who don’t speak much yet. My contact at Immigration hasn’t heard about any problems in St. Iz. I also talked to a guy at the embassy in Barbados and he said the same thing.”
Were they approaching this from the wrong angle? “You know, we don’t even know that this is an adoption scam. That was just a suggestion from Alexa’s boss.”
“I’m not sure I want to think about other possibilities,” Kurt said.
Dan looked at Alexa, who watched him anxiously. “Me either.” His gut clenched at the other reasons the rebels might take small children. “Either way, we need to figure out where Frederick’s men could be keeping them. Assuming they still have them.”
Fuck. This was beyond his capabilities with the resources and time they had. And, while he might be an expert at search and rescue, patching people up, shooting his way out of a hot zone, and surviving on nothing but bugs, he was no detective.
Dan rubbed his face. “Dude, I’m feeling seriously out of my league here.”
Alexa’s eyes widened.
“I hear you,” Kurt said. “I’ll see what else I can find out.” There were muffled voices in the background as if he had covered the receiver to talk to someone in his office. “Hey, do you still have your map of known rebel camps?”
“Yeah.” He’d put it in a plastic pouch in his backpack before leaving St. Lucia.
“Tara just handed me the location of two more SIR-controlled positions.”
Dan marked them on the map, thanked him, and signed off. Then he looked at Alexa. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather hire an investigator? Or a whole team of them? I’m not sure how much I can help.”
“I don’t want to hire someone else. Mercenaries follow the money, and Frederick could offer more to keep this whole thing quiet.”
“You do realize that I’m essentially a mercenary, right?” Had she forgotten he was no longer a PJ?
Her mouth opened and then closed. “But I trust you.”
And hell if that didn’t zing straight to his gut.
“Besides,” she said, “search and rescue is your specialty.”
“Yeah, but that’s different. Downed pilots and fallen hikers are not the same thing as kidnapped children.” He rubbed his chin and realized it was probably time for a shave. “And my main job is to keep you safe.”
“But you said you’d help me.” Her voice was tinged with desperation.
He sighed. “I will. I just… You need to be realistic about my capabilities here.”
“I know you’ll do your best. That’s all I ask.”
Where did this unerring belief in him come from? He didn’t know if he deserved it, but she was right. As far as he was concerned, there was no point in taking on a job if he wasn’t going to give his all.
He nodded and pointed at the map. “Well, we have somewhere to start at least.”
She studied it for a minute and then shook her head. “We don’t have time to check all of those.”
“You’re right. I think we—”
The drawers in the metal filing cabinets rattled. Then the phone he’d set on the floor joined in. It took his brain a few
seconds to catch on.
Alexa looked up at him, her eyes wide as the ground began to rumble beneath their feet.
“Shit,” Dan said. “Earthquake.”
Alexa froze for a second before she realized what was going on. She’d been in earthquakes before, and each one was different. Some were like a kick to the back of your seat, others like the slow roll of a huge ship. This one rumbled and bounced like an old truck on a dirt road.
“Outside,” she said to Dan. “It’s safer in the street.”
The small wooden building would probably hold up—certainly better than cement block would—but they were still better off out in the clearing.
Dan jumped to his feet, snagged her hand and pulled her through the doorway and down the stairs. Troy and Jamila ran out of the orphanage and joined them. Others came out of their homes and huddled together, sending furtive glances toward Alexa’s group, but keeping their distance.
“You okay?” Troy asked her.
“We’re fine.”
The ground continued to shake. Not enough to knock them off balance, but enough to rattle their bones. It seemed to go on and on. When the tremor finally stopped, the lack of movement was profound. As in those first few minutes after the hiccups go away, she kept expecting the shaking to return.
“Well,” Troy said, “that was interesting. I’d better find out if there was any damage.” He held out his hand to Dan. “Can I get my cell phone back?”
St. Isidore didn’t have many landlines, but the cell towers had been one of the first things repaired after the hurricane.
Alexa mounted the porch steps and stood in the shade. Moisture from the humid air gathered on her brow, but the ever-present breeze kept her cool. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scents of salt and earth. Her work with Hygiea had taken her to many countries, but St. Isidore held a special place in her heart.
She’d met the two people she cared for most here.
The first of those people followed her onto the porch and stood next to her, leaning against the support beam. “An earthquake is the last thing this country needs right now. I hope that’s not a precursor to something bigger.”
“Me too.”
He eyed the locals returning to their homes. “Unless you need something here, it’s time to get moving.”
She entered the clinic and he followed her inside. She checked the building for damage, but found only an overturned chair in the back exam room, and a stack of papers that had fallen from the built-in bookshelf near her bed. She bent to scoop them up and laid the disheveled pile on the cot so she could put them into some semblance of order. Maybe she could get Troy to send her things when she had a new address.
The corner of a photo stuck out, its small triangle of bright red catching her eye. She removed it and sucked in a breath.
It was a picture of her and Dan from three years ago, at a makeshift birthday party for one of his teammates. They stood arm-in-arm in front of a red resort cabin that had been converted for Hygiea housing, wearing big smiles and their respective uniforms.
She knew why she was smiling so big in the picture. She’d never been happier in her life.
“Do you need help?” Dan’s voice came from right behind her.
She startled and dropped the photo. It twirled out of her reach and landed on the floor near the foot of her bed, face up.
He bent to retrieve it and straightened, his eyes locked on the picture. “Vinh’s party,” he said, his voice hoarse.
After the party they’d escaped to a secluded cove and made love for the first time on a blanket in the sand.
God, she’d give anything for a chance to start over. But even if she went back in time and told him the truth about who she was, it wouldn’t change anything. After Despina died, Alexa had decided to dedicate her life to saving others. She couldn’t live with herself any other way, but her choice didn’t leave room for a long-term relationship.
“Thank you.” She took the picture from his grasp and stuffed it into the pile as if it were nothing special. Then she straightened the papers and returned them to the shelf. “Hopefully there won’t be any aftershocks,” she said, desperate for a distraction.
“No kidding.” Dan peered through the window. “How soon will you be ready to go?”
“I’m ready now.” She took her knapsack from a hook on the wall and added some granola bars and several bottles of water from a cabinet the rebels had missed.
On their way to the front door, he gathered the map from the floor, folding it and stuffing it into one of his pants pockets before he hefted his bag and slipped it onto his shoulders. “Hang on.” He peeked through the front window. “Shit.”
“What is it?”
Deep voices carried through the door form outside.
“Rebels.”
She gasped and ran for the back exam room. “Come on.”
He followed, closing the flimsy door behind him as she threw back the braided rug and tugged open the trap door. Would he even fit through there?
Keeping her backpack on, she slid into the opening in the floor, reaching out with her toes until she finally felt hard-packed dirt. The two long sides of the clinic were connected to the neighboring structures, but diagonal wooden slats lined the front and back, letting in filtered light. The butterflies in her stomach swooped and dive-bombed. Who knew what kinds of critters lurked down there? Not to mention, if they were caught by the armed militants…
Dan gave her a dubious look, but he must have decided they didn’t have any other choice. He removed his backpack and lowered himself into the hole, stopping when the floor of the storage room came to about mid-chest. He reached for his bag and dragged it down.
Holding the door with one hand, he slid the rug over them and quietly lowered the wood until it was flush with the floor.
Seconds later they heard feet pounding overhead. Alexa held her breath and gripped Dan’s hand. She didn’t ever want to let him go, but he gave her a gentle push toward the alley side of the building.
They could have used the same path to the orphanage she’d urged Flore to take, but endangering Troy and Jamila more than she already had was not an option. She could only hope the rebels wouldn’t think to look next door. No one else should get hurt because of her.
Above them, the footsteps faded. Alexa waited, still as a stone, straining to hear the men as they descended the steps and slammed the front door.
Was it a trick or were they leaving? How had they even known to look for her here? Or was their appearance unrelated? No. Frederick had spies everywhere, even in Terre Verte.
But very few people knew about the trap door.
The crawl space smelled faintly of damp earth and rot, and she refused to think about the bugs and rodents that could be lurking in the shadows. Several feet away, Dan was on his hands and knees about a yard from the lattice that separated them from the street, watching through the slats. He’d left his rucksack next to where she kneeled in the dirt.
At his signal, she crawled up next to him.
“You okay?” he mouthed.
From here, they could keep watch until the coast was clear enough to make a break for it through the small door cut into the crisscrossed wood.
Suddenly shouts came from multiple directions and feet pounded toward them. Within seconds, a half-dozen men faced the clinic. A glance over her shoulder showed the same scene in the alley.
Dan grabbed her hand and held a finger to his lips.
“We know you’re under there, Alexa Alyssandratos,” a man called out, mangling her name in his thick local accent. “Come out now.”
Adrenaline raced through her.
Then the shooting started.
CHAPTER SIX
ALEXA SCREAMED.
DAN GRABBED HER and yanked her toward the center of the crawl space, away from the bullets. Her cry sent a bolt of fear through him, but he didn’t think she was hit, only frightened.
In fact, the rebels needed her alive, so they
were probably shooting to scare them out, not to kill.
He curled his body around her trembling form and held her tightly, covering her as much as possible. “I have you.”
The gunfire continued for several more seconds, then finally ceased with a deafening silence. He weighed their options, but it didn’t look good. There were too many men for him to fight his way out.
And if they escaped, who could they trust to shield them? Someone had alerted the rebels to their presence. How else would they have known to come right now?
“Come out, Miss Alyssandratos, or we’ll kill your friend here.”
Alexa gasped and looked up. Through the slats they could both see Troy being held at gunpoint. “No.” She struggled to break free from Dan’s hold.
“Wait,” he whispered. Then he turned his head toward the leader and yelled, “We’re coming out. Don’t shoot.”
Alexa relaxed.
“I’m going to release you. Stay behind me, okay?”
She nodded.
“Promise me.” He held her gaze until she nodded again, then before he could curb the impulse, he kissed her. It was hard and fast and much too short, but he couldn’t regret it. He’d been wanting to feel her lips again every minute since their kiss in the water, and this might be his last chance.
The surprise on her face would have made him laugh if they weren’t surrounded by zealots with rifles. “For luck,” he said, stuffing his gun into his rucksack before he crawled away from her, leaving his bag behind.
He moved his knife to his boot and unsnapped the sheath from his belt, leaving it in the dirt before he reached the small door at the front of the crawl space. “Coming out,” he called, then pushed open the hatch.
Two men darted forward and pulled him through the hole into the bright sunlight. Each man held one of his arms as they brought him to his feet and led him away. Dan resisted the urge to struggle. Fighting now would only get him beat up or worse, and then he’d have no chance to help Alexa.
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