The Flyboy's Temptation

by Kimberly Van Meter

  If they were about to die, she was happy she’d slept with J.T.

  In fact, if they hadn’t had sex and she was suddenly staring down the business end of a gun, she would’ve been really pissed that she hadn’t taken advantage of her opportunity before dying.

  Sheesh, Hope, way to stay positive.

  But she was too frazzled to cling to false hope. Her sixth sense was shrieking right now and it was that gut instinct that’d kept her alive when she’d managed to walk into J.T.’s life, so it didn’t do her any favors to ignore that little voice now.

  And something told her that J.T. was listening to the same warning bells.

  The question was...what the hell were they going to do about it?

  * * *

  ALEJANDRO LANDED ON the dirt airfield with minimal fuss, never losing his happy smile even as they climbed out of the small plane to find a black car waiting. When four muscled thugs erupted from the vehicle, J.T. wasn’t surprised, though he’d been hoping that his hunch was wrong.

  Hope turned to Alejandro with a stiff upper lip, demanding to know what was going on, though her voice bordered on shrill in her panic.

  “I paid you for safe transport. What is the meaning of this?”

  “And I have put you safely on South American soil. I have fulfilled my end of the bargain, senorita. As you can imagine, times are hard and my family has needs. I cannot afford to give up opportunity.” Alejandro smiled as if his conscience was clear and then mock-saluted the thugs, saying, “I have done as requested.”

  One of the thugs pulled a bundle of cash and tossed it at Alejandro, and he caught it handily with a bigger grin. “Adios!” he called out as he returned to his plane, leaving them to their fates.

  One of the thugs, squeezed into an ill-fitting suit, removed his sunglasses and tucked them into an interior pocket. “Someone is very interested in meeting you, Miss Larsen.”

  J.T. caught the flash of a revolver butt, and he knew their chances of getting away without taking a bullet to the back were slim to none. Not to mention they were deep in the Amazon jungle, where there were hundreds of ways to die a grisly and painful death that might make a bullet seem like a mercy.

  “And who might that be?” J.T. asked, stalling for time while he tried to think of a plan.

  But they weren’t in a talking mood.

  A curt nod from the one in charge, and another thug grabbed Hope and the other two mobbed J.T., landing a few good punches to his gut and jaw before he could defend himself. A momentary blackout gave them enough time to tie his feet and hands and toss him into the trunk.

  He heard Hope scream as they forced her into the backseat, but a quick slap cut the sound short. Rage cleared away the cobwebs of his muzzy head and he closed his eyes, calming himself before he did something stupid.

  He needed to be smart. They were transporting them someplace, likely to the person who’d been shooting at them back in California and had been searching for them ever since.

  Logic said they wouldn’t hurt Hope, because they needed her—or more specifically, they needed what was in her damn pack. But that didn’t leave any protection promise for himself. Chances were they were going to toss him out as a loose end as soon as they reached their destination, which meant he had to find a way out of this trunk before then.

  He caught muffled laughter between the thugs, but nothing from Hope. Perhaps the force of the slap had knocked her out. J.T. wanted to kill whoever had touched Hope, but he willed his rage to cool so he could think rationally.

  J.T. wiggled his fingers and found enough slack to work his wrists until he managed to free one hand, then the other. But because there wasn’t much room in the trunk, getting his feet free was more difficult.

  Sweat poured down his face as he concentrated on the task and not on the confines of the tight space.

  Back in the Air Force he’d taken small-space training, learning how to manipulate his body and regulate his breathing to avoid panic. He’d never had to use the training during his military career, but it was coming in handy right now.

  “Thank you, Sergeant Thack, you cranky bastard,” he muttered as he finally freed his feet. Thack had put J.T. in the training as a punishment for messing around with his oldest daughter. Those six weeks had been a bitch—the worst time of his life.

  Until this moment, of course.

  J.T. fished his phone from his pocket, which thankfully the thugs hadn’t bothered to check, and quickly called Teagan. The service was sketchy and the connection weak, but the call finally went through.

  “Teagan,” J.T. whispered when his brother answered. “Trouble.”

  Not messing around, Teagan went on alert. “What’s wrong? What’s that noise?”

  “That would be the sound of the road from the inside of a trunk, in case you’ve ever wondered what that’s like. It sucks. Don’t try it.”

  “You’re in a trunk?”

  “Yeah, with the presumption that this is far safer than what’s going to happen once we reach our destination. Our pilot sold us out.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Teagan swore. “That miserable cuss. I’m going to feed him his balls.”

  “Never mind that. Help me think of a way out of this mess.”

  “Okay, okay, let me think... Is it a newer car?”

  “From what I remember...yeah.”

  “Okay, the tire iron will be in a side compartment that you should be able to open. That’s your best chance at a weapon. When they open that trunk door, you catch them by surprise and start swinging. They won’t expect it and it might give you a few minutes to run.”

  “That’s not much of a plan for Hope.”

  “You can’t help your client if you’re dead.”

  Couldn’t argue with that.

  “I’ll track your position through the phone’s GPS and call in a few favors.”

  “The last favor you called in landed me in a trunk,” he reminded Teagan ruefully. “I’m not sure I trust your favors.”

  “You got better options?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then shut up and let me do what I can.”

  “Hurry, man—it’s not in my destiny to die in the Amazon jungle. I have it on good authority I’m supposed to die in the arms of a buxom blonde with a smile on my face.”

  “Just do your best to lose yourself in that jungle. I will find you.”

  “Yes, sir,” J.T. said, trying to keep it light for his brother’s sake. The situation was shit. The chances of survival were slim. And they both knew it.

  Jokes were just J.T.’s way of dealing with the bad odds and Teagan knew it.

  J.T. forced a smile as he said, “Hey, I have an idea... Let’s sell Blue Yonder and buy a boat. We can charge hot tourists in bikinis to charter them around the Caribbean or something.”

  Teagan replied with a hint of unexpected humor, “Neither one of us knows anything about boats. We’re flyboys, remember?”

  J.T. grinned in spite of the situation. “Yeah, I remember. So get me a damn plane. I’ve had enough of this place to last a lifetime.”

  “I’m on it, brother. Stay alive.”

  The line went dead and J.T. closed his eyes briefly, wondering if that was the last time he would speak to Teagan. This was one scrape that Teagan might not be able to patch up.

  And he felt like crap that the burden fell to his brother.

  Again.

  He’d like to live long enough to save his brother’s ass for a change one of these days.

  Put that on the agenda for later.

  For now...time to save your own ass.

  10

  HOPE’S JAW ACHED like a mother, but she kept her complaints to herself. She certainly didn’t want another slap from that beefy thug’s hand. The last one ha
d nearly taken her head off.

  She worried about J.T., thrown in the trunk like a sack of potatoes. Did he have enough air? Had they killed him? Icy fear drenched her thoughts as her anxiety rose. He couldn’t be dead. J.T. would figure out a way to...escape a moving vehicle with tied hands and feet?

  Yeah, he wasn’t a magician.

  The car rolled up to a massive, intricately designed wrought iron gate buried deep within the jungle. The driver punched in a code and the gates slowly opened.

  Wherever they were going, it was heavily fortified. Armed guards—more than likely hired mercenaries—walked the perimeter of the fencing with hard eyes, incapable of mercy.

  They rolled up to a palatial mansion with a fringe of white banisters along the tiered balconies that screamed of opulence and dirty money. Who built a fortress in the jungle unless they didn’t want to be found?

  Hope shuddered and swallowed, more frightened of this place than she’d been of sleeping out in the open of the Mexican jungle.

  Thinking fast, she banked on the assumption that whoever had commanded her presence had to know what she was carrying, so she was needed alive. But likely J.T. was baggage they didn’t need, which meant as soon as they opened that trunk, the clock was ticking on his life.

  She couldn’t bear to let anything happen to him when it was her fault that he was in this mess. Time for a show of audacious boldness.

  “If anything happens to me or my friend, your employer won’t get what he’s after.”

  “Shut up. You’ll do exactly as you’re told.”

  Hope blinked back the surge of fear as her throat threatened to close and held her course with forced bravery. “What I have in my possession could kill each of you within hours. I would enjoy watching your skin boil as your insides melt and your bones disintegrate. The interesting thing is that it doesn’t exactly kill you right away, but you’re quite aware of all the damage that’s happening to your body. In a way...it’s sort of what I imagine it would feel like to be eaten alive.”

  That got their attention.

  The two men flanking her on either side shifted nervously to give her more room. She smiled.

  “She’s just trying to freak you out,” the driver warned as he rolled to a stop in front of the mansion.

  “It’s working,” the thug in the passenger seat grumbled, unsure of the situation. “What if she ain’t lying?”

  “Indeed,” Hope agreed with a chilly smile, then embellished a little for flair. “That’s what I do for a living—I create new and interesting ways to kill a human being without leaving a trace.”

  Okay, so she’d embellished a lot. But they didn’t know that and her very survival depended on selling that lie, so she was going to own it as if she were more dangerous than them.

  The thugs bailed from the car a little more quickly than before and she smothered a shaky laugh. Well, at least that part of her plan was working.

  The thugs looked to the driver for direction. “What do you want us to do with him?”

  The driver paused, plainly unsure if Hope was bluffing and weighing whether or not he should risk it. Finally, he grumbled, “Bring him. Boss can figure out what to do with him.”

  Hope breathed a secret sigh of relief, but as the thugs opened the trunk to retrieve J.T., a sudden flurry of motion, blood spattering and cursing ensued as J.T. sprang from the trunk like an avenging demon, swinging a tire iron with the intent of cracking skulls.

  The driver shoved her to the ground and charged J.T., deflecting a swing of the tire iron with his forearm and landing a punch to J.T.’s jaw.

  J.T. recovered and swung out with his left foot, connecting with the man’s kneecap, driving him straight to the ground.

  It was like watching gladiators pummel each other in the ring. Hope could only gape as they grappled, tossing each other around, landing punches and knocking each other sideways until J.T. cracked a good hit across the thug’s face, sending him straight to the dirt.

  Elated by his bloody victory, she scrambled to her feet to run with him, but he stopped her with a terse, “You stay,” which instantly baffled and hurt her.

  “What are you talking about? You can’t leave me here!”

  Bleeding from the nose and lip, J.T. shocked her when he shouted, “I’ll be back! Trust me!” and bolted for the perimeter like a felon evading the guards.

  For a long moment, Hope continued to stare with incredulous shock in the direction J.T. had disappeared, unable to comprehend what he’d just done.

  He’d left her!

  That rotten son of a bitch! Here she was worrying about his safety and he went and bailed on her like a coward?

  “I hope you get eaten by an anaconda!” she called out, her indignation blotting out the fear of being left on her own with the scary thugs and only God knew what else.

  The driver rose, limping from his abused knee, and then, after his fellow thugs had risen slowly, holding their heads and bitching about their injuries, he barked orders. “Find that bastard and bring him back to me!”

  They cast dirty looks, but did as they were told, leaving the driver and Hope alone.

  “Your friend is going to die for that,” he promised Hope with a glower, then jerked his head and growled, “Start walking.”

  He pushed her and she stumbled, refusing to let him see her tremble. She was smarter than this Neanderthal. Lifting her chin, she threw him an icy glare that she hoped promised a grisly, torturous death and walked into the cool confines of the huge main house.

  Ceiling fans pushed around the humid air, while native flora hung from huge pots, lending a wild look to the cultured and opulent surroundings. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a monkey pop out from behind a huge potted fern or a snake wind itself free from one of the vines and loop itself around the banisters.

  The man pushed her into a large office, the walls decorated with animal trophies that immediately made her queasy, barked, “Wait here,” and then he left.

  The room was richly appointed with a definite masculine touch—above and beyond the dead animal heads, of course—so when a sharply dressed man with hair that was lightly graying at the temples walked in with a glittering smile that made her want to hide, she knew she was looking at the man who had likely killed Tanya.

  Maybe he hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he’d surely given the order.

  Actually, she thought with another glance at the animal trophies, maybe he had pulled the trigger. Maybe he was one of those sick freaks who enjoyed hunting human beings for sport.

  She couldn’t help the shudder, which he caught, prompting him to smile.

  “Would you care for a cool beverage?” he asked solicitously, as if her arrival hadn’t been under duress and practically a hostage situation, his voice colored with a rich Spanish accent. “The locals make a delicious tropical drink called ulubomba that’s made from the crushed cupuaçu, a creamy fruit that tastes of chocolate, banana, pear, passion fruit and pineapple. I confess, it’s been a bit of an obsession for me since the first time I tasted it.”

  Hope stared as he levered himself into an expansive leather executive chair behind a huge mahogany desk. “Are you kidding me right now?” she asked, going straight to the point. “Why have you kidnapped me and brought me here against my will?”

  “Ah...” He steepled his fingers and said, “My apologies for the rough transport, but you are a difficult person to procure.”

  “Perhaps a phone call would’ve been more efficient,” she returned, narrowing her gaze. “Forgive me for being less than eager to make your acquaintance after you killed my friend and tried to shoot me out of the sky.”

  She was going off a hunch, but he didn’t try to deny it. Spreading his fingers as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he said, “One must regrettably crack a few eggs to make
an omelet. As a scientist, I’m sure you can appreciate that concept.”

  “My friend was no egg for your omelet. She was a human being with family and friends who are grieving her loss.”

  “If it appeases your ruffled feathers, it was not my intention to have your plane shot down. That was an error in judgment on my employee’s behalf. Thankfully, we discovered you are quite resourceful. I was impressed with your ability to evade my attempts to bring you here.”

  “Am I supposed to be flattered? Who the hell are you?”

  “Let’s not waste energy bickering about things in the past, as the future is what interests me most. My name is Anso DeLeon. It is my pleasure to finally meet the woman who will help me make history.”

  “You’re insane. I wouldn’t help you walk across the street after what you’ve done.”

  He rose and walked to a lion’s head hung midsnarl on the wall. Gesturing to the trophy, he said, “You see this here? This is an African lion, the alpha. He had testicles the size of dinner plates and lionesses twitching their tails in his face all day long. It was a genuine pleasure to watch him in action, awe inspiring, really. He was living large, king of his universe without apology. I respected that.”

  “So you responded by killing him and sticking his head on your wall? The cost of your admiration is too high for my blood. Maybe you could’ve just snapped a picture on your phone like most normal people.”

  “A picture has no soul,” Anso responded as if that made perfect sense. “The local people believe that when they take the life of an animal, they absorb the spirit, the strength of the animal.” He stroked the big cat’s lifeless cheek. “I ate his heart from his still-warm body. I felt the spirit of this creature become part of me and it was beautiful.”

  “I think the lion would disagree.”

  He shrugged. “You will never understand the power of taking a life,” he said, adding, “You are a woman. Your power is to give life. I do not fault you for your ignorance.”

  Ignorant? Who was Psycho Suave calling ignorant? She held her tongue, choosing bored silence over obvious indignation as her weapon of choice.