by Janzen, Tara
A flash of movement drew his attention back to the gardens. He instinctively stepped out of sight but kept his eyes trained on the courtyard. Something, or someone, was out there, hiding in the trees. A moment later he knew he’d made the biggest mistake of his life by coming back to Nikki. He turned and ran toward her bedroom, grabbing his satchel on the way.
Nikki woke with a moan, rudely shaken by a hand on her shoulder.
“Get up and get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“Josh? What?” she mumbled, trying to brush his hand away and roll back over into her pillows. Even half asleep, she knew whose voice was speaking to her. He was always doing things like that, jostling her awake just because he’d gotten a hot lead. Well, she was too tired to scoop anybody that night. Let somebody else have the front page for a change.
“Move it, Nikki.” He peeled the sheet down to the foot of the bed. She started to reach for it, but her hand didn’t get as far as her knees before he grabbed her and pulled her up off the pillows. “I said move it.”
Nikki struggled, coming awake in rapidly increasing degrees. “What do you think you’re doing?” she grumbled, alternately shoving at his hand around her wrist and trying to pull the sheet up over her hips.
“I’m getting the hell out of here, and you’re coming with me.” He crossed to her closet and jerked the first dark thing he touched off its hanger. “Put this on.” He threw the bunched-up garment on the bed.
“Josh, I don’t . . . This is my best shirt.” She lifted up the simple black silk T-shirt, then shifted her questioning gaze to where he stood demolishing her clothes.
“I’m sure the boys in the garden won’t mind if you wear your good shirt. Dammit, Nikki, where are your pants?” He pulled hanger after hanger out of the closet and tossed them to the floor until he found what he wanted.
“Boys?” She caught the fatigue pants that came flying over his shoulder, his urgency starting to light a fire under her even though she had no idea what he was talking about. With the pants pulled up around her waist, she slipped into the silk T-shirt.
“Soldiers. Looks like we’re being surrounded. Where are those tennis shoes you were wearing?”
She stopped with her shirt half tucked into her pants. “Josh,” she began slowly, watching him dig through the bottom of her closet. “Soldiers on the street at night in San Simeon isn’t exactly front-page news these days.”
“They’re not on the street; they’re in the courtyard”—he rounded the end of the bed and stopped barely a foot from her—“and who in the hell is talking about news?” He shoved her tennis shoes into her hands, then reached down and zipped her pants. “Let’s go.”
“This is crazy,” she protested, fighting the awareness sparked by the intimacy of his brief touch.
“I’m leaving.”
And he was, with only his satchel strapped across his chest. Nikki hobbled after him, jamming on her shoes. She opened her mouth to explain another line of reasoning, but a sudden pounding on the door halted her in midbreath.
Josh swore softly and vehemently, a single word of disgust. He turned quickly, checking out their limited options. The pounding came again, followed by a commanding voice.
“National Security Force! Open the door!”
Nikki’s heart jumped into her throat, racing furiously. Double-crossed! But how? Why? Who? The questions flashed across her mind. She whirled and stared at Josh.
“Don’t look at me.” He picked up her duffel and tossed it to her. “Come on.”
She caught the bag and slung the strap over her head and across her chest as she ran after him through the arch to her office. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t going to wait there to find out about it, not with the NSF breaking down her door.
He dropped to a crouch in front of the French doors. “I’ll go first. You stay behind me and don’t do anything stupid.” He turned and gave her a lethal glare. “Don’t even think it.”
The fierce intensity of his threat scared her almost as much as the sounds coming from the hallway. Almost, but not quite. When he eased his body through the door, keeping low and taking care not to rustle the curtains, she followed.
Out on the balcony, the air was a shade cooler, softer, more fragrant. Josh ignored the fire escape on the left, heading straight for the adjacent balcony. Below them, the soldiers appeared and reappeared through the heavy foliage, combing the courtyard. Nikki slipped over the low railing and balanced herself for the three-foot stretch to the next balcony, alternately thanking heaven for the overgrown state of the gardens and cursing the branches and leaves hindering their progress. Vines trailed from the trees to the building, tangling into a morass of shadow. Palms curved their fronds into rustling tendrils against the adobe brick. Josh held her arm for each jump, silently pulling her along behind him.
Four apartments over, they ran out of balconies and came to the last fire escape on the east wing of the Paloma. Going down was out. Up meant a ladder climb to the roof and backing themselves farther into a corner. Josh didn’t hesitate in signaling her up, but Nikki had her doubts.
She eyed the rusty ladder, especially the last few unprotected feet at the top. Anybody climbing over the edge of the roof would be in full view of the courtyard for an eternally long moment. She glanced back down into the garden. What had gone wrong? Travinas had nothing to gain and everything to lose by double-crossing her—unless he knew about her deal with Delgado.
Impossible, she thought, but her pulse picked up just the same. If he’d found out, she could forget seeing her next birthday, let alone her thirtieth.
“Whatever you’re thinking, it can wait,” Josh muttered under his breath. “Get your tail up—” His last word was drowned out by a burst of machine-gun fire.
They both dropped to their knees on the balcony, Nikki with her hands over her head, cringing in the corner, Josh with his body pressed up against hers. But the rain of bullets and chipped brick never came.
“Lord!” Josh exclaimed softly. “They’re shooting up your apartment!” He scrambled back to his feet, pulling her with him. “Go!” He pushed her up the ladder and stayed hot behind her all the way to the roof. They fell over the cornice, got up, and started running.
As they ran, Josh singed her ears with a tirade of disjointed cussing and low-level yelling, most of which she was too confused to understand. At the end of the roof, he hauled her to a stop and whipped her around to face him.
“What in the hell is going on?” He ground the words out between clenched teeth, his fingers biting into the tender flesh of her upper arms.
Winded, she gulped for air. “I don’t know,” she gasped. “You’re hurting me.”
“I ought to—” He stopped abruptly and jerked his head around.
Nikki heard it, too, the sound of heavy boots rhythmically pounding the pavement, marching down Simeon Boulevard. Her struggles died as a new wave of panic took hold of her heart, pure, undiluted panic. Wild-eyed, she looked up at him.
“Dammit, Nikki,” he whispered fiercely. “What have you done?” Fear edged the question, turning anger into desperation.
“Oh, Josh.” Her voice caught as his grip tightened. She’d never dreamed it would come to this, whatever this was. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“Not nearly as sorry as you’re going to be,” he growled. “Where’s your car?” She pointed toward the street and he swore again.
“Two blocks east,” she quickly explained.
“Well, that’s the first smart thing you’ve done tonight. Can you jump the alley?”
Her gaze followed his gesture into the dark gap between the buildings, and her mouth dropped open. It was a narrow alley, barely six feet across, a corridor to the street. But the tobacco shop next door was eight feet down.
“That’s what I was afraid of.” He released her in disgust and clenched his fists. Jerking around, he looked for another way out. When he didn’t find one, he turned back to her. “Damn you, Nikki. I’m mad enough to throw y
ou that far. What’s it going to be?”
One look at his face confirmed his threat. He’d throw her all right, and none too gently. “I’ll jump,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“Good. I recommend a running start.”
“Right.”
“You first.”
“Right.” What was she saying?
“We haven’t got all night.”
“Right.” She backed up and took a deep breath.
“Nikki?”
“Yes?”
“Land light on your feet. Bend your knees.”
Right. Thinking in slow motion and moving in fast forward, she ran across the roof and lofted herself into space. Josh landed half a minute behind her, albeit more smoothly than she.
“Are you okay?” he asked, hauling her to her feet.
“Right,” she whispered, gasping for breath. She bent over to ease the stitch in her side, grimacing with pain.
“You did great.”
“Thanks,” she muttered. So help her, if she got out of this alive, she was signing up for a domestic beat.
He touched her shoulder, letting her know she had the minute she needed. “We always were a good team, Nikki. Remember that time at the waterfall?”
“Yes,” she said, wary of his detour down memory lane. She hadn’t jumped alone that time, and they hadn’t been running for their lives. They’d been playing in the water like a couple of kids. He’d scooped her up in his arms and taken her squealing with him into the deep pool. It was one of the few times he’d held her.
She’d been surprised at his strength back then; everything about him surprised her now—his anger bordering on surliness at her apartment, the fine-honed caution that had probably just saved her life, and the hard look of him, as if life had only gotten crueler since she’d left him. She refused to think she was the cause. She didn’t have that much confidence in her charms or her hold on him. No other man had so much as looked at her in three years, and no man had ever looked at her the way he had that night. A blush stole up her cheeks, fortunately hidden by the night. With effort, she straightened up. “We’d better get going.”
“Yeah.” He stepped away from her and adjusted his satchel strap across his shoulder. “We’ll go for the car, if we can get to it. Let’s see what we’re up against.”
Holding her side, she followed him to the front of the tobacco shop where they crouched down behind a large wooden cutout of the proprietor’s name. Troops were massed in the street below, replacing the night’s rambunctious rioters with a quieter menace.
“I don’t get it,” Josh whispered.
“What?”
“The whole scene—the blasting of your apartment, the NSF calling in military backup. It’s so dramatic, not like their regular game plan of sneaking around, ‘disappearing’ people. Somebody is trying to make a statement, a big statement. And he’s going to be damn mad when he comes up empty-handed, looking like a fool.”
Nikki silently agreed. None of this made sense to her. Travinas had a more subtle style, just as deadly, but more discreet. He fancied himself the great manipulator working behind the scene. When things went right, he took all the glory. When things went wrong, somebody else took the heat.
“Who do you think they’re after?” Josh asked. “You or me?”
She turned and stared at him, wide-eyed. He’d caught her off guard again. “I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “Who knows you’re here?”
“You.”
“Then I guess they’re after me.” The instant the words were out, she realized she’d made a mistake. So did he.
“And that doesn’t make much sense, does it, Nikki? Not with Travinas needing your help.”
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he cut her off.
“You never were much of a liar, and I’ll be damned if I know why you decided to start with me . . . but I’ll find out. You can count on it.” He let the threat hang between them for a long, tense moment before looking back toward the street.
Any shred of camaraderie they’d built over the last few minutes died with his statement, leaving her feeling more alone than she had in years. He’d done it on purpose, set her up with his fond reminiscing, then gone in for the kill. And she’d been such easy prey. Speechless, she turned away from him, wondering when she’d gotten so stupid, and when he’d gotten so cunning.
“Bingo,” he whispered, drawing the word out. “Can you identify the man coming out of the Paloma? The one who looks like somebody starched his shorts?”
Nikki pressed her cheek against the wood sign, peering through the “A” in Sanchez. When she saw the man fitting Josh’s description, the fine hairs rose on the back of her neck.
“Is that Brazia?” he asked.
“Yes.” Suddenly all the pieces fell into place. Travinas hadn’t double-crossed her; his mad dog had tracked Josh down. Tall and thin to the point of emaciation, Brazia skittered down the broad steps fronting the Paloma, barking orders and flailing his arms at the soldiers. “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said. “Now.”
She turned to leave, but Josh’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Just a minute. Who’s that?” He pulled her back down and pointed to the street.
Two soldiers were dragging an old man toward Brazia’s jeep. Nikki watched in growing horror as they slammed him up against the door. “Paco,” she whispered, her arms tightening around her duffel bag.
“Who’s Paco?’
“My gasoline connection. He was supposed to fill up my car tonight.”
“He knows where your car is?”
“Yes.”
Their eyes met, and in the next second they were both running across the roof, racing against time.
Eight
Josh dropped off the roof first, then reached up for Nikki. There was no hesitation this time. She slipped over the edge, her fingers gripping the rain gutter until she felt his hands grab her waist. As soon as her feet touched the ground, he took off down the trash alley, knowing she’d be right behind him all the way. In a year of chasing after stories and running from trouble, he’d only lost her once. The night she’d walked out on him.
Rats fled in front of their flying feet, scurrying under garbage bins and behind trash cans. Rubbish and sewage spilled out of the containers, running a ribbon of stench from the Palacio half a mile west to the river two miles east. On the rare days when the wind came out of the north, Nikki kept her doors closed and burned incense in her apartment, fighting a losing battle with Third World sanitation.
Tonight they only had to get through two blocks of the smell. She did her best to hold her breath, but they were long blocks and the putrid air was gagging her, making her nostrils quiver with revulsion.
At the first cross street, Josh stopped and motioned for her to do the same. A quick check revealed the immediate area to be clear of soldiers, proving that Paco was still holding out.
“How far up are you parked?” he asked, still watching the street.
“The end . . . of the block.” She gasped in a lungful of fresher air, her chest heaving. “There’s a smaller access alley between the buildings . . . leading to the boulevard. My car’s a few yards from it.”
Without a word, he grabbed her hand and dashed across the pavement. Nikki clutched her duffel close to her stomach. She was going to be sick. Or she would have been if he’d given her a chance. He didn’t, though, and she didn’t have the strength either to stop him or to free herself.
Josh knew she was in some kind of distress. Her arm had gone limp in his hand, and she was stumbling along behind him like a rag doll. He cared, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it except to keep running and get them out of that hellhole of an alley.
The access corridor wasn’t much better, and it was a lot narrower, making every box and can a major hurdle. He dodged the rubble, lashing out with his free arm and his feet to clear a path. Cartons of trash crashed down behind them. He stopped ten feet from th
e street, and Nikki immediately slumped against the building wall, her eyes shut, her head tilted back.
Ignoring her for another moment, Josh ripped open the zipper on her duffel and rummaged through her stuff until he found her keys. “Stay put,” he commanded, shoving the bag back into her hands.
She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. She was scared, and something was wrong with her. Her knees were trembling, her stomach churning. Sweat poured down her face and drizzled into a stream between her breasts.
She rubbed her cheek against her shoulder, trying to slow her breathing. Stress, she told herself, too much stress, and that god-awful smell, and Brazia and Paco. A sob caught in her throat. She’d really done it this time.
In a minute Josh was back at her side, lifting her arm around his shoulder. “We’re almost there, Nikki. Help me.”
But he didn’t need her help. With his other arm around her waist, he lifted her off the ground and half ran to the car. He shoved her inside and slammed the door shut, then vaulted over the hood of the car and slid down the other side. His foot was on the gas pedal, his fingers turning the ignition, even before he had his door closed.
He started the car with a roar, spinning the steering wheel and leaving a U-shaped trail of rubber on Simeon Boulevard. Nikki was doubled over in the seat, one hand braced on the dashboard, the other pressed against her stomach.
Two blocks east a pair of headlights flashed in the rearview mirror. Swearing loudly, Josh made a sharp left turn, throwing her against the door. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back to the middle of her seat.
“We’ve got company.”
Nikki groaned in answer.
“How do you feel?”
“I think I’m going to die,” she whispered between clenched teeth.
“Not if I can help it,” he said grimly, checking the mirror and finding it empty of the two bright spots of light. His hands didn’t relax on the wheel, though, and neither did his foot on the accelerator.
The Chevy ate up the miles, skidding around the maze of turns he put it through, taking them deeper into the barrio where the streets were rougher. The small car bounced through the potholes, and Nikki cringed every time the undercarriage hit bottom. The lights of downtown faded to a glow in the night, replaced by the smoking remains of the rioters’ bonfires. When they reached the outskirts of the capital, he turned toward the highway, but only got half a block before another car screeched out of a side street onto the main avenue.
