“All the luxuries of home,” Robert muttered.
Snake stood in the center of the room. “This is where you’ll stay.” He pointed into another room holding a massive mahogany table. “There is a kitchen for your use through there. Mr. Escalante’s chef prepares a meal each evening at six. If he wants you to join him, you will. If not, you may have the meal delivered here by informing Esteban.”
“Esteban?” Emily squeaked, finally finding her voice.
A muffled cough sounded behind her. Emily turned. A small dark-haired man bowed his head to her and Robert.
“Anything you need, just ask Esteban. He is here to serve you,” Snake said, then turned from the room and headed down the hall.
“At least he’s not named after a predator,” Emily muttered.
Robert frowned. “Be good.”
She smirked and followed Snake down the hall. He opened doors off the main corridor that they passed—the kitchen, a bedroom for Robert, one for her—and still they continued down the hall. Fear and irritation twisted inside her, tightening her muscles and making her tense. She didn’t like being kept in the dark, and she certainly didn’t like being told what to do. They reached a massive wooden door.
“This will take you back out to the front of the compound,” Snake said.
“You mean we can leave whenever we want?” she asked in her most innocent voice. Robert nudged her. She shrugged him off. She was getting tired of not knowing where they were or what was going to happen to them.
“You are free to wander the estate, though I would stick to the cobblestone paths. After all, we are in the middle of a jungle.” He turned and headed back down the hall.
Emily stared after him. “And what exactly was that supposed to mean?” she asked Robert.
“Exactly what it sounded like,” Robert said. “Wander too far and you’ll be eaten.”
She took one last look at the door before following them back into the main room. Still, she might just prefer to take her chances in the jungle.
“Mr. Escalante will be with you shortly,” Snake said, then left the room.
Emily let out a sigh of relief as he disappeared from her view, then turned to Robert. “Do you think this Escalante guy is in charge of the Doctors Without Borders program? Is that why we’re here?”
“Would be nice, but I doubt it.”
So did she, but she couldn’t help hoping. “What kind of a name is Snake anyway? Why do you think they call him that?”
“Maybe his bite is poisonous,” Robert said as he studied the grounds outside the windows.
“Yeah, or maybe he can squeeze the life out of you with his monstrous hands.”
Robert turned to her, his eyebrows raised.
She got up and started to pace. “I’ve been kidnapped and brought to paradise by a man named Snake and I have no idea why, or what’s going to happen next, or if I’m going to get to go home, or live, or breathe ever again.”
Robert walked over to her and patted her back. “You’re hyperventilating.”
“I am not!” she insisted.
He cocked an eyebrow that reminded her of an indulgent father reprimanding his young.
She couldn’t say she liked it much. “All right, maybe I am…just a little.” She didn’t know if she heard his approach or if she just felt his dark stare, but she turned to find a large man filling the doorway. Once he had their attention, he strode into the room with the casual ease and confidence of a general commanding his troops.
“Dr. Fletcher, Dr. Armstrong, thank you for coming. I’m most appreciative of your help,” he greeted in a strong booming voice.
“We weren’t given much choice,” Robert said. “Mr…?”
“Escalante. But, please, call me Baltasar. I’m sorry if we worried you. Circumstances dictated the necessary action. I assume your drive from Caracas was comfortable?”
“Why exactly are we here?” Emily asked abruptly, somewhat disconcerted by his slicked, black hair or perhaps it was his piercing gaze; either way her skin was crawling.
Baltasar’s eyes met hers and pinned her to the floor. “I need you to help my son.” He sat on one of the long leather sofas, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “If I may get to the point, my son, Marcos, is very sick. I’m afraid he’s dying. I need your help to make his last days as comfortable for him as possible.”
Emily took a deep breath and sat in a chair nearby.
“He is my only child,” Baltasar continued. “I love him greatly and can’t stand to see him suffer.”
The pain widening his eyes gave Emily’s heart an uncomfortable squeeze. Against her will, she softened toward the man. But only a little.
“I will make it worth your while,” he said with a great deal of sincerity.
Emily couldn’t help wondering how much of it was real. He was obviously a man who knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it. “Of course we can help your son,” she responded, trying to maintain a professional distance. “That’s why Dr. Fletcher and I came here, to help the children.”
He gave her a warm smile.
“But,” she added, and couldn’t help cringing as his smile stiffened. “As beautiful as your estate is, we’d prefer to help your son at the clinic in Santa Maria de Flores.”
“I’m afraid Marcos can’t be moved,” Baltasar said, standing. “Now, please, come and meet my son.”
His gaze slid over her, sizing her up. She couldn’t say she liked it.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Escalante,” Robert said without making a move to join him at the door. “What exactly is your son’s illness?”
“Marcos was born HIV-positive, which has been further complicated by his hemophilia. I’m afraid his illness has progressed to AIDS. It’s been very difficult for all of us and after he lost his last doctor…well, you can see why I’d view a pediatric hematologist with Dr. Armstrong’s impeccable credentials as a blessing, and her arrival here in Venezuela as a gift from God Himself. What better doctors could He have sent than the two of you to look after my son?”
Emily blinked. She understood the pain parents of terminally ill children suffered, but hoped he wasn’t reading more into their presence than there was. They were doctors, not miracle workers. “Dr. Fletcher and I will do whatever we can to help Marcos. I’m truly sorry for what you’ve had to go through, and for the difficult road that lies ahead for your family.”
Baltasar smiled, took her arm, and wrapped it around his own. “You, Dr. Armstrong, are an angel.”
Either that or a tremendous fool, she thought. She set her mind to focusing on the child as they walked down the hall, and not on their predicament. As they entered the room, Emily was surprised to see it rivaled any at Vance Memorial back in Colorado Springs. Mr. Escalante had provided his son with the best medical equipment available.
“Will you have everything here that you need?” he asked.
“More than enough,” Emily said, looking around. A side door opened and a woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform walked in pushing a little boy in a wheelchair. His emaciated body didn’t detract from the love and laughter in his large brown eyes. “Papa!” he greeted.
“Hello, Marcos.” Baltasar knelt down to be at eye level with his son. “I’d like you to meet your new doctors. This is Dr. Armstrong and Dr. Fletcher.”
“Buenas tardes,” Marcos said.
Emily smiled. “Good afternoon to you, Marcos.”
Baltasar stood. “And this is Marcos’s nurse, Marguerite.”
The nurse smiled pleasantly then walked over to Marcos’s hospital bed and turned down the covers.
“Mr. Escalante—”
“Baltasar, please.”
Emily gave a slight nod. “Baltasar, do you have Marcos’s medical records for us to look at?”
He looked pleased at her question. “Absolutely, right over here.” He opened up a drawer and removed a thick file. Emily took it from him. “Please read it over, visit with my son, and then let me kno
w your findings at dinner this evening.”
Emily got the feeling his offer wasn’t a request.
He kissed Marcos on the head and left the room. After the nurse settled Marcos into his bed, Emily stepped forward. “How are you feeling?” she asked the boy.
“Okay,” he said, then started to cough.
As his coughing persisted, she asked the nurse for a stethoscope and thermometer. She took his temperature, frowned as she read the elevated reading, then listened to his chest. His little face filled with fatigue. Emily’s gaze met Robert’s across the bed. “Lay back and get some rest,” she said softly to the child, gently brushing his forehead with her fingertips.
He nodded and gave her a sleepy smile that tugged at her heart. Of all the terminally ill children she’d had to help, she’d never gotten used to the pain and heartache that came with each one she lost. She knew she should distance herself from them, but then she’d look into their sweet, innocent, scared eyes and she’d be lost, her heart sunk. Each time, she’d hoped God in His infinite wisdom and mercy would spare them. Maybe this time He would. She gave Marcos a warm smile, then joined Robert and the nurse in the outer room.
“How long has he been coughing?” Emily asked the nurse.
“He just started this morning.”
“There’s moisture and rattling in his chest. He’s in the beginning stages of pneumonia.” Emily had seen it many times before, and as the illness progressed, the child would grow weaker and weaker.
“Mr. Escalante will need to be told,” Marguerite said while reaching into an overhead cabinet.
“What happened to Marcos’s last doctor?” Robert asked casually. Emily had wondered the same thing. She recalled Baltasar’s earlier reference to losing Marcos’s doctor, but couldn’t imagine a doctor leaving his patient at this stage in his illness. And Baltasar didn’t seem like the sort of man who would just let him go.
The nurse mumbled something without turning.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Emily asked.
Marguerite pulled out a syringe and bottle of antibiotics, then said, “Snakebite,” and quickly left the room.
Emily turned to Robert. Uneasiness tweaked her stomach as she held his gaze. “There is way too much talk about snakes around here.”
Peter Vance took in his surroundings and hoped his years of hard work had paid off and he’d finally been granted access into the heart of La Mano Oscura, also known as The Dark Hand. The manicured grounds were a stark contrast to the untamed jungle pushing at the compound’s tall stone walls. The bungalow he’d been led to was large and gracious, with ceiling fans, plantation shutters and yards of mosquito netting. It sure beat the shack he’d been living in—he could barely call it a shack—since he’d left Colorado Springs three years ago.
He knew when the CIA asked him to upgrade his status and go deep undercover as an operations officer, life as he knew it would be over. But he hadn’t expected how much the isolation would bother him, or how much he’d miss his family.
How much he’d miss Emily.
He shook off the thought as he had numerous times before. He’d hoped the long nights alone would have purged her from his mind. Unfortunately they hadn’t. Even here deep in the jungles of Venezuela, where nary the sight of a long wheat-colored blonde could be found, he’d see something that would remind him of the exact shade of hazel in her eyes and there she’d be, at the forefront of his mind.
Somehow, some way, he had to forget her and move on. By now she’d probably found herself a nice doctor husband, one who’d come home to her safe and sound every night and given her lots of drooling babies to take care of. He could see it perfectly in his mind, the type of life she’d longed for, the type of life he could never give her.
He took out his secured satellite phone and dialed Maxwell Vance, his father and case handler.
“You at the compound?” Max asked as he picked up the line.
“Affirmative.”
“Good. We’ve had a major break on this end. It won’t be long now.”
Peter sighed and allowed himself a second to hope. Three years without a break, a vacation or a meal from his mother’s diner, The Stagecoach Café. How he wished he could go home and see everyone even if it was only for a day.
“We’ve uncovered an air force connection to Diablo.”
He raised his eyebrows. The air force is connected with Colorado Springs’ major crime syndicate? No wonder they had such a hard time tackling their problems. “Is La Mano Oscura Diablo’s main supplier?”
“Affirmative. If everything goes according to plan, the sting we’ve set in motion should bring the Venezuelan cartel to its knees. All your hard work is finally going to pay off. You’re in the perfect position to help us bring La Mano Oscura down.”
“It’s all I think about, believe me.”
“If you can, get the names of any operatives still set up here in Colorado that we may have missed. We can’t afford for Escalante to get wind of our plans.”
“Got it.”
“Also, Barclay has taken a tumble.”
Peter shouldn’t have been surprised. They had suspected that hotel tycoon Alistair Barclay was the kingpin of the Diablo organization credited with the increase of drug trafficking to hit Colorado Springs, but they hadn’t been able to get the goods on him. Things were looking up.
“Has he confirmed Escalante is El Patrón?” Peter asked. They’d been hoping for something to pinpoint Escalante as the head of La Mano Oscura, but they hadn’t had much luck. “I know in my gut he’s our guy, but he’s kept himself clean and surrounded with well-established, legitimate connections. Has he found out about Barclay’s arrest?”
“Negative, as far as we know. He’s expecting a shipment through General Hadley of cash and high-definition Keyhole Satellite images of his lab on the Colombian border. Expect company in place of the shipment. The operation will go down on the thirteenth at zero-hundred hours. Make sure you’re there. We’ll need you to help tie up any loose ends. This could be it.”
Peter took a deep breath and tried not to let himself hope. He wanted to leave, but wasn’t sure what he’d do next. The jungle and his cover as Pietro Presti had been a part of him for so long, he wasn’t sure how he could ever go back to just being Peter Vance. He glanced out the window and saw Escalante heading toward the bungalow down the main path. “Escalante’s coming, I’ve got to go.”
“Wait…there’s one more thing you should know.”
Peter heard the trepidation in his father’s voice, a voice he knew well enough to know this wasn’t something he wanted to hear. This was something personal. His gut tightened.
“It’s about Emily….”
Emily.
“Mr. Presti?” Baltasar Escalante said as he walked through the opened door.
Peter disconnected the line and turned, the name of his ex-wife ringing in his ear.
Chapter Two
Determination overrode emotion. For three years, Peter had worked hard to establish his cover as small-time drug trafficker Pietro Presti hoping to gain the attention of El Patrón, kingpin of La Mano Oscura. Now was his chance. He was in the perfect position to find out the truth about Baltasar Escalante and his connection to La Mano Oscura. He had to stay focused. He couldn’t afford to let himself wonder about Emily and what his father wanted to tell him about her.
“Mr. Presti, how do you like your quarters?” Baltasar asked as he strolled into the room.
“Very much,” Peter responded. “Thank you for your hospitality and please, my friends call me Pietro.”
“Pietro it is,” Baltasar said, and sat in a teal-and-salmon chair. He rested his long arms against the bamboo trim and watched Peter for a disquieting second. His lips curved into a small, predatory smile. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your phone call?”
Peter forced a casual air. “Not at all, just checking on a few business deals.”
As Baltasar continued to stare at him, Peter hoped the invitati
on to the compound would turn out to be a friendly one.
“I understand you’ve been having some run-ins with our mutual acquaintance, Domingo,” Baltasar finally said.
Peter held up his hands, palms out, then gave a gentle shake of his head. “I’m just a small-time guy trying to eke out a living in a big-time jungle. Domingo has taken issue with some of my methods.”
Baltasar nodded, his dark eyes narrowing in contemplation. “I understand perfectly. Let’s take a walk,” he said, rising. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Peter followed him out the door, knowing full well when he received Baltasar’s summons it could mean trouble. He’d taken a chance stirring up the pot with Domingo, but he needed to gain Baltasar’s notice. The few days he’d taken to scope out the perimeter of the compound and stash a motorcycle in a strategic location outside the wall could pay off sooner than he’d thought.
In silence, they walked through the gardens on a cobblestone path moving far away from the main house.
“Your estate is incredible,” Peter said truthfully, trying to gauge Baltasar’s mood.
“I enjoy nice things. I work hard to achieve them. You can, too, if you play according to the rules.” Baltasar looked at him out of the corner of his eye.
His gamble with Domingo had been the right one. Now they were getting somewhere. “Rules have never been my strong suit,” Peter said casually, but laced his tone with an edge of steel.
“I’ve noticed. But to succeed in La Mano Oscura, one must never tread too far off the beaten path.”
Peter contemplated his response, but stopped as the snarl of a wild cat pricked the hairs on the nape of his neck. Slowly, he turned toward the tree closest to the path. A midnight-black jaguar with yellow-green eyes watching his every move sat on a low tree branch, its tail twitching, a low growl resonating deep in its chest. Peter’s breath knotted in his throat. He’d seen firsthand what a cat that size could do to a man, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
Baltasar approached the cat, reached up and rubbed its head. “Hello, Akisha,” he cooed. He took a napkin out of his pocket, then carefully removed a large piece of raw meat and fed it to the cat. He turned back to Peter. “As I was saying, veering too far off the path might not be a healthy choice.”
Peter's Return Page 2
