Peter's Return

by Cynthia Cooke

  “You were drowning.”

  “And it felt good, too.”

  “Suit yourself.” He gestured toward the sink.

  She promptly stuck her head back under the faucet, relishing the cool water and trying to get hold of her temper. When she finally came up for air, he pushed a towel in her face. “Thank you,” she blurted harshly, then kicked off her canvas shoes and promptly deposited them in the trash can under the sink. Then and only then did she turn off the water and turn to face him, the only man she’d ever loved, and the only man she’d ever wanted to do severe harm to.

  “Was that little display of Neanderthal He-Manship really necessary or have you been living in this cesspool for too long?”

  “You were making too much noise,” he said evenly.

  “Oh, excuse me for disturbing…what? The mutant, diabolical reptiles?”

  A smile twitched the corners of his mouth. She raised her fist. “Don’t even think about it.”

  He took a step back, his hand raised in an “I surrender” position. “Don’t worry, babe. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Don’t call me babe,” she growled. “I’m not your babe! I’m not anyone’s babe. Got that?” She poked a finger in his chest.

  “Okay, okay. No babes, not even a dollface.” He leaned against the counter, his face contorting as he visibly tried to get himself under control. Losing the battle, he burst out laughing.

  She narrowed her eyes and said the first words that came to her lips. “You are going to have to die.”

  His bright blue eyes sparkled with laughter, eyes that used to have the ability to turn her to butter. Well, she must be cured of that now; she was sprung way too tight to remotely resemble anything like butter.

  “Sorry, love, but I have other plans in mind.”

  She didn’t know whether to pound on his chest in frustration, or throw her arms around his neck and never let go.

  “What were you thinking?” she demanded. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “Was that before or after you just about brought every guard in this place raining down on our heads?”

  “Would that have been so bad?”

  “Only if Escalante thinks you were trying to escape.”

  “Well, believe me, any ideas I may have had about that are long gone now.”

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  His lips curved and a shiver pulsed through her. She knew what those lips tasted like, and she could almost feel their soft caress and the taste of him rushing through her mouth. She was doomed.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, choosing to ignore him. “Don’t you know your family—everyone—has been worried sick about you?” She stared at him and wondered if that could really be her Peter under those long black waves of hair. His vibrant eyes met hers and it was as if time stopped, as if they were the only two people on earth, as if it hadn’t been three years since she’d kissed him goodbye in that hospital room and walked out of his life.

  “Everyone?” he asked.

  She ignored the implication of that raised eyebrow and continued. “And why on earth do you look like that?” She gestured down his body.

  “Like what?” he asked with his brown-sugary smooth voice that sent ripples cascading down her throat.

  Like incredibly sexy. “Like you’re a druggie or something.”

  “Maybe that’s what I am.”

  She narrowed her eyes and perused his face for obvious signs of drug use: dilated pupils, premature aging and an unfocused, hazy gaze. Nope, his gaze was as sharp as ever. “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “I know you too well to believe that.”

  “Knew me too well. A lot has happened since I left Colorado.”

  She sobered as she looked at him. “How have you been, really?” she asked, but what she really wanted to know was, have you missed me?

  “At this point, better than you.”

  She had to agree with him on that.

  “Baltasar is going to let us go, isn’t he?”

  Peter took the towel from her hand and draped it over the kitchen chair. “I’m not sure. He’s an extremely dangerous man.”

  “He can’t just kidnap and kill two doctors. We’re Americans!”

  “Somehow, I don’t think that fact impresses Baltasar much. You’re one of the best pediatric doctors in Colorado. Your specialty happens to be hematology. As long as you’re useful to him, you’ll be okay. Who arranged for you to come?”

  “I did. I talked with Adam—he was down here a few months ago.”

  “And he was shot by members of a drug cartel. Shouldn’t that have given you a clue?”

  She drew her lips into a thin line. “Perhaps. We thought we were being careful.”

  “Obviously not careful enough.”

  She stiffened. “Fine. We made a mistake. We shouldn’t have come. Believe me, we’ve figured that part out already.”

  He reached out and touched her hair, pulling a long, wet strand through his fingers. Did he ever think of her? She wanted so badly to tell him she was sorry, to ask him to forgive her, but she couldn’t see how that would solve anything. He wasn’t the same man she’d left, he was worse. Danger fit him like a well-worn coat, one she could never touch.

  “I’d better get back,” she said, but couldn’t bring herself to move.

  He nodded. “Just play it cool. Remember, you don’t know me, and whatever you do, stay out of trouble.”

  She crinkled her forehead into a serious pout. “I don’t ‘do’ trouble.”

  He smirked. “Yeah, I know.” He walked her to the front door and spent a moment looking out the window before letting her leave.

  “Peter?”

  He turned to her, his face devoid of expression.

  “Are you going to get me out of here?” She had to ask, had to know. She tensed waiting for his answer, waiting to see if this time, he’d put her first.

  “If I can.”

  Ah, the big if. It wasn’t the answer she was hoping for, but at this point she’d take whatever she could get.

  “Follow the path back to the main house as quickly as you can. You don’t want to be seen around here.”

  She nodded.

  “And make sure you don’t come back. Ever.”

  His words hurt, but the dead seriousness in his tone scared her more.

  “Will I see you again?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.

  “Only if you’re looking for trouble.”

  Chapter Four

  Peter smiled as Emily walked down the path, her head bent as she focused on each stone before stepping down. His smile faltered though when she stopped to smell a particularly vibrant flower. She certainly didn’t look like a woman in fear for her safety. In fact, she appeared to be out for an afternoon stroll. Apparently, he was going to have to go to greater measures to get through to her.

  He shook his head as he contemplated how beautiful she still was, and headstrong, and capable of causing him a lot of trouble. He watched until she disappeared from view, then went into the kitchen and pulled her shoes from the garbage can. He spent a few minutes cleaning them up, then placed them in a plastic bag. He couldn’t have someone finding them there. He stared at the bag for a moment, wondering what he was going to do with it and supposed he’d have to take them back to her.

  He still couldn’t believe she was there. Was it really a coincidence, or did Baltasar know exactly who he was? Had he brought Emily here to use against him? It would be a good plan, for someone calculating and patient. Fortunately, Baltasar was neither of those. With a modicum of relief, Peter decided if the man knew he was an operative, he’d just feed him to his infamous snakes.

  In any case, he’d have to be extra careful until Emily was safe on a plane back to Colorado Springs and Vance Memorial because, mission or not, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit back and watch Baltasar torture her. No, he had to get her out of there, whatever the cost. He made sure none of Balta
sar’s guards were hovering before stealing out his back door and blending into the jungle.

  Emily slipped into the courtyard outside the kitchen of the hospital wing and was surprised to find Baltasar and Robert drinking a glass of iced tea together.

  “I trust you enjoyed your walk around the grounds?” Baltasar said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “I did,” Emily said, “until I saw a hideously large snake. Or perhaps it was when I stepped on a cockroach the size of a small rodent.” Trying to hide her nervousness, she plastered a look of disgust on her face then stared at her feet.

  “For goodness sakes, Emily, where are your shoes?” Robert asked.

  Sometimes he was just too paternal. “In the jungle covered in roach guts.”

  Baltasar laughed.

  She looked up in surprise. It was a warm laugh, friendly and genuine. “I hope it was all right to leave, Mr. Escalante, but after our talk this morning, I was feeling a little closed in.”

  “Of course, it is fine. Mi casa es su casa.”

  “Thank you,” she responded and started for the French doors leading into the house, hoping to get as far away from him as possible.

  “And please call me Baltasar,” he said with a slight trace of exasperation. “And you don’t have to worry, if you see anything that frightens you, all you have to do is call out and one of the guards will assist you immediately. They are always around.”

  Emily stiffened. Was that a warning? Had there been a guard around earlier? Had she and Peter been seen? “That’s good to know,” she said and shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them from betraying her anxiety. What if they had been seen? What would that mean, exactly?

  “The tall walls keep out the wild boars, the crocs, and a lot of other dangerous animals, but I’m afraid we still have an abundance of snakes and an occasional jaguar.”

  Emily felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Don’t worry, Dr. Armstrong, we wouldn’t let anything happen to Marcos’s favorite doctor.” The sharp gleam in his eyes belied his words.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she muttered and turned to Robert. “Has Marcos woken from his nap?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, then excuse me and I’ll go check on him,” she said, and hurried through the doors. She could feel Baltasar’s eyes on her as she walked into the house. Peter’s warning echoed through her mind. But she didn’t need the reminder. Of course he’s dangerous. Upstanding, rich people didn’t kidnap doctors to care for their ailing children, only people who worked outside the law operated that way.

  But how dangerous was he? Would he let them go once Marcos died? The thought brought a twinge of sorrow to her heart, but the boy was in the final stages of his illness. She fully expected a stroke to take him at any moment. Once that happened, would Mr. Escalante just open up the gates and bid them farewell or would an unfortunate accident befall the two doctors from America? No one would know any better. No one but Peter. She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped she was wrong.

  As she approached Marcos’s room, she heard the faint sounds of crying. She hurried forward. “Marcos, what is it? What’s wrong?” she asked as she entered the door.

  “It hurts, Dr. Señorita.”

  “Where, show me?”

  “Here.” He pointed to his lungs, then added, “Everywhere.”

  She checked his chart to see what type of medication he’d already been given, then opened a drawer and took out a new hypodermic needle and proceeded to squeeze a dose of morphine into his intravenous line. She held his small hand and gave it a light squeeze. “There, just give it a minute to kick in and you’ll feel better.”

  How she hated to see children wracked with pain. Sometimes she wasn’t sure why she put herself through it. To help, she thought. All she wanted to do was help and try to find a way to fix it, to make it better. Sometimes she almost succeeded. Unfortunately, this wouldn’t be one of those times. Marcos’s condition couldn’t be fixed.

  Tears leaked out the corners of his eyes as waves of pain rolled through his little body. She held tight to his hand, not only to assure him that she was there, but to keep her emotions in check. The tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he battled with his pain. Trying to distract him, she started to sing. “Once there was a silly old ant….”

  As the song ended, he opened his eyes, met her gaze and held it for a long moment. “Am I going to die, Dr. Señorita?”

  The honesty of his question shining through eyes too wise for his eight years touched her with a gentle stroke of sadness. “You’re a very sick little boy, Marcos. I won’t lie to you about that.”

  Silently he stared at her, willing her to continue, willing her to tell him he was going to be all right, that he’d be able to go to school like other children and grow up to drive a car, to live. She swallowed. She couldn’t do it. Instead, she asked, “Did you know that your mama is with you every moment of the day? Watching over you, helping you?”

  He nodded. “And Jesus, too. My mama told me Jesus would never leave me. No matter what we do, He will always be there for us. He loves us.”

  “How did you get to be such a smart little man?”

  “I was just born that way.”

  She smiled. The stark paleness to his skin began to lift and his face filled with color. The medicine was finally working. “Are you feeling better?”

  He nodded and his eyelids grew heavy.

  She watched him for a long moment.

  “Dr. Señorita, what was that song you were singing?”

  “It’s a song about a little ant that has high hopes. Did you like it?”

  He nodded. “Will you sing it to me again?”

  She brushed the hair back from his forehead and sang softly as he drifted to sleep.

  A few minutes later Baltasar walked in. He watched his son sleeping, then turned his attention to her. “How is he doing?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Please.”

  She got up and led him into the kitchen, not wanting Marcos to wake and overhear them. “I had to give him morphine tonight. The pain is beginning to overwhelm him.”

  Anguish flashed in his eyes. Right then, he wasn’t a monster, but a father about to lose his son. She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, but for the next few days you should spend as much time with him as you possibly can.”

  “His mother went the same way.”

  “She had HIV?”

  “It was bad. Heartbreaking. I thought at the time it was the hardest thing I’d ever have to live through. Now I know different.”

  “I’m sorry. He’s a wonderful little boy. Unfortunately, all I’m going to be able to do is make him as comfortable and pain-free as I can.”

  “I’m not expecting anything more.”

  She nodded and turned to go.

  “Dr. Armstrong, will you join me for dinner?”

  Emily hesitated. She knew he wanted to talk, to try and work through what he was about to face, but she didn’t think she was up to pretending she wasn’t afraid of him through an entire dinner.

  “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

  Before she could answer, Robert walked into the room and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Robert, have you eaten?” she asked and hoped he’d be able to join them. At least then she could focus on him and not on wondering whether or not Baltasar was going to let them go home, or if they’d suffer the same fate as Marcos’s last doctor.

  “I just finished. My compliments to the chef, Mr. Escalante.”

  “Baltasar, please. I know it seems like you’re prisoners here, but I want you to feel like my guests. In fact, I’ve already made a rather substantial contribution to the Doctors Without Borders clinic as compensation for the time you are spending here.”

  “That was very generous,” Robert said with a touch of sincerity in his tone, but there was a stiffness to his back, a hardness to his jaw, and Emily knew he was just as concerned as she was.


  “Ready?” Baltasar asked.

  With one last look at Robert, she nodded, then followed Baltasar down the hall.

  Peter sat for a long time watching the sun dip lower in the sky, wondering how he was going to be able to keep Emily safe without jeopardizing his mission. His cover as Pietro Presti had to stay in place. One slipup and they were all dead. And in the jungle, death could be nasty.

  He took out his phone and made an unscheduled call. It took several rings before he knew his father, Max, would be able to find a secure location to answer.

  “This better be good,” his father growled.

  “Baltasar wants a test,” he said getting right to the point.

  He heard paper rustling on the other end before his father said, “Okay, shoot.”

  “A mule, female named Melinda Rodriguez, will be arriving at the Thurston hotel in Chicago for a drop at noon tomorrow. At the same time, three more women named Melinda Rodriguez will be arriving at the Williams, Barston and Executor—all along the river, all at the same time. I need couriers available in each hotel to make the pickups.”

  “Got it. This is good. Great work.”

  “I have an unexpected problem.” He heard his dad take a deep breath and hesitated, not exactly sure how to break the news. He opted for short and sweet. “Emily’s here.”

  Max blew out a profanity.

  “Mom will get you for that,” Peter said, and felt a pang of homesickness. He missed his mother’s laugh, her smile, her good Italian home cooking.

  “I knew there’d be a problem the minute I heard she and Robert were heading down there, but I couldn’t do a thing about it. What is she doing there? Why isn’t she at the clinic?”

  “Apparently Baltasar intercepted them at the airport and brought them here to care for his son. I can’t leave her here alone on the night of the raid.”

  “Baltasar will be with you. Instruct her to head for the clinic as soon as you’ve gone.”

  “I can’t. I don’t even want to think about what his goons might do to her if anything goes wrong.”

  “I’ll work on it on this end and see what we can come up with. But I’m warning you, son, you need to stay away from her and stay focused on your assignment. For both your sakes.”