“Everything I have on my sister’s kidnapping,” Bethany explained.
He didn’t open it but scowled at her as if the information was the last thing he wanted to see.
Desperation washed over Bethany. Wasn’t helping people his job? Shouldn’t he show some interest? “Just read the file. Please. Angel said you would help. He said to tell you to call him if you didn’t believe me.”
“Angel sent you?” His scowl softened. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
Once again, her attention slid up to the open end of the Xavier’s weapon. “The gun pointed at my head distracted me.”
He chuckled and lowered the weapon but did not put it away. “Have a seat.” He nodded toward a small table at the back of the room. “Hands on top.”
“Thank you,” she said. The tension that twisted her gut eased, and she edged past him and sat down.
Taking the seat opposite her, Xavier left the gun on his end of the tabletop and within easy reach while he pulled out two years’ worth of e-mails and articles. His attention split between her and the contents, she took a moment to examine the mercenary and his world.
The plain clothes were unexpected. Jeans? She had thought he’d wear black. Wasn’t that what mercenaries wore?
Her gaze slid up his arms, past his shoulder and to the gap in the buttons that showed just a bit of his chest. No scars.
“Like what you see?” Xavier asked.
Her gaze snapped upward. He didn’t look amused.
Nice going, Bethany. Once again, a heated blush colored Bethany’s cheeks. “Sorry,” she mumbled and adjusted her position to look around the room—better that than to be caught staring again.
Behind her, he rustled through the pages. His back room was smaller than she had expected but still large enough to have a six-burner stove and an automatic dishwasher against the longest wall. The other walls were dominated by cases of beer and various food items.
All as organized and clean as her kitchen at home.
It felt like a good sign.
“This is your sister?”
She turned around. Xavier held up the first proof of life picture FARC sent her over twenty-four months ago.
“Yes,” she said, twisting to face him. “And I need you to help me get her back.”
He nodded, sifted through photos and then stopped. Bethany swallowed hard again. It was a shot of herself and Samantha during their last Christmas together. The one where she’d taunted Samantha. She’d bragged about her cool movie consulting job then told her sister that engineers were boring. Dull.
Pushed and pushed until Samantha took the job in Colombia just to prove Bethany wrong. Now here she was. Working with a mercenary to bring her baby sister home and trying to be the big sister she should have been all along.
“Family is important,” Xavier said, his gaze still locked on the photo. He ran a thumb over the photo, taking the smiles as truth. “They’re everything. The ones who will stand by you no matter what.”
When he looked to her, there was more than his belief in his black eyes. There was a pain she recognized because she saw it whenever she looked in the mirror. “FARC took someone you love, didn’t they?”
He nodded. “My sister.”
“I’m so sorry,” she offered. “When?”
He handed her the picture. Her fingertips brushed his, sending an unexpected tremble up her arm that left goose bumps in its wake.
“You were close to your sister?” he guessed, closing off the topic of his life.
Fighting the urge to rub her arms, Bethany traced Samantha’s profile. There was no way she was going to tell Xavier the truth—that she and Samantha had barely spoken to each other before she’d been abducted—not with his feelings about family. She couldn’t take the chance he’d turn her down. “She’s my best friend.”
Xavier took a closer look at Bethany. Was she a FARC spy? She’d be the kind of woman they’d send. The smattering of freckles across her nose alleged easygoing tomboy, but the red strands that lit her deep brown hair and the emerald eyes spoke of a fire in her blood.
The combination was heady, but neither quality had persuaded him that she was who she said. It was the desperation in her eyes and his gut instinct that convinced him she was legitimate. Plus, she knew Angel.
His friend didn’t hand out his name like party favors.
But rescue another kidnap victim? Not going to happen. Not anymore. Not even when it was a beautiful, mahogany-haired woman asking.
Still, he found himself reluctant to tell her to fly home. She seemed lost, and the guilt that surrounded her was almost tangible. Survivor’s guilt, they called it. He felt it himself when he lay alone at night, watching the minutes crawl by until the sun rose and it was time to go to work.
Habit and curiosity urged him to continue to sort through the file on the table. He found a familiar clipping—a magazine article about FARC and their campaign of fear. Nowhere did it mention him, but it talked about what he and others like him did to help bring the kidnap victims home. He put the article aside, kept reading the rest of the file, and then stopped when he reached the e-mails. The first one was dated just over two years ago. “Why are you coming to me now? Why wait so long?”
“TCE was in negotiations with FARC, but those are dead as of a few days ago. I have money, but not enough to pay them what they’re asking for. So, I came to you.”
“How much do they want?”
“Almost three-quarters of a million dollars.” Her voice choked and he looked up. Her green eyes watered, and for a moment, he thought she might cry.
Inside, Xavier winced. He never knew what to do when a woman cried. Offer comfort? Get them a drink? Beat someone up? Usually, he opted for staring at his feet in uncomfortable silence until they stopped.
She sniffed, but there was no torrent of tears.
Xavier breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the file.
“Will you help me?” she asked. “My sister is out there. I need you.”
Need was a powerful emotion. A powerful word. It had been months since a woman looked at him with Bethany’s intensity and uttered the word need. The sudden, unexpected vision of Bethany pressed against him, offering him solace with her touch and accepting it with his, made his mouth dry.
He closed the file. “I can’t help you.”
Bethany’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, you can’t help?”
He shook his head, hating his selfishness, but there was no choice. Not now.
She flipped open the folder, grabbed a picture and held it out, demanding he take it. “Look at her. Look at Samantha and tell her you can’t help.”
Xavier took the photo. The girl, Samantha, had lighter hair, but her green eyes were twins to Bethany’s. She held the requisite newspaper in her hand to show the date. “I’m sorry.”
“Then tell me why. Tell us why,” Bethany shouted. Her mouth quivered and he thought she might lunge across the table and try to force him into agreeing.
Xavier templed his hands in front of his mouth. She deserved to know that much and as much as he hated to admit it, he needed to talk to someone who just might understand. “I told you they have Eva.”
“Your sister.”
He braced himself. “FARC took Eva to teach me a lesson. Her ransom is over two million dollars—the amount of money they lost when I freed the hostages. There is no negotiation. No lowering the fee. But I’m close to the amount.”
He hesitated, debating if he should even offer her hope. The desperation in her eyes made the decision. “Once Eva is free, perhaps I can help you. Until then, I can’t take the chance.”
“Would they kill her?”
He didn’t think so. She was worth more money to them alive and FARC was all about the money. “No, but they’d up the ransom by that three-quarter of a million they want for your sister.”
Bethany didn’t respond.
Xavier leaned back, exhausted, knowing there was nothing more to
say. He’d spent months hiding the pain of losing Eva and choking down the guilt at her abduction. The unexpected confession wearied him. He hadn’t said that much to anyone about his situation. Ever. But Bethany was different. She was just as anxious. Just as lost. A companion in the fight to do what was right. He admired her conviction.
Bethany’s skin paled, but her hands still shook. “Save Samantha and I will give you the money.”
Xavier sat up at the offer. “You have a half million dollars?”
“I have that much,” Bethany confirmed. She took his hand, squeezing his fingers. “Save my sister and I will give it to you for Eva.”
Salvation. It would be easy to accept, but the speed of her offer begged caution. He pulled his hand from hers. “Give me the money now,” he counteroffered. “When Eva is free I will save your sister.”
Bethany shook her head. “It has to be now. No waiting.”
Damn, she was stubborn. “I can’t put Eva at risk.”
“And I can’t wait.” Bethany leaned her head in her palms. “My mother is in the hospital in a chemical coma. I have less than two weeks before she wakes up. The one thing that keeps her going is the idea that Samantha is coming home. If she wakes up, and Samantha isn’t there, I’ll lose her, as well. I know it. We go after Samantha now, or I find someone else.”
He wished he could help her. God knew he wanted too. “Two weeks?” He handed the picture back to her, unable to look at it any longer. “Even I can’t help you in two weeks.”
Bethany looked up and surprised him with a tight smile. “You can if I know where they’re holding Samantha.”
The location? Hope flared in his gut. It was insane to consider her offer. He couldn’t jeopardize Eva’s freedom, but if Bethany knew where her sister was kept, it might be possible to end this nightmare. Still, caution made him question everything and everyone. “How would you know such a thing?”
Bethany hesitated. “There is an online support group for people who have family and friends taken by FARC.”
“I know of them.” They’d even approached him, but he’d declined to join. His pain was private and his circumstances quite different.
“I’ve been a member for two years, and in that time, I’ve been talking to members off-line, gathering data, locations, troop numbers and timing of hostage movement, everything.” She chuckled but there was no humor in the sound. “A man named Cesar is holding Samantha, running the show and he is nothing if not predictable.”
Xavier shrugged, unimpressed. “Unless you have the place and date of your sister’s last location, you won’t know where she is or where she will go next, no matter how predictable Cesar is.”
Bethany held up the picture again. “This was given to me by a woman who was in the same camp as my sister.” Bethany leaned over the table, intent. “I know where my sister is. I know when she is being moved, and I know where she is going next.”
The hope in Xavier’s gut flamed hotter and higher. “Where is she?”
Bethany edged back into her chair. “Take me with you and you’ll find out.”
Shock at the suggestion washed through Xavier. “What?”
She tilted her chin up, defying him. “You heard me. I’m going with you. And even then, you’ll only receive partial directions until I’m sure you can’t send me back.”
Anger replaced shock. “You selfish little—” He clamped his mouth shut before he finished the sentence and crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself from grabbing her shoulders and shaking her until she gave him what he wanted. “You would put your sister at risk, Eva at risk, all because you want to play the hero?”
“It’s nothing like that.” Bethany’s jaw tightened.
“Then what is it?”
“My reasons are my own and none of your business,” Bethany remarked.
“They are if it threatens the mission.”
“It doesn’t. I can promise you that.”
He believed her, but still, he hated secrets.
“This is my sister. My family,” she urged. “Just like Eva is yours.”
Family. He understood that. But she was inexperienced. One more person to worry about. “You’ll slow me down if you don’t get us killed first. Is that what you want?”
She held out her hands. “Here. Feel my hands.”
Uncrossing his arms, he took her hands in his. Her skin was warm and her hands strong. “So?”
“Feel the calluses. I’m not some spoiled child you’ll need to babysit. I’m a wilderness guide in Utah. I can help.”
He turned her hand over. Her palms were rough. Used. This was not a woman who spent her days in a salon. He respected that, but it didn’t convince him. “So you take rich people out into the forest for weekend camping. That doesn’t change my decision. This is the Colombian jungle. We’ll be moving fast. It’s best if you stay behind.”
Her cheeks blushed bright pink, and she yanked her hands from his. “What I do is a helluva lot more complicated, but I assure you that you can set me in the middle of nowhere—jungle or desert—with nothing but a knife and the clothes on my back, I’ll walk out of there alive.”
Obviously, he’d hit a sore spot.
She continued, “I wouldn’t care if it was the top of Everest. My sister needs me, and I am going to get her back. You do this and take me with you, or I walk away with my money. It’s as simple as that.”
Why was it never easy? Every ounce of experience in him said she was a liability. But if this worked, if he freed Samantha without getting caught, then Eva would come home within weeks instead of months or even years.
Besides, it wasn’t as if he had any more money coming in, no matter what he had said. He’d already called in every favor, every debt and still came up short.
“I’m not saying it will be easy,” Bethany pressed. “But we have the information we need. They won’t expect this. In. Out. Easy.”
Simple? Easy? The woman was insane. If it were anyone else but Eva, he’d let Bethany walk away, but the guide had him by the short hairs. “I want payment in full. Up front. And proof the money is real.”
“Half now. Half when we return,” Bethany argued.
“Even if she isn’t there. If you’re wrong,” he replied.
Fear flickered over Bethany’s features, but she gave a slow nod. “I’m right.”
He held out his hand. “I hope so. Agreed?”
She took his hand. Her grip was firm. “Agreed.”
Chapter 2
He’d bought the lie. The ease with which she claimed to have five hundred thousand dollars had surprised Bethany. It had been a spur of the moment fib born from desperation, but now that she’d made the claim, there was no turning back.
Half a million? She groaned at the thought. She had three hundred thousand and barely that.
After their handshake in the back room and once she’d called her bank to wire him the two hundred and fifty thousand, Xavier had offered her a place to sleep in his room above the bar. She’d accepted with a relief that only an overnight flight to Colombia could muster.
Sleep wasn’t easy with a guilty conscience nagging her and the gun under the pillow digging into her head, but she’d managed a few hours.
She shifted to her side and Xavier’s creaky, throwback-to-the-fifties couch groaned in protest. Pulling her knees to her chest, she wondered how she’d become such an accomplished liar.
Her mother would be horrified. A lie in the Darrow household was met with lack of dinner, the loss of privileges and on occasion, a mouthful of soap.
She knew the answer. Necessity. But it was such a big lie. The kind that people didn’t forgive since it involved more than just her. It involved Xavier’s family. And she understood the enormity of that responsibility better than most.
Still, she couldn’t let it stop her. She couldn’t dwell. She needed to move forward and remember that she did this for Samantha.
And for Samantha, she’d keep the lie, play it and make sure X
avier believed it, though she didn’t think that would be needed. He’d believed her. Money did that to people. Made them believe what they wanted to.
What they needed to.
And now that he was “in,” his attention was on the mission.
Once Samantha was safe at home, she’d find the money for Eva. “I won’t let you down, Xavier,” she muttered. She’d do whatever it took.
Despite the bravado, and the promise, she wondered if Xavier would forgive her once he discovered her duplicity.
Did it matter? Did she need forgiveness from a mercenary?
She needed to uphold her end of the bargain and nothing more. Gathering his money might take longer than he wanted or she claimed, but it would happen. Once she paid him off, she’d be back in the karmic black.
The bitterness in her mouth said otherwise and made her question whom she was trying to convince.
A noise outside the door made her pulse jump. Bethany’s gaze shot over to the entry. “Xavier?”
The brass knob turned in response. Or was it FARC? She swung her legs over the edge of the couch, grabbing the gun as she rose. She pointed it at the door, hands shaking. “Who’s there?” she called out.
The door finished its journey. Xavier stood beneath the frame. “Who do you think?”
His exasperated look told her that he was more concerned that she’d shoot him by accident than on purpose. He strode across the room and twisted the gun from her grip. “Never point a weapon at me. Especially my own.”
Bethany stared at her empty hand. “Sorry.”
“Expecting someone else?” he asked, setting the gun on the arm of the couch. The apartment was one large room with not much more than the couch, a wooden table with four chairs, an overflowing bookcase and an assortment of rugs that clashed with each other.
“FARC?” he continued.
She shrugged, embarrassed.
He opened the miniature refrigerator that just fit beneath the table and pulled out two bottled waters. “If a known FARC member arrived here, you’d hear gunfire.” Handing a bottle of water to Bethany, he gulped the other down.
Mercenary’s Promise Page 2
