Waterfall. Bats. Caves. She filed the information away, building a map in her head and matching it to the one she’d constructed. “How about up there?” Bethany gestured to the top of the falls, verifying what she hoped she knew. “What’s up there?”
Veron stopped midstep. “You do not want to go that way, señorita.”
“Why?” She fought to keep her feet from dancing beneath her.
“There is danger that way. Bad men who would kidnap you.”
Did he mean FARC?
There wasn’t anyone else around that she knew of. She glanced back at Xavier. His expression was one of bland concern. “Are they close?” she asked.
“Do not worry. They will not attack while my army is here.” He squeezed her arm as if reassuring a small child.
“Thank you.” More than you will ever know.
He smiled and, once again, appeared more like a hypnotized fan than leader of an army. He pulled her back into motion, gesturing for Xavier and the soldier to follow. “Come. There is much to see. I think you will find my jungle the perfect place to produce your show.”
Bethany stayed close. “I think so, too.”
Chapter 7
“Does wanting to duct tape his mouth shut make me a bad person?” Bethany asked Xavier, pulling aside the tent flap to watch Veron walk farther away.
They’d spent the majority of the day exploring the jungle, listening to Veron confess to his dream of being the next Tarantino.
Somewhere along the way, she’d shifted from being worried about being caught in a lie to being worried she might never escape the surprisingly yappy commander.
“No. I thought the same thing. Except it was a dirty towel tied too tight.”
As boring and irritating as it was to have to listen to the commander, it proved one thing beyond a doubt. Veron believed her. At least until he heard differently.
By that time, they’d be gone. She hoped. Bethany waved at the two sentries guarding their tent then let the tent flap swing closed. “Well, I have good news.”
“We’re close to FARC? I know.”
“Oh.” That sucked the wind from her big announcement. “How?”
He shrugged and started scouting the edges of the tent, tugging the canvas, checking for weak spots in its assembly. “This is my jungle, as well. My people. There are no native tribes within fifty miles. Who else could it be?”
Her shoulders dropped. “Well, did you know it was the FARC camp that was holding Samantha?”
Xavier looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you sure?”
So he didn’t know everything. It was a bit of a relief—not that she was keeping score. “I recognized the falls. They’re on my map. We’re less than two miles away.”
Xavier rose and came toward her, his movements stiff but his dark eyes bright. Was he happy at the news or pissed? Bethany braced herself against his contradicting body language.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her feet off the ground and twirled her in a circle.
Bethany pressed her head into his shoulder. Okay, happy it was.
He set her down at the third revolution and Bethany tottered on unsteady feet for a few seconds. “Glad I could accommodate.”
“You did good.” Xavier steadied her. “Though this would have all gone faster if you’d told me where we were going to begin with.”
“You know why I couldn’t do that,” Bethany shot back.
“I’d have left you.” His darks eyes bored into hers but there wasn’t any animosity in them. Just good-natured teasing. “Just think it through, if I had, you wouldn’t be here, wishing for duct tape.”
“But you didn’t and I am.” She said with a grin, not begrudging the banter.
She felt she could afford it. He might know the location of the FARC camp, there was no way he’d leave her behind. Not now. If he did, she’d end up in jail, and they both knew it.
“You are.” He pushed a strand of hair from her face. Electricity rippled through her at the touch, and memories of last night surfaced. She’d all but forgotten them during the light of day and her preoccupation with Veron.
Now that they were alone with his hand in her hair and standing so close that she felt the heat of his skin, memories rushed back, refusing to be ignored.
Xavier’s breathing deepened. His fingers wove their way through her hair, pulling her closer. “How do I keep you safe?”
A question she couldn’t and wouldn’t answer. At least not the way he wanted.
He kissed the top of her head and she steeled herself against the part of her that wanted to give in to weakness. It would be so easy to let him take care of her. “Me? I can take care of myself.” She traced a path up his arm to his shoulder and lingered at the bruise that graced his cheek. “You’re the one that managed to get beaten up.”
He smiled. “Touché.”
She smiled back, grateful he didn’t argue the point. “I think the real concern is how am I going to protect you?” she teased. Rising on her toes, she licked her lower lip, taunting him.
Xavier leaned forward, brushing her lower lip with his mouth, taking the dare. “You’re going to protect me?”
“Someone has to.”
He hesitated then brushed her lips with his. “What is it that makes me want to kiss you?”
She sighed against his mouth. “My moxie.”
“Moxie?”
“Tenacity. The kind of girl who does what she wants and be damned what other people think.”
“Ah.” He brushed her mouth with his again. “So, Señorita Moxie, what is it you want to do?”
She knew what he was thinking because it was the same thought circling through her mind, and it had nothing to do with escape or protection and everything to do with naked bodies.
“This,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her mouth against his.
He pulled her lower lip with his teeth, making her groan, and his hands slid under her shirt and up her back.
Somewhere in her mind, she knew it was the worst timing in the world, but her body didn’t care. She needed him. Wanted him.
No one else would do.
Outside of the tent, conversation rose. She might not understand the language but she knew an argument when she heard one. Xavier broke the kiss and put a finger again his mouth, signaling her to be quiet.
Great. Would they never catch a break?
Seconds later, one of the guards strode into the tent head down, cap over his eyes. Bethany stumbled backward, pushing herself away from Xavier, feeling like a wayward schoolgirl.
Xavier headed toward the soldier.
Crap, there was going to be another fight. At least it was one-on-one, or would be until the soldier called his friends. Bethany hurried over, hands outstretched to pull Xavier back.
Instead of cocking his hands back in a fist, Xavier pulled the soldier to him in a big hug, clapping the man on the shoulder and chuckling.
Bethany stopped midstep. “What—”
Xavier let him go and the man raised his head. “Hola, Bethany.”
She hurried forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Hola yourself, Sebastian.”
He squeezed her. “Did you miss me?”
“Of course,” she said. “How did you find us?”
He shook his head. “I have to be quick,” he whispered. “Tomas is north of the camp, waiting for you.”
“How do you propose we get away?” Xavier asked.
“Tomas is going to create a distraction.” Sebastian extracted a handgun from underneath his shirt and handed it to Xavier. “We have to go. Now.”
As much as she wanted to escape, they couldn’t go with just a few guns. “We’ll need the rest of the gear. There’s no way we can mount a rescue without it.” Earpieces. Binoculars. They were all needed if she planned to rescue Samantha.
“What is she talking about?” Sebastian looked to Xavier.
Bethany realized he didn’t know about the FARC e
ncampment.
“The FARC camp where Samantha is being held is close,” Xavier explained. “A few kilometers or more.”
“We have to go after her,” Bethany insisted.
Sebastian frowned. “It is too dangerous.”
“Yes it is, without the gear,” Bethany reiterated.
“There is no time. We have to go. Veron is on his way.”
Crap. “Why?”
“Dinner, I think. He wants to impress you.”
Now she really did want duct tape.
Sebastian turned to Xavier. “Talk some sense into her.”
Bethany took a step back. She didn’t need someone to talk sense into her. She needed weapons, gear and her sister. “You promised me,” she reminded Xavier.
Xavier stared at her. “Do you know where the gear is being held?” he asked Sebastian.
“A tent on the other side of the camp.”
“How many guards?”
“Two.”
Xavier paced past her, a hand still in his hair. Bethany tensed. If Xavier decided to leave, she’d be on her own. There was no way she’d talk Sebastian into helping her. As much as he and Tomas were nice to her and even respected her, they were Xavier’s men. They’d follow him to the ends of the earth.
They followed her because he told them to.
He stopped and Bethany held her breath.
“Do you remember Tecala?” he asked Sebastian.
Sebastian rolled his eyes, then smiled. “Of course.”
“Same thing.”
“What happened in Tecala?” Bethany inquired.
The men ignored her. “I’ll tell Tomas,” Sebastian stated, as he headed out the door. “See you in an hour.”
“I am afraid I monopolized the conversation today in my eagerness,” Veron apologized, handing Bethany a glass of wine.
That was an understatement.
“Tell me more about your experiences as a location scout.”
She took the ceramic mug that served as a glass, trying to appear more relaxed than she felt. She hated not knowing a plan. But before Xavier could tell her what had happened in Tecala, an escort had arrived and taken her to Veron.
Now she sat with the Major, having dinner, waiting for all hell to break loose, and hoping her nerves held and that she didn’t burst into hysterical giggles.
She took a large swallow of wine. It burned her throat. Whatever it was, it wasn’t wine no matter what the bottle claimed. She held back a coughing fit. “Smooth.”
Catching her breath, she set the mug down on the crate that served as their table. “There isn’t that much to tell. I look for locations that are interesting and different. Safe but not too safe.”
“What do you think of my jungle?” He took a seat in one of the camp chairs across from her.
Bethany hesitated. Now was the perfect time to get as much information as possible. She wondered if bringing FARC into the conversation would make him suspicious? Or would it be more suspicious not to mention them since they’d be of concern to a location scout. “There are issues with Colombia.”
He leaned forward. “Such as?”
It was a test. She could feel it. Should she mention FARC? Or should she play dumb?
Fifty-fifty.
“FARC,” she said, bracing herself.
Veron sighed and leaned back. “I wondered when they would come up in conversation.”
She’d passed the test.
Outside, there was a shout. Was this the breakout? She tensed, poised to spring into action—whatever that might be.
Veron cocked his head, listened and then turned to her.
No, not yet.
She toasted Veron and sipped her drink. It tasted better. Much better. Making a getaway when she was in the dark on the details was hard enough. Getting drunk would make it more difficult. She set the glass down.
“So…FARC…of course, they come up,” she said. “We do not want our contestants or executives kidnapped.”
Veron nodded. “Understandable, but I can assure you of their safety.”
“How can you assure that? People are kidnapped every day in Colombia.”
He frowned. “I cannot argue the fact, but it shames me. I would show the world that Colombia is a good country with good people. Endurance would do this.”
He meant it, Bethany realized. He did this for himself—the all-day-pay-attention-to-me marathon proved that—but for his country, as well.
She smiled. “It would help, I can’t deny that.” Leaning forward, she templed her hands in front of her. “But it will also bring attention to the kidnappings. Negative news sells, you know that.”
He nodded.
Outside, there was more arguing, Veron listened, but this time, he held up his hand for silence. Unholstering his weapon, he rose.
“What is it?” Bethany stood, placing herself beside him, prepared to do whatever needed to be done.
“I do not know.”
“FARC?”
His lips thinned. “Stay behind me. If it is FARC, I will protect you.”
His concern would be sweet if she wasn’t trying so hard to escape.
“Wait here.” He headed toward the door, leaving her alone.
“Thank God.” She followed, poking her head out the window. Soldiers ran around in packs, guns drawn.
She didn’t hear any shots. What the hell were Tomas and Sebastian doing? Something low to the ground streaked by in the firelight.
“The jaguar?” She watched a group of soldiers rush past in its wake. “How the hell did they get it to enter the camp?”
“Meat,” a voice said. “Lots of meat.”
“Xavier?” He came from the back of the tent.
“Expecting someone else?” He handed her a handgun, his face grim and all business. “You have a full clip.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Don’t ask.” He pointed toward another tent on the far side of the fire. “Stick to the shadows. We’re going around. Sebastian will meet us there.”
“Tomas?”
“Cover if we need it.”
Good enough. And the plan was just crazy enough to work. Or get them killed.
Xavier moved along the shadows, his feet silent. Bethany trailed, staying in his footsteps. A soldier rushed past, missing them in his hurry to get in on the hunt.
She sighed in relief and hoped their run of luck would last. What felt like an eternity later, they arrived at their destination undetected. Xavier lifted up the canvas. “Go.”
She slid inside. Outside, the central fire shadowed the sentries. Neither moved.
Xavier slid in beside her. “Let’s get our gear and get the hell out.”
She couldn’t agree more. Crates stacked two feet deep and three high lined the sides. Veron was prepared for war.
She spotted no packs. “A light would be good.”
Outside, men shouted. The sentries moved and one came toward the tent. Their luck had run out. Bethany raised her weapon.
Stay out. Stay out. Stay out. She chanted the phrase in her head, but the sentry opened the door and stepped inside.
Xavier put his hand on her weapon. “Took you long enough.”
“I was watching the show.”
Sebastian. Again. “Crap, you’re good at blending,” she whispered.
“One of my many skills,” he remarked, the usual joking tone replaced by a seriousness that surprised her. “The packs are over there. Behind the crates.”
She and Xavier hurried to the crates while Sebastian guarded the door.
She slung hers on one shoulder, trusting that their gear was intact.
“Let’s go. Hurry,” Xavier said, holding the edge of the tent back up. Bethany shoved her pack out. Then the others.
“Damn,” Sebastian said.
She looked up, and once again, the central fire highlighted the men outside.
The other sentry was coming into the tent.
“Go!” Xavier shoved her through the smal
l opening. “Run!”
“Where’s Sebastian?” Bethany asked, bending over to catch her breath when Xavier stopped. They hadn’t gone far, but adrenaline made her heart pump as if she’d run a marathon.
“Here” a voice echoed in the dark.
She’d grabbed her pack before they escaped into the jungle and had been so intent on not falling in the dark that she hadn’t noticed the other member of their team was ahead of them.
“Is everyone here?” Xavier asked.
“Yes.” She recognized Tomas’s voice and followed it. The fourth and final member stepped out from behind a tree.
“Any pursuit?” Xavier inquired.
“Not yet.”
“You sure?” Bethany prodded.
“Positive,” Tomas replied. Sebastian handed him a pack.
“You two know the drill,” Xavier stated. “Rendezvous is at the FARC encampment. North side.”
“See you in twenty-four,” Sebastian confirmed. Then he and Tomas went back the way they’d come.
“What are they doing?” Bethany asked. “They’re supposed to be running from the army. Not toward them.”
“Leading Veron and his men away from us,” Xavier replied. “They’re more skilled at this.”
“You mean more skilled than me.”
Lights and shouting filtered through the jungle. Veron and his men weren’t far. A shout echoed—
Bethany flinched. Had they spotted Sebastian and Tomas—
Gunfire followed.
“It doesn’t matter what the reason is,” Xavier said.
At least he didn’t lie, though part of her wished he’d allow himself the occasional fib. Taking her hand, he guided her through the bushes and grass. The taller trees of the canopy loomed large a few feet in front of them. Xavier’s words repeated through her head. Only fools traveled in the jungle at night.
Fools or the desperate.
He hesitated at the edge. “They won’t follow us in here. Don’t touch anything. Stay close.” Two steps later, they were beneath the trees and on what looked like a game trail. Dangerous but clearer and quieter than tromping through the dead leaves that covered the canopy floor.
Five feet inside and the change was immediate. The heat soaked her as thoroughly as a wall of water. The weight of the air pushed down on her, and the scent of moss and decay almost overwhelmed her.
Mercenary’s Promise Page 9
