by Anna Zaires
* * *
As the two men lead me on a brisk stroll through the forest, I decide they most likely don’t know about my involvement in the plane crash that killed their colleagues. Or if they do, they’re excellent actors. They banter with me as easily as they do with each other, their manner friendly and relaxed. They don’t seem like killers—except I see the guns stuck in the waistband of their jeans.
If they’re ordered to plant a bullet in my brain, I’m sure neither one will hesitate to do so.
Our walk takes about twenty minutes, and then they bring me back to Lucas’s house.
“All right, chica,” Diego says, leading me to Lucas’s library. “Your boyfriend said this is your usual spot. Grab whatever book you want, and then we have some work to do.”
“Boyfriend?” Startled, I look at the guard. “You mean, Lucas?”
Diego grins. “That’s the one. Unless you have more than one around here?”
I bite back a denial and grab a book at random. Lucas is definitely not my boyfriend, but if that’s what they think, it could play to my advantage.
It could also explain why the two guards are being so nice to me, I realize as I walk over to the armchair. It’s generally smart to show respect to the girlfriend of one’s boss—even if that girlfriend is to be handcuffed and tied up most of the time.
Sitting down, I place the book on my lap, take a deep breath, and extend my wrists toward Diego. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”
33
Lucas
Our flight to Chicago is uneventful. Esguerra stops by the pilot’s cabin every couple of hours to check on things, but for the most part, he stays in the main cabin with his wife and Rosa, who’s accompanying them on this trip.
“Nora is still sleeping,” he says, stopping by again an hour before we land. His dark eyebrows are drawn into a worried frown. “Do you think this is normal, to sleep this much?”
“Pregnant women need a lot of rest, or so I’ve heard,” I say, concealing a smile. Esguerra’s acting like no woman has ever carried a baby before. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
He nods and disappears back into the cabin. Probably to watch over Nora, I think with amusement before turning my attention back to the controls.
After the crash, I’m leaving nothing to chance.
We land at a small private airport just outside Chicago, where an armored limo is waiting for us on the runway. I’ve sent most of the guards ahead of us, and they’ve scrubbed this airport top to bottom, so I know it’s safe. Still, I automatically scan our surroundings for danger before walking over to the limo and getting into the driver’s seat.
One can never be too careful in our line of work.
As I drive the limo to Nora’s parents’ house, my thoughts turn to Yulia. Esguerra is in the back with Nora and Rosa, and everything is quiet on the road, so I decide to use this time to call Diego.
“How’s it going?” I ask as soon as the guard picks up.
“Well, let’s see…” He sounds like he’s on the verge of laughing. “For breakfast, she made an amazing omelet. For lunch, she fed us the best chicken I’ve ever had, and for dinner, she’s grilling pork chops and baking a chocolate cake. So I’d say it’s going pretty well. Oh, and we took her for a walk this morning.”
“She’s behaving? No escape attempts?”
“Are you kidding me? Your girl’s a model prisoner. She even taught us a few swear words in Russian at lunch. Like yob tvoyu mat’—”
“Excellent.” I grit my teeth, battling a swell of irrational jealousy. I know I can trust these two guards, but it still bothers me that they seem to be getting so chummy with my captive. Loyal or not, they’re still men, and I know how easy it is to get obsessed with Yulia. “Don’t forget to handcuff her to the bedside pole at night.”
“You got it, man.”
“Good.” I draw in a deep breath. “And, Diego, if you or Eduardo so much as lay a finger on her—”
“We would never.” The young Mexican sounds insulted. “She’s yours, we know that.”
“All right.” I force myself to relax my grip on the wheel. “Call me if anything comes up.”
And disconnecting, I turn my attention back to the road.
* * *
Esguerra’s dinner with his in-laws passes without an incident until Frank, Esguerra’s CIA contact, decides to pay us a visit. He insists on speaking with Esguerra, so I call my boss outside after first making sure our snipers are in position.
If the US agency decides to double-cross us tonight, they’ll have a battle on their hands.
Fortunately, Frank doesn’t seem to be suicidal. He sends his car away and goes for a walk with Esguerra. I follow at a small distance, keeping my hand on the gun inside my jacket. They don’t go far, just to the nearest park and back.
“What did they want?” I ask Esguerra when Frank’s black Lincoln pulls away.
“For us to stay the fuck out of their country,” Esguerra explains. “Apparently, the FBI is going apeshit—Frank’s words, not mine. They’re worried about why we’re here. Plus, there’s the whole matter of Nora’s abduction.”
“Right. So what did you tell him?”
“That we’re not here on business, and that we’ll leave when we’re good and ready. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a family dinner to get back to.” He disappears back into the house, and I head to the limo, shaking my head in disbelief.
My boss has balls, I have to give him that.
* * *
It’s late by the time Esguerra’s dinner is over. Fortunately, it’s not a long drive to Palos Park, a wealthy community where Esguerra bought a mansion on my recommendation.
“It’ll be more secure than a hotel,” I told him when we began planning the trip two weeks ago. “This specific house is particularly good because it’s fenced in and has an electronic gate, not to mention a long driveway—optimal for privacy.”
When we pull up to the mansion, Esguerra, Nora, and Rosa go inside while I check in with the guards to make sure they’re properly positioned and know what to do in case of emergencies. It takes me over an hour, and by the time I finally enter the house, I’m more than ready to hit the sack. First, though, I need to grab a bite to eat; the two energy bars I ate in the car were a shitty substitute for dinner.
I clearly got spoiled by Yulia’s cooking.
“Oh, hi, Lucas,” Rosa says when I enter the kitchen. Her cheeks flush as she looks at me. I must’ve caught her on her way to bed, because she’s wearing long pajamas and cradling a cup of steaming milk. “I didn’t realize you were still up.”
“Yeah, I had to do some last-minute security checks,” I say, suppressing a yawn. “Why are you awake?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Too many new impressions, I guess.” Her full lips curve in a wry smile. “I’ve never flown before—or been to America.”
“I see.” Battling another yawn, I make my way over to the fridge and open it. It’s fully stocked already—I made the arrangements for food delivery myself—so I grab some cheese and a loaf of bread to make myself a sandwich.
“Do you want me to make you something?” Rosa offers, watching me uncertainly. “I can whip up something in a minute.”
“It’s nice of you to offer, thanks, but you should go to sleep.” I slap a slice of cheese on a piece of bread and bite into the dry sandwich. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of cooking to do tomorrow,” I say after I chew and swallow.
“Yeah, well, that’s my job.” She shrugs, then adds, “Though you’re probably right—I think Señor Esguerra is hoping to impress Nora’s parents tomorrow night.”
“Hmm-mm.” I finish the rest of the sandwich in three bites and put the cheese back in the refrigerator. “Have a good night, Rosa,” I say, turning to leave.
“You too.” She watches me walk out of the room, her expression oddly tense, but I’m too tired to wonder about what’s on her mind.
When I get to my room, I take a quick shower and fall into bed
. Surprisingly, sleep doesn’t come right away. Instead, I lie awake for several minutes, tossing and turning on a king-sized mattress that feels cold and far too empty.
It’s been less than a day, and I already miss Yulia.
Two weeks, I tell myself. I just need to get through the next two weeks. Then I’ll be home, and Yulia will be in my arms every night again.
34
Yulia
I stare at the dark ceiling, unable to close my eyes despite the late hour. It’s strange being in Lucas’s bed without him… feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs anchoring me to the bedside pole instead of to his wrist. I’ve gotten used to sleeping tucked into his large warm body, and even with the blanket drawn up to my chin, I feel cold and exposed as I lie there alone, trying to relax enough to go to sleep.
Diego and Eduardo have been good jailers so far. They adhered to the routine Lucas must’ve laid out to them, letting me eat, stretch, use the restroom, and read in the comfortable armchair. They also kept me company at mealtimes, though I suspect the food I cooked had a lot to do with that. By the time our dinner was over, I decided that I like both of them—as much as it’s possible to like mercenaries whose job is to keep you captive. Rosa was right about them being good guys; under different circumstances, we might’ve been friends.
I hope Lucas won’t punish them too harshly for my escape—assuming I succeed tomorrow, that is.
Thinking about tomorrow chases away whatever little sleepiness I was beginning to feel. To alleviate my anxiety, I mentally go over the details of my plan again. It’s simple: Right after lunch, I’ll use the tools Rosa gave me to free myself and make a run for the northern border of the estate, where the guards at North Tower Two might be distracted with their poker game. Diego and Eduardo will be at that poker game, so they won’t come looking for me until after six p.m. By then, I’ll be on the delivery truck—which, hopefully, will be far away from Esguerra’s compound at that point.
If all goes well, tomorrow evening I will no longer be Lucas Kent’s prisoner.
I should be excited, but instead, there’s a hollow ache in my chest. The dream from last night—if it was a dream—is still painfully vivid in my mind. For a brief moment, I forgot who we are, what passed between us, and I told Lucas something I didn’t know myself until that moment.
“Do you hate me?” he asked, and like an idiot, I said I loved him.
I admitted my terrible, irrational weakness to a man who’s hurt me with every weapon I’ve given him.
Maybe I didn’t say the words out loud. Maybe it was a dream—or, more precisely, a nightmare. Except if that’s the case, why did Lucas bring up last night when he was telling me goodbye? Why did he say that he’ll miss me?
Groaning, I turn onto my side and punch the pillow with my free hand. I must be sick, or at least brainwashed by my captivity. I can’t be in love with a man who intends to destroy my brother.
I can’t be the idiot who’s fallen for a killer with an ice rock instead of a heart.
I’ll miss you.
His deep voice whispers through my mind, and I squeeze my eyelids together, trying to shut it out. Whatever I’m feeling, whether it’s love or temporary insanity, will pass once I’m far away from here.
I have to believe that, so I can focus on my escape.
* * *
Breakfast and lunch drag by with agonizing slowness. By the time Diego and Eduardo tie me to the armchair and leave, I’m ready to jump out of my skin. I hope they couldn’t tell how anxious I am; I did my best to act normal, but I don’t know if I succeeded.
After I hear the front door close behind them, I sit quietly for a few minutes, making sure they’re not coming back. When I’m satisfied that my jailers are gone, I begin to move. My heart is beating in a fast, desperate rhythm, and my palms are sweating as I carefully reach into the chair cushions for the items Rosa gave me.
I fish out the hairpin first. With the ropes securing my upper arms to the chair, my range of motion is limited, but I manage to stick the pin into the lock of the cuffs. I’m far from an expert lock picker, but they taught us this during training, so after a few failed attempts, I succeed in opening the cuffs.
The razor blade is next. With my hands no longer stuck together, I wedge the tiny blade under the ropes around my upper arms and saw through them. It’s not an easy task—I’m bleeding from several cuts by the time I’m done with one thick rope—but I’m determined, and ten minutes later, I’ve sawed through enough ropes to be able to wiggle out of the chair.
Step one of the plan complete.
Next, I rush to the kitchen and grab two water bottles and a few energy bars I found in one of the cabinets. I don’t expect to be in the jungle for long, but it’s best to be prepared. At this time of day, the heat could dehydrate me in a matter of hours. I also take the sharpest kitchen knife I can find and slip the razor blade and the hairpin into the pocket of my shorts, just in case. I put the food and the knife in a backpack I find in Lucas’s closet, and then I head for the door in Lucas’s bedroom—the one that leads to the backyard and the jungle beyond.
Holding my breath, I open the door and scan the area. There’s no sign of the guards, and all I hear are the usual nature noises.
So far, so good.
I step outside and close the door behind me. A wave of humid heat washes over me, making my clothes stick to my skin. I was right to take those water bottles. I’ll have to go north for two and a half miles and then west along the river to reach the dirt road Rosa mentioned, and I’ll need to drink on the way.
Taking a breath to steady my nerves, I head toward the trees behind the house. My sneakers—the footwear Lucas got me for our walks—make almost no noise as I enter the thick jungle, and I exhale in relief as the canopy of trees closes over my head, concealing me from any potential eyes in the sky.
Now I need to get to the border and locate the road by which the delivery truck will be leaving the estate at some point after three p.m.
Sweat gathers under my arms and drips down my back as I walk briskly, trying not to step on any insects or snakes. Thin tree, thick tree, a cluster of bushes, a fallen log—these landmarks are how I track my progress. Focusing on my immediate surroundings helps me not think about the drones that might be hovering overhead or the guard towers I’ll have to pass on my way to the border. Rosa told me North Tower Two is the one where the guards play poker, but I have no idea how I’ll distinguish between that tower and some other one.
If there’s a North Tower Two, there must be a North Tower One, and if I stumble upon the wrong tower, I’m screwed.
After a half hour, I take out the first bottle and gulp down most of the water, then wipe the sweat off my face with the bottom of my shirt. Even in the shorts and skimpy tank top I’m wearing, the heat is difficult to bear.
Just a little longer, I tell myself. It can’t be that far to the river now. I just need to reach it and then follow it west until I get to the road.
It’s at most another half hour of walking.
“Alto!”
At the harshly yelled Spanish command, I freeze, instinctively raising my hands. The water bottle falls out of my nerveless fingers. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The male voice barks another command at me, and I turn around slowly on the assumption that that’s what he told me to do.
A dark-haired musclebound man is standing a couple of meters in front of me, his M16 pointed at my chest. He’s dressed in camouflage pants and a sleeveless shirt, and I see a radio hanging on his hip.
It’s one of the guards. He must’ve been patrolling the forest and spotted me.
I’m so, so fucked.
Glaring at me, the guard says something in Spanish, and I shake my head. “Sorry.” I moisten my parched lips. “I don’t speak much Spanish.”
The young man’s glower deepens. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” he says in heavily accented English.
“I’m—” I swallow, feeling sweat tric
kling down my temples. “I’m staying with Lucas.”
“Lucas Kent?” The guard looks confused for a moment; then his dark eyes widen. “You are the prisoner.”
“Um, kind of. But now I’m his guest.” I attempt a shaky smile as I slowly lower my hands to my sides. “You know how that goes.”
An understanding look comes over the guard’s face. “You are his puta.”
I’m pretty sure he just called me a whore, but I nod and widen my smile, hoping it looks seductive rather than frightened. “He likes me,” I say, pulling my shoulders back to thrust my braless breasts forward. “You know what I mean?”
The man’s gaze slides from my face to my sweat-dampened tank top. “Sí.” His voice is slightly hoarse. “I know what you mean.”
I take a step toward him, keeping the smile on my face. “He’s away,” I say, making sure to roll my hips. “Went on a trip with your boss.”
“With Esguerra, yes.” The man seems hypnotized by my breasts, which sway with my movement. “On a trip.”
“Right.” I take another step forward. “I got bored sitting at home.”
“Bored?” The guard finally manages to tear his gaze away from my chest. His eyes are slightly glazed as he looks at my face, but his weapon is still pointed at me. “You should not be out here.”
“I know.” I purposefully bite my lower lip. “Lucas lets me go out into the backyard. There was a pretty bird, I followed it, and I got lost.”
It’s the stupidest story ever, but the guard doesn’t seem to think so. Then again, the fact that he’s staring at my lips like he wants to eat them may have something to do with that.
“So, yes, maybe you can point me back to his house,” I continue when he remains silent. I risk another tiny step toward him. “It’s very hot today.”
“Yes.” He lowers his weapon and takes hold of my left arm. “Come. I will take you there.”
