The Thorntons Box Set

by Nic Saint

  He could appreciate that kind of thinking. He himself was also steeped in the kind of work ethic that it took to reach the top in any line of business. As the head of security for the Thornton empire, he’d often had to make his hands dirty, and had even had to resort to taking lives on occasion, their enemies never resting to try and destroy the company his father’s father had built.

  “Hey,” he called out, “how much farther?”

  Alicia didn’t deign to look back. “Why? Getting tired, Mr. Costner?”

  He grimaced and closed the distance between them then grabbed her shoulder and whisked her around. “Don’t get cute with me, gorgeous. Just tell me how far to the river.”

  Her eyes shot fire, and he thought back to the scene at the cabin. How he’d almost taken her mouth and worried those perfect lips with his. God, she was hot, and even more so when she was pissed. “We’re almost there. Now if you could get your hands off me?”

  He let go and she jerked around and stalked off. His mouth set, he stared after her. What was her problem, anyway? It wasn’t as if he was the enemy. He decided to thresh this thing out once and for all, and jogged up alongside her.

  “Tell me, are you always this hospitable?”

  “Only to brutes like you who show up unannounced and then point a gun in my face.”

  “I had no way of knowing if I could trust you.”

  “Same here.” She threw him a pointed look. “You know? I still don’t buy this whole ornithology story. I’ve never heard of an ornithologist carrying a .44. Who are you? Really?”

  He shrugged. “What do you care?”

  She displayed a sly smile. “So you admit you were lying back there. That’s a start.”

  They were trudging along, and he suddenly thought he detected a glint of light reflecting off something. “Get down,” he hissed.

  Crouching low, he gestured for Kevin to follow their lead. Pointing to the source of the disturbance, he asked, “Did you bring that rifle of yours?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she told him ruefully. “I figured you wouldn’t let me.”

  He slowly brought out his gun. “What do you know about Bashar? Does he operate this far inland?”

  She bit her lip. “He does. When we first came here, it was just us and some local tribespeople. Bashar kept himself to Coyatan. Like locusts, his men have spread out, chasing away the indigenous population and claiming more and more land to grow their crops.”

  “Do they control the river?”

  “They do. I can still come and go as I please. They know I don’t pose a threat to their operation and for some reason Bashar seems to have granted me immunity. Though he could revoke it whenever he pleases. That’s why I’ve been slaving away, trying to finish up. It won’t be long now before he decides he wants me gone.”

  He turned to her, and fixed her with a fierce gaze. “Look. I can’t reveal my identity. Not now. Suffice it to say I’ve come here to take a hard look at Bashar and gather as much intel as I can. We plan to expose his operation and put a stop to it by cutting him off from his main buyer and sponsor.”

  She scoffed, “What are you? Naive? You can’t take down Bashar. He’s got his hands in so many pockets he’s untouchable. He told me so himself. He’s even got DEA agents on his payroll.”

  “Trust me. I know all about that.”

  She eyed him strangely. “Who are you, bird man?”

  “Just tell her, Roland,” piped up Kevin behind them. Turning to Alicia, he continued, “He’s Roland Tho—” before a hand struck out and punched him in the face. Blood spurted from the young man’s nose and he yelped in surprise.

  “Shut the fuck up already, will you?” growled Roland, “or there’s more where that came from.”

  “You asshole!” cried Kevin.

  “Shush!” hissed Alicia. “Do you guys want to get caught? No? Then stop acting like a bunch of twelve-year-olds. If Bashar catches you, you’re dead meat.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Kevin, looking both shocked and pissed off, trying to stem the blood seeping from his damaged snout. The guy was simply asking for it. Roland Thornton, huh? That made sense. She remembered her father once telling her about an alliance between Bashar and Harlan de Montesquieu, one of New York’s top business magnates and well-known rival of Jack Thornton.

  She eyed the man with renewed interest. So he was Thornton’s eldest, heir to one of the biggest fortunes in America. Ornithologist? Yeah, right.

  He caught her eye and she felt the chills run down her spine. Billionaire or not, the man was clearly dangerous. And on more than one level, as well. Then his gaze dipped down her cleavage, and only now did she realize she was sitting with her knees pressing up her boobs. She blushed. She was giving the guy a look at the whole cookie store, and he was lazily checking it out without reservation or shame.

  And the worst thing? She liked it.

  Chapter 7

  “What do you think this is, Kev? A school trip? A frat party? What?”

  “I just thought—”

  “That’s your first mistake right there. You think too much, buddy. Give that filthy habit a rest.”

  “You know?” the young man whined, “you’re not a very nice person, Roland. In fact I think it’s safe to say you’re something of a prick.” He was still dabbing at his nose, the bleeding having stopped.

  “Better put some ice on that,” suggested Roland.

  “And where are we gonna find ice in this tropical wasteland, huh?” retorted Roland’s ‘son’ with some heat.

  “We’re almost there,” interjected Alicia, who rather enjoyed this bickering between the two men. She could almost believe they really were father and son. “You can put some cold water on your face.”

  They’d carefully approached the source of the shimmer Roland had detected through the palm fronds and discovered it was an abandoned old Jeep, stripped of both engine and tires so of no use to them, and were now pushing on.

  “Roland?” Alicia ventured.

  He gave her a dark look but she wasn’t deterred. She knew he would never punch her in the face like he had Kevin. She didn’t know why, but she just knew he’d never hurt her.

  “You said you read an article about my father. Was that bullshit talking or are you for real?”

  “For real,” he grunted. “He had some great things to say, too. About if we don’t act now and stop this slow encroachment on our natural habitat, we’ll soon be living in a global inferno, the earth being dependent on the rainforest for its climate regulation. He made his point with passion and conviction.”

  She smiled. “He always was passionate about his work.”

  “So are you,” he offered. “No one else would hang around to finish what he started. You must really be your father’s daughter.”

  She sighed. “More stubbornness than passion I guess. After Dad disappeared, my first instinct was to go home and forget all about this place. I’d contacted the embassy, the local police and whoever else I could interest in trying to find out what had happened to him.”

  “No trace?”

  “Oh, yes. He was seen in several places all along the river, in fact. Most of those leads were money-motivated, people anxious to cash in on the reward the University and my family had set. All leads were dead ends, and when the interest dried up and I was the only one left, I just figured I might as well finish what he started.”

  “Must have been tough.”

  His interest touched a spot. It had been a long time since she’d talked to anyone from back home, most of the locals either too scared to talk or too scary to talk to. “It has been tough,” she conceded. “Especially with all the drug trafficking attracting a very toxic crowd. That rifle you saw me handling back there? It saved my life on more than one occasion. People around here know what to expect when they show up on my doorstep.”

  “Why did Bashar grant you this ‘immunity’ you mentioned?”

  Ah. Now the professional was back, inquirin
g into her relationship with the notorious drug kingpin. It irked her. “If you’re suggesting I work for him, you can fuck off and go find your river by yourself, buster.”

  A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Just a question, Alicia. No accusation. A man like Bashar must have his reasons for protecting you. I’m just curious to know what they are.”

  She hesitated, then decided to tell him the truth. “I… helped his kid once. She’d been roaming through the jungle and was bitten by a snake. The poisonous kind. I found her ailing and treated her before the poison spread through her system. If not for me, she would have died.”

  He nodded. “That was very kind of you. Many people would have let her die, knowing she was the daughter of a murderous maniac.”

  She could sense that would have been his call for sure, and she shivered briefly. The man had no scruples when it came to dealing with the enemies of his family, that much was clear.

  “I don’t care that she was Bashar’s. I saved a human life that day, not the daughter of a drug lord. When he sent out a search party, I met him briefly. He thanked me and said he owed me one. So I guess I did the right thing.”

  Roland gave her a slow nod, and she was glad he’d bought the story.

  “Are we there yet?” suddenly a whiny nasal voice sounded in their rear. Kevin was still pressing his nose, his shirt covered in blood. He looked pretty ghoulish, she decided.

  “Almost there,” she announced. “Just hold on, Kevin. Not much further now.”

  “Thank God,” murmured the young man.

  “Is he really your son?” she whispered. “He doesn’t look anything like you.”

  “No, he isn’t. That obvious, huh?”

  “Pretty much,” she laughed.

  “I always tell people he takes after his mother, but that didn’t fool you, I guess.”

  The thought of Roland with another woman gave her pause, and her next question was obvious, though perhaps a little bit too revealing for her taste. “You a married man, Roland?”

  He shook his head decidedly, and she found a silly hope surging in her bosom. “Nope.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  He shook his head again, and grinned. “Not many women interested in trudging through the jungle with me.”

  “You could have some hotties back home, anxiously awaiting your return. Man in your position probably has loads of women at his beck and call.”

  “Let’s just say I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “A one woman guy, huh? Those are pretty rare these days.”

  “Not where I come from. Mom and Dad been married going on forty years now, and my brother just got married for the first time. We Thorntons are pretty traditional in our ‘mating habits’.” He gave her a wry smile that did much to send another flush of heat mantling her cheeks.

  Her heart leapt at this unexpected confession. She could see it now. Roland Thornton was not the kind of guy who slept around. He was the kind who picked and chose and when finally the right one came along, he was faithful and loyal till the day he died. It was a rare quality in men these days, she knew, her own boyfriends back in the States more the freewheeling kind, relationship-wise.

  Then suddenly they had arrived. The jungle fell away and they were standing on a bluff overlooking the river, thirty feet below and easily three football fields wide, a mass of water slowly moving toward the sea.

  “If you follow along in that direction,” she indicated, “you’ll find yourself in Guatamore in a couple of hours. From there you can catch a bus to the capital.”

  Roland stared out across the river, his face unreadable. Kevin, however, whooped and hollered with delight at the sight of the gently rippling water.

  She didn’t know how she felt about this stranger suddenly coming into her life and now just as abruptly leaving it, but she decided to clamp down on the sudden pang of forlornness until she’d returned to her cabin. By then, perhaps, this unexpected meeting with Roland Thornton would have seeped from her system, his brief presence nothing but a distant memory.

  Somehow, she doubted it. Men like Roland left an indelible impression on the women they met, she knew. He sure had on her.

  Chapter 8

  “Sober. You need to get sober, esé.”

  The voice sounded far off, as if piercing the clouds that hovered over his pickled brain. Yes, he’d been drinking again, and his second-in-command didn’t appear to appreciate his current state of intoxication.

  A wet towel was slung across his brow, and he welcomed the coolness seeping onto his face and chest.

  “Coffee,” he muttered feebly. “Get me some coffee, moron.”

  They were driving along the trail that lead into the jungle, and Bashar, the illustrious leader of the Cabo cartel, wasn’t feeling too well equipped to deal with the emergency that had landed in his lap. Fucking Costner bastard, he thought ruefully. Why did that son of a bitch have to show up in his part of the world?

  He’d been poking around for weeks now, talking to people and stirring up trouble—collecting evidence of his dealings with HdM by coercing airport personnel to spill the deals he’d set up, breaking into his heavily guarded production center and basically being a Grade A nuisance.

  He sat up a little straighter, the Jeep bucking and jerking wildly beneath him. The movement nauseated him, and his stomach lurched. He leaned over the back and retched, vomiting up half the contents of his stomach in one go.

  His lieutenant Miguel eyed him with concern, and when he heaved again, handed him a bottle of water. He sipped it gratefully, feeling like shit.

  Didn’t this Costner fellow know that Mondays were booze days? And now he had to go and disturb him in this sacred ritual of getting plastered beyond recognition. Good thing he hadn’t been completely passed out yet, or else he would have let the bastard slip through his fingers, just like the first time.

  They’d reached the cabin of the Sumner bitch and he stumbled out of the Jeep, planting his hands on his knees to steady himself, panting heavily. Miguel poured the contents of the bottle over his head and he felt better already. Human, at least. He pointed at the small cabin on the edge of the clearing and growled, “Vámonos!”

  Two men were already at the door, and when they broke it down with their boots, he stumbled in, half expecting Costner to be waiting there for him.

  Witnesses had seen the guy traipsing around with that reporter fellow and the Sumner woman, and had called in the tip, eager to collect the reward he’d personally placed on Franklin Costner’s head.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was pleased to find Alicia Sumner all alone and held down by his men as she wrestled in vain. She was one hell of a hot little number, he now saw, and had lost nothing of her appeal since he’d seen her last.

  “Is this the way to welcome an old friend?” he asked as he took a seat.

  “You’re not an old friend,” she spat. “Old friends don’t break down the door and show up unannounced.”

  He could see his men leering at her, and he couldn’t blame them. She was one feisty mamacita, and he couldn’t wait to unleash them on her. “Let’s cut through the chase.”

  “To the chase,” she quickly corrected him.

  He frowned darkly and gestured at one of his men, who hauled off and slapped her across the face. She cried in agony, and he smirked. “Grammar lessons aside, just tell me where Costner is and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “I thought we had a deal, Bashar,” she cried. “You owe me for saving your little girl.”

  “You’re still alive, aren’t you? Now where’s Costner? You were seen escorting him to the river earlier today. Where was he going?”

  “If you’re referring to the ornithologist, I showed him and his son how to get to the next town.”

  “We can play this game all afternoon, honey. But I have the impression you’ll tire sooner than me, so why don’t you just tell me what I want to know and we’ll be out of here.”

  “I told yo
u!” she exclaimed. “He said he was an ornithologist and had to get to Guatamore. He’s probably there by now.”

  His lips stretched into a thin line. “On foot?”

  “Yes, they were on foot.”

  He briefly calculated the route and barked an order to Miguel. “Send out a search party. I want them caught before nightfall.”

  “Sure thing, jefe.”

  He eyed the Sumner woman dispassionately. If he’d been feeling a little better, he might have let her off the hook, but in the foul mood he was in now, he needed some release, so he grunted, “Hold her down.”

  “What—what are you gonna do to me!” She struggled in vain as the two powerful men held her down on the cot. “Get off me, you brutes!”

  Bashar, a fat squat man in his middle fifties, licked his lips, and she watched him approach wearily. This wasn’t really happening. In her worst nightmare she couldn’t have imagined this. His greasy gray hair lay plastered against his skull, his ratty little mustache lending his bumpy face an air of respectability. Pockmarks the size of mosquito bites covered his ruddy skin, and his eyes were mere pinpricks in their sunken sockets.

  As he dropped his pants, she cried out in agony at the sight of his measly little cock dangling from a bush of wiry gray hair.

  “Strip her,” he ordered curtly, and the men ripped at her clothes, tearing off her blouse in one motion and yanking down her cotton slacks and panties with another. And then she was naked, and they were holding her legs apart, revealing her inner sanctum to this scumbag of scumbags.

  “Don’t do this,” she cried, tears freely flowing down her face. “Think of your little girl. Think of Jacqueline.”

  She could see his eyes hardening at the thought of his daughter, and he gave her a slap that had her tasting blood, her lip split. He then reached out a hand and grabbed her tit, squeezing it hard and yanking her up to face him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, bitch. I tell you what to do.”

  “No. I tell you what to do, asshole. And right now I’m telling you to let go of the girl.”