by Joanna Wayne
“Contact?” Langston asked, carefully choosing his words so that no one outside the family would know they were talking about a kidnapping.
“Yeah. Through Buerto. He’s on his way here right now.”
“Why call him?” Becky asked, her question echoing his own. “He’s not family.”
Doctor Gathrite joined them before Zach was forced to admit he had no answer to that question.
“There’s a small conference room down the hall we can use,” the doctor said. “It will be more private there.”
They followed him to a room that smelled of stale coffee. The furniture was limited to a half dozen metal folding chairs and a table barely big enough for the five of them to squeeze around. A counter on the back wall held a coffee maker that had long since finished brewing.
Dr. Gathrite stood back for them to enter, then offered coffee, which only Langston accepted. The cardiologist settled in a chair at the head of the table.
Zach found a spot to stand against the side wall. He was too keyed up to sit.
“Do you have the results of the tests, Doctor?” Becky asked.
“We do, at least enough to make a few diagnostic assessments. The good news is there’s no significant blockage in the arteries that feed the heart and no sign of a blood clot.”
“I don’t understand,” Bart said. “If there’s no blockage, what caused the coronary attack?”
“The attack appears to have been caused by a sudden spasm, one so intense that it cut off the blood flow through the artery. That’s far less common than an attack brought on by cardiovascular disease or a clot, but it sometimes happens in otherwise heart-healthy individuals.”
Langston set his coffee cup on the table in front of him. “Then you think her heart attack was brought on by stress?”
“There are factors other than emotional or physical trauma that can cause a spasm, such as certain drugs or exposure to extreme weather conditions. But, yes, in your mother’s case, the evidence points to stress.”
Becky clasped her hands in front of her. “How much damage was there to her heart?”
“You can count your blessings there, too,” Dr. Gathrite said. “The permanent damage is minimal. The issue now is having her avoid any additional emotional trauma.”
Which was basically impossible unless they were able to arrange Jaime’s safe return quickly. Zach only half listened to the rest of the doctor’s spiel and the details of treatment. Zach’s concern for his mother was a given, but the only way he could help her, or Jaime, was to acquire Jaime’s safe release.
His cell phone vibrated and he checked the caller ID. Buerto. Zach excused himself and went into the hall to take the call.
Langston followed him. “This is a family dilemma, Zach. Bart, Matt and I will be with you when you meet with Buerto.”
He clapped his oldest brother on the back. “I never doubted for a minute that you would.”
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON BEFORE Jaime heard from either of her kidnappers again, though she could hear them talking through the thin walls. Occasionally she heard a door slam or Luke’s snorting laugh.
She’d tried her door a couple of times, but it was locked tight. And the boards that had been nailed over the window wouldn’t budge. She’d need something on the order of a pickax to remove them. If she ever got outside this room again, she’d snoop to see what kind of tools she could find.
Finally, Rio opened the door and ordered her out to eat. She followed him to the kitchen. Luke lay on the sofa, his bare feet hanging over the edge. His gun was on a homemade coffee table instead of tucked inside his shoulder holster. It was the only good sign.
“I made you a sandwich,” Rio said, pushing a plate toward her. “It’s not much, but it will keep you going.”
She washed her hands at the kitchen sink and returned to the table, choosing a chair that made it easy to watch Luke and the gun. It was almost as if he were taunting her with it, deliberately tempting her to steal it.
The sandwich was a couple of slices of white bread smeared with a spicy mustard and wrapped around a piece of tasteless luncheon meat. She chewed and choked it down with a sip of lukewarm bottled water.
The two men barely spoke to each other as she ate, but when they did, the growing tension between them crackled like flames in a pile of dry leaves. Had she caused or merely added to the friction? She suspected it was the latter.
Luke looked disgustingly disheveled, his clothes wrinkled and stained from the breakfast she’d dumped in his lap. The underarms of his shirt were circled with perspiration. A glob of what looked to be dried mustard stuck to the stubble of whiskers on his chin.
Rio, on the other hand, had apparently bathed in the lake. His hair was damp, raked back but with thick locks falling over his forehead. He was shirtless, revealing a muscled six-pack, a rock-hard abdomen. He wore his virility well.
Luke rose, padded past her and stopped at the back door, staring out like a caged animal. “I need some whiskey.”
Rio ignored the comment.
“I’m serious, man. I need a drink.”
“There’s water.”
Luke uttered a string of vile curses, then walked back to the sofa and plopped down on the saggy, soiled cushions. “We got a car right outside. It wouldn’t hurt anything for me to drive into the nearest town and find a liquor store.”
“You have a short memory. Poncho said the car was to be used only at his orders. I didn’t hear him order a whiskey run.”
“Well, if I have to stay cooped up in this godforsaken place much longer without liquor, I’ll go nuts. How’s that for a friggin’ emergency?”
“Suck it up,” Rio said.
“Suck it up yourself, pantywaist. I got the key to that car right here.” He pulled a metal ring from his pocket and shook it. “You think you can stop me if I decide to take the vehicle?”
Rio stood and glared down at Luke, his muscles flexed so that his forearms looked like balls of steel. “I could stop you if I gave a damn. I don’t. If you want to flout Poncho’s rules, go right ahead. In the meantime, I suggest you guard the prisoner.” With that he turned and strode out the back door, leaving her alone with Luke.
Jaime pushed the rest of her sandwich aside and walked to the back door. Rio trod the path to the lake, and then stepped into a cluster of trees, disappearing from sight. A sliver of panic rode her spine—an unconscious, but stupid and dangerous reaction. If she started depending on Rio to save her, she was doomed.
She was alone with Luke now. He had the car key and a weapon resting beside him in plain sight. If she could get her hands on the key and the gun, the power would switch to her hands.
Her heart began to race as a plan took form. She smoothed her hair with her fingers and bit her lips to give them some color. There was nothing she could do about her bare feet or the less than pristine condition of her dress.
Retaking her seat and turning toward Luke, she crossed her legs and kicked one seductively. “How do you stand Rio bossing you around all the time?”
Luke looked her up and down, leering as his gaze settled on various parts of her body. She struggled to keep from retching.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did the macho Navy SEAL go limp on you this morning?”
“Rio’s a SEAL?” She blurted out the question without thinking.
“He was until they kicked him out. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. He thinks it makes him better than me.”
It wouldn’t take much to be better than Luke. Still, it shocked Jaime to think that a former SEAL could be mixed up in a kidnapping at gunpoint.
“I think you should go get that whiskey,” she said. “I know I could use some.”
“Sure, go get the whiskey and leave you alone so you can try to escape again.”
“You could take me with you.”
“And have you yell out in the store that I’m holding you captive? I’m nobody’s fool, princess.”
“I never said you were.�
�� She walked over and sat down beside him. He smelled of garlic and sweat, making her stomach churn.
He laid a hand on her thigh. “Now you’re getting smart, sweetheart. I’m the real man here. You be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.”
“How good?” She forced a sultry tone to her voice and fought off another wave of nausea. The impulse to stare at the gun was almost overpowering, but she couldn’t do anything to make Luke suspicious.
He pressed his lips against hers. Fighting revulsion and the urge to clock him, she kissed him back. When his hands groped beneath her dress, she reached out and closed her hand around the gun.
“Hands over your head or I’ll shoot,” she ordered as she broke the kiss.
Curses fired from Luke’s mouth, but he raised his hands above his head. She took a deep breath, working to get her wits about her. Then with one quick move, Luke battered his head into her chest. She fell backward, but didn’t let go of the gun.
Her finger circled the trigger, but before she could pull it, Luke kicked the pistol from her hands. She fell on top of it, but he yanked her back up by her hair. The pain was so intense, she felt as if she were being scalped. She kept fighting for the gun, but Luke was too strong for her. The weapon slipped from her grasp.
She tried to break away and run. Her foot slipped.
Gunfire exploded in her brain and blood splattered over her like crimson rain.
Chapter Five
“Lawmen are reporting lots of new faces in Texas border towns.”
“Assassins?”
“It’s possible, but not definite. No one has come up with details, but the consensus is that Detonation Day is imminent. We may have a matter of days to stop it. Perhaps less.”
And Rio was stuck out here in this miserable cabin guarding some woman the drug lords had decided was worth kidnapping. “I’ve let everybody down,” he said into his miniature cell phone.
“If you go strictly by results, we all have. As long as you’re in the middle of the kidnapping, you may still be valuable. And if not, you’re in a position to save at least one—”
A thunderous clap of gunfire drowned out the rest of the sentence. Rio took off running without bothering to explain. He covered the few yards to the cabin in seconds, horror building at what he might find.
The blood was the first image that registered when he opened the door. It dripped from Jaime’s face and puddled in the folds of her dress. She’d fallen back against the cushions of the sofa. Her eyes were glazed with dread—or pain.
He plunged back into the past and into a memory so vivid that sharp pains needled his heart. He had trouble breathing. His feet refused to move.
A split second later, adrenaline coursed through his veins again, and he crossed the space that separated him from Jaime. It was then that he spotted Luke, draped over the far side of the sofa, still clutching the pistol though his left leg was soaked in blood. The leg of his jeans was torn from the bullet and Luke was using his left hand to apply pressure to the gaping wound.
“The bitch shot me.”
It was Luke who’d been shot, not Jaime. The blood was Luke’s. Rio had little success wrapping his mind around how that had happened but it was enough for now that she was okay.
Luke raised the pistol and pointed it at Jaime. “No woman shoots me and gets away with it.”
Rio extended his open hand. “Give me the gun, Luke.”
“Get the hell out of my way or I swear I’ll kill you, too.”
“You kill Jaime, and Poncho will see that you never see another sunrise. Is a death sentence what you want, Luke? If not, hand me the damn pistol.”
Luke muttered under his breath, a few curses that even Rio hadn’t heard before, but he had to know Rio had spoken the truth.
“Just hand me the gun so I can treat the wound.”
Luke grimaced and fell back to the couch, finally dropping the gun to the floor.
Rio kicked it to the other side of the room and turned to Jaime. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I didn’t shoot him. I took the gun from him but he wrestled it away from me. He was holding it when it went off.”
“We’ll sort it out later.”
“That’s how it happened.”
“I believe you.”
Not that the details mattered. For Rio, knowing she was okay stilled the panic that had nearly torn him apart when he’d first heard the gunshot and again when he’d seen the blood.
He took her hand and squeezed it. The touch vibrated through him and he dropped her hand too quickly, backing away from her and turning toward Luke before he had time to think about why she affected him the way she did.
He put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I should take a look at that wound.”
“If you can drag yourself away from the bitch that long.”
Jaime stood a bit shakily. “I’ll wash up in case you need help with Luke.”
Luke glared at her. “You lay a hand on me, and I’ll break it off.”
“Go back to the bedroom,” Rio said, trying to calm the wounded man and make this easier on Jaime. “If I need you, I’ll call for you.”
She nodded and walked away, shoulders squared, head high in spite of what she’d been through. Jaime was all woman, but she had a fighting spirit about her that would have fit in well with his team of frogmen.
Rio knelt next to Luke. “You’ll have to move that hand if you want me to take a look at your wound.”
“If I do, the blood may start gushing again.”
“If it does, I’ll make a tourniquet and call an ambulance.”
“Are you crazy? No way am I going to a hospital. They’ll ask questions and call the cops. You know how Poncho feels about cop trouble.”
Luke released the pressure slowly. Blood oozed from the wound, and Luke made a gagging sound at the sight of the exposed muscle and tissue.
“The bullet’s imbedded. It will have to come out,” Rio said.
“So do it,” Luke said. “And then I’m gonna really need that whiskey.”
“We don’t even have basic first-aid supplies. There’s no way I can treat this kind of injury. You need a doctor.”
“Then call Poncho. Tell him his slutty piece of collateral shot me. He’ll tell you what to do.”
“I warned you to stay away from Jaime,” Rio said. “Guess you should have listened to me for a change.”
“Go to hell.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?”
“No. Call Poncho.”
Rio put in the call, left a message and then found a clean cloth to bandage the open wound while he waited ten minutes for Poncho to call him back. As he expected, Poncho went verbally ballistic at the news.
“I trusted you to handle the situation, Rio,” he yelled.
“I wasn’t the one who let the woman take my gun away from me.”
Poncho let out a disgusted breath. “How bad is he hurt?”
“The bleeding has slowed, but the bullet will have to be removed or risk major infection. And he’ll want something for the pain.”
“Damn. We don’t need this, not now.”
“Bad timing,” Rio agreed. “How are the ransom negotiations going?”
“Her brothers want proof she’s alive and well before they concede to anything, but they’ll come though. If not, I’ll send her home in pieces. I’m setting up a call between you and them. I’ll be on the line as well. Any funny stuff and I break the connection at once.”
“What makes you think they won’t trace the call?”
“The calls will be initiated from a virtually untraceable phone to the virtually untraceable phone you have. The FBI or CIA might be able to trace it if we made repeated calls. We won’t. Besides, they haven’t contacted the FBI.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“They want Jaime back alive.”
“When were you going to give me those details?”
“I was working them out when you
called.”
“Anything else going on I should know about?” Like the whole border about to go up in smoke? Rio thought.
“You just take care of the business at hand without any more trouble.”
“Keep it straight, Poncho. I didn’t foul up. Luke did.”
“Just try to keep him alive until I can get someone out there to pick him up. It may be morning before I can replace him so you’ll be alone with Jaime tonight. Make certain she doesn’t escape—or shoot you.” He added a few expletives to illustrate his irritation.
“One more thing, Rio. I don’t want Jaime on the phone with her brother for more than a minute or two. Convince her that if she says anything other than that she’s alive and well, she’ll never see her family or her lover again.”
“I’ll take care of it.” His way, not Poncho’s.
So the Collingsworths were capitulating. After what he’d heard about them, he’d almost expected a fight. He still wouldn’t rule that out, not if they were half as fiery as Jaime.
And with every second Rio was guarding her, he was running out of time to make a difference in a plot that might leave thousands of innocent people dead.
Rio had no choice but to change the game plan.
JAIME TREMBLED AS SHE CLOSED the bathroom door and stepped out of the blood-drenched dress and sticky panties. This nightmare was really starting to get to her. She hadn’t shot Luke, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have it coming. He was a rotten pervert and he’d have shot her if Rio hadn’t shown up when he did.
Picking up the thin, worn washcloth Rio had given her, she soaped it thoroughly and started scrubbing her face. She’d never felt so unclean in her life, not even when she’d been thrown from her horse into a mud pit last year. It wasn’t just the blood that was sickening. It was everything about this moldy cabin and the fact that Luke had actually laid his grubby paws on her.
Her life had turned into a living hell. Rio was the one exception and a major conundrum. She should abhor his touch the same as she did Luke’s, but in truth, weird and inexplicable things happened to her equilibrium when he got close.
It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or his cocky swagger. She was fickle, not shallow. It wasn’t even the way he mesmerized her with his piercing gaze or the way he took charge of every situation. It was a prevailing and inexplicable feeling that he really was on her side.
