by Tia Louise
The Panama skyline glitters like a carnival in the bluish-grey haze of the twilight sky. It’s one of the most metropolitan of the small, Central American countries, although along the shoreline, it still has the feel of a small Caribbean island.
“I want jerk chicken and coconut rice,” Jessa says, pressing her hands into the leather seat beside her.
“Food cravings already?”
Her shoulder rises. “I hope.”
That warrants another kiss. The sleeveless black dress she’s wearing shows off her toned, mocha arms, and her dark hair is swept to the side and flowing in glossy waves down her breast. Large silver hoops are in her ears, and she is so chic and sophisticated, one would never guess she could shoot you in the blink of an eye with the custom-made NAA Guardian strapped to her upper thigh. I have a Glock 17 in a shoulder holster on my right and a matching Guardian in my left boot.
“Keep your guard up. We still have no definitive background on this Mantanilla,” Ella’s voice transmits through tiny chip earpieces in both our ears.
Jessa’s lips curl into a smile, and she cuts her eyes at me. “So long as you’re in my ear and Mace is at my side, I’ll be fine.”
The Towncar comes to a stop, and I lean forward, holding the side of my black dinner jacket over the firearm at my ribcage. I’d be more comfortable with a Walther in the back of my jeans, but this isn’t Colombia. That gives me an idea.
“We should return to Colombia once this job is done,” I say, sliding my hand over my wife’s and thinking of a rustic, open-air hotel outside Cartagena, our first night together.
She has one sexy leg outside the vehicle, and she looks back at me over her shoulder. Sultry cat eyes sparkle green, and her white teeth peek from her berry lips. “You’re such a romantic.”
I exhale a laugh and follow her out onto the sidewalk. The restaurant is connected to a massive high-rise hotel, and I glance up at the towering glass façade. Placing my hand on Jessa’s lower back, we enter through the large, revolving door. A massive chandelier illuminates the modern décor of the lobby. It’s all geometric shapes, white paint, and dark wood. Jessa’s heels click across the glossy floor, and we’re headed for the dark entrance to the five-star restaurant when Ella is in our ears.
“Subject is on the move. He’s headed your way. Appears to be leaving the restaurant. Be on guard.”
Why would he leave as soon as we arrive? I’ve only just finished the thought when the man in question strides up to us.
“Señor Moscarelli, Señorita Steel.” Mantanilla stops in front of us and does a little bow, placing a thick hand in the center of his chest. I note a heavy brass ring on his finger. It has an insignia or crest on it I vaguely recognize.
He isn’t tall, but he’s muscular and stocky. He wears a dark suit, and his slicked black hair has a bold silver stripe right in the center above his left eye—a definite liability in this business as it makes him memorable, easy to pick out of a lineup. The fact he doesn’t seem to care heightens my concern.
“Forgive this irregularity, señor,” he continues. “We must leave here at once.”
From where my hand is placed on Jessa’s back, I feel her muscles tense. “I’m sorry,” I step to the side, moving her behind me. “What exactly is going on here?”
His accent is thick. “I just received word from my people. My business dealings require I sometimes… cross swords with unsavory types. It requires me to travel with bodyguards. They say we must go somewhere less exposed.”
Jessa and I are both wearing thin Kevlar over our torsos, but I don’t like that her head is vulnerable. “What do you suggest?” I ask, still not ready to move my wife from behind my body.
A shiny black SUV pulls up at the curb, stopping abruptly. I hear the locks click open. “We can take my car to a secure location in the hills. It’s completely safe, I assure you.”
Warning bells go off in my mind. I’m not going anywhere with this guy, but Jessa steps from around me. “We don’t know anything about you.” Her voice is calm, commanding. “How can we trust you aren’t trying to trick us?”
“You are right, you can’t.” The man shrugs and shows us his palms. “But this is the only way we’ll ever get my daughter back.”
It’s not good enough for me. I have no intention of getting in that SUV, but before I can answer, my wife has moved past me and jumped inside.
“Jessa…” It’s a frustrated groan, but I charge into the vehicle after her.
There’s no way in fucking hell I’m letting this man drive away with her and possibly my baby. Jessa said one thing tonight, and I guarantee it’s true. As long as Ella is in her ear and I’m at her side, she has nothing to fear.
The doors slam with a solid Thunk! and with a metallic click, the locks set. We head off into the night, and I look back at the hotel, waiting for cars to swirl up, waiting for any evidence his story is true. As I suspected, nothing materializes.
We speed through town, going further away from civilization. Adrenaline tweaks in my muscles. We are fucking outnumbered, and we’re traveling to a second, unsecured location with a total stranger. Jesus, Jess. I hope I didn’t use up my luck when I jumped off that ceiling in Philly. We’re going to need all the breaks we can get now.
7
Jessa
Mantanilla is a liar. I knew it when he came out of the restaurant and began speaking. No cartel wages a full-on attack in a crowded restaurant at peak dining hours. The only reason the government doesn’t crack down on these little warlords is because they conduct their private hits in private. I didn’t spend a year embedded in a Colombian cartel to learn nothing.
Mace is furious. I know he wants to walk, but I’m motivated by one thing—getting Lajuana out of this man’s clutches. I’m starting to wonder if she’s even his daughter at all. More than that, I need to know… Why did he contact us?
I haven’t felt safe since Mace stormed in and sent Araña to prison six years ago. In addition to freeing the girl, I have a distinct impression he’s behind this. I’d recognized the insignia on Mantanilla’s ring at once. It means he’s in the same secret group as Araña. They wear those brass rings, and they meet once a year in a remote location I was never able to locate in all my digging.
I’m more convinced than ever this isn’t a rescue mission. It’s a hit, and either we’ve got to get to Araña and take him out or I’m going down.
Glancing out the window, I see we’re traveling higher into the mountains. The narrow road provides a clear view of the steep drop and the tops of trees.
Infusing my voice with calm, I ask the obvious question. “Where are we headed?”
“Forgive me señora, I felt it would be better to discuss this at my home. It’s very nice and far from prying eyes.”
Mace’s warm hand covers mine, and our eyes meet. We both caught his slip. He knows we’re married, which isn’t common knowledge. Thugs get ideas of using us against each other when they know we’re married, so we maintain separate identities, separate bank accounts. The only thing we share is our home and our bed. We don’t even wear wedding rings—something I look forward to changing once we finish this job and I retire.
“It sounds lovely,” I say, managing to smile.
Mantanilla is in the front passenger’s seat, and he turns to smile at me. Only it’s the smile of a snake about to strike, and the light in his black eyes sends ice through my chest. Instinctively I run my hand over the top of my thigh where the strap for my tiny pistol is hidden.
“Try to see any distinctive landmarks.” Ella is in my ear, and I remember my statement from earlier. Calm seeps into my veins. “As soon as you get to the compound, one of you do your best to get alone and tell me anything you can.”
We drive in silence with only the hum of the engine and the occasional bump of tires over narrow jungle road. Mace and I both look out the windows, and I hope one of us will be able to get Ella the information she needs.
The SUV stops in front of eno
rmous white gates. We only pause a beat before they open inward. Stadium lights blare on us as we enter the heavy wooden barrier. A sprawling two-story mansion sits behind a circular drive with a fountain in the center. We drive slowly around it and come to a stop at the door.
“Bienvenidos a mi casa!” Welcome to my home, Mantanilla says with that same cruel smile.
He exits the vehicle, and Mace lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Here we go,” he murmurs before reaching for the door and climbing out. My heart is hammering in my chest. We’re outnumbered, and we’ve gone with a stranger to a second location. It’s the first rule of kidnapping, and I completely ignored it. Still, I’m confident in Mace and me, and I never back down from a thug.
Mantanilla’s sleek loafers crunch on the beige pea-gravel, echoing as he approaches the arched entry. “Come inside. We can have a drink and talk terms.”
Two tall, muscular men stand on either side of the doorway. Both hold what look like G3 assault rifles, and neither make eye contact. Mace holds my hand as he leads us to the house.
My heels click on the red Spanish tile of the entryway, and the door opens to a large living area. The wood floors are highly polished, and a white, leather couch with orange and brown leather pillows wraps around a glass coffee table. The walls are white, and the ceiling mirrors the wide-plank mahogany of the floor. To the right and above us is a balcony with a glass partition forming the railing. It’s all very sleek and modern, but Mantanilla continues through opposite glass double doors out to the back patio.
“Come and join me, amigos, the view from this height is stunning.”
Mace and I exchange a glance. He does a sweep of the perimeter, but other than the armed men at the door, we appear to be alone. He’s still holding my hand, and I follow him across the room. I can see the brilliantly lit skyscrapers of Panama City from the railing where our host waits. It appears the balcony juts out from the cliff overlooking the metropolitan area below.
The minute we step outside, everything changes. Four men rush us from each side—two grab me, and two have Mace by the arms. I attempt to reach for my gun, but my arm is jerked back, my skirt ripped up and the Guardian taken off me.
I’m struggling against the four arms that surround me, but I’m no match for these guys. My hands are cuffed behind my back before I even have a chance to land a blow. Mace, by contrast managed to crack the skull of one of his attackers, but the other has taken his Glock from the shoulder holster. I struggle against my restraints, but it only makes the metal bracelets click painfully tighter.
Mantanilla pushes away from the concrete balcony where he stands and walks fast to the men. A glint of light flashes off a syringe in his hand and I scream just as he jams it into the side of my husband’s neck.
“Mace!” I jerk again on the cuffs, causing them to cut into the skin of my wrists.
The pain hits my bones, but it’s nothing to the pain cramping my stomach as I watch my handsome, muscular husband take a knee.
“Jessa,” he gasps, still trying to save me.
“Mace,” I gasp a cry. “Hang on!”
They’ll tie us up. They’ll put us in cages or rooms, but I’ll find a way out. I’ll get us out of this mess.
“Fucking bull,” Mantanilla snarls. “Throw him over the side.”
“WHAT?” My eyes fly round, and I lunge forward only to have my shoulder gripped in a meaty fist. I’m ripped back, away from my husband, and I struggle, helplessly screaming as I watch two men lift him and throw him over the balcony.
“NO!” The fight leaves me, and I fall to my knees. “MACE!” I scream his name as pain racks my body. My forehead makes contact with the Spanish tiles. My entire body shudders and my throat is on fire from my screaming.
“Shut her up,” I hear the murderer say.
A pinprick at my shoulder is the only warning I get before the world goes black.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I’m so thirsty. When I open my eyes again, I’m on a dirty floor in what looks like a former stable. The bottom half of my cage is wood, and the top is steel bars. Hay is in one corner, and I can smell the sharp, acrid stench of manure.
Sunlight streams in dust-filled beams, but I can’t move. Pain radiates through my body starting in the center of my chest and moving out through my limbs. I feel like I have a fever. My head burns and my muscles ache.
“Mace,” I whisper through my shredded throat.
It burns from my screaming, and I roll onto my back staring up at the dust-filled darkness where the high ceiling is located. Tears blur my vision, spilling over and down my cheeks. They mix with the dust coating my face, and when I close my eyes, they rush into my ears. Why did they keep me alive?
Rolling onto my side, I press my forhead against my upper arm. With my eyes closed I can see his navy ones looking back at me with so much love. My fingers curl, and I can feel his glossy dark waves around my hands at the nape of his neck. I can see his straight white teeth, and I can feel his thick, corded arms holding me so tight, keeping me safe, loving me. His baby… our baby… I’ll never have it.
“Please,” I moan through a broken sob. “Please kill me, too.”
“Stay with me, Jessa.” The quiet voice of Ella jolts me back to the present.
My heart speeds up, thudding against my chest. “Ella?” I whisper.
“I’m here. What happened? I can’t reach Mace. Where is he?”
A cramp hits my stomach, and I curl forward, holding my knees. My dress is shredded, and I’m completely unarmed. I can’t help wondering if I still had my gun, what would I do with it…
“Jessa?” Ella’s voice is softer, urging me to reply.
“He’s…” My eyes close, and I see him fighting.
I see the one man go down under the force of his fist. I see the other man ripping his Glock out of the holster under his arm. I see Mantanilla striding toward him, syringe in hand. I see my beautiful husband drop to one knee, still fighting, still trying to get to me as more men surround him, as they wrestle him to the balcony and shove him over the edge.
“Oh, god,” I break again. “He’s gone, Ella. They killed him.”
Silence fills the space around me. All I hear is the heavy noise of my breathing, my whimpers of pain. I’ve never felt such emptiness, the phrase repeating in my brain, It’s your fault…
“I don’t understand,” she says at last. “They couldn’t… not Mace.”
“I saw it.” I roll forward, resting my forhead on the back of my hand. “I saw him go over.”
“You’re still at the compound?”
“I’m in some kind of stable or barn. Oh!” My voice breaks as strong hands grip my upper arms, dragging me off the dirt floor.
“Who are you talking to?” One of the oversized guards grabs my face, jerking it side to side. His eyes roam over my neck and ears. “Where is it?”
“I was talking to myself.” Fresh tears coat my face. “I was… I was only crying.”
“Lying bitch.” He drags me to the bales of hay stacked in the corner and shoves me forward on my stomach.
“Please…” I whimper, but his hands are moving, searching my back and neck and around my ears.
He takes a large handful of my hair at the side of my head and pulls it, wrenching my neck. He’s on the wrong side, and I think he’ll quit. I’m wrong. He grabs the other side, jerking my neck so hard, another flood of tears heats my eyes.
“Ah…” Meaty fingers pinch the shell of my ear and he rips the hair-thin clear wire from behind it. The tiny chip pops out of my ear along with the wire. “Fuck off,” he shouts into the speaker before dropping it on the floor and driving his heel into it.
Just like that, I’ve lost Mace and I’ve lost Ella.
“You’re coming with me.”
It doesn’t matter that my strength is gone or that my entire body is numb. This giant of a man half drags, half shoves me from the dirty stall out into the alley of the barn. From there we make our way int
o the open courtyard, and I see the one thing I’ve been dreading.
A black helicopter sits at the far end of the massive rectangular space. I recognize the bright yellow logo on it—a spider.
“Fuck,” I hiss, and as I walk, my survival instinct crawls back to life. “Araña is out of prison.”
He was never supposed to be let out. I can only guess he escaped, and in that moment my resolve crystalizes. He is behind what’s happening here. I suspected as much, and now I know. Standing straighter, I level my shoulders. I have to hold on long enough to get my revenge on this fucker. He brought me here. He killed Mace, and he kept me alive…
He’s going to wish he’d never made that mistake.
8
Jessa
The helicopter ride from the compound in Panama to Cartagena takes less than two hours. My insides are raw, but my emotions have settled into a quiet stillness. The cauldron of molten anger and seething revenge is right below the surface, just waiting.
Now we’re in that same house where I lived for six months. I’m standing in my shredded black dress, my long hair over one shoulder, and Araña is across the room from me. He’s sitting in a chair watching me with dead blue eyes.
“My beautiful Amorosa.” His voice is the husky growl of whiskey and cigarettes. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
He rises from the oversized chair and walks slowly toward me. I wait, not speaking as he crosses the red tiled floor. The room we’re in has a line of windows right at the ceiling, and as long as I’ve been here, they’re always open. The heavy, hot air is swept up and out by three ceiling fans.
Araña wears a wrinkled white-linen suit, and his longish grey hair sweeps and curls like a southern colonel. The front is stained yellow from tobacco smoke, and his fingernails are too long for a man. When he stops in front of me, he traces one down the skin of my shoulder. I recoil.
