True Peril

by Veronica Forand

  “I can’t divulge our clients, but I need a route by which to run a shipment to a spot about two hundred miles from here.”

  “I understand. And if I offer my territory for your operation?”

  “I’m sure Mr. Dunn will reward your kindness.” And it would be taken out of Dane’s hide for involving him in Columbia, a location he preferred staying out of. Linking his old friend to this mess would complicate their already messed up relationship, putting Dane in Simon’s debt, a place he never wanted to be.

  “And you have no problem if I confirm this information?”

  “Not at all. Can I have my phone back so I can call him?”

  Carlos nodded to one his minions who handed the phone to Dane. He hit speaker, and called Simon. He placed the phone on a teak table beside a porcelain vase of flowers and a gold letter opener.

  Simon answered on the second ring. “What the fuck do you want, O’Brien?”

  Juan Carlos moved to the table and took over before Dane could say a word. He spoke in slow broken English. “Mr. Dunn, I am Juan Carlos Gomez. Your man, Mr. O’Brien, has crossed into my territory from Ecuador. I need confirmation he is with your operation.”

  “Where are you calling from?” Simon spoke in perfect Castilian Spanish.

  The tension across his captor’s face relaxed, and he slipped back into his mother tongue. “The Southern Andes in Columbia.”

  “He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. I hope you’re not delaying him. I need him in London in two days.” Simon’s message to Dane was clear. He wanted to personally kick his ass, and he wanted him in London to do it.

  “My only issue is payment for using my land to travel through.”

  Son of a bitch. No one tried to blackmail Simon. This could only get worse.

  “Fifty thousand pounds for a single cross over. That’s my only offer,” Simon responded.

  “And if—”

  “And if you don’t take it, I’ll flatten your house, burn your fields, and take the arms through the area for free. Put Dane on the phone.”

  Juan Carlos, his breathing more rapid, but otherwise in control, stepped back for Dane to approach the phone on the table.

  “I’m here.” Dane spoke in English, because his Spanish was lousy.

  Simon’s English accent shot through the phone and stabbed Dane in the gut. “Get your bloody arse on the next plane out of Bogotá.”

  He hung up before Dane could respond.

  A young soldier interrupted the awkward silence. “Sir, a woman has been spotted on the periphery of our property. She’s following the trail straight into the compound.”

  Trista. Why did he risk himself to save her if she was stupid enough to waltz right into the camp? If they linked her to the murder of the two soldiers, she’d be executed, and Dane wouldn’t be able to stop it.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  He raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Short brown hair, a green dress, body to die for?”

  The soldier nodded.

  “That’s my wife, Eve. I’m glad you located her.” Inside, he seethed at her stupidity. Outside, he smiled.

  Juan Carlos puckered his lips in surprise. “You travel with your wife?”

  “Always. I prefer keeping her with me. She usually shops while I work, and I have the benefit of a clean companion at night. She wanted to come with me this afternoon to find an orchid that grows in this area. Your men didn’t seem so welcoming when they escorted me here, so I left her.”

  “Interesting.” He shooed the soldier out the door. “Would you like some lunch while you wait? I’m sure I can find something you’ll like.”

  “Yes. Can I clean up a little first?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He followed Juan Carlos toward a hallway and a clean bathroom with a majestic view of the Andes. Trista better be a good actress, or they were both dead.

  Chapter Three

  Trista pushed through her fatigue and followed the path out of the jungle. She’d known Dane only a few hours, and he’d risked his life for her. Who does that for people? Well…she did. But she wasn’t going to let him die for her. She had to at least try to save him.

  He’d have no clue how to deal with subversive groups. Neither did she, although after working with about a half dozen international aid groups to provide child fighters a way back to a normal family life, she’d lived through some pretty scary situations. If she could convince the fighters that Dane was harmless and without economic worth, she might be able to help him. Her last attempt at negotiating with hostile forces, however, had ended up with two dead men. The tension knotting her gut tightened with each step.

  As she climbed, she spotted some fields through the clumps of trees. Dirty white houses with metal roofs stood by the road leading to more houses and buildings. This had to be the Red Hawks camp. Ironically, she’d been planning to meet with the Red Hawks’ leader to discuss educating the boys in his group. Ignorance, however, made for better followers, so her attempts would probably not have gone well.

  A faint acidic odor, like paint thinner and rotten eggs, stung her nasal passages. She circled the area, pausing to observe soldiers on patrol and a few people working in a field on the far side of the mountain. The pungent smell came from one of the buildings on the outskirts of the little community. A drug lab. She’d worked near one in Bolivia and would never forget the smell. That would be the most heavily guarded area. A path between the fields and the houses protected her from notice for a mile or two, but then her luck ran out.

  Two fighters, armed and young, approached her. She tried to meander along the path like a local, but they didn’t give her a chance.

  “Your husband is waiting,” a fighter called out in weak English, as though she couldn’t speak Spanish. Trista did speak Spanish, though. Fluently. Maybe they thought she was someone else. She kept quiet, just in case.

  One of them took her pack, while the other grasped one of her arms. He forced her to walk into the heart of the compound. Fear coiled throughout her body and slowed her steps. Had Dane already been executed?

  Brilliant idea trying to save him. Now they’d both be killed.

  The headline in the Greenwich Post would read, Philanthropist socialite murdered in Columbia while trying to rescue salesman.

  The men led her to the largest building. Crossing the threshold pulled her away from the poverty of the Andes into a luxurious mansion overlooking a beautiful mountain range. The wealth in these surroundings heightened her fear. People didn’t become rich in these parts unless engaged in something illegal. Most likely heroin.

  The scene in the dining room caused her even more confusion. A man, dressed for a day at a beach resort, sat next to Dane, who appeared sophisticated, sexy, and clean in a black T-shirt cut to make the most of his strong shoulders and thin waist. Both men wore huge smiles and smoked cigars.

  When Dane saw her, his expression morphed from contentment to concern.

  “Eve, where have you been?” he asked in English, emphasizing the name. He shot out of his chair and clasped her shoulders.

  “I—”

  “I told you to wait near the car. God, I’ve been worried about you.”

  Before Trista could move, he covered her dry lips with a warm, deep kiss. The emotion and power of his kiss made her feel as though she’d been his for a long, long time. Wow. That was one hell of a welcome. When he pulled back from the kiss, his forehead stayed touching hers. She dropped her gaze to the floor, because looking into his tender eyes was overwhelming. His hands gently held her cheeks, and he sighed as though he hadn’t just thrown her down a hill.

  He turned her around in his arms so her back rested against a rock hard chest and she faced their host. “Juan Carlos, I’d like to introduce my wife Eve.”

  The man took her hand and kissed it. “Beautiful.”

  “Thank you. I’m a lucky man.” Dane wrapped his arms tighter around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head, never loosening his grip
.

  Trista could only nod as her heart fluttered against her will.

  “What happened?” His voice was low and calming. He checked her arms as he had a few hours before.

  “When you didn’t come back, I followed the trail here. I tripped over a root and fell during the hike.” She shrugged as if it were no big deal.

  “Sit and have something to drink.” He pointed to the chair beside him then picked up a glass of water from the elaborately set table and handed it to her. Her parched throat and her body thanked her.

  “Mr. O’Brien, would your wife care for some food?” Juan Carlos asked Dane in Spanish.

  Yes. His wife did care for some food. Blue and yellow thick pottery filled with fresh fruit, a salad, bread, and a pile of empanadas sent sweet and savory aromas into the air. Her stomach grumbled its request for nourishment.

  A woman in a simple blue dress, who looked like a housekeeper, prepared Trista a plate and placed it along with some silverware on the table in front of her. She dug in, ignoring their conversation. Survival instincts took precedence. After devouring an empanada and some pineapple slices, she observed Dane.

  He’d turned back to face the man and resumed speaking in Spanish. “As I was saying, the scene at the hut was a bloodbath. I searched the area behind the hut, but found no evidence of anyone else around. I’m not sure we can use this route if there are active hostilities between groups. Too much of a risk. My boss is very careful in the locations where he sells his goods.”

  Is he offering to sell this man a drone?

  He seemed perfectly comfortable in this world, despite the men with AK-47s standing behind them. Juan Carlos, a man who appeared to be a Columbian drug lord, enjoyed a drink that looked like cognac from a snifter as he and Dane discussed the easiest route to Ecuador. Dane had to be the best salesman in the world to have been captured by hostile rebels and then treated like royalty while perhaps obtaining a sale and maybe a large commission.

  “I will have my men investigate. I can assure you this has never happened before.”

  “We’ll need at least another month or two of no violence in the area before we send the couriers.” Dane puffed on his cigar and blew a long stream of smoke as though he’d always enjoyed cigars. Maybe he did. “I think my wife needs to clean up.”

  Dane spoke directly to their host and never once looked at her when he spoke Spanish. She, in return, didn’t acknowledge that she understood his poor Spanish pronunciations. If they searched for a woman fluent in Spanish, they wouldn’t find one here.

  The gentleman rose and called out to someone. “Liliana.”

  An elegant woman in her mid-thirties appeared a few minutes later. The woman tried to speak to her in Spanish, but Trista spoke only in English, making sure she didn’t answer any of Liliana’s questions. Despite the language barrier, the woman treated her as a treasured guest. Liliana’s mumblings referred to strangers in the forest and her husband’s limitless kindness to others. She led Trista to a marble bathroom where she laid out towels.

  “Thank you.” Trista reached out her hands and clasped Liliana’s in a gesture of friendship.

  Her hostess wore a radiant smile and squeezed Trista’s fingers and then left her to clean up.

  The warm water melted away her tension. Rose-scented soaps and shampoos further improved her mood. She dressed quickly in a new sundress provided by the hosts, towel-drying her new short hair into something stylish. It actually wasn’t that bad. There was a layering effect around her face and the pieces fell shorter than her shoulder.

  After strolling through the house admiring the beautiful furnishings, she found Dane and Juan Carlos outside on a terrace overlooking the mountains. When Dane noticed her, he beckoned her over. His arm wrapped around her waist, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled of cigars. She wasn’t a huge fan of cigars, but if that was the way he bonded with their captor, she’d happily breathe in the smoke.

  “You clean up well,” he whispered in her ear.

  “So do you.”

  “How long have you been married?” Juan Carlos asked in English.

  Trista turned to Dane and allowed him to answer. “Three months, but we haven’t gone on our honeymoon yet. Too much work.” He clasped her hand. “I know I promised you a trip to Fiji, but we need to fly to London first. Is that okay?”

  She pretended to be put out. “I guess it’ll have to be.”

  …

  Seven hours of kissing the ass of Juan Carlos took everything out of Dane. He remained on guard as they left the compound accompanied by a few soldiers for the long drive down the mountain. Trista sat in silence next to him, her hands clenched together and her eyes focused out the window. He’d never met a person with such innate survival skills.

  She had no idea that he’d been trained to handle situations like the one they were driving away from, so she’d followed him and embarked on her own rescue mission. Incredibly stupid and yet brave and selfless, too. And once she was caught, not one of Juan Carlo’s men would have seen her as a threat. She’d completely transformed into the character he’d created, his beautiful wife.

  Their escorts brought them back to the SUV and then had turned around and left. Finally, they were alone in his car.

  Her hands shook, and she clasped them together. It was the first time he’d seen a hint of nerves since he’d met her. “Oh my God. I’ve never been so terrified.”

  “You were perfect.”

  She shook her head as though ridding herself of the strain of the past few hours. “I hadn’t anticipated being your wife. I was more prepared to help you fight our way out of there.”

  She probably would have fought her way out of the compound, carrying him if necessary. Damn, she was tough. “Disappointed?”

  “No. This ended better than I’d imagined.”

  Her hand touched his. Her warmth seared through him. He almost drove off the road, so he focused straight ahead and avoided looking at her and her incredible lips, the color of a perfectly aged red zinfandel. He craved those lips again. Perhaps the next time, she’d kiss back because she wanted to and not because she was forced to.

  “How soon until we get back to the village?”

  “An hour.”

  “I’d better rest until then.” She leaned back, but then sat up straight. “Wait. I can’t go back to San Stefano. The villagers will recognize me. They might even turn me in. It would be better for me to disappear. Safer for everyone else involved.”

  “That’s why I’m dropping you off just below the village. Stay hidden in the brush by the road. I need to pick up Jenny. Give me an hour or two.”

  She nodded and scratched her shoulder. Welts from insect bites already decorated her arms. “Great, more bugs. I’ll look like I have chicken pox by the time I get down the mountain.”

  A few miles later, her body curved into the seat in a languid pose more appropriate for a woman about to take a siesta than a person escaping armed rebel fighters.

  In a small pull-out on the road, Dane parked the car and hopped out, going around to her side and opening her door. He grabbed some insect repellent from the glove compartment. “Come on, sweetheart. You need to get out.”

  “Maybe you can hike into the village, and I can stay in the car and take a nap.”

  “We can’t park out in the open on this road. It’s actually safer for you this way.”

  Dane didn’t want to push her more, but she needed to get the hell out of here more than she needed sleep. Heavy lids began to close. Her body was overruling his order.

  “I can handle the rebels,” she whispered.

  “Not in this condition.”

  Her eyes had closed, and a faint smile rested on her face. Leaning into her side of the vehicle, he lifted her from her seat. Her eyes flashed open, and she struggled to get out his grip.

  “What are you doing?” Unsteady hands barely gripped his arms. He held onto her another minute until her legs woke up.

  “You
fell asleep.”

  Another yawn escaped from her lips. “I’m awake now.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “No.” Her body leaned into him, propped up like a drunk against a bar.

  “Sure you are. Be safe and stay close enough to the side of the road to hear cars coming.” He handed her the bottle of repellant.

  “I can’t believe I have to sneak out of here. I’ll really miss those children.” Tears had formed in her dark, tired eyes. She held the bottle and liberally sprayed herself and then pivoted away to pick up her pack, returned to her after their mini-imprisonment. “This sucks.”

  “It’s the only way to keep you and the villagers safe.”

  He released her, and she stood on her own, gaining back her strength and her warrior spirit. Her posture seemed held upright through sheer grit. She waved and headed toward the thick green foliage surrounding them. “The adventure that wouldn’t end. I hope part two involves a bed. I’ll see you in a few.”

  “If we get separated for longer than a few hours, remember that your name is Eveleen O’Brien. I call you Eve for short. Don’t forget.

  “You’ll need to be my wife at least until I can get you out of Columbia, maybe a little longer,” he continued. “We need to stay together for the next few days until I can make sure no one is searching for Trista. As I said in the compound, I have to fly to London, and now, so do you.” One week in London would kill the meeting in San Francisco where he really needed to be, but he couldn’t abandon Trista, and he couldn’t disobey Simon, not when he owed him.

  She gave him another, less enthusiastic, wave before disappearing into the bushes.

  Dane drove into the village. The area seemed quiet and abandoned.

  He entered the schoolhouse. The incoming darkness faded the primary colors of the classroom into muted shades of gray and shadow. “Jenny?”

  “Up here.”

  He walked up the stairs using the pace of a man with no worries. Jenny sat at her table with a cup of tea and a few books open in front of her. Two young boys, surrounded by wooden blocks and matchbox cars, sat in the far corner of the room. They paused to look at the stranger entering their space.