The Doctor's Guardian & Tempted By His Target

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Don’t be.”

  “I didn’t think they’d find us all the way out here.” “Me, either,” he admitted.

  Pulse pounding with fear, she considered the clues they’d left along the way. If the taxi they’d ditched had turned up on the side of a road, halfway to Guatemala, the men would know where they were headed. It was also possible that they’d spoken to the checkpoint soldiers or bribed the Tapachula locals.

  “At dusk, we’ll make a run for it,” he said. “Go back to the graveyard.”

  She braced her shoulders on the stone wall and took a deep breath. “The parade goes straight down the main drag. Maybe we can disappear in the crowd.”

  He nodded, keeping his eyes on the SUV. “We’ll leave as soon as it’s dark.”

  As it happened, they didn’t have to wait. The SUV pulled out of its hiding place, heading right at them.

  “Go,” Brandon shouted, shoving her toward the goat path.

  She scrambled up the hill, her heart in her throat. Shots rang out, hissing through the air and furrowing into the grass near her feet. Brandon didn’t stop to return fire. Keeping his body between her and the approaching vehicle, he pushed her to climb faster.

  The SUV couldn’t find purchase on the steep incline. It stalled, engine roaring, wheels churning in the soft earth.

  Isabel registered these sounds as they sailed over the top of the hill. Brandon jerked her to the ground, flattening his body on top of hers. For a breath-stealing moment, he aimed his gun at the vehicle, trading shots with Carranza’s men.

  She held her hands over her ears, terrified. Bullets peppered the hillside, raining loose dirt on their heads.

  “I’m out,” he said, swearing as he ejected the clip. Within seconds, he’d located spare ammunition and reloaded.

  She didn’t have time to wonder where the extra round had come from, because he pulled her to her feet and they started running again. No gunshots dogged their steps as they raced down the path. At the base of the next hill, they stopped again, taking shelter behind a large tree. “Are you hit?” he asked, skimming her body for injuries.

  “No, I’m fine. Are they?”

  “I don’t know. I shattered the front windshield.”

  The engine revved up, proving that someone was alive inside. The noise faded into the distance as the SUV drove away.

  “Come on,” he said, urging her to keep moving. “The passenger might follow us on foot. We can’t afford to let him catch up.”

  She picked up the pace, struggling to match his stride. They couldn’t risk waiting to ambush their pursuer, and hiding out in the open woods wasn’t safe. The best choice was to stay on course and hope they arrived at the cemetery first.

  “With the roads closed, he’ll have to ditch the SUV somewhere,” Brandon pointed out. “We can beat them.”

  Summoning endurance, she redoubled her efforts, sprinting along the narrow dirt path. Her muscles burned from exertion but fatigue wasn’t her greatest obstacle. The soft leather sandals she wore fit loose, and they weren’t built for speed. The ankle straps rubbed at every stress point, cutting into her skin.

  The foot pain was minor compared to the hitch in her chest. She realized that she couldn’t go on like this. Although she’d planned to slip away from Brandon after they crossed the border, now she knew she couldn’t wait.

  Their chances of survival were slim. Carranza’s men had found them. They’d shot at Brandon repeatedly, going for the kill. They might keep her alive for questioning, but they needed nothing from him.

  Earlier this afternoon, at the picnic, she’d come to a difficult conclusion. She couldn’t live with herself if she let another man die. She felt responsible for Jaime, and her father, and the stranger in Puerto Escondido.

  If something happened to Brandon, she’d be devastated.

  When they arrived at the bottom of the valley, Carranza’s men were nowhere to be seen. Darkness had fallen but the graveyard was bright with burning candles. Their soft glow warmed the starless night.

  Brandon grasped her hand, his face lit up with hope. He thought they were going to make it. Isabel’s heart tightened with sorrow and the flames blurred before her eyes. Together, they hurried toward the procession.

  “Wait,” she said, tugging his arm. “I need to rest.”

  He removed a bottle of water from his backpack and offered it to her.

  She drank quickly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “There’s something I have to tell you before we go on.”

  He took a measured sip. “What?”

  “You’ve been the best time of my life. Thank you.”

  Heat flickered in his blue eyes, along with an emotion she couldn’t identify. “I haven’t even started to show you a good time, angel.”

  She smiled through her tears. Touching his shadowed jaw, she gave him a lingering kiss. It tasted like lonely nights and lost wishes, and a thirst that could never be slaked. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, licking her lips.

  “For what?”

  “This.” Drawing back her fist, she sank it into his unsuspecting belly, sucker punching him as hard as she could.

  He grunted in pain, holding one hand to his abs. His other hand locked around her wrist, lightning-quick. But this time she’d anticipated the move. Twisting out of his grip, she spun away from him and took off running.

  Knowing she only had a few seconds’ head start, she darted around a tall grave site. Grabbing a pale blue shawl from the headstone, she put it on her head like a veil. Heart racing, she plucked a burning candle from the ground and joined the procession.

  Shoulder to shoulder with a similarly garbed woman, she shuffled forward, humming religious hymns.

  Chapter 12

  The dead walked among the living.

  Isabel hunched her back and kept her chin down, trying to appear humble and wizened. From behind lowered lashes, she scanned the crowd for Carranza’s men. She knew they were looking for her. Without Brandon, whose height set him apart, she’d be harder to spot, but that wasn’t why she’d left him.

  Splitting up was for his own good.

  The drug cartel members were determined and resourceful. They wouldn’t quit. She no longer believed she’d be safe in Guatemala. She was a hazard to everyone around her, and she refused to put Brandon’s life at risk for another moment.

  The women beside Isabel murmured prayers in Spanish, undisturbed by her presence. She’d never been to a celebration like this and wasn’t sure what to expect. It was like a funeral procession, a holiday parade and a street carnival rolled into one. Hundreds of revelers carried brilliant bouquets of marigolds, brightly lit candles and colorful signs. Many were dressed in ragged clothes, their faces painted to resemble skulls. Dancing skeletons weaved through the throng, having a grand old time.

  Isabel’s head swam with merry music and raucous images of the afterlife. For this culture, death was a joyous occasion. The journey to the underworld was accompanied by singing mariachis and stomping feet.

  Living was a trial; dying, the reward.

  Although she couldn’t share the sentiment right now, while she was fighting to survive, she did feel a certain sense of closure. Lighting a candle for her father had been therapeutic. Telling Brandon her story, even more so.

  She hoped he wouldn’t hate her for this. The thought of never seeing him again made tears rush into her eyes, so she pushed it aside and focused on moving forward. She put one foot in front of the other, whispering fervent prayers in Spanish.

  She hadn’t gone far when she caught a glimpse of the man with the broken nose. He was standing on a raised platform near the center square, wearing a black cowboy hat. Pulse racing, she put her head down and prayed harder. There was no way to make a break for it without attracting attention. A moment later, Brandon passed her on the opposite side, walking at a swifter pace than the rest of the crowd.

  He was heading straight for the platform.

  Her mind shouted a warning, but she
couldn’t call out or approach him without giving them both away. While she watched in horror, he strode down the street, frantically searching for her, heedless of his own safety. If he noticed Carranza’s man, he didn’t show it. He was acting like such a fool!

  She’d counted on him being calm, cool and collected as always. He was ruining everything, taking a shocking risk.

  Then it occurred to her that he would never do this without weighing the consequences. He wasn’t really looking for her. He was trying to draw Carranza’s thugs out. While they were busy chasing him, she could get away.

  He hurried by the man in the black hat, not even glancing up at him. His feigned ignorance was so obvious Isabel wanted to scream. Brandon was trying to thwart her plans to save him by sacrificing himself. The sneaky bastard!

  Carranza’s man joined the procession and started following him immediately.

  Incensed, she tossed aside her veil and picked up speed, startling the women next to her. When she was within striking distance, she drew back her arm and let the fat wax candle fly through the air, pegging the man in the black hat. He whirled to face her, his eyes wide. She turned and ran, her heart in her throat.

  The smiling skulls and happy skeletons seemed more threatening now. Every colorful bouquet was an obstacle, every classical guitar a hooking weapon. She overturned signs and spilled baskets, jostling tipsy men and pious women. The man in the black hat raced after her, his heavy footsteps pounding. But she was smaller and more nimble, lengthening the distance between them with every stride.

  When the opportunity presented itself, she made a sharp detour around the corner of a building, trying to shake him. She continued to run, her chest burning and her feet aching. Finally, she stopped on a deserted side street, struggling for breath. There was a black SUV parked nearby, its front windshield missing.

  Oh, no.

  Stomach sinking, she backed up slowly, preparing to retrace her steps. And gasped as she felt the cold bite of metal against her neck.

  “Don’t move,” the voice behind her said. It was the other man, the one she’d hit over the head in the hotel carport parking garage. Keeping the barrel of the weapon pressed to her nape, he patted her down with his other hand, locating her dagger. “What’s this?” “Put away the gun and I’ll show you.” He chuckled without humor, shoving her against the side of the building. “Little girls shouldn’t play with big knives,” he said, his English lightly accented. Sliding his hand into her pants, he removed the dagger from its sheath, letting the blade catch a glint of moonlight. “They can get cut.”

  Isabel didn’t say anything. The man in the black hat would appear any minute, with Brandon hot on his trail.

  “Come on,” he said, dragging her toward the vehicle by the braids. She winced at the pain in her scalp but didn’t cry out. When they reached the passenger door, he slammed her head into it. Black spots flashed before her eyes and the impact reverberated down her spine, weakening her knees.

  She put up an ineffectual fight as he holstered his weapon, securing her wrists behind her back with coarse rope. When he pushed her into the passenger seat, she rallied, kicking him in the face as hard as she could. “Bitch,” he sputtered, stumbling backward. Although the move didn’t give her a chance to escape, her chest swelled with pride, because she’d busted his lip. Clearly he was displeased with her for hitting him over the head with a brick. He should have been prepared for her fractiousness.

  The man with the broken nose came running toward the SUV, his hat gone. Brandon wasn’t following him.

  “Where’s the güero?” his partner asked, spitting on the sidewalk.

  “I took care of him.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  While the bigger man climbed inside the vehicle, Isabel was thrown into the backseat, her heart cold with dread. Was Brandon hurt, or dying? Her world spun on its axis and shuddered to a grinding halt.

  Please, no. Not Brandon. Anyone but him.

  She stared out the window as they pulled away, traveling through an indecipherable maze of side streets because the main road was closed. Although she wanted Brandon to save himself, not her, she kept her eyes peeled, hoping to see him.

  He didn’t come.

  Numbness settled over her, allowing her to endure the pain. She resolved to be as combative as possible. Carranza’s men were taking her somewhere to kill her, and she wasn’t going willingly. Scooting across the backseat, she fumbled for the door handle, her fingers straining. The rope at her wrists held tight, burning her skin. They hit a bump in the road and she almost went sprawling.

  Gritting her teeth, she inched toward the door handle and tried again, her fingertips slipping over it without success. The driver pressed a button on the control panel, locking her in with an ominous click.

  Isabel decided the driver needed another swift kick to the head. If she caused an accident, she might have a better chance of escaping.

  “Tie up her feet,” he said, glancing in the rearview mirror.

  His partner grabbed the length of rope, giving her a warning look as he reached for her ankles. Instead of struggling, she tried to appear soft and helpless, hoping the bigger man would be more sympathetic to a female in distress. He was the muscle in this operation, not the brains. Maybe he didn’t enjoy hurting women.

  The big man tied her feet securely and ignored her pleading gaze, telling her everything she needed to know. He wouldn’t help her.

  For the remainder of the ride, she searched for a cutting tool, her fingers digging into every nook and cranny of the backseat. There were pieces of safety glass from the shattered windshield on the floor, just out of reach. It was maddening.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, noticing a sign that said Zona Archeológica.

  Neither man replied.

  The driver continued toward the grounds of some ancient ruins. Apparently, the remote location suited his needs. It was a perfect place to hide a body. There was no one around for miles, no one to hear her scream.

  A chill shuddered down her spine.

  The driver barreled through the front gate, breaking the chain lock. He continued past a group of stone pyramids and an abandoned ball court, parking beside a structure Isabel recognized as an underground tomb.

  Fighting was futile, but she bucked wildly as they dragged her out of the vehicle. Her shrill cry was swallowed by the sultry night. She’d be tortured and buried here, among the souls of ancient warriors.

  The big man shoved her down the steps of the tomb, ignoring the Prohibido sign at the entrance. She was forced into an underground room with a low ceiling and a dirt floor. There were several engraved stone tablets leaning against the wall, but no human remains.

  Not yet.

  The smaller man struck her across the face, knocking her down. With no arms to break her fall, she took a hard tumble. Pain spread from her cheek and the taste of blood filled her mouth. She curled up on her side, protecting her vital organs.

  “That was for kicking me,” the man said, as if his action had settled the score.

  Isabel begged to differ. By her calculations, she still owed him one.

  The large man stood by the entrance, keeping watch while his partner crouched beside her, flipping open his cell phone.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Maybe we want to stuff pills down your throat until you choke,” he answered, giving her a hard smile. His fingertips made a trail across her dusty cheek, tracing her lips. “I think I’d enjoy filling your pretty mouth.”

  “Try it,” she invited, baring her teeth.

  “We have her,” he said into the phone, then listened for a response. “Bueno.” Pressing a button, he turned the screen toward Isabel, letting her look. A man who resembled Jaime was there, staring back at her. It was his father, Manuel Carranza.

  “I need to know what happened to my son,” he said.

  Isabel had never been on a video conference call. She struggled to an upright position, sitting
in the dirt.

  “If you tell me the truth, I’ll let you go. You have my word.”

  “Your word means nothing to me,” she said, incredulous.

  “Please,” he added, his eyes so much like Jaime’s that she felt haunted by them. “I want to hear about his last moments. I have to understand why he died.”

  She fell silent, weighing her options. There was no benefit in cooperating. They’d kill her no matter what she said.

  “Maybe I’ll pay a visit to your mother,” Carranza said. “From what I’ve heard, she’s quite desperate to find you. I think she’d agree to meet with me.”

  Her stomach tightened with fear. “Leave her alone.”

  “Talk to me and I will.”

  She’d rather die resisting, standing strong. But she couldn’t take the chance that he’d go after her mother. Brandon might be bleeding in an alleyway, or lying dead, because of her. Agony spread through her chest, threatening to suffocate her. She’d already hurt so many people she loved. Her mother was the only family member she had left.

  “Do you promise?” she asked, although she didn’t trust him.

  “Of course. I don’t enjoy harming women.”

  Taking a ragged breath, she agreed to talk. After a long moment, she lifted her chin, preparing to unsettle him with the disturbing story. She hoped he would choke on it. “I met Jaime at Club Deuce in Hollywood. He went there to socialize and sell drugs. I was one of his best customers.”

  Carranza waited for her to continue, his brow furrowed.

  “On the night he … died, he seemed upset, as if a problem was bothering him. I bought him a few drinks, trying to cheer him up. He said he appreciated my company because I didn’t hang all over him like the other girls.”

  A hint of resistance flickered in Carranza’s eyes. Perhaps, deep down, he already knew where this was going.

  “Jaime wanted to leave so we took a cab to my place. I’m not clear about what happened after that, but I remember one important detail.”

  “What?”

  “He had a new wristband,” she said, shifting her own wrists behind her back. “Like a brass cuff. He said you ordered him to take it off because it wasn’t masculine. He tried to come out to you, but you wouldn’t listen—”