THE EDGE OF TRUST (TEAM EDGE)

by KT Bryan

  Sara grabbed Dillon’s arm as she gaped at the fall. The thin air.

  He yelled over the thunderous roar of rushing water, “Ever see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?”

  Sara sucked in a breath and backed up a step. Oh no. No way. Nuh-uh.

  He grinned and said, “Don’t worry, we’re not jumping.” Then he muttered, “Yet,” under his breath and turned to go down the side of the mountain.

  She balked. “Yet, my ass. If you think I’m jumping off perfectly stable ground into that death trap, you’re nuts.”

  With a shrug he said, “I suppose that’s debatable,” then grabbed her hand and tugged her along behind him. “Let’s go.”

  She went, but she didn’t like wondering if he just might be crazy enough to jump over the side and take her with him.

  They went steadily downhill for several minutes, staying close to the edge, until their path dead-ended.

  Dillon stopped short and looked around. The foliage was thinner here because the terrain was rockier, which totally sucked considering there was about twenty yards of open ground between them and the jungle canopy. They’d be easy targets if they left the edge of trees now and tried going back into the jungle.

  Wiping the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt, he knelt under the edge of a small tree to consider their options. They could either make a run for it, leaving what little cover they had, and pray like hell, or jump. The pool of water was only about ten or fifteen feet down now from their current position and he figured it wouldn’t be too bad of a jump, except for one thing.

  The rapids.

  If they jumped from here, there was a good chance they’d get sucked downriver by the rapids and even though he was a strong swimmer, he didn’t really want to take that chance with Sara. She looked exhausted.

  Which meant they were going to have to make a run for it back into the jungle. Standing, he took a couple of steps into the open and looked up, shading his eyes with his hands. Maybe if the chopper wasn’t too close—

  Bullets erupted at his feet and he dove backward.

  Shit. So much for choices.

  He grabbed Sara’s right hand with his left. “On the count of three.”

  She looked at him as though he’d lost every bit of sense he’d ever had. Hell, maybe he was nuts, but right now crazy was their only option.

  <><><>

  “One.” He threw her duffel over the edge.

  “Two.” His went next.

  “Three.” Dillon jumped, Sara’s arm jerked hard and then suddenly she was airborne, her body weightless.

  Time stopped. They hung suspended for the space of a heartbeat, with nothing beneath their feet but air, then gravity took hold and the turquoise water below rushed toward them.

  Bullets split the air, so infinitesimally close that Sara could hear the whining sound pass her ear. Right now she wanted nothing more than to hit the water and go under—anything that would hide them from the chopper’s guns.

  In the back of her panicked mind, she wondered if maybe this was it. Seconds became hours, bullets flew past, and she was sure they were going to die.

  The realization flashed through her mind that this was the end of the road. The eleventh hour. She was literally between the devil and the deep blue sea…and there was no way out.

  In the next instant she hit feet first, and a mountain of frothy white water sucked her under. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t do anything except pray.

  An eternity passed as she pitched and rolled beneath the water, clawing and fighting her way toward the surface. Her eyes, nose, and mouth filled with churning water and her head felt like it was about to split open.

  Terrified, she tried to right herself, and lungs burning, finally emerged gasping for air only to swallow a mouthful of water before being tossed under again. When she didn’t have an ounce of breath left, she fought her way clear of the turbulent foot of the falls, finally emerging to gulp in great breaths of air, only to have the river push her further downstream.

  Straight toward the rapids.

  Frantic, she tried to grab onto something, anything to stop her forward momentum, but the rocks were slick and the banks of the river too far away.

  The rapids grabbed her and whisked her down river at a breakneck speed.

  Before she realized what was happening, powerful hands grabbed her and pulled her away from the strong current, pulled her closer to the riverbank, giving her just the opening she needed.

  As the current weakened for a few precious seconds, she fought harder and finally broke through. Sparse trees sheltered this part of the river, a few vines tangled against the bank, and she desperately pulled herself forward, her fingers clawing for a hold. At last she managed to snag some sort of root.

  With her momentum finally stopped, Dillon managed to lift her out of the water and settle her on the soft undergrowth of the bank. “Are you okay?”

  Rising from her belly onto all fours, she choked, coughed, and for the next several seconds concentrated on getting in air. One hacking breath after another. “Oh. My. God!”

  Once she finally caught her breath, she stood and checked herself over. Nothing was broken but her whole body was drained and sore, and it felt like she’d just run a marathon even though she couldn’t have been in the water for more than two minutes. Three at the most.

  They were maybe a quarter of a mile from where they’d jumped and the thin awning of leaves overhead didn’t afford much cover, so when she heard the familiar whoop, whoop, whoop, of the helicopter again, she froze.

  The chopper wasn’t far, still overhead, circling, looking, hunting. Getting closer.

  Dillon grabbed the duffels from where he’d tossed them out of the river, grabbed her hand, and hauled her helter-skelter deeper into the jungle. “Come on, Sara, hurry!”

  “I’m trying!”

  When they were relatively safe, Dillon said, “We’re going to stay put for a minute, give them a chance to head further downriver.” He let go of her, dropped the bags and motioned for her to sit.

  She didn’t move. Wasn’t sure she could. Between the bullets practically singeing her hair, nearly drowning, then being yanked into the jungle like a pull-toy, she hadn’t gotten quite coherent yet.

  Dillon dug in his duffel for weapons and after checking to make sure they were loaded, stuck his pistol under his shirt at the small of his back and snapped up his rifle. Ready to move out, he studied Sara’s face and asked, “Are you okay?”

  She should have felt comforted by the concern in his voice. She didn’t. “Am I okay? Am I okay?” She wanted to hit him. “You almost killed us!”

  “We’d both be dead right now if we hadn’t jumped.”

  “You both may be dead regardless.” The cold voice spoke from directly behind them.

  <><><>

  Adoña sipped her wine and considered the man seated across from her on the veranda. She did not trust him, but she did believe him. When he’d come to her two years ago and told her that Dario was an undercover operative for the United States, that his real name was Dillon Caldwell, she’d been scared. Scared enough to leave the only life she’d ever known behind. If Dillon could get past her husband, finagle his way into their family, then so could a rival.

  She would not take that chance with Dreena.

  And so she had asked for his help and together they had come up with the idea for the explosion. It had all been simpler than she’d thought and she and Dreena had finally escaped.

  She had liked Dillon and was sad to have deceived him, but what choice did she have? If Raphael ever found out she was alive, he would use his power to take Dreena away from her. And then he would kill her.

  So, did she regret what she’d done? No, she couldn’t say she did. Her child was safe, out of Mexico, and the man she was having lunch with had so far kept his word. As for Dario, well, he would never know, his heart would suffer for Dreena and then it would heal.

  She had a new ident
ity now and enough money saved that she could go wherever, do whatever, she wanted. Perhaps she would take Dreena to Spain or Brazil. Somewhere Raphael would never find them.

  “Have you decided?” the man asked.

  “Not yet, no. Perhaps we will go to the Caribbean. Dreena has happy memories there.”

  “Things in Mexico are going as expected. Raphael will either get the drive or he won’t. Either way he’s finished. Caldwell too. How that happens depends on who comes out of this alive.”

  Adoña nodded.

  “I will handle the rest of this myself. I’m not taking any more chances with that flash drive. I can assure you that whoever is left standing will be more than happy to give it to me.” His greed was colossal.

  One day soon, she’d be free. Free to leave and live a life she chose, not one her father or husband, or this man, chose for her.

  Adoña sipped her wine and hoped to heaven that Caldwell killed them all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  No.

  Dillon whirled, his rifle leading, and stopped cold.

  Eight men, all dressed in jungle camouflage, had automatic weapons trained directly on him.

  The day that, only minutes ago, couldn’t seem to get any worse, did just that when Dillon found himself staring into the eyes of a ninth man. The man he hated.

  “Sanchez.” He said the name without inflection but his gut churned with revulsion.

  Beside him, Sara gasped.

  He should have known something was wrong when the helicopter had veered off, but he’d been so worried about the rapids, about getting Sara out of the water…

  Fuck. He’d let his guard down. For nearly thirty whole minutes he hadn’t paid attention. Christ, what a stupid, rookie, dumbass thing to do.

  “Take their weapons.” Sanchez ordered one of his men.

  Dillon’s finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle. It would be so easy to wipe that smug look off Rafael’s face. So easy to avenge his family’s death. To help make amends for Sara. One bullet would do the trick. Just squeeze a little more...

  He wanted nothing more than to shoot Sanchez and every single one of his henchmen, but he had to think rationally. He still had to find his child. And Matt.

  Disgusted, he handed over his rifle and machete, hoping like hell Sanchez wouldn’t have him searched. He still had his pistol tucked behind his back and he damn well planned on keeping it.

  He glanced at Sara and found her staring in panic at the men surrounding them.

  Under his breath he whispered, “It’s going to be okay.”

  <><><>

  Okay? Ice surged through Sara’s veins. How was it going to be okay? Eight machine guns were ready to cut them in half and the men holding them looked like they could do it with pleasure.

  Then there was Sanchez.

  Smarter, leaner, and, even without a gun, deadlier. She shuddered in disgust and fear, remembering his touch, his laughter, his sadistic words.

  She wanted to watch him bleed.

  Instead of camouflage, he wore a navy blue business suit, sharp and crisp, and despite the sweltering heat, he wasn’t even sweating.

  My God, he’s really not human.

  “Rafael Sanchez is a butcher...”

  “Want me to tell you what Rafael Sanchez does with sweet little girls like you? Things I’m sure you could never imagine.”

  Oh, she could imagine all right. Another shudder of fear rocked through her. For a long moment she stared at the man who she knew, without a single solitary doubt, was going to kill not only her, but Dillon and Ellie and Matt as well. His eyes were soulless, filled with hate, and she knew right then that the flash drive didn’t matter. He wanted them dead. He wanted revenge.

  He’d kill them, and he’d keep on killing. As long as he breathed, innocent people were going to die.

  And for the first time, the reality, the depth of Dillon’s hatred, hit her. Really hit her hard and she completely understood his desperate need for vengeance.

  Sanchez needed to die.

  When he transferred his gaze from Dillon to her, her heartbeat literally threatened to choke her.

  “You are going to die, Señora Caldwell. I’m going to take you, make your body my own. I’m going to hurt you, yet you will beg me for more...you will know that once I am finished with you, you are going to die.”

  Sanchez’s gaze zeroed in on her breasts and lingered, then with a slight inclination of his head, he looked her in the eye and said, “A pleasure to see you again.”

  “You will beg me to take you, hurt you, once again. Over and over.”

  She wanted to throw up.

  Determined not to let him see her sweat, she lifted her chin and said with cold dignity, “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”

  Sanchez smiled. A terrible, sickening smile that said, “You don’t know the meaning of sorry--but I’ll be happy to make sure you learn it.”

  With a slight nod of his head, he signaled for the same guard who had taken their weapons to search Dillon.

  <><><>

  Adrenaline surged through Dillon. No way could he let the guard find his pistol.

  The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could play it cool and pray, or he could use a diversion. Since he generally had better luck with diversions, he put his hands on his head, spread his feet apart, and hopped from one foot to the other. “I need to take a leak.”

  Sanchez looked annoyed at the vulgarity. “You will hold still.”

  “I’m telling you, I’ve gotta piss.”

  Sanchez signaled to another guard who raised his rifle. “Perhaps shooting you in the leg will help you to hold still.”

  Dillon lifted his hands off his head for just a second in supplication and slowed the movement of his feet. “Patient as always, I see.” Mother fucker.

  As the guard patted him down, Dillon squirmed just enough to keep the guard from reaching around to his back.

  Not that he had to try very hard, the idiot guard seemed more interested in searching Sara anyway, which really pissed him off.

  Turning his gaze from the guard to Sanchez, Dillon spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, “Leave her. She carries no weapons.”

  “Search her,” Sanchez fired back.

  The guard’s smile flashed as he leered appreciatively at Sara. His gaze traveled from her breasts to her feet, leisurely inspecting the way her sweat-dampened fatigues clung to her body. Lust flared in his eyes.

  She put her hands on her head, fixed her gaze over the man’s shoulder, and held still as the guard started touching her.

  He finished patting down her legs and, grinning stupidly, he brought his hands up to her ribs. Then he touched her breasts and squeezed.

  Dillon’s control broke. He struck out, grabbed the guard by the arm, snapped every finger in half backward.

  At the same time, Sara’s boot came up hard between the man’s legs.

  The Mexican roared in pain and went for his rifle.

  Seven guns cocked simultaneously.

  “Stop!” Sanchez ordered, glaring at the guard before he turned toward Dillon. “Control your bitch, Señor Caldwell, before I am forced to.”

  The guard straightened and, cradling his broken hand, eyed them both with hatred.

  Dillon spit on the ground in front of him. “Might wanna teach these pigs of yours some manners.”

  Sanchez inclined his head. “You are right, of course.”

  <><><>

  Sara watched in silent apprehension as Sanchez pulled a silver pistol from inside his jacket and walked over to the guard.

  Surely he wouldn’t...

  Sanchez raised his arm.

  Apprehension surged into terror. She wanted to close her eyes, couldn’t. Oh God. The guard didn’t deserve to die--

  The gun cocked.

  Sanchez fired point blank into the man’s head.

  “Nooo!” Sara screamed the word as her legs started to go.

  “Nooo!” Another voice screamed. Female. P
leading. Horrified.

  Strong arms clamped around Sara from behind.

  Something, maybe a tooth or part of the guard’s skull, hit her in the cheek.

  Blood splattered her T-shirt.

  She had to get away.

  Dillon turned her in his arms and tried to hold her but she pushed away hard and fell to her knees.

  She clawed at her shirt, at the horrible, warm stickiness on her face. Bile rose in her throat.

  That wasn’t your father. Not your father. Not...

  Nightmare. This had to be a nightmare. But then she saw the guard’s dead body less than five feet away, with blood pooling around him, and the smell was so strong it had to be real. Scrabbling backward on all fours, she retched.

  Dillon’s words hammered at her. “Sanchez is a demon, and he’ll kill you without thinking twice...”

  She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want Ellie or Dillon or Matt to die. But Sanchez was going to kill them. She knew it. It didn’t matter that they had the drive, Sanchez was going to kill them anyway and she’d never get the chance to tell Dillon how much she loved him...

  Wait.

  Somehow, someway, there might still be a chance. Closing her eyes, she gulped several ragged breaths struggling for control.

  You can handle this.

  You have to handle this.

  Pressing her lips together, she looked up to see Dillon coming toward her.

  She shook her head no. He wasn’t going to baby her through this. She composed herself and stood on her own, facing both men.

  She spared a glance at Dillon first and said, “I’m fine.” Then she turned to Sanchez and said without flinching, “Your daughter would be proud.”

  Sanchez’s eye ticked. Veins stood out in his neck. “And your daughter may still be punished. You may take that as a warning. Do not anger me again, Señora Caldwell.”

  “Or what? You’ll kill us?” The words were so on target that she almost burst with hysterical laughter. Except there was nothing at all funny about this situation.

  “Not at first, no.”

  Dillon had to stop this before Sara pushed Sanchez too far. “I have the flash drive. Let my family go and I’ll give it to you.” Not that it’ll do you any good, you bastard.