by Karin Story
Tom's fists clenched at the sexual innuendo. Bastard. He bared his teeth, tired of playing the game. "So now it's down to you and me, Trent. Isn't this what you always wanted anyway? The two of us, face to face?"
"In a manner of speaking. I'd always hoped we could be on the same side though, my boy. But you never could let that happen, could you?" He stepped down from the rock so he and Tom were on equal footing, and in a theatrical display, released the magazine from his gun and let it fall to the ground. Then he pulled the slide back and shook out the round that had been chambered.
Lovingly, he ran his hands over the piece with another performance worthy of the stage, then laid it down with a flourish on the ground nearby. "There. Now we're equals. Just you and me, as you put it, face to face."
Tom studied him and his cocky attitude. He'd always believed it would be Trent's downfall, and he had a feeling he might just be right about that.
Maris had done more for him that just even the odds with men and weapons. She'd also given him a display of superb acting. More than once.
The night in the morgue when she'd played the scared innocent, sucking the fake guard into her act, then nailing him in the balls when he least expected it. The way she'd played the cool, worldly woman in the cantina, as Señora Martinez had told him, leading the man to believe he could take what he wanted, then breaking his fingers. How she'd pretended to be drugged for five days, then lured Chen close and killed him with her knife. And tonight, letting all of them believe she'd used up her ammunition, then waiting until the unsuspecting men were right in her face before finishing off the two rounds she'd hoarded for that purpose.
Yes, Maris had shown him over and over that size, bulk, and sheer physical force weren't necessarily the only ways, nor the best ways, to overcome an opponent.
Timing was important. And quickness.
But most of all, it was the mind game.
He smiled inwardly. Trent liked dishing out games. Let's see how he liked being on the receiving end.
"So what do you want to do, fight it out the old-fashioned way?" he retorted. "Mano y mano?"
"Why not?" Trent smirked. "I find you a worthy opponent. Are you feeling up to it, my boy? After everything you've been through?"
"I think I can probably dig up the energy from somewhere." But instead of standing straight, he made a point of limping a sidestep. The truth was, his leg did hurt like hell, but not nearly as much as he pretended. He didn't doubt that he could walk on it just fine if he chose to. He just didn't choose to right now.
"Ah, you've hurt your leg, boy. Maybe you should reconsider?" Trent asked with pseudo-concern as he circled Tom.
"I'll be fine."
"If you say so." Trent took a swing at him, which he managed to duck, then returned one of his own, catching the edge of Trent's jaw.
Trent landed a solid punch to his midsection, causing him to gasp.
Round and round they circled, throwing punches, scuffling across the rock. Tom made a point of letting Trent best him on more than one occasion, which, as he suspected, fed Satan's enormous ego.
His shoulder burned like a son of a bitch, sending waves of pain spiraling down his arm and across his back, but he forced himself to concentrate on the gloating man in front of him.
"My boy, my boy, why don't you just call a time-out if you need a rest."
Tom merely growled at him, wearying of this game and finding it harder and harder to hold himself in check. What he wanted to do was knock the bastard down on the ground, strangle him, then thrust the knife into him and slice open his gullet.
Patience. Patience. It's the mind game, remember?
He also knew there was no way in hell this would be a fair fight. Trent would have his own little surprise stashed away somewhere. Maybe a small gun. Or a knife. And that kept him on his toes and thinking straight.
Blood trickled from Trent's nose, giving him an even stronger resemblance to evil incarnate. His perfectly pressed linen shirt had blood droplets on the collar, and his slacks looked a little worse for the wear, streaked with dirt. But he held himself firmly, and Tom knew from experience that in spite of Trent's fine threads and sophisticated bearing, he'd scrapped and fought his way to the position he was in. He'd been dirty before.
He allowed Trent to land another punch to his stomach, but he was getting tired and didn't tighten his abdominal muscles quickly enough. He sucked in air, trying to recover. He couldn't do this much longer. The days in Trent's stronghold, the river ordeal, the travel through the jungle, the gunshots, were all taking their toll.
At last, legitimately exhausted, he stumbled, and Trent took advantage of the moment to kick him in the stomach, dropping him to his knees. Acting quickly, Tom reached out and pulled Trent's feet out from under him, so he landed with a thud on the ground next to him.
Quick as lightening, a small revolver appeared in Trent's hand, and he held it to Tom's temple. "Now, boy, we'll see who is the master and who is the slave."
Tom froze. Slowly, covertly, he pulled Maris's knife out of his pocket where he'd placed it earlier.
Trent rose to his feet and kicked Tom in the ribs.
He grunted as streaks of pain shot through his entire body, but still, he held his ground. Let Trent put on his show. It's what he did best. Make him comfortable, secure in his dominance.
"Look at me, boy. Look at me and see who could have made you if you'd cooperated. See the face of the man who will now take your life."
Unhurriedly, Tom raised his head and gazed at Trent. The arrogant, evil son of a bitch. Yeah, he looked at him all right. Looked at Trent and remembered every time he'd given the word for Chen to begin carving on him. Remembered how Trent had used Elise, then murdered her. And the security guard. And Sarah. How he'd tried to use Maris against him. How he'd stolen away thirteen months of his life, leaving his family to think him dead.
Hatred swelled in him, building to a cold, steely resolve.
"Stand up boy. Meet your maker like a man, on your own two feet."
At a leisurely pace, Tom rose to his full height where he could look at Trent eye to eye. Maris's knife burned a hole in his hand, and he swore he could feel it pulsing. "Are you God now, Montgomery?"
Trent smiled smugly. "I've always been God, boy. Haven't you figured that out by now? I'm God and you're merely a lowly minion who will quickly be put out of his misery."
"And all along I thought you were just a two-faced traitor."
So deep into his megalomania that reality could never intrude, Trent's smile became particularly demonic. "I've always known where I was going. Someday the Tom Ebersons and Juan Cardozas of the world will merely be dust under my boots. You should have joined me while you had the chance. Sorry you couldn't ever see my vision, boy. We could have done well together."
Tom raised his eyebrows, belying his fury and the stiff tension which thrummed in his body. "I guess you were just too much for me, weren't you? I didn't know how to play your game."
Trent's gun never wavered from his temple.
"A pity, too. My games are such…fun!" Trent began to chuckle. "Now, I suppose I should be fair about this. Any last words?"
"Yeah," Tom grunted.
"Well, speak up!"
He let his gaze burn into the devil, searing him with his hatred. "Surprise," he said quietly, the sound of the waterfall absorbing the single word.
"What's that?" Trent shouted, his humor still evident on his face.
Tom leaned just a little closer to him, and said just a little louder, "I said…surprise." With a solid thrust, he shoved Maris's knife between Trent's ribs and buried it to the hilt in his heart.
Delayed reaction was a sight to behold, and in Trent's case, he couldn't even conceive of the possibility that he'd just been bested. He continued to smile for another full second before reality came crashing in on him.
Trent fired the gun. Tom deflected it so that the shot fired harmlessly into the air, and the gun fell out of the man's suddenl
y limp hand.
Then Tom kicked him in the stomach and watched with satisfaction as he doubled over and dropped to the ground. He kicked him again. And again. Then he picked up Trent's gun and leaned over him as Trent gasped for air.
"Now it's your turn to look into the eyes of the man who's killed you," he spat out. "So look well and remember as you rot in hell."
Even at the end, the egomaniacal glow refused to leave Trent's eyes. He only smiled and gurgled, "Touché."
Tom pointed the gun at Trent's head and pulled the trigger, over and over until the revolver was empty. Then without warning, his knees collapsed underneath him and he dropped to the ground a few feet away, shaking violently.
"It's over, my friend." The voice came from behind him, shouting to be heard over the water. He felt a solid, reassuring pat on his back. "At great personal cost to you, I'm afraid, but it's over."
Tom accepted the hand that was offered him, and let it pull him up. It was over, yes. But there was no comfort for him in that knowledge. The price had been too high.
"My men have rounded up the last of Montgomery's soldiers. I only wish we'd arrived sooner. Come."
Tom shook his head. "I have to know something first. I have to see for myself what happened."
He pulled away and staggered back to the edge of the cliff where he'd last seen Maris. Scrambling on his hands and knees, the other man by his side, they peered over the edge of the rocks into the darkness.
"What are we looking for, my friend?"
"The love of my life is down there somewhere, and I'm not leaving until I know what happened to her," he choked out.
"Well, Dios mio, why did you not say so!" Juan Cardoza rose up and whistled shrilly through his fingers, motioning to several of his men. "We need lights and ropes. Someone may be alive down there. Hurry!"
His men scurried to do his bidding.
"It will be dawn soon, my friend. We will find her. We will find her."
Tom could only nod.
Please God, by some miracle, let her be alive.
Chapter 30
* * *
There was no way someone could survive a drop off that cliff.
He'd known it in his heart.
"When it's fully light, we'll look again," Cardoza told him, handing him a bottle of water. "We cannot see into all the crevices with the lights we have. The sun will be fully up in another half-hour. Do not give up hope, my friend."
Tom didn't respond. Couldn't respond.
He'd let her go. He'd made the conscious decision to release his grip on her and let her go.
Trust me, she'd said. She'd had that determined gleam in her eye that he'd seen before, and for that split second, he'd believed. Or tried to believe anyway.
But no amount of believing or trust could have allowed her to sprout wings, or have a hidden parachute on her back.
From what they could see with the search lights, the cliffs were a combination of sheer, straight walls, and jutting needle sharp spires. No one could survive a fall onto those.
He sat on the ground six feet from the edge where he'd last seen her, last touched her. His knees were drawn up to his chest, the water bottle Cardoza had handed him dangled from his limp hand. Desolation had settled into his bones leaving him numb. He'd been sitting here for the last half-hour trying to think positive thoughts, tell himself that he'd finally be able to see his family again.
But it didn't matter. None of that did, because it wasn't what he wanted.
He wanted sparkling green eyes, soft chestnut curls, her gentle touch against his skin. He wanted the laughter, the closeness, the tears, the joy, the completeness that only she could give him.
How in the hell could he live without her?
An enormous tide of emptiness swept through him, leaving him gasping for air, crushing his insides, swallowing him in its black void.
No! She said to trust. You have to do that, until you see with your own eyes that she's gone.
"Señor, I think I see something." One of Cardoza's men still leaned over the edge, training a light into the depths.
Tom gulped. He couldn't let his hopes get too high. That was a nasty, evil drop. The man probably saw another rock, or a shadow.
"Let's have a look, Javier." Cardoza climbed over the rubble and joined his man.
"Do you see? Right there, where that sharp rock leans toward the cliff."
"Sí, possibly something." Cardoza leaned out over the edge slightly and shouted, "Hello!" The sound was quickly absorbed by the water. "Hello!" he tried again.
The first rays of the morning sun shot across the horizon, the red and pink light dancing on the torrential spray of the waterfall.
"Tom! Thomas!" Cardoza called to him.
Tom stiffly turned toward him, trying to maintain control, squinting from the glow off the water.
"My friend, I think you should come here, quickly."
A tremor of hope caused his heart to skip a beat, but he squashed it. He could not get his hopes up. Pulling his bone-weary body off the ground, he stumbled to join the other men.
"Look, Señor Tomás, in that crevice right there." Javier spiraled the light in a circle to indicate the area he was talking about. "Do you see that hint of white?"
"I…I think so," he squinted, trying to get a clear view. There wasn't much there to see.
"It moved!" Javier cried. "Did you see it? It moved!"
Yeah, now he could see it a little better. It looked like it had moved from its previous position.
"I will go down and take a look," the eager man said. He was fortyish, stocky, with bulging muscles, and not a hint of gray in his coal black hair. His eyes sparkled with genuine interest and concern.
"Yes." Cardoza anchored the rope as the man cinched on a climbing harness.
Tom continued to peer over the edge, his spirits bottoming out again. If it was her, she was…was…God, he couldn't even say the word. He should be the one going down there to see her body first. It was his place.
"I'll go," he choked out.
"No!" Cardoza and Javier responded in unison.
"You have neither the strength nor the energy," Cardoza said. "Your shoulder is badly injured, you are exhausted. You would make only a couple of movements on that rope and you would fall. Then we would be picking up the pieces of your body, no?" He rested a hand on Tom's good shoulder. "Javier will go and you will stay here. That's an order. Take this as my last order to you as your superior."
Tom shook himself away from the dark man. Damn it, he knew Juan spoke the truth. But it was still his place. And his right.
"Javier, you go now. You give the rope one tug if it's her. Another two tugs after that if she's alive." Juan Cardoza was a man used to being in charge.
"Sí. I will return shortly, God willing." He disappeared over the rocky edge.
Tom returned to his position of gazing down at the white spot. The sun had risen farther, and the side of the cliff was bathed in pale yellow light now. But the area where they'd seen the speck of white was in shadow. He wanted to shout out Maris's name, but there was no point. He could barely hear himself think, or hear the people around him talking. If it was her, and if by some slim miracle she was alive, his voice would never reach her.
The prickly little tickle of hope was back, and no matter how he tried, he couldn't crush it this time. It clung perversely to him like a burr. Trust me, she'd said.
I'm trying to, baby. I'm trying to trust.
Javier was about three fourths of the way to the spot now. Frankly, Tom was amazed at how quickly the stocky man had scurried down the rope. Much faster than he ever could have.
He and Cardoza, side by side, stared intently into the wet, hellish landscape.
"He's nearly there," Cardoza breathed.
Tom nodded, unable to speak. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what Javier was going to find. Maybe it was better that he hadn't gone down there…so he could remember Maris as she was in life, not…well, not the way Javier
was probably going to find her.
Trust me, her voice whispered in his mind.
Several other men had gathered around now to watch the outcome, but Juan sent them away with a flick of his hand. "Get the first-aid supplies ready. Get the chopper warmed up. If she is alive, we may need to get her to medical help immediately."
The men turned without question to do his will, and Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want anyone else to be around when he found the news. Either good or bad.
"It looks like he has reached the right area."
Tom watched without responding. His heart filled his throat so full he thought he might gag, and his pulse rate tripled. Please God. He closed his eyes, trying to prepare himself.
"One tug. It is her, my friend!" Juan's voice burst with excitement.
Tom silently prayed. It was her, but there had been no further tugs. Another two tugs after that if she's alive, Juan had told Javier.
Blackness began to wrap its bony fingers around him.
Still no other movement from the rope.
His breathing came shallow and fast, his heart no longer kept any kind of regular tempo. And it was cold. So very cold.
"She is alive!" Juan bellowed, shaking him out of his self-imposed stupor. "Two tugs on the rope. He has found her and she is alive!"
An explosion ripped through Tom, shredding all his defenses, his emotions, and his pride.
"Alive?"
"Yes, my friend. Alive!"
"Alive?" he asked again. Then he gave into the urge he'd been fighting so hard against. He threw himself down on his stomach at the edge and cried out her name.
Several agonizing minutes later, he leaned out and locked onto the solid warm flesh of her arm. Life pulsed through him when her fingers closed around his.
He and Juan pulled Maris over the edge, and as her face came into view, she looked up at him and smiled. A tired, pained smile, but a smile that nonetheless sent sparks of joy through him.
