Aaron emerged behind her and shut the door. Camille cringed as the sound reverberated around them, even though she knew there was no logical reason to be stealthy. They were alone.
Not far away, a second car door shut. Aaron’s arms stiffened around Camille. A man cleared his throat. The faint light of a cell phone reflected off car windows two aisles over. They stood frozen, listening as the man, in heavily accented English, spoke the words running through Camille’s head.
“Someone else is here.”
It was probably a stowaway, someone too cheap to pay the price of a ferry ticket, someone like them who had hidden until the coast was clear. Just because Camille and Aaron lived in constant awareness of danger didn’t mean the rest of the world operated that way, too.
Hard-soled boots tapped a steady, unhurried pace along the floor, growing louder and closer. A flashlight flipped on, scanning over the cars like a floodlight at a prison sweeps the exercise yard at night. Camille and Aaron ducked, hunching next to the car door. This was no stowaway.
Maybe the ferry company kept a security officer with the autos to guard against vandalism. If that were the case, the risk to Camille and Aaron was potentially more substantial than being trapped overnight with a half dozen cartel thugs. They were in the country illegally and each was packing multiple weapons...including enough dynamite to sink the ferry.
Whether they were dealing with ferry security or the Cortez Cartel was immaterial at the moment, though. At the unmistakable chink-chink of a pump action shotgun cocking, Aaron dug his fingers into Camille’s arm and pulled her under the car.
Camille lay rigidly next to Aaron, listening to the blood pounding under her skin in syncopated rhythm with the boots clicking toward them along the metal floor.
She tucked the pack with the tracking device against the inside of the car’s rear tire, either hiding the evidence or keeping it safe for later—however the next critical minutes played out. When the light of the flashlight was bright enough for her to see Aaron’s silhouette on the floor next to her, she nudged him, then scooted out the other side of the car into the aisle. Aaron followed.
They crouched in the shadows, their guns pointed at the ground, their eyes fixated on the flashlight as it swung left and right, searching. Though it threatened to expose them, the flashlight gave Aaron and Camille the upper hand. They knew precisely where their opponent was, his direction and speed, whereas he could have no idea how many people he was dealing with or where they were.
Because the vehicles were laid out in a grid of even rows, Camille and Aaron’s options were limited to either moving in the same direction as their pursuer—beating him to the rear wall of the auto level and potentially cornering themselves—or the opposite, which meant they had to walk right past the person searching for them.
Keeping low, Aaron stepped toward the light. It was the same choice Camille would have made. He kept the pace slow and steady. Camille moved lightly on the balls of her feet in a crouched position under the level of the car windows they passed.
When the light swept over the car they were behind, they molded themselves against the tires until the beam passed over the tops of their heads. They continued moving until they stood on the opposite side of a small pickup truck from the person searching for them.
Peering through the truck windows, they were finally able to size up their opponent—a single man, tall and bulky. It was impossible to tell if he wore a security uniform or if he was a cartel operative, but he was indeed carrying a shotgun that he steadied by tucking under his arm. It was an odd choice of weapon because it required two hands to steady and fire. He would have to either drop the flashlight or hold it in his mouth to shoot accurately.
Camille’s confidence blossomed. They could get this guy. Piece of cake.
After the man walked away from them, Aaron rose and jogged to the end of the aisle, Camille trailing him closely. When Aaron stopped, the rubber sole of his sneaker squeaked. They dropped to their stomachs next to the bumper of the first car on the row. Aaron cursed under his breath.
The flashlight beam grew erratic, waving wildly, then bobbing as the man trotted in their direction. Aaron unzipped his pack. Camille’s eyes had adjusted enough to the dimness that she could make out the roll of tape and shirt he removed.
In the barest whisper, they hashed out the details of Aaron’s plan. He shoved the shirt into his pocket, wore the tape like a bracelet and picked up his gun. “Let’s move.”
They sprinted across the aisle the man was running on and ducked behind the nearest car. There were several feet of space between that car and the motor home behind it. Camille crept behind Aaron into the shadow between the two vehicles, completely concealed behind the height of the motor home, and concentrated on the beam of light as it grew brighter. The clip-clop of the man’s shoes grew louder, closer.
She withdrew a D-volt battery from her pocket, one of two she’d grabbed in case the flashlight ran out of juice. She threw it. It landed with a clink several cars in front of them. The beam of light swerved toward the noise as the man jogged nearer.
They waited until he passed them. Then they burst forth and slammed into him, crushing him against a car hood. Camille pressed her gun to his temple. There was no need to speak. He got her message loud and clear and raised his arms in surrender.
Aaron disarmed him and took the flashlight and cell phone. Their captive twisted around, trying to see who had accosted him, but Aaron was smart enough not to reveal their identities and shone the flashlight into the man’s face. He jolted and closed his eyes against the brightness.
Aaron and Camille shared a questioning look. She didn’t recognize the man. Could be a cartel operative, could be ferry security. Aaron tore a strip of tape and affixed it over the man’s mouth. The T-shirt went over his head. He crossed the man’s wrists behind him and secured them with tape.
They marched their captive to the old, gray beater they’d hidden in initially. Aaron shoved him into the front passenger seat and taped his still-blindfolded head and torso to the seatback, rendering him immobile from the waist up.
As an extra precaution, Camille snapped both the interior doorknobs off. Even if the guy managed to wiggle a hand free, he wouldn’t be able to escape. The owner of the car would be in for a shock the next morning, but Camille and Aaron planned on being long gone by then—before whoever the man called on his cell phone had a chance to spot them.
She retrieved the pack from under the car and they worked their way to the delivery truck. They scooted along the ground on their backs until they were staring at the truck’s filthy undercarriage. Aaron assumed flashlight duty while Camille searched for the perfect nook in the space between the frame and the floor of the truck bed, finding one such spot near the front wheel axle.
The explosives that had seemed unassuming as they sat in the pack felt volatile and deadly as she rested them on her chest. The dynamite sticks were bundled together with tape, then strapped to a 6-volt battery and topped with a cell-phone detonator and the tracking device. Once they’d secured Rosalia’s safety, all Camille would need to do was dial that phone’s number using the cell phone in her pocket and...boom.
Her hands, sweating and shaky with nerves, fumbled the duct tape Aaron handed her as she picked at its tacky edge, trying to get it started. Twice, she dropped it.
Aaron took the tape and pulled out a length. “We’ve got all night. Try to relax.”
“There’s dynamite sitting on my heart. I’m not going to relax.”
“All right, then, let’s get it over with.”
Camille glanced sideways at him, then tucked the bomb above the axle. She wound the duct tape around the bomb and the frame over and over again until she was satisfied that no matter how many potholes the truck was bound to hit between the ferry terminal and the warehouse, the device wouldn’t move or fall off.
Aaron jostled the device a bit to double-check her handiwork. “That’s good enough. Let’s find somepl
ace to crash for the rest of the night.”
He helped Camille up and used the flashlight to check on their captive, who had remained silent and unmoving in the car. He led the way to a pickup truck that gave them a clear view of the man should they point a beam of light his direction. Camille stepped over various tools and ropes in the truck bed and sat against the cab. Aaron settled next to her and slung an arm around her shoulders.
In less time than she would have liked, the flashlight flickered and dimmed, then went out. In the darkness, Camille and Aaron instinctively pulled closer together.
“I don’t think we should use our other flashlight, especially since we don’t have enough backup batteries anymore,” he said. “It’s going to be a long night and who knows why we might need them later.”
“You’re right. Good call.”
Camille had never feared darkness. But here, in the guts of a rusty ship amid cars lined up like metal caskets, with the stomach-turning stench of car exhaust and the ghostly creaking of the ship joints, it took her only a few minutes to realize how terrible this journey would have been without Aaron. The weight of his arm around her, his fingers entwined with hers, gave her the strength to keep the shadows at bay.
He pushed his watch light on and checked the time. “Only fifteen hours to go. Wanna make out?” He planted a kiss on her nose. “Oops, missed your mouth. Let me try again.”
He groped her face with his fingers, pretending he couldn’t find her lips. When he poked her in the ear, Camille smiled in spite of herself.
“Aha,” he exclaimed, pretending to find her mouth. She felt the smile on his lips when he kissed her, as though he found himself highly amusing.
“You’re a silly man.”
“Yes, but you secretly love that about me.”
She started to chuckle, but panic, sudden and violent, hit her like a sucker punch to her gut. She struggled for composure, but her brain was spinning so fast out of control that she feared she might pass out.
“Camille, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
But she wasn’t fine, and the pain had only just begun. Planting a tracking device and staging a dangerous rescue was a piece of cake compared to this. Oh, God, she really did have the worst luck in the world. Her whole damn life was one big cautionary tale.
At some point, and she wasn’t sure when because she hadn’t been paying close enough attention, she’d let her guard down. She knew better than to get emotional about her affair with a man who treated casual sex like a hobby, yet she’d done it anyway.
She’d fallen madly, eternally, head over heels in love with Aaron Montgomery.
She drew a silent gasp, desperate for air as an involuntary shiver rattled her spine.
Before he’d shone his bright light into her life, she lived as if alone on a distant, dark planet. When they first met, she found his good humor threatening, as though levity were a sign of weakness. It took two years and being taken hostage by a drug cartel, but Camille finally realized the immeasurable value of Aaron’s optimism. She had no idea how she would survive without him.
When they took down Rodrigo Perez and their mission was over, her plan was to go on a grand adventure. She was supposed to figure out what made her happy. What if she knew what made her happy, but he wasn’t hers to keep?
Registering her agitation, Aaron hauled her onto his lap. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She huffed. “I guess I have to be.”
“Do you think you could sleep? I’ll watch over you.” He pressed her head to his chest and stroked her hair.
His touch hurt. His ever-present chivalry hurt. She squeezed her eyes shut. She should push him away, start weaning herself from her dependence on him. Impossible. The weakling that she was, she’d cling to the brightest light in her life until she was forced back into the darkness.
That he would leave her was a given. She had nothing to hold him to her, no argument that could convince him to give her a chance. What was she supposed to say? I’m broken and pessimistic and awkward, but love me anyway. I have no career, no prospects, nothing to offer you but my sorry self...but I need you. You’re the only thing in this world that makes me happy. Maybe you would be happy with me, too.
Yeah, right.
Yet even though they would go separate ways after their mission, their connections to Juliana and Jacob would link them forever. Aaron would always be in her life, at barbecues and birthday parties, weddings and funerals. She would have to endure the sight of him flirting and dancing. It had been painful enough watching him with other women before she realized she loved him.
Someday, maybe she’d be able to watch him with detached fondness, remembering the adventure they shared in Mexico.
Someday, maybe.
For now, though, it was time to figuratively smack some sense into herself. Once she rescued Rosalia, she’d have a lifetime to feel the heartache that came with loving the wrong person and watching him walk away. Until then, she had work to do.
She reached into her pocket and fingered the cell phone that was the key to finding Rosalia. To drown out the sounds and odor of the ferry, she tucked her face under Aaron’s chin. She drank in his fresh, familiar scent and let his heartbeat lull her to sleep.
* * *
Aaron woke Camille as soon as the heavy metal door to the auto level opened. Grabbing their packs, they slunk over the side of the pickup and behind a motor home, where they stood until car owners filed in around them.
Camille’s heart pounded against her ribs and her hands shook with adrenaline and stress as she thought about the next few critical minutes. They had to make it past the commercial port’s armed guards and into a taxi. Not to mention the fact that the man they’d captured had tipped someone off over the phone about the presence of people in the auto level. She just prayed that whoever it was wasn’t waiting to ambush them the minute they stepped off the boat.
Aaron rummaged through his backpack with a concerned look on his face, muttering about how he couldn’t find his cell phone. Under the pretense that he left it in their cabin, they pushed through the throng of people pouring onto the auto level and up two flights of stairs to the pedestrian exit ramp.
They kept their heads down, walking fast. Camille could see a line of waiting taxis on the other side of the chain-link fence surrounding the port, past two armed security guards. Fifty yards to relative safety.
She scanned the crowd on the dock. No black sedans in sight, no Perez. No thug-looking cartel types at all, only families and businessmen, truckers and vacationers. They had this. They skirted a slow-moving family on the ramp and tucked behind a tall, overweight man.
The exit ramp gave way to solid ground. Camille and Aaron stayed with the crowd moving toward the exit. Only twenty yards to the taxis.
Holding her breath, she kept her face on her feet as she crossed paths with the guards. No one stopped her or Aaron. Aiming at a tiny, white hatchback taxi, she hastened her steps. Aaron outpaced her and piled into the backseat first to give directions to the driver in Spanish. Camille tugged her door, but something kept it from closing.
She looked up to see the barrel of a pistol in her face.
Carlos “Two Down” Reyes sat beside her, sneering as he shoved the gun against Camille’s throat. A second man dropped into the front passenger seat, a gun trained on the driver, who put the car in gear and started down the road in the opposite direction from La Paz. Camille clutched Aaron’s hand.
Two Down gave a wheezy laugh and ground the gun into her skin. “Let me guess, señorita. You’re the brains and he’s the brawn of your little operation?”
“Wrong, dimwit,” Aaron answered. “She’s the brains and the brawn. I’m just the arm candy.”
She glanced sideways at him and saw that his door hadn’t latched and he held it steady with his other hand. A plan took root in her mind. It wasn’t perfectly thought out, but it might be their only hope.
His eyes grew questioning as he tucked the items into his jacket pocket.
“I know you’ll come for me,” she said in the barest whisper.
“What?”
The taxi slowed to maneuver over a speed bump.
“This is the only way,” she said. She lunged at Two Down, deflecting his gun as she pushed Aaron out of the car with her feet. “Drive,” she shouted at the driver. He stepped on the gas. Camille pulled Aaron’s door shut as Two Down’s gun connected with the top of her skull. She fought against unconsciousness, but a second blow landed on her head and she was out.
Chapter 15
Aaron inspected the bloody road rash on his arm in the yacht’s bathroom mirror. “Dreyer? Montgomery.”
“Did something go wrong when you planted the tracking device?”
“Device is in place, but Fisher’s been taken.” What he didn’t bother to mention was that Camille finally managed to martyr herself. Stubborn, stubborn woman. If those men laid a hand on her, he’d blow the entire Baja Peninsula out of the water. “Patch me through to Santero. We’re going in tonight.”
“Fisher was kidnapped again by the Cortez Cartel? Are you sure?”
Aaron picked a bit of blacktop out of his skin and slammed it into the sink. “Do I sound confused?” He bit back the rest of the rant on the tip of his tongue, remembering too late that he was speaking to his superior.
“No, you don’t. Take a breath, Montgomery. Flying off the handle isn’t going to save her.”
He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I know that, sir. But going after her as soon as humanly possible will.”
“Roger that. I’ll contact Santero and green-light his team.”
Seduction Under Fire Page 16
