Without a Trace

by Velvet Vaughn

  “Damn,” he murmured. “How did you get me out of there? They beat me unconscious. I was dead to the world.”

  Amelia indicated Wyatt, who’d moved to the other bed but still watched them with eagle eyes. “Wyatt carried you through the forest.”

  “No effing way. I weigh a good two-twenty.”

  “Try two-thirty,” Wyatt grumbled.

  “Yeah, okay, two-thirty. How the hell did he manage to carry me out of there—wait. I just had a flashback. I vaguely remember a sensation like I was riding a horse upside down.”

  “You were tossed over Wyatt’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

  Ryan winced and touched his ribs. “That’s why they’re sore.”

  “Listen—” Wyatt started but Ryan held up a hand to stop him.

  “I’m not complaining. The opposite actually. I’m thankful.” His one eye assessed Wyatt. “You’re Australian?”

  “Born and raised in Sydney but I’m an American now. Took the test and everything.”

  He glanced from Wyatt to Amelia. “I don’t know how to thank you both. You saved my life. I have no doubt I’d be dead if you hadn’t gotten me out of there. Do you know what happened to the man I shot?”

  “He didn’t make it,” Amelia told him.

  Ryan sighed. “I didn’t want to kill him, but they left me no choice.”

  “Don’t feel guilty. We had to shoot several in our escape. And no thanks necessary,” Wyatt insisted.

  “What about my buddies? Were they in the cell, too?”

  “No. You were it besides the bad guys.”

  Ryan closed his eye. “We were travelling together but were separated. I hope they’re still alive, but they must be worried.” His lid blinked open and he glanced around the space. “Where exactly are we? No offense, but it doesn’t look much different than the cell.”

  “We’re in a hidden room in the back of a church in a remote village in Santigo. You either crossed over the border or they grabbed you and brought you here.”

  “They definitely brought me here, though I was close to the border. Santigo? Wow. Why are we hiding out in the back of a church?”

  “The people who abducted us are still after us,” Amelia told him. “We spotted them once, so they may not have given up recapturing us. Plus, we needed a place where you could recuperate.”

  “I still can’t believe you carried me through the jungle,” he said to Wyatt. “How did they grab you two?”

  “I was on a humanitarian mission with Doctors International,” Amelia explained. “I was abducted outside of the hospital.”

  “I thought aid workers were generally left alone,” he said. “Kinda an unwritten rule in the terrorist code.”

  “Yeah, we thought so, too,” Wyatt agreed.

  Ryan gestured to Wyatt. “What about you? I can’t imagine anyone getting the jump on you.”

  “I came to visit Amelia. The hospital where she worked was attacked and the staff was killed.” He glanced at Amelia. “They got me in a moment of weakness.”

  Amelia’s insides melted. He’d been worried about her. So worried that he forgot about his surroundings and Wyatt was the most aware, prepared person she knew. Ryan was right—not many people got the jump on him.

  “Were you a cop before you went to work for COBRA Securities? You act like one.”

  “Not a cop. I’m former RAAF, Royal Australian Air Force.”

  “Yeah? Sweet. I was CSOR.”

  “Canadian Special Operations Regiment,” Wyatt interpreted. “Impressive.”

  They started swapping stories of their time in the service. Whatever wariness Wyatt felt for Ryan was gone. They were now laughing and joking like old friends. Though most of what they said eluded her, she smiled as she organized her dwindling medical supplies, glad that the men were getting along. Ryan had used up a fair amount, plus the sedatives she’d utilized for the escape from the prison. If nothing major happened before they reached civilization, she’d be okay.

  Tiredness pulled at her and without thinking about it, she crawled on the bed and curled up against Wyatt. For now, they were safe. No one could find them, and they could sleep. After all they’d been through, it seemed too good to be true.

  #

  Amelia had dozed off a while ago while he and Ryan were swapping war stories. Ryan’s eyes—or rather, eye—started to droop and soon he was out, too. Wyatt carefully readjusted Amelia so she was lying with her back to his front, his arm holding her close. For the first time since he stepped foot in Santigo, he could let his guard down. It felt like the weight of the world had drained from his shoulders and it was all his body needed before he crashed.

  He awoke instantly hours later by the sound of the door creaking open. He automatically reached for his weapon. Amelia jerked upright. If he hadn’t moved his chin out of the way at the last second, she’d have conked him good.

  “What is it?”

  Father Juan stuck his head inside. “I hate to bother you all and I’m sorry to wake you. Dr. Amelia, I know you are resting, but there is a young girl. She fell and hurt her arm. I didn’t want to let anyone know you’re here, but her parents are worried. She’s been crying for hours.”

  Amelia didn’t hesitate to jump up and grab the backpack with her supplies. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Like bloody hell,” Wyatt growled.

  Amelia’s eyes widened. “It’s a young girl, Wyatt. She needs me.”

  “Yes, I know. But there’s no argument in the world that allows you go without me. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Father Juan cleared his throat. “You won’t have to leave the premises. She is here in the chapel with her parents. I told them that a missionary with medical expertise was passing through and could help her.”

  Wyatt took the bag from Amelia. “Lead the way, Father Juan.” He turned to see Amelia standing with her hands on her trim hips, her mouth puckered in annoyance. If not for the captive audience of an immobile soldier and man of the cloth, he’d kiss the look right off those succulent lips.

  Father Juan did a double take, his eyes widening as he stepped into the room and approached Ryan’s bed. “Ah, you’re awake. Praise God.”

  “Father Juan, this is Ryan Marx. Ryan, Father Juan has generously fed and housed us.”

  “How do you feel?” Father Juan asked.

  Ryan winced and shot a look at Wyatt, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish. Only English and French.”

  “He’s asking how you feel.”

  “Tell him I’m better and thank him for taking care of us. It’s very generous of him.”

  Wyatt quickly translated for Father Juan and he nodded and smiled at Ryan.

  “We’ll be back soon,” Amelia said.

  Ryan’s one good eye bounced from Wyatt to Amelia. “Wait—where are you going?”

  “A young girl hurt her arm. Her parents brought her to the church. I’m going to tend to the injury. We shouldn’t be gone long. Try to rest.”

  “Not a problem,” Ryan said, his lid already drooping as he dropped back to the pillow.

  Wyatt held out a hand for Amelia to proceed him. He slid the bookcase closed and followed them through Father Juan’s tidy kitchen to a small room off the nave. It might’ve been used for confessionals, he wasn’t sure. A man and woman perched on a hand-carved wooden bench looking worried. A small girl of six or seven sat on her mother’s lap cradling her arm, her elfin face red and saturated with tears.

  “Dr. Amelia, this is Aline and her parents Maria and Paulo,” Father Juan introduced.

  Amelia knelt in front of the sobbing girl. “Hello, Aline,” she said in Spanish. “I hear you hurt your arm. You’re being very brave. Would you let me look at it?”

  The girl looked from Amelia to her mom, who nodded, back to Amelia. “Si.”

  Judging by the grotesques angle, she’d suffered an anterior dislocation of her shoulder joint. That would explain why she’d been crying for hours. Amelia would need to perfor
m a shoulder reduction to return the joint to its natural position. It could be painful, especially to a child. He should know—he’d suffered through several himself and had adjusted many fellow soldiers in the field. He’d seen grown men cry when their shoulder was wrenched back into the socket.

  Amelia gently took the girl’s arm in her hands and probed the injury, before reaching in her bag for supplies. She withdrew a syringe and the girl shrank against her mother.

  “This will only sting for a second,” Amelia promised her. “Then I can fix your arm. Okay?”

  Big fat tears rolled down the girl’s rosy cheeks. After a quick swab with alcohol, Amelia inserted the needle and depressed the plunger. She held the cotton ball against Aline’s arm when she withdrew the needle. “All done. You were a good girl.”

  Aline nodded, her eyes red from her tears. Amelia explained what would happen next to the parents. They both looked distressed. Without giving them time to argue, she worked the girl’s shoulder back into the socket. Aline gasped but once it was back in place, she let out relieved cry and buried her face against her mother’s neck.

  “Does that feel better?” Amelia asked. The girl nodded. “Good. Can you wiggle your fingers?”

  Aline winced but did as told. “Good girl. Now make a fist for me.” Aline made a small fist. “That’s good.” Amelia dug in her bag and removed an elastic bandage. “I’m going to wrap it and you need to keep it still and don’t use it until if feels better. That might take eight to ten days, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Amelia secured the white wrap around the girl’s slender arm while instructing the parents on how to tend to the injury. They both indicated they understood the directions and she gave Aline a small dose of children’s pain reliever.

  Something twisted in Wyatt’s heart. She was so good with the young girl, treating her as if she mattered, never talking down to her. When she smiled, he had to brace a hand on the wall behind him. She literally took his breath.

  A vision flashed in his head of Amelia heavily pregnant with his child. Twins, maybe. A boy and girl. He could picture two chubby towheaded toddlers scampering around all happy and laughing. There’d be a dog because he hadn’t had one since he was a teen and he missed having a loyal pet. Maybe he’d coax a Belgian Malinois out of Quinn Billings. One that was too goofy and free-spirited to pass the tests Quinn put them through as one of the leading dog trainers in the country. The dog would have a name like Digger or Scout or Sydney, after his hometown.

  The scene morphed into a Christmas morning where the twins, dressed in matching reindeer pajamas with footies, were ripping open presents, haphazardly tossing wrapping paper away to reveal their gifts. He and Amelia would be sitting on the couch with steaming cups of cocoa watching them with indulgent smiles. Syd would be resting beside him, keeping a keen eye on his young charges, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, antlers perched crookedly on his doggy head.

  Wyatt shook his head like the imaginary Syd barreling inside from a rainstorm. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He was drawing up fantasies and even naming a fictitious dog while he was at it. If he started naming the twins, he’d really start to question his sanity. Annalee and Wynn. Shit. Where did those names come from? He was losing it.

  He refocused on the scene in front of him. Aline’s parents thanked Amelia profusely, wanting to compensate her for taking care of their daughter, who, now that the pain had receded, was sleeping against her mother’s shoulder. They didn’t have much, the father explained, but he whittled animals out of wood. He handed her a giraffe that must’ve taken him hours to complete. The detail was incredible. She treated the gift as if it were priceless, thanking him for his generosity. Wyatt could tell that her compliments pleased the man. They watched as the father lifted Aline from the mother’s arms and they left the church.

  Father Juan turned to them. “I can’t thank you enough. I didn’t want to put you in danger, but I was sure it was broken the way she was carrying on until you arrived. It hurts my heart to see the little ones suffering.”

  “It does mine, too, and I don’t mind at all. She was lucky it was just dislocated. I’d like to help others who are sick or in need of medical care while I’m here.”

  “I can’t think of any right now, but I’ll casually check around and let you know. You should get back to the hidden room. I told Aline’s parents that you were leaving today. I don’t want any of the villagers knowing you’re still here.”

  They stood to go when Father Juan halted abruptly and quickly shut the door. He turned and plastered his back against it. “Two men are here,” he whispered. “I don’t recognize them.”

  “Let me take a look.” Father Juan eased to the side so Wyatt could crack the door. He eyed the two men ambling down the aisle, scoping out the church. It was hard to tell from this distance, but they could be part of the crew after them. Whoever they were, it was obvious they weren’t here to pray.

  “Stay hidden,” Father Juan said. “I’ll see what they want.”

  #

  Father Juan closed the door behind him and casually adjusted his frock as he approached the strangers. They were standing in the aisle in front of the altar, their eyes searching. They looked disreputable, with dirty, shaggy hair, patchy facial hair, crude tattoos and bulges beneath their stained t-shirts that he was sure were guns. They’d tracked mud inside, not looking the least bit sorry.

  They both turned when he approached. He pasted on a serene smile. “Welcome, gentlemen. Is there something I can help you with? Would you like to pray?”

  “No,” the taller one said. “We’re looking for our friends. We were, uh, hiking together.”

  “Yeah, hiking,” the shorter man parroted.

  “We were separated. Two men and…my hot girlfriend.” The smaller man elbowed him, and they shared a snigger. “Have you seen them?”

  Father Juan glanced at their boots that were not meant for trips through the woods and their lack of a backpack or water. They were not hikers. He shook his head. “No, I haven’t.” The lie slid easily from his lips. These men intended harm.

  “Mind if we take a look around?”

  He most certainly did mind. “It’s not necessary because I have nothing to hide.” Except the three people they were searching for.

  The shorter man sniffed and tugged up his shirt to reveal a black pistol. “We’ll look around anyway.”

  “Yes, of course,” Father Juan murmured, shooting a furtive glance at the closed door. “Follow me.” He led the men back down the aisle to the small alcove featuring candles burning in the votive altar where parishioners prayed for the dead or saintly intervention. Next, he opened the door to the confessional. The taller man stuck his head inside and backed out.

  Father Juan held out his hands. “See, no one is here.”

  “What’s behind that door?” the shorter man asked, nodding to the room where he’d left Dr. Amelia and Wyatt.

  Father Juan’s heart pounded. “Nothing…uh, where are you going?” He hurried to catch up to the men as they strode forward with purpose. “The room is empty.” He sent a prayer to God to intervene when he saw the men draw their guns and burst through the door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As soon as Father Juan left to greet the visitors, Wyatt cracked the door open to watch the interaction. The two men turned when Father Juan approached. Both were packing heat.

  “Do you recognize them?” Amelia whispered.

  “No. See if you do.”

  She moved in front of him and peered through the crack. She eased back and shook her head. “Do you think they’re here for us?”

  He nodded slowly. “Possibly.” Probably. Why else would armed men be searching a remote church in the village where they were currently hiding? He didn’t believe in coincidence. And these men were definitely looking for something or someone. Their eyes had not stopped scanning the interior.

  Having Amelia tend to Aline’s injury might’ve put them
in jeopardy, but he didn’t regret what she’d done, and he was sure she felt the same way. The little girl had been in severe pain. The strangers entered the church around the time Aline and her parents had left. If the men questioned them, they might’ve told them about a female healer. The men would know they were here.

  Two men weren’t a problem. He could easily dispense of them, though Father Juan might not approve of his methods. It was the status of the rest of the gang that worried him. They could be lying in wait outside.

  Amelia grabbed the backpack and rooted around inside. “I didn’t bring my gun and I’m almost out of sedatives.”

  He held up his Sig. “Brought mine.” He didn’t go anywhere unarmed if he could help it. He glanced outside again to see Father Juan shoot a surreptitious glance their way and then lead the men down the aisle.

  “Come on, we’re going to make a run for it.”

  He took the pack from Amelia, slid it over one shoulder and then grabbed her hand. As soon as the men were far enough down the aisle, he crouched down and led her from the room. They passed the altar and almost made it across the room when one of the men turned his head. Wyatt tugged her behind a pew.

  “What’s behind that door?”

  Oh hell, they were coming this way. The two men marched down the aisle with Father Juan trailing after them. He prayed they didn’t glance across the row to see them hunkered down—and they didn’t.

  As soon as one of them kicked in the door, he grabbed Amelia’s hand and they fled to the safety of the hidden room.

  #

  Ryan woke from a light sleep, his body still aching, but not as severely as before. It took a moment to reorient himself to his current location. A hidden room inside a church in Santigo.

  He couldn’t believe the Aussie—Wyatt—had carried him for miles through the jungle. Ryan wasn’t a lightweight. He worked out religiously and carried a solid two-twenty—or two-thirty as Wyatt insisted—on his six-four frame. He’d been a special ops soldier, trained to withstand pain and torture, and he’d like to think he’d have stepped up if the situation was reversed, but he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to do the same for Wyatt. The guy was a beast.