by Lois Greiman
“Thereabouts,” she agreed.
“The police arrived minutes later.”
“Or they were already waiting.”
He nodded, thinking as he spoke. “Or they were already waiting.
One of the officers approached the Jeep. What did he say?”
Her expression looked pinched, her only concession to an ordeal that would have bested half the men in his unit. “He said he saw you leave our vehicle. Knew you were going to get drugs or weapons.”
“So either they were watching Javier or someone tipped them off.” Guilt struck him, so sharp it stung, but he ignored it, still wending his way through the shady hours in his mind. “I saw them coming and returned to the Jeep at a tangent to the road.”
“You were wounded,” she reminded him and looked a little shaky.
“Yeah.” The pain was beginning to slip away like water through terry cloth, leaving him drained and limp.
“When did it happen?” she asked.
“Your passenger got off a shot before I could get my hands on him.”
“You should have told me you were hurt.”
He ignored that. “How long do you think it took us to reach the highway?”
She shook her head. “Seemed like days.”
True. He remembered the bitching pain with tense breathlessness. “Three hours maybe?”
“Could have been more.”
“So we reached the road at approximately 1700 hours.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Then I passed out.”
“Swooned like a debutante.”
He snapped his gaze to hers. Did she find this amusing? No. Nobody would think being run down like rodents was entertaining. Except Linus Shepherd, of course. But not a girl with apple dumpling cheeks and too skinny fingers. Still, the light in her eyes fascinated him.
“I passed out,” he repeated, watching her carefully. “In a very manly fashion.”
She grinned, just a flash of humor so enchanting it made his chest hurt. But he forced himself to go on. Timelines were important.
“Then you…” Good God. “Jacked a car and…” He frowned. The world was getting a little mushy around the edges. “How the hell did you get me inside it?”
“We dragged you.”
He raised his brows, beginning to understand his myriad aches.
She darted her eyes away and fiddled with the bed sheet. “Sorry about that but…” She shrugged, looking peeved and apologetic at the same time. How the hell did she manage that? “Turns out, you’re really heavy,” she said, and he chuckled.
When he glanced at her again, she was gazing at him. Was there tenderness in her eyes, or was he losing his mind? It did seem to be slipping away. He tried to soldier his thoughts.
“You must have had the gun on him.”
“Sure,” she said but her expression seemed strange. Sheepish almost.
“We still have the one bullet left?” he asked.
She glanced away. “I don’t think so.”
He managed to raise his brows.
“I’m pretty sure it’s empty.”
“Did you wound him?”
“No,” she said and fidgeted some more. “Not to speak of.”
“What does that mean? Not to speak of?”
“We had a bit of…” she shook her head. “Fisticuffs.”
His heart rate was picking up again, making his chest feel heavy, his head light. “Fisticuffs?”
“We fought over the gun.”
He stared at her. “And not a restroom in sight?”
“Go to sleep, Durrand.”
Not on her life, he thought, but his limbs felt like wet cement, his tongue like glue. “Where’s the gun now?”
Turning slightly, she adjusted the dial for the IV and murmured something.
“What’s that?”
She cleared her throat. “Timpany’s got it.”
He felt his stomach freefall. “He shot at you?”
She shrugged, but he managed to grab her arm and tug her toward him. The scrape along her biceps took on new, red-hot meaning.
“That’s from a bullet?”
“Could be. Things happened kind of fast.”
He nodded. “So Timpany probably knows our location within a three mile radius, the police are after us, and we have no weapons. Is that about it?”
She pulled her arm out of his grip, scowl hard on his face. He would have laughed at the expression if he weren’t so damned tired. “Listen, I did the best—”
“No, you listen.” He managed to snatch her fingers before she was out of range. But darkness was coming for him, rolling him under. He tried to marshal his senses, to impress on her the seriousness of the situation. “You…did…hell…” he mumbled and dropped weightlessly into the abyss.
Chapter 28
Gabe awoke with a start. Beside him, Edwards’ eyes were wide, her body motionless.
They were still in the hostel, but someone was at the door. Somehow he knew that, though he’d been unconscious moments before.
He lifted his finger to his lips to signal for silence, yanked the IV from his forearm and slipped silently up beside the door. Dragging the knife out of his boot, he motioned for her to stay behind him, but she stepped around him and turned the knob.
“Come in,” she said.
Gabe straightened with a snap.
A skinny man with dark skin and an ingratiating smile stepped inside.
“What the hell’s going on?” Gabe’s voice was little more than a rumble. His mind felt like woolen batting. He hated drugs.
“Thanks for coming,” Edwards said.
The scrawny guy nodded briskly and raised his hand.
Gabe lifted his knife in unison, but the other waved his fingers as if warding off a fly. “No need. We friends.”
It wasn’t until that moment that he noticed the man was carrying a duffle bag. A very large very red duffle bag.”
“Edwards, who is this man?”
“I don’t know his name.”
Gabe kept his attention dead center on the Colombian. “I usually know the names of my friends.”
The little man shrugged, smiled and unzipped the bag. An armory lay inside. From where he stood, Gabe could see an AK-47, a Beretta, a SIG, and a pair of grenades. He shifted his attention to Edwards.
“I called in a favor,” she said.
To whom, he wondered. God himself didn’t have that much artillery readily available. So maybe the devil owed her a little something. Still… “How do we know we can trust you?” he asked. To which the little man simply shrugged, set the bag on the bed and moved toward the door. In a moment, he was gone.
The room went silent.
“What the hell just happened?” Gabe asked, but Edwards was already pulling an assault rifle from its mates.
He actually caught his breath at the sight of it. She grinned. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
He tried to remain aloof but… “You got a Light Fifty?” he asked and lifted the weapon from the depths of the goody bag.
“Plus scopes and flash suppressors.”
He caressed the barrel. “How did this happen?”
“I called a friend of a friend.”
“Your friend’s friends make gun deliveries?” He pulled out a Smith and Wesson. “Like Dominos Pizza?” It was too good to be true. “How do you know we can trust him?”
“Well…” She was slipping rounds into the double stack magazine of a G21. “For starters, he just gave us enough weapons to break into Fort Knox.”
She had a pretty good point there. But he was born and bred to be distrustful. Hell, he didn’t even trust his mother. Then again, no one with a lick of sense trusted Sarge. “Who’s your contact?”
“I’d tell you,” she said. “But then I’d have to kill you.” She glanced up. “Literally.”
She was standing with her feet braced wide. Her hair was wet, framing her heart-shaped face and her t-shirt clung to her body like over
zealous cellophane. Special-Ops Barbie, he thought and put his hormones on lockdown.
“You think he’s trustworthy?”
She nodded. “As does the CIA.”
He drew a deep breath. It was entirely possible he didn’t really know this girl. “All right,” he said. “Let’s—” he began and paused. Lifting his nose slightly, he sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Oh…” She glanced almost guiltily toward the tiny kitchenette. “I made soup.”
He stared at her, sure for a moment that she couldn’t be serious. But she had already set the Glock aside and was dishing up a bowl.
It smelled like braised beef and something else. Contentment maybe.
How the hell had she managed this, he wondered as she pushed the dish toward him.
“It’s just a can of soup.”
He raised his brows at her. He may have been catatonic, but he wasn’t entirely stupid.
“With a little meat added. And some onions. A couple tomatoes.”
He still stared at her. Was she blushing?
“You have to build up your strength, and I…I like to cook.” She sounded strangely defensive as she forced the bowl into his hand and turned stiffly away.
He tasted it as she tested the weight of a semi-automatic, but it was difficult to focus. The soup sucked him in. In a minute, it was gone. He glanced toward the pot that remained on the stove and refrained from mimicking Oliver Twist.
“I already ate,” she said. “Finish it up. There’s bread by the sink.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice.
Finally full, he set the bowl aside and wiped his hands on a towel.
“Thank you.”
She glanced up from where she was tucking away the last of the medical supplies. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized she had organized every article in the room. Holy shit, Action Barbie had just busted her hump while Sleepy Ken took a twelve-hour siesta.
“No problem,” she said.
Really? He wondered and refrained from kissing her feet. “You didn’t happen to secure a Humvee and an armed escort, did you?”
“Just the guns,” she said and raising the Glock again, sighted down the sleek, black barrel.
It was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. And what the hell did that say about him?
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He pulled himself from his dumb-ass trance. Not only had he taken an unscheduled nap, he was now acting like a prepubescent redneck in the throes of his first crush.
“Are you feeling faint again? Maybe you should lie down.”
“Good idea,” he said and felt his molars grind as he pushed the curtain aside a scant inch and glanced outside. The sun was just painting its first blush on the morning. “How about I hit the rack again while you go rustle up another vehicle.”
“I think I liked you better when you were comatose.”
“Everyone does,” he admitted, and shoving the SIG into an oversized pocket of his khakis, put his hand on the doorknob. “Get some sleep. This might take a while.”
“What are you doing?” Her tone was already tight with worry.
“Going to buy a car.”
“Buy one?”
“Untraditional, I know, but having one irate motorist out for our blood might be enough.” He glanced at her. She was still holding the Glock in both hands but had let it drop to arms’ length so that it was perfectly positioned between her thighs. Holy fuck.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” he said and managed to raise his gaze to her face. “If you see even a hint of trouble, call me on my…” He touched his pocket. “Where’s my phone?”
“Oh.” She hustled into the bathroom and returned in a moment, removing the cell’s cord as she reached him. “I charged it. Didn’t know when we’d have access to electricity again.”
Shit! It was like having a sharpshooter and a wife all rolled into one. Except, of course, for that little omission of conjugal rights. Which wasn’t such a tiny omission if you thought about it too hard…or saw her when she was holding a firearm.
But maybe she was as disappointed by those lack of rights as he was. After all, she must have been digging around in his pocket, so perhaps…and fuck he was acting like a retarded ass-wipe again.
“Stay out of sight,” he ordered and stepped outside.
Chapter 29
Eddy’s gear was already damp from her dash through the rain by the time she shoved her pack into the backseat of Durrand’s newly purchased vehicle.
It was putrid green, rusted through at both bumpers and missing one headlight.
The passenger door moaned like a ghost as she closed it behind her. Water sloshed from the hood of her jacket. When Durrand swung in beside her and shifted into first, they jolted away from the hostel like a buckboard pulling out of Dodge.
“Nice ride,” she said. She felt pretty good considering the circumstances. She’d always been a power sleeper and hadn’t needed the recommended nine hours. On the other hand, one and a half seemed a little short. “You get a good deal?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t want to look conspicuous.”
“So you actually prefer the post-apocalyptic look?”
He breathed a snort. “If I had known you were so fussy, I would have had you give your new boyfriend a call.”
She chuckled a little and pulled out her GPS. “I figure it’ll take six to eight hours to reach the west end of the gulch.”
“How far from there to Herrera’s plantation?”
She jerked her gaze to him. “We don’t know that he’s got Shepherd.”
“And we won’t until we take a look around.”
“So we’re just going to waltz in and ask.”
“I–” he began, but she stopped him before he could leave her out of the equation again.
“Don’t speak the language worth crap.”
He gritted his teeth and returned his gaze to the road ahead.
“And every day Shepherd is missing decreases his chances of survival,” she added. “So, are we just going to waltz in and ask about him?”
Something sparked in his eyes but he didn’t argue. “We’ll have to ditch the car.”
“Really? This little gem?”
“And go in on foot.”
“Pretending to be lost?”
He nodded. “If we have to. I’m hoping to find Shep and get him the hell out of there without ever being noticed. But if we are spotted, we’re back to our original plan.”
“Where we’re Sarah and Luke Lansky?”
“Just two Americans on an eco-adventure.”
“I’ve always wanted to see the cloud forests,” she said and did her best to keep her tone light. But her stomach had done a hard roll. She had a feeling drug dealers might not appreciate unexpected visitors.
“We’ll be on the road for a while,” he said. “You might as well get some more sleep.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You were shot, remember? Maybe that means you should rest.”
“The bullet went straight through.”
“Oh, right. So you’re fine?”
“Yeah.”
“Great,” she said and, shrugging out of her rain jacket, stuck it against the window for a pillow. If macho man wanted to play superhero, that was fine with her. She probably wouldn’t be able to sleep. But I am more than willing to ignore him, Eddy thought. Unfortunately, memories of the previous day nagged her, forcing her to speak. “Listen…I…” She drew a hard breath, expanding her ribs. “Thanks.”
“For what?” His tone was bland, but his expression showed surprise and more than a little worry, as if she’d lost her last functioning brain cell.
She didn’t glance his way. “Military men aren’t really known for their affirmations.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And my fat
her…”
“The colonel.”
“Yeah. He wasn’t the easiest man to please.” She wished now that she hadn’t started down this road, but it was too late to turn back. She cleared her throat. “I appreciate your praise.”
His brows were low over storm warning eyes. “I didn’t praise you.”
She watched him. He was all but wiggling with discomfort. “You said I did a hell of a job.”
His scowl darkened, and for a moment she thought he’d argue but finally he said, “I’d been shot, Edwards. My mental capacity had been compromised. Don’t make too much of it.”
She stared at him. Maybe she should be insulted that he couldn’t even admit he had complimented her. But somehow the idea that he had praised her against his will was doubly flattering. And the sight of him squirming with discomfort made her want to laugh out loud. But she wasn’t sleep deprived enough to think that was a good idea.
Turning her face toward the window, she smiled into her raincoat.
She woke to the soft snick of a door. It took her a moment to remember where she was, longer still to realize the putrid little car had stopped and Durrand had stepped outside. Scooting up in her seat, she gazed ahead. But her vision was blurry with sleep. Or... No, she realized belatedly. It was rain that made it difficult to see. Still, she could make out the river. The river that washed across the entire road. She straightened abruptly.
Outside, in the deluge, Durrand bent, lifted a rock from the middle of the rushing stream and tossed it aside. Water sprayed up like a geyser. He made a slow circuit through the river before striding back to the car and scowled at her through the windshield. His hair was plastered to his head. A rivulet made a winding course down the broad width of his neck. “Get your raingear on,” he ordered.
She rolled down the window, but it got stuck half way. “What?”
“It’ll be safer if you stay on this side while I drive across.”
She frowned, feminist instincts unfurling rapidly. “I learned to swim as an infant.”