by Lyn Horner
“I’m coming, Berto.” He was right, this was a dangerous part of the world, where drug cartels ruled and where rebel groups who’d long battled the Colombian government lurked in the hills and jungles. Murder and kidnapping were commonplace. She wouldn’t risk her life here if it wasn’t so important to find the man she was seeking.
Muttering, “Move it, you bag of bones,” she kicked her lagging animal into a slightly faster pace. Up ahead, Berto waited with his rifle across his lap. Seeing him glance apprehensively around, she eyed every bush and tree along the trail, fervently wishing for a more energetic mule.
They’d acquired their mounts from Berto’s cousin in a village far down the trail, after riding a rickety bus into the foothills of the Farallones de Cali, the mountains where Josie hoped to bag her quarry. The cousin, whose creased brown face showed him to be much older than Berto, had not wanted to lend out his animals, but following a low-voiced discussion between the two men, he’d finally agreed to let them have the mules.
“When will we camp for the night?” Josie asked after catching up. She needed food and rest and figured the animals did too, even if her youthful guide didn’t. Besides, evening was closing in fast with the mountains throwing everything into heavy shade.
“Soon. I know a place. Is not far.”
“Good.” She sighed tiredly. Usually, she could hike all day with a forty-pound pack on her back and still have energy left over. Now, she felt winded and exhausted. Must be the altitude, she thought.
True to his word, Berto called a halt a short time later in a small clearing not far from a gurgling creek. They unsaddled their mounts, watered them and staked them out for the night in a patch of lush grass. While Berto gathered wood and started a small campfire, Josie refilled their canteens at the stream and dug packets of dried food from her saddlebags. They brought to mind the MRE – Meal, Ready-to-Eat – packs she’d often eaten during her stint as an Army helicopter pilot in Afghanistan.
Seated on a fallen log near the fire, they ate their meal of rehydrated rations, washed down by strong Colombian coffee brewed over the fire. When done, Berto helped Josie pitch a small, red nylon tent for her use. By then, night had fallen and the forest was alive with the sounds of nocturnal animals.
“You sleep, señorita. I watch,” Berto said as Josie picked up her saddlebags, intending to place them inside the tent. No reflection on him, but safe was better than sorry in her book.
She frowned and glanced at the black wall of trees surrounding them. “Do you expect trouble?”
“No, no. Is only, how you say, caution.”
“Precaution. I understand, but you need to sleep too.”
He shrugged. “I am fine.”
Shaking her head, she said, “Wake me later. I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”
Berto shrugged, droopy black mustache crooking up at the corners. “We will see.” He motioned her toward the tent. “Buenas noches.”
Josie hesitated but decided further arguing was pointless. With a nod, she ducked into the tent and zipped it shut. She had rolled and tied her long hair at the back of her head in a traditional Navajo bun that morning to keep it from flying in her face. Removing the yarn wrapping, she brushed out the mane of straight black hair and braided it loosely to prevent it from tangling. Then she stretched out on her sleeping bag fully dressed without even kicking off her boots. If trouble were to erupt, she wanted to be dressed and ready for a fight. Tired as she was, she soon fell asleep.
Hours or maybe only minutes later, a hand roughly shook her shoulder, waking her. Then the hand groped her breast. She gasped and her eyes flew open. Above her in the darkness loomed a man’s crouched figure. Without having to think, she drove the heel of her left hand into his solar plexus and chopped him in the throat with the edge of her right hand, moves she’d learned in the Army. She rolled out of the way as he gagged and toppled sideways.
Not giving the intruder time to recover, Josie pulled her combat knife from her boot and scrambled from the open tent. She shot to her feet, glanced around and froze. A semicircle of men surrounded the campfire, facing her. Berto stood with his back turned, talking to a tall man with lean features, dressed in camouflage pants and shirt – like several of the others – and a floppy-brimmed camo hat.
Berto pivoted toward her. Surprise widened his eyes when he spotted the deadly knife in her hand. “Señorita!”
“Who are these men, Berto?” she demanded. Her gaze traveled over the motley bunch, returning to the tall man. He stood out from the rest, not only in height but with an indefinable air of authority. He was also handsome as sin.
“Señorita, I – ” her guide began.
A growl of rage behind Josie alerted her. She whirled just as the man she’d temporarily put out of action burst from the tent and launched himself at her. She had no time to react. He knocked her flat, jolting her when she hit the hard ground. Landing on top of her, he knocked the wind out of her.
Somehow, she hung onto her knife. Although barely able to breathe, she jabbed the blade at the flabby underbelly of his bearded chin. The point pricked his skin, producing a thin trickle of blood that ran down his throat. He went still and watched her with fury in his black gaze.
“Get off me,” she panted, struggling for air.
He snarled between clenched teeth but didn’t move. His fetid breath made her want to gag. Then a low voice barked the same order in Spanish. The oaf on top of her shot a rebellious glance at whoever had spoken. With a hate-filled glare, he growled a refusal, twisted his head away and made a grab for her knife arm. She jerked it aside just in time.
Suddenly, another man crouched beside her. Thinking he meant to help subdue her, she whipped her blade across his chest and heard him gasp as it tore through his shirt, into his flesh. With lightning reflexes, he gripped her wrist and squeezed painfully, wrenching a sharp cry from her lips as the knife dropped from her paralyzed hand.
Staring at the man’s lean features and light, angrily slitted eyes, she recognized him as the one Berto had been speaking to when she burst from her tent. She expected him to strike back at her for wounding him but instead, he shoved the other man off her, issuing a harsh reprimand in the same low, resonant voice her attacker had refused to obey moments before. She realized he must lead this band of thieves or rebels, or whatever they were.
Wary and confused by his intervention, Josie lay there breathing hard while he rose with a grunt of pain and backed away, one hand pressed to his chest where she’d cut him. Rolling cautiously to her knees, she scanned the ground, trying to spot her knife.
“Are you searching for this, señorita?” her rescuer asked. “You do not need it.”
She looked up and saw him holding the deadly combat knife. Her stomach lurched but she threw back her shoulders. “Yeah? I guess I didn’t need to defend myself, either, when your friend came into my tent and put his hands on me, right?”
His hawk-like features took on a furious expression. Turning his head, he berated her attacker, whose hate-filled gaze raked Josie. The nasty, flabby looking oaf rubbed his throat where she’d struck him and replied hoarsely, adding a mocking laugh. Like most Indians native to the southwestern U.S., she understood enough Spanish to know he gloated over how he’d pawed her. His snide remark earned another sharp rebuke from his boss.
The tall man returned his attention to her. “I apologize for Manuel’s behavior, señorita. I told him only to wake you and bring you out here so I might speak with you.”
“Right,” she sneered, not taken in by his attempt to pacify her. “Just who are you, mister, and what do you want? I know you didn’t show up here in the middle of the night merely to talk to me.”
His lips quirked upward. “Actually I did, Señorita Tseda,” he said, startling her with his use of her name.
“How do you know … ?” She left the question hanging when he stepped closer. “Stay away!” she warned, pivoting sideways on the balls of her feet, arms out and ready to deliver a
punishing, straight-leg kick if he didn’t keep his distance.
He halted, eyes glittering in the firelight. “Foolish woman,” he said, shaking his head. Then he turned and walked to the fallen log, beyond which Josie spied a shadowy line of horses and mules. Collapsing heavily on the log, he called to Berto and issued a curt demand in Spanish.
“Sí, Señor Gabriel,” the guide replied.
“Gabriel! Gabriel Valdez?” Josie burst out, not believing her ears. Had she just knifed the man she’d been sent to find and escort to Arizona?
He looked up and smiled grimly while wiping her blade on his ripped, bloody shirt. Tucking the knife into his boot, he replied, “Yes, Señorita Tseda, I am he, the very one you have been asking for all over Cali.”
“Oh my God! I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I would have if you had given me a chance.” He went silent when Berto ran over and squatted at his feet, setting down a red first aid kit like the one Josie had purchased for her trek into the mountains. Maybe it was the same one. The young Colombian, who was clearly well acquainted with Valdez, helped him unbutton his shirt and ease it off.
When she saw the red gash across Valdez’s lower chest, Josie bit her lip. Blood ran down his abdomen and stained his camo pants with dark, wet patches. She swallowed a lump of regret.
“Let me help,” she said hoarsely. “I was in the U.S. Army. I learned a lot about patching up wounds.”
Valdez studied her, deciding if he dared trust her, she realized. After what she’d done, she couldn’t say she blamed him. He surprised her by motioning for her to approach. She rubbed her sore wrist and walked over to him, noticing he’d removed his hat, allowing her to see his eyes were mossy green. Then she took in his wavy black hair and sternly carved features. Their bold strength fascinated her.
A deep voice boomed out behind her, ordering her to halt. She whirled to find a man striding toward her. Although not as tall as Valdez, he was still a lot taller than her and barrel-chested. His angry, threatening glower almost made her reach for her missing knife before Valdez spoke. Calling the man Javier, he told him to relax, she had his permission to come near. This didn’t set well with the burly fella, judging by his disgusted snort, but he halted.
“You wished to help, señorita?” Valdez said.
She hesitated, reluctant to turn her back on Javier, but she concluded he wouldn’t lay a hand on her without his boss’s say so. Pivoting to face Valdez, she encountered his questioning gaze, nodded mutely and dropped to her knees to examine his wound. Fortunately, the long gash looked worse than it was. Her knife hadn’t cut very deep. After cleaning away the excess blood and applying antibiotic ointment, Josie helped Berto pad the wound and wrap a gauze bandage around Valdez’s midriff.
All the while, she was aware of his musky male scent and the warm, leanly muscled flesh beneath her hands. The combination produced a heady effect on her senses, making her breathing quicken, her stomach flutter and her palms sweat. She couldn’t remember ever being so disturbed by a man.
Finished with their task, she and Berto packed the first aid supplies into the plastic case. The guide rose with the case in hand and Josie also started to rise, but Valdez stopped her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She inhaled sharply and met his probing gaze, wary of what he might say or do.
“Now, señorita, tell me why you have been so determined to find me.”
She glanced around at the watching men. Javier had moved to stand near Berto, who was packing away the first aid kit in her saddlebags. The young guide understood some English. Did any of the others? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t risk anyone, even Berto, finding out why she’d come looking for Valdez.
She shook her head. “I can’t tell you. Not here with all of them listening.”
Valdez cocked a black eyebrow and lifted his hand from her shoulder, triggering her soft sigh of relief mingled oddly with regret. “None speak English except Berto and, as you must know, his knowledge of your language is very limited.”
Josie pushed to her feet, stepped back and crossed her arms. “Maybe so, but I can’t take the chance. I must speak to you in private.”
He scowled, black brows locking above his long, aristocratic nose. “If you think to lure me into your tent so you can attack me with another weapon, puta, it will not work.”
“What!” Knowing he’d just called her a dirty name, she jammed her fists on her hips and bent toward him, glaring. “Listen, you prick, I flew down here to find you as a favor to a friend. To deliver a message, not to kill you or be insulted.”
Valdez clenched his beard-stubbled jaw. Rising slowly, he stepped forward, forcing her to straighten and back up. A head taller than her five-foot-three, he towered over her, his broad shoulders and sleekly muscled chest in her face. Struggling to ignore that manly expanse, she lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at him.
“Little one, you try my patience,” he gritted. “Give me this message you were sent to deliver. Then go home.”
“Don’t call me little, mister!” Josie blazed. She’d fought and beaten macho men before; she refused to let him intimidate her. “And I can’t go home without … .” She almost said without him but caught herself in time. Sighing, she said, “Look, can we just take a walk? Far enough so no one can hear.” She jerked her head toward Berto, who now stood watching and listening. “Then I’ll say what I came to say and you … you can decide what you want to do.”
He tilted his head, considering her. “Very well. Give me a moment.” He called to Javier, and spoke briefly. The other man nodded and sauntered over to stand near her again – to watch her – while Valdez walked to the string of animals.
A horse neighed and stomped, followed by irritated muttering. Valdez returned a moment later, mouth set in a grim line as he slipped into a fresh, russet brown shirt, reminding Josie of the pain she’d caused him. She guiltily bit her lip again as he buttoned the garment. Leaving it open at his throat, he faced her.
“Shall we?” he invited, gesturing toward the darkness beyond her tent.
Nodding stiffly, she crossed the clearing with him. When they walked into the black night, he took hold of her arm, making her jump. He laughed softly.
“Do not be afraid, señorita. I only wish to save you from tripping in the dark.”
“You don’t need to. I’ve got eyes like a cat.” She no more than said it when her foot caught on a snag. She would have fallen if he hadn’t steadied her.
“You were saying?” He didn’t laugh but she could tell he wanted to.
“Okay, you made your point,” she said, annoyed at herself more than at him.
They walked on, moving cautiously. When Valdez halted, the small campfire was only a dim glow behind them. “This is far enough,” he said, releasing her arm. “So, what is so secret that none of my men can know?”
Nervous now that the moment had come, Josie rubbed her hands up and down her pant legs and cleared her throat. “The … the message I bring is from Lara Flewellen, the new High Guardian.”
Valdez emitted a gasp that turned into a growl. His hands clamped around her arms like shackles, cutting into her flesh, driving a cry of pain from her lips. “What did you say?” he demanded, his tone as hard and sharp as a steel blade.
“Let go,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “You’re hurting me!” She tried to twist free but he held on, although he did loosen his hold slightly.
“What do you know of Guardians?” he barked in the same threatening tone. He gave her a hard shake, making her bite her tongue. “Tell me!”
Tasting blood, she snarled furiously and tried to knee him in the groin but missed, striking his rock-hard thigh instead. “I’m not telling you anything, asshole, until you turn me loose!”
He spouted a mouthful of Spanish swear words but he let her go. Sighing, she rubbed her throbbing arms.
“Very well, speak,” Valdez ordered.
She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but
that wouldn’t accomplish her goal. “As I said, I’m here to pass on Lara’s message and –”
“Wait. Why do you call her the new High Guardian?”
“Because the old one, her uncle, is dead. He was killed in a car wreck a few months ago. Evidence showed his car was tampered with.”
“Madre de Dios!” He sounded hoarse with shock.
“Lara was with him and was also badly hurt in the crash.” Hearing him mutter under his breath, Josie wished she could see his expression, but he was only an inkier black shape in the darkness.
“And why does she trust you to bring me this information?”
Josie fumbled for words. “It … it’s kind of a long story. See, an old army buddy of mine saved her from the Hellhounds. Uh, that’s what she calls the ones who murdered her uncle and tried to kill her. She said the name comes from some old myth about a dog that guards the gates of Hell.”
“Sí, I have read of the beast. It is named Cerberus in the Greek stories.”
“Right. Anyway, Conn, my friend, needed a refuge for Lara. He asked me for help, and I brought the two of them to a safe place. Later, another Guardian, Michaela Peterson, showed up. She said you two know each other. She’s with another army buddy of mine. He rescued her when she was captured by one of the Hellhounds.”
“You have many army buddies, perhaps too many to believe.”
“Oh, yeah?” she huffed. “Maybe you don’t know the truth when you hear it.”
“No? Or is it that your story is all a lie meant to trick me into trusting you?”
“What! Why would I come all this way to do that?”
“I think because you are one of these Hellhounds.”
Stunned by his accusation, Josie exploded. “You ungrateful SOB! I ought to –”
With no warning, he grabbed her by the waist and slung her over his shoulder, jarring a shriek out of her. Her braid fell nearly to the ground, a heavy weight dragging on her head.
“What are you doing? Put me down!” Struggling to break his steely hold on her legs, she furiously pounded his back. He ignored the blows and started walking.