Dammit, her wounded shoulder could be an issue. Too much use and she’d lose blood. Infection could set in. She swore aspirin eased the pain enough so she could paddle.
This part of the tunnel was wider but they had to maneuver around stalactites that seemed to appear from nowhere. Whiffs of algae and mold clogged his nostrils. Frequent stops to rest Kate’s shoulder and for him to stretch slowed their journey. He kept an ear tuned to rumblings and water noises. For whatever good it would do. Here, they had nowhere to go.
Darkness had fallen by the time they reached the cenote near K’eq Xlapak. Moonlight and fresh air welcomed them as the canoe floated into the opening, a near vertical, irregular opening. Kate’s stifled sob of relief tightened his throat.
The gods or luck and nature were with them and they’d met no further disasters. Now he needed some good news from Devlin HQ.
“Are you sure this is the right one?” Her paddle clattered as she rested it against the gunwale.
The anxiety in her voice kicked him in the gut. “Even if it isn’t, we’ve gone as far as we can tonight. We need a fire and rest.” He arced the halogen lamp around the jagged, steep walls. At first he saw only a narrow landing with barely enough room to stand.
Then the beam snagged on what he looked for. “This is it. Tomás mentioned a rope ladder, like at the start.”
He hustled her up and out. They emerged into a clearing with grasses flattened by much use—probably locals fetching water or swimming.
As soon as they hit dry land, the ground shivered and shook. His pulse took off in a sprint. Fuck you, Kizin!
Kate grabbed his arm, and he pulled her close, planting his feet and holding on. A slender palm tree crashed at the edge of the clearing. Cracks formed in the cenote rim, and hunks split off.
In a moment, the tremor fizzled on a couple of shudders, as if the ground was relieved to be solid again. He blew out a breath and kissed her forehead before he let her go.
Her hair was disheveled, with wavy strands escaping from beneath her sodden cap. The bruise on her cheek from the Colombian thug’s backhand had faded from purple to a green-and-yellow rainbow. She was exhausted. And more beautiful than when he first saw her, the princess in her hands-off suit and perfect hair.
She had her faults. Who didn’t? He sure as hell had plenty. But she was warm and loyal, brave and honest. She trusted him and relied on him. She made him want more than his solitary life. He felt more connection with her than anyone ever before. He could get drunk on her smiles. Sex with her blew all his circuits. Just thinking about her heated his blood.
The bonds they’d forged ought to scare the hell out of him. Instead, he dreaded the end of their odyssey. Maybe it was time to take the risk. If she would. The kind of risks he usually took were physical. They didn’t make him feel like he had a hot coal in his chest.
But for a little longer, he had to keep her safe. Then they’d talk. Maybe. Hell, how did people do this?
“We’ve made it, Max.” She sank onto a boulder. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Without your fierce determination, darlin’, I’d have given up long ago. I’d have told this kidnapper to come get the fuckin’ statue if he wanted it so bad.” Then he and Lucas Del Rio would’ve pounded the slime into the next country.
“I know. It’s okay. Maybe he’ll call again. Or just show up. Then we can walk to the restoration site.” She returned his smile with a weak one as she stood and draped her wet shirt over a branch.
Fuck, yeah, the kidnapper would just dance the two-step over here and exchange the statue for Doug Fontaine. The likelihood of that outcome was as slim as the chance the two of them had a future together.
“You rest while I forage lean-to materials. While I’m at it, I’ll check in with my boss.”
Away from the clearing, he collected branches, vines, and palm fronds into piles, then turned on his phone. Battery was getting low but good for a while. This late Mara’d be off duty, so he hit Thomas Devlin’s private cell number. The drone of nocturnal insects competed with the ring tone.
“About time,” Thomas barked into the receiver. “Been trying to raise you for hours. Worried the river might’ve gotten you.”
Max shuddered, picturing the watery grave. He’d rather die in battle. “Nearly did.” He brought his boss up to date. “You were right. She’s stronger than she looks.”
Thomas chuckled. “So you’ve changed your mind about her.”
“We’ve been through a lot together.” Enough said. “Any news?”
“Zip from Del Rio. He’s supposed to check in later. Since he’s close, you have the go-ahead to connect with him. The other operative reports your downed chopper’s been seen from the air. Troops went in.”
“Must be the soldiers who came to the village.”
“A good bet. Hired killer’s name was Rufo Gonzalez. Word on him is good riddance. Spent time in prison for knifing a guy when he was in the army. But no one’s saying who might’ve hired him. All our guy gets about him is shrugs. Except the man was seen with two other former grunts. One of them had a big scar on his cheek.”
“Sounds like the same mopes who followed us. They probably offed our guide.”
“The policía think so too. They’re searching for the men, but these things take time.”
“Which we don’t have.”
***
Near K’eq Xlapak
At first light, Max sensed Kate rousing behind him. Her restless movements during the night told him she’d gotten barely any sleep. Worked up about her brother and the kidnapper, and hell, Kizin’s tremors and impending earthquake. So was he.
Today was El Dia Maldito.
He moved aside for her to scoot out. “Don’t go far,” he said, when she headed for the privacy of the jungle.
She shook her head. “Can you check in with Del Rio?” Worry roughened her voice.
“Can do. But if the call goes to voice mail, don’t worry. He could be saving battery power.”
She made no reply, only moved off, holding her shoulder stiff.
Damn, when she returned, he’d check her injury. They must have a medic at the restoration, antibiotics and shit. They ought to head there pronto. But she’d insist on waiting for word from Del Rio about her brother or contact with the kidnapper. He tried his colleague’s number. Voice mail, dammit.
Too many fucking players. Soldiers, politicians, kidnappers, murderers. You never knew who’d pop out from behind the next agave.
Max wanted this over. But then he might never see her again. Never touch her again. Never— She was the best thing that ever happened to him. He could talk to her, couldn’t he? What the hell was he afraid of? Fuck.
Surging to his feet, he stretched and turned his face up to the sun’s broiling rays. After the bone-chilling cold below ground, he didn’t mind a little sweat. And he needed to shake off the emotions crowding him. Jagged boulders ripping around in his chest. He needed to do something. Anything. He scattered the remaining coals in the small fire with a few hard kicks.
The canteens needed refilling, so he descended the rope ladder. Enough sunlight shone downward so he could see without a lamp, even the nooks and crannies in the limestone walls. But the river tunnel yawned dark and forbidding, the entrance to the Maya Underworld. He and Kate had nearly ended up in that watery Hell.
He knelt on the narrow lip where they’d stashed the canoe. When he finished with the canteens, a few splashes of water on his face revived him, settled him. Now he could talk to her. Face her. Function with calm.
Close enough to the top of the ladder, he swung the canteens onto the ground.
“Ah, there you are, Rivera. Do come up and join us, won’t you?”
Alistair Sedgwick stood three feet away. A wormlike smirk curved on the collector’s lips. He aimed an automatic pistol at Max’s head. A Sig-Sauer P226 equipped with a silencer.
A surge of adrenaline sent his pulse into warp speed. Where are you, Kate? Maybe she was hiding
in the jungle.
He’d be no use to her unless he kept his head. He forced the tension from his body and put himself in combat mode. Nowhere to go but up. A given that Sedgwick would take his weapons. Patience and the element of surprise would have to suffice. He pushed up the last two rungs, levered to his feet.
Two men held Kate between them. One had long, greasy hair and a jagged scar on his left cheek.
The breath Max sucked in turned to ashes in his chest. He’d bet his entire paycheck for this gig these were the ex-army mutts the policía were hunting.
Scarface pointed a small Ruger at Max. The other, the same man with a Fu-Manchu mustache who’d followed Kate and him more than once, covered her mouth with a grubby hand and held a Ruger at her temple.
“Kate! You okay?”
Mustache yelped and jerked his hand away from her. “¡Ay, la puta! She bit me.”
Struggling against the grips on her arms, Kate spat on the ground. “Your filthy hand probably poisoned me.”
When Mustache raised his arm to strike her, Max took a step forward. Sedgwick pressed the Sig against his neck.
“Leave the mademoiselle alone. I need her conscious and alert.”
At the commanding voice from the shadows, Mustache instantly stepped aside. Scarface kept his pistol trained on her.
A man in jungle camo entered the clearing from behind the trees by the lean-to. Face like a bully, body like a linebacker.
Max recognized him from the picture Mara’d sent. “Le Noir, you cabrone, at last we meet.”
Centaur’s chief enforcer dipped his head briefly. “Monsieur Rivera, your reputation precedes you.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In the jungle
Doug’s leg itched like a mother where some crawling thing in the fetid mattress just chomped down. He couldn’t scratch the damn place, not with his hands bound. The guards had repaired his cot twice after strong tremors. Another big shaker the same day Luis phoned Kate had done in the flimsy wood. After that the mattress—and Doug—stayed on the dirt floor. A guard had to lift him into the wheelchair. His only satisfaction.
Although the sun was up, he pretended to remain asleep. The demons pounding on his brain were on vacation. Gave him a chance to figure things out. Sure.
Where was Kate? She shouldn’t try to save him. She couldn’t turn Kizin over. Anyone knew how these things worked. He was his kidnapper’s leverage with Kate, but in the end, he would die. She would die. Doug’s heart pounded like a jackhammer, and frustration burned in his throat.
Luis would get big bucks for the statue—the big bucks Doug had dreamed of.
Now all he dreamed of was getting free. Kate had help. She must, a guide and somebody else looking for him. Maybe they traced that satellite call. An earthquake might bury Doug but being gutted like a Maya sacrifice wasn’t in his plans. For now defiance was all he had, and the concealed fork.
The guard entered followed by the Maya woman. As soon as she deposited his breakfast tray on the table she scooted out without looking back.
Doug yawned and stretched as if he’d just awakened. “Ah, Jeeves, is it time to break my fast already? What is it today, fruit cup, mimosa, French toast with maple syrup?”
Ignoring him, Al wheeled over the chair, which squeaked and groaned after days on rough ground. He set the brake, then bent and hauled his prisoner upward.
Doug sagged. The guard grunted, planted his legs, and gave one more heave. Another. When he plopped Doug onto the seat, the man stumbled back a step, panting as if he’d just run a couple miles. Or dragged a two-hundred pound man upward. Which he had. A two-hundred pound man imitating a sack of sand.
Hope you get a hernia, Al ol’ buddy.
As soon as Al untied his hands, Doug propped his broken leg on the foot rest. He started to roll forward but the wheelchair remained in place. No rocks in the way. No flat tire. The brake was stuck. Damn chair was falling apart like the cot.
He pointed at the brake lever. “Outta gas, fuckwad.”
When Al knelt, Doug caught a movement outside the hut’s tiny window.
A bearded man looked back at him through the opening. He put a finger to his mouth before ducking out of sight.
Doug’s lungs seized in shock.
***
Near K’eq Xlapak
“I t-tried to warn you.” Kate clenched her jaw against the trembling in her voice, in her entire body. Rubbing her injured shoulder, aching from the rough treatment, she started toward Max.
“Stop right there, Ms. Fontaine.” Sedgwick jabbed the pistol harder into Max’s neck.
She froze in place, locking her gaze with Max’s. The hard look in his eyes meant he was focused, in that zone he talked about. His head dipped in a small nod, and she lowered her lashes in reply. Bolstered, she drew in deep breaths. He would figure out something, and she had to be ready.
Sedgwick backed away from Max. His gloved hand brushed a dead leaf from his shoulder. He wore designer safari gear—a khaki shirt with epaulets, no less—and polished boots. All he needed was an ascot, the son of a bitch.
Le Noir walked farther into the clearing and stopped ahead of Sedgwick.
The collector scowled and clenched his free hand at his side but made no objection.
Kate shivered. She’d bet people rarely crossed this Frenchman with his deadly calm voice and eyes as flat and opaque as black ice. The pumped-up biceps stretching his sleeves must make bringing a fork to his mouth difficult.
Le Noir said to Max, “Take your pistol from the holster, s’il vous plaît.”
Max’s gaze held Le Noir’s for a beat before he withdrew the big Glock with a two-finger grip.
“Now toss it into the cenote.”
“That’s a bottomless well.”
Le Noir smiled but his eyes held no humor. His shoulders lifted in a very Gallic shrug. “The pistol.”
Max slid the gun to the cenote’s rim, then over. Kate crossed mental fingers it would land on the narrow ledge or in the canoe. A muffled splash was the answer. She sagged.
Edging in front of Le Noir, Sedgwick waved the gun barrel at the knife sheath on Max’s belt. “Now the blade.”
The knife went into the water with a small plop.
The Frenchman directed Max to sit off to the side, hands in front of him. Farther away, but maybe that was an advantage. They didn’t seem inclined to search him. He lowered himself onto a boulder, hiked up his knees, and linked his hands around them, just above the holster on his ankle. Rufo’d noticed the bulge but these men hadn’t. Max’s back-up weapon was their only hope.
His position was farther to the left, about ten feet from Sedgwick and Le Noir. She’d stopped about that distance from the hired thugs, who remained near the lean-to. The mustachioed thug kept his gun on her, and the other one trained his on Max. Two guns aimed at him, but from there he probably could see all the players. All their moves.
Maybe he could spot an opening but she saw only one possibility—the obvious tug-of-war between Le Noir and Sedgwick. Centaur’s thumb sat on the collector’s neck, and the scary bulked-up thug exerted the pressure. Sedgwick must resent him but how much did he fear him?
Max’s gaze flicked between the two. A twitch in the corner of his mouth suggested he’d noticed the tension. But how to use this falling out of thieves? What if there wasn’t time to hit on a plan? What if the kidnapper chose now to enter the clearing? Or one of the Maya villagers?
Her pulse raced. Or— No, she had to stop the worst-case-scenario thinking.
Stepping around the Frenchman, Sedgwick turned to Kate. He kept his gun on Max. “You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, Ms. Fontaine. The statue’s not in your rucksack or anywhere in your pitiful campsite. Where is it?”
“How did you find us, Sedgwick?” Max asked pleasantly. “Dumb luck?”
Le Noir snorted a laugh.
“Certainly not,” Sedgwick said. “I—that is, we—arrived two days ago via the limestone trail. Deplorable co
nditions but one manages. My lads have been monitoring all the approaches to the restoration. I judged it prudent to wait for daylight.”
His gaze once again slid to Kate. “The statue.”
Her insides churned like a blender, and she clenched her fists. She’d known this demand would come, and she’d made a decision. She wouldn’t let them have Kizin. She couldn’t. If Del Rio couldn’t rescue Doug, she’d need the statue as ransom.
Somehow the thought of not delivering Kizin to his temple, of not keeping that promise didn’t bother her as much as before. She was stronger now, capable. Max was right. Dad would be proud of what she’d achieved.
“You’re too late.” She crossed her arms and hiked out one hip. “The statue’s gone.”
“I don’t believe you, my dear. You arrived only last night. You couldn’t possibly have delivered your package to the priest or to whoever has your brother.”
“Not what she meant. Statue’s lost, down there.” Max nodded toward the hole to his left. “Overboard into the drink with the other backpack and the tent. Bottomless, remember?”
Thank God, Max had read her intent. She held her breath.
“This is no time to converse politely over teacups, Monsieur Sedgwick. I shall ’andle this.” Le Noir moved to the other man’s left. His fingers, slender for a man with such thick forearms, flexed at his sides.
Max’s right hand hovered near his ankle holster and his booted feet were planted.
Her knees felt so liquid she could barely stay on her feet. How could Max make a move? The two pistols on him held steady. In spite of the heat and humidity, ice slid down her spine.
Sedgwick held out a hand toward Le Noir in a placating gesture. “Your employer will receive the statue of—the jade statue, but this is my expedition, my negotiation.”
On Deadly Ground (Devlin Security Force Book 1) Page 25