by Diana Palmer
He shook his head. “A seductive woman can make a fool of a man, even an older one. But the passion burns bright and then extinguishes itself,” he added comfortingly. “Give it time. He will see the light.”
She laughed hollowly. “I won’t hold my breath.”
“Pessimist,” he accused. “You have to expect miracles, niña, or you will never see one.”
“I see them all the time. It’s just my relationship with Jason that isn’t working.”
“Things change. You will see.”
“El General!” a deep voice called. “There is a man on the telephone for you!”
“Don’t you have a cell phone?” Gracie asked him, surprised.
“Five,” he replied, grinning. “So that they cannot be traced. Too many to carry on me, you see. I have workers to do that for me.” He got up. “Con permiso,” he said with respect, and moved away.
MAYBE IT WAS JASON, Gracie thought hopefully. She wasn’t being treated badly here, but she was nervous about the intentions of her captors. One of them, the stocky one who belonged to the Fuentes bunch, watched her constantly. He had arms filled with tattoos. He was muscular and brutish, and she was frankly afraid of him. She wanted to go home.
She rubbed her arms against the faint chill of the evening air. Where she was sitting, at the end of the porch in a rickety little homemade chair, there wasn’t a lot of light outside the small adobe house where she was being kept. The children who had been listening to her stories had all gone home and she was more or less alone while Machado spoke to his caller in the main house nearby.
“So you are alone, huh?” a cold, drawling voice muttered from behind her. “I have waited for this moment.”
She turned, her face paling as she saw the very man she’d been thinking about moving toward her from behind the adobe house.
THE FBI WAS NEGOTIATING for all it was worth, but the kidnapper kept insisting that he needed more money than was being offered. He also was wary of traps. He wanted assurances, guarantees of safe conduct and no watching eyes or homing devices.
Jon Blackhawk actually threw his cell phone across the room after one harrowing negotiating round. He also cursed. Loudly.
“You can’t throw government equipment around like that, not when we’re operating in a deficit,” Kilraven said, shaking a finger at him.
“It’s just so damned frustrating!” Jon snapped.
“I’d like to punch a few people myself,” Jason said roughly. He got up and paced. “What the hell do they mean, changing the figure with every phone call?”
“It’s just stonewalling,” Jon said heavily. “I hate it, too. I know you’re worried. I don’t like the time it’s taking, either. But it’s the only avenue we have right now.”
Kilraven pursed his lips and glanced at Jason with an odd expression. “Is it?”
Jon stopped dead in front of his half brother and glared at him. “What do you know? Is something going on that you haven’t told me?”
Kilraven managed to look innocent. “Me? I’m only here on loan from my own agency,” he said. “I’m not allowed to interfere,” he added with an angelic smile.
“Like you didn’t interfere when Rodrigo was snatched by the Fuentes gang?”
“That was a special situation,” Kilraven protested. “They’d have killed him for revenge. This group doesn’t have anything against Gracie.”
Jon relaxed a little. “That’s true. Hammock, see if I broke the phone, will you?” he called to one of his men. “I didn’t mean to field it like that.”
Hammock picked it up, punched a button and put it to his ear. He chuckled. “They must have had you in mind when they made this one, boss.” He handed it back to Jon. It wasn’t even dented. “Nice toss, though.”
As the two brothers continued to trade good-natured barbs, Jason moved to the patio and walked outside, lifting his face to the cool night air. For days now, he’d tried to be optimistic, to believe that they’d get Gracie back. Hope was failing. He’d never stop blaming himself for it. He’d pushed Gracie right into the line of fire by putting Kittie in a position to throw her out of her own home. It wasn’t like Gracie to let that happen. He wondered how Kittie had really accomplished it? Surely Gracie would have phoned him, asked him if it was what he wanted. Remembering the argument over her cat, however, he wasn’t so sure.
His little act of payback had boomeranged tragically, and Gracie was going to pay the price for his wounded ego. What if the kidnappers were just stalling, hoping to get the money and keep her? Worse, what if they’d already killed her? They said that if people weren’t ransomed in the first twenty-four hours, chances of getting them back alive plummeted. He felt panic rise in his throat. If Gracie died, he had no reason to stay alive. He had nothing left. He had…!
A big hand came down on his shoulder, hard. “Stop it,” Kilraven said firmly. “Torturing yourself won’t help.”
“Nothing seems to be helping, anyway,” Jason replied heavily. “Damn it!”
Kilraven leaned close to his ear while Jon was discussing plans with his two cohorts inside. “They’re getting ready to move right now,” he said quietly. “They can’t know,” he added, jerking his head toward the others. “It isn’t a sanctioned action. But the way the kidnappers are stalling, Gracie could be dead by the time they arrive at a mutually agreeable figure. We had to act.”
Jason’s eyes were anguished. “Tell me they won’t let her get in the line of fire. Promise me!”
“Eb Scott sent the best he has. I worked with them when Rodrigo was captured. She won’t get in the line of fire. And they’ll bring her home.”
Jason relaxed, just a little. “I hate bureaucracy.”
“So does Jon,” Kilraven said. “But he’s strictly by-the-book, just like our father was. My stepmother goes nuts trying to set him up with women. He’s such a prude.”
Jason turned and looked the man in the eye. “You don’t drink or sleep around or gamble, and you think your brother’s a prude?”
Kilraven scowled. “I am not a prude,” he said, loudly enough for the men in the room to hear.
“Yes, he is,” Jon said from the doorway.
“I smoke cigars!” Kilraven informed him.
“One cigar a year isn’t smoking, and you’re still a prude.”
Jon chuckled, enjoying his brother’s discomfort.
“We’re going to take a break,” Jon told Jason. “Maybe he’ll call back in an hour or so and we can wrangle for another two hours. I’m sorry about this. Negotiations are hell. Most of us would prefer to rush in shooting,” he added with a meaningful glance at his brother, “but this is the safest way.”
“Of course it is,” Kilraven agreed at once. “Notice that I’m here, instead of out in some run-down border village dressed in desert camo, carrying an automatic weapon.”
“I did notice,” Jon said irritably. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t playing advisor to someone who is.”
Kilraven just grinned.
THE STOCKY MAN CAME UP onto the porch from the corner of the house, laughing coldly as Gracie stood up and tried to decide if she had a chance to make the door before he got her.
That hope was gone instantly as he reached out a pudgy hand and caught her by the upper arm. He was muscular, as if he worked out with weights all the time. Gracie had no way of knowing that his bulging biceps and tattoos were visible proof of his prison time. She only knew that he was stronger than she was, and that this was going to end badly. She had no martial arts training, except for what she’d learned from Marquez when he was home on weekends at his mother, Barbara’s, house. That wasn’t much.
She did, however, remember one move. As the stocky man jerked her toward him, she suddenly made her hands into fists with her thumbs sticking out and poked him on either side of his rib cage as hard as she could.
He let go of her, cursing and doubling over. It worked! Relief flooded through her and then she realized that she’d only made a bad situation
worse as he grabbed for her.
“Big mistake,” he grunted, one grimy hand going to her breast, the other gripping her buttocks as his mouth aimed at hers.
“Help!” she screamed, struggling.
Angel’s mother heard and came to the door, peering out fearfully.
“¡Vaya!” the man ordered, and her head retreated at once.
Gracie heard the door close and knew that she was lost.
While the ruffian was manhandling her, she tried to remember the other moves Marquez had taught her. If she could just get…her…hands…free!
Yes! She cupped them and slammed them against the stocky man’s ears. He exploded in pain and rage. She twisted out of his loosened grasp and ran, her long legs carrying her off the porch and out toward the middle of the little pueblo.
“Help!” she yelled. “Help!”
Probably the Fuentes bunch would just look on and grin while the stocky drug dealer had his way with her, she thought in panic, but maybe those armed men in camo would take pity on her and come to help. Or not. Her heart was beating wildly, her breath jerking as she gasped to fill her lungs with air. She’d never felt more frightened during this whole ordeal. If only Jason were here to protect her, she thought wildly. If she’d given in when he’d kissed her, if she hadn’t fought him…she wouldn’t be in this awful predicament. Now her life was on the line and the violent ravishment of her body by this grimy thug. She would literally rather be dead. She tried to run faster, but she heard the quick thud of footsteps closing in on her. She wouldn’t stop running. But she knew she’d lost the battle. There wasn’t another human being in sight. There was no help.
The stocky man had recovered his sense, if not his hearing, and overtook her just as she reached a small, closed grocery store.
He jerked her around and bruisingly pinned her to the ground.
“Now,” he growled, “you will pay for fighting me!”
8
GRACIE TRIED TO KICK HIM, but he was too powerful. She was out of breath and weak with fear. She was trapped. There was no hope left. But as she lay helpless, at the mercy of yet one more bullying male throwing her around, something rose in her like a fury. She was so tired of being a victim. Well, this criminal might kill her, but she was going to go out fighting. Her mother had been right. Some men were definitely animals. But this one was going to pay a price for what he was trying to do.
Seething with indignation, she turned her head suddenly and bit him on the cheek as hard as she could. She tasted blood in her mouth as he jerked up his head. He yelled, pressing his fingers against his cheek. He felt the blood. He cursed her and drew back a fist.
“Go ahead, coward,” she spat at him. “Beat up a woman! Show the world what a brave man you are!”
The taunt rolled right off him. The man, still furious, lifted his fist to hit her again. She gritted her teeth, waiting for the blow, but she didn’t close her eyes. She dared him to do it again. If he put his face close enough, she’d bite his nose off next time!
Before the man had a chance to strike her, there was an odd flash of light from somewhere nearby. A crack, like the pop of a firecracker. The man on top of her stiffened. His open eyes stared for an instant before they went blank and he fell on her completely.
She felt something wet on her chest, something with a metallic smell. She was too stunned to move. Past the man’s body, a tall man was coming closer. He held a smoking pistol. It was the General himself, grim-faced and unsmiling, moving rapidly toward them.
Gracie shivered with relief, even as she relived the past when another man was killed next to her. Horrible memories intruded. She pushed at the unconscious stocky man, who was heavy on her, but she couldn’t budge him. The General caught him by the collar and tossed him away as contemptuously as if he were a dirty rag. He knelt beside Gracie.
“Niña, are you all right?” he asked softly. “I am so sorry.”
She’d been so brave while it was happening. Now, suddenly, she couldn’t stop crying. The big man scooped her up against his chest and cuddled her. “No llores,” he whispered. “Don’t cry. You are safe. I will never let anything or anyone hurt you. Never, as long as there is a breath in my body.”
She caught her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. She felt safe. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
The big man shuddered, at her ready acceptance of his protection. He had women in his life, but never one who made him feel so much a man, so necessary. She had almost been ravaged by that little tick lying so still nearby. She must have been terrified, a gentle woman like her. But she accepted Machado’s comforting arms without hesitation, as if she felt at home there. His eyes closed on a wave of possession. If only he could keep her, he thought insanely, refuse the ransom and take her home with him, to stay forever.
But this was crazy thinking. She would never fit into the violence of his world, even if he could coax her into loving him. That would be unkind. She was not suited to revolution and assassination attempts. He smiled sadly as he stroked her disheveled hair. But dreams were sweet, and he had this little time with her, until she was returned home. He would savor it.
JASON THREW HIS OWN cell phone across the room, cursing so formidably that the agent, Hammock, actually backed up a step.
“Now see what you’ve done,” Kilraven admonished his brother, Jon. “You’ve corrupted him.”
“I’ve traded with that damned bank half my life, and they won’t let me float a loan for a third of what I’ve got tied up in certificates of deposit in their own damned vault!” Jason raged. “When this is over I’ll close every damned account I’ve got there!”
“I don’t blame you,” Jon told him. “But don’t sweat it. We can manage this with counterfeit money. I’ll send for it right now. All we need is the few minutes it takes for the kidnappers to scoop up the ransom money. We can trace them to their hideout and close in. They won’t even have time to know it’s counterfeit.” He picked up his own cell phone and started punching in numbers.
Jason relaxed, just a little. Kilraven’s announcement that the incursion to rescue Gracie had met with unforeseen obstacles didn’t help his mood. In the intervening time the kidnappers had finally given them a figure and a promise of Gracie’s return. He was trying to get the money together, only to be refused. He went to pick up his cell phone, checked to make sure it was still working and started to put it in his pocket. The theme song from a summer action movie blockbuster blared out in the silence. Jason opened the phone immediately.
“What?” he asked.
“Uh, Mr. Pendleton?” came a hesitant voice on the line. “This is Mark Peters? I’m the loan officer at your bank…”
“What the hell do you want now?” Jason snapped.
“Please, sir, I didn’t realize who you were,” the man stammered frantically. “The president of the bank, Mr. Lammers, had me call you right back. He said to tell you that the bank will loan you as much as you need to ransom Miss Marsh.”
Jason took a steadying breath. “It’s about time,” he replied curtly.
“Sorry about all that, sir. If you tell me how much you need, I’ll have the money ready when you get here. I’m new, sir. I didn’t know who you were.”
You’ll damned sure know next time, won’t you? Jason thought angrily, but he didn’t say it.
“The FBI has the situation under control,” Jason returned coldly. “Thank you for your offer, but it’s unnecessary now. Goodbye.”
“But, sir…!”
He closed the flip phone with a snap. He wasn’t placated. John Lammers was going to have a hell of a time trying to keep his accounts, under the circumstances.
Jon Blackhawk walked back into the room. “Money’s on the way,” he told Jason. “It will be here in ten minutes.”
“They said they’d phone at six with the drop information,” Jason reminded him. He ran an angry hand through his hair. “You sure find out who your friends are when you’re in a situation like this,” he said,
still fuming over the bank’s initial refusal. “I helped John Lammers get customers for that bank when he set it up here. I actually moved money from another bank to help him out.” He sighed, calming down. “But it’s Gracie I’m worried about. At least we’ll have something to show the kidnappers.”
“It will work,” Jon Blackhawk told him gently. “I promise you it will.”
A booming hard rock tune exploded onto the brief silence and Kilraven opened his own phone, calling, “Sorry!” to the others as he headed out of the room to take the call.
“I never would have figured him for a hard rock fan,” Jason pointed out.
Jon only chuckled.
The counterfeit money, obtained from a property room at the local police department with a judge’s order, arrived on time. While Jon was taking delivery, Kilraven caught Jason’s attention and jerked his head toward the kitchen.
When Jason joined him there, he closed the door. Kilraven’s face was grim. “They’re moving into the village right now,” he said. “It took time to get the cooperation of the Mexican authorities, but your brother-in-law, Ramirez, apparently is related to the president there. He got things on track. We should know something in less time than it will take for your ransom call to come through.”
Jason didn’t speak. His expression did it for him. He looked five years older. He felt fifty. Please, God, he prayed silently, let her survive it. Let her live.
THERE WASN’T ANY ICE in the pueblo. Gracie bathed her bruises with a wet cloth Angel’s worried mother had brought her. The young woman was so empathetic that she made Gracie feel as if she were part of a family. Machado, too, was concerned. He’d had his men take the body of the man who’d attacked Gracie back to Fuentes with a message. He didn’t say what the message was.
She didn’t ask. She was just relieved to have been rescued. It had been a traumatic evening altogether.