by Tarah Scott
Two men appeared at the back of the truck and threw the rear flap onto the canvas roof. Cole rose, and Jesse followed to the open rear of the truck. Cole hopped to the ground ahead of her. He had remained impassive throughout the capture. Her initial relief had metamorphosed into anger, and she realized a small part of her hoped he would go out, guns blazing. Selfish, she knew, if she didn’t make it back, Amanda would be alone and broke.
Memories of her mother, and the day she announced Amanda’s sentence at Berkline Hall, unexpectedly surfaced. Jesse hadn’t uttered a peep. She’d simply walked away and never come back. When Mom died, Jesse hadn’t attended the funeral. Rushing in, guns blazing. The guns had been silent that time, but the war raged on. Cole hadn’t been wrong.
Jesse paused at the lip of the truck bed and grimaced at the pungent odor of drying cocaine being reduced to crystal. She surveyed her surroundings. Four guards with CR-21’s stood in an open area of hard-packed gravel surrounded by four single-story buildings with corrugated tin roofs. Two guards held cattle prods. Dense jungle grew in twisted chaos along the edges of the asphalt compound. Beyond the trees, the sky had begun to clear low on the horizon, showing a red, angry sun.
The guard behind her jabbed his rifle into her back. She hopped down beside Cole. Warm, choking rain instantly drenched her. The guard in charge motioned toward one of the windowless buildings. Another guard shoved Cole from behind. He shot her a questioning look. She shrugged, and he started forward. She followed. A guard hurried past and opened the door, hunching against the downpour. They herded her inside the building first. The stench of urine, feces, and rot hit her like a punch. The door slammed shut with a metallic clang. All sunlight disappeared, and the light that shone from bulbs in wire cages protruding from the ceiling filled the hallway with the dim, yellowish hue of sickly, manmade light.
Jesse glanced back. Four guards stood behind her, but Cole was gone. She faced forward. What would Emma Peel do? Emma would save herself, then find him—like she should have done the first time.
To the left, cells lined the wall, some with bars, others with solid metal doors, a small window at eye level, and a flap for food at the floor. A grimy face appeared behind the grating of one cell with a solid door. He whimpered then disappeared, mumbling in incoherent Spanish.
A gun barrel jabbed the middle of her back. Jesse cast him a deprecating look. Another jab in her kidneys sent a jolt of electricity through her. Pain seared clear to her insides and her muscles convulsed. Electricity hammered her body as the floor rushed closer, then smacked her cheek. Her muscles shuddered in violent spasms. Pain exploded in every cell. She thrashed uncontrollably under the discharge for what seemed like forever. The sizzle came to an abrupt stop and her vision grayed.
Jesse lay twitching on the cold, dirty cement, gulping for breath. She struggled to remain conscious and take control of her body, but even her tongue hung out of her mouth like a dead calf. At last, the spasms subsided, but she remained limp. Jeers penetrated the ringing in her ears and the stench of burned flesh overpowered the prison stink.
Two men gripped under her arms and dragged her down the hall. They stopped three cells down and heaved her inside. She rolled up against a mattress. One guard stood in the open cell door with a shit eating gin, smacking the cattle prod in a palm. Bastard had used a prod meant for a thousand-pound bovine.
Jesse shifted her gaze to his, and said softly in Spanish, “I’ll come for you first.”
His eyes widened, then flicked to his comrades before he sneered and replied in broken English, “We come back later and play.”
“Cobarde,” she said in disgust, repeating in English, “Coward.”
He slammed the door shut. The clang reverberated through the cell like a gunshot. The guard with the key stepped forward, inserted the key, and twisted. The lock engaged with a smooth snick. The lock sounded well maintained, hard to crack.
The head guard laughed, and his friends lowered their weapons as he withdrew the handcuff key from a breast pocket and tossed it over her shoulder. Jesse didn’t take her eyes off the men, but heard the dull bounce of the key as it landed on the mattress. She followed their retreat until they disappeared back up the hall, then closed her eyes, and waited for the trembling inside her to stop.
Chapter Forty
The darkness was complete. Another low moan escalated to a blood curdling scream. Jesse stiffened against the wall where she sat on the mattress, jammed her eyes shut, and shoved her fingers into her ears. In the hours that had passed, she had distinguished five different voices. Bile rose in her throat. Perez was running an insane asylum, creating insanity by incarcerating and torturing the poor souls who had offended him. Lanton would have his final revenge. There would be no need to kill her. No need to worry that important information would be lost with her death. No. Perez would keep her alive in this room for a very long time.
Think, she told herself, think about something—anything—to get your mind off the incessant screaming that penetrated even her fingers stuffed inside her ears. But the hours of probing the cell inch-by-inch, and trying to conceive of a way out despite the solid walls had depleted her imagination. In capture situations, her instructors at Quantico had taught that the captors always slipped up eventually. They had with Cole. They would with her. She had to stay focused. Jesse gingerly shifted her position against the wall to accommodate the electrical burn on her back.
“In the meantime,” her instructors had said, “conserve energy.”
If she could just get the screams out of her head. Think of something, anything. Cole. She wasn’t leaving him behind this time. She wanted him. She’d wanted him from the start. If he’d made a move at the hotel, she would have ridden him all night. She hadn’t told him she’d confirmed he was telling the truth about surviving the massacre, or that she’d learned he’d seen Perez. Why hadn’t Cole told her he met Perez? He had to know that might convince her to let him work with her. What was it about him that made her give a damn? Was it because he stopped Lanton from taking back the money she took from the two accounts?
What about the night in the alley? Cole had seemed like such a greenhorn. A big guy who had no idea how hard bad boys could play. He had pissed her off, but she had admired the fact he came to her aid. Why couldn’t she shake the way that made her feel? Jesse pulled her knees to her chest. Fingers still jammed into her ears, she tucked her elbows close and rested her head on her knees. She hadn’t forgotten the warmth of Cole’s hands when he tended her leg in the hotel.
Screams penetrated her fingers.
Memory of him on top of her in the hotel bed rose in her mind. She startled at the vivid recollection of his weight, how he felt between her legs. Taut pressure in her nipples made her body feel light. She wanted to rub her breasts against his bare chest. Wanted him to flatten a palm against her hip and slide his hand downward. She gasped at the unexpected feel of his hand beneath the yellow dress he’d bought her.
Muted colors swirled in dim shadows around her as Cole traced a line up her leg, then her stomach to the curve of her breast. The weight of her body seemed to dissolve, and she felt as though her soul would float up and merge with his. He ran a finger around the edge of her breast, then drew a single line up to her nipple. She released a slow breath at the warmth of his hand as it covered the breast and gently squeezed. His erection pressed against the sensitive place between her legs. She cried out—
Screams unexpectedly filled her ears. Jesse straightened, blinking in the darkness. She looked around. Her body chilled with the sweat that had broken out across the surface of her skin. Jesse shivered. She’d fallen asleep. The screamer ceased for a second to catch a breath, then started again.
“Shut up!” she shouted.
To her surprise, the screams ceased. But only for a heartbeat.
Chapter Forty-One
The front door opened and sunlight streamed down the hallway past Jesse’s cell in the instant before the door closed with a tinny
clank. Lights snapped on and she jammed her eyes shut against the painful intrusion. She had been confined for more than a day in total darkness. She leaned back against the wall, blinking as booted feet shuffled along the hall. The odor of burnt cocaine preceded six armed guards who came into view.
They stopped in front of her cell and a guard unlocked the door. He stepped back and pointed his cattle prod at her. “Get up,” he ordered in English.
Jesse glanced at his three comrades with the CR-21s, then looked back at him. “What, no breakfast?”
“Now,” he said.
She locked gazes with him and slowly rose. The men backed up as she stepped from the cell, and the head guard motioned her forward with this cattle prod.
She lifted a brow. “No handcuffs?”
His eyes narrowed.
She should be more like Cole, Mr. Unflappable. But if the guard tried to hit her with the cattle prod again, she’d ram it up his ass and energize.
Jesse marched in front of the guards out the building into the hot sun. Four more guards waited outside in a line. The guards parted, pointing the way to the open bed of a military surplus duce-an-a-half parked twenty feet away. No firing squad—yet. She slowed to a stroll. Cole wasn’t in the truck. She surveyed the four other buildings like the one where she had been caged, and two smaller structures at the south end of the compound. Which building had, or did, imprison Cole?
The perimeter had no fencing. Two guard towers, each with two men and a 50 caliber Browning machine gun, were located at opposite corners. They had substantial firepower all the way around, but she wouldn’t get a better chance at escape than this, especially if they were moving her to a more secure prison. When the guards kept a respectable distance, she realized why they hadn’t handcuffed her or used the cattle prod. Perez wanted her alive and coherent, so had ordered them not to get close enough to start any shit with her. Understanding struck. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Perez went to see Cole while he was being held captive in the village. All she had to do was get captured, and Perez would come to her.
At the truck, she vaulted in and sat in the back against the cab. Two guards with prods and side arms jumped in and sat in the rear. Guards lowered the flap, the engine revved, and Jesse grabbed the edge of the seat as the vehicle lurched forward. They traveled on rutted roads for fifteen minutes, then stopped. One guard threw back the flap and jumped from the truck.
Jesse caught sight of the corner of a large hacienda surrounded by well-trimmed bushes before the second guard jumped to the ground. A gravel drive curved to the right, butting up against a long expanse of velvet lawn stretched past the house to a rock wall eight feet tall.
The head guard along with two of his comrades appeared. “Get out,” he ordered.
Jesse stared impassively.
“Vamanoos!”
She’d gone as far as she was going to. “You gonna make me?”
He threw out a clipped order and the four men pointed their guns at her.
She maintained eye contact with the leader. “You’ll need more than you four to take me alive. If he wants me, he can come get me.”
The guard’s face reddened. Jesse thought she’d miscalculated, then he muttered to the man beside him, and the man hurried toward the hacienda.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and the heat inside the truck pressed in on her. The guards shuffled, sweated, and swore outside the truck. The temperature had to be hotter in the sun than inside the shaded truck, although, she’d kill for even a trickle of a breeze.
She had decided Perez wasn’t going for the deal, and her heart sped up with the fear that she had to find a way out of here and back to Cole when a tall, good looking man dressed in beige slacks and a short sleeved linen shirt, approached with an easy gait. He stood as tall as Cole and carried an extra thirty pounds of muscle. This man was nothing like the stereotypical drug lord—short, scruffy, heavyset—nothing like what she had expected. He stopped at the back of the truck. Jesse looked into eyes that were exactly what she’d expected: dark and lifeless. Dread coiled deep within her and she understood: Perez and Lanton were exactly alike, and she’d underestimated them both.
He tilted his head in a bow. “Senorita.”
Jesse gave a nod. “Senor Perez.”
“I am told I must come greet you personally.”
She didn’t reply.
“Come inside. We must talk.”
“Where’s Cole?” she asked.
“Do you care?”
“Professional curiosity.”
Perez laughed. “Very good. We will discuss Mr. Smith. Please,” he gave an elegant wave of his hand, indicating she should exit the truck, “come inside where it is more comfortable.”
Jesse jumped from the truck and fell into step alongside the man who held the key to her future. She prayed like hell he couldn’t hear her heart pounding.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jesse followed a servant past Perez, through a salon, and onto a veranda. Two glasses and a pitcher filled with something fruity sat on a tray beside a small table where the servant seated her. He filled her glass, placed it on the table in front of her, then started for the door. Jesse reached for the drink and cast a casual glance at Perez. He still stood in the doorway speaking in low tones to another man.
She looked to the right where an eight-foot wall separated her from freedom. The jungle had been cut back, but lush tropical pines still grew so close, their needles kissed the vines that crept over the wall. Rubber trees vied for the remaining space, their massive leaves allowing only reflected sunlight to filter through. She could make it over the wall before anyone could raise an alarm. From the corner of her eye, Jesse saw Perez start to turn toward her. Sipping her drink, she leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes. Guava. She liked guava—on a beach in St. Thomas.
“You will have to forgive me,” Perez said.
Jesse opened her eyes as he slipped into the chair opposite her.
He reached for the pitcher. “I did not intend for you to spend the night incarcerated. I was not present when you were detained.”
She sipped her drink as he filled his glass, then placed the pitcher back on the tray.
Perez picked up his glass, leaned back in his chair, and met her gaze. “There was no need to sabotage the dry dock and channel,” he said in a conversational tone. “The fuel depot and diesel generator would have been sufficient.”
Jesse set her drink on the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not.” He took a sip of his drink, then set it down. “I’ll get to the point, Miss Evans. You have made a grave mistake.”
She laughed. “Have I?”
“You have.” He paused. “You are nothing like I expected. You are…extraordinarily beautiful. I was told you were formidable.” She detected a grudging note of respect in his voice. “I am surprised Robert Lanton so easily fooled you.”
Jesse narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“You believe you’re here on a personal vendetta but, in reality, this entire affair was orchestrated. You and Mr. Smith are here to kill me and get evidence to prove Robert Lanton is your traitor. Isn’t that true?”
“I’m no assassin.”
“But you are. License to kill. And if you won’t kill me, Mr. Smith will, for he believes I murdered his men.”
Jesse knew exactly how Cole felt. She controlled the near compulsion to reach across the table and strangle Perez for what he did to Green Team, Martinez, and Maria. Jesse reached for her drink.
“You think I killed Maria Hamilton,” he said as if reading her mind.
Jesse let her hand fall from the glass. “You didn’t have to kill her—then send her home—” Her voice broke. “You son-of-a-bitch, she was a little girl.”
“I never had her. The kidnapping was a fabrication. In fact, Robert was supposed to meet me at the village.”
“Lanton—in Colombia? He’s not that stupid.”
Perez leaned back in his chair. “He wanted his next payment in bonds and demanded we meet. I had no idea I had been falsely accused of kidnapping a little girl and went to the village to meet a business associate. Imagine my surprise when I received word Mr. Smith and his death squad were waiting for me.”
“Our units aren’t assassins,” Jesse snapped.
“Perhaps you do not know Robert Lanton as I do. A man like him feels he owns the power he has attained. You—everyone around him—exists for his pleasure.”
The all-too-apt assessment sent a shiver down her spine.
Perez set his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Miss Evans, I could kill you and no one would ever find the body. What possible reason could I have for lying?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not stupid enough to take your word.”
“Then take the word of your Senator Hamilton. He agreed to let the world think his daughter was kidnapped, then killed.”
Jesse stared. “The Senator in league with Lanton? My God, you have balls.”
Perez gave a slow shake of his head. “The logic makes perfect sense. Senator Hamilton wanted into Colombia. Robert convinced him using his daughter would ensure that.”
“Hamilton wouldn’t jeopardize her life.”
“He wouldn’t see it as jeopardizing her life. She was never anywhere near Colombia. So where is the harm in using her name to catch an informer who threatened national security?” Perez paused. “You see, there is one person in this world Robert Lanton fears.”
“You?” Jesse offered.
He nodded. “I own him.”
“You’re his meal ticket.”
Perez laughed. “True, and I fed him well. But nothing I own sits idle.”
“Your money bought you the lives of five elite soldiers.”
Perez gave a deprecating snort. “Such information would not be worth ten million dollars.”