Reluctant Smuggler

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  The lean, mean one stopped in front of a gray-haired man who wore a suit and stood with legs apart, hands clasped behind his back. Fernando Vidal? The younger one said something and pointed to a brick house under the far tree line. The older one waved him away. Salvador obeyed, but not without snarling something over his shoulder that made Vidal stiffen.

  Interesting. Perhaps a younger jungle cat was making a play for authority. The intragang war scheme might be more real than put on.

  Someone stepped out of a cinder-block building next to the brick one. Clayton Greybeck. No mistaking the beefy build and blond hair. Tony punched down the growl that rose in his throat.

  No women in sight. Where was Des? Had he guessed wrong? Maybe she hadn’t been brought here. His gut squeezed.

  No, wait! A figure dressed in a skirt and blouse stepped out of the cinder-block building and watched Greybeck stroll toward the brick structure. He couldn’t see her face, but she had long black hair and appeared unkempt. Not Desi. Tony’s shoulders slumped.

  A door opened in the brick house, and another woman stepped out. She also wore a skirt and blouse, but her hair was short and sleek, and she carried herself like a princess. Des!

  If he had wings, he’d swoop over there, scoop her up, and be gone before anyone knew what happened. His heart did it anyway, even if the rest of him was stuck in a tree. I’m here, darlin’. I won’t let them—Hey!

  What did Greybeck think he was doing? The man backed Desi against the building, put a hand on her hip, and leaned his head toward hers. Kissing her? Sure seemed that way. A snarl popped out before he could bottle it.

  And what was up with Desi? The woman he knew would rake Greybecks face with her nails, but she stood there. Kissing him back? Sure looked that way. Fury reddened his vision.

  Desi scrounged up every scrap of self-control and refrained from ramming her knee into Clayton’s groin. He reeked of cheap perfume. Three guesses where he’d been, and the first two didn’t count.

  “Let’s make this a good act, Des,” he whispered in her ear. “The Jaguar is watching.”

  “And you’re doing your part to fool him by paying a visit next door.”

  Clayton nuzzled her neck. “We’ll just keep him guessing about how virile I am.”

  Desi pasted herself to the wall. “You’re about to lose it if you don’t back off.”

  His weight mashed her against the brick. “A frown from me, and Vidal will give you a room in the pleasure house. The men are very attentive to a new girl.”

  Desi shuddered, and Clayton smiled. “I’m your white knight, babe. Don’t forget it.” He pressed his mouth to hers and strolled away.

  She stalked to the washhouse and scrubbed her lips with soap. So much for her little stab of sympathy toward him last night. Clayton Greybeck was the Heisman Trophy-winner of jerks.

  Tony, where are you? Now would be the time to show up with a few hundred federales.

  Tony dropped to the ground and leaned his forehead against the tree trunk. The bark bit his flesh. Clatters and indistinct voices carried from the village. The rain forest rustled in the warm breeze, and tropical birds sang like daylight would never have enough hours. Gradually, Tony’s heart stopped careening around in his chest, and his mind cleared.

  Was he some kind of jealous idiot to leap to the worst conclusion about the woman whose pedestal he’d happily polish for the rest of his life? Get real, Lucano. Your wife was not kissing Clayton Greybeck However, what that lowlife was doing to her required a reckoning.

  Tony took a step. Shouts came from the upper end of the village. If he were still up on the branch he could see what caused them, but he could guess. Someone had discovered Esteban Corona was loose and had maybe even (bund the guard he’d clobbered in the forest.

  One all-important question: Did Corona get that SOS out on the radio?

  Angry shouts drew Desi out of the washhouse. The camp had gone wild. Men threw things down and raced toward the center of the village.

  A hand grabbed Desi’s elbow. “Clayt—” She stopped on a gasp, staring into Salvador’s cold eyes. He propelled her toward the center of the village where Vidal paced in a cursing rage. Desi’s gaze swept past him to another man who sagged in the grip of a pair of gun-toting gang members. “Señor Corona.” She hurried forward, but Salvador jerked her to a halt.

  The old gentleman lifted his head and sent her a weak smile.

  Desi took in his condition, then glared up at the younger Vidal. “Animals!”

  Clayton stepped up. “What’s going on here?”

  Salvador’s gaze fastened on his father. “You have wasted valuable men and resources to kill the U.S. agent, and still he finds us.”

  Vidal’s chin jutted. “You do not know it is him.”

  Desi looked from one ruddy face to the other. Tony? Hope bubbled.

  “I can find out.” Salvador pulled her close and pressed his gun to Desi’s temple. “Lucano! Come here, unarmed, or your wife dies. I will not ask twice. You have ten seconds.”

  “Lucano’s dead.” Clayton jerked his head toward Vidal. “Stop this insanity.”

  “Shut up.” El Jaguar sneered. “Just because we need you to operate our escape transportation doesn’t mean you couldn’t do it with a few broken ribs.”

  Clayton went white, and his chin dimple flexed.

  Salvador’s gun barrel dug into Desi’s skin. Her heart bumped and skittered as the countdown began. Tony please be out there. No, Tony don’t give yourself up. She closed her eyes, God, please don’t let Salvador shoot me. Sweat beaded on her upper lip.

  “Eight… nine… t—”

  “Wait! I’m on my way. Takes time to get down there.”

  “Tony-y-y.” The word sighed from Desi’s throat. She sagged like Señor Corona.

  Tony emerged from the forest, hands clasped behind his head.

  Desi drank him in with her eyes. Disheveled. Dirty. A bloody rag around his arm. And scruffy with beard shadow. If a guy could be gorgeous, he was. His gaze captured hers. Strength returned to her limbs, and she straightened, chin high.

  He stopped ten paces away. All eyes were riveted on him, but he smiled for her alone. “Hey there, darlin, you didn’t think I’d let you finish our honeymoon without me, did you?”

  Twenty-Eight

  Tony pulled his gaze from his wife and locked stares with the one who held her. A dirty cop. Nothing he despised worse. Tony’s contempt was mirrored back at him in the other man’s face. Cold certainty gripped him. One of them would not leave this jungle alive.

  Vidal stepped forward. “You have a gift for survival, Señor Lucano, but I am afraid you have made a fatal mistake.”

  Tony met hostile stares from armed men—Mayans, Hispanics, mixed bloods—all twenties or younger, every eye without mercy, pity, or hope. The look was the same in the middle of a Mexican jungle as in the jungle that was New York or Los Angeles or Boston. “Yeah, I see. El Jaguar’s lair, a poor Mayan village. Impressive.”

  The elder gang leader reddened. The young rival chuckled and shoved Desi toward Clayton Greybeck. He grabbed at her, but she smacked him across the cheek and danced away.

  “Everyone kindly keep their paws off me. Except for my husband, of course.”

  Greybeck stepped toward Desi. Tony lowered his hands, fists forming. Salvador and others raised their guns.

  “What is going on here?” A skinny, middle-aged woman in fine clothes marched up.

  “Enough!” Vidal’s roar halted movement.

  The aging jungle cat had authority left in him after all. Tony put his hands back in the air. He stole a glance toward Señor Corona. A simple nod would let him know help was on the way. Corona shrugged. Not the answer Tony was looking for.

  Vidal studied Tony, then nodded toward Salvador. “Shoot him. This time, I want to see it done with my own eyes.”

  Tony held his breath.

  “No!” Desi’s creamed.

  Salvador lowered his weapon. “Let Greybeck do it.
”

  Anger, frustration, and despair flowed across Claytons face, emotions Tony understood from any man who’d deceived himself into thinking he had Desi and then discovered he never would.

  The man’s shoulders squared. “No problem. But not with a gun. I’m going to break him in half.” He flexed his arms. “It’ll be a fair fight. Do you hear me, Des?”

  She went pale under his stare. “Don’t do this.”

  “His death is on you, woman.”

  “You miss the point, as usual. Tony’ll wipe the ground with you.”

  Tony’s sore body questioned the thought. She saw what happened last time he and Greybeck tangled and knew the poor shape he was in before the arm wound and bum shoulder.

  Vidal waved a dismissive hand. “We do not have time for this. Lucano may have alerted the federales to our location. We shoot him and we leave. Now!”

  Several of the men nodded, but Salvador fired several bullets toward the sky. “If Lucano had communicated with the federales, they would be here.”

  “But the radio—”

  “Was all but dead, because someone packed many fine clothes, but forgot to bring the fresh battery.” Salvador glared at the skinny woman, who flushed and backed away. “I say we have a fine fight to send us off.” He raised a fist. “¡Lucha!”

  “¡Lucha! Lucha!” The men picked up the cry of “Fight, fight!” as they formed a ring.

  Hands shoved Tony into the center. Greybeck grinned, circling him and warming up his arms with hugging motions like a wrestler. Tony turned in place, watching for a tell that would signal a charge. Every ache in his body screamed weakness, even the surgical scar, but he couldn’t listen. Didn’t dare. Lord, Your Word says You give strength to the weak. If ever that Scripture needed literal fulfillment, now would be a good time.

  Greybeck’s shoulder dropped, and he came in fast and hard. Tony pivoted on one foot and the man missed him, but flung a stiff-arm as he went by. The blow caught Tony on the bruised shoulder and staggered him. Pain blurred his vision.

  He righted himself in time to catch a head-butt in the stomach. His belly muscles spasmed, air whooshed from his lungs, and he slammed to the ground on his back. Men cheered. A huge shadow loomed. Tony rolled away, and Greybecks pounce missed.

  They hauled themselves to their feet, eying each other, panting. Or rather, Tony panted against waves of nausea. Greybeck seemed hardly fazed.

  The man feinted left and then struck right. Tony dodged the blow, the wind of the fist singing in his ear, and then whirled into a side kick that caught Greybeck on the left kidney. The man reeled away, clutching his side. Onlookers hissed and catcalled. Desi cheered.

  Greybeck roared and charged, grabbing for him with massive arms. Tony dropped to his knees and punched both fists upward. He struck the man’s bladder, and Greybecks feet left the ground. He flipped over the top of Tony’s head. About like bench-pressing two hundred-plus pounds in a split second. Every molecule felt the strain.

  Tony struggled upright. Greybeck lay whimpering and clutching his belly. He’d wet himself. Tony stared at his opponent, brow knotted. Was that all the fight this guy had in him? Disappointing in a way, but not surprising in a man who was all flash and no backbone.

  The crowd went silent, then erupted into a cheer—fickle as any mob.

  Tony’s gaze found Desi’s. The love in her eyes seeped into his pores better than a hot-oil rub. He went to her, and nobody stopped him from giving her the kiss heel been saving for the moment he found her. They weren’t safe yet, might not leave the jungle, but they were together.

  The sound of a single pair of clapping hands drew them apart.

  Lips curled in a snarl, Vidal glared at them. “You remind me of what was stolen from me when Angelina died.” He turned toward Salvador. “Shoot them both.”

  The young man grinned. “Yes, mi popá, now is the time for bullets.” He fired a spray, and El Jaguar’s chest fountained red.

  Tony shoved Desi through the crowd, grabbed her hand, and ran for the nearest hut. Automatic fire burst out behind them. Tony pushed Desi ahead of him, expecting to take a hit at any moment. They made the cover of the hut, and Tony glanced back.

  Unarmed men, mostly Mayans, fled in every direction. Bullets chopped them down. The skinny woman already lay in a pool of blood. A pair of gunmen herded Greybeck toward the path to the mule pens. Ah, yes, had to spare the submersible driver—for the moment.

  Where was Corona? No opportunity to search for him. “Let’s go.”

  They raced for the rain forest, zigzagging from the cover of one hut or tree to the next. A bullet zinged past Tony’s ear. He ducked and pressed Desi into a crouch as they ran.

  Behind a hut at the edge of the village, Tony pulled Desi up short. He pointed toward the forest. “We need to get to that tree with the crooked trunk.” With someone spraying bullets at them, the chances of making the distance were nil. “You go first. I’ll distract the shooter.”

  “No, Tony, I—”

  “Señor and Señora Lucano, do not make me hunt you. There is no chance of escape.”

  Salvador. And close.

  An open window beckoned. “I’m going inside and making noise to attract him. When I yell or you hear bullets, you run. A Beretta plus a clip and an Ml6 rifle are under that tree. Grab them and run as far and as fast as you can. Eventually you’ll come to another village, an honest one. They’ll help you get to safety.”

  Her lips trembled, but she nodded. Tony smiled into the beautiful face he would probably never see again this side of heaven, then climbed into the dark hut.

  “I am getting impatient.”

  Desi jerked at the lash of Salvador’s voice.

  “In here,” Tony said. “Come and get us.”

  A rattle of gunfire answered. Desi ran, trying not to imagine bullets tearing through the walls of the hut, spattering furniture, ripping into Tony… Her legs churned faster. No time for zigging and zagging. If someone had her in his sights, she was dead anyway.

  The tree loomed closer, closer. More automatic fire burst behind her, but farther away. The other side of the village.

  She darted behind the trunk, and her foot kicked something hard that skimmed into the grass. She dove after it and came up with the Beretta. Then she grabbed the rifle. Forget looking for the clip. Salvador’s men were wrapping up the last of the massacre. Bodies lay everywhere. Soon the gunmen would converge on Tony if he wasn’t already dead.

  A crash came from the hut, then a spurt of bullets and mens shouts. One of them Tony’s.

  Desi ran toward the hut. Her breath rasped. Blood pounded in her ears. Please, God, let me be in time. She tripped on a stone, stumbled, righted herself, and ran on, skirts flapping.

  She reached the window to hear the smack of a fist connecting with flesh. Thank You, Jesus, Desi looked in the window but could make out little in the dimness.

  Two tall figures grappled and grunted beside an upended table. A gun spurted bullets and flame toward the ceiling. Which one was Tony? Both men were dark haired and well muscled.

  One of them spat a curse in Spanish. The one on the left.

  Desi poked the Beretta through the window, but her body shook as she panted from the breakneck sprint. Who said she could shoot anyway? She never had. But she would. For Tony.

  The men staggered apart. One fired the gun wildly, struggling for balance, while the other dove behind the table.

  “Tony, catch!” Desi tossed the pistol.

  Salvador aimed his rifle as Tony snagged the gun in midair, turned, and fired. El Jaguars traitorous son slammed against the wall. The M16 dropped from nerveless fingers, and his limp body slid to the dirt floor.

  Tony met her at the window. “Thank you, disobedient wife.” He climbed out as shouts and hurrying feet drew close to the hut they hid behind.

  “I don’t care to end it trapped like a rat.” Tony gave her the Beretta and took the rifle. “No point in running. Lets take a few with us.” He winked at
her.

  She mouthed a kiss, and gripped her gun with both hands. Shoot? Oh, yes, A time to kill. A time to die. Eternity to embrace.

  They stepped forward as armed men poured from the tree line. Desi blinked. What kind of craziness? They wore wet suits, and swim goggles dangled around their necks.

  Tony bumped her, and she noticed he’d dropped his weapon and put his hands in the air. She did the same. A goggled man stopped in front of them, gun trained, while the others raced into the village. Bedlam erupted. Shrill cries of “Don’t shoot. I surrender,” mingled with fleeing feet, a spatter of gunfire, and shrieks of the wounded and dying. Finally, silence.

  Minutes passed in barked communication between federales combing the village. Then orders came for them to be taken to the brick house. Swallowing bile, Desi averted her eyes from the bloody bodies littering the ground. Great stuff for future nightmares.

  Almost to their destination, Desi looked up to catch a glimpse of Juanita’s skirts disappearing through the door of the women’s building next door, where the sound of feminine weeping carried on the now-still air. Thank goodness, the kind woman was spared. She would comfort the frightened ladies.

  Desi followed Tony inside El Jaguar’s headquarters building. A man sat at the head of the table. He rose when they entered.

  “Agent Peña,” Tony said, a note of caution in his voice.

  “Agent Lucano. You may both put your hands down.” He crooked a finger for them to approach.

  Tony preceded her, and the Mexican agent stepped forward and slugged him in the jaw. Tony staggered and hit the wall.

  Desi shrieked and ran to him.

  Rubbing his chin, Tony wrapped an arm around her. “It’s okay, Des. I had that coming.”

  “You most certainly did not. He should be thanking you, not hitting you.” She glared at Agent Peña. “I will report this to the highest authority in your country.”

  “Leave it alone. Please!”

  “But—”

  “He gives you good advice, señora. Señor Lucano and I must come to an understanding.” He transferred his gaze to Tony. “I will receive the credit for discovering El Jaguars lair, no?”