by Lynn Viehl
“Don’t kill him,” she warned as she pocketed the scissors. “He’s the only one who can tell us where we are, and how to get back home.”
“I believe we’re somewhere off the coast of Mexico,” Sam told her. “Everything I’ve touched thus far in the house was brought over from the mainland.”
“Your ability is working again?”
“Now and then.” He tucked his wrapped bottle into the back of his shorts before he picked up the club. He also handed her a length of tourniquet hose. “Once I have him pinned, bind his hands with this.”
“All right.” She looped the hose around her wrist and wove the ends in a loose knot. “But if he has a gun, we stay out of sight.” When he started to argue she held up her hand. “You saw what he did on the bridge. He can take you out with one shot, and then I’ll be alone with him.”
“If that happens,” he said flatly, “you’ll have to kill him.”
She had never imagined harming another person; it went against her calling to heal and everything she believed in. She had thought those beliefs had protected her, too, until that morning on the bridge. “Count on it.”
They left the villa and went quickly down the walkway toward the water, stopping at the edge of the sand. Samuel led her behind a cluster of sea grape bushes and crouched down there with her, parting the branches to look down at the dock.
The boat, a large ocean cruiser, lay anchored several hundred yards away from the pier. A tall man stood at the helm, and another walked along the deck railing, a rifle parked on his shoulder. Neither of them was the gunman.
“He brought friends,” she murmured. “Why are they just sitting out there?”
A metallic click answered her, and Charlie felt the rounded end of a gun pressed firmly against her nape.
“Don’t move,” a pleasant voice said in English. “Put your hands on top of your head.”
Charlie glanced over at Samuel, who had a rifle pressed against his back, before she slowly lifted her hands into position.
“Very good. My name is Segundo, and I am in charge here. Mr. Taske, you may drop that chair leg. Very good.” In Spanish, he said, “Take the bottles and the scissors.”
Once they had been divested of their only weapons, Segundo told them to stand up. “Now, keep your hands on your head and walk down to the beach.”
“This was my idea,” Samuel said quickly. “Ms. Marena had nothing to do with it.”
“So polite,” Segundo said in a mocking tone. “Still, you’re already protective of her, which is excellent. It is a pity that you didn’t consider her welfare before we arrived, but I doubt it will happen again.”
Without warning Samuel spun around and tried to snatch the rifle from the man behind him. A hard arm clamped around Charlie’s neck as she was dragged back. A third man shot Samuel in the chest with the prongs from a Taser.
“Sam.” She fought wildly to free herself, until Segundo pressed a blade under her chin.
“Be very still now,” he told her. “I don’t want to slit your throat unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Even while Samuel was being jolted by the shock device, he managed to wrench the rifle out of the guard’s hands. A fourth man hurried up and shot him with another Taser, and the combined jolts sent Samuel to his knees. Although he was shaking helplessly now, the guards kept pumping more electricity into him.
“Please tell them to stop,” Charlie begged. “We won’t try anything else. I swear.”
Segundo waited another moment before he called off the guards. Samuel wavered, almost falling over before they grabbed his arms and with difficulty dragged him along the path to the beach.
“Do you work for the man who brought us here?” Charlie asked.
“Tacal?” He chuckled. “No, dear girl. And you needn’t worry about him; he’s been dealt with and won’t trouble you again.”
“Then why are we here? What is this place?” When Segundo didn’t answer, she added, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can’t keep us. We’re American citizens. We have rights.”
“It always surprises me how Americans believe they are entitled to freedom,” Segundo said as he forced her to follow them. His colorless voice took on a slight foreign accent. “Even when your lives depend on obedience and submission, you resist. You fight.” He stopped halfway down the beach and gestured toward Samuel’s sagging form. “And then you are shocked when you’re made to suffer for it.”
Finally Charlie placed his voice. “You’re the man who made the recordings that have been playing over the speaker.”
“You have an excellent ear, Ms. Marena. I hope your tolerance for pain is equally developed.” To his men he said, “Pare aquí.”
Samuel’s head drooped as the guards forced him back down on his knees in the sand. One of them produced a bottle of water and poured the contents into Samuel’s face, causing him to sputter and cough.
“He’s had enough,” Charlie said as Segundo maneuvered her to stand a foot in front of Samuel. “I’ll take whatever punishment you had planned for him.”
“Oh, we never punish the men, dear girl.” Segundo beckoned to the largest of the guards. “We just make them watch.”
“Watch what?”
“The consequences of your actions.” He smiled. “You and Mr. Taske did put on a convincing performance last night, but you did not, in fact, have sexual intercourse. That is a violation of the rules, for which you will now be punished.”
The big guard came over and grabbed her by the throat. Charlie lifted her leg, driving the side of her foot into the guard’s knee at the same time she plowed her fist into his solar plexus, jerking her arm back quickly and hooking a third punch up to deliver a crunching blow to the nose. As he howled and clutched his face, she went for one of the guards holding a rifle, only to be tripped by Segundo.
“It seems you’ve taken some self-defense classes.” He hauled her up from the sand and wrenched her arms behind her back, pinning them in the awkward position. “I’m afraid that will only make this worse for you.”
Before she could get her weight balanced, a broad hand slapped her, the open palm cracking as it slammed into her cheek. Pain shot across her face, and she tasted blood.
“Charlotte.” Samuel surged up, trying to get his feet under him.
“It’s all right, Sam.” She braced herself as she looked at the guard she’d punched. In Spanish she said, “What’s the matter, you coward? You afraid to fight a mere woman?”
“This isn’t a fight, Ms. Marena.” Segundo tightened his grip on her arms, pushing them up until Charlie thought the pressure would snap her bones. “This is simply an old-fashioned beating.”
Samuel surged up, knocking the guards away from him as if they were rag dolls. “Touch her again and I’ll put you in the ground.”
Segundo took out a pistol and pointed it at Samuel. “You were both informed of the rules, Mr. Taske.”
Samuel’s eyes shifted as he measured the distance between them. “Do you believe you can kill me before I reach you?”
Charlie caught her breath. “Sam, no.”
Sand shot up in a fountain as a bullet struck the ground beside Samuel’s right foot. Charlie looked out and saw the man on the deck of the boat pointing a rifle at them.
“Perhaps I won’t, but the marksman on our boat will.” Segundo smiled. “Make no mistake, Mr. Taske. You are the expendable half of this equation. If you continue to interfere, we will remove you from it and give Ms. Marena to another partner.”
Charlie met Sam’s gaze. “Let them do what they want.” When he started to speak, she shook her head. “I need you alive, mío. Don’t leave me alone with them.”
Samuel’s big hands knotted into fists as he looked back at the boat and then at Segundo. “You’d better practice looking over your shoulder, because one day I will be there.”
“No, old boy, I’m afraid you won’t. The only way either of you will ever leave this island is in dismembe
red pieces in a biohazard shipping container.” Segundo gave him an insulting smile before he nodded to the guard with the bloody nose.
Charlie had grown up in the barrio; she knew how to take a beating. She kept her chin tucked in and hunched her body over as much as her pinned arms would allow. The guard started in on her upper body with fast jabs of his fists, pummeling her shoulders, upper arms, and ribs. Knowing any cry she made might provoke Samuel into doing something foolish, Charlie bit down on her torn lip to keep anything but air from leaving her mouth.
Her eyes blurred as he suddenly switched to hitting her in the face, bruising her cheeks and drawing blood from her mouth and nose. After a dozen punches her vision blurred and her eyes began to swell shut. Still she refused to make a sound.
Some cold, clinical part of her kept a running inventory of the contusions and lacerations being inflicted on her, and gradually she realized something: The guard was deliberately avoiding hitting her breasts, her belly, or anyplace below her waist. He was also pulling his punches to keep from breaking bones or knocking out her teeth.
A guttural roaring sound swelled in her ears, punctuated by a dull thud and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Through the watery slits of her eyes she saw Samuel facedown in the sand, and that was the blow she couldn’t take. The cry that burst from her lips rang out as she collapsed.
Sand, blood, tears, pain; that was her new world until she heard Sam’s voice calling her name.
A shadow fell across her as Segundo bent down and turned her face toward him. “The next time you or your man break the rules, Ms. Marena, I will allow three guards to spend ten minutes with you to do whatever they like. I’m afraid they like many unpleasant, painful things. Mr. Taske will also be tied up and made to watch every moment of it. Please nod if you understand.”
Charlie moved her head up and down.
“Very good.” He released her and straightened.
“Charlotte.” Samuel crawled up beside her, blood streaking his face. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her into him as he looked up. “She needs a doctor.”
“Not this time.”
“For God’s sake, man—”
“There is no doctor here.” Segundo slid his pistol into his waistband. “I suggest you take Ms. Marena up to the house and see to her wounds. The rules are still in effect, as they will be for the duration of your life on the island. You will not attempt to escape, and you have until dawn tomorrow to have sexual intercourse.” He snapped his fingers, and the guards followed him up the beach.
Charlie pressed her hot, throbbing face against the coolness of Samuel’s chest, and a string of wretched, horrible laughs came out of her. “Have sex. Like this.” The laughter became sobs.
“Charlotte.” He held her with one arm as she wept, and gently wiped the blood and tears from her face. “I have to get you up to the house.”
“Wait.” She forced her eyes open. “Where did they shoot you?”
“No one shot me. One of them clouted me with the end of his rifle.” He reached up to touch his temple. “It’s just a cut.”
“Good. I’m in no shape to dig a slug out of your head.” She struggled into a sitting position, moaning a little as her ribs and shoulders protested the movements. “I think I can walk. With some help, maybe.”
Samuel carefully lifted her, holding her by the waist until she straightened, and then swept her up into his arms.
“You’re hurt,” she reminded him.
“It’s not even bleeding now.” He walked slowly across the sand with her, but when he reached the walkway he picked up the pace. “How well do you heal?”
“Takyn fast.” She grimaced as she touched her lip. “By tomorrow I’ll just have some bruises and scabs. Sam, those men didn’t bring us here to ransom us, or to chop us up and sell our parts to GenHance. But you already know that.”
“I considered the possibilities.” He looked down at her. “There’s only one explanation that makes sense of this place, the rules, and some of things Segundo said.”
“We’re not hostages, and this isn’t a prison.” As much as she hurt, part of her had gone numb, just as it had that day long ago when she had crawled out of San Francisco Bay. “It’s a menagerie.”
Chapter 9
The sound of the tide mingled with birdsong as the sun rose over the bay and illuminated the row of cottages hemming the edge of the beach road. Drew Riordan’s voice took on a slight rasp as he finished explaining to Agent Flores exactly why he’d impersonated a federal agent and come to Mexico to find Samuel Taske and Charlotte Marena.
Drew did hold back some details, like the exact nature of Takyn abilities, but to justify his actions he had to tell her about GenHance and why the biotech corporation was hunting them. Now that Genaro was in Mexico and had to know Drew was here, he needed Gracie’s help more than ever.
As for what Gracie thought, he couldn’t tell. She sat very still, wearing the perfect poker face as she listened to every word.
Once he had finished, he noticed that Gracie had turned to watch the sunrise through the back windows of the cottage. For the first time in hours Drew became aware of his surroundings. Gracie’s front room, airy and spotless, all snow-white and dark blue. Everywhere he looked there was some reminder of the sea, from the watercolors of boats she had hung in long parallel rows along the walls to the sun-bleached fishing nets she had wound around her curtain rods. A curio cabinet displayed a collection of polished abalone shells: all perfect specimens. Misty hunks of sea glass occupied a beautiful bowl carved out of driftwood next to an old brass ship’s compass, its needle still dutifully pointing north.
“You live here so you can be close to the water,” he said as he sifted his fingers through the bits of wave-polished glass. “I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.”
“My papi—my father—is a fisherman. I grew up by the sea.” She sounded wistful.
“You miss your home?”
“Of course. Sometimes I wish I could live there again. Life in the village is … not so complicated.” Her mouth tightened. “But I can never go back.”
“Are you on bad terms with your folks or something?”
“Papi understands what I do, and why. He only wished different for me.” She forced a smile. “Do your parents know about how special you are?”
He nodded. “They found out when I was a kid.”
Telling Gracie that he was the result of an illicit genetic experiment performed on him as an infant didn’t bother Drew. Being made Takyn hadn’t been his choice, and feeling shame over the gifts it had bestowed on him would be the same as regretting winning the lottery. But for a moment he wished he could be an ordinary guy who didn’t bring along the kind of baggage that would scare the hell out of any woman.
“How did they treat you after they discovered what you were?” she asked.
“They were worried, and probably a little terrified, but they definitely wanted to protect me. I guess if anything, it brought us closer together.” He thought of the last conversation he’d had with his mother, just before leaving Monterey. “I don’t get home too often, but maybe after this is over I’ll have a chance.”
“If you are not caught, or arrested,” she pointed out. “Or, if this Genaro is as vicious as you say, killed.”
“Everything I’ve told you is real, Gracie.” He leaned forward, holding her gaze. “It’s happening right now. I’d love to walk away, especially now that I’ve seen Genaro here, but I can’t. If I don’t find Samuel before they do, my friend will end up on a dissection table. I can’t allow that.”
She gave him an odd look. “Even if it means sacrificing your own life for his?”
“If I do this right, nobody dies.” He grinned. “Unless you still want me dead.”
“Dead, you would be of no use to anyone.” Abruptly she stood. “We have much to do. I will make us some breakfast.”
“Is your amazing hot chocolate included?” he asked as he followed her into the ti
ny kitchen.
“If you like.” She handed him a pan and a container of milk. “I will show you how to make it.”
They worked side by side at her tiny stove, and while Drew stirred the hot chocolate to keep it from scalding he watched her set out eggs, black beans, chopped ham, and a small block of cheese. “Is that going to be an omelet?”
“Something better.” She broke four eggs into a skillet, frying them before removing them to a plate and taking a jug from the fridge. She poured yellow batter from the jug into the pan, forming a large circle, which she flipped over until it was golden brown. She scooped two of the eggs to top the pancake, and then deftly added the rest of the ingredients.
“I didn’t know you could make a pancake into a burrito,” he told her as he hunted through her cabinets for two cups.
“This is not a pancake or burrito.” She transferred the contents of the pan to a plate before she started on a second serving. “I’m making huevos motuleños.”
“Does that mean ‘Mexican Eggs Benedict’ ? ”
She gave him a dry look. “It means eggs Motul-style.”
As Gracie finished cooking, Drew set the little kitchen table and filled their cups with the hot chocolate. She brought the plates over and sat down beside him.
Drew breathed in the tantalizing aroma rising from the plate. “Oh, God. I’m never going to be able to eat Taco Bell again, am I?”
“Probably not,” she advised him.
From the first bite of the spicy, eggy concoction, Drew fell in love, and wolfed down his portion at starving-man speed.
“We should go to my village,” Gracie said unexpectedly. “It’s not far from the city, and my father has a good boat. There is an English scientist who lives on a small island near the zone. He was given permission to put cameras in the protected areas to record the island birds that he studies. If your friends are hiding there, he may have seen them land.”