Must Love Horses

by Vicki Tharp

  It didn’t take Cue Ball long to return, even sweatier than Bryan. She took the supplies. “Thank you,” she muttered.

  Before El Jefe left the tent, he told the remaining man in English, “If he talks about the package, send someone to get me.”

  “If he dies, you’ll never find the package,” she said.

  He smiled at that. Not like he was happy, but like he knew something that she didn’t. Her stomach burned and churned with apprehension, knowing that while Bryan’s decision to say he had taken the package may have initially saved their life, at the heart of the lie there was something they’d missed. But what?

  Then he cut his eyes to Sidney and said, “If she tries anything stupid, shoot her.”

  So much for being a valuable commodity.

  Sidney was more surprised that the guard understood English than the order, but she realized she shouldn’t have been. The man staying in the tent with them was the one Bryan had described as El Jefe’s right hand man. Tweedle Dee, Bryan had called him.

  Dee settled into a folding camping chair at the mouth of the tent so he had a good view of what was going on outside as well as inside. He pulled the gun off his hip and set it in his lap within easy reach. Sidney didn’t doubt for one second that he would carry out El Jefe’s orders without blinking.

  She dipped the dirty white T-shirt they’d brought her in the bucket of freezing cold water. The water turned brown as she wrung out the excess and started at Bryan’s head and mopped the sticky sweat from him face and chest. She rested one of his arms on her shoulder and cooled off the skin there.

  Now that they were in the tent, she might have more of an opportunity to escape. She still had the gun in her boot, but shooting her guard would rouse the whole camp.

  Bryan had also made her promise that if she could find a way to leave, even if it meant going without him, that she would go. With the pocket knife in her other boot, when night fell, she might be able to slice through the back of the tent and slip away unnoticed.

  Dark was still hours away, and even though she’d made promises to Bryan, they were still promises she didn’t know if she could keep. So she did what she could think to do in a kidnap situation: She tried to humanize herself and Bryan to the guard. It might not do any good in the end, but if it made him hesitate to follow his orders for even a microsecond, it could mean the difference between life and death.

  “What’s your name?” she asked Dee.

  He stared at her while she wiped down Bryan’s other arm, then finally said, “Mario.”

  “I’m Sidney, and this is Bryan.”

  He didn’t reply, he just watched her ministrations.

  Because she thought she’d go stark raving mad if she kept all her thoughts inside her head, she started blabbering. “You don’t have to do this you know. You don’t have to take his orders. You could leave. Work hard, make yourself a good life. Find yourself a woman, have some kids. It doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hide out for the rest of your life, worried you will be found or sent to prison or killed, either by the authorities or maybe even one of your own men. You’re not like them, I can tell. You’re a good man in a bad situat—”

  She bit the word off when the muzzle of his gun pressed into her temple. She’d been so focused on what she was doing for Bryan, she hadn’t even heard him get up.

  “Shut up.”

  One of Bryan’s hands rested on her knee and he gave it a faint squeeze. Okay. She was shutting up. She didn’t look at Bryan; she didn’t want Mario to know that he was coming around again.

  “You won’t kill me,” she said with a laugh that held more bravado than she possessed. Bryan’s grip got tighter, but she ignored his warning. “Your boss, and, more importantly, El Verdugo, wants us alive.”

  “Him,” Mario said with venom, indicating Bryan with a quick twitch of the gun muzzle. “You no matter.”

  “You can’t shoot me for talking.”

  “I tell them you try to escape.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Boomer fought his way through the thick, cloying clouds of semiconsciousness. Back to the real world, where their current situation loomed more frightening than anything he’d faced in the past, because this time it wasn’t only his life that hung in the balance.

  Turning his head, he brought his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Helped about as much as wishing a hangover away. It was dark and no moonlight streamed in from above. He vaguely remembered being moved, of sliding in and out of consciousness.

  At the far end of the tent, he could make out the opening, a shadowed figure sitting in a chair at the entrance. Asleep or awake, Boomer couldn’t tell.

  Breathing still hurt like hell, but broken ribs were like that. His abdomen was sore, but manageable. The swelling in his right eye had diminished enough for him to see out of it, nothing lost except a bit of his peripheral vision. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth—superglued. The queasiness in his stomach had subsided enough that he could probably keep water down, maybe a little bit of food if he was careful.

  Sidney lay at his side—the cause of his left arm numbness—her head on his shoulder and her leg thrown haphazardly over his. He reached his arm across and cupped her head tight to his chest. He didn’t deserve her.

  “Hey,” she whispered and stirred. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Water,” he croaked out, sounding like a bullfrog with a head cold.

  She retrieved a jug of water and propped him up in her lap so he could drink. He tried to drink slowly, to allow his body and stomach time to adjust, but he was so thirsty, so dehydrated. He gulped, the water dripping out the corners of his mouth and down his neck, soaking the makeshift binding around his chest.

  Sidney pulled the jug away before he had his fill. “Slow down, you’re gonna make yourself sick.”

  He sucked in air, and pain radiated across his chest as it rose and fell while he caught his breath. The water sloshed and rumbled in his belly, but at least it didn’t come back up.

  He could barely make out her face, and that her hair stuck out at all these crazy angles from her head. He reached up and cupped her cheek. “Did I ever finish my list?” he whispered. The long list of things he wanted to do to her.

  Sidney made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Are you back?”

  Was he back? He was lucid, even if his brain was foggier than a July morning in Dutch Harbor and he probably needed a searchlight and a foghorn to navigate a serious conversation, but there was a stillness in his body that he hadn’t felt since he’d deployed. Maybe he was back. Possibly even back for good, even if, with their present situation, that might be short-lived.

  He laid back down and she settled next to him.

  “For now,” was the most he could commit to. “How are you?”

  “Better now that you’re coherent.”

  There was no accusation or recrimination in her words, but Boomer felt it all the same. “Why are we here?”

  “You were hallucinating. Talking about the package. El Jefe wanted you monitored in case you revealed any vital information.”

  His stomach contracted, causing the water to tidal wave in his gut. Almost afraid to hear the truth. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing important.”

  He swiped a hand down his face. “Any sign of El Verdugo?”

  “No. But there has been a lot of activity around the camp today. Maybe they are preparing for his arrival. A helicopter passed overhead this morning.”

  “Mac and Hank could have sent someone to look for us.”

  “That’s what I thought. If we could buy ourselves enough time for them to find us, then—”

  He glanced at the sitting guard. He hadn’t budged. Asleep then. “We can’t depend on them finding us. If they already passed overhead, the chance of them fi
nding us is slim. They’d have marked this area off the search grid. Our original plan stays in place. If we can get out of here on our own, we do. If you can go without me, you do that.”

  “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  “You prom—”

  “If I escape, they could kill you.”

  “If you escape, you could save me.”

  She growled her frustration.

  “I’m not in any condition to walk out of here.”

  “You could ride.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded, “but there’s no way we’re sneaking out of here with a couple horses without being seen. You have the knife?”

  She nodded and he felt it against his chest.

  “If you can, cut a hole into the bottom of the tent near the side. Just large enough for you to slip out if you get the chance.”

  She didn’t agree, but she didn’t argue, so that was a positive.

  “You have any food left?”

  She reached around and came up with a couple of stale tortillas. He’d take it. He ripped off a corner and slipped it into his mouth. His stomach flopped at his audacity, but he choked it down anyway. It sent him into a coughing fit. When he recovered, Sidney helped him sit up and held the water up to his lips. This time he was able to prop himself up to drink. His arm shook with the exertion, but the increased strength was an improvement.

  “You wake,” the guard said as he shook off the sleep and stepped closer to them.

  Boomer didn’t recognize the voice, so he merely grunted then carefully lay back down, feigning more weakness than he felt. As the water absorbed into his system, his strength began to return. But if El Jefe saw that Boomer had improved, Boomer feared he and Sidney would be locked back in the shed, where Sidney’s chance of escape took a freefall from limited possibility to completely fucked.

  * * * *

  Lying motionless in El Jefe’s tent, Boomer didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Sidney slept, but fitfully. Right after dawn, one of the donkeys brayed and then the horses called out. In the distance, other horses returned the call.

  The guard stiffened, and for a second the hustle and bustle in camp screeched to a halt. Slowly, person by person, the routine noises of camp returned. About ten minutes later, someone called out a greeting to the newcomers.

  El Verdugo?

  Boomer rolled to his hands and knees, caught his breath until the pain subsided to more tolerable levels, then heaved himself to his feet. Or rather foot, since it seemed his prosthetic never made the trip up to the tent with them. He swayed and took a bad hop and almost tumbled, then Sidney popped up and shoved a steady shoulder under his arm.

  “I need to take a piss,” he said, as Dee, whose real name was Mario, according to Sidney, pushed aside the flap and stepped past the man on guard duty.

  “I take you to El Verdugo.”

  El Verdugo certainly didn’t waste any time. He probably hadn’t been in camp five minutes before Boomer had been summoned. Well, the bastard would be damned if he thought Boomer was going to face him without his leg.

  “My leg and my shirt.” Boomer said with a tone of authority that implied they’d have to drag him to El Verdugo without his leg and he’d make their life a living hell in the process. At least as much of a living hell as a half dead US Marine could.

  And because his bladder was nine kinds of pissed at him, he added, “She’s taking me to the tree.”

  He hopped along with Sidney’s help and no one tried to stop them—it was obvious in his condition he couldn’t exactly make a run for it. At the closest tree, he unzipped his pants and fertilized the ground. His urine was dark and so concentrated it burned as it came out. Christ, he needed to get more fluids in before his kidneys decided to hang out a “Closed” sign and go on strike.

  When someone returned with his leg, Mario rushed him through the process of putting it on. Apparently, El Verdugo wasn’t known for his patience. Tough shit. Boomer would face his adversary under his own power.

  He tugged the blanket strips from around his chest. As loose as they’d become, they weren’t doing him any good. With Sidney’s help, he managed to put his arms in the sleeves of his shirt and pull it over his head.

  When he finished, he sucked down the last of the water and followed Mario out. The going was tortuously slow and painful, and Boomer wanted nothing more than to drown in a bathtub full of analgesics. They followed a trail downhill, and each step jarred his ribs and gobbled up what little strength he had not to follow his momentum and tumble down the hill.

  At El Jefe’s tent, he and Mario stopped, but one of the men continued down the hill with Sidney. “Hey! She stays with me,” he yelled between short, searing breaths. His head spun, lightheaded with fatigue—the short walk sapping all his reserves. He was as far from his training days and the twenty klick hikes in full gear than he’d ever been. All that training got you fit. It also showed you what you could accomplish when your body wanted to quit and your mind wouldn’t let it.

  “It’s okay, Bry,” Sidney assured him.

  El Jefe came through the tent flaps and said, “This is no place for a woman, no?”

  Boomer would have argued, but there was nothing he could do to stop them from taking her away. She glanced back over her shoulder at him, and her expression showed no fear. Instead, a fierce tenacity hardened her features. With that one look, his heart swelled with pride and thumped a steady, strong rhythm against his chest.

  Then he tore his gaze from her and stepped into the tent.

  When he saw El Verdugo, he stifled a chuckle. Boomer glanced around, waiting for the Punked camera crew to jump out of the corners. For a man feared by so many, if Boomer had seen him on the street he would have dismissed him as an improbable threat.

  El Verdugo wasn’t little, he was diminutive. Hell, he made Sidney seem large. But the Desert Eagle strapped to his hip was no joke. Especially if he knew how to use it. Which, considering the man’s reputation, Boomer suspected he did.

  Like some of the other men in camp, he wore full fatigues, though Boomer would be damned if he knew where you could buy them in kids’ sizes. El Verdugo’s hair was thick and curly on top and dyed jet-black to hide his age, but the wrinkles by his eyes and the jowls around his jawline gave him away.

  A strong hand pushed Boomer into the same chair he’d sat in before when he’d talked with El Jefe. Boomer didn’t fight it. He welcomed it. He’d had to lock his knees against the fatigue to keep from collapsing on the ground.

  El Verdugo made a waving motion with his hand and the tent cleared out except for Mario and El Jefe, both of whom shrank into the corners behind Boomer.

  “The package,” El Verdugo said without preamble.

  He didn’t waste time getting to the point. All good leaders knew how to take command of a situation. Then again, Boomer knew a thing or two about strategy and advantages, and even though he was the prisoner, in a way he had the advantage because he had information El Verdugo wanted. Very badly, if the man was willing to travel all that way to make sure he got it.

  Boomer chucked with self-assurance. “Not so fast.”

  His captor’s eyes narrowed, but instead of saying anything right away, the man steepled his fingers and thoughtfully said, “Go on.”

  “I have a business proposition for you,” Boomer said.

  El Verdugo flinched, clearly not expecting those words to come out of Boomer’s mouth. “You’re my prisoner and you want to make a deal with me?” Unlike El Jefe, the man had a thick Mexican accent.

  Boomer inclined his head, acknowledging the temerity of his words. In truth, his head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and aside from his main objective of making sure Sidney was safe, all he wanted to do was buy himself some time to get his thoughts and the rest of his shit together.

  “First,” Boomer said, “you let the
girl go.”

  “I can’t take that risk.”

  “Life is full of calculated risks. The girl for the information. Take it or leave it.”

  El Verdugo appraised him, taking in his prosthetic, his bruises, and his unwavering resolution. “You are a soldier, yes?”

  Boomer shrugged noncommittally.

  “You American soldiers are very much alike. Sometimes it takes a soldier to know another soldier.”

  Boomer smiled Mac’s favorite smile. The one that called people out on their bullshit. “You’re no soldier. You’re a criminal.”

  “But my life—”

  “Or death.”

  “Or death,” El Verdugo conceded, “is of my own choosing.”

  As it was, it was all he could do to stay upright and not have his eyes slam closed. What little reserve Boomer had was draining out of him as fast as blood through a sliced femoral artery.

  Boomer hitched himself higher into the chair. “The girl for the information. Yes or no.”

  Again the steepled fingers, like El Verdugo was freaking Mr. Spock. “You love her.”

  Boomer stared at him. Scratch Mr. Spock. This dude was the Dr. Phil of drug cartels. “Like you said, I’m a soldier. Women and children first.”

  “You are a good liar, Mr…?”

  “Wilcox.”

  “Mr. Wilco—”

  Holy shit, Boomer couldn’t shut the man up. “Yes or no.”

  El Verdugo shrugged like it was no big deal, but the blood vessel pounding at his temple gave him away. “Yes.”

  * * * *

  Sidney and Bryan were down at the horse corrals. Rivulets of horse urine drained downhill. The stench of the fetlock-deep manure was making her nose sting. Angel and Eli were both there, but that fact hardly registered. Sidney still couldn’t believe El Verdugo had agreed to let her go. She should be happy, but leaving Bryan behind made her chest heavy as her heart filled with a sense of betrayal. How could she leave when they were in this together?