Prisoner of War

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “We’re surrounded by army officers in the house.” Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. Adrenaline gave her the shakes.

  “I’m down here for my company, Minnie. I’m helping haul our people out of the sea when they make it here and I’m helping Nick preserve our company’s assets in Vistaria. I have to be here. You don’t. I want you to go back home.”

  There it was. The imperative. She took a deep breath to try to control her shakes and slipped her hands under her thighs to hide their tremble. “No, Dad.” She tried to make it just as firm as his demand but it sounded just like a twelve-year-old’s piping voice.

  He pushed his hand through his hair again. “Look, I can’t pretend that I understand this thing between you and that officer of yours. Duardo seemed like a nice guy and I’m sorry he got killed but...” He stopped and held up his hand. “No, that’s not what I wanted to say. That’s not where I want this to go.” He laid his hand flat on the table. “I don’t know why you’re the way you are these days, Minnie. I don’t understand it. I do know you’ve changed so much I barely recognize you anymore. You used to be this empty-headed, flighty party girl—”

  “Thanks,” she injected dryly.

  “I guess they’re not the most flattering words a father could use but honey, I would almost prefer to have that flighty girl back than keep watching the sad shell that’s left move around the house looking lost.”

  “I’m not lost.”

  “Yeah, I think you are.” He sighed. “I think Duardo’s death and the flight from Vistaria have dropped you into a place where you don’t know your role or where you fit in. When you get back home, you’ll know where you fit. You can get back to normal. Hell, I’ll even give you the keys to the old Mustang again.”

  He meant it as a joke but Minnie stared at him, unable to speak for the horror that gripped her. The noise of the diners around them, the crowd outside the restaurant, the clatter and clink of china and glass...it throbbed in her ears, crowding out everything but the horror.

  She couldn’t leave Acapulco. Not unless it was to go back to Vistaria. Back to Vistaria and closer to Duardo. He was there somewhere.

  Two days ago she had faced a fact; if she wanted to find Duardo again she was on her own, for everyone else believed he was dead.

  Now, if she didn’t do something, her father would ship her back home to her mother.

  She faced the last unpleasant fact. Time had run out.

  Chapter Nine

  “It’s so quiet!” Calli breathed as Nick led her inside the big, airy house.

  “There’s no one else here,” Nick assured her. He took her hand and drew her over to the stairs.

  “It’s eerie. I’m already used to dozens of people everywhere, sleeping where they can, tripping over each other...”

  He led her up the stairs.

  “Where did you put them?” she asked, drawing the tight sheath of silk up her hips enough to let her climb the stairs properly.

  “I found hotel rooms for them all. It was a chance for them to be by themselves, in private.”

  “Of course, you had absolutely no self-interest in making such arrangements,” she teased.

  “It is the only reason I did it, mi dama fuerte,” he assured her. He scooped her up into his arms, climbed the rest of the flight of stairs two at a time and shouldered his way through the big double-doored main bedroom suite, which took up the top floor of the house. Until now they had not used the room. It had been given over to a family of nine people at Nick’s insistence.

  Now he put her on her feet in the middle of the grand room and she looked around, her breath catching in delight.

  One entire wall was made of old-fashioned French doors with shutters and these doors now stood open to catch any stray evening breeze. The fresh wind moved the white, sheer curtains. Calli could hear the sea far below them, pounding the rocks at the foot of the mountain. Moonlight—weak now, for the moon was in its last quarter—filtered through the curtains, bathing the highly-polished floorboards with a luminescent glow.

  Before her was a huge old bed with a hand-carved teak headboard. It was such an immense size that the family of nine could have comfortably shared the bed between them.

  Nick’s arms came around her waist from behind and his lips seared their imprint on her neck. “Now I have you alone and there is nothing to keep us apart.”

  “How much my world has turned upside down,” she said soberly. “I still can’t quite believe it’s real. I still feel like someone will come along and tell me it’s all a mistake, that they have to put me back in Montana.”

  He chuckled. “It will feel real enough when we have our first fight.”

  “That’s a charming thought for our wedding night,” she protested.

  He moved around to stand in front of her and touched her lips with his fingers. “We will fight aplenty, you and I, mi dama fuerte, for we are both passionate and stubborn and know what we want. So we will fight with passion and make up with passion and our love will be stronger than ever because of it, because you will not allow me to engulf your life with my own. I will need that, mi amor, for where we are going, you are the only one I can allow to be stronger than I.”

  She considered this for a moment. “I love you, Nicolás Escobedo and you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

  He smiled and kissed her, long and hard.

  He didn’t tell her not to be afraid, though.

  * * * * *

  Minnie stared at the boat riding low in the water, at the light spilling from the long, narrow cabin windows and swore under her breath. Tonight, the entire population of Vistarians in Acapulco was at Nick and Calli’s wedding. She had counted on Nick’s boat being empty and unattended.

  The dock she stood on was higher than the boat’s main deck by a good six feet. If she climbed down the ladder, she would have to step onto the wheelhouse deck and that was where a long rectangle of light spilled from the open door leading down to the cabins. She would be seen straight away.

  Raucous male laughter billowed from the cabin and there was a light tinkle of feminine amusement, too. Minnie wrinkled her nose. That was the sort of twitter a woman made when she was trying to flatter a man into thinking he was funnier than Dara Ó Briain.

  She walked the length of the long yacht to the bow, her high heels clicking softly. On the elegant front of the boat a covered hatch nestled between the gleaming steel rails that swooped around the nose. The rails stood about two feet high. If she hung from the jetty...

  Before she could question her own sanity, Minnie kicked off her heels and lay down on the boards. The surface of the jetty was washed-out, salt-dried and gave off the faint odor of rotting fish. She didn’t want to think what the smell and the old planking would do to her new evening gown.

  She held her breath and wriggled out over the edge until her legs dangled down. Then, inch by inch, she eased her body off the planking, hanging on with her arms. She waved her feet until they collided with the railing and she could find her footing. Thankfully, she transferred her weight to her feet and clung to the edge of the jetty with her fingers as she lowered herself down onto the surface of the prow.

  She pulled her gown back into place and glanced up at the jetty. Her satin shoes sat gleaming softly in the moonlight. She would never reach them from here. With a shrug, she padded to the hatch, eased the rubber handles out of their locked positions and carefully pulled the hatch up.

  Warmth fanned her face as trapped heat escaped. She realized that cool air would replace it and perhaps warn the people in the cabin that the hatch had been opened, so she quickly dropped down onto the coils of anchor chain beneath and let the hatch fall back into place above her.

  She remained still, listening.

  From the main cabin, the voices came back to her. They were clearer now.

  “Oh, baby, yeah,” a man murmured.

  “You like what you see?” came a woman’s voice and Minnie’s eyes widened as she recognized Carme
n’s throaty purr. She sounded quite drunk.

  “You’re one wicked lady, all right.” It was a second man’s voice.

  Minnie bit the pad of flesh on her thumb, trying to figure out what to do now. She had no intention of interrupting Carmen’s private party, but she needed the boat. Would she have to stay crouched here until the festivities were over? She wasn’t sure she wanted to listen to any more of Carmen’s idea of fun, though.

  “Hey!” Carmen said sharply.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Like that,” came the deeper first voice.

  “Way to go, Jonesy!” It was yet a third male voice.

  “Hey, don’t!” Carmen said, her voice lifting stridently.

  “Don’t tell me ‘don’t’, bitch,” Jonesy returned. The sound of flesh meeting flesh came to her. A slap, Minnie realized. She swallowed dryly. This was not good. Not good at all.

  “Usted puto mierda,” Carmen muttered.

  “Oh yeah, talk dirty, honey. Come on, talk dirty to me. While you’re at it, you can deal with this.”

  The unmistakable sound of a zipper working told Minnie exactly what the guy was doing now. She wrapped her arms around herself, chilled. What could she do? What should she do? Carmen might actually enjoy this sort of attention. There were stranger things in the world than a woman who liked it rough. If Minnie busted in there, she was more likely to be forcefully invited to join in. A five-foot-two woman in an emerald green chiffon evening gown was no match for three men intent on getting their rocks off.

  “Ow! Fuck!” It was Carmen’s voice and this time with an angry note in it.

  “Ohmigod,” one of the lighter male voices murmured. “Just look at them, will you?”

  “No, you don’t get it,” came Jonesy’s low, controlled voice. “That’s not what you get to do now.”

  “Ow! Let go of my hair, you asshole,” Carmen cried. She sounded far less drunk.

  “Not until you open up that pretty mouth of yours and take what I give you.”

  Still, strained silence.

  “If you stick anything in my mouth,” Carmen said with perfect enunciation, “I’ll bite it off.”

  Again, a sharp slap sounded.

  “Just try it,” Jonesy said. “Mick, grab her head, huh? Try using your brain instead of your hand.”

  “Right.”

  Minnie rose from her crouch. Enough was enough. She felt around in the dark for something she could use as a weapon. Anything. There was nothing in the anchor hold but heavy chain. Dragging that, they’d hear her coming a mile off. She eased open the tiny bulkhead door and slipped out of the hold into the main corridor. Bunks and lockers lined it. She had slept in one of these bunks on the crossing from Vistaria. The corridor was a slender fifteen feet long and the door at the other end opened up into the main cabin. She had to find something to use in this corridor.

  She delved silently inside the lockers and cupboards, trying to figure out what her hand was resting on by shape alone. The most familiar and strangest find was a small iron skillet. She hefted its weight in her hand, considering, then went delving again. From the other side of the door, she heard the low crooning of one of the men and a choked sound that was possibly Carmen’s. It lent speed to her fingers.

  She explored the angled shape under her hand, defining it in her mind. It felt like a gun, but it had a wide muzzle. Then obscure, buried facts surfaced in her mind and she realized that she was feeling up an old-fashioned flare gun. She pulled it out and held it in her left hand. From personal experience, she knew that staring into the barrel of a gun being pointed at her made that barrel seem about ten times wider than it was. The flare gun would, she hoped, look like a cannon to these guys.

  She padded toward the door, her heart in her mouth.

  Then Carmen gave a tiny, choked sound and a moan of pain and Minnie’s fear evaporated. She exploded through the door, taking in the scene in one quick sweep of her head. A thin youth sitting by the steps up to the deck, a bottle of Corona in his hand. A second one sitting on the long bench, his hand buried in the hair on the back of Carmen’s head, great locks of her black tresses wrapped around his fist. His other hand was buried inside his unzipped trousers.

  An older man stood in front of Carmen, who had been forced to her knees on the floor. He was slowly turning his head in reaction to Minnie’s entrance. Everyone was moving slowly. It was like time had slipped into a jar of molasses and was dragging its way through.

  Carmen’s dress had been ripped from around her neck and now hung down from her waist. Her exposed breasts were reddened, as if they had been handled roughly.

  The man—it had to be Jonesy—had his hand around his genitals and the other under Carmen’s chin, holding her face steady.

  Carmen looked straight at Minnie and her eyes were bright and sparkling.

  Tears, Minnie realized. She hadn’t let them fall.

  Jonesy was still turning. So slow...

  Minnie brought the skillet around in a sweeping tennis shot, aiming for the back of Jonesy’s head. She didn’t pull the shot at all. Serena Williams would have been thrilled with the power in it.

  There was no satisfying bounce of the ball against the strings. The impact was jarringly solid and the muffled, wet sound made Minnie feel sick. Abruptly, time moved up to normal speed. Jonesy crumpled like a house of cards, sliding to the floor.

  “Fuck!” the man on the bench said, sitting up with a jerk.

  Minnie lifted the flare gun and pointed it at him. “Let her go.”

  His eyes were huge, the whites showing all the way around. He lifted his hands up in the air. “All right, all right,” he said.

  Minnie waved the gun toward the kid on the steps. “Come here.”

  He lowered the beer bottle and scurried over to the bench. “No problems,” he said, his voice high and nervous.

  With them both together and facing the gun, Minnie knew she could afford to glance away for a second. She glanced at Carmen, to check on her.

  Carmen was tying her dress up behind the back of her neck, her face pale. But she was steady enough. “Take the pan,” Minnie said, holding it out to her. “Whack anything that moves.”

  “I can do that.” She took the pan, got to her feet and pushed at Jonesy on the floor with her foot. “Did you kill him?”

  “I don’t care too much,” Minnie said shortly. She looked at the other two scrunched up on the bench together. “You two pick up your friend and get the hell out of here.”

  “What if you did kill him?” the young one said, his voice rising even higher. “That’s murder!”

  “Fine. Sit here then. I’m happy to call the cops. They can look at Carmen’s scratched breasts and her ripped dress and figure it out for themselves. In fact, why don’t you call them? I’ll even give you the centavos to make the call.”

  The two of them glanced at each other.

  “I have an even better idea,” Minnie said, reaching for the business card tucked into her dress that had been scratching at her skin and reminding her of its presence. She threw it onto the little table next to them, face up. “Why don’t you call Miguel and ask him to come down. How good’s your Spanish, boys? Know what the Secretaria de Gobernacion means?”

  The older of the pair leaned forward to read the card and said under his breath to the younger, “Immigration.”

  “There’s a reason I was carrying that in my cleavage, guys. Miguel won’t like the fact that you’ve messed up my friend. He will fill your young American lives with misery.”

  “Hey, lady—” the younger began.

  “We’ll go,” said the older, overriding him. “Let us just get our friend. We’ll get out of here.”

  “You’d better move it. You’ve got sixty seconds.”

  They moved it. Between them they picked up Jonesy’s limp body and dragged him up the stairs onto the deck. Minnie followed them out of the cabin, the flare gun on them. She stood halfway up the steps, watching them struggle to get Jonesy up onto the dock. She
stayed where she was until they reached dry land and had faded away into the night shadows.

  Then she took a deep, trembling breath and climbed back down into the cabin.

  Carmen was rinsing her mouth with water at the sink.

  “I think you’ll need sterilizer for that,” Minnie said, sitting at the table. Her legs were wobbly.

  “There’s so much scotch in me no bug will live,” Carmen husked. She sat at the table opposite Minnie and shoved her hands together. Minnie watched her take a breath every bit as unsteady as her own and the sparkling in her eyes grew. Then she growled under her breath, wiped swiftly at her eyes with the back of her hand and straightened her spine. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m glad.”

  “So am I,” Minnie said softly.

  A smile flickered at the corner of Carmen’s mouth. That was all, but Minnie sensed the air between them shift and change.

  “What the hell are you doing here anyway? A rendezvous with this character?” Carmen tapped the card on the table between them. “No, wait, what am I saying? I’m forgetting the late, great Eduardo.”

  “Duardo,” Minnie corrected. “And not so late.”

  Carmen rethreaded her fingers and Minnie spotted the tremble in them as she moved, then they were hidden as she fisted her hands. Carmen gave a dry snort of derision. “What, were you stealing the boat to go get him?”

  Minnie caught her breath at this accurate stab in the dark.

  Carmen’s eyes widened. “My God, you were,” she breathed. She stared at Minnie, taking her measure. “Well, you’ve got guts,” she said at last. “I don’t know that I’d want to handle this boat on my own.”

  “I watched Nick start the engine and I know how to use a stick shift in a car. I figured...use the engine all the way across...”

  “And run out of fuel halfway, “ Carmen replied tartly. “This is a sailing boat. It’s supposed to be sailed. It’s just a tiny little six-stroke motor and a teaspoon’s worth of fuel.” Carmen ruffled her hair with one hand, her eyes narrowed. “No, you’d need to cast a short jib sail. Keep it simple—the spinnaker’s too much, though it’d be faster. Short-sheet the sail to keep it under control. It could be done. Although a second person would make a world of difference.” She refocused on Minnie. “So I’ll come with you.”