“O-okay.” She sniffs bravely.
“It’s going to be fine, I promise.” I look around the room, then nod at a chair against the wall. “Let’s prop that against the door to keep them out.” It could buy us a few seconds at least.
But Rose has been gone too long, and I’ve been in here too long to not draw suspicion. The moment I turn toward the chair, the door opens.
It’s Duval, and he’s got a gun in his hand. “Neither of you are going anywhere.”
Fuck. Immediately, I step in front of Rose, spreading my arms to shield her.
“Louis,” she weeps. “Is all this true?” She clings to the back of my dress, and her sniffles are turning into full-fledged sobs.
“Come away from her, Rose,” he says in a low voice.
I tense, because I don’t know what my friend is going to do. We’ve been friends since grade school, but . . . Rose is stupid when it comes to men.
She cringes behind me and bawls a bit louder. “N-no. I thought you loved me.”
His lip curls. He doesn’t even bother to answer, just flicks his gun at me. “Move aside.”
I don’t move. I can call for Rafe, but then what happens to me and Rose? The moment I scream, he’s going to shoot. I can see it on his face. “Let Rose go and I’ll stay with you,” I bargain.
“You’re both too much trouble,” he says, and gestures at me with the gun again. “Step away from each other.”
I watch his gaze go to the lamp. I move closer to it, because if he figures out that the information is missing, things are going to get ugly.
His eyes narrow even as I do. “How did you know?”
“How did I know what?” I bluff.
“Where the information is hidden?” He flicks the safety off. “You have one chance to answer me.”
“I don’t know anything about the information,” I answer honestly. “I’m the only one that could fit in the maid costume.” Staring down the barrel of the gun is making me rather nervous, and Rose keeps cringing behind me and sobbing. It’s distracting the crap out of me. I know she can’t stop, but I also can’t think. “I’m just fucking the guy that sent me in. I don’t want your information. I just want my friend back.”
“Fine. Give me the information right now and I’ll give her to you.” Duval waves the gun at me again. “You can both leave if you hand over the information.”
I pause. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he echoes. “I’m guessing you stole it from this room.”
Well, he’d have guessed right. I force myself not to look over at the window, to give away where it’s gone. “I . . . don’t have it any longer.”
“That’s what I thought,” Duval says and raises the gun.
Rose screams, stumbling into Duval. It all happens so fast that I don’t feel it at first. It’s just the quiet pffffft of the gun with the silencer, the hiss of air, and then my entire shoulder burns with a flare of pain.
The motherfucker shot me.
I slide to the ground in shock, and Rose sobs even louder.
“Shut the fuck up,” Duval says, pushing her to the ground. “You spoiled my shot.”
“You killed my friend,” Rose weeps over me. At his words, I realize she saved me or he would have shot me in the heart or the head, but she rammed into him and his bullet missed his target. Her hands flick over my hair, my chest, and I realize they’re wet with sticky blood. My blood. Oh shit. My entire shoulder hurts, my chest hurts, and it hurts to breathe.
And . . . I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out.
Or I’m dying. God, I hope I’m not dying.
My hands go to my shoulder. Everything hurts and I gasp for breath, each lungful sending stabbing pain through me.
“Ava,” Rose cries. In my fading vision, she looks up at Duval and snarls, “You’re a monster. I hate you.”
“And I don’t need you any longer,” he says. “It’s clear we’ve been holding the wrong girl to bargain with.”
And he holds the gun up and shoots her. Right in the head. Rose’s body recoils and then she slumps over me, utterly silent.
And I can’t even scream, because the world has gone black.
CHAPTER THIRTY
RAFAEL
The unmistakable sound of a discharged gun grabs me by the balls and shakes me. I push Bennito aside and race to the patio of the bungalow. The four guards turn to me with raised guns. So much for stealth.
I grab the first one and slit his throat and drive forward, using the guard’s body as a shield. I double tap my Walther PPK into the foreheads of the two others. The fourth ducks and my bullet whizzes over his head.
I push the dead weight of the guard aside and kick the table over and duck behind it. The bullet from the fourth guard strikes the top, and shards of the glass rain down on me.
But I don’t stop. I leap over the table, shooting toward his gun and then his head. His body jerks back when I land on top of him. Digging my knees into his shoulders to hold him steady, I wrench his head to the left and snap his spinal cord.
I grab his gun and spin on my foot to shoot a hole in the French doors. The bullet cracks between the frame, and I waste no time throwing a chair through the fracturing glass. I dive through the jagged opening, uncaring that sharp edges gouge my arms and back. Inside are three more guards. My side is singed by a passing bullet, but I manage to roll out of the way behind a large wooden cabinet before my body takes any more damage.
The three guards fire on the cabinet, and wood slivers blow by my face. The cabinet, however, must be made of inch-thick wood, because I can’t move the damn thing but the bullets aren’t hitting me, either. My cover won’t hold long.
I lean around the side, shooting twice for cover, to take stock of my situation. There is a dining room table, six chairs, and this giant wooden monolith. Beyond the dining room is the living area with a sofa and two side chairs flanking a television. Two of the men must be hunkered down behind the sofa. The third has crept into the dining room. His bad luck, because I pick him off.
A crunch on the glass outside has me spinning around but it’s just Norse. I hold up two fingers and jerk my head toward the sofa.
He motions that he’ll cover me and I surge forward. The two men rise when they hear me but either I or Norse pick them both off.
The outer rooms are completely empty.
None of the bodies are Fouquet or Duval.
I turn toward Norse and gesture my gun toward the closed bedroom door. There’s no sound in there at all. The silence is ominous. Norse positions himself on the left side as I kick the door open.
Duval is shoving things into a bag set on the side of the bed. He raises his gun toward us but Norse has a bullet in his shoulder before Duval can even pull the trigger. Duval gets two shots off. I dive for the floor, sliding across the slick surface. I rise on a knee and shoot twice more in the gut. The gun falls from Duval’s hand and he slides down the wall, leaving a slick trail of blood behind. His dead eyes stare at me.
At the foot of the bed lies a thin blond-haired woman slumped over another body—Ava!
Fuck.
There is so much blood. It’s a river, staining the bamboo flooring and flowing away from the two bodies.
I scramble forward and lift Rose off and place her on the bed. Norse comes over.
“Dead,” he says but I barely hear him. Ava’s eyes are closed but fluttering and there’s a slight rise and fall to her chest. She’s alive. Relief makes me dizzy and I clutch her tighter to me. She whimpers in an obvious sound of pain.
“Ava. What has he done to you?” The urge to kill Duval again nearly has me on my feet, but Ava needs me now. The blood is soaked into her uniform, turning the blue dress nearly black. I don’t know what is from her and what is from Rose. When I roll her to her back, she cries out in pain and I see that she is clutching her shoulder.
“Is that the only place she’s shot?” Norse asks, on his knees beside me. I shake my head. He has a
pillow from the bed and presses it against the wound. Ava screams at the pressure. With shaking hands, I run them over her body but see no other entry or exit wounds.
“I think that’s it,” I say, nudging the big blond aside. “See if there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
“Stop hurting me,” Ava cries.
“I’m sorry, baby. We have to stop the bleeding. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Footsteps behind me have me whirling around, but it’s just Norse. He drops the first aid kit in my hands. “Not much there for her.”
He’s right. There are a few bandages, tape, and a bottle of topical antibacterial ointment, but Ava’s going to need more care, particularly if she wants to use her arm in the future.
“Has the jet been chartered?”
“Yeah, there’s one at the airport.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here. Round every one up. Find us some cars and let’s go.”
Norse rushes off. With the kit, I have just enough to clean off the wound and bandage it. I babble nonsensical words as she twitches, moans, and weeps under my ministrations. I need a fucking morphine shot for her.
“I’m sorry, baby. This is going to stop hurting. I promise. We’re going to get you somewhere safe and take good care of you.”
Her breath becomes increasingly shallow and her skin begins to take on an ugly blue cast. Too much blood loss, my panicked mind tells me. This is the result of the curse. I kill those that I love. No matter how many people I try to save, I’m still the bringer of death, the killer of lives. Dread drives me into my mother’s native tongue. I plead with her to stay with me. I castigate her for trying to leave me. You are my life, I tell her, my one true love. If you die then I die. Do not die.
“Yeah don’t die,” Bennito snarks behind me. “We really need the old man around.”
I don’t even glare at him for his audacity because I am too busy holding her from the embrace of death.
She moans again, agitated and in pain.
“Do you have a morphine shot?” I ask, trying not to be impatient. Ava’s in pain and they need to fucking hurry it up, though.
Bennito shuffles toward me. “Yeah, we’ve got five needles in Garcia’s Boy Scout pack.”
Hearing his name is like a dart to my heart. I’ve lost him but I can’t lose Ava.
I bite off the plastic protective cap and jab it into the inside of her arm. She screams at the sudden pain. Bennito winces and I bite my tongue to keep my own cries inside.
From past experience, the morphine shot will give her a couple of hours of relief at the most.
“Are there more supplies on the plane?”
“I think so. Garcia arranged for it.”
Of course he did. How I will function with him gone, I don’t know. I gather Ava in my arms.
“Let’s go. We can be in Miami in under eight hours. What’s the status of the other buyers?”
Before Bennito can answer, Norse reappears with Rodrigo behind him. They both have packs on their backs. “We need to evac ASAP,” Norse informs me. “The gunfire has attracted attention. If they think Duval is dead, they’ll take the information by force.”
I table my anguish and worry over Ava’s condition. Neither will help her now. I lay her on the dining table and slice off her housekeeping uniform. Norse hands me a sundress. With Bennito’s help, we get Ava dressed.
“If we carry her through the lobby, it will garner too much attention. On the other side of the cemetery is a main road. I’ll carry Ava through the cemetery. We’ll meet you at the end. The airport is only a few blocks from there.”
“What will you say if people ask questions?” Bennito says.
“Sunstroke. Go put this gun in Duval’s hand. If the resort wants to cover it up, they can call it a murder-suicide.”
Ava whimpers as I lift her in my arms. The sound tears in my gut. Steeling myself, I nod to let the men know I’m ready.
“Did you get everything, Bennito?”
“Yeah, the real receiver was under the window, and I put a dummy receiver back into the lamp. That might stall the buyers.”
“Good.”
I set off on a light jog trying to hold her against my chest as steadily as I can, but each step brings her pain. Her moans and tears that track down her face are worse than any knife wound or bullet that I’ve ever endured. I whisper encouragement to her. “After this you will be able to survive anything—earthquakes, tornadoes, you name it. You’ve been thrown in the fire and you’ve been polished into the sharpest, strongest steel.”
She doesn’t respond coherently and halfway there she finally passes out. With a prayer upward, I give thanks because I couldn’t withstand another step of her painful sounds.
I’ve lost people that I care about, and Garcia’s death would leave an opening in my heart that would never heal. But Ava is different. Her loss would be the end of me.
There was one older couple that came to the Tears of God favela years ago. He was old and his wife was dying. He wanted to ease her suffering. He knew, and so did she, that there was no hope of recovery, and they sought only palliative medication so that her death was easy.
He was in perfect health but the night that she died, he lay beside her, holding her hand, and his heart went with her. We found them both the following morning, clutched together, passing into the next life in the only way that they would have wanted.
I suspect that is what mine would do should she die. My heart would go with hers. But she is not going to die. A gunshot wound to her shoulder that passed through from front to back will not kill her. An infection and complications from the wounds would kill her but not the gunshot itself. We have a small hospital on the island. People who are involved in dangerous things need to know how to repair their bodies without alerting authorities. We will fly to Miami, refuel, and then to the island—we should be there in ten hours. I can keep her alive for ten hours.
We run past small concrete altars and granite headstones. Some areas are well tended and others are worn and covered in weeds and dirt. Her head lolls against my shoulder as I move swiftly through the graveyard.
Death’s not taking us today.
A blur of motion on my left has me dropping to my knees. Fouquet. I release my precious bundle and crouch in front of her. I haven’t come this far to die at this man’s hands.
I charge him before he can shoot. His first bullet hits the ground and the next one pings off a granite headstone. No wonder he uses his fists. He’s a god-awful shot. I plow into him, taking him to the ground. He manages to hang on to the gun, which he pounds ineffectually into my back. I grind a knee into his shoulder and slam one meaty fist into his face. And then another and another until he’s comatose underneath me. I pick up the gun that has fallen out of his hands and shoot him in the head and the heart. I’m not leaving anyone behind that can come after us.
Running back to Ava, I gather her up again.
“The Jeep is ahead of us. We’re going to make it,” I tell her. My arms ache and my legs feel like jelly, but I push us forward. Norse drives the Jeep off the road and meets us halfway.
“What happened to you?” he asks, helping me into the backseat. Bennito slides over to make room.
“Fouquet.” I lift Ava up and Bennito reaches over to help me settle her.
“Do I need to go back?”
“No, he’s dead.” I shut the door and point forward. “Let’s go.”
We make it to the Captain David Abenzur Rengifo International Airport in short time. Guards patrol the exterior with their semiautomatic weapons slung over their backs. We’re not dripping with blood, but we don’t look exactly reputable. I’m beat up. Ava’s shoulder is bandaged and she’s slipping in and out of consciousness.
“I have a shot of adrenaline,” Bennito offers.
“It’s too dangerous. She’ll have to try to walk.” I prop Ava up. “Baby, I need you to walk through the terminal. It’s a very short trip. I’ll be on one side and Bennito on the other
. All you need to do is to move your feet.”
“I can’t do it,” she whimpers. “The pain is too much.”
Even Bennito flinches at the anguished sound.
“I know, baby, I know. But we need to get you out of here. We’re almost home where it’s safe. You just need to stay upright for a hundred yards. I know you can do that. I know it.”
She rolls her head to the side and looks out the window. I have no idea whether she is seeing the squat glass and metal building or whether it’s just a haze of pain.
“I can try,” she says finally.
“That’s my girl.” At those words, everyone is out of the Jeep and we head toward the entrance. A guard looks our way. I can see the men hesitate but pausing means guilt. “Go,” I order harshly, and everyone begins to move again. The guard takes another step and then another.
We keep moving.
He takes one more step and I see Norse reach inside his loose nylon jacket.
“El compañero,” another guard calls out. The man hesitates but we keep walking forward. When his friend calls for him again, he gives us one last look and then turns away.
We breathe a sigh of relief and no one stops us.
“Am I going to die?” she whimpers, her hand going to press against her wound as if by touching it, she could will the pain away.
“Of course not.” I draw her hand away and clutch it in mine. I don’t want her to hurt more, not even from her own touch. “No one is going to hurt you again.”
“Where are you taking me? I don’t have anywhere to go. Rose is gone.” Her voice is hoarse from choking the tears back but she doesn’t let them spill, doesn’t let them draw undue attention to us.
“My island. Remember I told you about that.”
She nods. “Where there’s no tears or pain?”
“That’s right. I’ve got people there who will fix you up.”
“What about Rose? Did you bury her? She shouldn’t be left here all alone.”
Last Hope Page 23