Crossing the Line

by Candace Irvin

  “Not for you, woman.” He grabbed her neck and wrenched her head forward, then slammed her shoulders into the bird.

  White-hot pain ripped out across her back and down her arms and spine. She drew in her breath slowly. Despite her screaming shoulder sockets, she managed a soft tsk as she exhaled. “That’s a bad case of chauvinism you’ve got there. You should get it taken care of before you get hurt.”

  “¡Silencio, puta!”

  She blinked. “Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish. Must be the woman in me. Too dumb to learn.”

  Arista raised his hand again, this time fisting it, but before it could fly, Ernesto shouted something in their native tongue. Something with Rick’s name in it. She understood that much, at least. Arista just threw back his head and laughed.

  “I hope he comes for me, El Bastardo Pequeño, I truly hope he does. For it would make my job all the easier.” With that, he strolled halfway across the clearing to his men.

  Including Arista, there were three.

  Evidently four of the seven men who’d picked them up last night at the crash site were on the level.

  She hoped.

  Eve skimmed the remainder of the forty-foot clearing but couldn’t find any sign of the missing men. Just enough open space to land a bird in. She could only pray the men weren’t tracking Rick. She shifted her aching shoulders against the Huey so she could face Ernesto and gasped. He was lying on the ground, facing her. From the raw, seeping cuts and purple bruises darkening his forehead, cheeks and jaw, he must have put up quite a struggle when he came to. But the pain in Ernesto’s eyes told her his heart had absorbed a blow far worse than those that had been leveled against his body.

  Rick was right.

  Ernesto’s trust had been shattered today as well.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He shook his head. “Do not be. I am the one who should apologize. I led you and Ricardo back to this place.” He jerked his swollen jaw to Arista. “Back to him.”

  “Why did he call you little bastard?”

  Ernesto managed a wry grin. “You learn quickly…for a woman.” Like her, Ernesto was doing his damnedest to hold it together.

  She shrugged, swallowing another groan as her left shoulder socket popped in protest. “I had two years in college. ROTC scholarship requirement. Unlike Rick, all I remember are the basics. You know, the naughty words.”

  That earned her a half-hearted, wheezing chuckle.

  Despite his efforts, Ernesto didn’t sound good. He looked even worse. Lord, did she need Rick.

  Alive.

  “We’re not going to get out of this, are we?” She hated the fear that had finally crept into her voice. But at least she’d been able to keep it from Arista.

  Ernesto sighed. “I do not know. I must be honest with you. Arista and my mother intend to see that we don’t.”

  His mother?

  Her shock must have been visible enough to penetrate even those swollen lids because he nodded. “Sí, mí madre. Well, not my birth mother. Though I did pretend when I was young.”

  She knew the feeling. She’d been guilty of a fantasy or two growing up herself. But his mother? As bad as she’d had it, she couldn’t conceive of this. “Why would your mother—Carlotta—try to kill you?”

  Unfortunately, Arista arrived in time to answer for him. “Because Ernesto’s father has gone loco. Crazy. Why else would he decide to name an impostor as his heir?” Eve flinched as the colonel’s hand cupped the back of her neck. When he leaned down to rub his fingers beneath the collar of her T-shirt suggestively, she realized he’d shifted tactics.

  Brute force hadn’t worked.

  Evidently the threat of rape was next.

  She refused to be cowed by either. She even managed to hold down her stomach as his hot breath filled her ear. “Shall I tell you what you want to know now? Or should we wait until there is more…” He slid his hands up her breasts and squeezed hard. “…privacy?”

  “Now will do.”

  He chuckled. And stood.

  She eased out her breath as Arista left her side—until he turned. She flinched as the bastard kicked Ernesto squarely in the ribs just for the hell of it. She recognized the stark note in Ernesto’s groan just before he faded.

  His ribs were broken.

  He wouldn’t be able to handle much more abuse.

  Arista hunkered down and slapped his cheeks smartly, bringing Ernesto around, only to lift his head by the roots of his hair before slamming his skull back into the ground. “Shall I tell her what she wishes to know? Shall I describe how your whore of a mother serviced your father and then gave you up for a handful of pesos? Shall I tell her how Señora Torres was forced to take you in and raise you as her own because the president’s first seed destroyed her womb? Shall I tell her how your father betrayed her loyalty to him after all these years by confessing in his delirium that he intended to strip her own child of his birthright and name a bastardo as his heir?” Arista punctuated each sentence with a slam, then stood and kicked his right boot directly into Ernesto’s ribs again.

  This time, Ernesto passed out completely.

  Eve sent up a silent prayer of thanks as Arista abandoned Ernesto’s side—even when he stopped in front of her.

  “You must admit, it was most clever. By laying the blame at the feet of the great and powerful American army, we manage to—how do you say it—kill two birds with one stone?”

  She smiled just to piss him off. “But it didn’t work, did it? You won’t be able to blame us for his death now.”

  She wasn’t so sure when Arista returned her smile with one even more smug. “Ah, but we can and we will. You see, I will not be the death of you.” He shook his head. “You were murdered by a band of those dastardly Córdoban rebels. I am sure you have heard of them, no? After all, your own CIA is providing their weapons.” He snapped his fingers. “Pablo!”

  One of the men tossed him a rifle.

  Arista held it out. “You see?”

  She did.

  An M-16. Made in the good ol’ U.S. of A. Though she suspected this particular M-16 had come from a San Sebastián armory. Not that anyone would be the wiser. Not after Arista bagged and tagged the weapon’s expended distinctive shell casings and then filed down the serial number on the rifle.

  If he hadn’t already.

  She and Ernesto were doomed.

  Why else had the colonel offered detailed evidence that could convict him? Arista didn’t intend to let them live. The worst of it was, this clearing was too far away from Rick or anyone else for her to call for help. The gags proved it. Hers had been down around her neck since she woke. Ernesto’s lay beside his battered and unconscious face.

  Arista didn’t even care.

  She stared at the M-16.

  It was loaded.

  If she could get Arista furious, he just might try to smack her with that rifle again. Wrestling it from him with her hands tied behind her back might seem impossible. But the odds were a heck of a lot more attractive than waiting around to die. She spat at his boots, aiming for—and marring—the buffed toes. “So what are you waiting for?”

  As expected, his fist flew.

  To her shock, so did a bullet. It tore straight through Pablo’s meaty neck, taking half the man’s windpipe with it before it pinged into the steel skin of the Huey six inches from Arista’s head.

  Rick.

  Arista’s arm shot out before she realized his intent. He grabbed her hair by the roots and hauled her to her feet, shielding his body with hers. His putrid breath poured into her ear as he shoved a 9 mm pistol into the flesh beneath her jaw and coldly chambered a round. “That is what I am waiting for, puta. Your lover.”

  Her nerves shrieked as she stared into the jungle.

  Where was he?

  Eve twisted her head to the right as best she could, scanning the tree line before Arista jerked her face toward his. She couldn’t see Rick. Not that she’d expected to. But she could feel him—and she
had spied the other thugs slipping into the sheltering belly of the Huey.

  The colonel plus two.

  Three-to-one odds?

  No way. Arista might be a criminal, but he was not criminally insane.

  The missing men. She knew where they were now.

  “Rick, it’s a trap! He’s got four men hiding in the surrounding tree—” Arista’s fist cracked into her jaw. The force of the punch smashed her skull into the chopper behind them. She tried like hell to hold back this groan.

  She failed.

  Another round flew, this one landing with a soft, telling thwack inside the Huey. One of the men staggered out through the doorway, clutching at the dark stain spreading across his chest. He pitched face-first into the ground with a solid thud three feet from the colonel’s boots.

  Arista bellowed into her ear, enraged now.

  “Let me guess, that was your pilot.”

  This time, he bypassed his fist and bashed the side of her skull straight into the Huey. Stars exploded before her eyes as a third round took down the next stooge.

  Only Arista remained.

  And his hidden men.

  She opened her mouth again—

  “One word, puta, and Ernesto Torres dies before your very eyes. I may even let you help pull the trigger. The choice is yours.” Arista shifted the barrel of the 9 mm to the man’s limp body. The pistol was rock-steady.

  The bastard meant it.

  “Fine.” For now.

  He gripped her hair tighter, ripping chunks from her scalp as he used the tangles to haul her around with him as he faced the shadowy trees, still using her as his shield as he crammed the pistol’s barrel beneath her jaw once again. “Captain Bishop! I give you one warning and one warning only! I shall count to five. If I reach the final number and you are not standing directly in front of me, unarmed, I will kill her. Understood?”

  Silence.

  Arista waited a full two seconds and then shrugged.

  “One.”

  “Two.”

  “Three.”

  She caught the rustle in the leaves.

  “N—”

  “I meant it, puta. You will help me pull the trigger.”

  Dammit, he’d said it was her choice, hadn’t he?

  Rick or Ernesto?

  If she saved Rick, he would never forgive her. But if she saved Ernesto, she would lose the man she loved. Not that she’d ever really had him. Dammit, this wasn’t a choice, it was a nightmare! Worse than any she’d ever dreamed, worse than every one she’d ever lived. “I choose both.” She gathered her strength and prepared to launch herself backwards into Arista and hopefully knock him off balance.

  “Eve.”

  She froze. “Rick?”

  Her heart was pounding so fast she barely felt the hair tearing from her scalp as Arista whipped her body around with his, careful to keep her in front. She was still dimly aware of the barrel of the 9 mm crammed beneath her jaw—but she was piercingly aware of Rick as his camouflaged form slowly separated from the trees. His hands might be carefully folded atop his head, but he was smiling at her gently. He was telling her with his eyes and with his confident, easy pace that everything would be okay.

  Relax. She would be fine.

  He would take care of her.

  She didn’t doubt it for a second. Not with him fifteen feet away, walking steadily toward her. But what about him? Good God, why wouldn’t he stop? She’d lost too many people she cared about already. But she loved him most of all.

  “Rick, please, don’t.”

  Even the grease paint couldn’t disguise those gorgeous dimples as they caved in deep and low, carving a hole straight through her heart. “I have to, sweetheart. I love you.”

  Arista grinned. “Four.”

  Rick took another step.

  “Five.”

  Rick stopped, three feet away.

  “Excellent, Captain. Now, drop the knife.”

  Rick opened his hands, but kept them at his head. To her horror, his K-Bar fell beside the heels of his boots.

  It was stained with blood.

  Whose? How many of Arista’s men had Rick managed to kill before he’d announced his presence?

  How many still lived?

  Arista glanced at the knife and chuckled. “Why am I not surprised, Captain?”

  The corner of Rick’s mouth lifted slightly. “Because you know me.” The lift faded. “Now, release my woman so we can settle this like men.”

  “But I am not a man, agreed? What was it you called me a mere eight months ago? Ah, yes. A monster.” Eve swallowed her terror as Arista crammed the 9 mm deeper into her neck. He grabbed her breasts with his free hand and leaned down to run his tongue up the side of her jaw and into her ear. She couldn’t stop the shiver of revulsion that coursed through her as he followed it with a cruder grope. Arista just laughed. “I hope you enjoyed the tender hands of your lover last night, Señorita. For they will fade beneath mine as we make love.”

  “You don’t make love, Arista. You maul.”

  Arista clucked his tongue. “But the village girl was mine to maul, was she not? Just as this one will be.” He dragged his hand from her breast and fitted his fingers around her neck, cutting her air supply in half as he squeezed firmly. “Perhaps when I am done, I shall leave her staked out for the Córdobans, yes?”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “That, my dear Captain Courageous, is precisely what has already been arranged.” He jerked his head toward the Huey. “Now, if you would be so kind as to—”

  “Arista.”

  Eve stiffened—not so much at the fury in Ernesto’s gasp, but that the man had spoken at all. She could have sworn he was still unconscious. From the shock on Arista’s face as Ernesto twisted his entire body before jerking his bound hands beneath his boots as he jackknifed up, so had Arista.

  But Rick hadn’t. He moved.

  A split second later, so did the 9 mm at her jaw.

  Eve screamed.

  Arista’s arm fell to her shoulders with a thump. A moment later, it was his body and not Rick’s that landed at her feet with a sickening thud. She stared down at the screwdriver buried up to the hilt in the colonel’s neck. Blood pooled out, seeping into the earth beneath Arista’s shoulders and his head. He stared up at them, gurgled once, and then he was dead.

  Eve threw herself into Rick’s arms.

  She shuddered as he gathered her as closely as he had days before when he’d helped her confront the remains of her chopper, not even caring that her shoulder sockets strained and popped as he crushed her to him. He pressed his lips to her brow fervently, over and over, before he finally released her enough to smooth his shaking hands down her back. His fingers worked the knotted ropes at her wrists as he shifted his lips to her hair and murmured reassurances in her ear.

  This time, she knew exactly what he was saying.

  The same thing he’d confessed that moment in bed at the presidential palace hours before, the same thing he’d said a minute ago when Arista had been holding a gun to her head.

  Rick had told her he loved her three times now.

  But each admission had been elicited under duress.

  She refused to bind him to any of them.

  If she did, he would only end up leaving her as he had earlier this morning. And being abandoned by Rick had hurt more deeply than all the other leavings combined. She stanched the pain in her heart and drew herself up straight, stepping away as the ropes fell from her wrists.

  “Eve?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. Rick reached out, but before he could touch her, Ernesto coughed, then hacked. They turned in unison, shoving confusion and pain aside as they vaulted forward together to free Ernesto from his bindings. Rick’s hand closed over hers as she reached out.

  “I’ve got him. You go fire up that bird.”

  She stared up at him and then nodded.

  He was right.

  It was time to collect her crew and
get the hell out of this godforsaken country. She’d figure out how to say goodbye later, after Rick hefted his friend into the Huey behind them—and she got them airborne. Because unless Rick came to her willingly by the time they reburied the bodies in the States, she would be returning to Panama to get to the bottom of the accusations against Anna Shale.

  Alone.

  “You look like hell.” Rick closed the door to his friend’s office, hoping his grin took the insult from his words as Ernesto crossed the room to greet him. From the twist to the man’s own split purple lips, it had.

  “True, but already the ladies have begun to descend upon my humble form, eager to nurse me back to health.” His buddy used his unwrapped wrist and hand to gesture toward the leather armchair beside his desk. “Sit, please. I would join you, but truth be told, my ribs hurt too damned much.”

  Rick hooked a thigh on the edge of the desk instead, bringing his head down to Ernesto’s level. He stared into his friend’s eyes as the twist to the man’s lips faded—and the pain set in. “Everything under control?”

  “Sí. And you? Have you finished with the bodies?”

  Rick nodded. Hours ago, in fact.

  He’d spent the latter part of the afternoon ensuring that the remains of Carrie Evans, Bill Turner and Sergeant Lange were properly secured in the San Sebastián morgue until arrangements could be made to return them to American soil. While Eve hadn’t been thrilled with his suggestion that she head to the room to shower and rest long enough to give the pain medication she’d been prescribed a chance to kick in, she had agreed.

  “And the film?”

  Again, Rick nodded. “I just got back from turning the rolls over to General Gage.” The task had taken longer than he’d expected, but it couldn’t be helped. Not if he and Eve hoped to salvage their careers. Unfortunately, the sun would be setting soon. He was anxious to return to the room, to Eve.

  To talk.

  Among other things.

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  Rick wasn’t surprised that Ernesto had read his mind. Nor was he surprised at his friend’s attempt to run him off. But today had been one hell of a day. That was precisely why he’d stopped here first. According to the doctor who’d examined Eve and Ernesto hours before, the man’s cracked ribs, sprained wrist and bruised kidney would heal soon enough.