Blessed are the Peacemakers

by Kristi Belcamino

  Although he didn’t have any way to prove it, he suspected it was somebody sent from the U.S. government or military trying to rescue him.

  When some of the voices came close, he began kicking at the door and shouting. “In here. Help me. I’m a prisoner. Help. This is Sean Donovan. Help.” He shouted until his voice grew hoarse, the footsteps had moved away, and it had grown silent on the other side of the door.

  The fighting had only lasted about thirty minutes. After, the only noise was the creaking of footsteps on the floor above, which was a normal sound. He had figured out by the sound of running water that he was below a kitchen. A large one, it appeared. He’d hear the tapping of heels and the creaking of the floorboards above him around breakfast, lunch, and dinner times.

  Now, he heard water running and the murmurs of voices above.

  He heard the sound of a helicopter and could tell it was leaving instead of coming.

  Whatever had happened outside had sent his adrenaline racing, but now it was over. It was back to the tedium of his basement prison. He collapsed on his futon.

  The possibility that someone from his government had been trying to rescue him, gave him hope. If they knew he was here, they’d send more troops.

  The DEA knew that there were dozens of secret ranches owned by drug runners and lords hidden throughout the Peten jungle. Finding them was another matter. Many, if not all, had massive camouflage nets over the buildings to disguise them from aircraft or satellite. He’d also heard murmuring of some futuristic technology that created a false image of jungle canopy across the compound. Trees surrounding a top-secret area could shoot holograms that created an image only seen from above. He hadn’t been able to scope out his prison, to see if this was true for this house.

  Then again, there was also a very good chance that the gunfight had been between different factions of drug cartels. That was nothing new. The war was constant.

  But he swore he heard English being spoken. And maybe it was his imagination, but it had sounded like someone had said his name.

  His countrymen. A surge of hope raced through him.

  It was just a matter of time.

  He rolled off his futon and did push-ups until he couldn’t catch his breath anymore. He needed to be prepared for a fight. While his muscles were still slightly defined, over the past few months he’d grown soft and complacent from his depression.

  Lying exhausted after his makeshift workout, Donovan stared idly at the block glass basement window. Then sat up. Several fat furry legs squeezed through a tiny crack around the glass block window. Holy shit was that one big motherfucking spider. He immediately recognized it as a Wandering Spider, also known as a Banana Spider—the deadliest spider in these parts, maybe the world.

  Relieved he had spotted it during the day and not at night, Donovan made a plan. He grabbed the metal bucket from the floor.

  He knocked the spider down by whipping his shirt up against the wall. It took a couple of swipes but the spider fell to the earth below. After it hit the dirt, it reared up its hind legs and scuttled toward Donovan, who stood his ground, poised, waiting and watching. When the spider was about a foot away from his bare leg, Donovan dropped the bucket on it. He scooted the bucket up against the wall so he wouldn’t trip on it in the night. For the first time since he’d been captured, Donovan felt a tiny sliver of hope, a tiny nugget of power. He had a weapon. A mostly uncontrollable, unreliable weapon, but a weapon nonetheless.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Gabriella stood facing her door, listening to the footsteps grow closer, waiting to see who was on the other side. With a clattering of keys, her door was unlocked and Nico stood before her, hair messed up and shirt soaked in blood.

  She hoped her fury and mistrust didn’t show in her eyes. She couldn’t let on she knew anything.

  But he was in no condition to notice her mood.

  He collapsed into the room.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” Despite her anger, Gabriella found she was truly worried. She led him to the bed, where he sprawled out. He winced as she pulled the fabric of his shirt away from a large patch of blood. Beneath his clothes, was a small bullet hole.

  “Lean forward.”

  Supporting him, she glanced at his back near his shoulder where there was a small exit wound. The bleeding was minimal. It only needed a small dressing. This would work out perfectly.

  “You’re lucky. In and out. Stay right here.” She raced to the hallway and glanced down it both ways. Nobody was in sight. Quickly, she closed and locked her door.

  “I’ll be right back. I think I saw a first-aid kit in the bathroom.” His eyes were closed but he nodded. On the way into the bathroom, she swooped up a partially full whiskey bottle and hid it in front of her body as she walked.

  Inside the bathroom, she closed the door just enough where Nico couldn’t see what she was doing. Reaching into the back of a drawer, she retrieved the small folded tissue with the sleeping pills.

  Some measure of propriety kept the homeowner from watching her in the bathroom. He’d made a mistake.

  Placing the pills in the bottom of a water glass, she crushed them with the end of her toothbrush. She poured three fingers of bourbon into the glass, grabbed the first aid kit from a drawer and headed back to the bed.

  “You doing okay?” As she leaned over, he wrapped his arm around behind her, caressing her back and gave her a wry smile.

  “Much better now.”

  “Knock it off. You’re hurt.” She forced a smile.

  “It’s not so bad,” he said, but she could see the effort had cost him and he grunted with pain as he moved his arm back down.

  “What the hell happened out there?” she asked, gently tugging his shirt even further away from his wound.

  “Apparently, our host has enemies who thought he might be here—I think maybe the Gulf Cartel members? I’m not sure. They attacked by dropping assassins into the compound by helicopter. Luckily, our masked friend had been warned of the attack and without us knowing, had armed henchmen waiting. It was a bloodbath.”

  Gabriella stopped what she was doing and stared. “How did you happen to get involved?”

  He swallowed.

  “I made the foolish mistake of stepping out of my room to see what was going on. I hadn’t even stepped a foot when a gunman turned down the hall and fired. I was able to duck back into my room and lock the door. I stayed there, bleeding on myself until the gunfire had stopped. I am afraid to look around anymore. I first went to the kitchen to look for Esmeralda to make sure she was okay. I couldn’t find her, but one of our host’s men told me she was safe, so I rushed to find you. I stepped across three bodies on my way here.”

  Gabriella didn’t believe a word he said, but played along. She uncapped the bottle of whiskey.

  “What’s going on out there now? Maybe we should go investigate? By the way, this might sting a little.”

  Nico cringed as Gabriella dumped some of the whiskey on his wound.

  “Oh, mama mia!” he cried and tried to sit up.

  “Sorry, need to make sure the wound is clean before I put the bandage on. I got the steps out of order. Drink first.”

  She helped prop him up in the bed, his back resting on pillows and handed him the water glass full of whiskey.

  He downed all but a half-inch. She set the glass on the nightstand wondering if all the sleeping pill powder was at the bottom in the remaining liquid.

  She was gentle as she dried the skin around the wound and placed the bandage on.

  “You rest, I’m going to go see what’s going on.” She pushed him down on the bed when he tried to sit up. Maybe he didn’t drink any of the powder. She eyed the glass again. It did look like some white residue remained.

  His eyelids were growing droopy though, as if it was hard to keep them open.

  “Nico?” she said softly, waiting for him to meet her eyes.

  “Yes?” He gave her a sexy smile.

  “I
thought I heard voices. Like young women or girls. Do you know what that is about? Are there other girls being held prisoner like us? Are there girls who are staying here as guests of El Senor? I swear I’ve been hearing voices?”

  She waited. Here was his chance to tell her.

  He raised a hand and made a disparaging noise, sweeping her questions away. “Nah. Nobody. Just us.”

  He was lying. His voice was becoming slurred as if he was drunk. The pills must be kicking in.

  Gabriella pressed on. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Nico.” She used his name on purpose, calling him out, hoping he would tell her the truth.

  “Tell me about your scar. How did you get it?”

  “Ah, it was something silly, stupid, really. I was mugged when I was a teen.”

  Gabriella felt strangely deflated. She’d built it up into something daring, imagined something dangerous, some covert secret operation where he refused to talk and was sliced for it. Instead, he was simply a victim, like anybody else could end up.

  “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” She tried again.

  “I was married before,” he said, his words slurring together.

  “Yes, you told me.” Gabriella tried to hide her frustration. “The girls—they are holding other people here aren’t they?”

  “No,” he tried to sit up again and his voice was angry. “Before. To the love of my life.”

  Gabriella paused. Was he saying he lied about having married for money before? Why was he telling her this? She needed to figure a way to get him to drink the rest of the whiskey without tasting the powder.

  His eyes were closed and it seemed like he was growing sleepy, but he kept talking. “Francesca. We were high school sweethearts. We married when we were just kids, just graduated. I loved her so much. We lived near the sea. It was such a simple life. We were poor and we did not care. We had next to nothing, but it was the richest I’ve ever been in my life.”

  Gabriella couldn’t help it; she perched on the edge of the bed to hear the rest. But before she did, she poured another slug of whiskey in the glass.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She was stunningly beautiful. She had these big black eyes and black curly hair and the pinkest lips. But she was more beautiful inside. She worked as a midwife in our village. She loved babies so much. It was very hard for her to get pregnant.”

  Gabriella’s stomach clenched a little.

  “Every single day of my life I want to die without her.” He began to cry. Tears dripped down the sides of his face onto the pillow. “Today, when I got shot I was happy. I thought, ‘Today is the day I get to see my love.’”

  Reaching over, Gabriella took Nico’s hand in hers and stroked his palm.

  His eyes flew up, startling her. “But then I didn’t want to die. Do you know why?”

  She shook her head wordlessly.

  “Because of you,” he said, grabbing her hand and kissing it wildly. “I did not know I could love a woman again.”

  Lifting his head, she made him drain the glass, cringing a little when she saw some white powder at the bottom—the remnant of the sleeping pills.

  She put the glass on the far side of the nightstand where he couldn’t see it and pulled a blanket up to his chin.

  “You should rest,” she said.

  “God, I miss her so much,” his words came out as a sob.

  Despite herself, even though she knew not to get involved or care or feel bad, she couldn’t help but ask Nico the question. “What happened to Francesca?”

  “She died. In childbirth.”

  “You have a child.” Maybe he would tell her now. She waited for him to answer. Instead, his mouth dropped open and a snore emerged. He was asleep.

  Time to go find that phone.

  Cautiously she opened her bedroom door. The hallway was silent. As she made her way down toward the room that housed the office and phone, she noted that there was not a spot of blood in front of Nico’s room where he had claimed to be shot. She tried the door handle. It was locked.

  At the office door, she made the sign of the cross, and tried that door. It was also locked. If only she had her lock-picking kit. She’d search the kitchen for something that could be used instead. She needed a tension wrench and a pick.

  But right when she was about to walk away, she felt someone nearby. She whirled. At the end of the hallway was a man with an AK-47. Gabriella had fired one at range once and had gone home with a shredded target and sore trigger finger.

  He said something in Spanish.

  “No Comprendo,” she said.

  Shouting something in Spanish over his shoulder, the gunman kept his eyes on Gabriella. Soon Esmeralda appeared. “He says you go back to your room now. It is still dangerous. We will eat at siete.”

  Gabriella paused. What would the man do if she disobeyed? What if she ran outside? She shot a sideways glance at the door off to her left. It led outside to the veranda. The man with the gun saw and took a threatening step forward.

  “Please, miss. Please do as he says.” Esmeralda wrung her hands. That was enough for Gabriella to realize the man with the gun was serious. She debated asking Esmeralda about the girl’s voices she had heard. Instead, she returned to her room and locked the door. She curled up on the bed beside Nico, her back to him and tried to nap.

  NICO WOKE AT THREE complaining of a splitting headache. Gabriella set down the book she’d been reading and tried to act innocent.

  “You must’ve needed that sleep.” She smiled and hoped he didn’t realize it was an act. Every ounce of attraction she’d ever felt for him had disappeared. It’d been replaced with suspicion and anger that he was lying to her. At the very least, he was complicit in keeping her prisoner here by not telling her the truth. At the worst, he was in on it from the start. The question was why.

  Nico groaned as he pulled himself up from the bed.

  “I need to go shower, change. I will see you at dinner.”

  He seemed grumpy. It made Gabriella worry that he knew he’d been drugged.

  Did he remember how she pressed him about the girl’s voices? He left her room without another word. She waited with her ear pressed to her door until she heard the jingle of keys and heard his door open and close. He had keys to his room and the office, apparently. He was not to be trusted. Not one bit.

  As soon as she heard his door shut, she opened hers, closing it silently behind her and raced to the door at the end of the hall. The one that would lead outside closest to the garage. Peering out before she opened the door, she made sure the gunmen weren’t still waiting. About an hour before she’d heard the sound of several vehicles and many raised voices and then the noises had all faded. She hoped that meant everyone had left.

  Outside on the veranda, she saw a couple wet, stained spots where bodies or blood might have lain. She shuddered as she walked past them, making a wide circle around them. She had been in such a hurry to get to the garage, she hadn’t worn shoes and only had on the shorts and tank top she’d slept in.

  Now, she crept down some steps and ran toward the garage, looking around as she did. Nobody was in sight. Once she got to the level where the garage was, nobody could see her unless they were also on that level of the driveway so she relaxed a little and slowed down. She kept an eye on the twelve-foot high stone wall, imagining a jaguar scaling it and watching her even though she knew it was unlikely. That’s why the wall was there after all.

  Circling the garage, she first tried the one door. It was locked.

  Damn. Again, she wished for her lock pick kit.

  She’d have to forage some materials out of the kitchen and try to come up with her own tools to pick locks. That was the only solution. If only she knew how to hot wire a car, she wouldn’t have to worry about step two of her plan—finding keys to the vehicles inside the garage. Why she’d never asked Donovan to teach her this skill, she didn’t know. It was ironic that although he knew how to hotwire a car, he’d always fro
wned on her lock picking skills.

  Thinking of Donovan sent a sob into her throat. She wanted to collapse right there on the gravel driveway, but knew she had to keep fighting to get back home to Grace.

  After staring at the door in frustration for a few minutes, she headed back to the house.

  The kitchen was empty. Quickly, she pulled drawers and flung open cupboards. If someone walked in, she’d plead hunger. She was looking for something like a meat thermometer with a long pointy end. Or even a bamboo skewer would work. Nothing. There was one drawer that had a lock on it. Maybe the knives were kept in there.

  A small drawer had a small stack of papers. Manuals for the refrigerator, oven and microwave. Somebody was very organized. She was about to throw the stack of papers back in when she saw the glint of metal. A paperclip. She could use it as a tension wrench. She only needed one more tool and her lock picking kit would be complete.

  Hearing footsteps, she grabbed a glass and turned on the sink faucet. When Esmeralda walked in she was downing the last sip of water. She smiled over the glass.

  Esmeralda looked around the kitchen as if suspecting something but then seeing nothing amiss, smiled back. Gabriella noticed something. The woman wore bobby pins to keep her bun in place.

  Gabriella lifted her hair off her neck and sighed. “It is so hot.”

  Then, as if she had just thought of it turned to Esmeralda.

  “Do you have a bobby pin?”

  Esmeralda looked at her confused. Gabriella pointed to the two bobby pins holding back the woman’s hair. Esmeralda nodded understanding.

  “Uno minutos.”

  A few minutes later, Esmeralda returned with a smile and gently pushed Gabriella’s hair back from her face with two bobby pins. As soon as the door closed again, Gabriella yanked them out of her hair. Unlike Esmeralda’s plain ones, these were coated in pink plastic. But they would do.