Protector

by Diana Palmer

  She arched up, feeling him swell, feeling his hunger. “Please?” she whispered, shifting so that he was even closer. She shivered. “Oh, Hayes, please...!”

  He moved against her, hurting from the need, aching to do what she wanted. But just as his hands went to the fastening of her jeans, the coyotes started up again. They sounded closer, menacing.

  He sat up, pulling her with him.

  “What is it?” she asked blankly, still shivering with unsatisfied passion.

  “The coyotes. Listen.”

  They were very loud.

  She reached for the weapon and handed it to him. “Just in case,” she said.

  He nuzzled his face against hers. “Just for the record, I didn’t want to stop.”

  She laughed. “Me, neither.”

  “We’ll have all the time in the world. We just have to live through the next couple of days,” he told her.

  She smiled. “What an incentive!”

  He chuckled. “I was about to say that, myself.”

  She looked out over the darkened landscape, dotted with a few mesquite trees in the distance. Was Pepito there, gathering wood? Or had he run away to find his boss? She voiced those concerns.

  “Either he’ll come back, or he won’t,” Hayes said quietly. “We have to hope that he’s like me. If I give my word, I keep it.”

  “Do you think he will?” she wondered. “He loves his family. He’s scared to death that Mendez will have them tortured and killed.”

  “I know. But you promised your father’s help. That will carry weight.”

  “I hope so,” she replied. But she was feeling the cold, separated from Hayes, and the fear and uncertainty came back like a bad dream.

  “Come here,” he said softly, lying down to cuddle her as close as he dared. “We can keep each other warm while we wait.”

  She smiled and snuggled close. “Can I take off your clothes while we wait?”

  “For shame,” he teased. “You’ll embarrass the coyotes.”

  She nuzzled his chest with her cheek. “I don’t care. Come on. Live dangerously.”

  “I already have, and you can see the result. Here we are, lost in Mexico, waiting for people to come and kill us.”

  “That’s not the sort of dangerous I mean.” She opened his shirt and put her mouth against the thick hair that covered the warm muscles of his chest. “Ooooh, that feels good,” she whispered.

  He drew in a shaky breath. “I know something that will feel even better.” His hands went to work on her shirt, tugging it over her head. Her bra followed. He pulled her bare skin against his and groaned as the pleasure shot through him like fire.

  She moved restlessly. “It really does...feel better.”

  His arms contracted, but the damaged one hurt. He shuddered as pain followed the pleasure. “Minette, I can’t,” he whispered when she tried to coax him closer. “God, it hurts...!”

  She gasped. “Your shoulder! Gosh, I’d forgotten. I’m so sorry!”

  She sat up. In the pale light of a quarter moon, he could see her breasts, pale and hard-tipped.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered. He bent and caught one in his mouth, tasting it, savoring it with his tongue.

  She arched backward and shivered. “Yes,” she whispered shakily. “Beautiful.”

  He laid her down and fed on her soft breasts for what seemed a very long time. Reluctantly he drew back. “Wrong time, wrong place,” he breathed, kissing her softly. “We’re going to freeze if we keep that up. And besides, I’m not doing so good.”

  “Shoulder hurt?”

  “Like hell,” he agreed, sitting up and grimacing as he moved the arm. “And I still can’t get the damned cuffs off.” He held them up from one wrist. “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” she whispered. She kissed his eyes shut. “But it was worth it.”

  He chuckled. “Yes. It was.”

  She put her bra and shirt back on and moved close to him. “I am a brazen hussy,” she told him. “And proud of it.”

  He laughed with pure delight. “Shameless. That promises to be delicious when we finally have the opportunity to really know each other.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be worth waiting for.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I know.” He brushed her lips with his. “So will I. That’s a promise.”

  She felt him shiver and pulled the blanket closer around them. He felt warm to the touch, but she couldn’t decide if it was fever or something else. She was worried about his shoulder.

  “I wish we had something you could take,” she said. “For the pain, at least.”

  “I’ll manage. If we could just get warm, that would be something.”

  She looked out into the darkness with resignation. “I don’t think Pepito’s coming back,” she said sadly. “He wouldn’t be gathering wood in the dark.”

  “There’s a little light,” Hayes said, noting the moon. “Think of it logically. Even if he could get back to Cotillo, to his family, how would he get them out all by himself?”

  “I suppose Mendez has them well-guarded,” she agreed.

  “He can’t go back to his boss, assuming that Charro knows we’ve escaped. So where else can he go except back here? Your father is the only hope he has of saving his wife and children.”

  “They may already be dead,” she said, her voice low and soft with compassion. “Mendez is a monster, like his cousin El Ladrón. And that Lido, who said he wanted to hurt me in front of the camera before he killed me...” She shivered.

  “Thank God most of the Mexican people are kind and compassionate and devoted to their families,” he replied. “We tend to dwell on the criminal element, the drug lords, the drug dealers, the mules. But there are millions of good people down here who don’t commit crimes, who go to church and love their children.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “We tend to forget that.”

  He drew in a long breath. “It’s so damned cold!”

  “You’re feeling it more because of what we’ve been through physically,” she replied gently. She wrapped him up closer in the blanket. “We’ll get out of here. I know we will.”

  “But not tonight,” he sighed. “Let’s try to get a little sleep. Maybe when it gets light, we can at least watch the sunrise and see which way east is. Then, we just start walking north. Eventually we’ll end up somewhere.”

  She laughed. “Good idea. I like it.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep.”

  She closed her eyes with a sigh and relaxed.

  * * *

  The mayor of Cotillo was a particularly unpleasant man. Grier and Ramirez were sitting with ramrod-straight backs in his office while he went on and on about the stupidity of Americans who thought he was involved in drug trafficking.

  “Do I look like a drug lord to you?” Charro Mendez concluded finally, giving the men a belligerent glare.

  Ramirez had to bite his tongue. “We aren’t here on drug-related business at the moment.”

  “So you say. But what do you think I can do?” he added. “You are missing two of your citizens. If they are in my country, they are here illegally and will be arrested if we find them.”

  “They were kidnapped and taken to your country against their will,” Grier interjected. He leaned forward. “Look, we don’t want to provoke a diplomatic upheaval. We just want to find the people and take them home. Surely you could ask questions and see if anyone knows anything about where they are?”

  “I’m sure the ex-president of your country would be grateful,” Ramirez added with a cold smile. He was reminding the little politician that he himself had ties to the Mexican government, especially with a man who was known for opposing and attacking the drug traffic here.

  The mayor cleared his throat. “You have interesting connections, señor,” he said.

  “I have relatives everywhere. In fact, so does he.” He indicated Grier.

  Grier smiled nonchalantly.

  The little man glared at
them.

  “So,” Ramirez continued in his patient, deep voice, “can we count on you to help find our kidnapped citizens?”

  The politician was thinking fast. This had the potential to blow up in his face, especially since the leader of the cartel was on his way here right now. These federal law enforcement people could cause him some big trouble if they were found in his office when the head man arrived.

  Mendez got to his feet and smiled from ear to ear. “I promise you, I will do everything in my power to find them for you,” he said, suddenly cordial.

  “That’s kind of you,” Ramirez said.

  “Jorge,” he called to his aide, who rushed in the door with an electronic tablet.

  “Yes, señor,” he said, almost comical in his deference to the smaller man.

  “These gentlemen are looking for two American citizens whom, they say, have been kidnapped and brought to our country. Will you make some inquiries and see if you can find anyone who has knowledge of this crime?”

  Jorge blinked. “Of course.” He hesitated. “Who would you like me to call?”

  “You might start with the border patrol and work your way down to the policemen in the towns nearest the border crossing,” the mayor said shortly.

  “Oh. Yes. Of course! I will begin immediately!”

  Jorge went back into his small office.

  The mayor threw up his hands. “My nephew,” he muttered, glaring toward the door the younger man had just exited. “Incompetent, but my sister loves him. I must do what I can to promote peace in my family.”

  “Understandable,” Grier replied. He glanced at Ramirez, who had the same irritated expression on his face that Grier imagined he was wearing. This little twit wasn’t going to do one thing to look for Hayes Carson and Minette Raynor.

  Ramirez got to his feet. “Well, we thank you for your...cooperation.”

  The mayor shook hands with them both, still smiling from ear to ear. “You are most welcome. I will have my people call you if we find out anything.”

  “Thanks.” Grier walked out ahead of Ramirez.

  They were back at the bucar before he spoke. “He knows where they are,” he told Ramirez.

  “I figured that out myself. Any ideas?”

  Grier sighed. “We’re guests here, but nobody’s going to offer us lodging for the night, I’ll wager.” He looked around at the closed doors and windows. “We aren’t exactly attracting pleasant attention.”

  “So I guess we go back home and hope for the best?” Ramirez said heavily. “I don’t want to leave them down here. If they were kidnapped because of something they know, they’ll be killed.”

  “No, it’s not something they know. It’s who they are. Miss Raynor is El Jefe’s daughter. El Ladrón will kill her slowly and probably send videos of it to El Jefe,” Grier said with pure disgust.

  “Yes, but Hayes humiliated Charro Mendez by arresting him and confiscating his gold-plated hardware. He wants revenge just for that. Not that he won’t kill Hayes, too. Of course he will.”

  Grier nodded. “They found four bodies in a ditch here recently,” he replied, looking around. “Somebody got in the way of the drug traffickers.”

  “Hayes Carson is notorious for that,” Ramirez said. “In the old days, before I was married and had a child, I think I’d have come down here undetected and looked for them myself.”

  Grier smiled sadly. “Me, too. But that’s a job for younger men now.”

  Ramirez pursed his lips. “You know, Minette Raynor’s father probably has somebody working on this case right now. And he’d have to rescue Hayes as well as Minette, unless he wanted her to hate him forever.”

  Grier chuckled. “That would be one for the books—a notorious cartel leader trying to save a sheriff who wants him locked up.”

  “El Jefe is a prince among thieves,” Ramirez replied. “And we have nothing on him on our side of the border. Yet.”

  “Maybe we should pay him a call,” Grier said, thinking out loud.

  Ramirez smiled. “Maybe we should.”

  * * *

  Pepito was gathering wood, but his mind wasn’t on the task. He was thinking of his wife, and his little girls. He’d been forced to help the Americans escape their jailors, but none of the men he worked for would believe that. They’d think Pepito volunteered to let them go, because everybody knew he had a soft heart.

  The Americans didn’t know where they were. They had no compass, no way to find the border. He knew that if he didn’t return, they would most likely wander around until they were recaptured by Pepito’s boss.

  That would be bad, because they’d already sworn to tell the boss that Pepito helped them get away. They wouldn’t lie to save him.

  On the other hand, they might die in the desert. It was very cold and the sheriff was still fragile from that bullet wound. They would be very uncomfortable without any source of warmth, and there were wild animals who lived in the desert. Anything could happen.

  He picked up another piece of mesquite wood, his eyes on the setting sun. It was very red on the horizon. Red, like blood.

  He groaned as he thought of his poor family, who would be at the mercy of the drug lord once they knew their prisoners had escaped.

  There was the possibility that he could sneak into the small village where they lived and get them out, before his treachery was discovered. It wasn’t so far from here, and he knew the way. The Americans might die anyway. It would not be Pepito’s fault. And if they did get recaptured, then perhaps Pepito could hide from the boss, with his family, until he had the chance to get out of the country and start over.

  Yes. He could do that.

  Coyotes howled menacingly. He shivered. He hated coyotes. He thought of them preying on domestic animals. Did they attack humans? It sounded as if they were very near the camp where he had left the Americans.

  But it was not his problem. He had to save his family. He had to!

  * * *

  The mayor of Cotillo was straightening his tie, in anticipation of the arrival of the leader of the biggest cartel in the country, Pedro Mendez, the ones the stupid Americans called by a humiliating title: El Ladrón.

  Pedro was coming to see the prisoner that Charro had hidden in a cabin in the desert. It would be a particularly interesting visit. El Jefe’s daughter, in his power, and Charro had made it possible by sending his best enforcer, Lido, to kidnap her. The sheriff hadn’t been part of the deal, except that he was with Miss Raynor and they couldn’t leave him behind to talk.

  “Jorge, are they almost here?” Charro called to his aide.

  The younger man came to the door. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “They are bringing many men with them. It is a convoy of no less than four armored SUVs,” he added. “Just in case the American federal agents think to try something. I told Señor Mendez about the visitors. He was not pleased that they had the audacity to come here.”

  “You should have let me tell them, you fool!” Charro raged. “I am the mayor. I am in charge here, not you!”

  “I am very sorry,” Jorge said, lowering his eyes. “I did not think.”

  “You never do.” Charro reached out and slapped the younger man viciously on one cheek. “You idiot!”

  “Excuse me, is this the mayor’s office?” a pleasant deep voice interrupted.

  They both turned to the door. There were two men, one tall with long loosened thick black hair down to his waist, the other short and mustached and grinning.

  “I am the mayor. Charro Mendez,” the smaller man said, regaining his dignity. “Who are you?”

  “Carson,” the taller man replied. He was olive-skinned and black-eyed, but not of Spanish heritage, and it showed. He had on his belt the most vicious-looking knife Mendez had ever seen.

  “And you?” The mayor turned his eyes to the small Hispanic man with the newcomer.

  The little man was still grinning. “I worked for El Jefe,” he said proudly. “I know all about him, all about his operation. I c
an tell Pedro Mendez how to bring him down!”

  Charro’s eyes almost popped. “You work for...!”

  “I did work for him,” the smaller man corrected. “But I am not paid what I am worth. This man—” he indicated the tall man at his side “—had a friend who worked for Pedro Mendez. His friend said that Señor Mendez would pay me handsomely for information about El Jefe, and that he could give me protection. El Jefe will try to kill me, for what I know.”

  Wheels were turning in Charro’s mind. He could get rid of his boss’s worst competitor, and here was the means to do it. He grinned.

  “Welcome,” he told the men. “Jorge, bring coffee! Come, come into my office, and we will speak of these things,” he added, motioning them into his office with a smile that reached almost to his ears.

  * * *

  Ruy Correo was a very good actor. He told Charro all about El Jefe’s operation, where his contacts were, what routes he used, even the names of the men who headed the distribution hubs in Mexico and the United States. Of course, every word was a lie, but he was so convincing with the information that Charro was almost beside himself with excitement.

  “This is very good news,” he told Ruy. “And I promise that you will be protected. In fact, you can speak to Pedro Mendez in just a few minutes. He is on his way here right now. He and I and our enforcer, Lido, will go to the cabin where we are holding El Jefe’s daughter and her American friend.” He smiled coldly. “They will be tortured and it will be recorded. Pedro is going to send the video to El Jefe, to show him how powerful, and how ruthless, and how cunning we are. He had so many men protecting his daughter.” He laughed. “And they all failed. We have her.”

  Carson was lounging against the wall, watching the byplay. His black eyes were narrowed in thought. “Pedro Mendez is coming here?” he asked, and pretended to be impressed. “This is just a small town....”

  “Cotillo is the hub for all the drug trafficking in northern Mexico,” Charro said indignantly. “It is the most important town we own. I myself killed my predecessor.” He indicated the jeweled, gold-plated handle of the .45 automatic at his belt. He made a face. “The American federales confiscated my guns. I had so many, all beautiful, all terribly expensive. They will pay for this. I have one of their own prisoner, in addition to El Jefe’s daughter. He will die for his arrogance, for my humiliation!”