Broken Circle

by Amy McKinley

  With shoes in hand and purse slung over her body crossways, she tiptoed to the door and peeked into the hallway. The relatively clear, free of her guards, hallway.

  With care, she slipped her shoes on her feet in case she had to run while keeping a watch beyond her room.

  A nurse walked down the hall, checking on sleeping patients that lined the corridor. The nurse’s back was to her, and Liv breathed a sigh of relief that the armed guards had abandoned their post and were standing down the hallway, chatting with a pretty nurse at what looked like the main desk for her floor. The men with guns bore the same butterfly tattoo she’d come to associate with Alex’s father’s organization. Why were they there, or rather, what made her so important to Alex’s family that she warranted guards?

  By the hub, the woman checking on patients stopped when one of the men smiled at her, and she leaned a hip against the counter. This was Liv’s chance. While the men and the nurses were engaged in conversation, she slipped through her door and headed in the opposite direction.

  With slow steps, she crept to the nearest hospital bed, where a man with an IV drip slept. Crouching down between two cots, she peered around to see if anyone had noticed her. Their backs were still to her, so she maneuvered around the beds, grateful for the noise of the patients and staff.

  With her head down, she bypassed the elevator and made her way to the stairwell door and opened it just enough to slip inside. With a slow push, she shoved open the door, closed it carefully behind her, then rushed as fast as she could down the flight of stairs until the number over the door indicated ground level. Once in the hall, she tucked her chin, taking care to avoid any people or staff whose paths she crossed.

  She snuck out of the hospital with her face averted from any passing people. Aside from her floor, the halls were surprisingly empty. No alarms had rung, but several armed men had rushed to secure the doors. With luck on her side, thankfully, she’d managed to sneak out of one of them to the street before the guard turned down that hallway. Once outside, she didn’t waste time. She hailed a cab, thankful the driver spoke English, and had him drop her off at the marina.

  In the early hours, the dock bustled with activity to begin the day. Most of the ships had left port. The few that remained were busy, with crews shooting leering looks her way. Maybe there was another way off Colombian shores, or possibly one with fewer crew onboard.

  She needed something to help her blend in. Wearing the expensive sundress screamed money.

  Liv strolled past a pub and gift shop before spotting a clothing store. She decided to duck inside as a dark-haired woman unlocked the door for the day. Several of the woman’s long, wavy strands brushed against Liv’s arm as she scooted out of the storeowner’s way. Yanking her necklace out from beneath her clothes, she turned to sort through a cluster of skirts, when the woman gasped.

  “Porque estás aquí?” she demanded. “Why are you here?”

  Liv froze at the frantic tone. Would the woman turn her in? With trembling hands, she plucked the first long, flowing skirt from the rack. “I saw your store and thought the clothes looked beautiful, that I’d try some on.”

  The woman grabbed her elbow and turned Liv around. Face to face with her, Liv winced. The storeowner stared directly at her butterfly necklace.

  “No. A member of the Ramirez family”—she angrily gestured to the pendant hanging from Liv’s neck—“would not shop here.” Her fingers bit into Liv’s arm. “Are you wondering what I look like? You’ve heard of me, of Marita, and”—her lips pressed into a furious line—“you can have him. I never wanted him.”

  “Please.” Liv cleared her throat to get rid of the shakiness from her voice. “I don’t know who you are, and I want nothing to do with them. I’m only here to purchase clothes. And”—she took a chance due to the venom in the woman’s voice—“to get away.”

  Sultry eyes framed in thick black lashes regarded her. Finally, Marita nodded and released Liv. “Hurry.”

  Not wanting to risk being found, Liv grabbed the skirt and a shirt that looked as though it would match. She rushed into a dressing room as fast as her throbbing ankle would allow, removed her clothes, and replaced them with the new ones. Bundling up her sundress, she pushed the curtain aside and almost ran into the woman who stood in front of the dressing room, barring her from going any further.

  “Here.” With deft fingers, Marita twisted Liv’s hair, knotted it, then slipped the silk scarf over her head, covering the shade of her hair. Pushing a pair of sunglasses into Liv’s hands, she took the bundled clothes from her. “Go out the back and do not come here again.”

  Liv opened her purse, but Marita waved her away, her gaze trained on the store window. Not wanting to risk the storeowner’s goodwill further, Liv did as the woman asked and exited through the door beyond the storeroom.

  Putting on the sunglasses, she shielded her eyes from view. She only had a handful of bills. Not good. She would need more. The one thing she wanted to get rid of was the blue-diamond butterfly necklace. It represented a world she wanted no part of. But she wouldn’t yet, not until she left the country. For some crazy reason, it was meant to brand her, to keep her safe, at least while there. It was an illusion she despised.

  She hurried down an alley, scanning the shops, until she caught sight of a pawnshop. What choice did she have? With escalating wariness, she pressed her palm against the door and pushed. The bell above announced her arrival, and she moved toward the back of the dark and dusty interior.

  A heavyset man sat behind a glass counter with his head bent over a ring. When she neared, he lowered his eyepiece and flashed her an eager smile.

  Hoping he spoke English, she addressed him first. “Hello. I would like to sell a piece of jewelry for cash.”

  He motioned her closer and, in stilted English, asked to see what she wished to part with. She approached the counter, and his gaze dropped to her necklace. His eyes rounded, and he raised his hands then took a step back. His ruddy face was pinched in fear. “No. I cannot help you. What could you possibly need that they wouldn’t provide?”

  Frustrated, she lurched forward and gripped the metal frame of the counter. The desperation in her actions conveyed her urgency. His wide-eyed gaze fell once more to her necklace.

  “Not this.” She wasn’t that stupid. The hated thing seemed to ward off people, marking her as protected by Alex’s family. “Something else.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and showed off the diamond studs she wore.

  The man stared at her earrings, deep lines of worry etched between his brows. Liv took off her one-and-a-half-carat diamonds and laid them on the counter with a determined clink.

  Seconds passed as the proprietor picked each one up and inspected it, his thick mustache twitching as he ran his finger over it. When he looked up with greedy eagerness in his gaze, he offered the equivalent in pesos for five hundred American dollars, severely undercutting what the earrings were worth. After he counted the money out, Liv snatched it up.

  The man jumped up and came around the counter. Heart thudding, she backed away, but he bypassed her and ran to the door. Dammit! They’re here. She saw at least three men with guns. Her mouth fell open as the owner frantically motioned one of the many members of the Ramirez cartel over.

  Shit! She flew to the back room in the tiny store, hoping to find an exit. In her haste, she stumbled over a box and fell into an old TV, only to have it crash to the floor beside her.

  With a quick look behind her, Liv picked herself up and rushed to the small light she’d spied while on the ground. A door. She burst through it and slammed it closed behind her, effectively silencing the frantic flurry of Spanish the store owner spewed to one, or many, of the men she ran from.

  Sweating and probably pale, she shoved the large sunglasses back onto her face. As she neared the dock, she noticed the increase of people, mainly men.

  Soon, they would all be onto her, thanks to the pawnshop traitor. Eyes darting, she ducked her head a
nd hurried to the docks, keeping out of sight as much as possible. There had to be a way out of this port. With her head down, she caught several glimpses of tattooed hands, each with the small outline of a jagged butterfly. The men carried guns out in the open; the law would have very little influence over them. Her breath came faster, and she fought dizziness as she risked looking at the boats. A few remained tethered. She would have to risk boarding one. One of the men closest to her turned, and she hid behind a group of people, narrowly escaping the trafficker’s view.

  Half a dozen men or so weaved around people on the dock as she hovered behind a few crates that were bundled and waiting on wooden planks for one of the ships. She chanced a peek around her hiding spot and noted the armed men had stopped and were questioning people. And shop owners. How many of those shop owners were employed by Juan Carlos?

  Now that she knew what to look for, she saw the blue butterfly everywhere—hanging from a window, in the corner of a doorway, on a necklace of a local woman. The woman’s necklace wasn’t as elaborate as hers, but it was unmistakable, delicate, and deadly, just the same. Butterflies meant life, but they no longer represented that to her. By the looks of the machine gun–wielding rough men searching for her, she doubted it did to them, either.

  Who would help her?

  She scanned the few remaining boats along the port, looking for an immediate means of escape. A shout sounded in the distance, followed by a frenzy of movement. She’d run out of time. There had to be a way out.

  A ferry! People poured off the boat in droves. With a careful eye, she studied the flurry of individuals, realizing they must have traveled from one of the islands for work. Where would the boat go next?

  It didn’t matter. If she didn’t go now, the armed men would capture her. She should never have tried to sell jewelry there. The risk was clearly too great.

  Taking care not to rush, she walked the few paces necessary to board the boat. By some small miracle, none of the Ramirez men took note of her. It appeared as though they were now questioning the shop owners a ways down. Liv slipped closer when no one was looking then rushed up the ramp. She thrust a handful of bills into the attendant’s hands and went to the farthest part of the deck, where she would be out of sight.

  Weak, aching, and with a pounding heart, she quietly asked a nearby woman where they were headed. The lady’s brows furrowed before she answered. “Caracas.”

  Relief washed over Liv. They were going to Venezuela, where there was a larger airport. With nerves strung tight, she waited for the ferry to depart. When it did, she exhaled the first unencumbered breath since she had escaped the hospital. With the money in her purse, she stood a small chance of successfully escaping.

  The worry that the Ramirez men knew where she’d been still sat heavy in her stomach. There would be no stopping for her until she was much farther away. She’d learned a potentially deadly lesson from her tumble down the stairs.

  With a few minutes of peace and possible safety, her mind wandered. A warm breeze blew in from the ocean, drying the sudden trail of tears, and she thought back to the hospital and her escape as she locked herself inside a bathroom on the ferry.

  Her fingers pressed against the necklace underneath her T-shirt. Inside, she quietly cried—for her baby, her sham of a marriage, her naivety, and now the threat to her life. She would do as Alex said and keep the necklace on until she was out of South America, possibly even until she was somewhere safe. There was not much choice in the matter. She thought about all the tattoos she’d noticed on the men, and a familiar memory sparked. She realized their reach spanned the distance to New York. That night she and Alex had gone out to dinner before their trip, one of Alex’s father’s men approached him—she was sure of it. Home wasn’t an option, not yet.

  Her home would not be a sanctuary, not until she figured out what was really going on. There would be time to rest when she was safe…or as safe as she could be from a drug cartel, her husband, and his family.

  With her sunglasses shoved on top of her head, Liv rinsed off her face. The flash of her diamond rings caught the light. Too dangerous. She turned them so only the platinum portion of the bands were visible. Curling her hand into a fist, she hid them further so they wouldn’t draw attention. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she leaned against the mirror, resting her head on the cool glass.

  If she pawned all of her jewelry at once in Caracas, they would find her easily. Wouldn’t they? Money was necessary. She’d checked her oversized purse and noted only a few hundred dollars within, and she knew enough not to use her credit cards. The sale of her earrings to the pawnshop had gotten her more but not nearly enough. The rest of her jewelry could easily be traced back to her.

  With the skittishness of the shop owners, she decided not to push her luck and risk selling her jewels so close to Alex’s family’s home. No, she would wait until she was farther away. It didn’t matter where she went, so long as it was away from Colombia. That was, if she could find a way out before they found her.

  Chapter 12

  The hustle and bustle of Caracas’s airport buzzed around Liv and the lone booking agent, but she paid no attention, intent on securing a flight out of South America. Clutching her purse to keep her hands from shaking, she pleaded with the woman. “There has to be a seat left.”

  The young attendant’s eyebrows drew together as she shook her head. “There is nothing open until tomorrow.” Her focus returned to the screen, and her fingers flew across the keyboard in a light staccato.

  No one stood behind Liv, but she knew that wouldn’t last. Neither would she if she waited much longer. Cartel lackeys, identifiable by their tattooed hands, were crawling all over the surrounding area like ants in an anthill. Soon, they would find her there.

  Checking the woman’s name tag, she tried again. “I’ll pay anything, Gabriella. I have to get away today. The sooner, the better.” Liv readjusted her purse to get her wallet, but it slipped from her grasp.

  When she bent to retrieve it, Gabriella’s focus dropped to the necklace that had come loose from beneath Liv’s fuchsia shirt, and her mouth pressed into a thin line. The bruising that inked Liv’s face became another focal point for the booking agent. She nibbled on a fingernail while looking up and down the terminal. Facing Liv, she continued to scan the area as she leaned forward, keeping her voice low. “Will you be traveling alone?”

  “Yes.” Liv rushed her reply, desperation clinging to her affirmation.

  At Liv’s adamant response, Gabriella dropped her voice. “Are you involved…what I mean is, do you plan to come back here?”

  “Never.” Tucking the damning butterfly once more beneath her shirt, she mimicked Gabriella’s body language, sensing something, commiseration maybe? Could it be this woman knew why she fled and would aid her? She understood why Gabriella would not want to see her again. It could mean the woman’s death. For Liv, there was little choice but to accept whatever offer of help was given, even if it led her into the waiting hands of Alex’s dad’s organization. She had no other option.

  “I may have a way for you to leave. He’s helped others.”

  Liv dug into her purse once more, intent on pulling out money.

  “No.” With a subtle glance, Gabriella indicated the door a flight attendant had just gone through. “When the next person goes through that door, wait until it’s almost closed then slip past it.” She leaned across the counter, closer to Liv, and dropped her voice lower. “Go to the hangar, all the way to the end, where the smaller planes are housed. Find Trev.”

  Hope bubbled inside Liv’s chest. “Thank you.”

  As she turned to leave, Gabriella snagged her shirt. Liv looked over her shoulder and caught her whispered words.

  “Tell no one how you found out or that I helped you.”

  “I won’t.”

  Liv did as she’d been told and waited for the next person in uniform to go through the heavy gray door. As quickly as she could, she shoved her hand be
tween the door and frame to stop it from closing, locking, and throwing away her chance to escape. She opened it only as far as needed and slipped through. With hurried steps and a tight grip on the railing, she made her way down the stairs and pushed open the exit door on the ground level. Immediately, a wall of heat blasted her, and she shoved her sunglasses back on against the glaring sun.

  As Gabriella had instructed, she hurried to the last hangar, blocking out the aches in her bruised body. Head bent, Liv ignored the men refueling and driving the baggage carts to various planes. The adrenaline that pumped through her body was fading, and she pushed herself to move faster, even with her throbbing ankle. When the rush finally depleted, she feared she would crash hard.

  Almost running into the open hangar, she searched for a man who looked as though he could be Trev. Maybe that was short for Trevor? Only one man walked from a small plane, toolbox in hand. When she took another step, he turned toward her, and she froze. Her gaze immediately scanned his hands for markings and his body for guns, but there weren’t any that she could see.

  He stood about six feet tall with tousled, dirty-blond hair and day-old scruff on his square jaw. Aviators hid his eyes from her, but she could tell he was finely tuned to her presence in the predatory stillness. A beat ticked by, then in a few strides, he was in front of her. She tilted her head back, refusing to show fear.

  Gentle, albeit grease-streaked, fingers gripped her chin and turned her face to the side. He scrutinized the bruise marring a good portion of her temple and cheek. He hooked a finger under the silver chain peeking from under her shirt, and she took an immediate step back, but not before the damn necklace pulled free so it was in full view.

  He grunted. “You’re on the run?”

  Shoot, was he the right guy? “Are you Trev?”

  A quick nod of his head confirmed he was.

  What the hell, if honesty would aid her in her plight…she didn’t have anything else to lose. Other than my life. “Yes, I’m running away from a very bad situation.”