She was naked. Vulnerable. Just as she’d been ten months ago and thousands of miles away. She was at the mercy of yet another ruthless male, and there was no one to help her—
No. This time help is coming. Hold on.
Fighting to halt the panic fluttering along every nerve ending, she forced herself to breathe slowly. With her eyes closed and her pulse pounding not quite as loudly in her ears, she reached out with her other senses to determine if she was alone.
She wasn’t. There was someone there—watching her. She heard his breaths as he patiently waited for his prey to move. Scented his lust in the sweat and sexual pheromones his body put off. He was too fucking close. If she moved, he’d be on her in a split-second.
“I know you are awake.” The ugly sound of his voice scraped over nerves already raw from hours of his company and from her fear and exhaustion.
Rescue coming or not, Fee was terrified to the marrow of her bones. Chavez would rape her now. There was no one to stop him. She wasn’t sure she could survive this time.
Stop it. Use your head. Stay calm.
Using her head hadn’t saved her the last time.
Different bastard then. Different Fee now. You’ve been forged in the crucible of violence and came out stronger. You’re a survivor.
Fee opened her eyes slightly. There was natural light coming through a set of balcony doors. From the nature of the light she guessed it was just before dawn.
The room was decorated in multiple shades of dark. Heavy wooden furniture. Black drapes. The decor seemed to absorb the light, casting the room in a funereal murkiness. She was in Chavez’s room … in his bed.
A whimper escaped her throat. She closed her eyes. Every muscle in her body was rigid; her hands fisted at her sides. She counted herself lucky he wasn’t into raping unconscious women.
“Where’s Pia?” Her voice was a croak from lack of use. She sounded weak … sick. An idea formed of how she might escape his lust … for a while, maybe even long enough to be rescued … or to escape.
“She is not your concern. For now, I am your only concern. You will stay in this room until I tire of you.”
Asshole. Bastard. Son-of-a-bitch.
“Where’s Pia?” Fee opened her eyes wider and turned her head to the right. Chavez sat in a chair next to the bed. Within arm’s reach. Far too close.
Chavez was bare to the waist, exposing a scarred torso which documented his violent life. The loose, drawstring pants did nothing to hide his erection. His feral-yellow eyes gleamed with a blatantly foul lust.
Fee tugged the covers farther up her body as if they could shield her from his repellant gaze and touch.
“Where’s Pia?” Her voice was even more of a croak.
Her repeated question irritated him.
Stupid to taunt a wild animal.
Chavez’s face darkened. His body went unnaturally still, just like a cat right before it leapt and clamped its teeth around its prey’s neck.“She is safe—assisting Dr. Vasilov with mi jefe’s care.”
A small sense of satisfaction warmed her chilled bones. She’d forced him to answer her question. She was still scared spitless of what he might do to her, but refused to go down without some sort of fight.
Chavez hadn’t realized it yet, but she’d figured out how to play him and would continue to do so for all she was worth.
Fee coughed … and coughed until she choked. An easily triggered cough reflex had been the bane of her existence growing up. A sign of weakness, her father had called it. Now, it just might be a factor in saving her sanity … her life.
Chavez frowned, then rose and moved closer. “What is wrong with you?”
Still coughing and choking—soon to be followed by gagging—and her eyes watering, she weakly flapped a hand.
“Mierda.” He stripped the covers away from her, then climbed onto the bed and covered her body with his.
Trapped. She was trapped. Her body froze even as she struggled to breathe between coughing fits.
“Stop it, puta. I will have you. Now.”
Don’t just lie there, dummy.
Fee tried to shove him off. He was too heavy, too strong. She was weak, always too weak to save herself.
Moaning in the back of her throat, she tried to say “no,” but nothing came out.
Chavez caught her flailing hands and trapped them above her head with one of his. He used his other hand to grab and maul her breasts until she managed a weak scream at the pain. Her scream quickly dissolved into gagging on the bile his touch had roused.
It could’ve been seconds or minutes, but it seemed like hours as he pinched and pawed her skin from her breasts to her mound.
When he untied the string on his pants and released his erection to slide along her labia, she heaved. Finally. She turned her head and threw up over the side of the bed.
“Hijo de puta.” Chavez leapt off her as if she had leprosy.
She’d never been so thankful for her sensitive gag reflex in her life. Curling on her side, she hugged herself and rocked— and tried not to hack up a lung. Her body, covered in a cold sweat, shook with uncontrollable tremors.
Chavez yanked her head back by her hair and touched her forehead with the back of his hand. “You have a fever. Your skin is breaking out in red splotches.” A curse of pale Celtic skin, but he didn’t need to know that. “You are sick.”
Anh, wrong answer, you freaking bastard. But keep right on thinking that way.
“Pinche caborron.” He let go of her hair and moved away as if she were a plague carrier. “I will call the doctor. If you are faking, puta, my men will have you after I am done with you. All of them.”
Never. Fee would run into the wilds of Mexico, naked, before she let any of that happen.
“Doctor Vasilov,” Chavez snapped into the phone. “The doctor puta has a fever. You must check her over again.” He ended the call and shoved the phone into a pocket.
Again? She shook her head in denial. “No—”
The doctor would know she wasn’t sick.
Chavez stood near the bed, a foreboding expression on his face. Far too quickly, a sharp knock sounded. Her doom was near.
“Enter,” Chavez shouted as he kept a sharp and wary eye on her.
The doctor who’d taken over Aznar’s care entered the room with an old-fashioned doctor’s bag in his hand. His concern was evident in his expression. “Doctor Teague, I understand you are still not well.”
Still? What had he told Chavez about her earlier fainting spell? Could the doctor be her savior and not her destroyer?
“I…” She coughed until she curled on her side again and hugged her aching abdomen.
“She has coughed like that since she woke up,” Chavez told the doctor. “Fix her.”
Doctor Vasilov hummed under his breath and opened his bag. “I would like to examine my patient in private, please.”
Chavez grunted. “Very well. I will be in my office,” he eyed Fee and added, “next door. Make it fast.” He strode out of the room, his anger and frustration evident in his rigid posture.
“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath, then inhaled sharply as she glanced at the doctor to see his reaction.
Vasilov held a finger to his lips and then subtly pointed to his ears, then circled his hand to encompass the room.
The room was bugged. No wonder Chavez had acquiesced to leaving her alone so easily with the doctor. The bastard was listening.
The doctor had warned her because … because why?
Good question. She had to be cautious. Dr. Vasilov might be willing to help her and Pia escape, or he could lure her into a trap set by Chavez. Only time would tell.
Warily, she touched her eye, asking if it was visual also. He nodded, one small movement of his head.
“He kidnapped me and Pia, you know.”
“Yes. This is not my business.” Vasilov pulled out a blood pressure cuff and then put his stethoscope around his neck. “But, Doctor, I must advise you
not to push back at Chavez. He has no patience with women who refuse him.”
“I understand.” And she did, because she’d experienced Chavez’s impatience first hand. “I have a man back in the States,” she said for the benefit of Chavez or whoever was listening. “He’ll raise holy hell, as will my brother, to get me back.”
“I have no doubt,” Vasilov murmured as he wrapped the cuff around her arm and then pumped it up. “Chavez is no—how you Americans say—slouch. He guards closely what he considers his. And, my dear, you are currently in his keeping, yes? Do not give him cause him to throw you away. I may not be able to fix what he breaks. Now, be silent and let me take your vitals so we can figure out what is wrong with you.”
Vasilov’s warning was delivered with a solemn expression and flat tone that said he was serious. Shocked by his words, she shushed and wondered how many of Chavez’s victims the doctor had not been able to fix.
“90 over 65. Is that normal for you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded and then took her pulse.
“Is Aznar still alive?” she asked to make conversation. Just two doctors talking shop.
“Yes.” Vasilov looked up, anger glittered in his eyes and his lips twisted into a grimace. A muscle along his jaw pulsed rapidly. She could almost hear him gritting his teeth.
Body language did not lie. This man wasn’t a fan of Aznar or Chavez. Hope took root in her heart.
“And it was all due to you,” the doctor continued. “Chavez told me you treated the wounds under primitive conditions with only the contents of some field medical kits. You did a good job. I worked on him for several hours. He is still critical and has a fever.”
“Infection in the gut wound,” she stated.
“Yes, as it usually is, eh?” A slight smile of shared knowledge crossed his face before turning serious once again. “You kept him alive and that was all that should be required of you.”
Vasilov’s expression revealed he wished she’d let the bastard die. His tone indicated he didn’t approve of the situation she now found herself in.
He patted her hand where she had a deadly grip on the comforter. “Now, release the blanket and let me listen to your chest so Chavez doesn’t get any angrier with either of us.” He stared her in the eye. “You do not want to make him any angrier.”
Fee nodded, acknowledging his message. She wouldn’t test Chavez’s patience. For now. She didn’t want what little freedom of movement she might have restricted. If she pissed off Chavez too much, the Mexican would do more than confine her to his bedroom. She tensed at the memories of Stall’s fists and the resulting pain, then flashed forward to how Chavez had so casually back-handed her when she’d defied his orders, and—
Stop thinking about the past. Gut it up, cupcake, You need to be totally in the now.
Okay, with the good doctor’s help, she would play the role of a sick female until she could escape. But placation could only go so far. She refused to lie back and allow Chavez to rape her.
Fee really needed to talk to Vasilov away from the hidden cameras.
She loosened her hold on the blanket and let Vasilov place the cold stethoscope on her chest. “Have you checked over Pia also?”
“No,” he arched a dark brow, “why would I? Chavez has no interest in Señorita Lopez.”
Fee mouthed the word “bastard,” and Vasilov nodded.
“I’m chilled. I need some clothes. I also want to see my friend to make sure she is okay,” Fee said.
“I am sorry, Doctor. You will need to take those issues up with Chavez. Sit forward, so I can listen to your lungs and do percussions on your back.”
She gave him her back and he tapped. His concerned “hmm” was loud and confirmed her hope that Vasilov would be proactive in helping her fool Chavez.
“What hmm?” She angled her head to look at him. His gaze was reassuring.
“In a second, Doctor.” He held up a digital oral thermometer. “Say ahh.” She opened her mouth and he placed it under her tongue.
The thermometer beeped and he pulled it out. “Temp is 101.”
She widened her eyes—and he shook his head and a slight, twisted smile crossed his lips.
“I didn’t like the sound of your lungs.” Vasilov winked. He wouldn’t have chanced that gesture unless he knew his back was to the cameras. “They are congested.”
They weren’t. She could breathe just fine, but coughed to play into the diagnosis Vasilov was constructing.
It looks like we have an ally!
Fee touched his hand in gratitude.
Loudly, he said, “I do not like these symptoms, Doctor.” He stepped away and replaced his stethoscope and thermometer in his bag. “You may cover yourself and lie back. I will want to take an X-ray and run some blood work. This means a trip across the compound to my clinic. Now, it will be my duty to inform Chavez that you need warm clothing. We can’t have you make the trip outside in only your skin, eh?”
Without knocking, Chavez re-entered the room and moved swiftly toward them. “What is your diagnosis, Vasilov?”
Asshole had been watching and listening, but he acted as if he hadn’t, which made him a Grade-A asshole.
Yeah, Fee planned to milk her “illness” and play Chavez for all she was worth. While she wasn’t physically strong enough to take him down—and while his lust scared her to death—she had weapons to use against him now—her brain, her extreme desire to get as far away from him as possible, and an ally.
“Her temperature is elevated. Her lung sounds are suppressed. I need to get some X-rays,” Vasilov said.
“Why X-rays?” asked Chavez.
Even to Fee’s distrusting eyes, the man looked worried.
He thinks you’re Typhoid Fee. He could care less for you.
“Señor Chavez, she could have pneumonia,” explained Vasilov. “I need either to confirm or rule that out. If she has pneumonia, I will require further tests to see if it is bacterial and she might need drugs to keep the situation from worsening.”
Fee admired how Vasilov qualified every word he uttered. He wasn’t lying, exactly, but did paint a picture of her condition as dire as possible.
“Bacteria?” Chavez stepped farther away from the bed. “Take her to the clinic. Run the tests,” he ordered. “But she will recover here, in my bed.” Where he could keep an eye on her, was left unsaid.
“Understood. Before we do this, she needs clothes and food. She must keep up her strength to recover from the fever,” Vasilov said in a humble tone that had Fee coughing into her hand to cover the smile on her lips.
“I will send in warm clothing.” He turned to leave and already was issuing orders into his phone.
“She will also need warm boots, Señor. The courtyard stones are cold and slippery this morning from frost. It is well below freezing,” Vasilov added, laying it on a bit thick.
“Yes, of course. Some food will be here soon,” Chavez added. “See that she eats.”
“Yes, I will have a care for her.” Vasilov, his back to Chavez, grinned at Fee, a full grin that made him look a lot younger than she’d guessed. He mouthed “cough,” and she did so until her eyes watered.
Chavez cursed as he stared at her. “See that you do. She is to get well … quickly.” He left the room and slammed the door behind him. He’d definitely shown his hand—he wanted to rape her, but not badly enough to expose himself to any germs she might give him.
For the time being, this meant Fee had the upper hand solely due to the cards Vasilov had slipped her. She planned to bluff the shit out of Chavez to win the game.
“Thank you for all your care of me, Dr. Vasilov,” she whispered.
“Call me, Anton.” He patted her hand where it gripped the covers. “Remember to cough now and then,” he muttered in a barely there whisper.
She nodded. “I’m Fee,” she offered with the first smile she’d had since before this all started.
“Fee.” Anton bowed his head
in acknowledgment. “I could do nothing less for a fellow physician.” As he finished packing his bag, he leaned over and said in a low monotone, carrying no farther than the two of them, “We’ll talk more. Later. Do not worry.”
Fee reached for his hand and squeezed it.
Anton pulled away when a knock sounded. The door opened. A maid entered, pushing a cart filled with food—an armed guard on her heels. “Looks as if Chavez thinks you have a large stomach.”
Fee’s jaw dropped open at the sight of all the food. “I can’t eat all that.” Then the smells reached her and her stomach growled loudly.
Anton chuckled. “Maybe you can do justice to at least a small portion. I was serious about building up your strength. If I may say, you look as if you haven’t been taking very good care of yourself for quite a while.”
She frowned, but didn’t deny his words. Her appetite had suffered after Stall’s attack. The move to New Mexico and a new work situation hadn’t helped. In fact, it had only been recently, after the last time Trey had visited, when she’d truly felt hungry for the first time in a long time. “Join me since you are supposed to see that I eat. We can talk medicine.”
“I could eat.” Anton took the cart from the maid and pushed it toward the bed. He stopped and frowned at the floor. He turned to the maid. “Senorita, Doctor Teague has been ill. Please clean the floor and then you may leave us.”
The maid nodded. After cleaning the floor, she left. The guard followed the servant out and shut the door, with him on the outside.
“Shall I prepare you a plate?” Anton gestured at the food.
“Um, eggs with chili verde would be nice. And some corn tortillas. I never got to eat the breakfast I’d ordered … God, was it only yesterday morning?”
“It was,” Anton nodded. “Get comfortable. I will bring the food to you.”
Fee propped herself up in bed, tucking the sheet up around her chest. Her mouth watered and the empty spot in her stomach once again demanded loudly to be fed.
Chuckling, Anton handed her a plate, then went back to the cart and prepared his.
With a good hand of cards in the game to beat Chavez, Fee dug into her food with relish. She didn’t fool herself that getting away would be easy, even with Anton’s help, so she’d refuel and rest, building the strength she needed to slant the odds even more in her favor.
An Ill Wind Page 8