by Dana Marton
He didn’t get all the way past the enclosures when Jorge, round as a rain barrel, shuffled from the back, smoking a fat cigar and cleaning his weapon. He gave a yellow-toothed grin in anticipation of the battle.
“Have you seen Alejandro?” Jase peered behind him.
“He was here with the kid.” Jorge shook his head, a look of annoyance flashing across his weather-beaten face. “Took Chico.”
Chico was a three-legged puppy, injured by one of the older dogs. Since he obviously wasn’t going to grow up to be a great fighter, he didn’t have much of a future at the camp. A miracle that nobody had shot him yet.
“Alejandro took Chico?” That didn’t make much sense. Alejandro wasn’t exactly the type to adopt a handicapped puppy.
Jorge took the cigar out of his mouth and spat on the ground. “I gave Chico to the kid. Couldn’t stand all that caterwauling. Alejandro’s damn fault. He wanted the boy to take his two best dogs into the jungle to make sure they don’t get hurt in the shooting. Idiot. One dog, the kid could handle. But when Alejandro gave the boy the second leash, the two dogs fought like crazy.”
Of course they would. They were trained to fight each other. What the hell did the idiot expect? Jase didn’t have to be psychic to know how that turned out. Fury swept through him. “Where are they?”
“Up in packaging.”
He cut across the compound, breaking into a run once again.
Roberto stepped outside from the hacienda as Jase passed by.
“Everybody needs to get ready before nightfall. I want everyone to get some sleep before the battle starts in the morning. Make sure you have your weapons together and enough ammo. And no drinking tonight.”
Jase acknowledged the orders with a nod, but didn’t stop to talk.
He found the packaging building in chaos, holes dug in the floor, tightly wrapped bricks of cocaine being buried in every corner. The men resented the extra work, swearing deliberately, cursing Cristobal.
Jase ignored them. “Mochi?”
Someone nodded toward the west wall. Jase zigzagged through between the sweating men, careful not to knock anyone over. Tempers were running high. He didn’t have time to stop for a fistfight.
Mochi sat on the floor, his arm bleeding, shiny tear tracks marking his face that lit up with hope when he spotted Jase. He held a wiggling flour sack under one arm. Chico, presumably.
Alejandro was holding out his finger to the boy, with a dash of white powder on the tip. He, too, glanced up as Jase reached them.
“For the pain.” His expression was challenging and defensive at the same time, as if he hadn’t decided yet which one to go with.
As much as he hated Jase’s claim on the boy, he knew he had to respect it according to camp rules. He knew he’d done wrong damaging the kid. He knew Jase could call him out over that and demand compensation, maybe even the knife back. All that flashed through his gaze.
Jase knocked his hand away with a growl, holding back from doing more, then grabbed Mochi’s hand and pulled him up. “Come on, buddy. Consuela will take care of you. Let’s get you out of here.”
Mochi scrambled to bring his sack.
“Just because he’s yours, it don’t mean he don’t have to work off his keep,” Alejandro called after them, his voice belligerent, showing off for the others. “If the camp needs help, he still needs to pitch in.”
Jase turned back, his temper hanging by a thread. He flashed a hard glare at the bastard. “He’s not going to be any use to the Don if you kill him.”
The mention of the boss subdued Alejandro somewhat, but didn’t wipe nearly enough hate off his face. He might have acknowledged Jase’s claim on the boy, but he didn’t like it.
They would probably have to fight that fight someday to settle it once and for all. But not today. An open confrontation with the man at this moment would solve nothing and would endanger the op. And they all had better things to do the day before the battle.
“Let me see the wound,” Jase told Mochi as they moved on.
The kid lifted his scrawny arm carefully.
Jase swore under his breath at the bleeding, ragged gash where sharp canine teeth had ripped the skin. Probably by accident. The kid had gotten trapped between two fighting dogs. The dogs were doing what they’d been trained to do. Wasn’t their fault.
The blame lay with him. He’d brought the boy here.
And he hadn’t been able to watch the kid as closely as he would have liked. That had to change. He couldn’t keep the kid next to him 24/7. Sooner or later, something bad would happen to Mochi here. The camp was dangerous enough and now, with Cristobal coming… It was no place for a kid.
Or a pregnant woman, the voice of conscience said in his head. Forget about her, the voice of reason countered.
Getting Mochi away would be difficult enough, and his disappearance would bother few people. They all had bigger things to worry about. But if Melanie went missing with the Don’s heir, the man would search heaven and earth to find her.
“You’ll be fine. Consuela will give you good medicine,” Jase reassured the boy, hoping he understood at least the gist of his words.
So far he’d barely spoken, but he seemed to follow direction for the most part, so he must know at least a little Spanish. His village had probably had enough contact with loggers and the Don’s men for him to pick up a couple of words here and there.
They passed by the hacienda. Jase glanced up at the empty balcony. Then he rolled his shoulders to get rid of that tight feeling that came into his chest once again.
He couldn’t save everyone. He would do the best he could, and live with the consequences.
Mochi wiped his face, then opened the mouth of the bag and lifted it, proudly showing off the fur ball inside.
“Yeah, just what we needed,” Jase groused, looking into those puppy eyes, determined not to get taken in by them.
Mochi snuggled the bag back into the crook of his arm, then took Jase’s hand again, his little fingers tightening around his.
He looked at the boy who’d placed all his innocent trust in him, unconditionally, then thought of the research station to the north.
He hadn’t planned on going there. He hadn’t planned on going anywhere until he had the information he’d come for: names, dates, locations.
But the station was Mochi’s best chance.
And if he was going to try to save the kid, tonight had to be the night. He strode forward, trying to organize a couple of disjointed thoughts into something that might resemble a workable plan.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to go all the way to the research station. He might meet a hunting party from one of the villages and turn the kid over to them. At least then the kid would be with his own people. Either way, step one was to get the kid out of the camp.
He’d have to sneak Mochi out somehow. And Mochi only. The puppy had to stay. It would whine at inopportune moments and pee all over the place, drawing predators to them as they walked through the jungle. They would have to move fast and without being detected. They couldn’t afford any handicaps. Which was why he couldn’t drag along a pregnant woman either.
Melanie would have to take her chances with the rest of them in camp. Since she carried the Don’s heir, the man would protect her with the lives of all of his men, if needed.
The puppy would have to stay with Consuela. He didn’t want to take him back to the dog pens where the men would get rid of him the first time he got underfoot. The kitchen had a rat problem. Maybe the puppy could be trained to deal with it.
Jase reached into his pocket, counted the pesos he had left. He had more than enough to convince the woman to take good care of one little puppy.
If only all his problems could be solved that easily.
The perimeter was as tightly guarded as it had ever been, every eye open, watching for Cristobal’s men. Would have been great if Jase was one of the dozen guys on guard duty tonight, but he wasn’t. Alejandro was, however. Unfortunatel
y, the man was unlikely to do him any favors.
“Are you hungry?” he asked the boy as they neared the kitchen.
Consuela flew toward them from the doorway, looking at the kid’s bloody arm. “Ay, Dios mio!” She picked up Mochi, swearing like a sailor at Jase for bringing the boy back in this shape.
He ignored her accusing glare. “Do you have anything for the wound?”
“Sí, sí.” The woman shooed him away.
He had a fair idea what the treatment would be. Astringent plant juices, then leaf-cutter ants to close the skin. They had incredibly strong mandibles and were nature’s sutures around here. The natives held them up to the wound until they grabbed on to it on each side, then twisted the body off, leaving the head and mandibles in place, which held tight long after the ant’s death.
“I’ll be back in a little while. I need to talk to you.” he told the woman.
Then he patted the boy’s head. “You hang tough, buddy. I’m going to take care of you, all right?”
He left them and headed back to the barracks, putting a plan together. If he was going to save anyone, he needed to start getting ready right now. They had no time to waste.
Chapter Four
Dusk gathered outside, the day nearly over. Time was passing way too fast. Melanie stood by her desk, madly digging through the drawer, picking up and discarding items from the clutter, looking for something skinny, something that was stiff but also bendable. Nothing. She slammed the drawer shut, then stared at the old Spanish dueling pistol Pedro had given her to shoot herself with if she thought she would be taken by Cristobal’s men.
Seriously.
She sank into the chair behind her. How on earth had she ended up here, at this point in her life? Her hand shook as she lifted the weapon. This is what you get when you let other people make your choices.
But never again—if she survived this. Never again.
She turned the gun. Looked straight into the barrel. She’d received one bullet only, in the chamber. Her brother-in-law didn’t trust her with more. He hadn’t made it to where he was by being stupid.
She lowered the weapon and turned to look out the window, into the settling dusk. A dozen men were hustling along out there, preparing for the upcoming battle. Jase wasn’t among them.
Wouldn’t have mattered if she did spot him at this point. She was locked into her room. She’d waited too long.
Another mistake.
She felt heavy and tired, her brain hormone-flooded. She wasn’t exactly operating on all cylinders, just enough to see all her mistakes clearly. Whoever had said hindsight was twenty-twenty hadn’t been kidding.
She should have run away right at the beginning, when she’d first gotten here. She’d been a lot more nimble on her feet back then, probably could have made it—if not out of the jungle, at least to the nearest settlement. From having overheard the men talking over the past months, she knew there were a handful of small villages not far from here and a research station to the north, plus a Jesuit mission.
But back then, she’d still believed that the Don would take her back to the city eventually. Months had passed by the time she’d finally realized that he had no intention of doing that, despite his promises. Then she’d wasted more time looking for an ally, examining each man who had access to the hacienda, and discarding each possibility.
She’d found Jase too late.
She had failed.
A sense of defeat washed over her.
Then her baby kicked.
“Okay, okay. I’m not giving up. Give me a second to wallow, then I’ll think of something.” She couldn’t fold. She owed her son better than that.
“I’m going to get us out of here,” she promised. Then panic bubbled up her throat as she pushed the gun away. Could she really make it to safety? What if—
The baby kicked again.
“I hear you.” She steeled herself. She was going to escape. Or die trying. She wasn’t going to sit around until things got so bad that the only way out would be to shoot herself.
Okay then. First things first.
She needed to set aside the problem of the door for a minute, and do something she was capable of doing.
She dressed, keeping the night in mind, putting on dark maternity slacks and a dark top, a lightweight dark shirt on top of that, a dark blue scarf wrapped around her neck. She slipped her swollen feet into her single pair of hiking boots, could barely bend low enough to tie the laces.
Tugging on the shirt must have loosened the barrette in her hair, because it slipped to the floor when she bent to her boots. She stared at it for a moment, then grinned.
She broke the barrette apart to make a slim metal strip. She tried to manipulate the lock with that. Minutes clicked by as she twisted the small tool this way and that, but achieved nothing.
She straightened too quickly, pushed by frustration, and upset the tray on the small table by the door. Her leftover lunch, which Consuela had forgotten to retrieve, dumped at her feet. The fork! Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She rushed to grab it, then bent the prongs to a shape she thought would work best. Adjusted the angle after the first try. Still no luck.
Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes. She dropped the fork, wiped away the tears and waddled back to the table for the gun. She could shoot the lock. Maybe. She’d never shot a gun before. She had no idea if she could hit a target that small.
One bullet. Her hand shook. Oh, God. Sure. No pressure.
Then another thought occurred to her. Even if she did manage to destroy the lock, she had no idea how many people were downstairs and would come running. Stealth had to be a big part of her getaway plan. If she didn’t have that, she didn’t have much of anything.
She lowered the gun.
Then she raised it again. Maybe by some miracle the house was empty. Maybe by the time the men outside figured out where the shot had come from, she could escape through the hacienda’s back door.
She aimed the weapon. Then jumped when an explosion shook the air. It had come from the back of the camp.
Her heart raced. Could the enemy already be here?
She rushed to the window and watched the men run off in the direction of the explosion. Half a dozen of them ran out the hacienda’s front door to follow the others.
Good. Maybe they were all gone now. Hope took flight in her chest. She could do this. If the enemy was here, so much the better. Maybe in the confusion she could get away unseen.
Her baby deserved better than this.
Maybe she should have been more careful about marrying Julio. Maybe she should have researched her husband’s family more thoroughly before agreeing to bring his ashes to the family crypt. Maybe she was a foolish woman, blinded by sentimental notions of love, and she deserved what she got, but her baby was innocent.
“Dear Lord, please help us get away from here.” She whispered the words heavenward and aimed the gun once again, just as the door banged open, about giving her a heart attack.
Jase stood in the doorway, his wide shoulders nearly filling it. His graphite-gray eyes were fierce, his gaze unflinching as he took her in.
Her knees shook with fright.
Shoot! Self-preservation screamed in her head. But her fingers seemed frozen on the trigger.
Did he come on the Don’s orders to guard her during the battle? Or did he come on his own, in the hopes of finishing what they’d started the last time he’d been up here?
“You should never hold a gun on a man unless you’re planning on killing him.” He strode in, annoyance all over his face. He pushed her weapon aside. “I’ll get you out of here. But just so you know, I don’t like it.” He grabbed her backpack from under the bed. “You will do exactly what I tell you, every step of the way. Is that clear?”
How did he know where she kept her runaway emergency bag? She stood frozen to the spot for a second, too stunned to move, trying to process everything. Her chance to get away from Pedro had come at last, but
only by having another man take control of her. That had never led to anything but disaster in the past.
He shot her an impatient look. “Are you coming?”
She held on to her pistol as she rushed out the door after him. She wasn’t giving into his power, she told herself. She was just using him to get her out of here.
For once, not a single one of Pedro’s men hung out downstairs. She followed Jase out the back. He seemed to be taking the exact route she had planned.
The boy, Mochi, waited for him outside the door. Okay, she hadn’t expected that. The kid held a flour sack that seemed to be moving. Must have been a trick of the descending darkness, or a figment of her jumpy nerves.
Jase picked up the large camouflage backpack that sat at the boy’s feet and swung it over his shoulders, carrying hers in his left hand, leaving the right free for his weapon.
“If you want to live, keep up the pace,” he told them, then began running toward the perimeter fence.
Once they were close he ordered them to stay in the cover of a ramshackle shed, one of the originals that the humid air and the vegetation had slowly eaten apart over the years.
He dropped the backpacks and strode toward the fence. He called out, “Jorge? What the hell is this?”
The man guarding the section came running. Melanie pulled back into the deep shadows, drawing Mochi with her, holding her breath. The little boy snuggled up to her. The flour sack wiggled against her leg. Okay, the boy definitely had something in there. But now was not the time to ask questions.
“Qué pasa?” The man stopped next to Jase, peering into the jungle, his rifle pointed at the dark forest.
“Someone cut the fence.” Jase gestured, bringing the man’s attention closer.
When Jorge bent to investigate the breach, Jase grabbed him from behind and in one violent motion broke his neck, then dropped him to the soft pile of leaves that covered the ground.
Melanie’s stomach rolled. She was going to be sick.