Hush

by Cherry Adair

“Why?”

  “I’m stunned that someone bigger and stronger than me hasn’t killed you by now.”

  Totally unconcerned, he was staring outside at the men drinking and playing cards in the shade. “Not for lack of trying.”

  “My father taught me seventeen ways to kill a man that’ll look like an accident. Why don’t I give it a shot?” she offered sweetly. Her heart was manic, her palms damp with perspiration. She’d never lost her temper this way. Ever. The man was infuriating.

  Still looking at the soldiers, he leaned a shoulder against the wall. “What happened to him?”

  “He died three months ago. Early-onset Alzheimer’s. Trust me, I’ve lived with an uncommunicative, socially awkward man for most of my life, and you take the prize.”

  “That why you talk enough for two people?”

  She was so scared she was afraid to blink, so hot she was sweating out every drop of moisture in her body, and so blindly furious with Zakary Stark she wanted to do some sort of atypical violence to his person until he begged for mercy.

  “If I were you,” Acadia told him, brimming with temper, “I’d talk to me nicely, and apologize a lot. I have things with me that can make you and your brother’s last few hours a lot less unpleasant.” Her voice rose. “And things that will make your last few hours a living hell!”

  He reached out, gripped her wrist, and a second later had her arm twisted painfully behind her back. “I can take whatever the fuck I want from you, and I won’t have to listen to your inane chatter afterward. How’s that for a give-and-take conversation, Miss Gray?”

  He held on to her for another second or two, then shoved her not so gently out of reach. Acadia rubbed her wrist, even though he hadn’t hurt her. Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest, and her breathing was erratic. “Bastard.”

  “Bitch,” he returned without heat, his attention on the scene outside. Suddenly, he straightened. “Gideon just gave me the signal. We’re going to take the men now. The combo of this heat and all the booze … While we deal with the situation, stay right here, where I know how to find you.”

  Like she’d just sit here waiting for him to do his thing. “I’ll be halfway to Caracas the second your Neanderthal back is turned,” she told him furiously.

  “As soon as we’re done, I’ll come and get you,” he said, as if she hadn’t said a word. “We’ll head back the way we came. Follow the track we made coming in.”

  He was an infuriating dictator. Weighing the odds, Acadia glanced through the bars and assessed what was happening outside. The place was crawling with uniformed, armed guerrillas. She scowled at him. “Three of us are going to take out ten armed men?”

  “Two of us,” he corrected. “The alternative is, they decide the when and the how of whatever they have planned for us. Gideon’s ribs are cracked, if not broken. We can’t wait.”

  “I agree. But I’d feel a lot more confident if we had a cohesive plan before you raced out of here unprepared.” Come on, Acadia, think. He might’ve gotten her into this mess, but she wasn’t willing to bet her life that he could or would get them out safely. She had to participate in this escape plan if it had a hope in hell of working.

  She’d kill for pen and paper so she could write down her thoughts and see if there was some sort of escape plan that didn’t involve people getting shot in the back as they ran.

  She went through her mental inventory of the pockets, then she felt down to the calf of her left leg, opened the pocket there, and took out a bottle of Visine. Thank you, boring Saturday nights with the Internet. She held the tiny bottle out to Zak. “Use this.”

  Zak gave her one of those looks men had perfected since they’d clubbed their dinner, the I-have-important-business-don’t-bother me-little-lady look, and said impatiently, “I don’t need eyedrops.”

  “How would you like to take out those men, and keep them incapacitated for at least six or seven hours, without even one shot being fired?”

  “Obviously the answer to that is, hell yeah.”

  “Put this in that brandnew bottle of whatever they just opened,” she told him with exaggerated patience. Really, didn’t the man read? “It doesn’t really cause diarrhea. That’s an urban myth. But the active ingredient, tetrahydrozoline, has much more serious consequences when ingested.”

  He gave the small bottle a dubious glance. “You sure it works?”

  “Difficulty breathing will incapacitate them plenty,” Acadia assured him. “But it also causes severe headaches, muscle weakness, seizures, and possibly coma.”

  “Jesus. You are one dangerous woman, Acadia Gray.”

  She gave him a wicked smile. “I’ve been trying to tell you that all day.”

  FIVE

  Lie down like you’re about to pass out.”

  “That’s not far from the truth.” Acadia crossed the tiny cell to stretch out obediently on the filthy slab, repositioning the plastic handcuffs to look as though she was still restrained. Heart pounding with both fear and anticipation, she tried to unclench her muscles.

  “Okay. Just alerted Gid. Relax. You look like you’ve been embalmed,” Zak said dryly, adjusting the plastic cuffs over his own wrists. “I just want you to look faint, not dead.”

  For several beats she felt a prickle of awareness travel through her body like an electrical current as his hot gaze swept over her like the caress of possessive hands.

  Was he remembering last night? Apparently not. From his grim expression, she could tell sex with her was the last thing on his mind. Get a grip, Acadia.

  She shut her eyes and went limp. “Better?” It was hard to regulate her erratic breathing. Fear. It was fear. And the images of … She held her breath until she thought maybe, just maybe, she could inhale without getting a potent rush of memories of exactly what those hands could do.

  Unaffected by the tangible sexual current she felt between them, Zak yelled through the bars. “Hey! Get over here. The woman passed out, she needs water! Hurry!” The panic in his voice was startling; the man was a good actor. “She’s not moving!” Then under his breath. “Five. Four. Three. Two.”

  Her lips twitched. He was so damn cocky and confident, utterly convinced everything would go according to his plans. Except they were her plans. She’d remind him of that. If they made it out alive.

  The sound of voices got closer, Spanish too fast to translate. Resisting the urge to stiffen, she remained wilted, mentally bracing herself for a confrontation.

  It was obvious from the way Zak and Gideon were able to come up with a diversion without a single spoken word between them that they’d been in tight places before. And survived. Being brothers was part of it, but Acadia sensed a deeper bond than that. They trusted one another implicitly.

  She couldn’t fathom what that would be like. There’d never been anyone but herself to rely on.

  Zak shouted for the guards again, urging them to hurry. Acadia heard their slightly slurred comments as they neared the shack. They were already tipsy. But even so, they suspected a trap.

  It was hard to tell just how many men crowded inside. A whole damned herd by the sound and smell of them. The stink was overpowering.

  “She needs water and medical care,” Zak told them, letting his voice trail off. The unspoken words to finish off that sentence were clearly “or do you want her to die?” Which would’ve been redundant, even for them.

  The guerrillas discussed the situation in rapid-fire Spanish. They’d just divulged that Loida Piñero would return before nightfall, and she’d be pissed. God—if they’d waited even a few more hours to do this—

  She peeked through the screen of her lashes as one of the twins—Gold Tooth—came very close to lean over her. Acadia smelled the rancid stink of sour body odor before she heard his booted feet. His breath, moist and fetid, washed over her face, and she had to dig her short nails into her waist to prevent herself from gagging. Hurry, Zak.

  In her slitted vision, she watched Zak step behind the men, as if t
o give them room. She let her eyes flutter fully open and whispered weakly, “N-necesito a-agua, por favor.”

  She caught a glimmer of silver on the soldier’s dirty neck and recognized the chain that held her St. Christopher medal. Acadia wanted to reach out and grab it off him, and it took everything in her to maintain the ruse. The medallion and chain had been the last present her father had given her before he’d forgotten her name. He’d laughed as he had clasped it around her neck and said, “So you can travel safely to all those exciting places you’re always reading about, Cady girl.” God. She wanted her medallion back. Now.

  But instead of lunging upward and blowing their entire escape plan, Acadia paid attention to what was happening just outside the door.

  In a sliver of space between the men, she glimpsed Zak and his brother. Then Gideon was gone. She let out a shaky breath of relief. Almost there. The soldier wearing her necklace slapped her cheeks, and she opened her eyes fully, lest he break her jaw.

  He started to turn from her, so Acadia gasped for air and broke into choking coughs so that he would focus on her and not realize Zak was just slipping back inside the hut.

  She could’ve wept with relief as Zak, his tone uncompromising and angry, said, “If your leader hears that you didn’t do what she told you, she’s going to be pissed. Each of us is worth twenty million American dollars to her. Which of you wants to tell her that a prisoner died because you didn’t follow her instructions?”

  The men were silent, trading loaded glares.

  Zak gestured with his seemingly bound hands. “If that happens on your watch, she’s going do more than kick your ass. She told you an hour ago to bring us water. Do it already.”

  Acadia reached out, then let her hands drop weakly. “Por favor, señor. Agua.”

  The men left, locking the flimsy door behind them.

  Acadia sat up tailor fashion, resting her elbows on her knees. She stared at her hands blankly as her mind raced.

  They’d taken her medallion back at the hotel. All right, so she’d resigned herself to never seeing it again. But now she had, and she damn well wanted it back. She hoped the eyedrops affected Gold Tooth first. And hardest.

  The only problem now, she realized, was that they’d made such an issue about getting water that it was all she could think about. She’d talked herself out of acknowledging her parched mouth and the thirst that had dogged her since the early hours of the morning, but now the possibility of quenching her thirst was front and center in her mind.

  Would the men poison themselves before they got her water? God, she hoped not.

  “Piñero will be back tonight.” She addressed Zak’s broad back. Perspiration stained his blue shirt, and his dark hair curled against his strong, tanned neck. It seemed like a lifetime ago when she’d kissed the sensitive nape. Laughing, he’d rolled her over and gently bitten her in return, his strong white teeth scraping the sensitive skin between her neck and shoulder—

  “I hea—” He frowned, and his voice roughened. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  God, he’d turned just in time to see her lusting. Her cheeks got hotter. She blinked him into focus. Large, unhappy male. She sucked in a deep breath. “Maybe we should hang out in the trees until she gets back to camp,” she whispered. “Take the van …”

  Zak turned back to the door. “Unless she’s delayed, or changes her mind. We need daylight for this to work.”

  “We need transportation for this to work,” Acadia told him, annoyed with him for thinking he was in charge, and with herself for forgetting she didn’t like him.

  Stockholm syndrome, she told herself firmly. That was the only thing that made rational sense. Was it the right syndrome? Technically, Zak wasn’t her captor, but—hell, she’d take any excuse she could get for her inexplicable response to him.

  “Who exactly made you boss of me, anyway?” she demanded. “I don’t remember casting my vote. And just as a refresher, I was the one who cleaned your wounds while you were unconscious, gave your brother aspirin for his headache, had the tool to cut off our cuffs, and gave us a way to incapacitate all those men out there without firing a shot.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a cold, dismissive, arrogant glance. “If it works.” He turned back to look outside, his long, elegant fingers clamped around the bars. “Fine. We’ll take a fucking vote. Hope like hell your poisoning plot takes down the guerrillas. Follow our trail in back out, and stick around our entry point to wait for Piñero to return.”

  “That has my vote.”

  “And if she decides to wait until tomorrow?” he countered.

  It was like he was testing her, which ticked her off even more, considering she’d been the resourceful one in this situation. “We follow her tracks and walk to the nearest town.”

  “On the road?” he said, with a slight mocking tone.

  “Yes.”

  “In broad daylight?” This time his sarcasm came through loud and clear, and her temperature spiked for a whole different reason.

  “I haven’t thought it through,” she said through her teeth. “But yes, why not?”

  “Because more than half the population in these parts are criminals of one sort or the other; because three Americans, one of them a light-eyed blond woman, and another injured, will be picked off like they have targets on their backs. Because we have no idea where the fuck the nearest village is, and Piñero could drive up right behind us, and the next time she kidnaps us she won’t be so nice about it. That enough reason for you?”

  She sagged back against the wall, feeling like a punctured balloon. “We aren’t going to follow the road?”

  “Did you see a road?”

  “No, but we got here, at least part of the way, on a paved road. I think I remember the turns—”

  “Or,” Zak cut in, “your fiendish plot works, the men are out of action, and we take a short walk through the jungle until we hit the river. Hire a boat and have a late steak dinner in Caracas tonight. Let me know when you’re ready to cast your vote.”

  She was starting to really hate him. “How far’s the river? Do you even know which way it is? What if it’s a really long walk?”

  “Walking won’t kill us. What’s out there hunting at night will. We have a narrow window of opportunity before dark. Lie down; they’re coming back.”

  Fuming, Acadia stretched out on the slab. She didn’t bother closing her eyes. Every time she thought Zakary Stark was a nice guy, he did or said something obnoxious to change her mind. The fact that he was all kinds of sexy, and turned her on without trying to, was the irritating icing on the cake.

  Gold Tooth shoved a plastic cup through the bars at Zak. He made a crude suggestion that Acadia only vaguely understood, but her whole body flushed with fiery humiliation.

  A big fat steak dinner accompanied by about a gallon of ice water, in Caracas, alone, sounded more and more appealing.

  THE GUERRILLAS WERE DROPPING like flies, which surprised the hell out of Zak. He would have thought the eyedrop thing was an urban legend, but damned if it wasn’t working.

  Gideon had emptied the whole container of drops into their guards’ new bottle of rum. Within an hour, most of the men were puking their guts out, two were unconscious, and the rest seemed to be confused and lethargic as they staggered into the trees clutching their bellies. A bloodless coup.

  “I can take some of the crap in your pockets, lighten the load some,” Zak offered, glancing at Acadia over his shoulder.

  She gave him a cool look. “The weight’s evenly distributed.” The woman went from hot to cold and back again on a dime. He didn’t even try to figure her out. The way she’d pulled up her hair made her look like a sexy girl-next-door.

  Which was, as any red-blooded man knew, the most dangerous and subversive kind of female. He turned away from her smooth skin and the drugging fragrance of jasmine.

  Blue Bandana was trying to give his brother water. And failing. Gold Tooth couldn’t hold the cup.
Water splashed into the grass at his feet. Blue Bandana went back for more. “Don’t be so fucking stubborn,” Zak told Acadia as he tracked the last holdout, now carrying the almost-empty rum bottle, back to his twin. Finish it, asshole. “You’re going to have to run.”

  “And I will. How long?”

  Whatever. “Blue Bandana’s the holdout. He wasn’t drinking as much as the others. We’ll give him another fifteen minutes to catch up.”

  She lay back, closed her eyes. “Wake me when it’s time to go.”

  She was taking a nap? Now? Well, at least she’d shut up for a while.

  Zak turned back to observe the goings-on outside. Gold Tooth was out cold. His twin chugged the remainder of the drugged rum and looked around, clearly worried and confused as hell. A man stumbled out of the tree line, made it two yards, and collapsed.

  Zak knew for sure which direction they wouldn’t go: toward the entry point the guerrillas had chosen for their latrine.

  Blue Bandana leaned against the cookhouse, clutching his belly. He shouted for help, but everyone had his own problems. The Uzi slid off his shoulder as he leaned over to puke.

  “Let’s go.”

  Acadia was up on her feet like the goddamn Energizer Bunny. “About time.”

  Zak kicked open the door and motioned to Gideon, who did the same. A few of the men gave them bleary looks as they converged, then ran across the clearing. One even reached weakly for his weapon, but that was the extent of their interaction with the escapees.

  Miracle of miracles, her plan had worked.

  As he ran, Zak helped himself to a machete from one guy, an Uzi from another, and several clips and half a dozen sets of plastic handcuffs from a third, then jogged over to the twins, who were sprawled close together. Zak undid the stainless steel band of his watch from Blue Bandana’s scrawny wrist and quickly fastened it on his own. The man looked up at him with pain-filled eyes, then rolled his head to puke.

  “Payback’s a bitch,” Zak told him, with no small amount of satisfaction. Quickly, he stepped over the man’s supine, twitching body, grabbed the other twin by his hair to lift the dead weight of his head, pulled the silver chain he’d recognized earlier over the bastard’s neck, and let Gold Tooth’s head thump back to the ground. He stuffed the long chain and medallion into his breast pocket for safekeeping.