Still, he’d smell it on her, and feed on it.
She couldn’t let her terror overwhelm her, though it threatened to pull her under. She had escaped from his compound, dropped over the side of a cliff, run through the jungle, attempted to seduce a guard, danced for information, run from men with automatic weapons and watched the man she loved shot as he tried to save her.
She could face Santiago.
Chills ran over her body as she moved past the big man into the narrow hall. Only one way to go, with a wall to her left. Her shoulders bumped the paneled walls with each sway of the boat, so how had this big guy made it through?
“Where?” she asked, wondering which of the doors hid her biggest nightmare.
If any held her deepest hope.
“Up the steps, and right.”
The man didn’t follow too close. He must not think she was much of a threat. Of course, he probably saw she could barely move because of her trembling. She managed the steps to the next level, and sunlight streamed over her as she reached the deck, warming her chilled skin. Every nerve screamed to turn left, jump over the rail, anything other than face the man who could destroy her.
She turned right and saw Santiago through the glassed-in room, leaning back in a leather chair, holding a highball glass containing God-knew-what. From experience, she knew it could improve his mood or increase his violence. Preparing herself for either outcome, she straightened her shoulders and reached for the door handle.
The room smelled of cigar smoke and power. She gagged on it. Santiago turned only his eyes to her, those light eyes that saw too much, that narrowed now in hatred. The animosity snagged her breath in her throat. What would he do to her before he killed her?
“Isabella. You look like hell.”
She hadn’t even thought of that. She, who had paid attention to every detail of her appearance when she lived with him, had not so much as looked in a mirror since before she and Alex ran to the Everglades. She resisted the urge to finger-comb her hair now, to show him any sign of vulnerability.
“Where is my son?”
Santiago’s eyes widened a moment. “I do not remember you being so single-minded. You will see your son soon if you meet my conditions.”
“What conditions?” But she knew and already mourned the fact that everything she’d had with Alex would be erased by the depraved acts Santiago would have her perform to see her son. Memories were all she had left of Alex now.
She might not live long enough to save Hector. Under Santiago’s tutelage, he would become like his father. That thought weakened her knees more than fear for herself.
Santiago’s eyes flicked toward the two men standing on either side of the doorway. Neither one was Pablo, thank God, but she knew them to be her punishment. The only thing, the only thing to keep her from wishing for death was the chance to see her son again. To ensure that she did, she had to fight. She tightened her jaw to hide its trembling.
“It doesn’t matter what you do to me. The DEA has proof you killed Eric. Now you’ve killed an Army Ranger. They will never stop hunting you.”
He inclined his head and swung his glass to the side, the gesture unconcerned. “They have to know where to find me. They’ve not been able to so far.”
“They’ve never had greater motivation.” She took a step closer, though her anger was quickly being swallowed by fear. “Know when they come for you that they found you because of me.”
She didn’t see the glass tumbler swinging toward her until it was too late. It cracked against the side of her head hard enough to break. Pain sliced through her scalp and the upper part of her ear, and she dropped to her knees. The two men moved forward to grab her arms and yank them behind her. As her head swam, she prayed to fall into unconsciousness again. Even then, she knew Santiago would only make the men wait until she was awake and aware of every dirty thing they did to her.
She lifted her face to Santiago as warm blood trickled down the side of her throat. “I want to see my son,” she repeated. Her choice had been made the moment she stepped out of the compound. “Whatever you want in payment, I’ll do. Please. Is he here?”
Santiago leaned forward, forearms on his knees, a pleased expression on his face. “You will have plenty of time to pay for your mistakes before we get to Hector.” He nodded to one of the men, who pushed her to her knees in front of Santiago.
Terror rose in her throat at the anticipation of what he wanted her to do. She couldn’t bear the thought of taking his flaccid penis in her mouth. Already the scent of him gagged her.
He wrapped his fist around her hair and tugged hard, tearing strands loose from her scalp, and he kissed her hard, crushing her mouth, grinding her lips against her teeth, filling her with his filthy taste. She resisted the urge to bite down. She would do what he wanted until she saw her son.
He released her suddenly so that she slumped to the floor. “Where is your fight, Isabella?” He sat back and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Take her back to her room.”
The man who’d pushed her to her knees now pulled her upright by her hair. She couldn’t stop the squeal of pain, and she lifted her hands to relieve the pressure as she fought to get her feet under her.
“Give her time to think about all the things she knows I can do to her.”
They’d drugged the food. Isabella realized it after a couple of bites of the mouthwatering grilled vegetables and fish. Now she felt woozy, and the scent of the food she’d set across the room made her stomach growl. To keep her mind off her hunger, she’d gone through the room, looking for a weapon. Yes, she’d said she’d do anything to get to her son again, but she hated the feeling of helplessness. If she knew she had something to protect herself, she would feel braver. The problem was every drawer was empty. But the action had at least given her something else to think about. She’d finally stopped shaking after her encounter with Santiago, but she refused to be broken until after she saw her child.
She could imagine Hector wriggling in her arms, anxious to get away from the kisses she longed to give him. So she would indulge him, playing the games he loved—hide and seek, treasure hunt and blowing bubbles. They’d sing and she’d tell him stories, and cuddle him every chance she got. She could almost smell him, and her heart swelled with longing.
The door handle turned and Isabella bolted off the bed, pressing her back to the window.
The same man from earlier came through the door and her trembling started anew. She resisted looking at the bed, where her punishment would no doubt come. Instead, the man left the door open and beckoned her.
“He wants to see you.”
He glanced at the food on the tray and pressed his lips together, but said nothing, stepping to the side as she walked on wobbling legs toward the hall, forbidding her mind to go to the dark places Santiago could take her.
This time she was guided to another bedroom, stately, at the bow of the boat, windows looking over the horizon in what would be a beautiful view if she wasn’t so terrified.
But she didn’t see Santiago.
The door closed behind her and a fist struck the back of her head. Surprise and pain drove her to all fours. When she tried to push upright, to see past the fall of her hair, a hand pressed between her shoulder blades, holding her down. Another tugged at her jeans, and she felt the weight of a man’s thighs against hers.
Her empty stomach roiled, and she choked her nausea back. She would endure this. She would. She just had to remember how to shut out the feelings she’d allowed to surface when she’d been with Alex.
The blow must have affected her hearing because she heard a buzzing. The weight left her body and she looked up to see Santiago move to a window, his attention drawn to the edge of the boat. Despite her dizziness, pain and fear, she scrambled to her feet.
A Coast Guard cutter approached, churning up water, destroying the peaceful view. Joy bubbled through her, but she banked it. So much had gone wrong, she was afraid to hope.
Until she saw Alex standing at the rail of the cutter, automatic weapon at the ready, suited up in a helmet and a bulletproof vest. His stance said they weren’t getting out of here without going through his team of Rangers.
He was alive, standing strong. And he’d come for her.
Chapter Sixteen
Santiago shouted an alarm, pushing past her into the hall. He opened a closet in the hall and tossed guns to the three men who responded to his call. Terror squeezed Isabella’s throat as the four men mounted the steps to the deck and she bolted after them, forgotten in the shadow of the new threat.
She reached the upper level as the men dropped to their bellies on the deck and leveled the weapons at the cutter.
“Guns!” she screamed in Alex’s direction.
“Get down,” he shouted back, and she lowered herself into the stairwell as gunfire broke out.
The glass wall in the room above her shattered under the hail of bullets, and shards sprinkled down on her. A strangled cry of pain burst from one of the men. At the same time, the boat lurched to the side, sending her rolling across the steps and bumping against the wall. Bullets hit the hull with horrible thunking sounds. Fear that they could penetrate all the way to the stairwell made her tremble. Would she hear the bullet that hit her?
Staying low, she crawled across the floor to see Santiago huddled in the corner while his men fought for him.
Coward.
She whipped around, grabbed a gun out of the back of the fallen man’s pants and pointed it at Santiago’s face. Fear—and a touch of calculation—in his eyes snapped her muscles tight. Shaking, braced for the bullet that could kill her, she eased herself behind a chair, putting him between her and his men before she said, “Stop. Shooting. Now.”
The men turned, guns raised, aimed at her. Then they saw her position, and knowing they risked hitting their boss, they lowered them.
Outside, gunfire still rattled.
“Alex, stop!” she screamed.
Santiago took advantage of her distraction and rose, pushing her gun hand high. She held onto the pistol—barely—and swung around with it, knocking him across the temple and onto the floor. Her finger trembled on the trigger and she could not think of one reason not to shoot him. Not one.
Alex was the first on the boat, sweeping his gun left to right. One man lay on the deck, unconscious. Another man lay inside what had been a sort of sun porch on the deck, now shattered. Beyond him, Isabella stood, a gun braced in both hands, pointing at the ground.
She looked up, her pretty face bruised, bloody and swollen, eyes terrified. Rage whipped through him. The urge to go to her, to sweep her into his arms, breathe her in, had him stepping forward, forgetting his training.
Before he touched her, he remembered the man on the floor, the gun she held.
“I have Santiago,” she said.
She did too. The son of a bitch was bleeding from a head wound, all over the pretty white carpet. Alex wanted to draw more blood, maybe add some guts to it as well.
“You do that?”
She nodded.
He stopped himself from asking if Santiago had done the damage to her face. That would come later. “Good girl. Now come over here.”
He reached out to her and she approached cautiously, then grasped his hand tightly. After giving her a brief, reassuring glance, he pulled her behind him, his attention on Santiago Saldana. He allowed himself a brief squeeze, pressing her against his side for a moment, feeling her heartbeat hammering, hearing a sharp intake of breath—pain?—before he pushed her toward the deck backing away from Saldana. As badly as he wanted to hammer the son of a bitch into the carpet, he wanted Isabella safe.
So he left Saldana to Julian and Dave, who’d followed him, and escorted Isabella to the other boat. He lifted his fingers toward her bleeding temple, stopped himself before touching her and causing her more pain. His gaze flicked to the blood coating the side of her neck. He wanted Julian to look at her, to make sure the wound was only superficial. He didn’t want her out of his sight.
“You need your head looked at.”
Moments later, the prisoners were secured and she sagged on a bench in the Coast Guard cutter as Julian examined her scalp laceration. Her whole body drooped with exhaustion.
“I thought he’d take me to Hector. I wanted to see him. I thought I’d be holding him, Alex.”
Alex hadn’t released her, didn’t want to stop touching her, and holding her hand was all he could allow in front of his men. He shouldn’t even allow that but couldn’t let her go.
All he had was words, and he was no good with them. “We’ll find him, Bella.”
She turned her gaze to him, eyes fierce in her battered, bloody, sad face. “Make him tell you. Make Santiago tell you where my son is.”
Alex paced in the observation room as Captain Winters sat across the interrogation table from Santiago Saldana, the big fish they’d been trying to find for weeks. Because Saldana was here, Isabella was safe. She was safe. He didn’t have to worry about her being at the hospital alone.
But Alex wanted to pound Saldana into the ground anyway. Likely that was the reason the captain wouldn’t allow him into the interrogation room. Alex had promised Bella he’d stay and learn what he could about Hector. He just hadn’t had the chance and the helplessness was making him restless.
He might feel better if Saldana was talking, but he remained stoically silent, hands folded on the table, eyes focused on the mirror, telegraphing some sort of message. Perhaps he thought Isabella was watching.
Agent Michaels entered the room, holding a folder. Ignoring Alex, he walked to the window and knocked to draw the captain’s attention.
“What is that?” Alex asked, gesturing to the folder.
“More information we got off the drive the mistress brought us.”
“Isabella Canales,” Alex corrected. He knew what she’d been, could live with it, but he didn’t want others thinking of her like that. Like he had. Judging her. “She risked her life to get the drive from Saldana’a office and bring it to us.”
Agent Michaels shot him a glance. “Right. It should come in handy now. This stuff should get a rise out of him.”
“He’s waiting for his lawyer.”
“Lawyer’s been held up at security.” Michaels’ grin was quick. “Too bad.”
“Any information in there that might tell us where he stashed the kid?”
Michaels turned to face him full-on now. “You’re still worried about that?”
“She wants her kid back. The least you can give her in exchange for all that.” He nodded to the stack of papers in the folder.
Michaels flipped open the folder, thumbed through the pages. “I think there were some real estate records in here, other houses Saldana owns. Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance, though, with either parent. You gotta wonder if the state will let her keep him. Here you go. Three more properties Saldana owns, none in the US. He probably stashed the kid in one of those places.”
Alex trembled with the desire to slam the agent into the wall for saying those things about Isabella, but hadn’t he thought the same? He hated himself for having made those judgments about her.
But he pushed the desire aside, thinking of the joy he’d bring Isabella when he told her he’d found Hector. He could already imagine the way her eyes would shine. He grabbed the folder from Michaels, jotted the information down on a scrap of paper and slapped the manila folder against Michaels’ chest.
“For the record,” he said. “She’s the strongest, bravest woman I’ve known. You keep that asshole in here so he doesn’t touch her again.”
Isabella was numb on the flight to Belize. Alex had been so excited when he’d burst into her hotel room, scaring the hell out of her, and had gotten surly when she didn’t respond the way he thought she would. Didn’t he realize how afraid she was to hope that she’d find her son? She’d been crushed so many times.
So she’d sat silently while he made arrangemen
ts for a friend of a friend to fly them down immediately. He’d lost his temper when she insisted she needed a new dress for the occasion. The only way she’d convinced him to stop at a department store was because she didn’t even have shoes. He didn’t understand that everything had to be perfect when she saw her son again.
She tightened her grip on the toy puppy Alex had grabbed while she changed into the red knit dress. That he’d thought of her son, of something to please him, made her heart swell with more emotion she had to squash. One step at a time.
She caught her reflection in the plane’s window. She hadn’t been able to do anything about the bruises and swelling on her face, and had been painfully aware of the stares she and Alex had received. That only made his mood worse, and he hadn’t said much on the flight so far.
Now the plane was circling, and Isabella’s thoughts right along with it. Please, God, let him be here. Please, God, let me hold him. Please, God, let this be over, even if it means saying goodbye to Alex.
He was watching her now, gauging her reaction, she supposed. Unable to meet whatever expectations he might have of her, she turned and looked out the window at the green land, the blue water, her son’s favorite colors. She hummed softly to herself, the Black Eyed Peas song she’d altered to teach her son his colors, as the plane circled, then touched down on a tiny airfield near the coast.
An SUV waited for them. Alex took her arm as he guided her toward it, casting a disgusted glance at her new heels.
“Didn’t you learn anything this past week?”
“I learned I can run barefoot,” she retorted, then opened her bag to show him the Keds she’d picked up. “I learned how to be prepared.”
His grin surprised her as he opened the passenger door for her. “I wonder if I’ll ever figure you the hell out.”
A little pop of joy burst in her chest. Did that mean he was going to stick around once this was over? No, no. One step at a time.
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