Chapter 4
Maya endured several “takes,” stumbling over the script the mustachioed little man wanted her to read. She’d been nervous, and her gaze kept slipping from him to Angel who stood behind the little man, Angel’s expression so grim, she couldn’t help shaking. He’d looked every bit as mean and determined as her abductor, which kept the tears flowing until she’d managed to get to the end.
“Perfecto.” Hard, black eyes raked her, pausing on her breasts and hips.
Maya’s unease caused her skin to crawl and her belly to cramp. She hoped he was more concerned about keeping his investment safe than taking advantage of the fact she was a hostage and completely at his mercy. She jumped when he rattled off more rapid-fire bullets of Spanish.
Angel stepped forward, cupped her elbow and led her back to the small tin hut that was her prison for as long as they believed she was someone else.
“How long do you think I have?” she whispered once they were far enough away not to be heard.
“I don’t know,” he said, giving her elbow a squeeze. “But I’m working on diversions. In the meantime, I put a blanket and pillow inside. Try to rest.”
As if. She snorted and swiped the back of her hand across her face. Her cheeks were still damp and hot from her tears. “Am I going to die?” she asked, her voice giving an embarrassing quaver.
“Not if I can help it,” he said, his deep voice gritty. He held open the door, then lifted his chin, motioning her to move into the hut.
Maya gripped the doorframe, refusing to budge. “Why should I trust you?” Then leaned back when his head descended, a dark, fierce frown pushing his eyebrows together.
“You can trust me because the minute they find out you’re not who they think you are, I’m dead too.”
Oddly, that fact reassured her. Angel didn’t seem the sort to lie down without a fight. Letting go of the doorframe, she allowed him to push her inside the hut, no doubt for the benefit of anyone who might be watching.
The door closed. The lock clicked. Just enough light peeked through the slats of the window to illuminate her prison, and her stomach dropped. The entire floor was dirt. A bucket sat in one corner. And she didn’t have to be the class genius to know what purpose it served. A neat stack sat in the opposite corner—a folded blanket and a small, dingy pillow.
With nothing else to fill her time, she unfolded the blanket, spreading it on the ground between her and the dirt. The meager pillow, she clutched to her chest. Sitting alone in the dark, all the worst scenarios ran through her mind, until real tears tracked endlessly down her cheeks.
Was Angel really a good guy or had he told her he’d get her out just to keep her cooperative? She didn’t doubt for a moment he could pull off an escape, given his training, but would he risk himself for her?
Then she thought about the very real possibility the man with the mustache might kill her when he discovered she wasn’t some drug lord’s daughter. Something told her he’d be livid the moment her identity was revealed, and would likely take great satisfaction in killing her in some heinous fashion. Those scenarios left her nauseous and so panicky she couldn’t breathe. Could someone die of a panic attack?
Then she thought about those she’d leave behind. The list of people who would care was pitifully small. Mr. Batson at the bank—because he’d have to redo the loan paperwork—her two best friends and partners. Would they ever know what happened to her? The thought of the hell they’d go through, possibly blaming themselves for her death because of their joint decision to change the model of their travel agency, caused her worry, too. She didn’t want them blaming themselves. Although she did hope they’d grieve for a little while. It would be nice to have someone shed a tear for her passing.
The lights blinked, blinked again, then slowly went out altogether. Maya shrank toward the floor. Pitch darkness was so much scarier than the shadow play. Every sound was amplified.
A roar sounded in the camp, and she jumped. The shout was followed by a streak of Spanish so filled with curse words she understood every single one.
Maya’s heart thundered inside her chest. Either Little Man had just figured out he’d nabbed the wrong girl, or…
The door scratched open. “Maya...” came an urgent whisper.
Not daring to say a word, she pushed to her feet and edged around the walls of the shack toward the door. Reaching out a tentative hand, her palm met solid muscle.
Angel’s hand slid down her arm and clutched hers, then he jerked her through the door. “Baby, run.”
With clouds blocking the moonlight, she couldn’t see a thing. Didn’t know how he could, but he pulled her along, his steps sure. She took confidence in that and widened her stride as she sped along beside him.
“No talking, hear?”
No problems with that order. They were moving so quickly and she was so scared, she couldn’t catch her breath. They must have left the camp though, because the sounds of scuffling feet and shouting were more muffled.
The occasional vine brushed her shoulder and her face. The clouds moved; moonlight filtered through the canopy above them, but still, not enough light penetrated to help her get any bearings. Although how that would have helped she didn’t know because she didn’t have a clue where she’d been taken.
And then they were standing on a slight rise, above a clearing where a wood-framed building stood with a chimney belching smoke that smelled like kerosene and burned plastic. Beside the building were two trucks. One was parked beside a large barrel with a hose leading from the barrel into the truck’s gas tank, likely diesel fuel.
“Oh thank God,” she whispered. “We can call for help.”
“Shit,” Angel said beside her. “They’re making cocaine. It’s the last place we can stop. Keep moving.” He pulled her hand again, and off they went, back into the darkness of the jungle.
Beneath her, the ground dipped. So, they were moving downhill. Ahead she heard the trickle of water. The river perhaps? She wondered if there were piranha in the water, but thought maybe they were only in the Amazon. Even piranha weren’t as scary as what she faced back at the camp, so she didn’t slow her steps, although running downhill in the dark made her heart race faster and she was falling behind him.
Angel drew to a sudden halt.
She gasped as she ran into his back, but steadied herself leaning against him, breathing in his scent. He was sweaty, but not out of breath. She made a mental note to renew her gym membership. If she took another of these adventure vacations, she’d make damn sure she’d be ready for whatever.
He turned slightly and touched her shoulder, then pushed her down. “Shhh. Stay. I’ll be back. Whatever you hear, don’t move.”
But how will you find me? She didn’t say the words out loud, but crouched, tuning her ears to his sounds as he left her. He moved like a ghost because three steps later, he was gone.
The sound of insects chirping and buzzing, and frogs ribbeting filled the air. Then in the distance, she heard more shouts, the rustle of brush, the crack of branches. She was glad she couldn’t understand what was said, but worried more when the voices stopped, because she knew they were hunting for her.
The rustling, crackling sounds grew nearer, and she debated fleeing in the opposite direction, but to where? Squinting, she peered into the darkness, hoping to discern shapes or movement. She worried Angel had abandoned her, or had been caught. What would the nasty little man do to someone who betrayed him? Her stomach clenched into a tight ball.
An explosion shook the ground. Light spilled into the sky. She shrank against the trunk of a tree as she stared up at a tall orange plume rising from the direction of the building they’d passed. Then the sound of leaves rustling near her froze her in place. She couldn’t help her reaction—she gasped, her next panicked breaths just as loud and nearing choppy sobs.
Suddenly, a warm hand covered her mouth. She gave a muffled shout and aimed a sharp elbow behind her.
“Shhh, baby, it’s me. Shhh.”
At his words near her ear, she sagged against Angel with fresh tears seeping from her eyes. When had she become such a crybaby?
“Gotta go now,” he whispered in her ear. “You okay?”
She nodded, and the hand fell away snatching up hers again, and off they ran. Again, they moved quickly, breaking through the trees and then scrambling over thick vines to the river’s edge.
A glance to the left revealed moonlight bathing a rickety, wooden dock with a shiny white speedboat tied to a post—their destination by Angel’s increased pace. When she stepped onto the dock, she heard a moan and rustling in the vegetation. Glancing down, she saw the outline of a man’s body, hands tied behind his back.
Angel’s work, no doubt about it. Although how he’d managed in the short space of time he’d been gone to set the building on fire, and then find the dock and incapacitate the guard, she didn’t know. But she did think he was awfully handy to have around in a crisis.
He let go of her hand and ran to the boat, making quick work of the rope. Then he climbed onto it and extended his hand.
A shot rang out, splintering wood a foot away.
Maya screamed, and Angel reached out and grabbed her hand to pull her into the boat. She landed on the deck, but he was already standing behind the helm. A moment later, the engine rumbled into life.
More shots rang out, and she huddled on the floor of the boat, hands covering her ears, willing Angel to gun the engine and get them the hell out of there, which he did, looking like a war god in a chariot with the moonlight bathing his features in silver light and shadows.
The sound of the gunfire receded as they pulled away. Emboldened, she pushed upward, scrambling to get her feet underneath her with the boat pitching to the left and right because Angel hadn’t stopped zigzagging his way up the river.
Did that mean more of the drug soldiers might be waiting in the brush to open fire? She came up beside Angel and settled into the chair next to where he stood. “So what’s your plan?” she shouted above the roar of the engine.
“You think I have a plan?”
She didn’t know why, but the exasperation in his voice struck her as funny, and she laughed.
His gaze shot toward her. His eyebrows were low, shadowing his sexy eyes. “You do know you shot the hell out of a six-month investigation.”
Investigation? Her gaze shifted from his face to the water ahead. Facts began to click into place. She watched lots of crime shows on TV. Her faith in her good taste in men was restored. “I didn’t kidnap myself.”
“If you’d stuck to your room in the barracks, they wouldn’t have gone for the grab.”
“But they were waiting.” Exasperation tightened her muscles. “I could have been all by myself, and then where would I be? They’d have known I wasn’t their target the second they sat me in front of the camera and told me to tell my daddy, Jorge Yanez, to do whatever they told him if he ever wanted to see his little girl alive again. I’d have blabbed right away that they had the wrong girl.” She wrinkled her nose. “I tend to blurt before I think.”
He grunted and shook his head. “We can’t head back to the camp. They likely have someone on the inside. It’s how they knew you were with me. We’ll have to cut the engine when we get close so we won’t be heard, pull close to the bank, and cover up the boat. I have to get to my radio to call for an extraction.”
Her eyes widened. “As in helicopters?”
“As in, have my handler figure out where we can hide until he can muster a team to get us out. We have several contingency plans in place. Just depends on how tight Calderon’s got the region sewn up.”
“Is Calderon the man with the big mustache?”
“No, that’s Paulo Garcia, one of his lieutenants. A vicious bastard. Garcia will be out for blood. If Calderon catches us first, he’s as good as dead. Calderon doesn’t tolerate mistakes and Garcia made two big ones.”