Dangerous Liaisons (16 page)

Two more guards stepped into view from the dining room and three more appeared in the hallway’s arched opening on the left. Jesse ignored the pounding in her head and forced her mind to compute the odds. She could take the two closest men before they got off a round. As for the others, Cole would be caught in the crossfire and she would succeed in killing him this time. If she and Cole got lucky enough to get out in the confusion, there was no telling how many more guards Perez had, or if they could escape the compound the way they’d come in. By now, Perez would have men patrolling the fence. Chance of escape ran in the negative triple digits. Her training echoed in her head: watch, wait, and conserve energy. Better opportunities would arise. Be vigilant and ready.

An unarmed man stepped into the room from the archway and said in perfect English, “Drop your weapons.”

The man’s six foot four height and two hundred and fifty pound bulk were daunting, but it was his obsidian colored eyes that sent a shiver up Jesse’s spine. This man took pleasure in inflicting pain—and he ran the show.

She reached to unstrap her Beretta, but froze when the CR-21’s shifted onto her. She lifted her hands in a ‘hands off’ gesture. “You want us to drop our weapons or not?”

The man glanced at one of the guards and motioned toward her with a jerk of his head. The guard lowered his weapon and hurried to her. He stopped three inches away and leered. Jesse lifted a brow when he locked gazes with her and reached with one hand for her gun. He yanked the Velcro strap away from the Beretta, slid the gun from the holster, and drew the barrel up her inner thigh.

Jesse looked over the guard’s shoulder at the big man. “Your men need to get out more.”

“They’ll have plenty of entertainment tonight.” He motioned for another guard to approach her.

Jesse flicked a glance at Cole. Hands raised, he watched the scene impassively.

The guard who approached pressed the barrel of his CR-21 against her temple. The guard who had taken her gun, stuffed it into his waistband, then plucked the glasses from her face, nearly pulling off her ears. She grimaced at the jolt of pain. He tossed the high-tech wear to the man in charge, who caught them with a flick of his hand. Mr. Obsidian turned them under his scrutiny, then slid them inside his suit jacket. The guard faced Jesse, showed yellow teeth in a wide grin, then grabbed each side of her ops vest and yanked it open.

Jesse said in Spanish, “I bet all the girls love you.”

His lips thinned, then a satisfied glint appeared in his eyes as he grabbed the collar of her camouflage fatigue shirt. Jesse didn’t think even his large hands could tear the shirt’s reinforced neck, but she was yanked forward as the fabric tore down her back, burning the back of her neck when he yanked it off her.

She felt the eyes of the men on her and straightened as she shifted her gaze to the big man. “A sports bra. I wear less to the beach.”

The guard reached for the waistband of her pants.

Jesse maintained eye contact with Mr. Obsidian. “The pants will come off eventually, but I’ll kill him first.”

“Halto,” he said.

The guard stepped back and shot Jesse a belligerent look. She shrugged.

“Take them off,” the big man said.

Jesse undid the pants and let them fall to the floor. Yep. Boy-shorts were the panties of choice tonight. It wasn’t like she needed a thong for Cole’s sake. Nothing had happened between them and, the way things were shaping up, she wouldn’t be getting another crack at him anyway.

*****

After four hours, handcuffed and bouncing around in the back of a six-by-six, two-and–a-half-ton military truck with eight guards, the truck came to a jarring halt. Rain had started two hours ago and now poured from the sky, pounding on the canvas roof above their heads. Back at the hacienda, after stripping her to bra and panties, they had taken Cole’s weapon, shirt, and pants. Jesse had counted nineteen cigarette burns on his chest, arms and insides of his thighs. With his hands handcuffed behind his back, the muscles in his broad shoulders stretched taut. His legs looked like sin itself in those Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Calvin Klein. Mr. All American wore designer underwear.

Two men appeared at the back of the truck and threw the rear flap onto the canvas roof. Cole rose, and Jesse followed to the open rear of the truck. Cole hopped to the ground ahead of her. He had remained impassive throughout the capture. Her initial relief had metamorphosed into anger, and she realized a small part of her hoped he would go out, guns blazing. Selfish, she knew, if she didn’t make it back, Amanda would be alone and broke.

Memories of her mother, and the day she announced Amanda’s sentence at Berkline Hall, unexpectedly surfaced. Jesse hadn’t uttered a peep. She’d simply walked away and never come back. When Mom died, Jesse hadn’t attended the funeral. Rushing in, guns blazing. The guns had been silent that time, but the war raged on. Cole hadn’t been wrong.

Jesse paused at the lip of the truck bed and grimaced at the pungent odor of drying cocaine being reduced to crystal. She surveyed her surroundings. Four guards with CR-21’s stood in an open area of hard-packed gravel surrounded by four single-story buildings with corrugated tin roofs. Two guards held cattle prods. Dense jungle grew in twisted chaos along the edges of the asphalt compound. Beyond the trees, the sky had begun to clear low on the horizon, showing a red, angry sun.

The guard behind her jabbed his rifle into her back. She hopped down beside Cole. Warm, choking rain instantly drenched her. The guard in charge motioned toward one of the windowless buildings. Another guard shoved Cole from behind. He shot her a questioning look. She shrugged, and he started forward. She followed. A guard hurried past and opened the door, hunching against the downpour. They herded her inside the building first. The stench of urine, feces, and rot hit her like a punch. The door slammed shut with a metallic clang. All sunlight disappeared, and the light that shone from bulbs in wire cages protruding from the ceiling filled the hallway with the dim, yellowish hue of sickly, manmade light.

Jesse glanced back. Four guards stood behind her, but Cole was gone. She faced forward. What would Emma Peel do? Emma would save herself, then find him—like she should have done the first time.

To the left, cells lined the wall, some with bars, others with solid metal doors, a small window at eye level, and a flap for food at the floor. A grimy face appeared behind the grating of one cell with a solid door. He whimpered then disappeared, mumbling in incoherent Spanish.

A gun barrel jabbed the middle of her back. Jesse cast him a deprecating look. Another jab in her kidneys sent a jolt of electricity through her. Pain seared clear to her insides and her muscles convulsed. Electricity hammered her body as the floor rushed closer, then smacked her cheek. Her muscles shuddered in violent spasms. Pain exploded in every cell. She thrashed uncontrollably under the discharge for what seemed like forever. The sizzle came to an abrupt stop and her vision grayed.

Jesse lay twitching on the cold, dirty cement, gulping for breath. She struggled to remain conscious and take control of her body, but even her tongue hung out of her mouth like a dead calf. At last, the spasms subsided, but she remained limp. Jeers penetrated the ringing in her ears and the stench of burned flesh overpowered the prison stink.

Two men gripped under her arms and dragged her down the hall. They stopped three cells down and heaved her inside. She rolled up against a mattress. One guard stood in the open cell door with a shit eating gin, smacking the cattle prod in a palm. Bastard had used a prod meant for a thousand-pound bovine.

Jesse shifted her gaze to his, and said softly in Spanish, “I’ll come for you first.”

His eyes widened, then flicked to his comrades before he sneered and replied in broken English, “We come back later and play.”

“Cobarde,”
she said in disgust, repeating in English, “Coward.”

He slammed the door shut. The clang reverberated through the cell like a gunshot. The guard with the key stepped forward, inserted the key, and twisted. The lock engaged with a smooth snick. The lock sounded well maintained, hard to crack.

The head guard laughed, and his friends lowered their weapons as he withdrew the handcuff key from a breast pocket and tossed it over her shoulder. Jesse didn’t take her eyes off the men, but heard the dull bounce of the key as it landed on the mattress. She followed their retreat until they disappeared back up the hall, then closed her eyes, and waited for the trembling inside her to stop.

The darkness was complete. Another low moan escalated to a blood curdling scream. Jesse stiffened against the wall where she sat on the mattress, jammed her eyes shut, and shoved her fingers into her ears. In the hours that had passed, she had distinguished five different voices. Bile rose in her throat. Perez was running an insane asylum, creating insanity by incarcerating and torturing the poor souls who had offended him. Lanton would have his final revenge. There would be no need to kill her. No need to worry that important information would be lost with her death. No. Perez would keep her alive in this room for a very long time.

Think, she told herself, think about something—anything—to get your mind off the incessant screaming that penetrated even her fingers stuffed inside her ears. But the hours of probing the cell inch-by-inch, and trying to conceive of a way out despite the solid walls had depleted her imagination. In capture situations, her instructors at Quantico had taught that the captors always slipped up eventually. They had with Cole. They would with her. She had to stay focused. Jesse gingerly shifted her position against the wall to accommodate the electrical burn on her back.

“In the meantime,”
her instructors had said,
“conserve energy.”

If she could just get the screams out of her head. Think of something, anything. Cole. She wasn’t leaving him behind this time. She wanted him. She’d wanted him from the start. If he’d made a move at the hotel, she would have ridden him all night. She hadn’t told him she’d confirmed he was telling the truth about surviving the massacre, or that she’d learned he’d seen Perez. Why hadn’t Cole told her he met Perez? He had to know that might convince her to let him work with her. What was it about him that made her give a damn? Was it because he stopped Lanton from taking back the money she took from the two accounts?

What about the night in the alley? Cole had seemed like such a greenhorn. A big guy who had no idea how hard bad boys could play. He had pissed her off, but she had admired the fact he came to her aid. Why couldn’t she shake the way that made her feel? Jesse pulled her knees to her chest. Fingers still jammed into her ears, she tucked her elbows close and rested her head on her knees. She hadn’t forgotten the warmth of Cole’s hands when he tended her leg in the hotel.

Screams penetrated her fingers.

Memory of him on top of her in the hotel bed rose in her mind. She startled at the vivid recollection of his weight, how he felt between her legs. Taut pressure in her nipples made her body feel light. She wanted to rub her breasts against his bare chest. Wanted him to flatten a palm against her hip and slide his hand downward. She gasped at the unexpected feel of his hand beneath the yellow dress he’d bought her.

Muted colors swirled in dim shadows around her as Cole traced a line up her leg, then her stomach to the curve of her breast. The weight of her body seemed to dissolve, and she felt as though her soul would float up and merge with his. He ran a finger around the edge of her breast, then drew a single line up to her nipple. She released a slow breath at the warmth of his hand as it covered the breast and gently squeezed. His erection pressed against the sensitive place between her legs. She cried out—

Screams unexpectedly filled her ears. Jesse straightened, blinking in the darkness. She looked around. Her body chilled with the sweat that had broken out across the surface of her skin. Jesse shivered. She’d fallen asleep. The screamer ceased for a second to catch a breath, then started again.

“Shut up!” she shouted.

To her surprise, the screams ceased. But only for a heartbeat.

The front door opened and sunlight streamed down the hallway past Jesse’s cell in the instant before the door closed with a tinny clank. Lights snapped on and she jammed her eyes shut against the painful intrusion. She had been confined for more than a day in total darkness. She leaned back against the wall, blinking as booted feet shuffled along the hall. The odor of burnt cocaine preceded six armed guards who came into view.

They stopped in front of her cell and a guard unlocked the door. He stepped back and pointed his cattle prod at her. “Get up,” he ordered in English.

Jesse glanced at his three comrades with the CR-21s, then looked back at him. “What, no breakfast?”

“Now,” he said.

She locked gazes with him and slowly rose. The men backed up as she stepped from the cell, and the head guard motioned her forward with this cattle prod.

She lifted a brow. “No handcuffs?”

His eyes narrowed.

She should be more like Cole, Mr. Unflappable. But if the guard tried to hit her with the cattle prod again, she’d ram it up his ass and energize.

Jesse marched in front of the guards out the building into the hot sun. Four more guards waited outside in a line. The guards parted, pointing the way to the open bed of a military surplus duce-an-a-half parked twenty feet away. No firing squad—yet. She slowed to a stroll. Cole wasn’t in the truck. She surveyed the four other buildings like the one where she had been caged, and two smaller structures at the south end of the compound. Which building had, or did, imprison Cole?

The perimeter had no fencing. Two guard towers, each with two men and a 50 caliber Browning machine gun, were located at opposite corners. They had substantial firepower all the way around, but she wouldn’t get a better chance at escape than this, especially if they were moving her to a more secure prison. When the guards kept a respectable distance, she realized why they hadn’t handcuffed her or used the cattle prod. Perez wanted her alive and coherent, so had ordered them not to get close enough to start any shit with her. Understanding struck. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Perez went to see Cole while he was being held captive in the village. All she had to do was get captured, and Perez would come to her.

At the truck, she vaulted in and sat in the back against the cab. Two guards with prods and side arms jumped in and sat in the rear. Guards lowered the flap, the engine revved, and Jesse grabbed the edge of the seat as the vehicle lurched forward. They traveled on rutted roads for fifteen minutes, then stopped. One guard threw back the flap and jumped from the truck.

Jesse caught sight of the corner of a large hacienda surrounded by well-trimmed bushes before the second guard jumped to the ground. A gravel drive curved to the right, butting up against a long expanse of velvet lawn stretched past the house to a rock wall eight feet tall.

The head guard along with two of his comrades appeared. “Get out,” he ordered.

Jesse stared impassively.

“Vamanoos!”

She’d gone as far as she was going to. “You gonna make me?”

He threw out a clipped order and the four men pointed their guns at her.

She maintained eye contact with the leader. “You’ll need more than you four to take me alive. If he wants me, he can come get me.”

The guard’s face reddened. Jesse thought she’d miscalculated, then he muttered to the man beside him, and the man hurried toward the hacienda.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and the heat inside the truck pressed in on her. The guards shuffled, sweated, and swore outside the truck. The temperature had to be hotter in the sun than inside the shaded truck, although, she’d kill for even a trickle of a breeze.

She had decided Perez wasn’t going for the deal, and her heart sped up with the fear that she had to find a way out of here and back to Cole when a tall, good looking man dressed in beige slacks and a short sleeved linen shirt, approached with an easy gait. He stood as tall as Cole and carried an extra thirty pounds of muscle. This man was nothing like the stereotypical drug lord—short, scruffy, heavyset—nothing like what she had expected. He stopped at the back of the truck. Jesse looked into eyes that were exactly what she’d expected: dark and lifeless. Dread coiled deep within her and she understood: Perez and Lanton were exactly alike, and she’d underestimated them both.

He tilted his head in a bow. “Senorita.”

Jesse gave a nod. “Senor Perez.”

“I am told I must come greet you personally.”

She didn’t reply.

“Come inside. We must talk.”

“Where’s Cole?” she asked.

“Do you care?”

“Professional curiosity.”

Perez laughed. “Very good. We will discuss Mr. Smith. Please,” he gave an elegant wave of his hand, indicating she should exit the truck, “come inside where it is more comfortable.”

Jesse jumped from the truck and fell into step alongside the man who held the key to her future. She prayed like hell he couldn’t hear her heart pounding.