Tempted by His Target (15 page)

Robbery was a common motive in drug-related homicide, and the fact that Isabel left a dead body in her home without calling police was problematic. Even if she hadn’t meant to hurt him, which Brandon firmly believed, she could face a stiff punishment. And after he turned her in, her fate was out of his hands.

If she came to harm he’d never forgive himself.

Frowning at the thought, he considered another troublesome inconsistency. Jaime had been a ladies’ man. He was rarely seen without female company and often entertained an entourage of party girls. But, according to Isabel, they were just friends and he’d never made a pass. That struck Brandon as odd. Had drugs obliterated Jaime’s libido so much that he wasn’t interested in sex?

Brandon couldn’t imagine a man not wanting Isabel in his bed.

They made their way toward the hacienda, his mind in turmoil. Maybe he should be helping Isabel escape, rather than plotting her capture. What if she’d be better off in Central America than the U.S.? He pictured them living in a quaint cottage on the beach, surfing all day, enjoying a life of idyllic perfection. Isabel would wear flowers in her hair. He’d grow a beard. They’d watch the sunset together.

He shook his head, dispelling the dreamy images. If he stayed with Isabel, he’d never see his parents again. There was nothing idyllic about being on the run. And he certainly wasn’t ready to retire.

As they traversed the final stretch of path, the hairs on the nape of his neck prickled with unease. Something was amiss. “Wait,” he murmured, gesturing for Isabel to crouch with him behind the stone well. Cursing, he drew his weapon.

They’d been found.

Isabel followed his gaze, seeing the fresh tire tracks in front of the house.

The vehicle appeared to have backed out and turned around. The telltale grooves veered into a copse of trees a few hundred yards down the road. A black SUV was parked in the shade, almost hidden.

She gasped, ducking down lower. “Have they spotted us?”

“I can’t tell,” he answered.

The SUV was lying in ambush, as if its inhabitants expected them to come out of the cabin. Carranza’s men might not have noticed their approach. It was late afternoon now, and long shadows cloaked the hillside.

“Maybe they’ll go away.”

“No. They’ll wait.”

Knowing this was true, she clenched her hand into a tight fist. The clothesline she’d put up made it obvious that they planned to return. She shouldn’t have left any hint of their presence. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I didn’t think they’d find us all the way out here.”

“Me, either,” he admitted.

Pulse pounding with fear, she considered the clues they’d left along the way. If the taxi they’d ditched had turned up on the side of a road, halfway to Guatemala, the men would know where they were headed. It was also possible that they’d spoken to the checkpoint soldiers or bribed the Tapachula locals.

“At dusk, we’ll make a run for it,” he said. “Go back to the graveyard.”

She braced her shoulders on the stone wall and took a deep breath. “The parade goes straight down the main drag. Maybe we can disappear in the crowd.”

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the SUV. “We’ll leave as soon as it’s dark.”

As it happened, they didn’t have to wait. The SUV pulled out of its hiding place, heading right at them.

“Go,” Brandon shouted, shoving her toward the goat path.

She scrambled up the hill, her heart in her throat. Shots rang out, hissing through the air and furrowing into the grass near her feet. Brandon didn’t stop to return fire. Keeping his body between her and the approaching vehicle, he pushed her to climb faster.

The SUV couldn’t find purchase on the steep incline. It stalled, engine roaring, wheels churning in the soft earth.

Isabel registered these sounds as they sailed over the top of the hill. Brandon jerked her to the ground, flattening his body on top of hers. For a breath-stealing moment, he aimed his gun at the vehicle, trading shots with Carranza’s men.

She held her hands over her ears, terrified. Bullets peppered the hillside, raining loose dirt on their heads.

“I’m out,” he said, swearing as he ejected the clip. Within seconds, he’d located spare ammunition and reloaded.

She didn’t have time to wonder where the extra round had come from, because he pulled her to her feet and they started running again. No gunshots dogged their steps as they raced down the path. At the base of the next hill, they stopped again, taking shelter behind a large tree. “Are you hit?” he asked, skimming her body for injuries.

“No, I’m fine. Are they?”

“I don’t know. I shattered the front windshield.”

The engine revved up, proving that someone was alive inside. The noise faded into the distance as the SUV drove away.

“Come on,” he said, urging her to keep moving. “The passenger might follow us on foot. We can’t afford to let him catch up.”

She picked up the pace, struggling to match his stride. They couldn’t risk waiting to ambush their pursuer, and hiding out in the open woods wasn’t safe. The best choice was to stay on course and hope they arrived at the cemetery first.

“With the roads closed, he’ll have to ditch the SUV somewhere,” Brandon pointed out. “We can beat them.”

Summoning endurance, she redoubled her efforts, sprinting along the narrow dirt path. Her muscles burned from exertion but fatigue wasn’t her greatest obstacle. The soft leather sandals she wore fit loose, and they weren’t built for speed. The ankle straps rubbed at every stress point, cutting into her skin.

The foot pain was minor compared to the hitch in her chest. She realized that she couldn’t go on like this. Although she’d planned to slip away from Brandon after they crossed the border, now she knew she couldn’t wait.

Their chances of survival were slim. Carranza’s men had found them. They’d shot at Brandon repeatedly, going for the kill. They might keep her alive for questioning, but they needed nothing from him.

Earlier this afternoon, at the picnic, she’d come to a difficult conclusion. She couldn’t live with herself if she let another man die. She felt responsible for Jaime, and her father, and the stranger in Puerto Escondido.

If something happened to Brandon, she’d be devastated.

When they arrived at the bottom of the valley, Carranza’s men were nowhere to be seen. Darkness had fallen but the graveyard was bright with burning candles. Their soft glow warmed the starless night.

Brandon grasped her hand, his face lit up with hope. He thought they were going to make it. Isabel’s heart tightened with sorrow and the flames blurred before her eyes. Together, they hurried toward the procession.

“Wait,” she said, tugging his arm. “I need to rest.”

He removed a bottle of water from his backpack and offered it to her.

She drank quickly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “There’s something I have to tell you before we go on.”

He took a measured sip. “What?”

“You’ve been the best time of my life. Thank you.”

Heat flickered in his blue eyes, along with an emotion she couldn’t identify. “I haven’t even started to show you a good time, angel.”

She smiled through her tears. Touching his shadowed jaw, she gave him a lingering kiss. It tasted like lonely nights and lost wishes, and a thirst that could never be slaked. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, licking her lips.

“For what?”

“This.” Drawing back her fist, she sank it into his unsuspecting belly, sucker punching him as hard as she could.

He grunted in pain, holding one hand to his abs. His other hand locked around her wrist, lightning-quick. But this time she’d anticipated the move. Twisting out of his grip, she spun away from him and took off running.

Knowing she only had a few seconds’ head start, she darted around a tall grave site. Grabbing a pale blue shawl from the headstone, she put it on her head like a veil. Heart racing, she plucked a burning candle from the ground and joined the procession.

Shoulder to shoulder with a similarly garbed woman, she shuffled forward, humming religious hymns.

Chapter 12

T
he dead walked among the living.

Isabel hunched her back and kept her chin down, trying to appear humble and wizened. From behind lowered lashes, she scanned the crowd for Carranza’s men. She knew they were looking for her. Without Brandon, whose height set him apart, she’d be harder to spot, but that wasn’t why she’d left him.

Splitting up was for his own good.

The drug cartel members were determined and resourceful. They wouldn’t quit. She no longer believed she’d be safe in Guatemala. She was a hazard to everyone around her, and she refused to put Brandon’s life at risk for another moment.

The women beside Isabel murmured prayers in Spanish, undisturbed by her presence. She’d never been to a celebration like this and wasn’t sure what to expect. It was like a funeral procession, a holiday parade and a street carnival rolled into one. Hundreds of revelers carried brilliant bouquets of marigolds, brightly lit candles and colorful signs. Many were dressed in ragged clothes, their faces painted to resemble skulls. Dancing skeletons weaved through the throng, having a grand old time.

Isabel’s head swam with merry music and raucous images of the afterlife. For this culture, death was a joyous occasion. The journey to the underworld was accompanied by singing mariachis and stomping feet.

Living was a trial; dying, the reward.

Although she couldn’t share the sentiment right now, while she was fighting to survive, she did feel a certain sense of closure. Lighting a candle for her father had been therapeutic. Telling Brandon her story, even more so.

She hoped he wouldn’t hate her for this. The thought of never seeing him again made tears rush into her eyes, so she pushed it aside and focused on moving forward. She put one foot in front of the other, whispering fervent prayers in Spanish.

She hadn’t gone far when she caught a glimpse of the man with the broken nose. He was standing on a raised platform near the center square, wearing a black cowboy hat. Pulse racing, she put her head down and prayed harder. There was no way to make a break for it without attracting attention. A moment later, Brandon passed her on the opposite side, walking at a swifter pace than the rest of the crowd.

He was heading straight for the platform.

Her mind shouted a warning, but she couldn’t call out or approach him without giving them both away. While she watched in horror, he strode down the street, frantically searching for her, heedless of his own safety. If he noticed Carranza’s man, he didn’t show it. He was acting like such a fool!

She’d counted on him being calm, cool and collected as always. He was ruining everything, taking a shocking risk.

Then it occurred to her that he would never do this without weighing the consequences. He wasn’t really looking for her. He was trying to draw Carranza’s thugs out. While they were busy chasing him, she could get away.

He hurried by the man in the black hat, not even glancing up at him. His feigned ignorance was so obvious Isabel wanted to scream. Brandon was trying to thwart her plans to save him by sacrificing himself. The sneaky bastard!

Carranza’s man joined the procession and started following him immediately.

Incensed, she tossed aside her veil and picked up speed, startling the women next to her. When she was within striking distance, she drew back her arm and let the fat wax candle fly through the air, pegging the man in the black hat. He whirled to face her, his eyes wide. She turned and ran, her heart in her throat.

The smiling skulls and happy skeletons seemed more threatening now. Every colorful bouquet was an obstacle, every classical guitar a hooking weapon. She overturned signs and spilled baskets, jostling tipsy men and pious women. The man in the black hat raced after her, his heavy footsteps pounding. But she was smaller and more nimble, lengthening the distance between them with every stride.

When the opportunity presented itself, she made a sharp detour around the corner of a building, trying to shake him. She continued to run, her chest burning and her feet aching. Finally, she stopped on a deserted side street, struggling for breath. There was a black SUV parked nearby, its front windshield missing.

Oh, no.

Stomach sinking, she backed up slowly, preparing to retrace her steps. And gasped as she felt the cold bite of metal against her neck.

“Don’t move,” the voice behind her said. It was the other man, the one she’d hit over the head in the hotel carport parking garage. Keeping the barrel of the weapon pressed to her nape, he patted her down with his other hand, locating her dagger. “What’s this?”

“Put away the gun and I’ll show you.”

He chuckled without humor, shoving her against the side of the building. “Little girls shouldn’t play with big knives,” he said, his English lightly accented. Sliding his hand into her pants, he removed the dagger from its sheath, letting the blade catch a glint of moonlight. “They can get cut.”

Isabel didn’t say anything. The man in the black hat would appear any minute, with Brandon hot on his trail.

“Come on,” he said, dragging her toward the vehicle by the braids. She winced at the pain in her scalp but didn’t cry out. When they reached the passenger door, he slammed her head into it. Black spots flashed before her eyes and the impact reverberated down her spine, weakening her knees.

She put up an ineffectual fight as he holstered his weapon, securing her wrists behind her back with coarse rope. When he pushed her into the passenger seat, she rallied, kicking him in the face as hard as she could.

“Bitch,” he sputtered, stumbling backward.

Although the move didn’t give her a chance to escape, her chest swelled with pride, because she’d busted his lip. Clearly he was displeased with her for hitting him over the head with a brick. He should have been prepared for her fractiousness.

The man with the broken nose came running toward the SUV, his hat gone. Brandon wasn’t following him. “Where’s the
güero?
” his partner asked, spitting on the sidewalk.