Tempted by His Target (16 page)

“I took care of him.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

While the bigger man climbed inside the vehicle, Isabel was thrown into the backseat, her heart cold with dread. Was Brandon hurt, or dying? Her world spun on its axis and shuddered to a grinding halt.

Please, no. Not Brandon. Anyone but him.

She stared out the window as they pulled away, traveling through an indecipherable maze of side streets because the main road was closed. Although she wanted Brandon to save himself, not her, she kept her eyes peeled, hoping to see him.

He didn’t come.

Numbness settled over her, allowing her to endure the pain. She resolved to be as combative as possible. Carranza’s men were taking her somewhere to kill her, and she wasn’t going willingly. Scooting across the backseat, she fumbled for the door handle, her fingers straining. The rope at her wrists held tight, burning her skin. They hit a bump in the road and she almost went sprawling.

Gritting her teeth, she inched toward the door handle and tried again, her fingertips slipping over it without success. The driver pressed a button on the control panel, locking her in with an ominous click.

Isabel decided the driver needed another swift kick to the head. If she caused an accident, she might have a better chance of escaping.

“Tie up her feet,” he said, glancing in the rearview mirror.

His partner grabbed the length of rope, giving her a warning look as he reached for her ankles. Instead of struggling, she tried to appear soft and helpless, hoping the bigger man would be more sympathetic to a female in distress. He was the muscle in this operation, not the brains. Maybe he didn’t enjoy hurting women.

The big man tied her feet securely and ignored her pleading gaze, telling her everything she needed to know. He wouldn’t help her.

For the remainder of the ride, she searched for a cutting tool, her fingers digging into every nook and cranny of the backseat. There were pieces of safety glass from the shattered windshield on the floor, just out of reach. It was maddening.

“Where are we going?” she asked, noticing a sign that said
Zona Archeológica
.

Neither man replied.

The driver continued toward the grounds of some ancient ruins. Apparently, the remote location suited his needs. It was a perfect place to hide a body. There was no one around for miles, no one to hear her scream.

A chill shuddered down her spine.

The driver barreled through the front gate, breaking the chain lock. He continued past a group of stone pyramids and an abandoned ball court, parking beside a structure Isabel recognized as an underground tomb.

Fighting was futile, but she bucked wildly as they dragged her out of the vehicle. Her shrill cry was swallowed by the sultry night. She’d be tortured and buried here, among the souls of ancient warriors.

The big man shoved her down the steps of the tomb, ignoring the
Prohibido
sign at the entrance. She was forced into an underground room with a low ceiling and a dirt floor. There were several engraved stone tablets leaning against the wall, but no human remains.

Not yet.

The smaller man struck her across the face, knocking her down. With no arms to break her fall, she took a hard tumble. Pain spread from her cheek and the taste of blood filled her mouth. She curled up on her side, protecting her vital organs.

“That was for kicking me,” the man said, as if his action had settled the score.

Isabel begged to differ. By her calculations, she still owed him one.

The large man stood by the entrance, keeping watch while his partner crouched beside her, flipping open his cell phone.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Maybe we want to stuff pills down your throat until you choke,” he answered, giving her a hard smile. His fingertips made a trail across her dusty cheek, tracing her lips. “I think I’d enjoy filling your pretty mouth.”

“Try it,” she invited, baring her teeth.

“We have her,” he said into the phone, then listened for a response.
“Bueno.”
Pressing a button, he turned the screen toward Isabel, letting her look. A man who resembled Jaime was there, staring back at her. It was his father, Manuel Carranza.

“I need to know what happened to my son,” he said.

Isabel had never been on a video conference call. She struggled to an upright position, sitting in the dirt.

“If you tell me the truth, I’ll let you go. You have my word.”

“Your word means nothing to me,” she said, incredulous.

“Please,” he added, his eyes so much like Jaime’s that she felt haunted by them. “I want to hear about his last moments. I have to understand why he died.”

She fell silent, weighing her options. There was no benefit in cooperating. They’d kill her no matter what she said.

“Maybe I’ll pay a visit to your mother,” Carranza said. “From what I’ve heard, she’s quite desperate to find you. I think she’d agree to meet with me.”

Her stomach tightened with fear. “Leave her alone.”

“Talk to me and I will.”

She’d rather die resisting, standing strong. But she couldn’t take the chance that he’d go after her mother. Brandon might be bleeding in an alleyway, or lying dead, because of her. Agony spread through her chest, threatening to suffocate her. She’d already hurt so many people she loved. Her mother was the only family member she had left.

“Do you promise?” she asked, although she didn’t trust him.

“Of course. I don’t enjoy harming women.”

Taking a ragged breath, she agreed to talk. After a long moment, she lifted her chin, preparing to unsettle him with the disturbing story. She hoped he would choke on it. “I met Jaime at Club Deuce in Hollywood. He went there to socialize and sell drugs. I was one of his best customers.”

Carranza waited for her to continue, his brow furrowed.

“On the night he…died, he seemed upset, as if a problem was bothering him. I bought him a few drinks, trying to cheer him up. He said he appreciated my company because I didn’t hang all over him like the other girls.”

A hint of resistance flickered in Carranza’s eyes. Perhaps, deep down, he already knew where this was going.

“Jaime wanted to leave so we took a cab to my place. I’m not clear about what happened after that, but I remember one important detail.”

“What?”

“He had a new wristband,” she said, shifting her own wrists behind her back. “Like a brass cuff. He said you ordered him to take it off because it wasn’t masculine. He tried to come out to you, but you wouldn’t listen—”

“No,” Carranza interrupted. “You’re mistaken.”

“You wouldn’t listen,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “But I did. I hugged him when he told me and I said it was okay. He didn’t show much emotion and we were both so high…I thought he was fine.”

His expression was guarded, his eyes full of pain. “Did you give him the pills?”

“I don’t know,” she said. She couldn’t recall anything beyond the heartfelt conversation. “I think he found them after I feel asleep. I’m sure he was familiar with the drug and understood the dosage. He wouldn’t have taken so many on accident.”

“You’re lying,” Carranza roared.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I wish I could have helped him.”

He looked away, cursing under his breath. He knew she was telling the truth. She saw it in his face. But he couldn’t accept Jaime for who he was. He refused to acknowledge that his son had killed himself because he was gay.

“What do you want us to do?” the smaller man asked Carranza.

“Get rid of her,” he said, and hung up.

Isabel stared at her captors, horrified. She had known it would end this way but couldn’t hold back a sob of dismay. Dying here was her worst nightmare. She’d be trapped, alone in this dark tomb, for eternity.

Both of Carranza’s men were aware of her innocence. They understood that the drug lord considered her a thorn in his side, not a threat to his organization. “Please,” she said, reduced to begging. “You know this is wrong.”

The big man appeared unenthusiastic about the task he was about to perform, but resigned to it. His comrade had a more sadistic bent. He studied her with cold anticipation, enamored with the idea of breaking her.

“He’ll kill you, too,” she said, panicking. “Now that you’ve heard Jaime’s secret, he’ll kill you, too!”

The smaller man took Isabel’s dagger from his belt, testing its sharpness with his fingertip. “Stand guard outside.”

His partner hesitated, glancing at her prone form.

“Do you want to watch me do it?”

“A bullet would be cleaner.”

“And easier to trace.”

The big man shifted, uncomfortable with the situation. Even cold-blooded murderers were reluctant to kill defenseless young women. He didn’t like this job, and he didn’t appear to like his partner.

“You’re next,” Isabel promised. “He’ll lay you out beside me.”

“Go on,” the smaller man said, dismissing him. “I’ll make it quick.”

After a brief pause, her last hope turned his back on her. He ascended the stone steps, disappearing into the night.

Chapter 13

B
randon was too late.

It took him several seconds to recover after Isabel socked him in the gut. He hadn’t expected the move and she’d executed it perfectly. As soon as he caught his breath, he took off running, scanning the crowded cemetery for her. It was almost as if she’d vanished into thin air. He cut through the procession, searching for her fleeing form. Although he stood taller than most of the men and all of the women, he couldn’t see her.

She’d given him the slip.

When it dawned on him that she was hiding amidst the townspeople, he started looking for a woman of her size and stature, with no luck. Half of the girls in the town had dark, braided hair and slender figures. He would have had to study hundreds of faces to find her, and many of the young ladies kept their eyes downcast. Giving every female a close examination would attract too much attention from protective husbands and fathers.

Growing frantic, and increasingly disturbed by the cheery images of death, he moved to the side of the street. Some of the men were watching the festivities, drinking cold cerveza. Gaucho Rodriguez was standing with them, ill-concealed in a tall cowboy hat. Brandon walked past him and ducked behind a building, his heart racing. When Gaucho didn’t take the bait, Brandon doubled back, curious. He’d gone the opposite direction.

Damn it.

Brandon sprinted hard but didn’t catch anything but a black cowboy hat, still warm, discarded in haste. As he rounded the corner, he saw the SUV weaving through side streets, brake lights flashing. Isabel was in the backseat. He picked up the pace, trying to close the distance, but he couldn’t run as fast as a moving vehicle.

It turned onto a lonely road, leaving him in the dust.

He threw down the cowboy hat and sank to his knees, howling with frustration. In the blink of an eye, he’d lost her. He’d let the target fall into enemy hands. And like a damned fool, he’d fallen in love with her.

He’d fallen in
love
with her.

Cursing violently, he scrambled to his feet. He couldn’t let a couple of ruthless criminals steal his woman. But he didn’t have many options. Calling the local police would be suicidal and no other assistance was available.

He glanced around for a car to steal, raking a hand through his hair. A man on a bicycle pedaled down a deserted cross street, oblivious to his plight. “Hey,” Brandon shouted, waving the hat in the air. “Help!”

The man slowed, but didn’t stop.

“I have money,” Brandon said, jogging toward him.
“Mucho dinero!”
Proving it, he took a wad of bills out of his pocket.

The man on the bike pedaled forward, curious. He had a metal basket filled with pink candy skulls. Brandon couldn’t imagine a less appetizing treat. He pictured children munching on blood-colored icing and jelly-filled brains.

“Give me your bike,” he said, thrusting the cash at him. “You can have the hat, the money, the shirt off my back.”

The man accepted the deal, nodding his agreement. The bike wasn’t new but the hat was. Along with the dollar bills, it was a fair trade. Brandon waited, his heart leaping with hope, while the man climbed off the bike and removed his belongings from the basket. His weathered hands were clumsy, and he smelled like tequila.

Brandon’s patience broke. He wrenched the wire basket off the bike and set it aside. Several sugar skulls tumbled out, rolling down the street. “Sorry, I’m in a hurry,” he said, pointing after the SUV. “Where does that road go?”

The man blinked at it, bleary. “Izapa.”

“Izapa?”

He formed a triangle with his hands, making the shape of a pyramid.
“Las ruínas.”

The ruins.

“Thank you,” Brandon said, and took off, pedaling hard. The bike was old but sturdy, and it had good tires. It was faster than his legs, and there was no other transportation around. He could only hope for steep downhill grades.

They didn’t come easy. For what seemed like an hour, he toiled uphill, sweating like crazy and cursing the entire country of Mexico. The humidity was killing him. What kind of godforsaken place celebrated death? Every man, woman and child in Tapachula must have been walking in the parade, because the outskirts of town were eerily quiet. There wasn’t a car on the road, not a single wandering soul.

At long last, the most evil hill in the universe descended into a cool, dark valley. Without the glimmer of moonlight, he’d never have been able to pick up speed. The danger of hitting a rock and flying over the cliff was still considerable, but he accepted the risk with relish, baring his teeth to the night.

Finally, he was making good time.

Carranza’s men wanted to question Isabel. He knew that, and prayed she would drag the process out by failing to cooperate. She was good at staying mum, even better at kicking ass. God, he loved her. And, if they lived through this, he was going to paddle her lovely backside for punching him.

Looking forward to it, he approached the ruins of Izapa. Blunt-topped pyramids rose up from a dark carpet of vegetation, gleaming like old bones in the moonlight. The ancient stone buildings loomed before him, stoic and impenetrable. A patina of moss specked the surfaces of the boulders, giving them a mottled appearance.