Till Death Us Do Part. Rebecca York
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combination. Either it would be damn good or they’d end up tearing each other apart.
Still, he felt a sense of tingling anticipation that made it difficult to sit still in the airplane seat. One of the reasons he was going back to San Marcos was to find out once and for all what would happen if he let her know he was attracted to her. This time Marissa wasn’t going to be able to duck away from him or give him that cold look he now realized was a protective mechanism. Not if she was going to follow the script that the Light Street group had written for her. No, if she wanted to save her hide she was going to have to work with him—up close and very personal.
* * *
MARISSA KEPT PUTTING one foot in front of the other even though she’d long since reached the point of exhaustion. Yet she knew she had to put as much distance as she could between herself and the spot where she’d stirred up the howler monkeys.
So far Sanchez’s goons hadn’t shown. But she wasn’t going to breathe easy until she reached the relative safety of the archaeological dig.
She hoped she could get there before nightfall. The jungle during the day was dangerous enough. When the sun went down, it would be pitch-dark and twice as perilous. She’d have to find a tree she could climb and wait for morning before she could risk moving around again. And that wouldn’t save her from poisonous tree frogs or snakes. Or the predators that would smell her fear or hear her shivering. Aside from the dangers, when the temperature dropped, her perspiration-soaked clothing was going to feel like a cold compress.
But that was hours away. Her immediate problems were heat and thirst. She’d had nothing to drink but a few gulps of water in her cell that morning. And even with the high humidity, she was getting dehydrated from the jungle heat.
She hadn’t crossed any streams, and she knew they would be a risky proposition out here, where she could pick up some nasty parasite while slaking her thirst. But there were hollow vines that were full of water. When she found one, she slashed it off with her penknife and gratefully tipped the cup end to her lips.
She’d taken several swallows when the sound of a branch snapping behind her made her whole body go rigid. Dropping the vine, she made a dash for a nearby thicket. But she didn’t get more than a few feet before a muscular arm hooked itself around her neck.
Before her scream had died away she felt the point of a machete pressed against the small of her back.
“Be still, and you won’t get hurt,” a harsh voice she didn’t recognize instructed in Spanish. She’d been caught, but not by Jorge or Jose.
He was in back of her, so she couldn’t see his face or gauge his resolve. As she breathed in the acrid scent of his sweat, she struggled to keep a lid on her fear. It helped a little to remind herself of her martial arts training. He wouldn’t be expecting any fancy maneuvers on her part. And the first thing to do was make him think she was completely at his mercy. “What are you going to do to me?” she croaked.
Instead of answering, he called out loudly, “I’ve found the woman they’re looking for.”
Moments later he was joined by a friend dressed in the faded cotton trousers and shirts that San Marcos’s peasants wore. He, too, was carrying a machete.
“I’m nothing to you. Please, let me go,” she begged.
The one who held her began to march her toward the road.
“I just want to get back—home.” The last part came out as a choked cry.
“The soldiers want you,” he said, as if that settled the matter. “Vámonos.”
“I’ll pay you,” she tried in desperation.
“We don’t want your money,” the second one answered. “They will be angry with the village if I don’t bring you in. They might burn us out or kill our animals.”
She understood then that there was no use pleading with these men or trying to bribe them. If they didn’t obey the wishes of the soldiers, they would be inviting the wrath of El Jefe.
Her captors gave her no opportunity for escape.
In minutes they emerged from the shade of the jungle onto the hot surface of the road. The van from which she’d escaped was parked a hundred yards or so farther on, and she saw immediately that the soldiers had repaired the flat tire. Jose and Jorge were lounging against the vehicle, one on either side. It did nothing to lift her spirits to find out she’d been slogging through rough terrain half the morning, and they’d been riding along in comfort.
When the villagers delivered her up to Jorge, he gave her a look that was equal parts relief and anger.
“Puta,” he growled, his hands balled into fists. “What the hell do you think you’re doing causing so much trouble? You’re going to be sorry.”
She braced herself for a blow, but none came. Maybe he didn’t want to have to explain how the prisoner had gotten injured. Pivoting away, he honked the horn several times in rapid succession.
When he turned back to her, his anger was under better control. Methodically he began to search her, his hands lingering on her body in a way that made her want to throw up. When he found her knife and the other tools, he gave her a thunderous look.
“This will make the general very angry.”
She raised her chin. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell him your prisoner got away, would you?”
“Why not?” The question was from Jose, who had come around the van to stand behind her.
“Because he won’t be angry only at me. He’s going to wonder why you were careless enough to let a woman in a leg iron slip out of your hands.”
The two men exchanged a quick, whispered conversation. At least Marissa had the satisfaction of knowing she’d rattled them badly. And maybe her ploy would keep them from talking about the morning’s misadventure.
Jorge cuffed her wrists behind her back before he shoved her into the van. The vehicle lurched away in a cloud of exhaust that enveloped the villagers who were standing several yards away watching the spectacle.
* * *
AS JED pressed his foot down on the old Land Rover’s accelerator he was thinking about the two best features of the road to El Jefe’s finca. There were no potholes. And there weren’t any cops on motorcycles who were going to stop him for speeding. Which was a damn good thing, because he was driving as if the devil was in pursuit.
He slowed marginally as he approached a village, alert for cows with a death wish. But at this time of day they were all lazing in the shade while the egrets picked the bugs from their hides.
As soon as he’d cleared the populated area, Jed accelerated again. He’d shown up at Sanchez’s offices in Santa Isabella that morning pretending that he wanted to get together with his old buddy, since they hadn’t connected at the party the other night. He’d been told that the general was at his country estate.
Determining the whereabouts of the female prisoner being held incommunicado had been a little trickier. But he’d been lucky enough to run into one of the men he’d trained six years ago. The fellow had made lieutenant, and he attributed much of his military success to Jed’s guidance.
As they talked about old times and present duties, Jed asked if the general was loading them up with special assignments. He found out that two guards had taken a good-looking blond woman out to the hacienda the previous morning.
With his heart pounding, he’d gotten out of the conversation as quickly as possible. Five minutes later he had hit the road to Sanchez’s estate, trying like hell not to think about what he might find. But he couldn’t stop some pretty vivid pictures from jumping into his mind. He’d once walked into a session when El Jefe had been demonstrating interrogation techniques on prisoners captured from the revolutionary army.
As he sped west the sky turned to