Peter's Return. Cynthia Cooke
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“Deal,” he grumbled. They watched the driver get out and open their door. “Just where are we?” Robert demanded with more bravado than Emily knew he felt.
“You are the guests of Mr. Escalante,” the driver said, then stepped back and waited for them to get out of the car.
Robert stood, but didn’t move out of the doorway, effectively blocking her exit. She pushed up on her knees and peeked around him. “I demand you take us to the Doctors Without Borders clinic,” he insisted.
The driver tilted his chin down and gave Robert a bone-chilling stare. He gestured toward the mansion. “I suggest you cooperate. It will make your stay here a little more pleasant for all of us, if you do.” He stepped around Robert and held out his hand. “Dr. Armstrong.”
Robert stepped aside. Without taking the driver’s hand, Emily got out of the car. There was something dark and dangerous and almost slithering in the man’s eyes. He looked like a man who wouldn’t give a second’s hesitation to killing them right there on the spot. This was not someone she wanted to touch.
The driver nodded, seeming to accept her slight and said, “Follow me.”
Robert started forward and Emily followed close behind. “What do you think they want from us?” she said, leaning forward and whispering in his ear.
“I don’t know,” he said over his shoulder, “but whatever it is, cooperate.”
“Of course I’ll cooperate,” she muttered. What made him think she wouldn’t cooperate? As they walked through the lush grounds, Emily wondered if they could make a run for it. And if they did, how far would they get?
“Mr. Escalante’s compound encompasses over two hundred acres,” the driver said as they walked. “At all times, there are guards patrolling every inch of the estate in case you should ever need help.”
That answered her question.
He gestured beyond the garages. “Through those trees is the tennis court and swimming pool. There is also a hot tub should you feel the desire to relax your muscles after your long journey.”
Somehow she didn’t think a hot tub would do the trick. As they walked, Emily tried not to be awed by the beauty of the plants, the orchids and the blooming vines hanging from trees. She sucked in a breath as she caught a glimpse of a red, blue and green macaw unlike any she’d ever seen. “It’s the Garden of Eden,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” Robert agreed. “But watch out for snakes.”
The driver turned back and looked at them. The dead emptiness in his eyes curled her toes. “I hate snakes,” she whispered, and tried to smother the prickling sensation moving through her.
The man led them into a walled-in, shaded courtyard complete with a mosaic of Spanish tiles and a large fountain. Robert stopped next to an intricate wrought-iron table. “Why have you brought us here?” he demanded, and refused to take another step.
The driver kept walking.
Emily threw Robert a pointed look. “What should we call you?” she asked in her most pleasant and professional voice that barely hid the anxiety squeezing her throat.
The man halted and turned back, his cold, predatory gaze stopping her in her tracks. “Snake.”
Emily swallowed. She should have known. She tried to speak, but couldn’t. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.
He turned away, breaking the contact. Emily was so relieved she followed him without hesitation through the French doors and into a room filled with plush leather sofas and chairs facing a big-screen TV.
“All the luxuries of home,” Robert muttered.
Snake stood in the center of the room. “This is where you’ll stay.” He pointed into another room holding a massive mahogany table. “There is a kitchen for your use through there. Mr. Escalante’s chef prepares a meal each evening at six. If he wants you to join him, you will. If not, you may have the meal delivered here by informing Esteban.”
“Esteban?” Emily squeaked, finally finding her voice.
A muffled cough sounded behind her. Emily turned. A small dark-haired man bowed his head to her and Robert.
“Anything you need, just ask Esteban. He is here to serve you,” Snake said, then turned from the room and headed down the hall.
“At least he’s not named after a predator,” Emily muttered.
Robert frowned. “Be good.”
She smirked and followed Snake down the hall. He opened doors off the main corridor that they passed—the kitchen, a bedroom for Robert, one for her—and still they continued down the hall. Fear and irritation twisted inside her, tightening her muscles and making her tense. She didn’t like being kept in the dark, and she certainly didn’t like being told what to do. They reached a massive wooden door.
“This will take you back out to the front of the compound,” Snake said.
“You mean we can leave whenever we want?” she asked in her most innocent voice. Robert nudged her. She shrugged him off. She was getting tired of not knowing where they were or what was going to happen to them.
“You are free to wander the estate, though I would stick to the cobblestone paths. After all, we are in the middle of a jungle.” He turned and headed back down the hall.
Emily stared after him. “And what exactly was that supposed to mean?” she asked Robert.
“Exactly what it sounded like,” Robert said. “Wander too far and you’ll be eaten.”
She took one last look at the door before following them back into the main room. Still, she might just prefer to take her chances in the jungle.
“Mr. Escalante will be with you shortly,” Snake said, then left the room.
Emily let out a sigh of relief as he disappeared from her view, then turned to Robert. “Do you think this Escalante guy is in charge of the Doctors Without Borders program? Is that why we’re here?”
“Would be nice, but I doubt it.”
So did she, but she couldn’t help hoping. “What kind of a name is Snake anyway? Why do you think they call him that?”
“Maybe his bite is poisonous,” Robert said as he studied the grounds outside the windows.
“Yeah, or maybe he can squeeze the life out of you with his monstrous hands.”
Robert turned to her, his eyebrows raised.
She got up and started to pace. “I’ve been kidnapped and brought to paradise by a man named Snake and I have no idea why, or what’s going to happen next, or if I’m going to get to go home, or live, or breathe ever again.”
Robert walked over to her and patted her back. “You’re hyperventilating.”
“I am not!” she insisted.
He cocked an eyebrow that reminded her of an indulgent father reprimanding his young.
She couldn’t say she liked it much. “All right, maybe I am…just a little.” She didn’t know if she heard his approach or if she just felt his dark stare, but she turned to find a large man filling the doorway. Once he had their attention, he strode into the room with the casual ease and confidence of a general commanding his troops.
“Dr. Fletcher, Dr. Armstrong, thank you for coming. I’m most appreciative of your help,” he greeted in a strong booming voice.
“We weren’t given much choice,” Robert said. “Mr…?”
“Escalante. But, please, call me Baltasar. I’m sorry if we worried you. Circumstances dictated the necessary action. I assume your drive from Caracas was comfortable?”
“Why