As Lost as I Get (17 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Lee woke to a rolling, agonizing ache coming from his knee. The wrap Zoe had put on it was still there, tight against the swelling. His hands were bound behind his back, pulling at the stitches Zoe had given him on his bicep, making the cut throb. His feet were bound too, for all that it mattered; he wasn’t going to be going anywhere with his knee.

The stone walls and stone floor reminded him of the hostage cell in Oaxaca, only then he hadn’t been wounded, and Zoe was with him. Thank God she wasn’t now.

He studied his surroundings through half-closed eyes. There were steel rings in the walls that looked to have been recently added—the concrete around them was gleaming white in contrast to the old walls. He wasn’t attached to any of them—yet. An empty wooden wine rack in one corner suggested the room’s original use before it was turned into a jail. Unlike the cell in Mexico, there were no windows, just one door against the blank wall opposite him. The light came from two flickering fluorescent bars overhead. The lack of windows, combined with the pervasive dampness, suggested he was underground, but underground where?

When Arcangel’s men failed to find Zoe in the jungle, he’d expected them to kill him right there. He’d given himself a few minutes to mourn what might have been, and waited for the bullet.

It never came. Instead, one of the men fired into the air, perhaps in a last-ditch attempt to scare Zoe out, then something large and heavy connected with Lee’s skull. That was the last thing he remembered, and the cause of the nauseating pain in his head.

For whatever reason, they’d decided he was more valuable as a living captive than as a dead example. He was glad to be alive, but it was an ominous development. They’d emptied his pockets, so they had all of the ID for William Freeman. His cover story was a solid one, but not solid enough for this. The CIA wouldn’t—couldn’t—acknowledge him; he was on his own. If they hadn’t already figured out that Will Freeman was an alias, they probably would when they tried to ransom him.

But—groups like the AC didn’t often kidnap for ransom. They had other revenue streams. They kidnapped more often for leverage. Of course. They were going to hold him to try and get to Zoe. It wouldn’t be difficult for them to ask around and find the connection between them, even without knowing Lee’s real identity. If they got her, then both of them were dead. Hell, he was probably dead either way, but maybe he could make sure she was safe first.

He twisted his wrists together. There was plenty of give in the rope. He could get himself untied any time he wanted. The room he was in was mostly bare, nothing he could easily use for a weapon—or a crutch. The current state of his knee was going to hamper any escape plan he could put together. Hamper, but maybe not derail.

He factored it in.

If Zoe was smart—and she was—she would demand proof of life before giving Arcangel what he wanted, or agreeing to see him. Their failure to provide it might give her a little extra safety, if he could get out in time.

He just needed to wait and see. Not enough intel yet. He needed to know where he was, confirm who had him, and how many there were. Waiting was something he was good at. He settled against the damp stone wall behind him and closed his eyes.

His internal clock told him it had been about two hours when the door to his cell opened. Vargas walked in, flanked by two armed men. He was nearly as tall as Lee, and although not in uniform, he stood and moved like a soldier. If Lee had had any doubts before, they were gone. Vargas had to be Arcangel. The armed men brought in a wooden chair, and Arcangel spun it around and sat on it backward.

“So. William Freeman,” he said. “You stage a heroic rescue for the girl, and she abandons you in the middle of nowhere?” He shook his head. “No gratitude, these American women, eh?” His English was clear and concise, with only a hint of an accent.

Lee didn’t say anything, carefully keeping his face blank.

“What I can’t figure out is what an international business consultant is doing on the llanos rescuing pretty doctors. That’s what has me confused.”

“IFI deals in cattle futures,” Lee said, trying to clear his dry throat. “I wanted to visit some of the ranches in the area. The girl looked like she was in trouble.”

“The girl was trespassing, as are you.”

Lee tried his serious, professional smile. “I’d be happy to stop trespassing any time. It’s a little hard to walk out of here right now though. If you’d help me with that, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Freeman.” Arcangel’s smile was just as professional. “My men, they think they found a few discrepancies in your story. We want to clear them up.” He stood, and handed off the chair to one of his men. “Just sit tight. We’ll get you some food, maybe some pills for that knee, eh?”

That’s when Lee knew it was going to get bad. They’d try the friendly approach first, and when that didn’t work, they’d start being less friendly. Still, he smiled. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

***

When Zoe woke up, she couldn’t figure out where she was right away. The setting was familiar, but wrong somehow. After a few blinks, she realized she was in the clinic’s recovery area, in one of the patient beds. She was seeing everything from an unfamiliar angle. It was dark, the only light coming from the hallway, and a small circle of light over a chair near the door. She was sore all over and, she realized, ravenous.

She went to push away the blankets and spotted the IV line going into her arm. She wanted to take it out, but the IV bag was full enough to suggest it hadn’t been there long, and to be fair, she’d been pretty dehydrated when they’d found her. She wasn’t the one who really needed medical care though. Where was Lee? Was he still alive?

“Ana? Is there someone there?” Her heart raced for no good reason; logically she knew she wasn’t alone in the clinic.
Someone would have to be on duty.

Susan came through the door, holding a mug. “Oh, damn it. Figures you’d wake up as soon as I stepped out.” She flipped on the overhead lights, set down the mug, and hurried over. “How are you feeling?”

Zoe squinted against the sudden light. “I’m okay. Starving.”

“Of course you are. Hang on. We’ve got some stuff.” First, she checked Zoe’s vitals, starting with her pulse. Zoe wanted to push her away and grumble, but knew better. She’d do the exact same thing in Susan’s shoes.

“I’m
fine
,” Zoe said. “Why did you bring me here instead of the house, anyway?”

“Lord Jesus, spare me from ever having a doctor for a patient.” Susan rolled her eyes heavenward. “If you had seen you when they brought you in here, you would have done the same thing. You’re bruised, bug-bitten, dehydrated . . .”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Zoe smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

Susan finished her vitals check. “You’re pretty healthy, seems like.”

“If I promise to drink a lot of water, will you take the IV out?”

“If I say no, are you going to take it out anyway?” The stern look Susan gave her made her laugh.

“You look like my mom, except for being tall, white, and redheaded.”

“Speaking of, I think Christiane called your family when we hadn’t heard from you.”

“Oh God.” Zoe sank back against the pillows. “I should call them—”

“You should.” Susan started prepping to take the IV out. “Although we did let her know you were safe. I think she was ready to fly down here.”

“She was, I’m sure,” Zoe said grimly. “She might still.” She had felt so safe for most of her time out in the jungle, just because Lee was with her—it never even occurred to her that people might worry. Was she that smitten, that she’d forgotten everything but him? Susan was looking at her, waiting to take out the IV. “She worries,” Zoe explained. “Not without reason, of course.” After Oaxaca, everything was magnified. That something else happened on her first trip out of the country again . . . There were some long, uncomfortable talks in Zoe’s future, starting with that first phone call.

“You ready?” Susan asked.

“Yeah, cut me loose.” She held up her arm and let Susan take out the IV.

In the clinic’s tiny kitchen, Zoe sat and drank from the enormous glass of water Susan gave her while Susan reheated some rice and pork. It smelled divine, and Zoe’s mouth watered. When was the last time she’d eaten? Around midnight the night before, she’d stopped walking long enough to eat an energy bar from one of the remaining MREs Lee had left with her. She hadn’t had the appetite for anything else.

“While you’re eating I’ll call Maria and Agent Wishnevsky.” Susan checked the temperature of the plate in the microwave then started it again.

“Agent who?”

“Wishnevsky.” Susan said it carefully, one syllable at a time. “She said she was your friend’s boss.”

“My friend? You mean—” Zoe stopped herself shy of saying “Lee.” The old woman in the Jeep, that must have been her.

“Freeman. Did you know he was actually with the CIA? Turns out Ana knew, and she didn’t bother to tell me anything.” Susan handed her the plate, a fork, and a paper napkin.

“I knew.” Zoe dove into the food, taking three large bites before remembering her table manners. She wiped her mouth. “She’s his boss? What’s she doing here?”

“Looking for him. Guess he was on some sort of mission out there.” Susan sat across from her, and Zoe recognized the look on her face: Susan was monitoring her as a patient. “Lucky for you he was, sounds like.”

“Yeah.” Zoe’s appetite threatened to flag, but she forced herself to keep eating. She needed the fuel.

“Zoe, what’s going on? Ana knows more than she’s saying, and she’s spent an awful lot of time talking to the CIA.”

Zoe shook her head. She had a pretty good idea what Ana and Agent Wishnevsky were talking about, but if Ana hadn’t told Susan, she wasn’t about to. “They’re probably getting info from her, debriefing, or whatever it’s called. Since she was out there with me. I mean, Will’s mission must have been focused somewhere in the area, or he wouldn’t have found me.” Maybe it wasn’t technically a lie, but it felt like one, and she hated it.

“Someone tried to shoot us two days ago.”

“What?” Zoe nearly choked on a mouthful of food.

“On the street. First they tried to kidnap us, then when we wouldn’t go with them, they tried to shoot us.”

Zoe’s hands and feet started feeling numb and it got hard to swallow past the tightness in her throat. “Do they know who?” She knew who. Vargas thought Ana knew something, and he was trying to get her out of the way. Just like he did with Lee. Just like he wanted to do with her.

“Zoe?” Susan grabbed her hand and started chafing it. “Do you feel faint?” She guided Zoe’s head between her knees and Zoe didn’t protest, but leaned over.

“I’ll be okay.”

“You turned gray, I mean absolutely gray.” Susan kept holding her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown that at you.”

“No, I needed to know.”

“Come on, you’re going to get back in bed, finish your dinner, and get some more rest.” Susan stood up and gathered Zoe’s plate and glass of water.

“No, I need to—”

“Doctor’s orders.”

“I hate that phrase.” Zoe sighed and let Susan lead the way.

***

“Come home, carajita. It’s too dangerous there.” Hearing her mother call her by her old pet name was enough to make Zoe want to be home.

She sat in her office with a cooling cup of tea at her elbow. Susan had tried to make her sleep, but there was no way, not after spending most of the day asleep. It was just after ten PM, and her mother sounded as wide-awake as Zoe felt. They spoke in Spanish, the way they always did when it was just the two of them.

“Mama, I’m fine. I was never more than fifty miles from the city. We just got lost, is all.” There was no way Zoe could tell her mother the truth of what was happening. Lourdes Rodriguez was not easily swayed, and if she knew her youngest daughter was in the middle of a war zone, Zoe wouldn’t put it past her to fly down to Colombia and haul Zoe out by the ear.

“How do you get lost when you have guides?” Lourdes demanded.

Zoe sat back and put on a big fake smile. The only way to lie convincingly to her mother was to believe it herself while she said it. That, and a mixture of the truth. “That’s my fault. I took one of the local nurses with me to go visit a patient. We left the guides and thought we could get back on our own.”

“Zoe Carmela Susanna Rodriguez,” her mother began, and trailed off into a long rant about idiot children and the gray hair they give their mothers.

“I know, I’m sorry, Mama,” Zoe said. If Lourdes was angry, that meant she believed Zoe.

“You’re not in Miami, little girl. You can’t just go wandering off whenever you feel like it. After what happened before—” She cut herself off. “It’s dangerous down there.”

Zoe would happily take the lecture. Her mother’s imagined dangers in Colombia were infinitely preferable to the real thing. “I know. I won’t do it again. I learned my lesson.”

“I hope so,” Lourdes said. “When you coming home to visit, eh?”

Home sounded so good right now. Her mother still lived in the same two-bedroom apartment in the Bronx. It never changed, except that every five years or so Lourdes would get new living room furniture. But even that had a feeling of sameness. Zoe could close her eyes and see the warm pale yellow of the walls, repainted with about the same frequency as the furniture changes. The whole apartment always smelled of lemon furniture polish and pine-scented cleaner, unless Mama was cooking. Home was safe.

“I’ll try to come soon,” Zoe said. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby. You go get some sleep.”

“I’ll try.” Fierce homesickness washed over Zoe and she blinked against sudden tears. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you too.”

Zoe sat back after she hung up and drank some of the too-cold tea to wash away the lump in her throat. There was too much happening all at once.

There was a knock at her office door. “Zoe? It’s Ana.”

Zoe made one quick swipe of her eyes. “Yeah, come on in.”

Ana looked exhausted. “Agent Wishnevsky is here. She wants to talk to you.”