Blind Ambition (7 page)

He leaned close. “We need to move out.” His voice was hardly more than breath on the wind.

He gestured her forward and she passed, her body suddenly racked with tremors. Her insides turned to jelly, but she trudged on. Based on the shouting from their right, it sounded like the guard had caught up with his quarry. The noise was enough that she couldn’t even hear her own steps as Dan moved into place behind her, putting himself between her and the commotion. Protecting her as always.

He’s just doing his job. He’d do the same for anyone.

That willingness to put himself in harm’s way for others was one of the things that had drawn her to him.

Behind them, the additional voices rang out. Alexa glanced back at Dan.

“Let me lead,” he said, pushing past her to clear a path through the thick growth. “We need to make tracks before whatever’s going on spills over onto us.”

She picked up her pace in an effort to keep up with his long strides. The few hours of sleep she’d managed this morning had barely taken the edge off her fatigue. Her muscles ached and her bruised ribs and hip hurt, though the cold water must have helped with some of the swelling. She could move more easily than the day before.

They pushed on for what seemed like hours, but the sun that filtered in through the canopy of trees hardly budged on its journey across the blue sky.

Finally they reached a narrow dirt trail that had been cut through the jungle with years of use. “This is it,” she said.

Dan stopped by the path and took out his canteen. “Here. Drink.”

Now that she knew how close they were, Alexa wanted to run, but she forced herself to take a second to hydrate. God knew she needed it.

“Why don’t you lead us in?” he asked. “But go slowly, and keep an eye out for anything that doesn’t look right.”

She took a deep breath and gradually let it out, forcing herself to calm down. “Okay.”

Five minutes later the jungle opened onto a banana plantation that skirted the eastern edge of the village. She could make out a row of shacks through the trees.

“Stop here.” Dan grabbed her shoulder to hold her back. “Let me scout things out first.”

He set down his pack and moved silently forward. How did he do that? It was like he walked on cat’s paws instead of combat boots. She must have sounded like an elephant on bubble wrap compared to him.

He crept to the edge of the plantation, hidden behind the long arms of a clump of enormous ferns, and surveyed the area. He signaled her to stay and then disappeared into the jungle.

Alexa automatically reached for her watch, her fingers itching to twist the bezel, but her wrist was bare. She forced herself to stay still even as her heart pounded like a bass drum in her chest. She was so close to what she currently thought of as home. So close to learning about two people who meant the world to her.

Finally, Dan reappeared and waved her forward to join him. “We need to go around.” He pointed.

Fifty yards ahead, a man in a red polo and tan cargo shorts stood in profile, smoking a cigarette with one hand, stroking the ugly machine gun strapped to his chest with the other.

To avoid the guard, they backtracked into the trees and walked further along the boundary, looking for another way in. She swatted at the bugs that swarmed her sweaty face, and tucked her hair behind her ears. What would she do if they couldn’t find a way into the village?

Alexa squeezed her hands into fists. Goddamn Frederick and his goddamned army. She understood their frustration at the lack of jobs and the slow pace of rebuilding, but she couldn’t abide their tactics. Much of St. Isidore’s infrastructure had been damaged in the recent hurricane. Unemployment was high, tourism was nonexistent, crops had been destroyed. The storm had decimated the island just as the people were beginning to recover from the earthquake that had struck three years ago.

But there had to be a better way to effect change.

At Dan’s direction, Alexa crouched and studied the village through a field of banana plants and low palm trees.

According to her nose, they were near the cesspool that collected Terre Verte’s waste. Apparently, none of the guards were eager to spend their day inhaling the pungent odors. She avoided deep breaths, unable to blame them.

After several minutes of waiting to ensure they hadn’t missed any sentries, the two of them crawled through the undergrowth. She ignored the roots, rocks, and slithering bugs beneath her fingers. If she could stand up to Frederick himself, surely she could handle a few insects. Still, she shuddered.

Alert, heads down, they crossed the plantation at a sloth’s pace, stopping every ten yards to check for threats. On shaky limbs, she finally made it to the clearing that backed up to a row of two-room houses crammed together like books on a shelf.

Her partner in crime looked back at her. “At my signal, run into the alley.”

She nodded her agreement and waited as the seconds ticked by. Birds squawked overhead and a fishing boat droned from the nearby bay, but the laughter of children and the slapping sounds of women washing laundry were noticeably absent.

Dan jerked his head and launched to his feet, sprinting flat-out toward a break in the small homes. Alexa followed, adrenaline spiking her blood as she bolted toward him into the narrow passageway between a red house and a weathered gray one.

He pressed his back to one wall, and she mirrored him, ears straining for shouts or pounding feet over the beating of her heart. Nothing. After several minutes of waiting, they checked each other over for spiders and millipedes, then moved onto the deserted road.

“To the right,” Alexa said in a low voice.

Her companion nodded and turned right toward the town center. The normally bustling streets looked like an abandoned movie set. Within minutes, they arrived at a shanty with peeling green paint that had been converted to a children’s home.

Most of the kids had families who needed a place for their children to stay until they could afford to care for them again, but Flore was an orphan. Her father had been killed when his fishing boat capsized in a storm several years ago. Losing her mother to rebels back in April had been a vicious blow.

“The red one is the clinic.” Alexa made a move toward the adjacent building, but Dan held her back.

“Let me go first.” He scanned the oddly quiet streets and then mounted the wooden stairs.

At his knock, the door creaked open and they stepped inside.

“Just a minute,” a man called from the back room. Her boss from Hygiea HQ.

“Troy?” Alexa strode past Dan, halting at the dark bloodstain on the floor.
Oh, God.

The man appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening as recognition lit within them. “Alyssa!” He jogged across the room and hugged her so tightly her ribs protested. “You’re alive.” His voice nearly cracked.

“Yes. I’m okay.” She extricated herself from his embrace. “What about Garfield?”

He shook his head and frowned. “He didn’t make it.”

A sob escaped her mouth before she covered it. Troy reached for her, but she backed up into Dan’s chest, and he gripped her shoulders with warm hands.

“I’m sorry.” Her boss scowled. “By the time word reached us it was too late.”

She wanted to sink to her knees and bawl her eyes out, scream against the pain filling her heart, but she couldn’t lose it like that. Not here. Not in front of Troy. She thought of Garfield’s pretty wife Marietta, nine months pregnant. “It’s my fault,” she whispered. He’d tried to protect her and now he was dead.

“No, it’s not,” Dan said, his voice hard. “Only the rebels get the blame for this.”

Easier said than done.

“You can’t blame yourself,” Troy agreed, flipping the sandy hair out of his eyes. He reached toward her face. “Look what those bastards did to you.”

She flinched from his touch and he dropped his hand with a frown. He was a nice enough man, but she didn’t have romantic feelings for him, and he had never quite gotten the message.

“I need to see Flore. I put her in the crawl space when the soldiers came, but I need to make sure she got to the orphanage okay.”

He sighed and swallowed.

Oh, God. Oh, no. Her stomach heaved. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicked to the window and he hesitated. Alexa’s legs nearly buckled.
Not her too
. Dan must have noticed her reaction to Troy’s reticence because he held her hips, gently keeping her on her feet.

“All of the kids are missing,” Troy finally said.

Dan wanted to hit something. The fuckers had killed her friend and taken the children.

Alexa’s body went rigid under his hands as she dealt with the latest blow. “They’re gone?”

Troy caught her gaze. “Jamila—the lady who runs the orphanage,” he clarified, glancing Dan’s way, “said the rebels came back for the children after they raided the clinic.”

“But why?” Alexa asked. “There’s no one to pay ransom for them, and they’re too young to fight for SIR.”

For now. Besides, a girl like Flore might be desired for things besides fighting, despite her young age. Dan’s stomach turned sour at the thought.

“Black market adoption, most likely,” her boss said, his voice laced with regret.

A sob escaped Alexa’s lips and she twisted out of Dan’s arms, racing into the back room. He followed, shutting the much-too-flimsy door behind him. She stood with her palms against the wall, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Moving to her side, he dropped his ruck. “Lys…” She might not welcome his touch, but what the hell? He couldn’t just watch her hurting like this. He stroked along her spine, keeping his touch gentle and platonic. “I’m sorry.”

Troy had wanted to be the one here with her. That much was obvious, even from their brief introduction. When the man had first held her, Dan wondered if there was something between them, but her reaction to his touch made him think her boss’s interest was not reciprocated.

That made him happier than it should. After all, he had no claim on her anymore. Probably never had. She could fuck whomever she damn well chose now.

The image that sentiment produced made his chest hurt.
Stupid fool.

Beneath his hand, she turned to face him. He shifted away as she rested her back against the rough-hewn wallboards and wiped her cheeks. She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“You were right,” she said, her voice shaky with anger and despair. “I should have used every bit of influence I had to adopt Flore as soon as possible and get her out of this rebel-infested jungle.”

“You never would have felt right about it if you’d done it that way.”

“Right or wrong won’t matter if we can’t get her back,” she said in a small voice. Her honey-red hair had come loose from the long braid she’d corralled it into before their march this morning, and now hung in wavy strands around her face. “I can’t believe Flore and the children are gone.” She pressed her fingers to her lips and her eyebrows lowered. “And Garfield.” Her voice twisted into a strangled sound of grief as a tear slipped free and trailed down her cheek.

Before he could stop himself, Dan wiped the errant moisture away with his thumb. “I know, honey.” Loss was one thing he knew far too well. “I’m sorry.”

Her breathing slowed and she continued to look at him, her eyes the shimmery blue of the shallow waters around the island. His heart raced. Every cell in his body strained toward her, like a compass needle drawn toward north.

She glanced at his mouth and he leapt back. Only an idiot would let her suck him in again. She was hurting and vulnerable. Any intimacy they shared right now wouldn’t mean anything to her later. It wasn’t real.

He crossed the small space, putting as much distance between them as possible, even though ten feet wasn’t nearly enough. Scanning out the window into the alley, he waited for her to regain her composure.

“Nice room,” he said, taking in the whitewashed walls of the bedroom that appeared to double for storage if the empty glass cabinets were any indication. A small bookshelf stuffed with ratty paperbacks perched on the wall above an unmade cot. A narrow wardrobe stood to the side. The kitchen area in the far corner had a small sink flanked by open shelving, a two-burner stove, and a mini fridge. It reminded him of the shack she’d been living in last time they were on the island together.

Why on earth would a woman like her—a woman who could have every luxury known to man—give it up to live in hovels like this? Was she just that selfless, or was there more to it?

“It’s not much, but it’s all I need.” Defensiveness had crept into her voice as if she knew what he was thinking.

A knock sounded on the door and they both turned. “Alyssa?” Troy called. “Are you okay?”

Dan crossed the room and opened the door. On second glance, he still didn’t like her boss, though he knew he wasn’t being fair. The too-slick, too-coiffed preppy reminded Dan of the privileged assholes he’d dealt with in high school. A selfish part of him was glad Alexa didn’t welcome the guy’s touch.

Troy frowned at him, but then schooled his face into a look of concern. “May I come in?”

“Yes,” Alexa said. “Please.”

He sidled past Dan and stepped toward her. “What can I do?”

She pushed away from the wall, her movements slow, as if her limbs were heavy. “Tell me what you know about the black market adoptions. Do you have any idea who the rebels are dealing with? Anything that could help us find the children?”

Us? Did she mean her and Troy, or her and Dan? But he was proud of her recovery. Already she’d turned her grief toward action.

“I really don’t know much about it,” Troy said. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened on the island, though I didn’t think SIR was making a business out of it. Certainly it’s not uncommon when disaster strikes poor countries.” He held both hands in front of him. “At least the children will likely go to good homes. The method might not be ideal, but the results are.”

“The results do not make it okay,” she snapped, stalking toward him, her face flushed, eyes narrowed. “Forget that they’re being ripped away from their real families and denied their native culture. Those poor children are probably terrified right now. They were taken at gunpoint, for God’s sake.” Her voice rose. “They have no idea what’s happening to them or where they’re going. And arriving in a strange new country, even if people treat them well, cannot make up for any of that.”