His Lost Mate (A Steamy Paranormal Romance Novel) (29 page)

She let out a scream then felt a sharp pain at the back of her head. Her vision blurred and the jungle turned to total blackness.

Lauren opened her eyes and found herself surrounded by gray canvas walls. At first, she thought she was back in her tent. The musty, dry-rotted smell told her otherwise. This tent was larger. There were three cots and a rusty metal folding table by the door. Her backpack sat on the table. Dangling from a hook in the ceiling, a lantern burned low like a small glowing piece of charcoal. Two moths flittered around the light casting strange shadows on the walls.

Fear jolted her fully awake.

Slowly she sat up. Her head still ached and the room swam before her eyes. Rubbing her head, she cringed when she touched the lump. She tried to sort out her thoughts. The last thing she remembered she had been by the waterfall around five p.m. It was dark now. She checked her watch—nine p.m. She must have been out about four hours. Outside she heard men’s voices.

Then she remembered the men at the waterfall. A very stupid idea, kicking a man with a gun. They hit her, probably with a gun stock. Standing up, she staggered to the tent door and peered out. Four other tents were set up in a circle and several men stood around or sat on logs eating out of metal bowls. An assortment of guns rested at their feet, were held in their hands or slung over their shoulders.

Mosquitoes whined near her ear. She slowly reached in her bag for her repellant and spread a thick layer over her skin. Didn’t these guys know they should keep tent flaps closed? She peeked out the tent again and watched as one man filled a bowl from a large pot, folded a tortilla and dropped it in the bowl, then started walking toward her tent.

He saw her and yelled for her to get back inside. He spoke Spanish. She decided to play dumb that she didn’t understand. They didn’t know she spoke Spanish. He pushed through the tent door and pointed to the cot. “Sit,” he ordered in English. He handed her the bowl. “Eat.” Then he left before she could say a word.

She had seen him ladle the food from the large pot that the men were eating from, so she assumed her food wasn’t poisoned. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten lunch or dinner. Lauren used the tortilla to scoop up the meat and bean mixture. It was a sloppy way to eat but worked. When she was done she retrieved a Wet-Nap out of her backpack and wiped her hands, then ran the cool cloth over her face and neck. It helped to revive her.

These men had to be the Nequam that she had heard of. They were dressed similarly to the guards from the camp or the military that patrolled the streets in town. How was anyone supposed to tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys? What were they going to do to her? She couldn’t think about that. She had to stay calm and not panic.

She swept her gaze around the tent and then searched under the cots, beneath the table for anything she could use as a weapon, and found nothing. Frightened and frustrated, she plopped on the cot and buried her face in her hands. What was she going to do against several men with guns?

To make things worse, the rotted canvas was split and frayed with several holes large enough for her hand to pass through. Great, lots of openings for tarantulas to creep in, just her luck.

The door flap was pulled aside and three men wearing camouflage clothing and carrying rifles or automatic weapons stepped inside. Holding her breath, she gripped the edge of the cot. The man with the beard, the one who grabbed her at the waterfall, glared down at her and said with a thick Spanish accent. “Do not worry. We not hurt you.”

“I’m an American student on an archaeological dig. They’ll know I’m missing. I should’ve been back to camp hours ago.” She attempted to keep her voice steady.

He smiled. “They know we have you.”

A wave of nausea swept through her. Would they let her go or would they kill her?

“We make trade, then let you go. We have contacted authorities with our request.”

“Request?” You mean demands. She fisted her hands to keep them from shaking. She was being held for ransom, terrific. It seemed impossible, surreal. She prayed that this was one of her vivid dreams, but she knew she was awake. “How did you contact them? Cell phones don’t work out here.”

The bearded man again smiled wickedly. “We radio our contacts in Flores.”

She nodded and tried not to look terrified. By the way the bearded man smiled, she doubted he was going to let her go.

The other two men started digging through her backpack on the table. One pulled out her camera and slipped it on his shoulder next to his gun. The other retrieved a flashlight. They laughed at her bottled water. “
Americano
,” the one man announced sardonically.

The other nodded. “
Si, Americano
.”

Then one man lifted out her trowel. He held the hot pink handle with two fingers. Both men burst out laughing. In Spanish she heard the men argue about who wanted a lady’s garden tool.

The bearded man shot a glance over his shoulder and said in Spanish, “It’s an archaeology tool. She’s an archaeology student.”

The other two men nodded then dropped the trowel back in her backpack. Apparently neither one wanted it. One man opened her small side pocket and pulled out the jade owl. “Oh, look at this.”

“No,” Lauren shouted, then regretted her response. She changed her tone to sound calm and indifferent. “Souvenir, from Tikal. For my nephew.” She hoped they believed her. Lauren’s stomach knotted when she saw the man glare defiantly at her while he slipped the jade owl into his pocket.

* * *

“I’m not waiting for the military to get here,” Deven said to Jim as he loaded the magazine of his Glock. The two men stood inside Deven’s tent while he collected his flashlight, GPS and spare ammunition into a pack. “I want Margaret, Sylvia and Kyle out of here now. I have to find Lauren.”

“These guys are professional criminals, man,” Jim said. “Best to let the military handle it. They should be here within the hour.”

“I can’t wait that long.” Deven strapped the gun and a small pack of supplies to his waist. “She was right about predicting danger and I wouldn’t believe her. I don’t understand the supernatural as she and Margaret do. Do you believe in her ghost?”

Jim scratched his head. “I’ve never seen one, but I guess it’s possible.”

“Do you think an ancient artifact can have protective powers?”

“Lord knows, man. I’ve heard some spooky stories from other archaeologists and the Lacandons. Margaret said your sister had a bizarre experience.”

Deven nodded. “Well, Lauren’s talisman can’t have special powers or she wouldn’t have been abducted, right?”

Jim shrugged his shoulders.

“If it does have powers, I hope it keeps her alive.” He bowed his head. “I should have believed her, Jim. I should have done something to prevent this. I didn’t have a chance to tell her…”

“You’re in love with her. No kidding,” Jim said sarcastically with a grin. “She’ll be all right.”

“Did the military tell you what the ransom is?”

“Doesn’t matter. The military won’t deal with guerrillas, not even for an American.”

“I didn’t think so. That’s why I’m going to find her. I know the jungle. I’ll use the GPS to navigate a search.”

“Okay, Deven, I won’t argue with you. Andreas and Miguel will wait for the military here. I’ll take the field crew to Flores and have Margaret call your CIA contact from the hotel. I’m afraid the CIA won’t get down here for several hours or more.”

“What about your Lacandon friends? Are they in danger?”

Jim nodded. “I’m heading to their settlement after I drop the crew off in town. The Lacandon can take care of themselves. I want them to know what’s going on. Where are you planning to search first?”

“I’m heading north of the waterfall and doing a semicircular search pattern, as if we were searching for a new excavation site.”

“The Lacandons are west of the waterfall, so I’ll search west. Be careful, man.”

* * *

After midnight, one of the men turned off her lantern. The darkness and the buzz of nighttime jungle sounds seemed to close in on her. She tried listening to the hushed voices outside, but couldn’t make anything out. The camp was in total darkness—no campfires, no lanterns. Not even a cigarette lit the night.

Men roamed the camp, so if she tried to sneak out and run, she wouldn’t get far. They would hear her stumbling through the jungle. They told her to sleep and by morning, they would release her. She wanted to believe them. What if they had other plans? She tried not to think about that. Sleep would never come.

Deven consumed her thoughts. Had he found out she was kidnapped? She never had a chance to tell him she loved him. Tears stung her eyes and she held her hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs. Telling him her feelings wouldn’t have changed anything after what she did. She wished she could tell him that she was sorry.

Although she understood his position, sometimes rules have to be broken. In the name of science. Isn’t that how the saying goes? She proved that she was right, but at what cost? She shouldn’t have dug for the owl. It ruined her relationship with Deven and it didn’t protect her from the paramilitary.

Muan. Didn’t all this mess start with Muan? She twisted her amber ring. Its golden color was hidden in the darkness. Her brother, her parents, they would be so upset if she didn’t make it through this.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees. The tent’s canvas walls flapped against the wind. In the distance, Lauren could hear the soft rumble of thunder. A storm was coming and with all the holes in the tent, she’d probably get soaked. She didn’t mind that as much as knowing the rains also brought the tarantulas out of their burrows.

She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked on the cot.

Raindrops splattered against the canvas. Flashes of lightning briefly lit up her canvas prison. She peeked out of the tent. Three men stood close, their heads bowed against the pouring rain. Lauren clamped her hands over her ears to block out the loud cracks of thunder. Then she covered her face in her hands and gave in to sobs. No one could hear her over the sound of the fierce storm.

“Cimi?”

Lauren almost cried out and dropped her hands. Muan stood next to the cot. A hazy gray glow surrounded him.

“You have to leave now, Cimi.”

The stern voice made her jump. “Great idea. And how am I going to get out with those guys standing at my door?” she whispered.

“You have to leave. You are out of time. The sacrifice will come soon.” A flash of lightning lit up her tent and Muan disappeared.

Lauren wrapped her arms around herself again. Thanks for leaving me, Muan. I could’ve used your help now.

Lightning flashed again and she saw slits of white light from the holes in the tent. Suddenly she remembered her trowel and its pointed edge. In the dark, she dug her hand into her backpack and found the trowel. Then she jabbed the point into one of the holes in the rear wall and sliced down. The rotted canvas split easily, creating a three-foot opening. Grabbing her backpack, she slipped out the back of the tent under the cover of thunder and torrential rain. She entered the dark jungle.

* * *

Deven stopped for a moment to catch his breath and check the GPS. He had been searching the jungle for hours. It was hours past midnight. He wondered if the military had started their search yet. His chest ached from running and his leg muscles burned. The rain had soaked his clothing, impairing his mobility.

Flashes of lightning illuminated the silhouettes of trees with a stark, eerie light. After hours of searching, he still found no sign of their camp. He avoided using his flashlight so the guerrillas wouldn’t see him approach. Terror knotted in his stomach at the thought of what they might do to her. He had to find her. She had to be safe.

The crack of a gunshot echoed through the trees. Deven froze and held his breath. Northeast. The sound came from the northeast, about a mile away, he estimated. He gripped his pistol and started running in the direction of the gunshot. A few more shots and then he heard men shouting. The jungle exploded in gunfire.

The military found the guerrilla camp.

Branches cut his arms and face as he tore through the vegetation trying to get to the camp. After a few minutes, the gunfire stopped, but the shouting continued and the flicker of several flashlight beams darted through the trees. When he entered the camp, one of the military guards raised his rifle and pointed it at Deven.

“Stop!” the guard shouted in Spanish.

Deven froze and raised his arms over his head. Miguel ran up to the guard and identified Deven. The guard dropped his rifle to a ready position at his waist. Several military guards held six guerrillas at gunpoint, while other guards searched the tents.

Deven tried to enter the camp, but Miguel and the guard stopped him.

“Wait here, Deven, we look and find her. Make sure all are captured first,” Miguel said.

Deven’s mind raced. The guards cautiously entered each tent then moved on to the next. She had to be all right. Please God. Waiting was driving him crazy. He was about to panic. Was she tied up? When all the tents were searched, Deven shouted, “Where is she?”

One of the guards walked up to Miguel and spoke to him. Deven couldn’t hear them because they were talking too low. Miguel said a few words back, then with shoulders slumped, approached Deven. Bile rose in his throat. He shoved through the crowd, his body shaking with anger. “Where is she?”

Miguel held his hand out to signal Deven to calm down. “She gone. She escaped maybe. The guerrillas say she was asleep in tent. Come see.”

Deven followed him into a tent on the south side of the camp. His gaze swept the inside, a few cots, a table and a very large hole in the rear wall. Deven smiled and shook his head. “She’s full of surprises.”

“Deven, the last time they checked her was about midnight.”

Deven checked his watch. “Three hours ago. She could be anywhere. We have to start searching for her.”

“There is problem,” Miguel said. “When we raided camp, two guerrillas escaped.”