Tempted by His Target (17 page)

Brandon left his bike by the broken front gate and proceeded on foot, his weapon ready, heart thundering in his chest.

He passed a dozen structures before spotting the SUV. It was parked next to an underground dwelling or bunker of some sort. Ducking behind a mossy block wall, he studied the scene from a distance, deliberating the best method of attack. Gaucho was standing guard at the entrance of the bunker. Brandon could pick him off from here.

Sharpshooting wasn’t part of his typical repertoire, but he wouldn’t hesitate to take this scumbag out. His new mission was to save Isabel and nothing else mattered. He’d reassigned himself. The only problem was that a gunshot would alert the man inside the bunker and put Isabel at risk.

Deciding to employ stealth instead of shock, he dropped to his belly and army-crawled toward the SUV at an angle. Gaucho didn’t see him. When he arrived at the vehicle, he stopped to listen. He couldn’t hear anything but the buzz of insects and the faint ticking of the cooling system.

Rising carefully to a crouching position, he peered through the SUV’s tinted side windows, which were still intact. Gaucho hadn’t moved an inch.

Taking a small penknife out of his pocket, he stabbed it into the front tire, letting the air out with an audible hiss.

Gaucho turned his head toward the sound.

Brandon jerked the knife out of the tire and put it away quickly, holding his gun at the ready. When his opponent came around the front of the vehicle to check out the noise, Brandon advanced, cracking him across the temple with the butt of his weapon. Gaucho stumbled sideways but didn’t go down.

Brandon gulped, retreating a step.

He’d delivered a solid, skull-rattling hit and the behemoth hadn’t even fallen. But perhaps he was dazed, because he didn’t call out or retaliate, just blinked at Brandon in befuddled fury.

Brandon hit him again, harder. Blood spurted from a tear in his scalp, streaking his stunned face. Making a gurgling sound, he sank to his knees in the grass and then careened forward, unconscious.

From somewhere underground, Isabel let out an earsplitting shriek. Brandon switched off the safety and leaped into action.

Isabel rotated her wrists behind her back, exploring the rope’s resistance as her captor came forward.

The coarse fibers bit into her skin and there was no room to maneuver. She couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers. Her feet weren’t bound as tightly. She flexed her ankles, praying for the knot to slip.

He gave her a slow perusal, proving he wasn’t going to kill her quickly. “I’ve seen your picture in a magazine. Very nice.”

She tried to work up enough saliva to spit in his eye, but her mouth was too dry. Watching him approach, she continued to saw her wrists and ankles, searching for a weak spot in the binding.

He shoved her down in the dirt, pressing his forearm to her throat. Her wrists were pinned underneath her body, crushed by their combined weight. Tears sprang into her eyes but she refused to give him the satisfaction of crying out.

Flashing a dark smile, he trailed the tip of her knife down the center of her chest, slicing the beautiful tunic in half. While he stared at her exposed breasts, she gritted her teeth and scissored her ankles. The rope loosened, little by little.

He lifted the blade to her cheek, tracing her trembling lips. “Shh,” he said, as if this would calm her. “It will all be over soon.”

She turned her head to the side, shuddering with revulsion. In her direct line of sight there was a stone engraving of an eagle, its talons clutching a bloody heart. She concentrated on the unsettling image, trying to draw strength from it.

Taking her silence as a sign of defeat, the man moved the knife to her drawstring waistband, cutting it away. Channeling her fear and fury, she focused on the eagle’s sharp talons and visualized the rope unraveling. Her attacker set aside the knife, fumbling with his trousers. The rope slipped down, freeing one foot.

Yes!

She brought her knee up, slamming it into his groin with all her might. He made a strangled sound and rolled off her, holding his injured parts. She kicked out wildly, bucking her body as the rope unraveled. Knowing she only had seconds to escape, she scooted away from him and struggled to her feet.

He grabbed her ankle, sending her sprawling.

This time she couldn’t hold back her scream. She tried to tuck into the fall and was only partly successful. Her hip and shoulder bounced off the hard-packed earth, jarring her bones. The impact stunned her.

He leaped on her back and grabbed her by the hair, wrenching her head up and holding his gun to her temple. “I was going to leave your face intact,
puta
. Now even your mother won’t recognize you.”

Brandon appeared in the entranceway, his gun aimed at the man on top of her. Isabel’s heart seized. “Drop it or die.”

Instead of dropping it, her captor took the barrel away from Isabel’s head and pointed it at Brandon. Shots discharged from both weapons and the tomb exploded in chaos. Ancient stone fragments flew in every direction, filling the space with dust. Her attacker loosened his grip on her hair and collapsed, trapping her beneath him. Warm wetness trickled down her neck. Brandon rushed forward, pushing the limp body off her.

Everything went silent. She felt like she was sobbing, but she couldn’t hear a sound. The smell of gunshot residue filled her nostrils. Horrified, she turned to look at the carnage. Her captor was stretched out on his side, mouth open. The back of his head was missing. Gore splattered the stone walls.

Oh, my God.

Sickened by the sight, she hunched over and retched, her empty stomach revolting. Nothing came up but saliva. Her ears were ringing, her head spinning.

Brandon knelt beside her, cutting her wrists free. Her hands tingled with a bright, dizzying pain. His mouth moved but she couldn’t make out the words. He urged her to her feet, yanking her pants up her hips. They left the tomb together.

She didn’t want to get inside the SUV, but he insisted. While he drove away from the ruins, going as fast as he could with a flat tire, she started trembling uncontrollably. Tears rolled down her swollen cheek and the ache in her right ear reached a piercing crescendo.

Closing her eyes, she wished for drugs, for death, for oblivion.

Chapter 14

B
randon knew Isabel was in shock.

She hadn’t said a word since they left the ruins, and she wasn’t responding to his voice. He’d asked several times if she was hurt, to no avail. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her shoulders trembling, clothes in tatters.

Taking the quilt out of his backpack, he covered her half-exposed upper body.

Pelón Garcia had hit her. The angry red mark stood out on her cheek, plain as day. He’d also raped her, or attempted to rape her. Either way, Brandon was furious, his chest heaving with pent-up rage. If he could go back and kill the man again, he would. If he could make him suffer, draw it out and watch him bleed, he would.

Some of his anger was directed toward himself. He’d let her come to harm. She’d been hurt on his watch. That was unacceptable.

His mood black, he drove as close to the border as possible and pulled over, parking the vehicle near a tree-lined ravine. The front windshield was gone, safety glass scattered all over the interior. They couldn’t slip into Guatemala unnoticed in a bullet-riddled SUV, and he wanted to distance himself from Carranza as much as possible. The vehicle probably had a GPS system. Brandon doubted that the man he’d knocked out would come after them tonight, but reinforcements might.

He took a bottle of water out of his backpack and offered it to Isabel. She didn’t take it. When he touched her arm, she moaned, turning her head away.

Brandon wondered if she’d broken something. Her shirt was stained with the dead man’s blood, her face pale from nausea. He got out of the driver’s seat and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door. “Can you stand?”

She stared at his lips, miserable.

Frowning, he checked her upper body for injuries, starting at her fingertips. Her wrists were red from rope burns but he didn’t find any obvious breaks. She slapped his hands aside and touched her right ear.

Understanding dawned. “Can you hear me?”

She shook her head.

Relief and sympathy washed over him. One of his buddies had ruptured an eardrum during a training exercise. The pain was debilitating, but temporary. He rummaged through his backpack, which held her first aid kit. There were some ibuprofen tablets inside. She took two with water, wincing as she swallowed.

“We have to go,” he said, pointing at the road. She needed to see a doctor, but getting across the border was his top priority.

She nodded, sliding out of the passenger seat with his help. On her first step forward, she let out a little cry and swayed toward him, her knees buckling. He caught her as she fell, remembering that ear injuries caused dizziness. Securing the quilt around her body, he solved the problem by lifting her into his arms.

When she didn’t argue, merely closed her eyes and put her head on his shoulder, he knew she was suffering.

He took off toward the border crossing, guided by moonlight. This late in the evening, there wasn’t a single car on the road. He walked for about mile without slowing, and it was hard going, the most difficult trek of his life. She was slim but sleek with muscle, not delicate. His biceps burned from bearing her weight.

Finally a car happened by, its driver slowing to offer them a ride. Brandon pretended not to understand any Spanish and the man stopped asking questions. They crossed the bridge into Guatemala without incident.

Isabel curled up against him and slept.

“Hay hospital en San Marcos,”
the driver said, glancing in his rearview mirror.

Brandon made a vague noise of agreement, brushing a lock of hair from Isabel’s brow. His heart swelled with a mixture of emotions. He was so grateful she was alive, but deeply disturbed by the trauma she’d endured. By the skin of his teeth, he’d gotten them out of Mexico. Now that the mission was almost complete, he felt sick about the final step. He couldn’t bear to betray her while she was vulnerable.

The trip to San Marcos, the largest city in the region, took several hours. As they neared the business center, Isabel roused, looking out the window. The rest had done her good. When he offered her water, she drank eagerly.

“Feel better?”

“Much. I can hear again.”

“With both ears?”

She frowned, touching her right side. “This one still hurts a little. And you sound quiet, far away.”

He didn’t know if her hearing loss would be permanent, but he was glad she was responding to his voice again.

The driver cruised by a small medical facility, which was closed. He continued on to a budget hotel, saying the owner would give them a fair price. Brandon offered him some cash, but he wouldn’t take it.

“Vaya con Dios,”
he said, nodding at Isabel.

She murmured the proper response, mustering a weak smile. Brandon helped her out of the backseat and she walked to the front entrance of the hotel without assistance. While she stood in the lobby, quilt around her shoulders, he paid for a room.

He knew he should go straight to the authorities, documents in hand. He’d killed one man and seriously injured another. Even in his line of work, which was fraught with risk, fatalities were unusual. His boss would need full, immediate disclosure.

But the only thing he cared about was Isabel.

Too exhausted to weigh the consequences, he climbed into bed with her as soon as they entered the room. Holding her close, he listened to her soft, steady breathing, his chest aching with tenderness.

Moments later, he was asleep.

When Isabel opened her eyes, Brandon wasn’t there.

She turned to look for him, moving her head gingerly. The room was bright with daylight, and empty except for her. The pain in her ear had receded into a vague discomfort but every muscle in her body ached. She felt like she’d surfed the pipeline all day and been mashed against the reef. Repeatedly.

Violent images from the night before assaulted her, flashing through her mind like a horror film reel. She felt dirty, hollow, deeply disturbed. Blood and gore had dried on her shirt, stiffening the fabric.

Cringing, she rose from the bed.

Brandon’s backpack was still there, so she figured he’d gone out to get breakfast. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, indifferent to trauma. She stretched her arms over her head, trying to ease her sore muscles.

What she needed was a warm bath. Grabbing her messenger bag, she padded into the bathroom, which boasted a nice-size tub. Letting the water run hot, she discarded her ruined clothes and examined her appearance. The scrape on her cheek wasn’t that bad. She brushed her teeth, glad they were intact.

Unbraiding her hair, she slipped into the tub, rested her head on the edge and soaked the terrifying experience away.

When she was clean, she felt like a new woman. In some ways, last night had been cathartic. She’d been forced to come to terms with Jaime’s death. Speaking openly about his final moments had prompted an epiphany: she wasn’t responsible for every tragedy that had befallen her. She
was
responsible for the way she’d reacted. There was nothing healthy about wallowing in guilt or avoiding consequences.

It was time to face the music.

She combed her hair until it gleamed and wrapped a towel around her well-scrubbed, slightly battered body before walking out into the main room. Brandon was sitting at the table, sipping coffee. The
pan de muerto
he’d bought at the fair rested on the surface, along with a couple of shopping bags.

Although she was hungry, her gaze stayed on him. He looked rumpled and road-weary and good enough to eat.

“You showered,” he said, skimming her bare legs.

She sat down across from him, tearing off a hunk of bread. It was sweet, like a doughnut, and dusted with sugar. The grains dissolved on her tongue. “Mmm-hmm.”