Hush Page 7

  “How does sitting behind a computer monitor at your fancy Internet company qualify you to liberate us from armed kidnappers?” She kept the sarcasm out of her voice with effort.

  “You’d better hope we have something up our sleeves,” Zak answered, not exactly forthcoming.

  Gideon paused until she was practically right on top of him. “We’ve accumulated some skills in the years we’ve been doing extreme sports,” he told her quietly. “Trust us, this isn’t that much different than the Mount Kilimanjaro climb we did a few years back, right, Zak?”

  “Right. Hostile natives, and an even more hostile environment.”

  They both sounded as confident as she didn’t feel. Climbing a mountain, while certainly dangerous, didn’t quite compare to trekking into dense jungle surrounded by Uzi-carrying guerrillas. “Armed kidnappers?”

  Gideon glanced over his shoulder with a grim smile. “Armed terrorists. They all have shitty attitudes and consider violence a conversation starter. Don’t worry, honey. We’re working on i—”

  “Manténgase en movimiento!” one of the men yelled from behind them.

  Acadia gave Gideon a little shove with her bound hands. “He wants us to keep moving.”

  “We both speak Spanish fluently,” Zak informed her, his voice low. He was right on her heels, and the closeness of his voice made her start so that she almost walked right into a thick clump of bright red flowering vines hanging like a garland right in front of her. The twenty-foot vines, covered in flowers, were alive and moving with buzzing insects.

  She walked around the clump, swatting the bugs away from her face. “Then why didn’t you—”

  “Because pretending not to understand the language gives us an edge.”

  “How did you know what I was goi—”

  “Going to say? Barbie, you’re an open book.”

  A drop of sweat trickled down her temple, making her skin itch. Acadia bit her tongue. There was no point in engaging him in an exchange. There wouldn’t be a winner, and arguing would just irritate them both.

  Acadia put one foot in front of the other and kept her gaze on the middle of Gideon Stark’s sweat-stained back. Three small capuchin monkeys swung from branch to branch at eye level, sweet little white faces turned to watch the humans’ progress, black eyes curious.

  “Look,” she said calmly after about fifteen minutes of human silence, “I don’t know you. I’m sure you mean well, but don’t make promises you can’t possibly keep. We all know that when they have what they want, they’ll kill—”

  “Zakary.”

  Acadia glanced up at Gideon’s warning tone, expecting to come eye to eye with some large man-eating animal or, worse, the lead kidnapper, gun in hand, murder in her eyes. Instead she saw a clearing in the jungle, foliage hacked back and wide-open space filled with a dozen or more armed men. Waiting for them.

  This was it, then. The end of the road.

  FOUR

  The compound, comprised of a handful of small cement and stone buildings, squatted in a large clearing hacked out of the living walls of the jungle. Piñero and another half dozen camo-dressed, well-armed men were their welcoming committee as they emerged from the trees. A baker’s dozen.

  Zak knew the odds—shitty before—were now considerably worse. Piñero berated the men for taking so long, and got them to hustle the prisoners into their jail cells with customary guerrilla flair.

  There was no use fighting the shove of the gun butts as the three of them were herded between piles of rudimentary building materials. They passed cinder blocks, bags of cement, tools, a large water tank, a cookhouse, and a building large enough, Zak imagined, to house at least half the men. All the comforts of home.

  Men. Guns. Tools to entrench, and enough supplies to sustain the guerrillas for—how long? he wondered. It was obvious their kidnappers were part of a well-organized, well-funded group. Funded by whom? Certainly not Loida Piñero. Her men feared her, sure. But it couldn’t be as simple as that, not with this setup. Zak bet it was more likely some fat cat with seemingly clean hands, sitting in a big office in Caracas. He’d find out who after he got the three of them out.

  Because even though the situation was dire, Zak knew, between them, he and Gideon would make it out alive. How depended entirely on the plan they’d concocted out of thin air.

  Two smaller mud brick buildings faced each other, several hundred yards apart and covered almost completely by a thick tangle of big-leafed vines. They were clearly older than the rest. Zak was already examining them for weaknesses that could be exploited as the guards opened the doors.

  He and Acadia were shoved into a six-foot cube of a cell. The ceiling was so low, he couldn’t quite stand upright. Leafy vines clung to the interior walls, making the space appear even smaller. The door was slammed shut and the key turned in the lock. Through the rusty bars filling the door frame, he watched Gideon being led to the other small building. Divide and conquer.

  He counted off the men. The twins, Blue Bandana and Gold Tooth … Thick Neck … Shorty … Pug Face. A new guy staggered by, muscles bulging, arms straining under the weight of the cement blocks piled haphazardly in the wheelbarrow he was shoving through the trampled-flat undergrowth.

  Wearing a Yankees baseball cap, Loida Piñero walked into view, smoking what looked like a Cuban cigar as she gestured to the wheelbarrow and cement blocks nearby. Who knew what the hell the older mud brick buildings had originally been used for—a drug hideout? Gun running? A co-op for kidnappers? Whatever it had been, their hostess was beefing up security. Judging by the bars already fitted into the window openings, another, slightly bigger jail was being constructed a few hundred feet south of them. She finished giving instructions and turned as two men handed her the jail keys.

  She glanced between the two buildings. Zak knew she was deciding which of the Stark brothers to hassle first. Whichever she chose, it was going to be like pulling teeth.

  Which wasn’t entirely out of the question, either.

  She turned and strode through the weeds toward him. Lucky him. As he stood at the barred door, he watched one of her men trot after her like a well-trained puppy. Several yards back, Héctor gave Zak a shit-eating grin before turning away to go off with another man. Piñero pushed the brim of her cap back off her face, then snapped her fingers. The guerrilla beside her handed her a small, expensive digital camera. She snapped a quick succession of pictures of Zak through the bars. “I will contact your people.”

  And the second Buck got that picture, he’d mobilize whatever resources necessary to look for them, but he sure as shit wouldn’t be sending her forty mil. But neither would matter. Because Zak suspected that Piñero would kill all three of them. Soon.

  “The woman requires food and water,” Zak told Guerrilla Bitch. The sun burned directly overhead, an eye-watering spotlight making it that much harder to peg their exact location. For all he knew, they could be in Brazil. Or, as he suspected, damn close to the border.

  Loida Piñero gave him a tight, malicious smile that didn’t reach her black eyes. “This is not American soil, Mr. Stark. Here are my rules, not Geneva’s. The only reason you are still breathing is because your people might require additional proof of life. Twenty-four hours. You do not need food.” She snapped her fingers again and instructed the man beside her to bring each prisoner a cup of water.

  “What a vile woman,” Acadia muttered as Piñero strode off. Several of her men jogged to catch up with her when she snapped her fingers for them to follow.

  “Be grateful she wants us alive.”

  “Trust me, I … am.” Her gaze followed a capybara; the ratlike creature with reddish-brown fur was the size of a large house cat, and it scurried from its hiding place beneath a cement ledge running the length of the back wall. The squeaking animal slipped between them, wiggled through the bars, and disappeared into the underbrush outside.

  Acadia shuddered, but to her credit, she didn’t say anything. Her butter-honey hair was
tangled, her skin was dewy with perspiration, and her cheeks were flushed attractively from the heat. Without makeup she looked as fresh and wholesome as the girl next door.

  Zak tracked the sweat trickling slowly down her throat and was gripped with the sudden, insane urge to lunge over there, sprawl her on her back, and sink into her wet heat until he couldn’t think anymore. His body clenched in memory, and for a moment he tasted the earthy sweetness of her secret flesh on his tongue.

  He’d lost his goddamn mind.

  “Don’t get too close to the vines,” he told her. “They’re full of spiders.” He turned away to observe the men outside. He was actually fucking impressed that she hadn’t broken down. Yet. It would come, of that he had no doubt. Anyone like her—normal, touristy people—would break down in a situation like this. He, on the other hand, thrived on the element of high risk, which was why he was so into extreme sports. Take the situation he was in now; it was a test to see what the participant was made of and how far he could take himself. But this wasn’t surfing a tsunami, or rock climbing without ropes. This wasn’t a situation for which he had meticulously planned and researched every possible outcome. Those risks were different.

  And he wasn’t here alone.

  He’d once told a reporter that he did what he did because varied, novel, complex, and intense sensations and experiences were his drug of choice. They’d called him an adrenaline junkie. And that was before Jennifer’s death. After he’d buried his wife, Gideon accused him of having a death wish, which was bullshit.

  Adrenaline junkie or not, Zak had to admit this situation had taken a turn he didn’t like. But for now he was grateful he didn’t have to deal with a hysterical woman as well as everything else.

  “God, aren’t you thirsty?” Acadia asked, standing in the middle of the cell. Which meant if he reached out he could touch her damp skin. “They won’t bring us water, will they?”

  “Don’t think about it. Piñero just left camp.” Zak watched the foliage close in behind her and two of her men. They would also, God damn it, be taking the van. It was going to be a long walk back to civilization.

  He turned to give the cell a cursory glance. Barely big enough for one, let alone two. Mud brick walls absorbed the sun, making it slightly cooler inside than out. But not by much. There were no windows in the blackened, mold-stained walls. The only fresh air came through the door, which was nothing more than a worm-eaten wooden frame and thick, rusted metal rebar.

  Not much of a deterrent. One good kick, Zak estimated, and he’d have the frame off its hinges, no sweat. Then he’d have to go through the scrimmage of ten guards who looked like they had nothing better to do than beat down a couple of gringos just because they could. Then they’d go for the pretty blonde. And this time there’d be no Loida Piñero to stop them.

  Zak dangled his bound wrists on a crossbar of the door and signed to his brother. After a moment, Gideon signed back.

  “What was that about?” She had good eyes.

  “With Piñero gone, we have to take the opportunity to make a run for it in the next hour. She could be back any time, and even if she isn’t, it would be suicidal to take off through the jungle after dark. I have a fairly good sense of direction.” He tipped his head toward one pocked wall. “I know that way is the river, probably some sort of a settlement where we can get help getting back to Caracas or one of the big villages. But I’ve neither a map nor a compass.” There was a GPS on his watch. If he could get that back … A whiff of flowers interrupted the thought. She stood much too damned close as she tried to look outside.

  A second man with a loaded wheelbarrow made the trek across the clearing. Acadia’s eyes tracked him as he passed by the bars. How the hell, after walking for more than four hours, and everything else she’d endured, did she still smell of flowers?

  “Um, I have—”

  “We need every hour of light we can get.” He frowned at her. “What’s the matter? You have to pee? Don’t be shy. You aren’t getting a hall pass to the ladies’ room. Go back there and take care of it. I won’t look.”

  Amazing how cool a pair of warm gray eyes could become. “Every now and then I start to like you,” she told him crossly. “Then I’m reminded why I don’t. Listen for a second, hotshot. I have a GPS.”

  Zak stared at her for a moment, stunned. “You have a GPS?”

  “I’m visiting a foreign country. Of course I have a GPS. It’s not very big, and it might not be accurate, considering where we are …”

  He could have kissed her hot, sweaty, beautiful face. Could have, and thought better of it. He stayed right where he was, already too close for comfort. “Hand it over, Barbie.”

  “Please may I have your GPS, Acadia?” she suggested, eyes still cool. “That was amazingly forward thinking of you to bring it, carry it, and not keep it for your own selfish flight from a fate worse than death.”

  He snapped his fingers like Piñero. “Give.”

  “Only if you stop calling me Barbie in that annoying, condescending tone.” Fake cheer slid into a scowl as she glared at him.

  “Fine, what do your friends call you?”

  “Acadia.”

  “Ah. Cady?” That’s the name her alter ego had used in the cantina what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Her chin came up. “Nobody calls me that.”

  He had. Last night while they’d been fucking their brains out.

  He turned back to observe their captors. The men had gathered in a loose group in the shade of the largest building. They were playing cards and drinking from a shared bottle. Turning from the temptation he damn well didn’t need to remember, Zak counted heads. All ten of them. “So. Cady or Barbie?” If he and Gideon could get a couple of guns, they could round up the guerrillas. Lock them in the cells … from which he’d already ascertained that it’d be child’s play to escape.

  So, on to plan B.

  Kill them. He and his brother wouldn’t enjoy it, but it was the guerrillas or them. He picked them.

  “Try ‘Acadia.’” She turned slightly, giving him access to her left hip. “Third pocket. Help yourself.”

  Zak found and withdrew the GPS without pausing to fondle the taut cheeks of her ass. She was right, the device was small. But it worked when he turned it on; better yet, it was backlit. Quickly, before the guerrillas could see it, he shoved it into his back pocket. “Good job. What else do you have in those magic pockets of yours?”

  “Actually, a lot. There are twenty-eight pockets in all. It’s the store’s best-selling … never mind that. They wouldn’t lock us in here if they were planning on killing us, right?” Acadia moved back to his side, her shoulder snug against his arm as she peered between the bars.

  Hot jasmine. Above every stink there was, he smelled her skin. And smelling her skin reminded him of what her skin tasted like, and it had been hot, smooth, and sweet, like crème brûlée against his tongue.

  It was going to be problematic as hell attempting to run for his life through the jungle with a cockstand. “You’re crowding me. Why don’t you go sit down?”

  “Why don’t I not?” she returned politely, watching the men pass around the bottle. “There’s at least a little bit of air right here,” she pointed out. “If you feel crowded, you go and sit down.”

  “Your mouth must get you into a lot of trouble.”

  “Only in Venezuela,” she said sweetly. He instantly imagined her mouth exactly where he wanted it now.

  Damn it to hell. “Are you stupid, or completely fearless?”

  Her eyes widened at his provocative tone. “How did you build a successful company talking to people that way?” She shook her head with clear disgust as she pulled a small plastic container from one of her magic pockets and shook out a mint. He couldn’t wait to find out what else she had hidden in all those secret places. “Your brother has got to be the front man for ZAG Search.

  You’d scare people with that pissy attitude. Cut it out.” She popped the mint into her m
outh. “I’m not your freaking enemy. We’re stuck in this together. So give the big bad-ass attitude a rest, okay?”

  She shook out another mint, and before he could say anything, she stuck it into his open mouth. The cool bite of spearmint on his tongue and the smell of it helped distract him some. Her finger, wet from her own mouth, made his dick levitate.

  “They’re well organized,” she said into the silence. “But I bet Cruella won’t like them drinking on the job.”

  “No shit. But it’ll suit us just fine.” To walk away from the annoyingly provocative scent of her skin and hair meant he’d have to go to the other side of the cell. Hotter, and with no scenic view. Going way the hell across the continent was completely out of the question. For the moment.

  Zak figured he’d put up with a lot worse, and as he leaned his shoulder against the stained, pockmarked wall beside the door, a leaf brushed his throat. He pretended to inspect the inch-thick construction rebar while he kept an eye on the men. The bars were rusted and crumbling in sections along their length. Shit just didn’t hold up in the constant humidity. Too bad they didn’t have months to wait for nature to do the hard work for them.

  Zak held out his bound hands. “Got anything in your pockets to cut through these ties?”

  “A Swiss Army Knife.”

  Jesus, he thought, stunned and impressed by her ingenuity. She was a regular Girl Scout. “Let’s have that, too.” Acadia twisted to get at it. Her contortions weren’t helping him not think about her naked body and wild, hot sex. He damn well better try. “Which pocket?”

  “Since I know you’re having a hard time vocalizing your undying gratitude for my forethought”—she turned around—“left butt.”

  Great. Zak felt for the pocket, found the knife, and removed it. “You first.” She obediently held out her wrists so he could cut through the thick plastic with the tiny hacksaw. It would’ve taken a lot longer for him to gnaw through the tie with his teeth.