“You lie,” he said softly.
Kerry shuddered at the triumphant gleam in his eyes. “No. He’s not...he’s not anything to me. I only hired Mr. O’Neal to help me get the children to safety.”
“Ah,” he said expansively, “then he won’t mind if I have my picture taken with you.”
She met his gloating sneer with an expression of astonishment and fear. “With me?”
“Si."
Several of his men grunted their approval and congratulated him on his shrewdness with hearty slaps on the back.
“What the hell is going on?” Linc, standing with his hands on his hips, was demanding an answer from her as she slowly turned around.
“He wants his picture made.”
“So move out of the way and I’ll take one.”
“With me. He wants his picture made with me.” Her gaze skittered up to Linc’s. His face looked as dangerous as any belonging to the men who were crowding behind her. He cast a malevolent look toward the leader.
“Tell the bastard to go to hell.”
She smiled a wavering smile of
gratitude. She was afraid Linc might have considered it expedient for her to have her picture taken with this animal. Proudly she turned and walked back to the leader. His eyes, directed toward Linc, were filled with malice. He reached for Kerry, encircled her wrist in a grip as hard as iron, and yanked her toward him.
“Let me go!” She wrestled out of his grip. Several machine guns were snapped into readiness, but she kept her chin up. Her expression was one of haughty contempt. “I won’t have my picture made with you.”
“Then your man will die,” the fighter warned sibilantly.
“I don’t believe so. You’re not a cold-blooded murderer.” She rather suspected that he was, but knew that wasn’t the image he wanted to project to the free countries of the world.
Joe ordered the children, some of whom were crying, to stay where they were. He moved to Linc’s side. The leader ordered two of his men to watch them. The rest of the soldiers scattered around the clearing. All of them kept their guns trained on the photographer and the adolescent boy, whose face was working with fury.
The guerrilla leader laughed nastily and wrapped his large hand around Kerry’s neck. She kept her posture stiff, her body unbending. “Take your hands off me.” He only drew her closer.
“Damn him,” Linc snarled from behind her. “Let her go!” he shouted to the commander.
“Why are you being so stubborn, gringa?” the rebel asked in a lulling voice. “You deprive yourself of much pleasure.”
Suddenly, Joe burst into the open. He was tripped by a booted foot and went sprawling in the dirt. The soldiers laughed, none louder than the leader. The guerrilla who had tripped him put the barrel of his automatic rifle at the base of Joe’s skull and ordered him not to move.
“Oh, God,” Kerry breathed. Was her stand against the whims of the rebel going to cost Joe his life? She vacillated.
“Tell him you’re a nun,” Linc said.
“You read the newspapers, Linc.”
Right. He did. Churchmen and women were no longer spared bloody deaths. Indeed, they were sometimes the targeted victims of the crudest executions.
The leader took hold of Kerry’s long braid and began winding it around his meaty fist.
“You sonofabitch!”
Linc lunged across the clearing. A rifle butt was slammed into his middle. He went down with a grunt of pain, but came up fighting.
“Linc, no!” Kerry cried as she spun around to see what was happening.
The leader pulled a pistol from the holster at his hip. He took quick aim on Linc.