"There's no need to worry. I protect what is mine, and you've proven yourself well. You take good care of my treasures." He cupped her shoulder. "I am grateful."
He never touched her in a sexual manner. At first, she'd been afraid he planned to abuse her. But in some warped code of his, he segmented some women to mother roles and others to sexual—no crossover, as if his sex toys might somehow sully innocent children.
"Gracias." Survival, she reminded herself. "I appreciate the warning." Sara leaned, pressing her cheek to his.
"Your father would be pleased with how you've come along."
She refused to dwell overlong on reevaluating her childhood, how her father had been like this man and how that could have shaped her into a dependent person. Ruminating wasted energy. She understood Lucas so much better now. Too late.
The door clicked closed behind Ramon. Launching into action, she hauled the backpack from under her bed to finish packing.
If she could make it to the bridge by nightfall, they would be safe. She'd painstakingly sketched a map over the years, drawn from snippets of information here and there. A cook mentioning a walk on a path that way, while gesturing. A gardener referencing a fishing stream beyond the back stone wall. And other tidbits, seemingly meaningless when taken alone—until she'd compiled what she hoped was an accurate map of the landscape surrounding her luxurious prison. Why hadn't she paid more attention when Ramon had started building the place five-and-a-half years ago? But she'd been too caught up in her new life at the embassy—and her new romance with Lucas.
She'd hoped to make a more controlled break at a time of her own choosing. But this morning she'd overheard Ramon Chavez order his security forces to prepare for a rival crime lord's imminent attack.
Time had run out. She couldn't wait for the perfect moment, not with the possibility of Hector Padilla gaining control. The man's reputation for trafficking in child prostitution left her longing to gather her daughter close.
Sliding open her bedside drawer, Sara pulled out two small leather pouches, tucking one into the backpack by her Glucometer and bag of hard candies. She shoved the other into her fanny pack. Each contained insulin in case the other went missing. She knew better than to be reckless about her diabetes. She wedged the backpack into a picnic basket that should pass scrutiny if anyone saw her on the way through the courtyard to the stone wall where she would crawl through to freedom.
And pray she wasn't walking into a bigger hell.
What the hell?
From the cover of the towering hardwoods and tropical underbrush, Lucas studied the far western wall surrounding Ramon Chavez's compound. He'd planned a little last-minute recon along the deserted back wall. A ten-foot stone fence encircled the sprawling acreage of adobe buildings and a towering mansion, much like a small feudal village.
He'd been on the lookout for guards. He hadn't expected to see rocks and mortar pop free.
Sweat trickled down his spine, but he didn't bother plucking at his flight suit sticking to his back from the greenhouse-type heat generated by the jungle .canopy. He crouched lower, waiting without moving while a lizard scampered over his boot. Another stone, then two more tumbled into a spray of orchids. A head filled the makeshift portal with dark waves of hair draping over the brown and orange masonry.
A tangle of arms and legs tumbled through into the spray of hot pink.flowers, along with Spanish curses that made even an old crewdog like himself grin.
Only for a mind-numbing flash did he consider this might be the woman who resembled Sara. Then he'd looked closer.
Even with her hair still covering her face, he knew the woman reaching back into the hole—for a picnic basket?—could not be his wife. He knew her body well, intimately well, the memories of their month as lovers still vibrantly clear. So clear, those thoughts had left him aching through more than one sleepless night.
Certainly Sara had been taller, more voluptuous, brimming with energy and vitality, unlike this frail woman.
Who cursed like a sailor.
Still threats came in all sizes. Probably best he keep an eye on the situation for a while longer to make sure she didn't spot the military in place and send up a warning.
A rock-solid reason to stay put, and a convenient excuse since he couldn't pull his eyes away from the subtle sweet curve of her bottom as she snaked her arms inside again to heft free... A child.
Holy crap. He definitely needed to keep an eye on this. This jungle was no place for a kid to take a nature walk. A boy or girl? Tough to tell with the short dark curls and jeans.
A rustle sounded from the spiky fronds. The woman froze, hand drifting to her waist. His hand slid to his M9, his muscles bunched to protect her.
An iguana scampered up a tree.
She sagged against the wall, head hanging for two deep breaths while monkeys cackled overhead. Kneeling, she whispered to the child in a muffled exchange of part Spanish and English. Interesting. Bits and pieces wafted his way.
"—walk yet, Mama?"
Mama. Mother and child, not a nanny.
"Soon, we just have to tie your shoes and get—" The wind stole the rest of her sentence.
The child's head bobbed in answer. "Okay, and bugs."