Another few seconds and he would be back in the Jeep, following them full out. He hadn't actually seen Sarafina, but knew in his gut the smaller set of footprints belonged to her. If she was still on her feet then whoever had taken her hadn't hurt her yet. Someone must be carrying Lucia, which worried him. Sara didn't have the strength to cart the child and he hated to think of the little one terrified in the arms of a monster.
He grieved for his country that men like Padilla gained power. They needed a strong hand, but not a brutal one. Hadn't he proven himself in the way he took care of Sara even though she'd tried to leave? And again with this woman who could very well be out to kill him?
He wasn't heartless. He prided himself on his humane treatment of prisoners, like now. Hadn't he let the Nola woman make a trip into the brush alone as long as she sang the whole time? Not a bad voice. But how strange hearing her hum when she stayed silent otherwise.
The gunfire had finally faded. Calls on the two-way radio while Nola took her breaks had reassured him at least some of his men had survived. How many, he wasn't sure yet. But he'd given them instructions to meet him at the small town at the end of this road where people loyal to him waited. Once there, he could find out whatever he needed. Soon.
"Nola? Finish. We need to leave."
The humming stopped.
"Nola?"
Gun raised hip level, he strode toward the brush. "Don't make me hurt you."
She stood, breathless. Tucking her head, she rushed past, long bare legs blotched from bug bites and bramble scratches. "Sorry."
He watched her through narrowed eyes. He'd been out of the field for over twenty years, but he'd staged training ops to keep himself sharp. Ramon whacked the brush aside with the nose of his gun. He found simple broken limbs, as he would expect. And sticks jabbed into the ground beside a knotted palm in a precise pattern.
In a code.
She'd been leaving signs, and these weren't just rudimentary markings. Damn right, she had survival training.
And she'd been playing him all along.
Chapter 9
Sweat as thick and gritty as her fear, Sara wished she could wake from this nightmare—it was a hint away from dark after all. She would open her eyes to find herself playing with her daughter. While she was at it, the past five years could turn out to be some horrible dream, too.
Except her eyes were already open, the burning in her exhausted legs very real as she raced beside Lucas with Lucia in his arms. He'd told her the "safe place" he'd mentioned earlier was actually an American-kept "safe house"—which had stunned her to the roots of her hair, but she would grasp the blessing with both hands for her daughter.
His supposed "safe house" waited a couple hundred yards ahead. The sounds of a small town already mingled with the monkeys and bugs, adding a symphony of church bells, vehicles, even a nearby Jeep distinguishable from the rest.
She squinted in the fading light at the old homestead ahead divided into apartments at the edge of town. He swore the safe house was active as of three days ago. If the personnel had moved, then he would have to gamble that the locals weren't in league with Ramon or Padilla. With Lucia unconscious and twitching in her father's arms, it wasn't as if they had any other choice.
How had the world gone so insane? She was quite finished with excitement, thank you very much. She wanted a normal place to bring up her child, a place without fences or stone walls.
Please, please just let her child be all right.
Three hours ago, Lucia's screams of agony had dwindled to whimpers. Then she'd gone terrifyingly limp and silent, but for the occasional convulsive jerk. Lucas kept her cradled to his chest, blood soaking through his bandages as his wound reopened.
They'd spent two days worrying about Ramon and Padilla, watching for snakes, jaguars and heaven knows what else. Lucas had been prepared to shoot wild animals and criminals. Yet none of those threats ever materialized.
Instead, a stupid little spider had attacked.
The sun dropped the final inch into the horizon with tropical speed. Humid night blanketed them, the dim lights filtering from their orange stucco destination offering an unwavering beacon. "How will we know if this is the place?"
"We're told a certain phrase to say that sounds innocuous—"
"But is actually a code?"
"Right. I know what the answer should be to verify this is indeed a safe place."
What kind of life did Lucas lead? Not the everyday flyboy life she'd once thought. Perspiration trickled down her chest, itching. What an odd thing to notice now as they charged up the walkway to the arched side entrance.
With each outside step up to the second-floor apartment, she could sense Lucas growing more brusque. He transformed from the man who gently promised chocolate-covered bugs to a child into a distant soldier.
"Knock," he ordered, his arms full with their limp daughter.