Lucas studied the opening overhead that led to a crawl space under base billeting. He'd damn near torn the planks free with his hands, shouting for the security police.
Finally they discovered loosened boards that opened into the crawl space. The crawl space eventually fed into a holding chamber, a bomb shelter.
Where the hell was Sara?
Rescue teams were combing the jungle perimeter around the base. Helicopters were circling overhead with infrared cameras. Time was ticking away and he couldn't think of a thing more to do. He resisted the temptation to slam his fist into the dirt wall.
Damn it all, he needed to keep his head together, but he couldn't tamp down hellish images of Sara dead.
The scent of roses taunted him, reminding him of his plans to romance her. Instead, he'd been an idiot and walked out. Fate could not, absolutely could not be this cruel.
Fate? He'd always believed a man controlled his own destiny. That belief had pulled him out of his old neighborhood. That same belief had led him to blame himself when Sara was shot by rebels. He'd made a mistake. Hell, he knew that better than anyone. He'd never been able to accept that some things were beyond his control through fate, or the cosmos, or other people's free will at work.
Standing in a dank dungeon of a room, he realized there was absolutely nothing he could have done differently. Even if he'd stayed with Sara, who's to say he wouldn't have been asleep and knocked out? Or killed. They were on a base with guards posted, for God's sake.
No one could have foreseen this. Being totally helpless scared the crap out of him. And Sara had felt this way for five years.
Head falling forward against the chilly wall, he closed his eyes to focus his thoughts, search for an answer, any option other than just waiting. In and out he forced his breathing to regulate with his heart but the damned smell of roses kept teasing his senses. He opened his eyes, ready to haul out of the enclosed space so the scent could dissipate.
A small shadow—or dead bugs?—on the ground stopped him. He frowned, kneeling. Not a shadow or bugs at all. A cluster of rose petals lay at his feet.
If there had only been one, he may have written it off as having clung to his flight suit and dropped later. But a pile of petals? Sara had been here and left them as a message to him. A message he'd only been able to see once he stood still long enough to look. He would think more on that revelation later.>Heaven help them.
He would need a map, not a pathetic few dead petals that blended with the murky mud of the damp floor. But she didn't even have a knife for protection this time. Only her mind and the flowers she'd scooped into her pockets.
Ramon steered her forward, the light strapped to his head streaking ahead. "Hostages make powerful bargaining tools when dealing with the United States. They cared enough to come after you once, and that caring makes them vulnerable. That, I understand very well."
"They won't bargain with a criminal."
"One country's criminal is another country's freedom fighter. Regardless, they'll tread warily when they know there's a gun to your traitorous head."
Dios mio, he didn't care if she lived or died. Any tender feelings he may have once harbored in his twisted mind were gone now. She was nothing more than a traitor, a pawn to him and she knew full well what happened to traitors in his world.
She blinked through her shock—and saw him circle to face her, gun leveled at her chest.
No! Not yet. She wasn't ready. She needed to tell Lucas how much she loved him.
Shock stunned her still. Wasn't Ramon going to wait? This didn't make sense.
The scars on her body throbbed a reminder of bullets tearing through her flesh. The blinding pain that would come afterward. The sensation of her blood pumping free until the world went blurry except for Lucas's face over her, his voice all around her.
Ramon's gun rose higher, his actions silhouetted in shadow as she started toward him, the miner light glaring back at her. Higher? Over her head.
The butt rammed forward against her head.
Her world went fuzzy, except this time she saw only Ramon's face, heard his voice. "You thought you were so smart. But I will not trust that any woman is weak again."
She braced a hand on the moist muddy wall. Slippery. With her blood? No. Wet with humidity.
As she slid to the ground she saw two men, the second dressed in camouflage like Ramon. Or was that only Ramon? And if so, which one? If she chose wrong, her arm would slice through the image as easily as through a bubble.
But she had to try.
She struggled to lurch to her feet, but her body wouldn't obey and she collapsed to her knees.
Ramon knelt in front of her, his gun in her face. "Do not make me use this again to subdue you."
He tucked his shoulder in her stomach and hefted her up. Blood rushed to her head, the ground swaying.