They reached the small town by early afternoon. Siesta time, when curious eyes would be few. It meant taking his companions in circles as they made it down the last bit of the mountain, and he suspected that Sister Beth had noticed. She didn’t say anything, though, simply trudged on with her bandaged feet, and if they’d been alone he would have offered to carry her. She would have refused.
No, scratch that. If they were alone he would have already fucked her, and she’d be more than happy to curl up in his arms again.
But they weren’t alone, and in the end it was a good thing. Civilization held working girls, and he could leave the almost-virgin alone, returning her home in pristine, unsoiled condition. The money would be more than enough compensation.
He went ahead, checking out the small cantina, asking the right questions, passing the right amount of money, before he went back and retrieved his charges. The cantina was only a bar and there was no hotel, but outside of town lay an abandoned mission. Haunted, the innkeeper told him, which sounded good to MacGowan. Ghosts kept nosy villagers away, and they could rest for a day or two before finding some kind of vehicle to get them out of there. He was going to have to steal one – these places had no transportation to spare, but he was careful not to signal his intentions, disappearing back into the jungle without a word.
He checked the knife wound on his way back. He’d done his best to keep it hidden from curious eyes, and the bleeding had stopped a while ago. He’d packed the slice on his ribs with soft cotton that looked reasonably clean, and he had no intention of letting either of his companions know about it. They didn’t need to be worrying about him – thi
ngs were tenuous enough. There was an infirmary at the abandoned mission, and he could patch himself up there when no one was looking.
He took them the long way around, bypassing the village until they came to edge of the mission. Dylan was too tired to bitch, and Beth’s eyes were glazed with exhaustion until he stopped at the edge of one of the buildings that had clearly been used as a hospital. She raised her face, and all color drained from her face.
“No,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“What’s your problem?” he drawled, annoyed “The place is abandoned, there are beds and a roof and we can probably even find some food. It hasn’t been abandoned for more than a few days . . .”
“No,” she said again, and it finally clicked.
Dylan had already pushed ahead of her, disappearing into the building in search of God knew what, and MacGowan stared at her, momentarily uncertain what to do. Of all the damned luck, to have brought her back to the place they took her. He’d heard the kid talking about the attack, bragging about what he’d done. He knew that Sister Beth, for all her elegant calm, had witnessed some of that slaughter, had known the victims. She’d put up with everything he’d thrown at her, mostly without complaint, even been stupid enough to have tried to save his life. He’d finally found the one thing that could break her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and those words never came easily when he actually meant them, as he did now. “I didn’t realize this was your mission. The man at the cantina said they gave the old priest and the women a decent burial, and the whole village attended, for what that’s worth. But there’s nothing you can do for them now, and this is our best, safest chance. You can’t walk any further, I’m about to pass out from hunger, and God knows what Dylan’s likely to do. We have to stop, at least for one night.”
“I can’t go in there.”
“Yes, you can. There are no such things as ghosts, sweetheart. And if there were, don’t you think they’d be on your side?”(
She turned on him, her sweet eyes suddenly blazing. “Don’t you understand? I failed them. I was in the schoolroom while they were being slaughtered, and if Carlos didn’t know I was worth money I would have been dead too. Once again I get to buy myself out of trouble while other people, innocent, good people pay the price.”
He looked down at her, and shrugged. “Life’s a bitch, lady. If you want to sleep outside you can, but I wouldn’t recommend it. There are nasty things that can roam around villages. So you were lucky enough to be born with a shitload of money. Cheers. When you get back give it all away if it makes you feel that guilty. After you pay me for rescuing you, of course. But in the meantime pick up your feet and get your butt inside before anyone notices we’re here.”
Her mouth was set in a mulish expression he hadn’t seen before, so he simply sighed, moved toward her and slung her over his shoulder before she had time to argue. She pounded on his back, and he cursed when she hit the knife wound he’d been so careful to hide, but he simply continued up the steps, ignoring her, slamming the door after them.
He set her down, keeping a hand on her in case she decided to bolt. He hadn’t needed that extra abuse on his ribs, and he certainly didn’t need to be running after her, but after glaring at him she settled into a sullen, acquiescent silence.
“Where’s the infirmary?”
That caught her nosey interest. “It’s the building right next to this one. This is the school, the one next to it is the hospital, and beyond that are the dormitories.”
“That where you slept?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll be able to find clean clothes. Does this place come with electricity or hot water?”
“It did,” she said after a moment. “Father Pascal was trying to fix the generator when he was cut down.”
“Maybe I’ll see what I can do with it.”
“No!”
He’d released her arm, but she simply grabbed his hand. “Why, Sister Beth, I do believe you’re worried about me. I promise you that the rebels who attacked here are long gone, and if any of them lingered they wouldn’t be likely to get the drop on me. I’m a far cry from your gentle priest.” He was hoping to coax a smile at the absurd comparison, or at least a relaxation of her death grip, but she didn’t move.
“I don’t know what we’d do if you were killed.”
He covered her hand with his, slowly detaching her death grip. “Well, darling, I’ll tell you,” he said, “if someone managed to sneak up on me and slit my throat, then I think you’d both already be dead, seeing as the two of you are much easier targets, so there’s nothing to worry about. If by some miracle I get murdered and you escape, then it’s simple. You steal a car – I’m willing to bet young Dylan knows how to hotwire an engine. You head east, to the nearest port city, which I suspect will be Puerto Claro, and get on the next plane, boat, or surfboard you can find and get the hell out of Dodge. And when you get home raise a glass of the good Irish in my memory.”
“No.”