Show No Fear Page 13

  No wonder Lucy had cut ties with him shortly after the bombing. She’d been driven by the need to honor her friends’ memories, to avenge their deaths. Her own life, her own happiness didn’t matter, and, by association, neither did Gus’s, apparently.

  Maybe if she understood her motives, she’d pace herself and live a little longer. A healthy bond with another human being might even supply impetus to live life for herself, not just for her dead friends. He’d be the first to volunteer for that position.

  The realization of how susceptible his heart was had him stumbling over his own feet. He caught himself at the verge of falling off the trail into what he sensed was a ravine. Focus, damn it, before you get yourself killed!

  He forcibly shut down his thoughts, concentrating to follow the lantern bobbing up ahead of him.

  How far had they traveled already? It might have been several miles, or less than a mile. In the dark, he’d lost his sense of direction.

  He was just beginning to regret following Buitre when the sound of coarse laughter floated down from higher ground.

  Gus crouched, his heart beating faster. Buitre’s lantern broke right, pushing through branches up a sharp incline. Calls of welcome told him the deputy and the women were being received.

  Pausing to smear mud on his face, Gus backed into the vegetation. The only safe way to move through the undergrowth was butt first, keeping his eyes peeled for a guard on watch.

  The glow of Buitre’s lantern illumined a makeshift camp consisting of hammocks strung between trees and an empty fire pit. Gus counted ten men, including Buitre, milling around, buttering up the women, swilling some intoxicating drink out of canteens.

  These were the men who’d delivered beans the other day, Gus realized, recognizing their uniforms—plain green with no other markings whatsoever. He wondered who the hell they were.

  He needed to get closer. Covering ground with excruciating care, he removed sticks before they crackled and betrayed him. He was practically on top of the man standing guard before he even saw him.

  Shit! He froze, breaking into a cold sweat.

  The watchman stood with his back to a tree, his shape blending into shadow, making him virtually invisible. The Russian assault rifle in his arms had been adorned with leaves, so that it resembled a tree branch. The brim of his hat hid the whites of his eyes. For a shocked moment, Gus thought he was looking at a Special Forces soldier.

  He sure as hell wasn’t a teenaged rebel with a gun.

  Measuring his breathing, Gus kept perfectly still. The soldier, unable to resist peeking at the action in the camp, turned profile to watch what was going on. And the insignia on his broad-brimmed hat caught Gus’s eye.

  Red shield, black star.

  Jesus Christ, he had to be imagining it. These couldn’t be the Venezuelan Elite Guard, the same men U.S. Navy SEALs had trained a year ago, the fuckers who’d mauled Lucy in the warehouse.

  Gus’s scalp tightened. Gooseflesh rippled down his back. What other army bore that insignia? No one else, so far as he knew. Plus it made perfect sense to find the Elite Guard here in the jungles of Colombia. The populists had been arming the FARC for decades, backing the rebels in secret while denouncing them to the rest of the world.

  Wait until the CIA learned who was backing the FARC now! Jesus, God, it curdled Gus’s blood to think what these soldiers could teach the rebels—techniques taught to them by U.S. Navy SEALs. Tricks and tactics that could turn the tide of this revolution in the FARC’s favor forever.

  He had to inform the JIC as soon as possible. But crashing out of there was just as risky as getting closer. Besides, he wanted to be sure. Having trained the Elite Guard himself, he might recognize a face.

  With the man on watch distracted, Gus backed another yard closer and then another, making no more noise than a boa constrictor slithering toward its prey.

  At last, peering through the fronds of a fernlike plant, he glimpsed the orgy taking place around Buitre’s lantern. The poor females were outnumbered three to one. Jesus. He jerked his gaze from their humiliation, appalled by what they were being subjected to.

  Thoughts of Lucy in a similar position made his blood boil, made him sick to his stomach. Keep it cool, he ordered himself, focusing on the faces of the men grimacing with lust.

  To his disappointment, none of them looked familiar, except perhaps the one with the thin moustache. Was that the captain who’d taken such diligent notes in the class for officers only? It was hard to tell a full year later, harder still to ignore the guttural cries of pain tearing from the young girl beneath him. If he’d had his semi-automatic with him, he’d be so tempted to mow every man down.

  If any one of these pricks had been in the warehouse last year, that meant they might recognize Lucy if they saw her.

  Shit, shit, shit! This was exactly what he was afraid might happen. He needed to get hold of his teammates. Hopefully they’d insist on taking Lucy off the mountain. Nothing would make Gus happier. Nothing would piss off Lucy more, but a mad Lucy was better than a dead Lucy.

  First, though, he needed to pull back before the Elite Guards laid hands on him.

  One by one, the men were finding their fulfillment, further degrading the females by ejaculating on them.

  “Hey, Ponce, cover for me here so I can get a turn,” called the man on watch.

  “Take the bitch with the breasts like papayas,” urged his companion, crunching over to take his place.

  Now was Gus’s chance to flee. As the men traded places, he reversed direction, scuttling like a crab into the dark void. He crashed into a bush, turned, and scurried around it, slipping down the spongy ground on his butt.

  “What was that?” he heard one of the men ask.

  “Probably a tigre,” joked his companion, using the local word for jaguar. “Go on before the girl faints.”

  Their voices faded at the same time that the foliage abruptly cleared, and Gus found himself on the path.

  Now what? he wondered, coming slowly to his feet.

  It was so intensely dark he found it difficult to keep his balance. Sliding one foot forward, he inched into what he believed was the right direction only to bump into a tree. He modified and tried again, eventually hitting a wall of rock.

  At last, when the sounds of the camp had faded, he sat on the path and removed the sat phone from his boot, powering it on. Faint blue light drove back the darkness. He replaced the heel and stood up, hoping for a signal.

  Of course not. Apparently the only way to ping the satellite with this piece-of-shit technology was to stand in a clearing. He’d have to try again when he got back to camp, and the only way to get there was to use the phone as a flashlight, which would drain the battery.

  But he still had a backup battery in the other boot.

  Pointing the display in front of him, he started walking.

  A crash of thunder made him jump. In the next minute, rain poured down on him like water coursing through a million drain pipes.

  It was all he could do to keep the phone dry while using it to guide him back to camp.

  FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME, Lucy peeked outside for any sign of Gus’s return. Lightning crackled, illumining the cluster of ugly buildings and the clearing by the trail. She realized David was manning the fifty-caliber machine gun tonight.

  Crouched under a tarp, he did his best to ward off raindrops as they pelted the muddy ground around him.

  What was taking Gus so long? How would he find his way back in this deluge? Worry knotted her intestines. He was probably hunkered down somewhere, she reasoned, waiting the rain out. She forced herself to lie back down, aware that she was giving herself a headache.

  Damn it, no wonder she preferred to work alone.

  Minutes later, she shot to her elbows. She hadn’t heard or felt a thing, but she sensed Gus’s approach. The leafy flap twitched, and a dark shadow crept into the bungalow, easing under their blinds to stream water onto their cubby floor.

  She co
uld hear his teeth chattering. Shaking off the covers, she ducked under the mosquito net to help him peel off his sodden clothing—boots, socks, jacket, T-shirt, pants, everything. She diligently hung them up as he huddled on the floor, shivering.

  Then she drew him into their nest, tossing the blanket over them both as she wrapped her body around his, speeding him to recovery.

  Moment by moment, his shudders subsided but his tension did not. “Better?” she asked.

  “I’m good.”

  “What did you find out?”

  He hesitated, notching her concern higher. “You know those guys in the pea green uniforms who brought the bags of beans the other day?”

  “Of course.”

  “I found out who they are,” he told her grimly.

  “Who?” Dread made her skin feel tight. She knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

  “Venezuelan Elite Guard,” he corroborated.

  Lucy’s blood flashed from hot to cold. In her mind’s eye the lieutenant’s fist slammed into her face, making her flinch.

  “Luce, I think you should leave the mountain,” he added flatly. “We can’t risk you running into these guys.”

  “What? No, I’m not going to leave.” The idea was unacceptable, regardless of the fear chasing through her.

  “Listen to me. What if we run into these guys and one of them recognizes you? What then?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” she hissed. “The last thing the FARC want is for our UN team to discover who’s aiding them.”

  “We can’t take the chance.”

  “No!” She shoved at his chest, pushing him onto his back as she straddled him, asserting her dominance. “I won’t let you do that.”

  “I already made the call,” he retorted grimly. “My guys are clearing it with the station chief.”

  Lucy glared down at him. “You did that without asking me?” she breathed, outraged but at the same time painfully aware of his naked body trapped between her thighs.

  In the cubby next to theirs, Carlos hushed them.

  They both froze, dismayed to have been overheard. Catching Lucy’s face in his hands, Gus pulled her ear to his mouth. “If anything happens to you, Luce, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  It was hard to cling to her anger in the face of such loyalty. Teamwork was clearly serious business. “Nothing’s going to happen,” she reassured him. “How would you explain my sudden departure? It’s not like I can just hop on the next bus out of here,” she added hoarsely. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Jay and Mike.” If she ran away like a coward, she would never get her courage back. She’d be all washed up. “Don’t you see?”

  The hands on her face slid through the skeins of her hair, over the tops of her shoulders and lower to cup her breasts with reverence. “I want to see,” he murmured convincingly.

  Beneath her bra and T-shirt, Lucy’s nipples pearled with a sudden stab of desire. She wasn’t above persuading him to get what she wanted. In this position, she had all the influence she needed. “You would keep me safe,” she avowed, lowering her lips to bestow on him a toe-curling, promising kiss. “Wouldn’t you?” she demanded, rubbing herself enticingly against him.

  His breath caught. “Yes,” he admitted hoarsely.

  Sitting up, she stripped off her T-shirt and bra, leaving her nearly as naked as he was. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me,” she whispered in his ear, nipping his earlobe before offering him her breasts.

  As he licked and suckled them, she reveled in the silken heat rising between her thighs. With an overwhelming desire to seduce him, she scooted back on her knees, clasped his turgid length, and pleasured him until a helpless shudder racked his frame.

  There would be no gentleness this time, she assured herself, no danger of disgrace, no recalling another lifetime, another place.

  She worked him over till his breath grew ragged, his muscles convulsed. Not yet, big boy. Slipping off her panties, she climbed the length of his body to assuage the hunger building inside her. Swallowing a moan, she sheathed him fully, then she rode him hard, taking what his body offered to find fulfillment.

  “Kiss me,” he urged, but she refused, wary of the tenderness his kisses evoked.

  But she couldn’t prevent him from rolling her nipples gently. He slicked his thumb into the sensitive folds spread wide to him, finding with unerring accuracy the center of her pleasure, speeding her heart rate, spurring her toward her release.

  Just as she approached the point of crisis, he jerked to a sitting position, pulled her hips to his, and delved his tongue into her mouth, prompting the wave to crash over her. She came violently and helplessly, moaning into his mouth as he convulsed deep within her, mirroring her pleasure.

  Keeping their bodies joined, he rolled her under him, put his mouth to her ear, and whispered without rancor, “You can’t manipulate me like some stranger, Luce. I’m your partner. I know you too well.”

  And there it was, laid bare. Her stock in trade was lies and subterfuge, but Gus would accept nothing less than who she really was. No agendas, no plots, no secrets.

  Relief she didn’t understand rose up within her, bringing a flood of tears to her eyes. Oh, God, not again. She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to acknowledge that his words had such a strange and powerful effect on her.

  For a long moment, he simply held her, gazing down at her as she fought to keep her tears from escaping, scarcely daring to breathe as he painted invisible lines upon her face.

  “Okay,” he admitted gruffly, at last. “You can stay,” he added, “if the station chief allows it.”

  Lucy snatched her eyes open, hoping the dark would conceal the moisture in them. “Promise?” she asked, transported by a sense of gratitude and belonging, feelings she hadn’t felt in so long.

  He took his time answering as he settled down beside her. “I promise,” he finally replied, pulling her into the circle of his arms. Only he didn’t sound too happy with his decision.

  CHAPTER 11

  The cry of a masked mountain tanager snatched David’s head off the pile of sandbags. The rain had passed, leaving him shivering under a plastic tarp, sitting on a stool in a puddle of mud.

  Bleary-eyed, he watched the iridescent blue bird shoot through rays of sunlight combing through the trees. Wiping drool from the corner of his mouth, he shook off the tarp and cut a surreptitious glance toward the quiet camp, hoping no one had caught him sleeping.

  Up into the hours of dawn, David had debated whether or not to share his observations with the deputy. Buitre was ten years his senior, with combat experience that made him dangerous, quick to pull the trigger. Yet they had shared confidences before. Six months ago, Buitre explained to David how the FARC intended to make a comeback. They had offered the Venezuelans their remaining coca processing plants in exchange for military training and supplies. From that point forward, the FARC’s focus had shifted from profit to revolt.

  David’s dream of an honorable revolution seemed to be taking shape before his very eyes.

  A flash of movement up the trail caught his notice, and he called the standard warning, relieved to hear Buitre’s reply. The deputy strode into view, pulling Carmen, Maife, and Petra behind him, strung together by a rope.

  The girls kept their eyes downcast, their shoulders bowed. David took one look at them and wavered. Could he trust the judgment of a man as unfeeling as Buitre? He liked Luna and Gustavo. He didn’t want to see them tortured or killed. He certainly didn’t want to see them taken hostage, for that was a tactic of the FARC that he abhorred as much as the selling of cocaine.

  On the other hand, he had a dream, a vision that Colombia would, in his lifetime, be ruled by a just Marxist government, one that made no distinction between Indian or blanco. He could not allow any outsiders to interfere. “Deputy Buitre,” he called, summoning his superior.

  Freeing the women, Buitre altered course to cast his shadow over him. “What is it, Squad Commander?” />
  David’s mouth turned dry. For a second, he questioned his suspicions. But then, he was certain of what he’d seen and heard. “It’s the couple on the UN team, sir. I think you were right to say they are different than the others.”

  Buitre frowned. “Go on,” he urged as David dug for courage.

  “I’ve overheard them speaking English—twice. American English,” he qualified.

  The deputy’s eyes narrowed into dark, suspicious slits. “Are you certain?” he demanded.

  “Yes, sir. There were Americans at my university. I used to practice English with them.”

  “What else?” Buitre snapped, guessing that there was more.

  David’s heart beat uncomfortably fast. He hated telling tales, and yet…He had his dream to protect. “I caught the woman leaving your quarters at dawn the other day, soon after you left to meet with the Venezuelans. She claimed the older lady was sick and she was looking for the medicine you took from her backpack.”

  Buitre’s scar paled. His fists curled. “How long was she in my quarters?” he asked, flashing a malignant look at the bungalow.

  “I don’t know, sir,” David answered. “When I saw her, she had just stepped out.”

  “Did she take anything?”

  “I saw nothing in her hands.”

  With an angry growl, and not a single word of thanks, Buitre turned and stalked to the little shelter. David winced as he made to kick a wandering chicken from his path, only the bird scuttled wisely out of harm’s way.

  A knot of anxiety coiled in David’s gut. What now? He had every right to protect his dream, especially now with the revolution to be waged in more honorable ways. Yet he feared Buitre’s temper would cloud his judgment and the Americans—if that was what they were—would pay with their lives.

  BUITRE FLIPPED THE SWITCH on his generator, shattering the camp’s peaceful quiet. Normally, he roused the troops at dawn with a harsh call for muster, but David’s confession had fixed his thoughts on the possibility Luna and Gustavo were spies. He pushed into his quarters, peering suspiciously around the cramped, musty space.