Читать книгу Trap, Secure - Carol Ericson - Страница 12

Chapter Three

The man’s eyes were slits now—aquamarine slits. How could someone’s eyes be so blue? But they were hard and cold. He didn’t believe her. She didn’t blame him.

He threw his head back and laughed. She shivered. His laugh was as cold as his eyes.

“You want me to believe you have no memory? You don’t know your name or who you are or what you’re doing on Nico Zendaris’s compound?”

She put a hand to her head and traced the bandage there. “I don’t want you to believe anything. That’s the truth, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

The man, Gage, jumped up from the lawn chair, knocking it to the ground. Then he swung around and jabbed a finger in her face. “This could go very badly for you.”

“Too late.” She covered her face with her hands.

She heard him shuffling on the patio, and as she peered at him through her fingers, he righted the chair. He took a seat across from her again, his knees touching hers.

“What do you remember?”

“Does this mean you believe me?”

“Thought you said that didn’t matter to you?”

She’d lied. If he believed her he’d help her, and God knows she needed help. If he didn’t believe her, he’d still help her, at least physically, but his eyes would remain cold every time he looked at her.

“The first thing I remember is coming to on those flagstones. My head hurt, my arm hurt. A strong impulse to get away overwhelmed me, so I started crawling.”

“Was anyone around you? Did you see anything or anyone?”

“No. I heard shouting from somewhere, but I now know those were your marines.”

“Green Berets, and they’re not mine.”

She shrugged and pain shot through her upper left arm. The man who’d treated her said she’d been grazed by a bullet. Why would anyone be shooting at her?

“Are you okay?” Gage half rose from his chair.

So he did care—a little bit. “It’s my arm. My head’s throbbing, too, so if that Green Beret left any ibuprofen in that case, I’ll take some.”

He slid the first-aid kit from the table and popped it open. He sorted through some small envelopes and pulled one free. “You’re in luck.”

He ripped the pack open for her and she downed two gel capsules.

“You don’t know Zendaris or what you’re doing here?”

“I don’t even know my own name. That other name means nothing to me. I don’t even know where I am.”

The impact of her statement sent a rush of nausea to the pit of her stomach, and she doubled over.

“You’re not well.”

“Would you be well if you woke up with no memory and a gunshot wound? Where am I? Who’s Zendaris?”

Her hands had been fluttering in front of her, and he captured them between his. “You’re in Colombia, not far from Barranquilla—at least that’s the nearest big city.”

Barranquilla. “Yo conozco Barranquilla. I know Barranquilla. I—I speak Spanish.”

He studied her with those blue eyes. Were they melting a little around the edges?

“Nico Zendaris is...a bad person.”

“What were you and your friends doing here? Were you going to arrest him?”

“Was he here to arrest?”

She closed her eyes. He still didn’t believe her. “How would I know that?”

He cocked his head, and a lock of brown hair fell over one eye. “Aren’t you curious to know what you were doing in the home of a man like Zendaris? A man who could inspire a raid by the U.S. Army Special Forces?”

“I’m curious about everything. Like why didn’t you leave with the others? Why did they defer to you when that other man, that captain, was obviously in charge of the military guys?”

The line of Gage’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like her questions. He liked her tears better, her sighs, her weakness. Tough. She couldn’t afford to be weak. She had to figure out who she was, what she was doing here and what Gage Booker wanted with her.

“That’s my business, and I’m not about to tell a potential criminal.”

“Can you help me figure out who I am?”

“Oh, I’ll help you. And once you get your memory back, if in fact you ever lost it, I’m going to proceed to pick your brain.”

“That’s something to look forward to.” She put on a sweet smile, even though it hurt her head to do so.

He snatched a full bottle of water from the table and downed half of it. “You’re Nico Zendaris’s lover.”

If he’d intended to shock her with his words, he’d be disappointed. She had no memory of being anyone’s lover and until she did, she’d take no responsibility for what that entailed.

“If you’re so certain I’m Zendaris’s girlfriend, why don’t you know my name?”

“Because we know very little about the man. We don’t even know what he looks like.” Reaching over, he dragged the black backpack toward his feet. He rummaged through the pack, pulled out a file folder and slipped a photograph from the folder. He dropped the picture on the table.

“This,” he tapped the picture with his finger, “is you.”

She hunched forward, squinting at the grainy color image of a man with a bushy mustache, sunglasses and a blue baseball cap, his arm around a tall, slim brunette.

She pulled back with a start, knocking over her bottle of water. Gage snatched the picture away from the spill.

“What’s wrong? That is you, isn’t it?”

“How the hell do I know?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even know what I look like.”

He searched her face, his blue gaze tracking across each of her features. “Against my better judgment, I’m beginning to believe you.”

He shoved back from his chair—this time it stayed upright—and extended his hand to her. “Come with me.”

What choice did she have at this point? She placed her hand in his, and when he curled his fingers around hers, a warm current flowed through her body. His touch felt like the only lifeline she had.

He snatched up his folder and led her into the house. The tiles felt cool against the soles of her bare feet. As she gazed at the crystal chandelier dripping from the high ceiling, Gage pulled her toward an ornate mirror gracing the hallway.

Turning her toward the mirror and standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. Her gaze scanned the woman in the reflection. Large, dark eyes stared back at her from a mocha-tinted face framed by wisps of brown hair coming loose from a ponytail. She knew Spanish because she obviously had some Latin blood.

Her eyes met his in the mirror. His gaze still held suspicions, doubts.

He held up the photo to the mirror. “Could be you, right?”

“He has his arm around the woman. Does that make her his girlfriend?”

He fumbled in the file folder he’d placed on a side table and withdrew another photo, same quality. In this photo, the man had the woman in a tight embrace, laying a passionate kiss on her lips.

She exhaled. “I see what you mean, but I’m sure there are lots of tall brunettes in the world.”

“Wearing this?” He dug into the pocket of his camos and pulled out a scarf with silver spangles threaded through it. He waved it next to the picture, and she noticed the woman in the picture sporting something similar around her neck.

“Where did you get that? I wasn’t wearing it when you found me.” She folded her arms across her chest and turned away from the mirror. She didn’t want to be some bad guy’s girlfriend. She didn’t feel like a bad guy’s girlfriend. Was he a drug dealer?

He jabbed his finger in the air. “I found this upstairs, right before I spotted you from the balcony. You must’ve been in that room, and left your scarf before trying to escape.”

“Who said I was trying to escape? Maybe someone pushed me. Someone obviously shot me.” Despite the warm night, a rash of goose bumps pebbled across her skin, and she hugged herself tighter. “I want to see this room.”

“Follow me.” He placed a booted foot on the first step of the curved staircase and reached out his hand to her. “Are you feeling okay? You look pale.”

“The ibuprofen helped the pain. Now I just want to know who I am.” She placed her hand in his. He must still be worried that she’d make a run for it, but the idea of running made her head spin even more.

They continued up the stairs, and she left her hand in his. She didn’t feel physically wobbly, but emotionally she was about to crack.

She gasped as she followed Gage into the room. Turning in a circle, she drank in the bright colors and cheery furniture. “This is a children’s playroom.”

“Yep.”

Picking up a book of fairy tales, she traced the edge with her finger. “Does this Zendaris have children?”

“We don’t know, but it sure looks like it.”

“Unless this room is for the children of his staff. This is a big place. He must support a lot of people living here.”

Gage gestured around the well-appointed room. “Seems kind of lavish for the staff, doesn’t it?”

She swallowed a painful lump. “Do you think Zendaris could have children with his...girlfriend?”

Gage’s eyebrows snapped together as if it had never occurred to him that she might be the mother of Zendaris’s children.

Her knees felt shaky and she sank into the armchair. Something about this room stirred emotions deep within her, plucked at her heartstrings. Could she be a mother?

She flipped open the cover of the book still clutched in her hand. Her fingers traced over some words in Spanish. “Look.”

Gage took two steps and hovered over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“It’s a note in Spanish. It says, To Randi, May you have a fairy-tale life, Love, Abuelita, little grandmother.”

Gage rubbed his chin, sprinkled with dark stubble. “Who’s Randi?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.” She followed the letters with her fingertip. “Could Randi be one of Zendaris’s children?”

“Then who’s Abuelita? Zendaris, as you can probably tell by his name, is not Latino.”

“The child’s maternal grandmother? Maybe they’re half-Colombian. Maybe that’s why they stay here.”

His hands dropped to her shoulders and the touch felt like a caress. “Are you up for a little more exploration before I get you out of here? I think you need to see a doctor.”

“A head doctor.”

“Maybe that, too.”

She rose from the chair and tucked the book under her arm. As she did so, she noticed a pair of sandals halfway under the chair. She put her hand on Gage’s corded forearm. “Wait.”

She slipped her feet into the sandals and grimaced. “Just like Cinderella.”

They poked their heads into one adjoining room. Little-girl decor—princesses, ballerinas and mermaids— overlooked a disheveled mess. Someone had tossed drawers and emptied closets. All personal effects had been stripped from the room.

They crossed the playroom to the other adjoining bedroom, and the same scene had been played out in the boy’s room.

Gage crossed the hall and she followed, her sandaled feet almost dragging. She didn’t want to see what awaited them in those rooms.

Gage pushed open a door, and a powerful, masculine aroma washed over her. The scent of musk made her head pound even more. The closet doors gaped open and empty hangers swayed back and forth. A neatly made-up king-size bed had a commanding position in the corner of the room, facing a flat-screen TV.

Had she slept in this bed with her children across the hall?

The room led to a large master bath and beyond the bathroom, another door beckoned. She stepped into the adjoining room and gripped the book so hard the edges dug into her palms.

This room had a distinctly feminine touch. It, too, had been ransacked, but clothes still hung in the closet. She crept toward the items and yanked a dress on its hanger from the rack. She held it up to her body and spun around to the full-length mirror.

“It’s a fit.” Gage came into the room with a scowl etched across his face.

Her cheeks warmed. Had she lived here in this house as man and wife with a drug dealer?

She tossed the dress onto the bed. “I still don’t remember anything.”

“Don’t you...Randi?” He pulled a small envelope from the dressing-table mirror and turned to wave it in her face. “They missed something when they ransacked the room.”

Her heart jumped as he pulled a slip of paper from the envelope.

He squinted at the note. “It says, Randi, almost made the trip south to see you when I was in Costa Rica, but remembered visitors aren’t welcome. Come home soon. Love, Jessica.”

“Is there a name and address on the envelope?” Randi must be her name. This was her room, her note. Now that she knew her first name, she’d like to know her last.

He flipped over the envelope. “Just has your first name in care of the Costa residence. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“No, but maybe this is the Costa residence. Maybe you got your signals crossed.”

“Not a chance.”

“What about the return address?”

“The envelope is ripped.” He fingered the corner of the envelope. “I can just make out the name—Jessica Lehman—and the postmark is from Houston, Texas.”

Randi’s throat thickened and she couldn’t swallow. She must have a grandmother somewhere and a friend in Houston. People who cared about her.

Where were they now? Would they be able to help her out of this mess?

She jumped when Gage placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’m sorry, Randi. This must be tough for you.”

She pulled back her shoulders and shrugged off his touch. She’d better not get too dependent on him. He wanted her to regain her memory so that he could pump her for information about Zendaris. Once he got what he wanted, he’d abandon her to whatever fate awaited cast-off lovers of drug dealers.

“Does this mean you believe me?”

“If you’re lying about having amnesia, you’re one hell of an actress, but—” he steepled his fingers and tapped them at the tips “—you could be an Academy Award winner.”

She brushed past him and scooped up an armful of clothing from the closet. “I’m not going out in the world without clothes.”

“Travel lightly. It’s a two-mile hike back to the chopper.”

She dumped the clothes on the bed and dove back into the closet for a bag or backpack. She dragged out a red duffel and flicked the tags on the strap. “Too bad there’s no full name and address. I might’ve been able to reclaim my life sooner rather than later.”

Gage spread his arms. “I think your life was here, Randi—and it left you.”

She dropped onto the edge of the bed, clutching the bag to her chest. “What if those kids across the hall are mine?”

“Then we’ll help you get them back.” He ducked into the closet and grabbed a pair of sneakers. “I think these will work better out in the jungle than those sandals.”

A half an hour later, they stood at the open gates to the compound. Gage had his backpack on his back and his large, black duffel strapped across his body. He’d broken down the scary-looking weapon and stashed it in the duffel.

He’d given her a small pack with a few bottles of water and medical supplies. He’d talked her into leaving the red bag and just stuffing a few items of clothing into his duffel.

“Are you sure you can do this? You just suffered a concussion.”

“I have no memory. What could possibly be worse?”

“Aggravating your injuries with physical exhaustion. We can stay here for a few days, and I can call in for help.”

She shifted the pack on her back. “I’m not staying here another minute.”

“Let me know if you get tired, and follow my footsteps. We’re still a long way from morning, and it’s still dark out here.”

She peered up through the canopy of trees. Even if the sun were rising, it would take a while for its light to reach them beneath the umbrella of branches and leaves.

Gage tromped through the foliage, his boots snapping twigs and crushing leaves along the way.

Randi followed, her mind, or what was left of it, whirring. If everything Gage had said about her was true, maybe she didn’t want to discover her real identity. But maybe her boyfriend had kept his illegal activities hidden from her. Maybe she didn’t know anything about his business.

That wouldn’t make Gage very happy. He’d be counting on her help once she regained her memory. If she claimed no knowledge of Zendaris’s drug empire, Gage wouldn’t believe her, anyway.

She wasn’t sure he believed her now.

Despite her injuries, the hike through the jungle hadn’t sapped her strength. Gage had stopped a few times for water, and it was enough to carry her through. She seemed to regain strength with each step away from the compound.

“We’re here.” He parted some branches for her, and she peered into a clearing. A helicopter beckoned, promising freedom and maybe an identity.

“You know how to fly this thing?”

“I do.”

“But you’re not U.S. Military.”

“I used to be.”

If he planned to grill her, she planned to give as good as she got. She’d drop it for now and let him concentrate on flying. “Where are we going?”

“First stop is a CIA compound in Panama. There’s a hospital there.”

He was CIA? “Then what?”

He hoisted the bags into the helicopter. “We’ll see.”

She shrugged out of the backpack, and Gage stored that next to the other two bags. Then he helped her into the helicopter and secured her seat belt, his hands lingering near her shoulders.

Had he wanted to touch her? Reassure her? She needed it but she’d ask nothing of him. Getting too close to this man would put her on dangerous ground.

He punched some buttons from the array in front of him and even on the ceiling of the chopper. When the blades started thwacking, she clenched the edge of the seat with clammy hands. The sound caused her insides to twist.

Gage pointed to the headphones hanging in front of her, and she slipped them onto her head. His voice purred intimately into her ears. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and gritted her teeth.

He fiddled with more dials and gadgets, and then flashed her a thumbs-up signal.

Just as the chopper lifted from the ground, a new barrage of noises assailed her. This time Gage swore into her ear, and she jerked her head toward him.

“What’s wrong?”

The helicopter shuddered and lunged into the air as the smell of fuel saturated the cabin. With his jaw clenched, Gage slammed a lever forward and the chopper jumped.

She tried again. “Gage, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Someone’s shooting at us.”