Читать книгу Abducted - Dana Mentink - Страница 13

FOUR

The terrible command hung in the heated air.

Sarah’s face went pale as sea foam, and she clenched her hands into fists.

Jett stared down the men. If they expected him to be intimidated, they would be disappointed. He shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. “I see intelligence doesn’t rank high on the list of Senor Beretta’s job requirements.”

Miguel started forward again with the bat. “We should kill him now, Alex. Enough talk. Beat him until he begs for mercy.”

Jett felt Sarah’s hand clutching the back of his shirt.

It doesn’t matter what they do to me, he wanted to tell her. No one is ever going to see me beg. He’d seen enough of that in his mother, and it left a vile taste in his mouth. Her pleading for his father to stop, to quit drinking, to stop the beatings, to leave off the behavior that turned their home into a war zone. None of her begging had made the slightest difference.

He refocused, ignoring the burning in his stomach from the bat blow. Sarah was the important one right now. Marco had charged him with her safety, so it was time to bluff. Big-time. “Young is on death’s door, in case you haven’t noticed. If you serve up a fresh corpse to your boss, he’s not going to take that well, is he?”

“The coward’s just talking to try to save himself.” Miguel spat on the floor.

“A little testy, Miguel? Upset that I gave you that black eye earlier today? You shouldn’t drop your left hand. I was trained by a navy boxing champion, so I’m afraid I had a big advantage.” Marco had earned that championship honestly. The guy was a genius in the ring. He’d taught Jett plenty about fighting and life. Besides, it was a pleasure to rub salt in Miguel’s wounded pride, even though he could feel the dread rolling off Sarah at his goading.

Miguel glowered. “I will crush your skull.”

“Try,” Jett said. “It will be a moment you’ll never forget.” Big talk, since Jett’s head was pounding from the earlier fight and the bat strike had left him unable to draw a full breath. Still, there was enough anger burning through him that would fuel his muscles into delivering what his mouth had promised.

Miguel’s face pinched with rage. “You will die slowly, American.”

“And you will eat those words,” Jett said, enunciating each and every syllable so there was no mistake. They were six inches from each other now. He could read the hatred simmering in Miguel’s eyes. He hoped Miguel could see the same in his.

Alex held up a hand. “Un momento. Let me hear what this arrogant American says before we finish this.”

Sarah sucked in a breath, and Miguel grudgingly eased back a pace.

“Young is going to die without Sarah’s help—it’s that simple,” Jett said.

Alex shrugged. “We will get him medical assistance.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“We do have hospitals here in our country, in case you were not aware.” Alex’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

“I am aware, and the closest one with an MRI machine is Puerto Rosado. There will be a lot of people there asking questions, forms to fill out, the victim being an American and all.” Jett was guessing about Young’s citizenship, but he saw in Alex’s face that he’d hit the mark.

“The village doctor,” the third man said. “We will make him do the treatments.”

“He can’t help,” Sarah chimed in. “Young needs a brain scan. We don’t have the equipment here to do that.”

Jett saw Alex thinking it over. He made a show of looking at Young, who groaned softly. “Sounds pretty bad. He might even die before you get him to your truck, unless Sarah keeps up with the IVs and monitors his heart.”

“I can’t do it myself,” she said quickly. “I need an assistant, since you sent Juanita away.”

Alex waved at Miguel and his other companion. “We are not lacking for manpower.”

“Jett’s had navy medical training,” Sarah cut in. “He knows what to do if Mr. Young has a seizure or goes into cardiac arrest, and he can administer an IV if necessary.”

That much was true, but was it enough to convince Alex? The seconds ticked by in agonizing slow motion. Jett clenched his teeth. They had to let Sarah go with Young. It was the only way to keep her alive, at least until another escape avenue could present itself. He burned to go with her—she was too naive, too delicate to survive with these criminals—but if it was a choice between the two of them, he wanted her to live. The ferocity of his emotions surprised him, but then, he’d always longed for justice that never seemed to materialize. And Sarah—oh, how he’d longed for her.

It was not right for Sarah Gallagher to die here. She was good, and she deserved a happy life. She’d certainly deserved better than a rebel like him. She’d been smart to cut him loose during their senior year in high school, though he’d never admit it. Nor would he confess how the pain of that breakup hurt worse than any physical wound he’d ever experienced.

I love you, Jett, but you’re destroying yourself, and I just can’t bear to watch.

He shut down the feelings. Just a mission. He owed Marco, and Marco loved Sarah like a sister. Get the job done and get her home safely. That was all.

Young began to cough violently at that moment, and Sarah hastened over. “Jett, help me roll him.”

She could have performed the action fine by herself, but in order to make it look convincing, he eased Young onto his side, and the coughing turned to heavy gasps. Sarah looked helplessly at Alex. “His health is failing. Can’t you see that?”

Alex considered. “It’s a three-hour ride by truck from here to our destination.”

Which is...? Jett wondered. Where did this Beretta station himself? Not in a poor village like Playa del Oro, certainly. Somewhere isolated enough to give the criminal his privacy and accommodations worthy of his drug lord status. “Has Beretta got a little compound in the mountains?” Jett guessed. No reaction from the goons. “Going to be rough terrain, huh? Did you guys get hold of an ambulance so we can get Young there without worsening his head injury? Or were you planning to throw a gravely injured man in the back of a truck and hope he survives?”

Again, no reaction except for a slight shifting from the third guy.

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”

Alex came to a decision. “We will keep the nurse alive until we reach Senor Beretta.”

“And the man?” Miguel said. “Surely we can help the nurse if she needs it. It is too dangerous to let him live.”

Jett stared them down full-on. If they were expecting fear as they pronounced his sentence, they wouldn’t get it.

There was a long pause. Sarah blanched, hazel eyes like gemstones, startling against her pale skin. Jett continued to assess. If they decided to kill him, he would take down as many as he could until he fell. It might give Sarah a chance to run, hide somewhere.

Alex considered, eyes shifting from Sarah to Jett. “Act in haste, repent in leisure. Isn’t that the saying? Bind his hands and feet after they load Young into the truck. We’ll take all three with us.”

“But...” Miguel said.

Alex smiled. “I did not say you had to treat him gently, Miguel. Take some comfort in that, just don’t disable him completely. Now!” Alex snapped. “You two carry Young to the truck, quickly. We do not wish to attract any more attention than we already have.”

Jett let out a cautious breath. They’d scored a victory, even though it was only delaying the inevitable end. In his job as a navy explosive ordnance disposal technician, he’d learned how precious moments could be—seconds could mean the difference between a safe detonation and a catastrophe, going home to the woman who loved you or your life ending in a fine pink mist, according to the dark humor of the EODs.

They’d bought some moments. It would do for now.

He endured the blow Miguel gave him between the shoulder blades and helped Sarah gather up her supplies. Young moaned once more.

“It’s okay, Mr. Young. We’re going to take you somewhere now,” Sarah said, her voice as cheerful as he figured she could make it. There was no response.

Jett wondered if they were taking Young out of the frying pan and dropping him straight into the flames. It was a mercy that the guy was too out of it to realize what was happening.

As Jett readied himself to lift the stricken man onto the stretcher, he was thunderstruck as Young gave Sarah a slow wink before he closed his eyes again.

* * *

Sarah struggled hard to keep her fear in check as they carried Young to the back of a delivery truck and climbed up after him. She knew she was going to be delivered into the hands of a murderous man who ruled by intimidation. It was dark inside, hot as a furnace, but a small amount of light shone through a slatted ventilation panel in the roof. She did not take her gaze off Young for a moment, but he made no further signs of consciousness. Had she imagined the wink? But the quickly concealed surprise on Jett’s face indicated he’d witnessed the same thing. What if Young was not the helpless victim he appeared to be? Yet he was certainly not faking his injuries. The man was in dire medical straits, no question, but his last “fit” had been well timed and kept them both alive, at least for the next uncertain stretch of time.

Miguel sat on a wooden box lashed to the floor, a silent warden as the truck lurched away from the house where Juanita had made a deadly bargain for her father’s life. Though Sarah knew Jett wouldn’t see it the same way, the girl had not had a choice. What bargain would she have struck to save the lives of her family members? It was the kind of question that remained best unanswered.

Sarah tried to steady the stretcher against the heaving of the truck. On his knees, Jett attempted to help, though they’d tied his hands together in front of him with a plastic cord and done the same to his ankles. Helpless—all three of their fates were controlled by violent men with evil intentions.

She felt the tide of anger and darkness rise up inside her, fresh as it had been the moment when their car had been rammed by another six months prior, ending the life of her hero, her father. It was as if she could still feel the shards of glass flying around her, see her father’s arm braced on the dash, his other holding protectively to her shoulder as they’d skidded out of control. The terrible shriek of metal still rang in her ears when she let it. Pain, darkness, medicines and surgeries, and then she’d woken to find the horror was not a dream. Her father was dead.

It was unjust, unfair, unacceptable. Her hands balled into tight fists. Wasn’t her father’s death enough for her to endure? And her sister Angela’s recent encounter with a killer? How much was Sarah Gallagher expected to take? How much, God?

When it became too much, she forced a breath in and out, recalling the painful lesson she’d been learning since her father’s death. How many hours had she lain in the hospital with a broken pelvis and a punctured lung wrestling with God? It’s not about what you do or don’t deserve, Sarah Gallagher, it’s about seeking Him. Hard-won wisdom, excruciating to learn, difficult to hang onto. If it weren’t for the rock-solid love and faith of her three sisters and her mother, she might never have made it.

She wondered if her sisters even knew she and Jett had been snatched. They might not, if Juanita had been coerced into silence. And the police would not report her gone if it meant crossing Beretta. There might be no one looking for them at all.

She kept her eyes closed speaking silently to God, who she knew was there, even in the present terrifying circumstances. When she opened her eyes again, Jett was watching her, one eyebrow quirked.

“Still thinking God’s listening, huh?”

“He is.”

A quick flash of anger distorted his features. “Yeah? Then maybe you should ask Him why we’re in a truck with a half-dead guy on our way to visit a drug lord.”

“Silencio,” Miguel shouted, banging his bat on the metal floor.

Sarah jumped, and Jett leaned against the wall of the truck, bound feet and bound hands.

Bound heart, she found herself thinking, looking at his handsome face, so quick to flash the arrogant smile against the hurt she knew was inside him, a hurt rooted deep in his past. Those brown eyes, the tint of coffee, had sparkled with tears when she’d broken up with him. It was the only time she’d ever seen him close to crying. He’d proudly told her he never cried, even when his father, fueled by alcohol, would get out his wooden stick. No tears from Jett, but she’d cried oceans for him.

His lips were dry, she noticed, and she wanted to ask Miguel for some water, but she knew he wouldn’t provide any and Jett wouldn’t drink it anyway.

Again she closed her eyes, let the anger and fear settle as best she could, and resumed her prayers. The truck interior was stifling, but the jostling eased off half an hour into the journey. She gathered from the angle of the floor and the grinding of the truck gears that they were headed up a slope, ostensibly toward Beretta’s mountain compound.

Facts about Antonio Beretta were mixed with the local storytelling. Depending on the storyteller, he was either the son of a deposed Mexican president or perhaps a farmworker who had taken on the mantle of a drug lord by murdering anyone who got in his way. He provided gifts and favors to certain people, and he also arranged for the abduction and murder of his rivals and their family members. What was the truth? Sarah and Jett were about to find out. She swallowed, a painful motion against her parched throat.

A sudden lurch made her bang the back of her head on the truck’s metal siding. She grabbed hold of Young’s stretcher to hold it steady as the vehicle bucked and shimmied.

“Flat tire?” Jett suggested to Miguel. “You guys know how to change one? I can show you, if you don’t.”

She beamed Jett a hard look, which he returned with a lazy smile. She wished he would not antagonize the man with the baseball bat who craved an excuse to beat him senseless.

Miguel said nothing, and the truck rolled to a stop. He marched to the back, reaching for the handle when the door was suddenly rolled up from the outside. Sunlight streamed in, blinding them. Trying to shade her eyes, Sarah caught a glimpse of a gloved hand snatching Miguel out of the truck.

Jett struggled to his knees and crawled to Sarah.

“What’s happening?” she breathed.

There was a sound of shouting.

“Don’t know. Can you cut me loose?”

She searched her medical bag. “They took my scissors.”

“Use something else. Anything sharp. Fast.”

She pawed through her bag until a gunshot split the air. Then another.

Jett tensed, leaning close to her. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body, but it brought her no comfort.

Outside, the noises died away until all Sarah could hear was the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

“Who is out there?” she whispered, still searching for something to cut his restraints. She found a small blade in a plastic case. With fumbling fingers, she freed it.

“I can make out two men. Three, maybe.”

“The police?” Her heart leaped as she sawed away at the bands around his ankle. “Rodriguez must have figured out what happened and sent help.”

Jett stared into the sunlight. “Uh-uh.”

Sarah worked frantically with the blade, freeing his ankles. “Jett, what are you thinking? Who are those men?”

“EODs have a motto,” he said slowly. “Always Prepare for the Worst.”

“How could this situation get any worse?”

Jett put his bound hands on her shoulder and held on, as if he could somehow anchor her there away from the danger. She reached for his hands to try and release them from the zip tie. “Jett?” she asked urgently. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve got that feeling.”

“What feeling?”

“The kind of feeling I get right before something blows up.”