Читать книгу In the Enemy's Arms - Marilyn Pappano - Страница 7

Cate protested leaving her suitcase in the locked wire basket at the dive shop. She didn’t care if people stowed thousands of dollars’ worth of gear there on a daily basis. The items in that bag were all she had on the island with her. The stethoscope tucked into her medical bag in the suitcase was the best for picking up subtle heart sounds; it had been a med school graduation gift from her parents, and she wasn’t sure she could even hear anymore on lesser models. She didn’t wear much makeup, but what she wore would cost an arm and a leg to replace, and her favorite well-broken-in sneakers were in there, too. So was her Kindle, and the sunblock that would keep her from self-combusting under the tropical sun.

“You can’t go around dragging a suitcase without drawing attention,” Justin said. He secured the lock, then hung the key on its cord over his neck and slid it under his shirt. “Have you eaten? I haven’t eaten. Let’s get some lunch. And a drink. Or three.”

Scowling, Cate watched him saunter away before jogging to catch up. She grabbed his arm, slowing him enough to ease around in front of him and block his way at the base of the stairs. “Have you forgotten? Trent and Susanna have gone missing, La Casa is abandoned and someone shot at us!”

That one was still giving her palpitations at odd moments. She’d treated more than her share of gunshot wounds, but never, ever had she imagined that she could come that close to being the target of one herself. She’d felt the bullet pass her face, had felt the spray of dust as it bit into the concrete wall.

Justin was stubbornness in human form. “They’re not missing. They’re taking a break. They’re relaxing somewhere, sleeping off a big lunch, and now I need a big lunch. If you want to fast until they get back, feel free. You can keep me company while I eat.” Stepping around her, he started up the steep flight of stairs that led to the pedestrian bridge.

“Lazy, spoiled, self-centered,” she mumbled, staying a few steps behind him.

They reached the bridge, and she broke off muttering. Ahead of them was a hotel, the grass lush-green, palm trees and flowers everywhere, the swimming pool glittering brightly next to a thatch-roofed restaurant. Behind them was the water, dotted with boats, the most amazing blue-green hue she’d ever seen. With the warm sun, the gentle breezes, the rustle of palm fronds and that incredible water, it was…

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Justin’s voice was low and coming from right behind her, resonant, as it usually was, with self-satisfaction. But in this case, she couldn’t hold it against him. “The mainland’s over there. See those buildings? That’s Playa del Carmen.” He pointed, his forearm resting on her shoulder, bringing with it the mixed fragrances of sunshine and cologne. He smelled as expensive as he looked and, touristy T-shirt aside, he did look expensive.

And handsome, all golds and tans and browns, like some sort of tropical sun god.

She squeezed her eyes shut, chastising herself, blaming him. She wasn’t a foolish romantic. She preferred substance over form. She’d had her heart broken once before by a man so exactly like him they could be twins, and she’d learned her lesson. She wouldn’t repeat the past.

Besides, she didn’t even like the man, nor he her, and she was taking a self-imposed break from any kind of relationship, even with men she did like.

“This isn’t your first trip to Cozumel, is it?”

And there was a timely reminder of the man Justin Seavers was. “You know it isn’t. Trent and I came here on our honeymoon. We stayed at a hotel down there—” she pointed to the right “—all the way at the tip of the island, and he had a fling with not one but two women who worked there. I’m sure he told you all about it when we got home.”

For an instant, she thought she saw regret on his face, but his features shuttered so quickly, she was sure she must have been mistaken. He shifted away, then began walking again. She felt vaguely…guilty as she followed him.

On the opposite side of the bridge, a few steps led to the pool area, then a few steps more into the restaurant. It was open to the air, few walls, with an uncovered patio that held a scattering of tables. Justin headed in that direction, choosing a seat where he faced the ocean and the street.

“They’ve got great burgers here,” he said, his voice level as the waiter brought chips, salsa and menus.

“I didn’t come to Cozumel to eat a hamburger.” She didn’t realize how snippy she sounded until he replied.

“No, you came to find an outlet for that relentless dogooder side of yours, to show people that you’re more compassionate than they are and—” he accepted a bottle of water from the waiter and twisted the cap off before raising it in a toast “—to spend some quality time with your ex-husband.”

Cate didn’t know whether to be insulted, dumbfounded or amused as he swigged the water. She did have a do-gooder side. She wasn’t nearly as giving as Susanna, but she donated her time and expertise when she could. She wasn’t trying to put on a display of compassion. Most people back home in Copper Lake, Georgia, didn’t have a clue about her volunteer activities, and she certainly didn’t care whether strangers in another country were impressed with her. As for the last…

The sound that finally escaped was as much snort as laughter. “I gave up on quality time—any time—with Trent about five years before the divorce. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s in love with Susanna. In case you hadn’t noticed, he hasn’t been in love with me for years, if he ever was.”

She’d thought he was, once upon a time. He’d thought he was. But Justin never had.

Uncomfortably, she drank some water while studying the menu. Everything sounded so good, including the hamburger he’d recommended, but by the time the waiter returned, she’d settled on seviche. Shrimp, fish and conch cooked by way of chemical reaction—there was a dish she couldn’t find at home in Copper Lake.

Silence settled over the table after the waiter took their orders. She snacked on the chips and chunky salsa and watched the birds searching for treats on the patio. Justin watched the traffic on the street. To anyone who bothered to notice them, they probably looked like just another pair of tourists instead of two people who’d known each other thirteen years and had run out of civil things to say about ten minutes after they’d met.

Thirteen years. A long time. She’d been a sophomore at the University of Georgia at Athens. Justin and Trent had been juniors, despite the lack of attention they’d paid to their classes. College had been a four-year vacation for them, paid for by their families, with the only expectation that they earn a degree—not necessarily one they would use.

Expectations for after college had been slim, too. While Cate had studied her butt off in medical school, Trent had traveled—skiing in Colorado, cruising the Mediterranean, diving around the world—and Justin had gone with him. Her third and fourth years she’d spent days in clinical rotations and nights in the med school library, cramming data about each monthly specialty into her weary brain, and they’d gone mountain climbing in Nepal and surfing in Australia. Trent had barely made it back from China for her graduation, literally walking in the door of her apartment as she and her parents were walking out.

She was basking in self-pity, she realized, and that wasn’t her style. So what if she’d begun her medical career with a grand total of $342,769 in debt? Who cared if they’d been out seeing the world while she’d worked so hard? She was a doctor. The only thing she’d ever wanted to do in her life.

Besides, Trent had paid off that debt as a divorce gift.

Yes, other husbands gave their wives wedding and anniversary gifts. Hers had rewarded her for putting up with him as long as she had.

“What did GayAnne tell you?”

Her gaze shifted to Justin, leaned back in his chair, wearing sunglasses that had come from nowhere. The backpack, she realized. He hadn’t left it locked up at the dive shop with her suitcase. “Nothing. Just that everyone was gone and she was leaving, too. Where are they?”

His only response was a shrug so lazy, so arrogant, that she wanted to smack him. She curled her fingers around the water bottle to make it harder to reach across the table and do just that. “Knock it off, Justin. The volunteers have fled. The girls are gone. The local employees are gone. Susanna and Trent are gone. You know damn well they wouldn’t just take off on a whim. La Casa is too important to Susanna, and she’s too important to Trent. Something has happened, and you at least have an idea what or Trent wouldn’t have told me to call you.”

Another long swig of water, another lazy shrug. “Maybe he’s trying to set us up together.”

Cate sat back. The idea was ludicrous. As if Trent would wish her on his best friend, or vice versa. As if she would willingly stay five minutes in the room with Justin if she wasn’t forced to. She didn’t like him at all, but she liked him best when he was on another continent, and Trent was well aware of that.

She loaded her voice with scorn. “Come on, Justin. Tell me what the hell is going on so I can—”

His cell phone rang, and he raised one hand impe riously to stop her while he answered it. Rude, obnoxious, self-centered. She fumed as the waiter approached and set a plate in front of each of them. Immediately her stomach growled, overriding her annoyance. It had been a long time since breakfast, and she needed to refuel in order to deal with her present company.

The seviche looked incredible; the hamburger Justin had ordered smelled even more so. She dug in, closing her eyes briefly at the first mild, sweet, spicy, limey flavors, silencing the low mmm of satisfaction that hummed through her. If she’d been with her last serious boyfriend, AJ Decker—the cop who’d gone and fallen in love with his ex-partner while Cate wasn’t looking— she would have immediately picked up another forkful and insisted he taste it. She didn’t offer Justin anything.

Silence followed his hello for a moment, then his mouth tightened. The muscles in his fingers holding the phone contracted, too. He didn’t look pleased.

Fear niggled in her belly, but it didn’t slow her eating. She wasn’t one of those people whose appetite came and went based on their emotions. Maybe it had to do with the pace of working in the E.R.; maybe it was a leftover from the frenetic medical school years, but when it was time to eat, she ate. She could do salvage work on a kid’s leg dangling by a shred after a bicycle–pickup truck run-in, then go to the break room, wash up and eat a substantial meal of spaghetti and meatballs.

Besides, this call that displeased Justin could be about any number of things other than Trent and Susanna. Someone could have dinged his Ferrari back home in Alabama. A banking mistake could have temporarily delayed a payout from one of his multiple trust funds into his checking account. The housekeeper could have forgotten to vacuum backward out of his living room so she didn’t leave footsteps behind.

Best friend or not, Trent was only a small part of the universe that revolved around Justin.

And she didn’t register in that universe at all, except as a very minor nuisance. She’d learned that years ago and would never forget.

Bracing the phone between his ear and shoulder, Justin picked up the knife and cut the burger in half, then fished off the lettuce from one half. The call hadn’t started off good: the caller ID screen had shown the number as unavailable. He rarely took those sorts of calls; with his money, his family and his reputation, there were way more people trying to contact him than he wanted to talk to. Under the circumstances, though…

The caller was a man, his voice heavily accented but easy to understand. I saw you at La Casa para Nuestras Hijas, Mr. Seavers. I was warned you might be in the vicinity.

Justin hadn’t recognized any of the men in the black sedan, but why would he? He didn’t generally hang out with thugs…though apparently he’d been somewhat friendly with men who hired thugs. How was it that he’d never heard even a hint of gossip about the seamier side of Joseph and Lucas Wallace’s activities back in the States?

Because they hired discreet thugs, he thought grimly.

“What was in the backpack you took from La Casa?”

The man’s question echoed in his head, and he worked to sound careless, more to impress Cate than the caller. He wanted rid of her, and the only way to do that was make her believe that everything was okay with Trent and Susanna. “Just stuff I need. You know, some thing to read, a change of clothes—things that don’t fit in my pockets.”

“You mean, things you took from La Casa. Things that don’t belong to you. I want them.”

Justin glanced at Cate and locked gazes with her. She was eating as if she didn’t have a care in the world, but she was also watching him shrewdly. So far, she’d believed pretty much nothing that he’d told her, and this conversation was definitely going to make her doubt him even more and make her that much more of a problem. Sliding his chair back, he left the table and walked to the low wall that separated patio from driveway. There he couldn’t smell the tantalizing burger or the seviche for the sweet heavy fragrance of yellow flowers that vined the wall.

His voice flat, he said, “Nothing in my pack belongs to you, either. What have you done with Trent and Susanna?”

“Mr. Calloway and Ms. Hunter are fine, for the moment. But that won’t last if my employers don’t recover the property Ms. Hunter took.”

That damn flash drive. Susanna hadn’t stolen the files contained on it entirely on her own. Justin had met her in the stairwell at the Wallaces’ office building, taken the drive and disappeared while she returned to the offices for a meeting with Lucas.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justin lied. “Maybe your boss just misplaced whatever he’s missing, because I’m pretty sure Susanna would never take anything that wasn’t hers. She’s such a goody-goody.”

“We’ve searched her, Mr. Calloway and La Casa. That leaves you. Any time Ms. Hunter has problems, she turns to you, and we know you were on the island that day.”

Sensing movement behind him, Justin shifted. He half expected Cate, eavesdropping, but instead it was a tiny clubfooted bird, hopping around in search of tidbits. Cate still sat at the table, still eating, still watching him. Keeping her in his peripheral vision, he turned his gaze to the street, where one ancient VW Bug after another chugged past.

“What is it your boss thinks is missing? Susanna’s taste is too good to pilfer any of that tacky art in the reception area, though I admit her purses are big enough to hide a piece. Or was it maybe something smaller? Did they leave a few grand in cash lying around that day? Or did it have sentimental value, like the gold lighter presented to Great-Grandfather Lucifer by President What’s-His-Name a hundred years ago?”

His attitude was pissing off the man. It showed in the tightening of his voice. “Records,” he said precisely. “She took records, and we want them back. Give them to us, and your friends will be released unharmed. Continue to hide the records, and they will pay the price. Call the authorities in your country or mine, and they will pay the price. Stand in our way, and you will pay the price. Do you know how my employers dealt with the last person who stole from them? Take a look at the photograph I just sent you.”

Frowning, Justin watched the photo download, then his stomach heaved. It was difficult to say if the body lying on the sand was male or female, young or old. All he could say for sure was that he or she had spent some time in the ocean, the main course for a feeding frenzy among its residents. Please, God, after drowning first.

“By the way, Mr. Seavers, everything I’ve just told you applies to Dr. Calloway, as well.”

“She doesn’t know—” He broke off his automatic denial. Damn! They’d been watching for her, too. The Wallaces must have known she was due back for one of her medical clinics. Whether they believed she knew anything was a moot point. She was here, and she’d been at La Casa. As far as the Wallaces were concerned, that meant she was involved. He could try putting her on an airplane back to Georgia or a cruise ship to nowhere, but she wouldn’t be safe. As long as the Wallaces thought their business was in danger, so was Cate. He was stuck with her.

“Dr. Calloway doesn’t have a clue about anything that happens outside her emergency room. Healthy, uninjured people don’t interest her.”

“Then if you both follow my instructions, her stay on the island should be quite uneventful. Now, do you know where the records are?”

Justin hesitated. If he lied and said no, the bastard wouldn’t believe him. If he lied and said he had them, they’d want to set up an exchange, and he doubted seriously that the Wallaces intended to let any of them walk away from this. The fact that the man wasn’t worried about any copies of the documents they might have made indicated that.

So he told a close version of the truth. “Not exactly. I’ve got some ideas.”

“I suggest you start looking. I’ll be in touch again soon. Oh, and Mr. Seavers—when you have the documents, don’t bother making any copies. Keep your phone charged and nearby.”

As the call ended, Justin stared across the street, where a cruise ship was making its way slowly to port. The Wallaces wanted the files back but weren’t worried about copies. Why?

True, the files were encrypted, but Garcia, one of his buddies in Mississippi, was working on that. She’d hacked into far better programs than any the Wallaces’ tech guy could even conceive of.

So they wanted the information badly enough to kidnap Trent and Susanna—and to threaten Justin and Cate—but they didn’t care about copies because the information was fluid. Names and locations could be changed. Move the people around and set their own hackers to erasing their existence…

Footsteps alerted him to Cate’s movement in time to keep her voice from startling him. “Was that about Trent and Susanna?”

He gave her an irritated look. “Geez, you lock in on one subject and beat it till it’s dead. No wonder Trent got so bored with you.”

Her jaw tightened and hurt flashed through her eyes the instant before she pivoted to return to the table. Aw, damn. He hadn’t meant—

He should apologize, but the Justin she knew didn’t offer apologies easily—at least, not sincere ones. That didn’t stop him from following her. She was rummaging in her purse for her cell phone when he reached the table. He tugged it from her grasp and slid it into his pocket with one hand as he picked up the bill with the other.

Stonily she stared at him. “Give me my phone. I’m going to call Trent’s parents.”

He did a quick conversion from pesos into dollars, then tossed down enough cash to cover the next three meals. “If Trent wanted Mom and Dad to know where he is, he would’ve told them.”

Her gaze narrowed, making him feel like something small and slimy that she was about to dissect. She didn’t argue, but turned toward the bar, no doubt to ask where she could find a phone.

He caught her arm and swung her back, half coaxing, half dragging her to the steps that led to the street. “You’re tired. It’s been a long day. Commercial flights are hell, aren’t they? Let’s go someplace quiet, and we can talk.”

“Talk?” Her response reminded him of a parrot his frat brothers had inherited from a graduating senior. Whenever it was upset, it squawked like that. “I’ve been trying to talk since that awful moment at the house.”

He grinned. “You mean when they shot at us?”

“I mean when I saw you standing in the doorway.”

He flagged down a cab and ushered her into the backseat the instant the vehicle came to a stop. After giving the cabbie the address, he tried to casually glance around to see if anyone might have noticed them. He’d guessed not, but then, he hadn’t exactly had experience with being followed.

As they pulled away from the curb, Cate straightened. “What about your motorcycle?”

“At the moment, I’d rather be in a car than on my bike.”

“What about my suitcase?”

“We’ll get it later. Don’t worry. Mario will take care of it.”

“But—my stethoscope—”

He rolled his eyes. “If anything happens to your precious stethoscope, I’ll replace it. Scout’s honor.”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible for her face to get any scrunchier, but she managed. “You were never a Scout, and you have no honor. If anything happens to my stethoscope, I will hunt you down and kill you.”

Grinning was the last thing he wanted to do after that low blow, but he managed the brashest, most arrogant one ever. “Gotta get away from me before you can track me down.” And that wasn’t happening anytime soon, thanks to the Wallace brothers.

Bastards.

Despite her anxiety, Cate couldn’t help but appreciate the scenery they passed: beautiful buildings, though set amidst some tackier ones, lush greenery and the water— that incredible-shades-of-blue water. Under better circumstances, and with better company, she would have her nose pressed to the window. More likely, she would instruct the cabdriver to pull over, pay the fare and head straight to the water’s edge.

She glanced at Justin peripherally and gave a mental shudder. Better company. Oh, yeah, right.

The driver slowed and turned into a narrow driveway. Twenty feet in, he stopped at an elaborate wrought-iron gate, and Justin handed him a card to swipe.

The drive led into a very private haven dotted with palm trees and other vegetation whose names she couldn’t guess. Bright waves of color competed against the too-pretty-to-be-real green of the grass, and the plantings hid any sign of neighboring houses.

The house that was the center of such beauty was a surprise. She’d never given any thought to what type of home suited Justin, other than the antebellum plantation that had been in his family for centuries, but this bare-concrete, industrial-type building that reminded her of Cold War scenes in Russia never would have made the list. It was so stark, so…ugly.

The cab stopped in front of a large black door, and Justin paid the driver before sliding out. “Come on,” he said when she didn’t move. “Welcome to La Casa Seavers.”

Was he kidding? When he visited paradise, he lived in a squat, concrete bunker?

The moment the door closed behind her, the cabdriver accelerated away. She watched until he was out of sight, then turned back as Justin opened the front door.

Foolishness washed over her. Appearances were deceiving; hadn’t she learned that along with every other little kid in the world? Plain and ugly on the outside, maybe, but breathtaking inside. One glance was enough to show that.

The floors were a mix of terra-cotta and aged wood, and the walls were painted in warm earth tones. The furniture looked comfortable, the art exquisite, and what she could see of the kitchen would make her friends who cooked swoon.

“Not quite what you expected there for a minute, is it?”

“It’s lovely,” she admitted. Then the bitchiness that seemed ever ready to pounce around him added, “Your decorator did a very nice job.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he mouthed the appropriate insult before he turned toward the stairs. Abruptly, he turned back and stared into the living room.

“What—”

“Stay there.” He took the stairs two at a time, then disappeared down the hall.

Okay, she was a coward. She stayed, edging a bit closer to the door that still stood open. A few muffled sounds came from upstairs—not a scuffle or anything, just Justin doing whatever he was doing.

Her gaze went to the living room, trying to find what had caught his attention. A magazine lay on the floor next to the iron-and-stone coffee table, and one door on a heavily carved armoire stood ajar, less than an inch. Two of the half-dozen pillows on the sofa were crooked, and one was upside down. Other than those small details, it looked more in order than her own living room had ever been.

Justin’s steps thudded down the stairs, startling her. He reached past to close and lock the door, then started down the hall. “Come on. We’re not staying here.”

“Why?” She hurried to catch up, regretting that she had only a moment to register the formal dining room and that incredible kitchen before they were out the back door and on a patio that surrounded a sparkling blue pool. A block from the ocean and he had a pool?

The rich are different.

“Why are we leaving? Has someone been here? Why? Looking for us? And what does this have to do with Trent and Susanna?”

He stopped so suddenly that she ran into him. The backpack, at least half-empty before, now softened the collision. It still knocked the breath from her, though. It must have. It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that they were so close. She was way too damn old for that. Besides, this wasn’t just any good-looking guy. It was Justin, for heaven’s sake. Enemies since the day they’d met, remember?

He dragged his hand through his hair. “Okay, look, you’re right. They didn’t just go off. They’re in trouble, and so are we. Yeah, those guys broke in here, looking for us and…”

“And?”

“And a flash drive with files that Susanna and I kind of, uh, stole.”

Cate stared. She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d declared he was wildly in love with her. Susanna stealing… Oh, hell, Justin stealing… It was so wrong, not just morally or ethically or legally, but for who they were.

She didn’t realize her mouth was gaping open until he pushed it shut with one fingertip under her chin. His grin was crooked. “I guess I should feel honored that you’re stunned speechless. You don’t think as badly of me as you like to pretend, do you?”

She tried to ignore the faint heat where his finger had been, tried to form a coherent thought. “So you guys st—” She couldn’t say the word. “You took some data that belongs to someone else and they want it back so now Susanna and Trent are…what? In hiding?”

Grimly he shook his head.

Horror replaced that stunned feeling. “Kidnapped? They’ve been kidnapped?” At his nod, she shoved him with both hands on his chest. “And these same people were shooting at us and they broke into your house looking for us and— Oh, my God, what have you gotten me into?”

She shoved him again, knocking him back a few inches, and he grabbed her wrists. “Hey, it’s not me. They got into trouble on their own. Well, more or less.”

“What does that mean—‘more or less’?”

“It means this isn’t the time or the place to talk about it.” He lifted her wrists a few inches. “If I let go, will you stop punching me?”

“Those weren’t punches,” she muttered. “I can show you a real punch.” His grip loosened, and she jerked free. “I can’t believe… Oh, of course I can believe it. You and Trent never did think about the consequences of anything you did. Why should you? Your parents or their money or their lawyers always took care of it for you.”

Scowling, he took her arm and steered her toward the vine-covered fence at the back of the yard. “You’re such a snot, Cate. When you see a patient in the E.R., don’t you wait until you have his history before you start passing judgment?”

“I don’t pass judgment. I treat their illnesses, patch up their injuries and turf them upstairs or out. My responsibility and interest end when they leave my department.” Stolen information, kidnapping, getting shot at… Dear God, this was not what she expected of this trip.

He led the way straight to a gate that she wouldn’t even have noticed, covered as it was with the same flowering vines as the fence. Brushing aside leaves, he typed a code into the keypad, then pushed the gate open and sneaked a look outside before he stepped out.

“So we’re going to the police now, right? Or no, wait, we should probably call Trent’s parents and let them contact the FBI. With all the lawyers and politicians in the Calloway family, they probably know someone who can get them straight through to the director himself, and we are in a foreign country. The FBI or the State Department should be involved. I can get in touch with Emilia…or maybe I’d better call Trent’s dad instead. Emilia will be so devastated—”

Justin stopped short and faced her. “Stop babbling.”

She stiffened. “I don’t babble.”

“We’re not contacting the police or the Calloways or anyone else.”

“We have to. We’re not cops. We’re not qualified to deal with a double kidnapping!” That was the way things went in her world: she came across evidence of child or spousal abuse, a sexual assault, a shooting, a stabbing, a beating, and she reported it to the police. End of her involvement, except for an occasional court appearance to testify.

“This may come as a surprise, doc, but the kidnap pers—the people who have Trent and Susanna in custody, the people giving orders to the bad guys hunting for us—don’t want the police involved. All they want is their files back, or they’re going to kill them, and they’re going to do their best to get you and me, too. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to piss them off anymore than they already are.”

She stared at him, his features as implacable as she’d ever seen them, then clamped her mouth shut and looked around for the first time since clearing the gate. They were on a narrow swath of grass, about as wide as the average car. On the left, fences and cinder-block walls marked the rear boundaries of homes and hotels that faced the ocean. On the right, heavy undergrowth that could conceal an army of thugs opened in a narrow gap to reveal the crumbled foundations of a structure long gone. Cozumel had found itself in the sights of numerous hurricanes over the years—probably the reason for the type of construction of Justin’s mini-mansion.

He exhaled, drawing her attention back to him. He mistakenly took her silence for acceptance, but she wasn’t convinced. “Did you listen to yourself just now?” she asked, the panicked tone gone from her voice, sounding much more like the seasoned E.R. doctor she really was. At least she had that much under control. “These criminals are threatening to kill Trent and Susanna. There’s not even a question what we should do next.”

“You’re right. There’s not. We’re going to find a place to stay for a while and come up with a plan for getting them back. Come on.” Shifting the backpack to his other shoulder, he started walking again.

Cate growled, surprising herself. Oh, she’d done it silently before when people annoyed her, but this was out loud, a good, threatening growl. She was that frus trated. But Justin’s only response was a snort as he continued moving at a steady pace.

Even as she dogged his footsteps, she considered her options: call her ex-father-in-law anyway. Call AJ and ask his smart detective advice. Call the local authorities—

She couldn’t call anyone unless she wheedled her phone back from Justin or managed to escape him long enough to find a pay phone. Wheedling was out—he would enjoy it too much and still refuse—and the idea of escaping him, of going out into town on her own when she didn’t speak the language and every man she saw might be the one who shot at them, turned her insides morgue-cold.

“Unless you like playing the subservient little female scuttling along ten paces behind, you might as well come on up here where we can talk.” Justin sounded entirely too easygoing. Why shouldn’t he? He was a risk taker, an adventurer, a thrill seeker and, as she’d said, he never worried about consequences. He’d probably gotten an adrenaline kick out of getting shot at. He was probably looking forward to the next moment of danger.

But she was none of those things, and she just wanted the world she’d awakened in that morning to come back—the safe, settled, routine world.

She refused to jog to catch up, but after a dozen of the longest strides she could manage, she was beside him again. He looked so damn complacent that another growl nearly escaped before she forced it deeper down.

Despite his invitation to talk, he didn’t say anything while they walked another few hundred yards. When she glanced over her shoulder, she couldn’t pick out which grown-over fence was his, and she couldn’t help but shudder as her gaze skimmed the opposite side. Any thing could be hiding in there. Wild animals. Wilder people. The kind of people who were holding her ex-husband and her friend captive.

A shudder rippled through her, strong enough to make her stumble. Justin’s fingers curled around her biceps, holding her upright until she caught her balance. She tried to put gratitude into her look, but it came off more a grimace than anything else. All the years they’d known each other, they’d never touched, not once, and suddenly he was grabbing her, pulling her, catching her, every time she moved, it seemed.

And she was grateful—for some of it, at least. Just grateful, nothing more, nothing less.

She was repeating that to herself when a car turned off the street ahead and onto the grass and stopped, facing them. The sun glinted off the windshield, hiding the occupants, and fear rushed through her veins. “Oh, God,” she said breathlessly, her gaze darting around in search of the nearest cover. Another vine-draped fence was a few feet away on her left, the overgrowth more than eight feet to the right. The nearest cover was Justin, and she didn’t hesitate to spin around behind him, her eyes closed, her hands clenched, waiting for shouted orders or a hail of bullets.

Instead, all she heard besides the thudding of her heart was…