Love Under Two Navy Seals (19 page)

“Sir, I can’t say for certain one way or the other if one of the women is missing, or not. Perhaps Pecos
did
follow your orders. Or perhaps he changed his mind and rabbited. You ask me, my money’s on the latter. Juan Pecos, for everything I’ve learned of him, is nothing more than a bit player. I really doubt he’d have the stomach to kidnap a woman.”

Ramos wondered if this new man—this mercenary—was trying to curry favor by casting Pecos in a poor light. But then he reasoned the man had no motivation to do so. He didn’t have to worry about appearing competent at the expense of another. He only needed to worry about completing the assignment.

Ramos turned back to his view as he considered the situation. Juan Pecos had left Lusty, Texas. He’d either decided against doing what he had been ordered to do, or he’d succeeded in grabbing the woman.

If he succeeded, then why hasn’t he called me?

Ramos was pretty certain he knew the answer to that. He’d only recently spent time and money having that small town, and the people who lived there, investigated.

Lusty, Texas, appeared to be an enclave for the super rich. Three families dominated the town, and their net worth, combined, was astronomical. Ramos had also been able to find out that Alvarez’s woman was a member of one of those families—though he did not yet know her actual identity.

If Juan Pecos had indeed taken the woman, and he had not called to tell Ramos of it, to arrange to have her delivered, then it was clear the little bastard intended to double-cross him, to perhaps ransom the woman back to her family.

Yes, that is what he has done. I sense it. I know it. Again I am betrayed by one to whom I have offered nothing but kindness!

“I suppose there is only one way for me to know for certain whether or not Señor Pecos has done as ordered, or become a coward.” He turned and looked at the mercenary, a big, unsmiling man far smarter than most of the people who worked for Ramos.

Talbot nodded. “Yes, sir, there is.”

A man like Mr. Talbot didn’t look like the sort who would have any difficulty carrying out his orders, no matter what impediments stood in the way—or what that order might be.

“I’m not supposed to enter the United States. There is, I believe, a warrant out for my arrest. But I very much want to go and see Juan Pecos for myself.”

“You’re paying us enough, Señor Ramos. Getting you into the United States won’t be a problem.”

“Good.” Ramos hadn’t revealed why he’d wanted a woman taken. Now he said, “My adversary at this time is a Special Agent working for the American DEA. He may, in fact, be personally involved in whatever situation Juan has landed himself in. We will likely encounter him, and perhaps his friends. They will be armed.”

“Shooting accidents happen all the time. Even to Special Agents working for the DEA.”

Miguel Ramos nodded once, that simple gesture conveying a wealth of information. Ramos’s nod meant agreement, resolve, and regret for only one thing.

He should have hired men like Mr. Talbot a long time ago.

* * * *

Julia held herself perfectly still, her eyes open to just the barest slit, her breathing deep and even. She didn’t know if her ‘sleeping act’ was being bought or not, but she so desperately wanted her captor to buy it, to buy it and leave her the hell alone.

He stood by the open door, a lit lantern in one hand, and she felt his gaze intent upon her. She supposed he was watching her, trying to determine if she was awake or asleep.

She really wasn’t worried that he would molest her or harm her in the next little while. But her headache had eased considerably, and with the receding pain came the growing realization that the best thing she could do was to get herself the hell out of this shack in the middle of nowhere.

The longer she allowed this situation to continue, the more ugly the outcome could be.

Julia couldn’t say why she felt that way, but the urge to escape had become a shout in her thoughts, so loud it overwhelmed everything else.

Run, run, run!

She had to force a calm she didn’t feel and continue to play possum.

Her captor had left the door fully open since he’d cuffed her to the frame of this small bed upon their arrival. He’d let her free just once, so she could pee. She’d still been groggy with pain at the time, but had taken the opportunity to have a good look at the rest of this shack. She’d acted fully cowed, so as to make the man believe she posed no threat, either to him personally, or of escape.

The bathroom consisted of just a toilet and a sink with no running water, with the rest of the place being nothing more than a small room with a door and one window. The furnishings she would call garage-sale bare minimum—an old sofa and a kitchen-style table with two wooden chairs.

When the man had brought her a simple bowl of cold, canned pasta and a cup of water for her dinner, she’d consumed the meal timidly, keeping her eyes down, continuing the role of meek captive.

Subterfuge was one of the few weapons she had, and she meant to make the most of it.

Julia decided her best route for escape would be out the window of this small bedroom she was in. All she needed was time to try and figure out how to get out of these cuffs, and time to get that window open.

Finally the man turned from the door. Then he stopped, turned to face her again. She’d kept her eyes nearly all the way closed, but she could see enough to see that reached forward.

Julia stopped breathing. Had she been wrong about him? It took every scrap of iron in her to remain as she had been, the very image of a deeply sleeping woman.

In the next instant, she heard a creak as he pulled the door, not completely closed, but about halfway so.

This was even better than she’d dared hoped for.

Time slowed to a crawl as Julia continued to lie perfectly still, eyes remaining opened to tiny slits, waiting. The instinct for urgency and the urge for caution fought within her. She had no idea what time it was, except that it was nighttime. Her watch had gone missing, and she figured it had likely fallen off her wrist while she’d been unconscious in that bastard’s trunk.

Only a few moments later the dim light from the oil lamp went out. She heard another creak, and realized the man had settled on that old sofa in the other room.

Would he fall asleep, or would he, like her, remain vigilant, alert and on guard?

Julia had her answer several minutes later when her ears picked up a new sound, a low rumble. The sound came again, and then again, settling into a slow, steady rhythm.

Her captor had fallen asleep and was snoring!

Julia listened a few moments more, until she was certain he was, indeed, asleep. Slowly, careful of every movement, she pushed the single thin blanket off her, and turned onto her right side.

Her right wrist was encased in one side of the handcuffs, while the other circled a part of the small bed frame. Her eyes had adjusted to the mostly dark environs. The moon, full and not quite at the optimum angle to light the room, nonetheless relieved the blackness a little.

Grasping the metal of the restraint so it wouldn’t clang against the bed, she eased herself from the low bed to the floor, turning so that she crouched, facing the bed and her cuffed wrist.

The bed had to be over fifty years old, and was of simple construction. Julia ran her hand over the cool, rough metal. Hollow tubes, not solid metal bars, made up the frame for this piece of furniture.

Earlier when she’d been lying on it, she’d had the sense the bed wasn’t as solid as it should have been. She tested that theory now, using her hand to jiggle the frame. The creak of metal pierced her hearing and she froze, held her breath, and scrunched her eyes closed as she listened. To her, the sound had seemed as loud as an explosion.

From the next room the snoring stopped…and then started again, a soft
brrr
of a rumble that right then had to be the sweetest thing she’d ever heard.

Julia exhaled quietly, her entire body weak with relief. She rested her head against the edge of the thin mattress.

That had been way too close. She needed to be careful, quiet and careful. She lifted her head, immediately irate at herself because a tear tracked down her cheek.

Unthinking, she reached with her right hand to wipe it. Restrained by the handcuff, her hand stopped in midair. And then came forward just a tiny bit more.

Julia blinked and looked down at where the other side of the cuff was fastened. Her captor had locked it at the joint of the last of the thin, round “headboard” rails and the horizontal bar of the frame. She looked closer and saw a crack where the two pieces of metal met.

Barely daring to hope, she put her hand on the headboard rail and tested its strength. It moved, ever so slightly, time and wear obviously having broken the weld that had originally fastened the rail in place.

It also wiggled as if it would rotate, as if it were a giant screw, primed to be unscrewed. Working quietly, she twisted and turned and pulled that round piece of metal, doing her best to keep the motions unobtrusive, doing her best to be silent. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, and she felt a line of sweat forming on her forehead.

She was close, so close to success. And then the metal jammed, refusing to move any more.

“
Fuck
.” Her epithet, just above a whisper, made her cringe again, and listen. Her captor snored on, and Julia licked her lips and focused on the tiny piece of metal tubing.

She wanted to tug on it with all her might, but worried the noise of that would certainly awaken the man in the next room.

“
Duh
.” Julia uttered the word of epiphany and immediately closed her eyes.

If ever there was a time to
not
talk to herself aloud, surely that time was now. She reached for that thin blanket that so recently had provided inadequate warmth. Because it was thin, she was able to wrap it around her hand and the headboard rail. She tucked it in tightly, closed her eyes, and said a little prayer for success. Then she braced her body against the bed proper and gave that piece of metal as mighty a yank as she could manage.

With a muffled snap, the round bar came free of the bed frame.

Julia quickly unwrapped the blanket and tossed it aside, and smiled when she then slid the other end of the handcuff off the larger metal bar.

Okay, step one complete. Detach self from bed. Now for step two. Get the hell out of here.

She gained her feet and moved very cautiously toward the window. Old-fashioned, the glass was just one pane held within a wooden frame. She used the fingers of her left hand to feel the top of the window.
No lock. So far, so good
. She took a moment to slip the dangling end of the cuff onto her thumb, to stop the restraint from swinging and possibly banging noisily against the glass.

She looked behind her once, assured herself the door to the room remained at a half closed position. Listening, she could hear the soft snoring that told her the man who’d taken her slept on, oblivious to her actions.

Nodding to herself once, she put both hands on the top of the window frame, palms flush against the wood at an angle, inhaled deeply, and pushed.

Nothing happened.

Julia blinked her eyes, took a moment to scan the frame. She couldn’t have come this far only to fail now. She’d been lucky up to now, but doubted that luck would hold long enough to allow her to creep past her abductor and sneak out the front door.

That door, like the bedroom one, creaked on hinges long in need of oil.

If she was at home, she’d smack the window frame all the way around good and hard to unstick it. Of course, that was totally out of the question here.

She could only try again, and then again, and hope the wood would eventually surrender to her will. The weather had been dry lately, which meant that wood swollen with humidity in the heat of summer should still be dryer and therefore contracted now.

Failure simply wasn’t an option. She had to get herself out of here. If she couldn’t open the window then she would take her chances, sneak past him, and run like hell.

She’d had a pretty good look at the man who’d taken her. She had to be a good ten years younger—and hopefully ten years faster—than he.

She still had her Nikes on, and her clothing, so running for her life shouldn’t be a problem.