Navy SEAL Noel (4 page)

The window along the back wall was the only one that could possibly be useful for an escape. Or a break-in. But given the containment storage it required, most likely the toxin was going to have to come with them through the rusty metal door or be left behind.

And Jess had made it clear that the latter wasn't an option.

Manuel and Sergio's row reached its apex, and Will glanced at Jess, whose eyes were wide in her pale face. Checking to make sure that the guards were still not paying attention, he sidled up to her, rolling up his white shirtsleeves before slipping one of the black aprons off the hook on the wall, pulling it over his head and tying it into place on top of his wrinkled button-up.

“They've moved on from lunch. Now they're arguing about which one will have the more important role in something that's happening in a week.”

“Seriously?” The tension that wrinkled her forehead grew tighter. “What's going to happen?”

He began to answer, but before he could speak the commotion suddenly and abruptly ceased, leaving the air thick with only the choked coughs coming from the air-conditioning unit. Will slammed his mouth closed and slipped Jess behind him as a third man joined the guards. Manuel sucked in his stomach and pushed out his chest, his arms holding his M6 at a perfect forty-five degree angle. Sergio snapped to attention, too—though his presentation wasn't quite as smooth.

The stranger was a short man with slicked-back hair and a long mustache that curled over his upper lip. He clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes sweeping over the men, who clearly reported to him.

“El Jefe,” Manuel said.

The boss. This man was either the kingpin or someone important enough to speak in the cartel leader's stead.

Sergio didn't address El Jefe, but his eyes dropped to the rough cement floor, his grip on his weapon tightening until his fingers turned white. The boss clearly commanded respect, and he didn't bother with more than a glance in Will and Jess's direction.

“Cuando va a estar listo?”
The mustache flipped toward the back of the lab, toward them.

Manuel mumbled something that Will couldn't make out, and a fist tightened at the back of his shirt as Jess twisted the fabric and leaned into him. She didn't have to ask her question for him to know that she wanted him to translate. But she was going to have to wait. He couldn't afford to reveal that he understood everything they were saying.

Not yet, anyway.

The boss growled in response to Manuel's answer, pressing fingers like round sausages into his hips at his belt. Then he let loose a stream of curses intermingled with enough information to set Will's heart beating faster than a chopper blade.
“Siete días. Entiendes?”

Then he stomped away, leaving Sergio and Manuel to return to their bitter words, angry glares and childish fighting.

“What's going on?”

Will felt more than heard Jess's words, and turned back to her, his arms and legs already beginning to tingle with pent-up energy.

“That man is in charge while Juan Carlos, the kingpin, is away. But Juan Carlos is coming back, and when he does, they're going to release the toxin at a party at a nearby cartel.”

Jess's eyes grew wide again, and she gasped, biting down on the sound to keep from alerting their guards. “When will he be here?”

“Seven days.” Will leaned down until they were eye to eye, and whispered, “We—and the toxin—have to be out of here in six.”

FOUR

J
ess jumped, instantly alert, at the two quick taps on her window. It was Will's sign that the sun was about to rise, and he had to get back to his own cell.

Rolling from her bed, she stumbled to the wall below the windowpane and stretched to respond with three raps of her own. One more knock from him signaled his farewell.

She stifled a yawn as she plopped back down onto the lumpy mattress, ignoring the way the springs below it poked through the tattered fabric. She had been given the luxury of only a single blanket, and 600-thread-count sheets seemed a dream from another lifetime. Still, she'd never felt more rested.

Maybe it was just the comparison to every other morning since she'd been abducted, but five whole hours of uninterrupted sleep felt positively decadent.

She was tempted to lie back down, but instead stood and wandered toward the bathroom. After splashing cold water on her face and combing her wild bed head, she felt more like her old self—her San Diego self.

Strange. Nothing was really different. In the five days she'd spent in this compound, her schedule, guard and job had remained the same. Nothing had changed.

Except Will's arrival.

A pounding on the door preceded the click of the lock, and she turned to meet Manuel in the middle of the room. His face contorted when she appeared, his frown turning even more sour. Lemons were sweeter than his scowl.

She considered giving him a smile, just to see how he'd react, until he waved his giant black machine gun toward her middle.
“Vámanos.”

No amount of sleep made looking down the barrel of a gun more tolerable, so she simply nodded and trudged toward the door, trying to keep Manuel in her peripheral vision. His stride kept him about half a step behind her, but she didn't need to see him to feel the weight of his breath muss the hair on the back of her head.

She picked up her pace, but he matched her movements even as she cringed away from his presence. Five hours without worry, five hours without vigilance, and she'd clearly forgotten the oppression of the man who shadowed her every move. But now she couldn't shake him.

Her steps carried them past more than a dozen other cinder block buildings haloed by the morning sun. All just like hers, except for the absence of locks on the wooden doors.

They finally reached the mess hall, a single room filled with a dozen long, shallow tables. The far corner hosted a kitchen with stainless steel griddles that looked more suited for a food truck than a drug cartel's fine dining establishment. Maybe they'd had some lean years. Or maybe the kitchen wasn't their priority.

A lone man in a stained apron stood over one griddle, slinging fried potatoes with a metal spatula that could have easily served as a machete in the surrounding jungle. He lifted his hand and hollered a greeting that she'd come to recognize meant that she should grab a plate—the cleanest one she could find—and bring it over for her meager allotment of morning foodstuffs.

“Buenos días.”
His words rolled as fast as his hand flung the sizzling chorizo across the greasy metal stove top. While he didn't look up from his task, it was clear that his verbal greeting wasn't directed at her, and Manuel grunted a somewhat less intelligible response.

Jess picked up a sand-colored plastic plate. The chef didn't even wait for her to extend her dish before slopping half a day's worth of calories toward the front of her shirt. Flying sausage and potatoes arced right for her chest. Throwing up her plate as a shield, she ducked.

A shove on her shoulder propelled her off balance. The toe of her shoe caught on a crack in the floor. She stumbled toward Manuel, who jumped out of her way, leaving her to crash against the cement wall.

But a jerk at her elbow caught her just before she fell. In one fluid motion, she spun around, the soles of her Converse sneakers finding purchase just as her gaze met Will's reserved stare. He looked at the mess on the floor as his fingers loosened from her arm one at a time, making sure she was really stable before fully releasing her.

“Pardon me.” His ludicrously long eyelashes flickered as he backed away, refusing to meet her stare again.

Their guards bellowed at the same time, and Sergio's fleshy fist came down on Will's shoulder—right where Jess had hit him with the wrench a few nights before. With pinched lips and squinting eyes, Will looked behind him and mumbled an apology. The pain looked real, and it probably was.

But its effects were exaggerated. They had to be.

Will had made it through Hell Week—the most taxing training in the already intense SEAL regimen. He wouldn't crumble under the pressure of a Panamanian drug thug.

The cook glared between the mess at his feet and Jess's still outstretched plate. He pointed at the floor, rattling off something in Spanish so fast she couldn't understand. But Manuel stepped in, saying there was no time. Probably for her to clean up the mess.

With a string of expletives, the cook slopped a spoonful of breakfast on her plate before Manuel pushed her to the corner table, and Will joined her a moment later.

But this was no leisurely meal. The two guards stood with crossed arms, watching every move Jess and Will made. She shoveled down the food so fast that she barely tasted it, except for the lingering fire of the spicy sausage.

Suddenly Sergio pulled on the back of Will's shirt, tugging him out of the chair and toward the exit.

Eager to keep Manuel's hands off her, Jess hopped to her feet and chased after Will, leaving several bites left on her plate.

Will fell into step beside her as they ambled across the muddy yard, their guards several paces behind.

“I'm sorry.” Her words were barely loud enough to make it to his ear.

He raised one eyebrow in a signature questioning glance.

“That breakfast was rushed.” Will hadn't had time to finish his serving, either.

Nothing about his posture or gait changed, and she felt more than heard his response. “I've survived on less before.”

What was that supposed to mean? He'd always had plenty. While not rich, his parents had owned a modest home in a nice neighborhood, only a few blocks from the house she'd shared with Great-aunt Eva after her mother had packed up everything she valued in two suitcases and walked out of Jess's life forever.

Will's grandmother had kept them all stuffed. Huevos rancheros and beans. Handmade corn tortillas and carne asada. Tamales and
muchaca
. The whole family—Will and Sal, aunts and uncles, cousins—had squeezed in around a table and feasted on Abuelita's specialties. And at least once a week during high school, Jess had pulled up a chair between the two brothers and downed chile relleno as if she hadn't eaten a home-cooked meal since she was twelve years old.

And that was really only partially true.

Her father had learned to cook, and when he wasn't on a ship in waters unknown, his table had been set with better-than-edible pot roast. When he was deployed and Great-aunt Eva came to stay in her home, Jess ate with the Gumbles.

She had firsthand evidence that Will had never gone hungry.

A glance to her right confirmed that their guards were still deep in conversation as they trudged toward the big house and the shed beyond, so she shot Will a questioning glare. “What do you mean?” Her words were barely a hiss, and she hadn't anticipated a deep rumble and high-pitched shouting that caught everyone's attention.

They all spun toward the daunting steel gates below a stucco arch. Two men on either side leaned their shoulders against the metal and shoved, grunting until the wheels at their feet budged.

Will threw a protective arm in front of Jess and she hopped back three steps, as two covered military transport vehicles squeezed through the opening, rolled across the courtyard and stopped just to the right of the big house.

Weapons bouncing across their chests, Manuel and Sergio jogged over to greet the drivers, clapping their backs, then peering over the tailgates at whatever bounty the trucks carried.

Jess glanced up at Will, whose eyes had narrowed in on the reunion. He remained impossibly still, and she almost missed his quiet words.

“They're going to unload the trucks this afternoon, and they'll leave early in the morning.”

“How do you—” She stopped herself as a muscle in his neck jumped, his jaw clenching as his eyes followed the back-and-forth shouts of the men.

“They're going to get drunk this afternoon, sleep it off and go wheels-up before first light.” Again he gave no outward indication that he was speaking to her, but his voice rang with something akin to excitement. It wasn't loud or boisterous, just filled with anticipation.

She tried to make her body mimic his ease, but her hands fluttered aimlessly as she tried to find a natural-looking pose. Finally she shoved them into her pockets and refused to let go of the fabric there. “What are they carrying?”

His deep brown eyes shifted toward her. “It doesn't really matter what they have now. When they leave, they'll be taking us with them.”

* * *

“How are we going to get on those trucks?”

At the squeak of Jess's voice, Will forced himself to stay still, leaving his hands and arms hanging loosely at his sides. The weight of her gaze was heavier than a flak jacket, but he schooled his features, once again looking aloof and perhaps even disinterested. If they were going to make it on one of those trucks, they couldn't afford to draw any extra attention from the guards. Not Manuel and Sergio, and certainly not the line of men strolling near the front gate, their semiautomatics resting too comfortably against their shoulders.

Jess must have picked up on his stance, for her shoulders relaxed a fraction and she took a deep breath through her nose.

“We won't leave without the toxin.” Only the left side of her mouth moved, and if he hadn't been so close, he would have missed her words. “Right?”

“I promised, didn't I?”

“Yes, well...” Her clipped words nearly dripped icicles in the jungle. “Your promises haven't always meant much.”

He deserved that. Absolutely. But he'd hoped that maybe she'd forgotten his last broken promise. Or at least that she'd put aside her hostility long enough for them to get beyond these walls and to the United States Embassy in Panama City.

Really, he thought they'd been doing fairly well. After all, she'd slept while he guarded her door. He could tell just by the thinning of the bags beneath her eyes. And she'd agreed to pretend she didn't know him. She'd done a fine job playing the part. So why the terse words now?

His stomach rumbled, calling out for some of the spilled breakfast they'd both been forced to skimp on.

Maybe he wasn't the only one wishing they hadn't left behind half of their meals.

Hunger had always made Jess a little bit ornery.

He reminded himself that it wasn't her fault that he'd proved himself untrustworthy. He'd promised to pick her up, and he hadn't. Instead he'd disappeared. Completely vanished from her life. It had just been so much easier than facing pain he couldn't explain and fear he didn't fully understand.

Sal had given Jess a promise ring, and Will had given her broken promises.

If anyone else had proposed to Jess, Will would have figured out a way to voice the turmoil that warred inside of him at the very thought of losing her. On their last night together, so many years ago, he would have spoken up and told her the truth. He might have been too young and foolish to put a voice to exactly how he felt about her, but he'd have done anything to keep her in his life.

Anything except betraying Sal.

His only brother. His oldest friend. His rescuer.

Almost ten months before he proposed to Jess, Sal had single-handedly saved Will from a senior year of misery and regret.

With one word—one sacrifice—Sal gave up his freedom for Will's. Whatever distance the years had placed between them, Will wouldn't forget that.

He'd known ten years ago that he couldn't step on his brother's chance for happiness, so he'd done the only thing he knew to do. He had run.

That wasn't Jess's fault.

It wasn't her fault, either, that she wasn't around when he'd gotten his life on track. When L.T. and Rock had convinced him that being a man of honor and faith was better than carousing through San Diego bars. When he'd taken their encouragement and used it to propel himself through BUD/S training. When he'd received his trident pin, become a SEAL. A man of valor.

As Sergio marched toward them, his mouth twisted in an angry scowl, Will knew there wasn't time to tell her the whole story, even if she was willing to hear him out.

Taking a deep breath, he whispered only what he could promise her in that moment. “You can trust me now.”

Fire in her eyes said she didn't entirely believe him, but it disappeared immediately and she turned an indifferent expression on their guards, who yelled for them to change direction and march toward the lab. Will fell into a shuffling step beside Jess, his feet dragging through the brown puddles that dotted the courtyard. Her pace quickly outstripped his, and he thought she was going to abandon him to the sour-faced guards. Just as she reached the point where slowing down to walk with him again would have been overly obvious, her shoulders relaxed. Taking three small steps, she let him catch up without drawing undo attention.

He gave her a silent nod, and she pinched her lips into a straight line, clearly not convinced that she should get on a transport with him to only God knew where.

He couldn't blame her.

But at the moment, it could be their only chance of escape, and he wasn't about to let it pass them by.

The inside of the lab was as visually cold as it was physically hot, and he glanced at the countertop refrigerator. At least it was still keeping the toxin cool and contained. Jess's gaze traveled in the same direction as though confirming that no one had tampered with the lethal powder during the night.