TRAPPED (14 page)

There was really only one alternative.

“Hello,” she said, her tone as confident as she could manage under the circumstances. “May I help you?”

* * *

B
RODY
HEARD
THE
three quick knocks followed by a sharp, separate knock. He picked up Mrs. Hardy’s knife and carefully opened the door. He saw the man first, then Elle, and his heart rate shot up.

“It’s okay,” she said, reaching out for him. “Friend of Leo’s. We met up outside.” She turned back to the men. “This is Brody Donovan. Brody, meet Bob.”

The dark-skinned man nodded and murmured hello in a very thick accent.

Brody would bet his last nickel that his real name wasn’t really Bob.

“We have to go,” the man said. “Leo has arranged transport and will meet us at a small airfield about ten miles from here.”

Brody looked at Elle. Ten miles in the jungle was a long way. “We’re walking?”

“Only for the first mile. We’ll take river transportation for most of the trip, finishing up with a half-mile walk.”

“You have a boat?” Elle asked.

Bob shook his head. “This particular river is too shallow for motorized craft. We have a sturdy raft.” His voice was deep. “I brought you a few things to wear.”

The things included drab-colored shirts and pants, much like Brody had seen people in the village wearing. There were hats for both of them.

“It is better if others do not realize that there is a woman with us,” Bob said.

“No problem,” Elle said. She pulled on new clothes. The pants were too big, but she rolled them at the waist. She put on the hat, tucking her short hair up inside the band.

Brody knew that up close, her fine features would never pass for a man’s, but perhaps from a distance, others might be fooled. He pulled on his own new clothes and put his hat on.

“You don’t exactly look as if you’re out for a pleasure ride on the river,” Brody said, his eyes on the guns that the man wore strapped across his chest.

Bob pulled out another big shirt from his bag. He pulled it on. “I have someone loading the raft right now with freshly picked fruit. We are going to look like three farmers, taking our crop to market.”

Brody smiled at Elle. It could work. It had to work. “Do you know if Leo reported the plane wreck?”

“Yes. I suspect help is already on its way to your friends.”

They walked single file, Bob in front, followed by Elle, then Brody. Brody smelled the river before he saw the narrow stretch of muddy water. It was twelve, maybe fifteen feet wide. There were dead fish floating near the shore. “Glad we boiled the water,” he said to Elle, under his breath.

“That’s why the work that Leo does is so important. Look,” she said, nodding toward the river. “I think that’s our ride.”

It was a flat bamboo raft, maybe eight feet wide and twelve feet long. There were crates of fruit on both sides, keeping it balanced.

“What do you think?” Brody asked.

“I can’t think. I’m too busy trying to walk like a guy,” Elle whispered.

Brody smiled. Even in the grimmest of situations, Elle could make him laugh.

They got on the boat. He turned to help Elle but dropped his hand. He probably wouldn’t help another guy.

There were four long poles, attached to the raft by thick rope. Bob untied and distributed three of them. He motioned for Elle to join him on his side and Brody took the other side.

It took Brody a couple minutes to get the swing of sticking his pole in the water, deep enough that he could touch the bottom, and then pushing off.

“On the count of three,” Bob said, when it became apparent that both Brody and Elle needed a little direction. Fortunately, the river had a slight current that was flowing the same direction they were trying to go.

They got the hang of it pretty quickly and were making good progress. While it was hard work, it was still infinitely easier than fighting their way through the thick jungle. About ten minutes into their trip, Brody glanced over at Elle. It didn’t matter if she was dressed in rags and swaggering around like a sailor—she was simply the most beautiful, sexiest woman he had ever met.

The past eighteen hours had been amazing. And she’d seemed receptive to the idea of staying with him in San Diego while she looked for housing. If he had his way, she wouldn’t need to find a house. She and Mia could move in with him. They could find a good school for Mia and if his condo wasn’t big enough, they could look—

He heard the bullet right before he saw Bob crumple to his knees. Brody lunged for Elle, grabbed her around the waist, pulled her down to the deck and lay on top of her. He could hear bullets hit the water, the raft, the crates of fruit.

He lifted his head.

Bob had been hit in the upper thigh. His pants were already soaked with blood. Still, he’d ripped his shirt open to get to his gun and he was firing toward shore, trying to protect them. Brody felt a bullet skim past his ear, so close that had he not bent his head at the last minute, he’d have caught the round in his head.

“Stay down,” he said. He needed to help Bob. He got up but stayed low, crouching behind the crates of fruit.

Too late he realized that the threat was coming from both sides.

“Drop the weapon. Or we will kill her.”

Chapter Fourteen

The accent was heavy, the cadence fast, but Brody understood. He also had excellent peripheral vision and he could see the two men who had waded out from the opposite shore of where the attack had originated. They both had their guns pointed at Elle.

The taller one boarded the small raft, causing it to sway in the shallow water. The other man, younger and shorter, maybe not much over five feet, grabbed the tie rope on the raft, keeping them from moving with the current. He started to pull them to shore.

The tall one yanked on Elle’s arm, pulling her up. She stumbled to her feet. Her face was white.

Brody fought the urge to lunge and tear the man’s arm off at its socket.
You were always so smart.
That’s what Elle had told him. He needed to be smart now.

“You have caused us a great deal of trouble,” said the man holding Elle’s arm. He shook her hard enough that her head jerked back.

Was this Jamas? Now that he was closer, Brody could see that the man was older than he’d first thought. His patchy beard was gray. Brody guessed him to be in his sixties.

Elle had said that Jamas was in his early forties.

“Who are you?” Elle asked.

“Shut up or I will kill you where you stand.”

Not Jamas for sure. Someone who worked for him, then. Who else wanted Elle dead?

If T. K. Jamas was not with the group, they would need to take Elle to him. The man was bluffing. He didn’t intend to kill Elle.

Patch, as Brody dubbed him, waved his arm in the air and three other men emerged from the heavy tree line. One of them was swaying and Brody could see beads of sweat running down his face. He had his left forearm pressed against his abdomen, but Brody could still see the growing ring of fresh blood. Bob had landed a shot.

Five all together. One injured, but still the odds were not in their favor, because these men were all heavily armed and all he had was Mrs. Hardy’s knife in his pocket.

“Who are your friends, Elle?” Patch asked.

She glanced impersonally in Brody’s direction. “He told me his name is Brody. Our plane crashed. He was the only passenger in good enough shape to walk for help.”

She was trying to help him. The hell with that. Except that her plan was good. If they knew there was a personal connection between the two of them, they would use it against them.

It was a risk, however. Would they realize that she was lying? Did they know that the two of them had spent the night together at Leo’s?

Brody waited, his breaths so shallow that he was surprised he stayed conscious.

Patch shrugged. “You have bad luck,” he said to Brody. Then he ignored him and moved on to Bob. “Who is this man, Elle?”

“I don’t know his name. My friend Leo hired him to take us upriver.”

Brody understood what she was doing. The men had been waiting for them. That wasn’t happenstance. Somehow they’d known that they were going to be on the river. That meant that information had leaked into the wrong hands. Into Jamas’s hands. She no doubt was figuring that these guys had to know something about Leo.

The man looked satisfied.

She’d played it right.

But Brody realized it didn’t matter when the short man still in the river started chattering in what Brody assumed was Portuguese. By the look on Bob’s face, it wasn’t good news for the rest of them. Patch nodded and the short man raised his gun and pointed it at Brody.

His finger was on the trigger.

* * *

“W
AIT
. I’
M
A
DOCTOR
. I can help him.” Brody pointed to the man holding his gut.

Patch held up his free hand, stopping the shooter. “How do I know that you are telling the truth?” he asked Brody.

He was going to follow Elle’s lead and give them as much of the truth as he could. “My name is Dr. Brody Donovan. I’ve been a physician for over ten years and I’m a board-certified orthopedic surgeon.”

He saw the man’s eyes change and a speculative look settle in them. It gave Brody the courage to keep going.

“I can help your man,” Brody said. “He’s got a bullet in his gut. It may have nicked his spleen or some other organ. I need to examine him, but I can’t do it here.” He wasn’t sure how much English the man understood, but he made sure his tone was authoritative, as if he was used to being in charge, giving orders.

Patch seemed to make his decision quickly. He pointed at Elle and Brody and said something in Portuguese to the short man, who shrugged and switched his gun to Bob.

“You have been exceedingly helpful, but your time is up,” Patch said.

Had the information leaked through Bob? By the look on Bob’s face, Brody didn’t think so. Everything about him, from the blazing hate in his dark eyes to the tenseness of his stance, screamed that he wanted to rip Patch’s head off.

“I wouldn’t help you. I’ve never helped you,” Bob said.

Patch chuckled. “You’re very stupid, you know.” He nodded at the shorter man, giving permission for him to shoot.

“No,” Brody said quickly. He had to take the chance. This man had risked his life to help him and Elle. “I don’t know what your issue is with her, but as far as I’m concerned, everybody goes. Or I don’t go.”

There was some dialogue between Patch and the short man, with the short man furiously shaking his head. But Patch was clearly in charge, because finally he held up a hand, stopping the conversation. “If he makes one wrong move,” he said, looking at Bob, “I will shoot him.”

Bob showed no reaction to that, but Brody could see Elle’s chest rise and fall with the deep breath that she took. It wasn’t a huge victory, but somehow all of them were going to make it off the raft.

“It’s time to go,” Patch said. “The boss is not a patient man.” He looked at Elle. “And you have made him angrier than I have seen him in a long time.”

The other men spoke quietly to one another, nodding frequently, leaving Brody to speculate that when Jamas was irritated about something, it wasn’t good for anyone.

Patch stepped closer to Brody. “I do not trust doctors. They live in their fancy houses and they do not care that they make many mistakes.” His tone was challenging.

Brody didn’t think backing down was in his best interest. The man was a bully, and bullies thrived on intimidation. “I haven’t lived in a fancy house for a long time and I don’t make very many mistakes,” he said.

Patch shrugged, as if he couldn’t care less. “Just know this, my new friend. If either of the injured men dies, it proves you are not a good doctor and of no use to me. You will be next.”

Brody knew that he’d be lucky if both men didn’t bleed to death before they got someplace where he could render treatment. A walk through the jungle was a death sentence for all of them.

He looked at Bob. “I need to stop the bleeding,” he said.

Patch looked at his watch. “Two minutes.”

Brody moved quickly. A quick look at Bob’s leg told him everything he needed to know. The bullet had entered in the front thigh and gone through, leaving a slightly larger, more irregularly shaped exit wound.

Brody took off his shirt, scrunched it to make a rope and then wrapped it tight around Bob’s thigh, just inches above the wound. It would slow or stop the bleeding. It was the best he could do.

The man was pale and his face was drawn in pain, but he did not cry out or complain. He breathing was steady.

Brody took a quick look at the other injured man. He was in worse shape. He was very pale and his breathing was short and fast. There was lots of blood on his shirt. “We need to put pressure on his wound,” he said.

Patch released Elle’s arm long enough to rip at the big shirt she was wearing. Buttons flew. “Use this,” he said.

Elle hurriedly took the shirt off and tossed it to Brody. Brody got off the raft, which was now at the shore. He took a quick look at the man’s wound and then quickly wrapped the shirt around his torso and tied it tight.

It would be a miracle if the man didn’t die before they got to wherever they were going.

“Neither of these men can walk,” he said. “We need to help them.”

Patch pointed at his two healthy men that they should assist the man who’d been gut-shot. He let go of Elle’s arm and pushed her toward Bob. “Help your friend,” he said.

Brody and Elle each took a side, with Bob sandwiched between them. “Lean on me,” Brody said. “Use Elle for balance.”

The short man led the group, machete in hand. Then the gut-shot man with his two helpers. Then Brody, Bob and Elle. Finally, Patch brought up the rear. He walked with his gun pointed at Elle’s back.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to walk far. They went less than a quarter of a mile before they came upon a clearing and a waiting helicopter with a pilot in the seat. Still, Brody knew that for those carrying the injured, it was far enough to be carrying extra weight, and for the injured, it probably felt as if it had been a ten-mile-long death march.

They were loaded into the helicopter and Brody immediately went to work assessing Jamas’s man. Now that he was closer to him, he could see that he was probably no more than twenty although his young face and body already showed signs of wear and tear.

He untied the makeshift tourniquet and peeled back the man’s bloody shirt. He gently turned him to look at his back. No exit wound. The good news was that he wasn’t bleeding out from the back. The bad news was that a single bullet could do a lot of damage to multiple organs. If he didn’t open him up and retrieve the bullet, the kid was going to die for sure. If nothing else, the infection would kill him. “What’s your name?” Brody asked.

“André,” the man whispered through his crooked teeth.

“Okay, André,” Brody said. “You’re going to make it. Just hang on.” He couldn’t do much for him while they were on the helicopter. Brody looked up at Patch. “How long is the flight?”

“Not long. Fifteen minutes.”

* * *

E
LLE
WAS
SICK
at the idea of coming face-to-face with T. K. Jamas. But she was not going to come apart now. Not when Brody had been so amazing. He’d been just seconds away from his own death when he saw the one card that he held that made him different.

And for whatever reason, it had been the right card. She’d felt the physical reaction the man had when Brody said he was an orthopedic surgeon. The energy had run through his body, down his arm and into his hand that had been still tightly clamped around her arm.

The only logical explanation was that someone in Jamas’s camp was injured or sick and needed health care. Physicians were certainly available in Brazil—there were many fine ones. There had to be some reason that the person wasn’t seeking help from a more traditional source.

Maybe Jamas was dying. She could only hope.

It wasn’t long before the helicopter landed in an open space and the group was hurried into a one-story wood frame house that seemed to literally grow from the exterior of the mountain. It had dark green siding and a green roof.

Once she was inside, she could see that the inside was much plusher than the exterior. It was larger than it appeared from the outside and she realized that it must extend deep into the hillside, safe from prying eyes from above.

They were led to a large room in the center of the house. It had a gleaming hardwood floor and beautiful rugs. There were oil paintings on all four walls, and lovely chandeliers hung from the ceiling. They were electric, which told her that there were likely generators pumping electricity into the house. Even Jamas was not powerful enough to have had electricity run into the jungle. Well, maybe he was powerful enough, but given the exterior and how it blended into the surrounding area, she doubted he wanted to draw that much attention to this property.

Oh, God. Was this where he brought the young girls?

Jamas was sitting on the brown leather couch in the middle of the room. He was holding a cup and she suspected it was tea. On more than one occasion when he’d visited the school, before she realized he was a monster, she’d brewed him a cup.

He did not get up when they entered. He did not look ill. If he didn’t require a doctor, then who?

The man who had done the talking at the river grabbed her arm and yanked her to the front. She was going to have a hell of a bruise.

That was going to be the least of her injuries given the look in Jamas’s eyes, and she felt the fear that she’d managed to keep at bay rocket up.

He wasn’t a man who took risks.

But he’d given instructions to bring her to him alive. Which told her that he was confident that whatever he had planned for her, she would never testify against him.

She remembered what she’d learned when she contacted the authorities. It was believed that Jamas had been involved in human trafficking for years. The girls were whisked out of the country and sold to the highest bidder, to be at his mercy. To be used, abused.

She would rather be dead.

But first she needed to do what she could to insure that Brody and Bob were able to escape. Brody was certainly holding up his end of the bargain. He’d kept everyone alive so far. She had attempted to catch his eye once or twice before realizing that he was deliberately not looking at her or appearing to be too interested.

Jamas looked at the man holding her arm. He spoke in Portuguese. The only part that Elle really caught was the man’s name. Felipe.

They were talking and assessing Brody. Brody met their stare. She heard Felipe say Brody’s full name, then something else, and finally
orthopedic surgeon
.

Jamas got off the couch and walked toward Brody. He carried his tea with him. “I have resources, Dr. Donovan, that will tell me very quickly whether you’re lying or not.”

Brody shrugged. “I’m not lying. Brody Donovan. Grew up in Colorado. Went to medical school at Harvard in Boston. Did my residency at Mass General. For the last eight years, I’ve been in the air force, working as an orthopedic surgeon in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

Elle could almost feel the energy radiating off Jamas. He was excited about something. It was eerily similar to Felipe’s reaction.