The Captive's Return
Page 3

She would only have a small window of time to slip out during the guard changeover. But she had to be gone before nightfall.
"Our walk will be a long one, just as you always ask. You'll have to be very good, though, and quiet. Definitely quiet. Then we can stay out longer than a half hour, all right?"
Nodding, her daughter pursed her tiny bow mouth shut tight and continued to bounce a path over the fluffy comforter, willing to do anything for more outdoor time, even stem her endless flow of chatter. Higher and higher she jumped, rattling the vase of orchids on the bedside table.
Sara tucked a knife inside the backpack, an ugly serrated knife, the riskiest of her stolen survival gear. Once clear of the house, she would secure it to her belt.
She would have preferred a larger blade but feared that would be too noticeable missing from the wooden block. So she'd opted instead for a loose steak knife in a kitchen drawer.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, thudding on the hardwood floors. Then muffled by the thick Persian runner closer to her room. Dios. She snatched up the backpack.
A knock sounded at the door.
Ice chilled her veins, like the pulse of an IV solution fresh from the refrigerator. Shoving the backpack under the bed, she raised her finger to her lips, scrounging for a smile for her daughter.
"It's all right to talk about the picnic, but keep our walk a secret," she whispered, regretting that she had to encourage her daughter to lie.
Turning, she opened the door a crack. Ramon stood in the hall, such a benign-looking man in his favored workout clothes with a tropical fruit smoothie in his hand. He battled age as fiercely as rival factions during his freedom fighter days.
She inched the door wider. "Si?"
Lucia leaped from the bed. "Tio Ramon!"
He scooped her up and twirled her high, as he did with his own grandchildren. Sara had long ago given up shuddering when he came near. At least he didn't harm Lucia, beyond the mental games of cultivating dependence. She'd also given up trying to understand the twisted logic of this man.
She hated him, but the hatred jumbled in with so many other emotions and memories of racing to hug him as a child, much like Lucia. And he'd brought in the best of care for her during her difficult pregnancy, even shipping her off to an exclusive, private clinic for the delivery.
In return, she lived under his constant control, as did his children, sisters and grandchildren. He said he considered her family, too. Her father would have done the same for Chavez women.
Ramon had only hit her once, just once when she'd asked to leave after Lucia's first birthday. He'd jarred her teeth and complacency, as well as fracturing her jaw.
He'd told her Lucia would suffer for any further betrayal of their family and country. In fact, he'd already murdered Lucas and Tomas because of her disloyalty, by shooting down their departing military helicopter. Tomas would be alive if she hadn't plotted to turn him into a traitor to their people.
She wanted to believe he'd lied. Regardless, there was nothing she could do for either of them, and she had to protect her defenseless daughter. She focused on shedding fluff for leather. Tougher. Stronger. Like Lucas.
Ramon lowered Lucia to the floor. "Enjoy your picnic, little one. It is fun to be spoiled every now and again, no? Just don't stay out too long. We need to lock down the compound tonight."
A shiver chased up her spine, but she refused to let her nerves fray. She'd held herself together the past years through sheer grit. She couldn't fail her daughter.
"I hope nothing's wrong," she asked, even though she already knew differently.
"There's no need to worry. I protect what is mine, and you've proven yourself well. You take good care of my treasures." He cupped her shoulder. "I am grateful."
He never touched her in a sexual manner. At first, she'd been afraid he planned to abuse her. But in some warped code of his, he segmented some women to mother roles and others to sexual—no crossover, as if his sex toys might somehow sully innocent children.
"Gracias." Survival, she reminded herself. "I appreciate the warning." Sara leaned, pressing her cheek to his.
"Your father would be pleased with how you've come along."
She refused to dwell overlong on reevaluating her childhood, how her father had been like this man and how that could have shaped her into a dependent person. Ruminating wasted energy. She understood Lucas so much better now. Too late.
The door clicked closed behind Ramon. Launching into action, she hauled the backpack from under her bed to finish packing.
If she could make it to the bridge by nightfall, they would be safe. She'd painstakingly sketched a map over the years, drawn from snippets of information here and there. A cook mentioning a walk on a path that way, while gesturing. A gardener referencing a fishing stream beyond the back stone wall. And other tidbits, seemingly meaningless when taken alone—until she'd compiled what she hoped was an accurate map of the landscape surrounding her luxurious prison. Why hadn't she paid more attention when Ramon had started building the place five-and-a-half years ago? But she'd been too caught up in her new life at the embassy—and her new romance with Lucas.
She'd hoped to make a more controlled break at a time of her own choosing. But this morning she'd overheard Ramon Chavez order his security forces to prepare for a rival crime lord's imminent attack.
Time had run out. She couldn't wait for the perfect moment, not with the possibility of Hector Padilla gaining control. The man's reputation for trafficking in child prostitution left her longing to gather her daughter close.
Sliding open her bedside drawer, Sara pulled out two small leather pouches, tucking one into the backpack by her Glucometer and bag of hard candies. She shoved the other into her fanny pack. Each contained insulin in case the other went missing. She knew better than to be reckless about her diabetes. She wedged the backpack into a picnic basket that should pass scrutiny if anyone saw her on the way through the courtyard to the stone wall where she would crawl through to freedom.
And pray she wasn't walking into a bigger hell.
What the hell?
From the cover of the towering hardwoods and tropical underbrush, Lucas studied the far western wall surrounding Ramon Chavez's compound. He'd planned a little last-minute recon along the deserted back wall. A ten-foot stone fence encircled the sprawling acreage of adobe buildings and a towering mansion, much like a small feudal village.
He'd been on the lookout for guards. He hadn't expected to see rocks and mortar pop free.
Sweat trickled down his spine, but he didn't bother plucking at his flight suit sticking to his back from the greenhouse-type heat generated by the jungle .canopy. He crouched lower, waiting without moving while a lizard scampered over his boot. Another stone, then two more tumbled into a spray of orchids. A head filled the makeshift portal with dark waves of hair draping over the brown and orange masonry.
A tangle of arms and legs tumbled through into the spray of hot pink.flowers, along with Spanish curses that made even an old crewdog like himself grin.
Only for a mind-numbing flash did he consider this might be the woman who resembled Sara. Then he'd looked closer.
Even with her hair still covering her face, he knew the woman reaching back into the hole—for a picnic basket?—could not be his wife. He knew her body well, intimately well, the memories of their month as lovers still vibrantly clear. So clear, those thoughts had left him aching through more than one sleepless night.
Certainly Sara had been taller, more voluptuous, brimming with energy and vitality, unlike this frail woman.
Who cursed like a sailor.
Still threats came in all sizes. Probably best he keep an eye on the situation for a while longer to make sure she didn't spot the military in place and send up a warning.
A rock-solid reason to stay put, and a convenient excuse since he couldn't pull his eyes away from the subtle sweet curve of her bottom as she snaked her arms inside again to heft free... A child.
Holy crap. He definitely needed to keep an eye on this. This jungle was no place for a kid to take a nature walk. A boy or girl? Tough to tell with the short dark curls and jeans.
A rustle sounded from the spiky fronds. The woman froze, hand drifting to her waist. His hand slid to his M9, his muscles bunched to protect her.
An iguana scampered up a tree.
She sagged against the wall, head hanging for two deep breaths while monkeys cackled overhead. Kneeling, she whispered to the child in a muffled exchange of part Spanish and English. Interesting. Bits and pieces wafted his way.
"—walk yet, Mama?"
Mama. Mother and child, not a nanny.
"Soon, we just have to tie your shoes and get—" The wind stole the rest of her sentence.
The child's head bobbed in answer. "Okay, and bugs."
"Yes, plenty of bugs." She gave the shoelaces a final tug, her hair dusting the ground. "Now we need to be very quiet. Shhhh."
"Shhhh." The child echoed, head bobbing, swishing forward a tiny ponytail he'd missed seeing before.
A girl. The woman's daughter, or definitely someone close to her, given the trusting way the little one slipped her hand into the woman's.
Dragging the picnic basket nearer, the woman flipped open the lid. Why leave the safety of the estate, and why climb through the wall for just a meal? Something wasn't right.
Hefting, she replaced the stones until the wall appeared untouched then turned back to her basket, reached inside and tugged, hard. That must be one helluva heavy sandwich. Finally, the bundle inside came free—a backpack. No PB & Js and apples in sight.
She slid her arms through the shoulder straps and shook free her tangled hair to reveal...
Sarafina Tesoro Quade—his wife of five years, his bride for only a few minutes—was alive.
Chapter 2
Freedom.
Sara could almost swear the air smelled better outside Ramon's fortress walls, even with the steamy humidity laden with the scent of decomposing undergrowth. But she didn't have time to analyze oxygen particles and rotting foliage. She needed to melt into the jungle with Lucia before someone noticed she hadn't returned to their quarters.
Squeezing her daughter's hand, she took reassurance from the strength emanating from Lucia's eyes. Her child had been born with a steely spine, unlike her mother who'd learned to cultivate one later. Lucia might look just like her, but she acted more like Lucas.
Or like her father could have been if she'd been gifted with the time to dismantle the walls around him. A tougher task than hefting those loose stones from the barrier behind her.
A silly thought, more like one she would have entertained before. If she didn't pull herself together quickly, she'd be blowing bubbles in the wind and letting others take care of her again.
At least she had her knife secured in her belt, and she wouldn't hesitate to use it.
She tugged the backpack straps tighter for the walk ahead. With luck, they would reach the bridge in under an hour. A couple hours more would bring her to a village where she could meld into a new community until she figured out who to trust. If memory served her correctly, there should be a base nearby. Frequent planes overhead had reminded her too often of Lucas over the years.
She clasped her daughter's hand and fast-walked toward the towering hardwoods. The dense branch ceiling overhead reverberated with a symphony of monkeys, macaws and heaven only knew how many more animals.
Noisy animals, thank heavens, that would help mask any sounds of her escape. They would stay parallel to the path for about a mile to disguise footprints, then blend back onto the safer route once she cleared the bridge.
Two more steps and they were out of sight. Allowing herself an exhale of relief, she turned her head to smile down at her daughter and—
A hand clamped over her mouth, strong, yanking her back against a solid masculine chest. Lucia stumbled away, eyes wide with terror.