Chuch would never leave Eva, and she was pregnant. Plus, they functioned as a unit; I could hardly ask for one without the other.
Chance? With the way things ended between us, I had no right to drag him into this mess now. My heart ached at the thought of him. I hoped he was happy and safe, at least, but if I wanted him to stay that way, I needed to leave him alone. Additionally, Nalleli had just cleansed me of all the ill luck, and it made no sense to summon him when I didn’t know what I’d be facing.
That left only one alternative, as I’d known all along.
Since I wasn’t sure where they were taking me, I dressed in jeans and a plain pullover. It gave me the willies when I located fresh underwear. Escobar just knew too much about me for personal comfort.
Paolo came for me shortly thereafter. Doubtless that was meant as a kindness, since he was young and nonthreatening. I followed him through the silent, opulent halls. Instead of turning toward the study, we went all the way through the house to an enormous veranda. Beyond, a private plane sat waiting on a distant airstrip.
“I’m not seeing your father again?”
“You will not,” he said, “until you’ve proven yourself. He is . . . reclusive.”
This just kept getting better. “Okay. So do I tell you the name, then?”
He inclined his head. “Please.”
“Kel—big guy, bald, tattooed—he was with me when they grabbed me. I’m sure your dad knows who he is.”
“Undoubtedly.” His tone implied Escobar knew everything worth knowing. “Farewell and good luck.”
I made my way across the veranda, down the steps, and across the field. A man in black waited for me, arms folded, beside the stairs leading to the plane. I had no idea if we were even still in Texas; the landscape gave me no clue. We might’ve crossed the border while I was unconscious.
“¿Lista?” the thug asked as I approached.
Ready as I ever will be. Nodding, I preceded him up the steps. He gave the orders and we got under way. I didn’t mind flying, except for takeoff and landing, but everything shook more in a small plane. This one couldn’t hold more than ten people. That meant we couldn’t be going far—well, not across an ocean, anyway.
Apart from my silent guard, I didn’t see anyone besides the pilot, and unlike commercial planes, I could see right up the aisle into the cockpit. They exchanged a few muttered words in Spanish, and then the plane powered up. I buckled in. A little voice asked if I was crazy. As we zoomed toward the end of the airstrip, I decided the answer was yes.
We put down in what seemed like a sea of trees—from the air, everything was green. I closed my eyes rather than watch the pilot aim for the impossibly small runway that was more of a dirt track in a clearing. The man guarding me grunted at me to exit the plane. I was tired and sore by this time, so I stumbled down the metal steps and into sweltering heat.
It was a different kind than I had felt in the mountains of Mexico; this was jungle heat. Monkeys chattered in the distance, and I suppressed a shiver. The guard gestured me toward an old decommissioned military jeep. They aren’t big on the explanations.
When I approached the vehicle, relief spilled through me. Kel sat in the backseat, and he didn’t appear to have come to any harm. I swung up beside him, immediately feeling more centered. It had shaken me more than I wanted to let on, the easy way Escobar had taken me.
“You knew I was in no real danger, right?” I asked softly. “That’s why you didn’t fight?”
“It was a necessary risk.” Which meant he hadn’t been sure.
“Did they explain the point of this exercise?”
“You chose me.” Somehow he made it sound like more than it was, a decision driven by necessity, as if I wanted him here, and, moreover, as if that meant something. “We’ll see it through together.”
The men conferred, and then two of them turned back toward the plane. One got in the driver’s seat. He didn’t speak to us, merely took off driving along a rutted road. A couple of times, I tried to ask a few questions, but he wouldn’t give me anything, so we passed the miles in silence. The light faded over the trees, and at nightfall, we came to the outskirts of a village.
Our driver cut the engine and addressed us in accented English. “This is as far as I take you. Instructions wait at house of Señora Juárez.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered. “Thanks for the ride.”
Kel was already out of the jeep, so I got down too. He led the way down the narrow dirt track leading into the small cluster of houses. I had no idea where we were, but from the look of folks going about their business, I guessed somewhere in Central or South America. That covered a lot of territory.
He stopped a man at random. “Perdone. Estamos buscando a la Señora Juárez. ¿Sabe dónde vive?”
Though the villager treated us both to a look of justified suspicion, the guy pointed us in the right direction. Broken glass crunched underfoot as we walked. The few shops open were small, occupying the bottom floor of someone’s home, and the brands of beer advertised rang no bells either. We definitely weren’t in Mexico, where you couldn’t go twenty feet without seeing a Sol sign.
“You don’t mind that I called on you for this?” Based on his reaction earlier, he might even be pleased, but I needed to be sure.
“If you had not,” he said, “I would have found you. I have my orders.”
“I don’t think Escobar would take kindly to our breaking his rules. He’s crazy.”
In a different way from Montoya, of course, but I didn’t feel any safer, even with this prospective alliance on the table. This was so far outside my usual parameters as to be laughable. And stupidly enough, I missed my dog.
“But he is well-disposed toward you, and you need his resources.”
“Right. Is Shannon okay? And Butch?”
“They’re fine. Shannon was helping Eva put the finishing touches on the nursery when Escobar’s men showed up.”
Honestly, that news scared the shit out of me. If Escobar knew that much, Montoya might be able to find out too. There was no guarantee I could keep trouble away from Chuch and Eva’s front door, much as I wanted to. If anything happens to them—
But this was no time to get emotional. I had to be strong and resourceful and brave. Especially brave. As we approached the ochre adobe house, I steadied my breathing and tried to compose myself.
He rang the bell and no one came, so he rapped on the heavy wooden gate. From within I heard slow stirring and footsteps. An old woman answered; she peered at us with rheumy eyes and then waved us in, but no farther than the courtyard. She bade us wait, shuffling around the corner of the house. Five minutes later, another woman stepped through the front door, carrying two backpacks. She was not young, and she wore fear in the shadows beneath her eyes. When she held out the bags, her hands trembled. I tried to question her as well, but she shook her head.
“Tell him I did as he asked,” she said in Spanish. “Tell him. Go now.”
Other than refuse and be ejected forcefully, there was nothing for us to do but step back onto the street. It was dark now, and there were no streetlights. Only the distant shimmer of taberna lamps lent any illumination. From this angle they might have been stars blinking back at us, sad and melancholy, through the windows.
“Whatever we’re meant to do first, we can’t begin in the dark.”
He agreed with a quiet nod. “Did you notice anywhere we could stay the night?”