When Cyn felt the car slow down, she opened her eyes in time to see Art Bedford turning off onto an exit.
"Where are we going?" she asked, puzzled by the detour.
"I've got to check in, let them know we've crossed the state line. I'll find a pay phone. You stay in the car," he said, smiling at her. "I'll lock the door and keep an eye on you from the telephone booth."
Cyn shook her head in agreement. "Would you ask if there's been any update on Nick Romero's condition?"
"Sure thing. And if you want a cola or coffee or—"
"No, thank you. I'm fine." She closed her eyes again.
Bedford pulled into an all-night truck stop, parking the car close to the pay telephones. "I won't be long. And I'll be sure to ask about Romero."
Cyn glanced around the modern, brightly lit truck stop. Even with the windows up, she could hear the roar of engines, the beat of country-western music coming from somewhere inside and the loud laughter of two scruffy men in white T-shirts, faded jeans and ball caps with Budweiser embroidered across the front. One of the men lit a cigarette while the other bit off a big plug of chewing tobacco.
Looking back toward the telephone booth, she noticed Bedford was smiling at her while he talked. He seemed relaxed and self-assured, as if he didn't have a care in the world. He must be pretty sure of his abilities to protect me, she thought. If only she could be sure that someone was protecting Nate. Her gaze searched the dark night sky, seeking and finding a bright star. With all the faith in her heart and soul, she prayed that a power far beyond any earthly force would keep Nate safe.
Cyn heard the back door directly behind her open. Jerking her head around she saw a man bending over, slipping inside. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could emit one sound, the stranger tossed a large white envelope into the front seat, then pointed a gun in her face.
"I wouldn't cry out if I were you, Ms. Porter." His voice had a ring of familiarity. She looked at him, recognition dawning.
"Ah, yes, I see that you understand."
"You can't get away with this," Cyn told him, stealing a quick glance toward the phone booth. Bedford was standing outside, looking at her and smiling. What's wrong with him? she asked herself, can't he see the man in the back seat? Perhaps in the darkness, he couldn't. "There's a man with me. A government agent."
Bedford opened the door on the driver's side, bent over and peered inside. "You have my money?" he asked.
The man in the back nodded toward the front. "On the seat. Feel free to count it."
Suddenly Cyn felt disoriented, knowing and yet afraid to admit that she understood what was happening. She glared at Art Bedford. "You're handing me over to this man. You're betraying the agency for money."
"Smart, isn't she," Bedford said. "And pretty. You wouldn't care to share her with me before you confront Hodges, would you?"
Fear, searing and painful, choked her. The very thought that either of these men would touch her made her physically ill.
"Get in, Bedford," the stranger said. "You will drive us back to Sweet Haven, to Nate Hodges's home. And then you will leave. I suggest you disappear quickly. You can buy yourself a woman, a dozen women, with the money in that envelope."
Bedford obeyed, getting in, starting the car and pulling out onto the highway. "Oh, yeah, Ms. Porter, word is that Nick Romero has a visitor and that visitor has just received a message about you."
No, no, she wanted to scream. This was all a trap, a trap to capture Nate, and she was the bait. The man in the back seat lowered his gun, but continued holding it in his steady right hand.
"Don't think about doing anything foolish, Ms. Porter. I much prefer that you're still alive when Nate Hodges comes to me. You see, I have dreamed of the day I could take from him what he once took from me."
Cyn stared at the man, noting the sinister black patch over one eye. His other eye gleamed a silvery blue in the flash from an oncoming car's headlights. His left arm lay limp at his side. The sleeve of his expensive silk jacket, creased just above his wrist, hung loosely over the hidden stub of his hand.
"Turn around and relax, Ms. Porter. We have a long drive to Sweet Haven."
Cyn ordered herself not to tremble, not to cry, not to give this monster the satisfaction of seeing her fear. When he reached out and touched her shoulder, she cringed, but forced herself not to pull away.
"I'm sorry that I've been so rude. I just realized that we haven't been properly introduced, although I'm sure the Conquistador has spoken of me. I am Ian Ryker."
Chapter 15
Nate stepped outside the intensive care trauma unit. He hated hospitals, the smell of pain and death everywhere. Although he and Nick Romero had both suffered combat injuries in Nam, they'd both been damned lucky to be part of a highly trained unit where death had been the exception instead of the rule.
Romero looked awfully rough. He was so high on medication that his speech was slurred and his thinking confused. He'd been calling for a woman, the name familiar to Nate although he had no idea who she was. Once, years ago, Romero had mentioned her name when he'd been so drunk he couldn't stand. Nate had asked him about her later, and his old friend had laughed and said that she was the one blonde he'd never been able to forget. Nate wished he knew who she was and how to contact her. If ever Romero had needed someone to care about him, it was now.
In critical condition and the safety of his leg still in doubt, Romero was as tough as they came, and if anyone could live through something like this, he could.
Nate only hoped that he would be as lucky himself and be the one still alive after his confrontation with Ryker. Life had never meant so much to him. He had always been reckless and unafraid. But that was before Cynthia Ellen Porter had entered his life in the form of a flesh-and-blood woman who loved him as he had never dreamed anyone could love him. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live.
Walking down the hall in a meditative daze, Nate accidentally bumped into someone. He looked up and saw J. P. Higdon. "Romero's still alive," Nate said. "And he's still got both legs."
"He'll make it," J.P. said. "You can't kill old battle-scarred warriors like you and Nick."
"I hope you're right." Nate noticed the strange concentrated stare Higdon gave him, the telltale nervousness as he shifted his feet repeatedly. "What's wrong?" Nate felt his heart in his throat, pounding loud and wild.
"We just received a message from Ryker."
Out of the corner of his eye, Nate saw Emilio Rivera standing several yards away near the elevators. "The message was for me?"
"Yeah, it was for you."
"Hell, man, quit beating around the bush and tell me."
"Ryker has Cynthia Porter."
Pain, intense and all-consuming, spread through Nate like high-voltage electricity. Anger more fierce than any he'd ever known claimed him. Grabbing Higdon by the lapels of his jacket, Nate shoved him up against the wall. "How the hell did this happen? You said Bedford was one of your best men."
Higdon, his eyes bright with fear, his upper lip coated with sweat, shook his head in a plea for understanding. "I have no idea what happened. Bedford could be dead for all I know. Does it really matter right now? Ryker has Ms. Porter at your place."
Nate knew immediately that Ryker had taken her to the storage rooms, to the old mission. In Nate's recent nightmares, Ryker had been in a dark, musty room when he had smiled triumphantly at Nate as he held Cyn's lifeless body.
"Ryker has threatened to kill her unless you come alone and we call off your protection," Higdon said, struggling to free himself from Nate's menacing hold.
"Then call them off." Nate loosened his grip. "And if Bedford isn't dead, he will be if I ever find him."