Chapter Sixteen
Bree
"Wanna watch TV?" I asked the silent man. "I bet there's a game show or something on at this time of day."
He remained stony-faced and watched the motel room door.
"What's wrong with a little conversation?" I asked. The tense stream of words seemed to ease my nerves a little. "Afraid it will humanize me? Make it hard for you to do your job?'
I swallowed hard and perched on the end of the motel bed again. I hated to think what his job actually was. The silent man had fists the size of Easter hams and nasty scars across the knuckles. I was nothing but a pesky fly buzzing around him.
"Fine," I said. "But I'm warning you, silence makes me nervous. Makes me want to sing."
He didn't acknowledge my threat, only shifted in his seat and refocused his beady eyes on the motel room door.
I paused and held my breath. Maybe the man was listening to something I had yet to hear.
There were the usual motel sounds: a maid humming tunelessly as she pushed her creaking cart, the opening and closing of anonymous doors, and the faint blare of other guests watching afternoon game shows on television.
He heard the voices before I did.
They were faint, faraway, and punctuated by the slamming of car doors. Still, it was enough to get my silent jailer to his feet. He stood his ground by the motel room door and listened.
Icy reminders of being tossed into the van slid down my spine as I recognized the voices. The men who had thrown a black hood over my head and brought me here were walking up the stairs from the parking lot. Then there were more voices and a sudden scuffle.
My jailer scrunched his brow together as he strained to listen. At the end of the hall was some sort of scuffle. It was quiet, muttered curses and grunts, the dull thud of fists meeting flesh.
When there was a crash loud enough to rattle the cheap light fixture above my head, my jailer ripped open the door and disappeared.
I ran to the door but realized I was useless. My hands were still securely tied behind me. So, instead of trying to escape, I looked around wildly for something to free my hands.
The latch on the closet door was bent, one corner of sharp metal sticking up. I backed into it and began sawing the plastic zip-tie back and forth across the sharp point.
"Come on," I whispered. "This always works in the movies. It's not supposed to take an hour."
My shoulders were sore from the sawing motion and when I paused to rest, I heard the voices in the hallway again.
"I came here willing, so you can tell your goons to keep their hands off me," Nathan said.
"You made your point, but don't forget why you're here," another man responded.
A few other voices protested, one saying very nasty things I certainly did not learn in high school Spanish, while the other demanded a fair fight. Nathan must have gotten the jump on them in the narrow motel hallway and shaken them up.
I wanted to smile at the thought of Nathan cracking their heads together, but I was too scared. He shouldn't have come! If he was there, talking to those armed men, then it was all my fault. If I hadn't been stupid enough to approach my car, they never would have spotted me, and they would have assumed Nathan was far away.
Instead, they must have figured out I lied about the motel. It wouldn't have taken them long to call the other motels and give a description of Nathan and me. What I couldn't believe was that Nathan was still at the motel when they went looking for him. Had he been waiting for me?
"Why don't you make it easy on yourself, Nathan?" a man said outside my motel room door. "Just tell us where the drugs are and this will all be over."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Nathan said.
There was a dull thud, and I heard Nathan gasp for air.
"See, none of us are buying this whole amnesia thing. And Pedro here, he hates liars. So, I'm going to ask you again. Where are the drugs?" I recognized the man's voice from the bank and shivered with fear.
"Drugs are bad for you," Nathan said. "I'm doing you a favor by keeping you away from temptation."
My stomach clenched as I heard another heavy punch. Nathan groaned but came out of it laughing.
"You're forgetting about my leverage," the man said.
"It's not my fault your guys are as dumb as a box of rocks." Nathan's voice was strained. "You were so busy chasing me around that no one thought to look in my motel room."
"The drugs are there?" the man asked.
"In the vent," Nathan said.
"Pedro, thank our friend for me." The man waited while my jailer delivered another heavy blow. "We found those drugs before you even showed up. What I want to know is where the rest of it is."
"The rest of it?" Nathan asked, panting hard from the last gut punch.
"Stupid, stubborn gringo." The man spat on the motel hallway floor. "There's no way someone forgets about stealing that many kilos from my boss."
"Hey, I want my memory back as much as you do, but the doctor says I need rest and relaxation. So, how about you back off your goon there and give me some time to think?" Nathan's voice was back up to full strength.
The hard edge I heard in his words stopped my heart. Nathan wasn't going to give the men what they wanted, he couldn't, and he was going to get himself killed over it. I was afraid I was going to hear a gunshot any second now and it would all be over.
"How about we find some ways to jog your memory?" the man asked.
I jumped back from the door as someone was slammed against the other side. "Nathan!" I cried out.
"Excellent timing," the man said to me through the door. Then he turned his attention back to Nathan. "Remember our deal? You tell me what I want to know or I take it out on your pretty little waitress in there."
There was a deep, guttural roar and all hell broke loose in the motel hallway.
"Pedro, grab him! Jesus!" The man swore in Spanish close to the motel room door.
I wished I could have bashed him with it but my hands were still bound and there was nothing I could do to help.
Pedro remained silent but I could hear the splintering sounds as his heavy fists missed and hit the wall near my head. The cheap watercolor painting jumped off the wall and crashed to the ground next to me.
I heard a harsh chuckle escape Nathan as there was a pause in the commotion. The floorboards creaked as the men circled each other. Then the door strained against its hinges as someone was thrown against it hard.
I had to get my hands loose. I struggled to keep tabs on what was happening outside as I ran to the closet. I slashed the plastic zip-tie against the sharp metal latch and prayed that it would saw through soon enough. I worked so frantically I could feel the plastic rubbing my wrists raw, but I still couldn't pull my hands free.
"Get him detained before I get back," the man called.
"Poor Pedro gets the dirty work again," I muttered as I sawed at my restraints.
Nathan was panting hard when he told Pedro, "it doesn't have to be this way. You've been given orders not to harm me. Just go down easy and this will all be over."
My jailer gave a bull-like snort, then the floor shook as he charged Nathan. I heard the neighboring motel door splinter and both men grunt as they crashed to the floor.
By the time it was quiet, I had no idea if either man was still conscious, much less who had come out on top. Then there was the crunch of footsteps across what must have been the wreckage of the motel hallway.
I sawed frantically and couldn't help but laugh when the plastic finally fell off my wrists. I was free, but I had no idea who I'd be facing in the hallway.
I crept toward the door but was too afraid to even put my ear against it. There were voices calling out up and down the motel corridor: people complaining about the noise, the maid in a panic, and the gunmen's colleagues trying to reorganize.
But where was Nathan?
Suddenly, the motel room door knob rattled. It was locked but someone pushed against it hard and tried to rattle it again.
Pedro had the key; he would have just unlocked it.
"Nathan?" I whispered, putting one hand on the door knob. "Is that you?"
Loud voices and the wail of distant police sirens drowned out any possible response. The door knob rattled harder, and I had to make a decision.
I stood up, took a deep breath, and then turned the lock. I spun aside as the motel room door flung open, concealing me behind it. Then I held my breath and hoped I had let the right man in.