CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It took the better part of the morning, but Etienne finally pushed through the overgrown brush and spotted a rutted pathway, obviously used by locals.  It would make their trek easier if they could follow it.  Though he’d have to be vigilant, and watch for signs of the mercenaries.  Glancing up at the sky, he gauged the direction by the sun’s position. 

They’d been heading northwest for the morning, and he hoped they’d end up close to Roberts’ place by midafternoon.  If he’d been on his own, he’d probably make it faster, but Stephanie was dragging, and he didn’t want to push her any harder than he’d already done.  She hadn’t gotten much sleep, and his lips curved upward as he remembered why. 

They’d walked for about thirty minutes when the sound of an approaching vehicle grew closer.  He pulled the M4 carbine free of his shoulder, and held it in front of him, motioning for Steph to stand behind him.  If it was locals, he’d ask for help or directions.  But if it was the men from the villa, he could make a stand, and give Stephanie a fighting chance at getting away. 

A small beat-up sedan appeared, it’s pale blue color faded almost too white, with pockets of rust decorating the front bumpers and hood.  A lone person could be seen through the windshield—a woman. 

“Follow my lead, honey, and if I say to run, you hightail it into the jungle.  No questions.” 

He didn’t wait for her answer, but waved his hand, getting the driver’s attention.  The car slowed to a crawl as the woman pulled up beside them. 

“Buenos dias.  Habla usted Ingles?” 

The dark-haired woman, who looked about twenty, smiled, though she eyed him warily.  Understandable, he thought, since he was holding a gun in the middle of Costa Rica.  Probably not something she saw every day.  “I speak English.  How may I help you?” 

“I’m looking for a friend’s house.  American, like me.  He lives outside of the city.  Dylan Roberts.” 

“I know Señor Roberts.  You are not far from his home.  Get in and I will take you.” 

He’d rather have directions and make it on his own, but Stephanie—he needed to think about her first.  Get her to safety.  Taking a chance on a stranger in the middle of a foreign country wasn’t the smartest move, but he weighed the odds, and decided to take the chance.

“Thanks, we’d appreciate the ride.”  Opening the back door, he let Stephanie slip in first, and followed behind, placing the gun across his lap.  If their friendly driver turned out to be double-crossing him, he wanted to be able to get off a quick shot. 

“I am Dolores.  My family runs the bodega in the center of town.”  She glanced in the rearview mirror at Stephanie.  “I think I saw you and your friends there before, yes?” 

Steph nodded.  “We were there a couple of days ago.  Your mother made the most amazing conch fritters.  I couldn’t stop eating them.” 

Dolores grinned again.  “People come far to eat Mama’s cooking.”  Etienne watched her, and saw her bite her lip.  Knew what was coming.  “Can I ask, why are you in the rainforest?  It is none of my business, but—I’m nosy.  Papa always says my curiosity will get me in trouble.” 

“Dolores, I don’t want to get you involved in anything that might get you into trouble.  Just get us to my friend’s house and everything will be fine.” 

Dolores focused her attention back on the pockmarked road.  The rain from the night before had left big puddles in the grooves.  They’d driven for about a mile before she hit the brakes, and put the car into park. 

“Señor, I know you are in trouble.  You and the pretty chica.”  Sympathy shone in her eyes, and her smile faded.  “Do not go into town.  Word has spread of a big reward for information about you and the pretty lady.” 

“Etienne—”

“Not now, Steph.”  He placed a hand on her thigh, squeezing gently, to mitigate his harsh words, but he needed to deal with Dolores.  “So, what happens now?  You going to turn us in?” 

“No, señor.  I came searching for you—to help.  I do not trust these men who have been in town.  They bring trouble to our village, then we will lose the tourists who are the way our village survives.  No, I must help you.  You can trust me.  I show you this,” she reached for something on the seat, and Etienne’s fingers tightened around the M4.  Please, don’t make me shoot you.  Not in front of Stephanie.  I never want her to see that side of me. 

She held up a bright yellow paper covered with bold writing.  It was in Spanish, and though he knew enough to get by verbally, the written words not so much.  Though he did recognize the twenty-five thousand American dollars clear enough. 

“Men came yesterday, into town, asking questions about an American man and woman.  Me and my familia, we say nothing.  But there are others who would turn you over to these bad men for much less money.” 

“We’ll be safe if you can get us to Dylan Roberts’ house.  He can help get us out of the country.  Plus, my brother will be there.” 

“Okay, I will take you there, but if I say get down, move fast.  There are eyes everywhere.” 

“Understood.” 

They continued on, the only sounds the splashes of water when the tires rolled through another pothole.  The worn dirt road finally merged onto a paved stretch, and the ride was considerably smoother.  Stephanie’s head rested on his shoulder, and he snuck a discreet peek her way.  Her eyes were closed, and a small, secretive smile made her look like a Madonna.  Even the sunlight circling her blonde hair emphasized the image. 

“Señor Dylan’s house is just up the road.  I will drop you off nearby away, because if anyone sees me, it will cause much trouble.” 

She slowed the car before pulling over to the side of the road.  Stephanie reached across the seat and grasped the other woman’s shoulder.

“Thank you.  We really appreciate your help.  And you be careful, too.  We don’t want you to get in trouble.”  She glanced at him, and whispered, “Should we give her C.S.S.’ number, in case there are any repercussions?”

“Good idea.  Dolores, do you have anything to write with?” 

Opening the glove box, she rummaged around, before pulling out a pen, and handed it to him along with the yellow flyer. 

“Will this do?”

“Great.”  He wrote his name and the office phone number on the back of the paper.  “If you have any problems, or if anybody finds out you helped us, call this number.  Ask for me or Samuel Carpenter.”  He handed her the paper, and watched her fold it and stick it into her bosom.  Nice way to keep it out of sight. 

“Good luck.  May God watch over your journey.” 

“Thank you, Dolores.”  Opening the door, he slid out, leaning back in to give Stephanie a hand.  The M4 was held firmly in his right hand, because he wasn’t taking any chances, especially this close to Roberts’ place. 

Tucked back around the corner he saw the building he’d been in when first arriving.  It seemed like so very long ago, yet it had barely been a day and a half.  Yet the one thing he’d come for, he’d accomplished.  Getting Stephanie away from her captors.  He knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the C.S.S. team showed up.  For all he knew, they might already been in Costa Rica.  He wouldn’t know, though, until he talked to his brother or Roberts.

A couple of cars and a jeep were parked in front of Roberts’ home, though he didn’t see any people outside.  May or may not be a good thing.  Approach with caution, because if things had gone to hell in a handbasket, he wanted some forewarning before walking right up to the devil behind the door. 

“Shh.  I want to get a quick lay of the land before we head inside, just to be safe.” 

“Got it,” her whispered reply came from right beside him.  Yeah, he knew she wasn’t going to stand by idly and allow him to leave her behind.  Wasn’t her style.

Moving on silent feet, he circled around to the side of the house, staying low and in the shadows, and Stephanie’s eyes followed his every move.  Andrea had obviously been training her well, because she caught on quick.  The windows were open, and he heard the murmur of voices coming from deeper inside the house.  Using the barrel of the gun, he eased aside the gauzy fabric covering the window, enough to see inside. 

Nobody he recognized.  No Roberts.  No Bas.  And no way was he going in—not with Stephanie still in danger.  He opened his mouth to ask her to hide, and she shook her head before he got a word out.  Yeah, he didn’t think she would, but it had been worth a shot. 

He jerked his head toward the denser foliage behind the house, and she crept forward, looking around as she walked.  Damn, he was proud of her.  She took everything Gareth Prescott threw at her, and was still standing.  Holding her head high, because she wasn’t about to let the other man defeat her.  It just made him love her more—if that was possible. 

Once out of sight, he knelt down beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder.  “I need to get inside, see if they’re hostiles or part of Roberts’ team.”

“Then we go in.”

He shook his head.  “Not we—me.”  When she started to protest, he held up his hand.  “I can’t work effectively if I have to worry about somebody hurting you, sweetheart.  I need to be able to focus, and figure out who’s who.  If you’re there, I won’t be doing my job, I’d be too worried about keeping anybody from touching you.” 

She huffed out a long breath.  “I don’t like it, but I understand.  But so help me, if anything happens to you, I won’t be responsible for my actions.” 

“Deal.”  He brushed a soft kiss against her lips, and inhaled the scent of her skin, trying to memorize it, and make it part of himself.  “Stephanie, if I don’t come back out—”

“Don’t say it!”

“If I don’t come out, figure out a way to get into town and find Dolores.  Call Samuel, let him know what’s going on.  Promise me, baby.” 

Her beautiful blue eyes swam with tears, and he wanted to kick himself for being the one to put them there.  But this was too important.  He couldn’t let Prescott get his hands on Steph again.  No matter what. 

“Please, promise me you’ll be careful.” 

Reaching into his boot, he slid free the blade he’d used the day before.  It was thin, yet sharp and deadly.  Flipping the blade until the handle was toward her, he waited until she grasped it.  “I’ll be back.”

“You’d better.” 

Without another word, he stepped out of the bushes and ran toward the house, refusing to look back, because he might change his mind and never leave her.  Staying low to the ground, he made his way toward the back of the house.  The home was built up off the ground on cement blocks, so he crawled underneath, praying there weren’t any deadly varmints under there, because without his knife, that only left the M4.  If he had to use it, whoever was inside would know immediately where he was, and he’d be trapped. 

Inching along the dirt and rocks beneath the house, he army-crawled along on his belly.  He thought he’d left this crap behind when he’d left the military.  Guess you never get too far away from your training. 

About halfway across, he could hear voices, mostly in Spanish, with an occasional English phrase.  Definitely not Bas.  Poor bugger couldn’t even manage good morning in a foreign language. 

Which meant they were probably hostiles, although there was a slim chance they might be part of Roberts’ team.  He lay still, watching as a green and brown-colored snake crawled across the earthen floor not two feet from his head.  Holding his breath, he watched it slither out of sight, before exhaling a long sigh. 

Listening for what seemed like an eternity, he caught enough of the conversation to realize that these weren’t part of Roberts’ team, not unless he turned out to be after the reward money Prescott was offering for Stephanie’s safe return.  Prescott was getting serious, because he’d doubled his previous offer.  That kind of money could make a mother turn on her own child. 

Not willing to take any chances, he eased out from beneath the house, and started to stand, only to spot a pair of black combat boots less than a foot away from his face. 

Damn it, he was so screwed.