I drove the entire day and half the night before I was willing to concede to a few hours of sleep in another motel room off the highway. What I really wanted to do was get Scarlett on a god damned plane and put an ocean between us and anyone who might be following us.

It had been too risky to take a flight out of Nogales Airport. Marcos owned half the security in the airport, and in every airport within a five hundred mile radius. Along with the crooked cops he’d had in his pocket and his entourage of loyal goons, distance had seemed like the best option. Another day, and we’d be in Panama, far enough away that a flight would be less risky than to continue by car any further south.

There’d been no sign of anyone tailing us. No cars I’d seen a little too often. No suspicious people. Nothing. And if it weren’t for the prickle at the back of my neck, I would have been tempted to say we were in the clear. But it was there. It had been there since the night we’d driven away from Marcos’ flaming corpse. If anything, it had only grown stronger the further we ran.

I wasn’t used to running. It wasn’t my style, and maybe that accounted for the uncomfortable sensation that kept me on high alert. I didn’t think so though. That would just be too easy.

So, I glanced around the motel parking lot before getting out of the car and felt for the solid reassurance of the guns in the holsters beneath my shirt. Darkness shrouded everything beyond the parking lot, but the overhead lights lit up the area immediately surrounding us. After tailing us for so long without detection, an assailant wouldn’t risk a shot from far away. Something could go wrong and he’d lose the advantage of stealth.

I knew that because that was precisely what I would have been thinking. Anyone hunting us also couldn’t risk a shot going astray and hitting Scarlett. Whoever it was out there, they’d want her back—free of bullet holes.

I wanted to draw them out. The need to face the fucker on our tail was an overwhelming urge that would have been impossible to resist if it weren’t for her. I couldn’t risk Scarlett winding up in the crossfire. I wouldn’t.

With my eyes peeled and ears attuned for anything out of the ordinary, I took her hand and pulled her along with me into the motel clerk’s office. Five minutes later, we were ensconced in a room behind closed curtains and a locked door. Four, maybe five hours at most, and we’d be back on the road. At the moment though, she looked more like she needed to stretch than to sleep.

I released her hand to put our bags down on the small table and then peered out the window one last time. She remained right where I’d left her, looking around while her teeth toyed nervously with her bottom lip. I let out a deep, regretful sigh. I’d done this to her. I’d made it so that despite how much her body needed to move, she would stand there, waiting patiently for my next instruction.

At times, she seemed to overcome it, forgetting for a moment that just days ago there had been consequences to everything she chose to do on her own—cruel consequences that I had inflicted. I was an evil son of a bitch, and why she wasn’t trying to sneak away at every opportunity, I had no idea.

I was glad she wasn’t though. With threats still out there, I would have had no choice but to drag her back and hold her captive until I knew she’d be safe. It was my fault she was in this mess but this was my only hope of getting her out of it.

Once she was safely hidden across the Atlantic, then maybe things could be different. Unfortunately, by then she’d probably have come to her senses and would happily send me on my way. I’d fucked up. Actually, it turned out everything I was, was one giant fuckup. And I was going to pay for it big time when she mustered the nerve to walk away.

“Why don’t you go have a shower? It’ll help after sitting in the car for so long.”

The entire car ride hadn’t been bad. There were the pleasurable stops, but I’d also managed to get her talking afterward. I’d carefully avoided mentioning her books or the god damned journal—what the fuck had I been thinking about that confession?

We talked about hobbies instead, and it turned out the girl had come a long way from the stick figure drawings on my parents’ fridge. When she’d said she was kind of into art, I hadn’t thought much of it, but I must have seemed too dismissive because she’d searched around for pen and paper with a determined fire in her eyes—god, I loved that fire. Then she’d sketched out a rendition of the blazing car we’d walked away from, complete with an eerie pair of eyes staring back from amid the flames. Cold eyes. And despite the lack of color in her sketch, there was no mistaking who they belonged to—Marcos. It was as if he had been staring out at us even in death. It had sent a shiver down my spine and I’d promised myself to never underestimate her again. She was strong and smart, beautiful, and crazy-talented.

And right now, she was standing next to the door, fidgeting with her bottom lip. “What is it, Scar? If you have something to say, you’re free to say it.” Was that just another command? A few days ago, it had been ‘don’t speak’, and now I was telling her to speak. But what else was I supposed to do?

“I want you to come with me.” She looked up at me with hooded eyes—seductive eyes.

Fuck, what man could resist that offer? I shouldn’t have been doing it. Ending the physical connection between us would no doubt speed up her realization of what was really going on. I knew she was strong enough to break that tie if she saw it wasn’t supposed to be there. She just needed to see it. And yet, here I was, leading the way to the shower. But let’s face it, so long as I had a heartbeat, there was no way in hell I’d ever be able to resist her.

* * *

The alarm on my phone sounded at six in the morning and I reached for it on the bedside table to turn it off. Despite the few, short hours of sleep, I was wide awake. I had to be. I wanted to be out of here and on the final leg of our Central American portion of this journey as quickly as possible.

I’d even had the forethought to have Scar sleep in her clothes so there would be no naked tangle of limbs to slow us down. Unfortunately, it looked like her clothes had magically disappeared overnight because her naked leg was slung across my thigh and her hot pussy was pressed against my hip. If I hadn’t already been sporting morning wood, I would have been rock hard in an instant.

Gritting my teeth and forcing my mind onto every bit of unpleasantness I could think of—even that almost wasn’t enough—I forced myself to slip out of the bed, careful not to wake her.

Five minutes later, I’d taken a piss, brushed my teeth and froze off the lingering flames with an ice cold shower. I was awake, alert and ready to get the hell out of here. I stepped out into the room to wake her, but she was no longer on the bed.

I scanned the room, expecting to find her kneeling beside it or sitting at the small table. She wasn’t there. The door was closed and still locked, and the window curtains looked undisturbed.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where was she?

I shot to the window and looked out, but she wasn’t there. Nowhere. Not outside or in any of the cars in the lot. Scar was gone. A searing pain shot through my chest and the room started to spin in the red haze that clouded it.

Someone had come into the room in the few minutes I’d been out of it and taken her. How? Think, damn it. Think like him. I had minutes to pull it together and figure out what had happened, how the fucker had gotten out and where he’d take her.

No forced entry—that meant a key. I bolted for the door and toward the clerk’s office. I needed a description and a license plate.

She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t made a single sound, so she’d been taken unconsciously. That meant a blow to the head—which was never a sure thing—or an injectable sedative—the more likely weapon used.

It was a small relief—she wasn’t terrified, not yet. She had no idea I’d failed her yet, and I was going to fucking find her before she came to.

I threw open the office door. It slammed against the wall and the glass shattered. I stormed to the desk, drew the gun out of its holster and held it up to the young punk’s head. “Room twelve, who has the key?”

Incoherent stuttering, and I think the guy might have pissed himself. I didn’t give a fuck.

“You have three seconds before I blow your brains out. Three…”

“Your…your brother. Your brother has the key, Mister. Please, don’t kill me,” he sniveled.

I didn’t have a brother—in case you were wondering. “Describe him.”

“T-tall. Black hair…”

Yeah, in Central America, that was really fucking helpful.

“He-he had a scar. Yeah, a scar on his cheek.”

“Was he alone?”

“I think so,” the guy squeaked. “He…he said he just got back in town and wanted to surprise you. He gave me a thousand pesos to give him the key.”

A thousand pesos—fifty bucks? This dumb fuck had just handed Scar over for fifty bucks? My finger shook the trigger. The kid deserved to die. But Scar invaded my thoughts and I knew she wouldn’t want that.

“Car? What kind of car was he driving?”

“It was black. Yeah, black.”

I cocked an impatient eyebrow.

“One of those really expensive cars, you know?”

As useless as it was, that was all the information the punk was going to be able to give me. I couldn’t exactly walk out and have him calling the cops though. So, I slammed the butt of the gun into the punk’s skull and watched him crumple, unconscious in his seat. The kid would never know how fucking lucky he was.

Back outside, I grabbed my shit from the motel room, cast one last glance at the bed as if she might appear there even now, and then left the room. I slid into the car and revved the engine, half-expecting the car to have been tampered with, but the assailant hadn’t bothered. That meant he was either one cocky, son of a bitch, or else he was too nervous to spare a moment even to safeguard his own getaway.

I scanned every inch of space as I pulled out of the parking lot, but I already knew I wouldn’t find her here. It was an easy decision which way to head though. Either one of Marcos’ goons had scooped her up or else the buyer had. Both options meant heading back the way we’d come.

I made the mistake of glancing over at the empty seat next to me. Rage and agony nearly won out. My hands shook on the wheel and were clenched so tight I was surprised the wheel didn’t snap.

I wanted to scream, kick, hit; break everything I could get my hands on. But that wasn’t going to help her. What she needed was the cold-hearted asshole I’d been before I’d dragged her into my life. If I had been hunting down a runaway slave six months ago, I would have been the coolest fucker you’d ever seen. Any regret, any equivocation about the unsavory task…I would have buried it down and focused on the job at hand.

That’s what I did. It’s all I had known for a long time. Do the job—it was all that mattered because it brought what I’d needed. Purpose, respect, money. Power. All the things I’d thought I needed. Until Scarlett. And now because I’d fucked up, the only thing I cared about—the only person who mattered—was slipping further and further away by the second.

Think like him, a rational voice in my head whispered. Strange that the rational part had taken on Scar’s voice, but it—or she—was right. So, I did my damnedest to push everything else out. If I was him…I’d be heading north in a hurry. Especially after failing to take out the mark’s vehicle, I wouldn’t be making stops or detours for anything.

I’d be on the highway, slipping above the speed limit as much as possible without risking getting pulled over. An expensive car meant there likely wasn’t a lot of trunk room to stash her in, and I’d be nervous about doing it anyway because of the weapons I’d have stashed in there. So, Scar was likely lying beneath blankets in the back seat—not the best scene for a cop to find if I was pulled over.

I turned on the highway, scanning every black car I passed. Nothing. I pressed down on the gas pedal. I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about keeping a low profile. I had time to make up for, and if a cop wanted to pull me over, he could chase my ass all the way to the car that held Scar. In my Aston Martin, there was no fucking way a cop could keep up anyways.

Minutes passed. No sign of her. It was entirely possible they’d changed cars, but I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of spotting her then. So, I ignored the bleak possibility and kept looking for an expensive, black car and a driver with a scar across his cheek.

Ten minutes…twenty. Fuck, they’d changed cars. It was the only explanation. Driving at over a buck ten, I would have caught up with them by now. My stomach churned violently to think I could very well have driven right past her if she was concealed in a different vehicle.

I swerved off to the side of the road, cutting in front of two lanes of traffic to get there—I didn’t give a fuck. I yanked the phone out of my pocket and dialed the number of the only person I could call. The only person who might have a hope in hell of pooling resources to help me track her down.

There was no point in putting it off. If there was any hope the prick could help me find her, I’d gladly stand in front of his bullet once she was safe.

The phone rang once…twice. Every second was excruciating. Impatience crawled beneath my skin while barely checked rage simmered in the veins beneath.

Three times. Four. For fuck’s sake, pick up.

“Hello?” a smooth, deep voice answered.

“James Donovan? Your daughter’s been kidnapped, and I need your help to get her back.”

“Who is this?”

Was that a flicker of concern in his voice? God, I hoped so.

“I’m the man who took your daughter.” There was no point in beating around the bush.

The line was silent.

“You kidnapped my daughter and now you want…what? Ransom?”

Yeah…this is where the explanation got convoluted. All I had was the truth, and I was going to have to find a way to make that enough.

“I don’t want your money. I need your help. I was wrong. She showed me that. I was trying to get her away, but my employer…was a very powerful man, and his goons got her.”

“Let’s say I believe you for a moment. What is it you think I can do?”

“I know despite the humble appearance, you’re still involved in many…shady markets” I hedged, mindful of the possibility of a phone tap. If I helped get the guy thrown in prison, his usefulness would plummet.

“And you want me to find out if there’s been any commotion lately?”

“That’s all I want. Just information. Any buyers unhappy about a missing purchase, or contracts put out to retrieve a product.”

“I suppose there’s no point in asking who I’m speaking to…”

I didn’t have to tell him. It wouldn’t seem the least bit suspicious for men in our particular field, but if I told him who I was, it would show I was putting myself out there. My name was well known in our circle. It might help him take my call seriously. “My name is Derek Vaughan.”

Silence again.

“Where are you?”

My location? And if the man just put out a price on my head and looked for Scar on his own? Then she’d be safe. That’s all that mattered. It was worth it.

“I’m heading up through San José now. She was taken from a motel on the outskirt of Cartago approximately twenty-seven minutes ago.”

“All right.”

All right, what? What the fuck did that mean?

“You believe she’s being taken north of your location, I assume?”

“Yes. My guess is the assailant is bound for somewhere in the vicinity of Sonora.”

“Keep heading north. I will meet you in La Fortuna in three hours. Leave your phone on and I will contact you with an exact location when I land.”

It was like grating salt in wounds to take orders from James Donovan. Weeks ago, I’d been ready and eager to rip away everything right in front of his eyes and then shoot him between them. Now I was essentially begging for his help. “Fine,” I gritted out and slammed my thumb down on the off button.

It seemed my intel on him had been correct. James Donovan had most definitely been leading multiple lives. Getting from the States to La Fortuna, Costa Rica in a matter of hours meant he either still had a plane on standby or could get one easily. He also hadn’t made any mention of the information I needed being difficult to get.

Then why? Why did he live in an ordinary home, letting his daughter work at some photo-processing shop? He could have been living, and keeping Scar, in the lap of luxury all these years. Instead, he’d buried himself so deep in ordinary and anonymity that if Marcos and I hadn’t been hell-bent on finding him, he would have remained buried.

He’d taken an awful risk, living without the security his money could have bought them. And if he’d used it, maybe I would never have been able to get my hands on Scar in the first place, and she wouldn’t be unconscious in the back of some sick fuck’s car.

A flash of sleek, black car up ahead caught my attention, drawing it away from useless conjectures. It was a luxury vehicle and pulling off onto the exit ramp. I veered into traffic without looking and followed. It was her. It had to be her.

I followed at a safe distance for a mile after the exit. It was so damn tempting just to run him off the road, but I needed him in a less conspicuous location. And it looked like I was about to get my opportunity. The car swung hung a left and then turned onto the residential street on the right. It wasn’t the middle of nowhere, but it was close enough. The houses were spaced far apart. I hit the gas, got ahead of him ten seconds later and swerved into him to stop him.

Before he could back up, I was out of the car and outside his door. I yanked it open and hauled him out before he could gather up Scar to use as a hostage. The fucker was armed, but I kicked the gun out of his hand before he’d even raised it.

I yanked hard on his arm and twisted it back at the same time, forcing him to his knees while he hollered in pain. I dropped my gun out of reach and grabbed the knife to drive into him and feel the blood draining from his worthless body. Bloodlust. Pure and potent.

I raised my arm, my muscles taut, ready, but the glint of the sun off the rear passenger window caught my eye. It was empty. The rear seats were empty. Scarlett wasn’t there.

“Where. Is. She?” I ground out slow and careful because I wasn’t going to ask twice.

“She’s gone,” he replied with absolutely no inflection in his voice. “You’ll never find her.”

His eyes were lifeless. He’d put up a minimal fight. Why? He had to know I was going to kill him, yet he seemed resigned. “What’s going on?”

The guy shrugged. “I take the girl, you kill me, my family’s safe.”

“Safe from whom?”

“I handed the girl over ten miles back. That’s all the information I can give you.”

He lunged up all of a sudden and I drove the knife between his ribs. He gurgled as his body went slack seconds later. Fuck, what had I just done? I withdrew the knife, and he coughed, spraying blood all over my pants from his mouth and his chest. I dropped him to the ground.

He’d done it on purpose. Fuck. He’d deliberately come at me so I would have no choice but to put him down.

“Where? Where is she?” I demanded, dropping down beside him. The blood loss was substantial. I didn’t aim to wound. I aimed to kill. It’s what I knew, what Marcos had taught me. So, in just a few seconds, my only link to Scar would be dead.

He opened and closed his lips, trying to make sounds past the blood filling his mouth. I leaned closer. His mouth opened and closed again, soundless. Once more, and I heard him this time, just a second before he choked on his final breath.

One word. One word and the vice that had been squeezing my heart gripped tighter, threatening to stop it altogether.

Hell.

He’d said she was in hell.