The Captive's Return

"I wanna walk."



"Not today." They couldn't risk pumping the venom through her system any faster. "But soon, I promise."



Lucia shrugged. "Okay, long as we can share a mango instead of those icky bananas."



"Deal." To hell wasting time to hide their camp.



He reached for the first aid kit and finally let himself look at Sara, so pale he wondered if he would have to carry her, too. What a time to remember she needed to take things slower because of her own health concerns that he'd been too much of a bastard to realize.



Her lips pressed tight before she nodded. "I can keep up."



She had to, and they knew it.



"We need to make tracks and get to the town before nightfall. Best-case scenario, we have twelve hours. Since she's a kid, with a faster metabolism... We need to move. Now."



Her trembling jaw told him he didn't need to articulate the rest. They both knew. Children were at a greater risk.



They had twelve hours before the spider's toxin could kill Lucia.



They were alive. Ramon was certain.



Kneeling by the idling Jeep, he studied the baked footprints in the fading sunlight filtering through the jungle canopy. A solid trail. For some reason they'd broken from their covert jungle trek.



Another few seconds and he would be back in the Jeep, following them full out. He hadn't actually seen Sarafina, but knew in his gut the smaller set of footprints belonged to her. If she was still on her feet then whoever had taken her hadn't hurt her yet. Someone must be carrying Lucia, which worried him. Sara didn't have the strength to cart the child and he hated to think of the little one terrified in the arms of a monster.



He grieved for his country that men like Padilla gained power. They needed a strong hand, but not a brutal one. Hadn't he proven himself in the way he took care of Sara even though she'd tried to leave? And again with this woman who could very well be out to kill him?



He wasn't heartless. He prided himself on his humane treatment of prisoners, like now. Hadn't he let the Nola woman make a trip into the brush alone as long as she sang the whole time? Not a bad voice. But how strange hearing her hum when she stayed silent otherwise.



The gunfire had finally faded. Calls on the two-way radio while Nola took her breaks had reassured him at least some of his men had survived. How many, he wasn't sure yet. But he'd given them instructions to meet him at the small town at the end of this road where people loyal to him waited. Once there, he could find out whatever he needed. Soon.



"Nola? Finish. We need to leave."



The humming stopped.



"Nola?"



Gun raised hip level, he strode toward the brush. "Don't make me hurt you."



She stood, breathless. Tucking her head, she rushed past, long bare legs blotched from bug bites and bramble scratches. "Sorry."



He watched her through narrowed eyes. He'd been out of the field for over twenty years, but he'd staged training ops to keep himself sharp. Ramon whacked the brush aside with the nose of his gun. He found simple broken limbs, as he would expect. And sticks jabbed into the ground beside a knotted palm in a precise pattern.



In a code.



She'd been leaving signs, and these weren't just rudimentary markings. Damn right, she had survival training.



And she'd been playing him all along.



Chapter 9



Sweat as thick and gritty as her fear, Sara wished she could wake from this nightmare—it was a hint away from dark after all. She would open her eyes to find herself playing with her daughter. While she was at it, the past five years could turn out to be some horrible dream, too.



Except her eyes were already open, the burning in her exhausted legs very real as she raced beside Lucas with Lucia in his arms. He'd told her the "safe place" he'd mentioned earlier was actually an American-kept "safe house"—which had stunned her to the roots of her hair, but she would grasp the blessing with both hands for her daughter.



His supposed "safe house" waited a couple hundred yards ahead. The sounds of a small town already mingled with the monkeys and bugs, adding a symphony of church bells, vehicles, even a nearby Jeep distinguishable from the rest.



She squinted in the fading light at the old homestead ahead divided into apartments at the edge of town. He swore the safe house was active as of three days ago. If the personnel had moved, then he would have to gamble that the locals weren't in league with Ramon or Padilla. With Lucia unconscious and twitching in her father's arms, it wasn't as if they had any other choice.



How had the world gone so insane? She was quite finished with excitement, thank you very much. She wanted a normal place to bring up her child, a place without fences or stone walls.



Please, please just let her child be all right.



Three hours ago, Lucia's screams of agony had dwindled to whimpers. Then she'd gone terrifyingly limp and silent, but for the occasional convulsive jerk. Lucas kept her cradled to his chest, blood soaking through his bandages as his wound reopened.



They'd spent two days worrying about Ramon and Padilla, watching for snakes, jaguars and heaven knows what else. Lucas had been prepared to shoot wild animals and criminals. Yet none of those threats ever materialized.



Instead, a stupid little spider had attacked.



The sun dropped the final inch into the horizon with tropical speed. Humid night blanketed them, the dim lights filtering from their orange stucco destination offering an unwavering beacon. "How will we know if this is the place?"



"We're told a certain phrase to say that sounds innocuous—"



"But is actually a code?"



"Right. I know what the answer should be to verify this is indeed a safe place."



What kind of life did Lucas lead? Not the everyday flyboy life she'd once thought. Perspiration trickled down her chest, itching. What an odd thing to notice now as they charged up the walkway to the arched side entrance.



With each outside step up to the second-floor apartment, she could sense Lucas growing more brusque. He transformed from the man who gently promised chocolate-covered bugs to a child into a distant soldier.



"Knock," he ordered, his arms full with their limp daughter.



She rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. Twice. Hard. Trying not to sound as desperate as she felt in case anyone watched.



The door creaked open, a local in ratty tennis shoes lounging against the frame. "Quepasa?"



She stifled her groan of disappointment. This couldn't be right. This man looked more like a scruffy hoodlum than some safe house agent.



"Is Jorge back from the dentist yet?"



"Yes, he's recovering from his root canal in the back room," the man said without the least hint of a Cartinian accent. "Come inside. He'll be glad of the distraction of a visitor."



He opened the door wider.



Lucas brushed past and into the sparsely decorated flat.



A second man with spiked blond hair and eye-shocking flowered shorts ambled from the back room. "Rodriquez? Who's—" He stopped short. "Jesus, Colonel, we'd about given up hope. Where the hell have you been?"



This man knew Lucas? That had to be good. She hoped.



Lucas shouldered past to the first of three open doors in the hall, two bedrooms and a room packed with high-tech computer equipment. "We can talk about that later, Keagan. The kid needs medical attention." He lowered her onto the empty single bed, Lucia too vulnerable in the middle of the stark white spread, a crucifix over the headboard. "Spider bite. We're counting minutes here."



Sara trailed after, her eyes taking in the ramshackle apartment providing cover for these people Lucas worked with. Her months at the embassy had taught her enough to know this place housed more than weary soldiers. Undercover agents worked here and somehow Lucas was connected, all things she couldn't think about now with her child in danger.



The beach-bum-looking man he'd called Keagan un-clipped a cell phone from his waistband. "Roger. We've got a doctor on our payroll for emergencies."



This definitely qualified.



Sara dug her fingers into the cool plaster wall behind her and watched the strangers gather around her daughter. Intellectually she knew they'd arrived in time. Their race through the jungle had gotten them here in less than twelve hours. Spider venom was slow.



Still she couldn't stop the dull roar in her ears, the surreal sense of it all. After five years she had her wish to be free of Ramon. Lucia was free to enjoy a normal childhood. Lucas and Tomas were alive. Her head thunked back against the wall.



She should be rejoicing. So why couldn't she escape the sensation that something was still horribly wrong?



Lucas combed back his damp hair. The borrowed khaki cargo shorts and black T-shirt didn't fit as well as his flight suit, but at least they were clean.



The safe house kept changes of clothes for agents on the run. He'd just never expected to need them when the CIA had briefed his crews on the place's location in case of an emergency.



He stepped from the lone bathroom and studied the three doors. Lucia and Sara were behind one of those doors, but he couldn't speak to them yet. Not until he took care of business with Keagan back in the computer room.



At least he didn't have to worry about Lucia. The local doc had declared her on the mend, not that they could peel Sara from her bedside even though the damn-fool-stubborn woman was weaving from exhaustion.



Lucas resisted the urge to check on them both again. He'd been reluctant to leave, but the doc had insisted on stitching up his arm even though he'd barked at the man to treat Sara first. Washing with his bandaged arm hanging out of the shower had been awkward, but his head was clearer now that he knew the doc was with Sara, hopefully giving her whatever meds she needed to take care of herself.



For his part, he needed to find out about his people at the Cartina National Air Base.



Stopping in the kitchen nook, he snagged a cup of coffee on his way to the makeshift office to find Max Keagan, a former CIA agent, now a civilian employee for the Air Force's OSI—Office of Special Investigation. Keagan's new job enabled him to move from base to base with his Air Force pilot wife, one of the crew members currently in Cartina. This way of life was tough on relationships, but somehow they'd made it work.



Lucas tipped back his mug, the Colombian roast infusing a much-needed jolt of caffeine. Odd how even when he'd proposed to Sara before, he'd never given much thought to day-to-day life and stresses of a military marriage. Especially strange since he was such a methodical planner in every other way.



Only with Sara did he offload logic like cargo out the back ramp. Good God, had he really accused her of being a drug addict? Worse yet, how could he have let his doubts about Lucia fall out of his mouth?



Work, damn it. He had work to do.



The office hummed with running computers and a rattling air conditioner that actually helped muffle conversation. Keagan and two others from the CIA sprawled at desks, studying data and satellite feed on screens, a standard setup to provide shelter and a comm point in the shadows of an operation. Nothing about bringing down Chavez and Padilla was turning out to be standard.



Keagan glanced up. "Are you okay, Colonel?"



"Fine." He settled in a spare office chair beside Keagan's computer. "A few stitches and a tetanus booster. What about my people? My crews? Have you spoken to your wife?"



"Yes, sir. She's fine. Hunt assumed command in your absence as the senior crew member here." Keagan tipped back his own coffee. "The crews are waiting until everyone's accounted for before they fly out."



Good. Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose until the relief faded enough for him to think again.



Keagan's wife was fine. They'd already worked hard for their own peace since Keagan had been undercover on Carson Hunt's flight that had been shot down in the Middle East. He'd handled the fallout better than the rest of the crew, given his intense CIA training.