Authors: Jill Barnett
“Any leeches?” Sam asked.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she jerked her dress up to examine her legs. Nothing clung to them but a small bit of muddy water.
Sam whistled.
Her head shot up to find him ogling her legs. She dropped her skirt and narrowed her eyes at him.
His lazy smile told her there were no leeches.
She glanced back at the water buffalo, which also had no leeches and she shook her head, disgusted with her own gullibility and a little
angry
at Sam for making her feel so foolish. He did that all the time.
“Come on, Lollipop. Get the lead out!”
She tore her gaze away from the water buffalo and noticed that Sam was already well ahead of her. She scurried to catch up. It was getting really dark and soon their only light would be from the torch he carried.
She was also hungry again. She stopped, pressing a hand to her face and rubbing. She was searching for spots. Her skin was still dry. She couldn’t bring herself to eat any more of the berries, no matter how good they were. She scanned the surroundings and smiled when her eyes lit on just the thing. Bananas would
be
just fine.
Glancing in Sam’s direction she could still see the torch. It would only take a minute or so to catch up. She ran over to a banana tree and grasped the leaves to try to reach the green bananas above her. She jumped up and batted a bunch of them until finally it clunked to the ground. She pulled some off and stuck them into her pockets. Then she straightened and looked up, right into a smudged black face with huge green eyes and a grin more lethal than Sam’s.
Sam heard her scream and stopped.
Now what?
She screamed again, louder.
He shook his head. The dead must be awake.
He turned back and jogged down the trail, slowing when he heard the muffled sound of Lollie’s voice and what sounded like a struggle. Slipping the rifle off his shoulder, he looked through a screen of tall oleanders into the small clearing. Five men dressed in dark clothing stood in the clearing, their faces camouflaged with dirt. The tallest man had his hand over Lollie’s mouth and struggled to hold on to her. The others appeared stunned, with glazed faces and no doubt echoing ears, something Sam could relate to.
The tall man swore and jerked his hand away. She’d bitten him.
Her face had that look Sam knew so well, and her next scream rose like hot air to the tops of the trees.
It took two of the other men to subdue her. The Lollipop had learned to fight.
Sam lolled against the trunk of a coco palm, crossing his arms and watching her nail one man in the shin while she tried to bite another. He had to hand it to her. She put up a good fight. He watched a minute longer, then asked, “Losing your touch with the ladies, Cassidy?”
The tall man stopped hitting the heel of his unbitten hand against his ear and glanced up at Sam, surprise on his face. “I think I’m deaf, Sam.” He shook his head, then frowned at his hand for a moment. “She’s no lady. She’s pair of lungs with teeth,” he paused, looked at her, then added, “and spots.”
She glared at his friend, Jim Cassidy, then at him, and she struggled against the two men who still held her, kicking her legs out.
Jim watched her struggle. “Nice legs, though.”
She ceased struggling and her face flushed bright red. Sam let his gaze rest on her chest. “I wouldn’t know. She showed me other parts.”
She gasped so loud you could hear it in spite of the man’s hand on her mouth.
Sam bit back a grin. Without a bit of remorse, he let her squirm, then said, “Actually, she’s Eulalie Grace LaRue, but I get to call her by her nickname—Lollie.”
A snort of laughter sounded from Jim’s direction, a reaction Sam had expected. “Yes, she’s Lollie LaRue of the
Belleview
LaRues.”
She muttered again. Sam assumed she was still correcting him.
He smiled and added some coal to the fire. “Of South Carolina. Owners of Hick Home, Cowhand Industries, and Peachtree Farms.” He could hear her muffled outrage and bit back a smile.
Jim stared at him for an unsure moment.
“Daughter of Ambassador LaRue,” Sam added, watching recognition hit his friend’s black-smudged face.
“How the hell did you get tangled up with her?” Jim leaned on his rifle and eyed Lollie.
“Compliments of Colonel Luna.”
Jim stilled, his gaze going back and forth between them. “What are you going to do with her?”
Sam raised his left hand and robbed his thumb back and forth across his fingers in the time-honored sign of a money payoff.
Jim’s eyes lit up with the same look of larceny that had bonded the two of them almost from their first meeting, and he smiled. “How much?”
“Probably not enough for what I’ve put up with for the last few days.” Sam glanced at Lollie, who had suddenly stilled. He watched her closely. Her look changed from fear to betrayal. He’d have bet a year’s salary that she wasn’t smart enough to catch on. He was wrong, and turned away from those wounded blue eyes, which held such a look of betrayed innocence that he felt something he hadn’t felt in years—guilt.
He shrugged it off and looked at Jim. “I’ll have to talk to Andres.”
Jim nodded, now eyeing Lollie with new interest, an interest that wasn’t only larcenous. It was lascivious, too.
Sam had the sudden urge to draw Jim’s attention away from her. “What are you doing this far from camp?”
“The Spanish have been moving deeper and deeper into the interior. They garrisoned off Santa Christina last week.”
That news set Sam back. Santa Christina was less than fifteen miles away and a good-sized interior town. Many of Bonifacio’s men had come from that town and others nearby. If the Spanish had taken it over, that meant they’d infiltrated even deeper into guerrilla territory, which also meant it wouldn’t be long before they did something to get the guerrilla forces out into open combat. The Spanish worked that way, cordoning off a town, gathering its people, and torturing enough innocent villagers to get the word spread from town to town. It was a surefire way to draw out the hotheaded rebels and wipe out the resistance completely. “Have the guns arrived yet?”
Jim shook his head and adjusted the ever-present bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back. His friend would use the rifle for its speed, but Sam knew he preferred the deadly silence and accuracy of a bow and arrow.
Sam took in Jim’s black clothes, the hair slicked back with oil, and his ash-smudged face. “On a scavenger run?”
Jim grinned, his white teeth shiny against his dirty face. “Rumor has it the Spanish just got a brand-new supply of dynamite.” He nodded at his men. “We thought we might relieve them of that particular burden.”
Sam laughed. His friend was known as the camp scrounger, able to steal almost anything from deep within the enemy camp. Last November, when they’d arrived in the island camp, Jim had found the abundance of sweet potatoes inspiration for stealing the local alcalde’s turkeys just so they could have an old-fashioned American Thanksgiving dinner.
“I guess I’d better get back to camp and get rid of my own burden.” He looked pointedly at Lollie, whose eyes shot cool fire at him. Sam ignored her and nodded at the two Filipino rebels who had subdued her. “Mind if I take Garcia and Montez?”
“Go ahead. From the ringing in my ears and the teeth marks in my hand I’d say you need them more than I do.” Jim smiled. “There are only two hundred Spanish in the town. They’re the lesser evil.”
Lollie tried to kick one of the laughing soldiers and missed. She would have fallen if they hadn’t had a death grip on her.
Jim put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. The tree branches rustled, and leaves drifted down the high branches above. A black mynah bird with a red head swooped down from the tree, hovered over them for a moment, then landed on Jim’s shoulder. He pulled something out of his shirt pocket and gave it to the bird.
Sam groaned. “The black pigeon from hell.”
The bird squawked, bobbed its head a couple of times while it plodded slowly across Jim’s shoulder, then flapped twice and screamed, “Raaaaape! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-hah!”
Lollie’s eyes almost popped right out of her head.
“Easy there, Medusa,” Jim soothed the mynah with a few strokes. “You keep goading her, Sam, and she’ll go after your good eye.”
He laughed. “That bird knows I’d roast her on a spit if she came within three feet of me. Maybe we should cook her this Thanksgiving.”
“Sam’s full of it! Watch where you step!” Medusa called, weaving her head melodically with each word.
He really hated that bird.
Jim grinned at him then gave the bird another treat. “You keep threatening to cook her. Puts her on the defensive. Remember,” he reached up to stroke the bird, which cooed and cocked its head, “females respond better to strokes and compliments.”
“Jim’s my hero,” Medusa said, rubbing her head against her master’s ear. She straightened, pulling a shiny black wing toward her chest, and squawked, “Sam’s not.”
“Well, on that note, we’re off.” Jim gave Sam a quick, mocking salute, then leered at Lollie and disappeared into the bushes with his men and that obnoxious bird.
Sam glanced at Lollie. She never took those eyes off him, even though she was held by two rebel soldiers. She struggled and mumbled against one soldier’s hand. Sam tried to ignore her and all the noise she was making.
It didn’t work. He could feel the accusation in those eyes, and he didn’t like it, or himself.
“Gag her,” he ordered, his tone so sharp it could have cut ice. He turned away and picked up his rifle.
“Tayo na!”
he shouted over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
And he didn’t look back again.
Lollie got in two more kicks
and another bite before the soldier slammed the door. She ran to it and pounded on the splintered wood. It rattled but didn’t budge.
That damn Yankee. She wished it had been his shin she’d kicked and his hand she’d bitten, only she’d have done it harder. He’d planned to hold her for ransom the whole time, and just when she’d started to think—because of the way he kept rescuing her—that maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Little had she known it was because he wanted to get his own ransom payoff.
He wasn’t bad. He was horrible.
She’d foolishly thought he would send for her father. All he’d wanted was money. He wanted to sell her. Her only worth seemed to be the sum of the ransom she’d bring, just because she was Ambassador LaRue’s daughter. To men like Colonel Luna and Sam Forester she had value only because of her name. She wondered of what value she was to her father, and prayed that he valued her in his heart. Still, it was hard to imagine being loved by a parent who hadn’t been around for most of her life.
As a dreamy-eyed young girl she’d thought her father a brave, courageous man who’d sacrificed a life with his daughter for a life devoted to his country. She’d dreamed of their reunion as one where he told her how he’d longed to see her grow up and how he had wanted to be there for all the important events in a little girl’s life, but he couldn’t. His duty was to so many more people than just one girl. He couldn’t, in good conscience, be that selfish.
Now, alone inside the dark little shed, she wondered if that dream would ever come true. She looked around the dank room, her eyes finally adjusting to the dark. Stacked ceiling high were crates and boxes and barrels. She stepped toward them and stumbled on something. She glanced down and saw it was some sort of long metal tool. She thought she heard her brother call it a birdstick. She nudged it out of the way with her foot, went over to a barrel, and dusted off the top before she sat down.
It was quiet, so quiet. She looked around the dark room, feeling a little scared and very much alone. She wondered how long they’d keep her in here, and the horrifying thought crossed her mind that she might be in here for days. It was suddenly as if she were three years old again and stuck inside that dark well. The air tasted the same—dank and dead. The only light in the well had been through the small opening. The only light in this room was a little bit that cracked through a small opening between the door and its jamb. All she could see was the padlock.
The urge came over her to scream the roof down. She took a deep breath instead.
Something scurried in the corner behind the crate. She jerked her feet up, hugging her knees while she scanned the floor. Chills ran down her arms and she shivered, imagining all the things that could be in here with her . . . for days . . . alone . . . while once again, she waited.
Sam stared at the guerrilla leader
as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard, and he couldn’t. “What in the hell do you mean you don’t want her? She’s worth a bloody fortune in ransom, Andres!”