The Edge of Trust: Team Edge (37 page)

She would not take that chance with Dreena.

And so she had asked for his help and together they had come up with the idea for the explosion.  It had all been simpler than she’d thought and she and Dreena had finally escaped. 

She had liked Dillon and was sad to have deceived him, but what choice did she have?  If Raphael ever found out she was alive, he would use his power to take Dreena away from her.  And then he would kill her. 

So, did she regret what she’d done?  No, she couldn’t say she did.  Her child was safe, out of Mexico, and the man she was having lunch with had so far kept his word.  As for Dario, well, he would never know, his heart would suffer for Dreena and then it would heal. 

She had a new identity now and enough money saved that she could go wherever, do whatever, she wanted.  Perhaps she would take Dreena to Spain or Brazil.  Somewhere Raphael would never find them. 

“Have you decided?” the man asked.

“Not yet, no.  Perhaps we will go to the Caribbean.  Dreena has happy memories there.”

“Things in Mexico are going as expected.  Raphael will either get the drive or he won’t.  Either way he’s finished.  Caldwell too.  How that happens depends on who comes out of this alive.”

Adoña nodded.

“I will handle the rest of this myself.  I’m not taking any more chances with that flash drive.  I can assure you that whoever is left standing will be more than happy to give it to me.”  His greed was colossal.

One day soon, she’d be free.  Free to leave and live a life she chose, not one her father or husband, or this man, chose for her.

Adoña sipped her wine and hoped to heaven that Caldwell killed them all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

No.

Dillon whirled, his rifle leading, and stopped cold.

Eight men, all dressed in jungle camouflage, had automatic weapons trained directly on him. 

The day that, only minutes ago, couldn’t seem to get any worse, did just that when Dillon found himself staring into the eyes of a ninth man.  The man he hated.

“Sanchez.”  He said the name without inflection but his gut churned with revulsion.

Beside him, Sara gasped. 

He should have known something was wrong when the helicopter had veered off, but he’d been so worried about the rapids, about getting Sara out of the water…

Fuck.  He’d let his guard down.  For nearly thirty whole minutes he hadn’t paid attention.  Christ, what a stupid, rookie, dumbass thing to do. 

“Take their weapons.”  Sanchez ordered one of his men.

Dillon’s finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle.  It would be so easy to wipe that smug look off Rafael’s face.  So easy to avenge his family’s death.  To help make amends for Sara.  One bullet would do the trick.  Just squeeze a little more...

He wanted nothing more than to shoot Sanchez and every single one of his henchmen, but he had to think rationally.  He still had to find his child.  And Matt.

Disgusted, he handed over his rifle and machete, hoping like hell Sanchez wouldn’t have him searched.  He still had his pistol tucked behind his back and he damn well planned on keeping it.

He glanced at Sara and found her staring in panic at the men surrounding them.

Under his breath he whispered, “It’s going to be okay.”

<><><>

Okay
?  Ice surged through Sara’s veins.  How was it going to be okay?  Eight machine guns were ready to cut them in half and the men holding them looked like they could do it with pleasure.

Then there was Sanchez.

Smarter, leaner, and, even without a gun, deadlier.  She shuddered in disgust and fear, remembering his touch, his laughter, his sadistic words. 

She wanted to watch him bleed.

Instead of camouflage, he wore a navy blue business suit, sharp and crisp, and despite the sweltering heat, he wasn’t even sweating.  

My God, he’s really not human.

“Rafael Sanchez is a butcher...”

“Want me to tell you what Rafael Sanchez does with sweet little girls like you?  Things I’m sure you could never imagine.”

Oh, she could imagine all right.  Another shudder of fear rocked through her.  For a long moment she stared at the man who she knew, without a single solitary doubt, was going to kill not only her, but Dillon and Ellie and Matt as well.  His eyes were soulless, filled with hate, and she knew right then that the flash drive didn’t matter.  He wanted them dead.  He wanted revenge.

He’d kill them, and he’d keep on killing.  As long as he breathed, innocent people were going to die.  

And for the first time, the reality, the depth of Dillon’s hatred, hit her.  Really hit her hard and she completely understood his desperate need for vengeance. 

Sanchez needed to die.

When he transferred his gaze from Dillon to her, her heartbeat literally threatened to choke her. 

“You are going to die, Señora Caldwell.  I’m going to take you, make your body my own.  I’m going to hurt you, yet you will beg me for more...you will know that once I am finished with you, you are going to die.” 

Sanchez’s gaze zeroed in on her breasts and lingered, then with a slight inclination of his head, he looked her in the eye and said, “A pleasure to see you again.”

“You will beg me to take you, hurt you, once again.  Over and over.” 

She wanted to throw up. 

Determined not to let him see her sweat, she lifted her chin and said with cold dignity, “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”

Sanchez smiled.  A terrible, sickening smile that said, “You don’t know the meaning of sorry--but I’ll be happy to make sure you learn it.”

With a slight nod of his head, he signaled for the same guard who had taken their weapons to search Dillon. 

<><><>

Adrenaline surged through Dillon.  No way could he let the guard find his pistol. 

The way he saw it, he had two choices.  He could play it cool and pray, or he could use a diversion.  Since he generally had better luck with diversions, he put his hands on his head, spread his feet apart, and hopped from one foot to the other.  “I need to take a leak.” 

Sanchez looked annoyed at the vulgarity.  “You will hold still.”

“I’m telling you, I’ve gotta piss.”

Sanchez signaled to another guard who raised his rifle.  “Perhaps shooting you in the leg will help you to hold still.”

Dillon lifted his hands off his head for just a second in supplication and slowed the movement of his feet.  “Patient as always, I see.”
  
Mother fucker.

As the guard patted him down, Dillon squirmed just enough to keep the guard from reaching around to his back.

Not that he had to try very hard, the idiot guard seemed more interested in searching Sara anyway, which really pissed him off.

Turning his gaze from the guard to Sanchez, Dillon spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, “Leave her.  She carries no weapons.”

“Search her,” Sanchez fired back.

The guard’s smile flashed as he leered appreciatively at Sara.  His gaze traveled from her breasts to her feet, leisurely inspecting the way her sweat-dampened fatigues clung to her body.  Lust flared in his eyes. 

She put her hands on her head, fixed her gaze over the man’s shoulder, and held still as the guard started touching her.

He finished patting down her legs and, grinning stupidly, he brought his hands up to her ribs.  Then he touched her breasts and squeezed.

Dillon’s control broke.  He struck out, grabbed the guard by the arm, snapped every finger in half backward.

At the same time, Sara’s boot came up hard between the man’s legs. 

The Mexican roared in pain and went for his rifle.

Seven guns cocked simultaneously.

“Stop!”  Sanchez ordered, glaring at the guard before he turned toward Dillon.  “Control your bitch, Señor Caldwell, before I am forced to.”

The guard straightened and, cradling his broken hand, eyed them both with hatred. 

Dillon spit on the ground in front of him.  “Might wanna teach these pigs of yours some manners.”

Sanchez inclined his head.  “You are right, of course.” 

<><><>

Sara watched in silent apprehension as Sanchez pulled a silver pistol from inside his jacket and walked over to the guard.

Surely he wouldn’t...

Sanchez raised his arm.

Apprehension surged into terror.  She wanted to close her eyes, couldn’t.  Oh God.  The guard didn’t deserve to
die--

The gun cocked.

Sanchez fired point blank into the man’s head. 

“Nooo!”
  Sara screamed the word as her legs started to go.

“Nooo!”
  Another voice screamed.  Female.  Pleading.  Horrified. 

Strong arms clamped around Sara from behind. 

Something, maybe a tooth or part of the guard’s skull, hit her in the cheek. 

Blood splattered her T-shirt.

She had to get away. 

Dillon turned her in his arms and tried to hold her but she pushed away hard and fell to her knees.

She clawed at her shirt, at the horrible, warm stickiness on her face.  Bile rose in her throat.

That wasn’t your father.  Not your father.  Not...

Nightmare.  This had to be a nightmare.  But then she saw the guard’s dead body less than five feet away, with blood pooling around him, and the smell was so strong it had to be real.  Scrabbling backward on all fours, she retched.

Dillon’s words hammered at her. 
“Sanchez is a demon, and he’ll kill you without thinking twice...”

She didn’t want to die.  She didn’t want Ellie or Dillon or Matt to die.  But Sanchez was going to kill them.  She knew it.  It didn’t matter that they had the drive, Sanchez was going to kill them anyway and she’d never get the chance to tell Dillon how much she loved him...

Wait. 

Somehow, someway, there might still be a chance.  Closing her eyes, she gulped several ragged breaths struggling for control. 

You can handle this. 

You
have
to handle this.

Pressing her lips together, she looked up to see Dillon coming toward her. 

She shook her head no.  He wasn’t going to baby her through this.  She composed herself and stood on her own, facing both men.

She spared a glance at Dillon first and said, “I’m fine.”  Then she turned to Sanchez and said without flinching, “Your daughter would be proud.”

Sanchez’s eye ticked.  Veins stood out in his neck.  “And
your
daughter may still be punished.  You may take that as a warning.  Do not anger me again, Señora Caldwell.”

“Or what?  You’ll kill us?”  The words were so on target that she almost burst with hysterical laughter.  Except there was nothing at all funny about this situation. 

“Not at first, no.” 

Dillon had to stop this before Sara pushed Sanchez too far.  “I have the flash drive.  Let my family go and I’ll give it to you.” 
Not that it’ll do you any good, you bastard. 

Sanchez transferred his attention to Dillon, his expression flat.  “You will give it to me regardless.”

Dillon calculated his next words.  “Not necessarily.” 

Sanchez coldly ignored him and turned to one of his guards.  “Lena, burn or bury your brother.  I don’t care which.” 

Lena
?  A woman guard? 

What the--? 

Dillon looked down at the dead guard and sure enough, there she was, bent over her brother’s body, blood-soaked and sobbing.  Her camouflage ballcap had come off, and long, dark hair fell around her shoulders.  Her features, as she glared at Sanchez, were distorted with shock and hate, but still, Dillon could see how young she was.

Holy shit, she was damn near still a kid.  Probably not more than early to mid twenties.  And Sanchez had just blown her brother’s head off right in front of her. 

What a fucking monster.

Did you expect anything less?

No.  No, he didn’t. 

Two guards picked up the packs and the barrel of a rifle poked into Dillon’s back as the rest of the guards moved them through the jungle. 

<><><>

Sanchez’s compound looked like a Spanish mission turned fortress.  Limestone squares formed the battlements and walls and everything was overgrown with vines and Dillon thought, welcome to the Alamo, jungle style. 

As he and Sara were led through an archway into the inner courtyard of the compound, Dillon glanced around for some possible way to get them out of here.  

On top of the main four-story building was a large, dish-shaped television antenna, which sat next to a smaller version that had to be a microwave satellite relay antenna.  Next to those were HF and UHF radio antennas. 

Just as he was thinking that Sanchez must have some kick-ass state-of-the art equipment housed somewhere inside the main structure, he noticed two men with automatic weapons standing off to the side guarding three all-terrain vehicles.  And sitting pretty as pie next to the ATVs was a decent-sized helicopter. 

Well, la-di-da.  An escape route.

After a few more pushes and pokes, they were forced into a small, dank room resembling a rotting cell in a third world prison.  Iron bars covered the only window, and it was getting late enough in the day that shadows crept along the walls.

Sara shuffled in behind Dillon and the heavy wood door closed behind her.

It wasn’t that bad as prisons went--hell, he’d been in worse places--but Sara hadn’t, and he could practically see the fear oozing from her pores.  “You okay?”

She nodded, but her eyes told a different story.  He walked over and wrapped her in his arms.  “Did you happen to see the chopper?”

She nodded again and he rubbed a hand down her back.  “That’s our ticket out of here.”

“Do you really think we’re going to make it?” 

Did he?  He wasn’t sure.  The odds against them were pretty damn grim.  But for the first time since their capture, the tiniest bit of hope sparked in Sara’s eyes, so he hastened to reassure her.  “Yep.  Piece of cake.” 

She took a step back.
 
“I have something I need to tell you.”