20. Anton
CHAPTER 20
ANTON
DAY 3 – MORNING – A TRAP
A pproaching these officers went against every instinct I had, but Marcie needed food, rest, and above all, safety, and these men might provide all of that. Despite my doubts about the complicity of the authorities in Elizabeth Traynor’s illegal activities, not all the police would be corrupt. Hopefully, we had come across two who weren’t.
The officers glanced up as we approached, their expressions curious but not hostile. I stepped forward, keeping my movements steady and purposeful, my posture open but cautious. I lightly touched Marcie’s hand, a silent reminder to stay close, her warmth grounding me as I prepared to speak.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “Do you speak English?”
The older officer, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the light, nodded once. “Yes, a little,” he replied, his voice slow but clear. His partner shifted slightly, watching us with quiet interest.
Relief stirred inside me, though it was quickly tempered by an unease I couldn’t shake. “My girlfriend and I…” I gestured to Marcie beside me, “were attacked and need help,” I said, keeping my tone controlled, though my pulse thudded in my ears.
The younger officer exchanged a brief look with his partner before stepping closer. “Attacked where?” he asked, his tone made harsher by his thickly accented English.
“Not sure,” I replied, motioning vaguely toward the forest behind us. “We had to run into the forest to escape and got lost. We managed to get away, but the men who attacked us… they’re still out there.”
The younger officer’s frown deepened as his gaze flicked to Marcie. His eyes lingered on her torn clothes and dirt-streaked face. His brows knit together in what looked like concern. “You are safe now,” he said, his tone softening. “We will help.”
Marcie stayed quiet, her hand slipping into mine. I squeezed her fingers but resisted the urge to look at her, keeping my focus on the officers.
The older officer gestured up the street to their patrol car. “We will take you to the police station, in Pozo Alcón, and talk there,” he said, his voice calm but commanding.
I hesitated, scanning their faces for any sign of deception. Their professional composure revealed nothing. If they knew who we were, they weren’t showing it.
Marcie shifted slightly. “We can’t keep running,” she murmured, her voice barely audible yet filled with quiet urgency.
Exhaling slowly, I gave a curt nod before meeting the older officer’s gaze. “Fine,” I said, my voice firm but resigned. “Let’s go.”
He inclined his head, stepping aside to let us pass. “Come,” he said evenly, gesturing toward their patrol car.
As we reached the vehicle, the younger officer opened the boot and pulled out a bag, removing a few chocolate bars and a bottle of water.
He held them out to us. “You are hungry, no?” he asked in broken English. “It is all I have. More at station,” he added with a smile.
“Thanks,” I replied, accepting the items and passing one of the bars to Marcie.
In the back of the police car, Marcie quickly unwrapped the chocolate, taking a bite. Her eyelids fluttered as she savoured the taste for a moment before she devoured it in a few quick bites. I smiled at her enthusiasm, chewing my own bar, and handed her the water, which she drank down eagerly.
“How far?” I asked, as we drove out of the village.
“It will take about twenty-five minutes to get to Pozo Alcón. Rest for now,” the older officer replied, his English deliberate.
With little else to do, I pulled Marcie closer. Her head rested against my shoulder, and I pressed a brief kiss to the top of her hair, my eyes never leaving the officers in front. They hadn’t given me any reason to distrust them yet, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down.
The drive passed quietly, the minutes blending into one another until the station came into view. I nudged Marcie, who had drifted off somewhere along the way. “Wake up, honey,” I murmured, brushing a light kiss across her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, her expression soft and hazy before the reality of our situation returned. Worry and exhaustion overtook her features once more.
As the officers parked and stepped out, I whispered quickly, “When we get inside, let me handle most of the talking.” She nodded, and I helped her out of the car, taking her hand once more as we followed the officers into a place I never thought I’d find myself—especially not as a victim—a police station.
Once inside, the officers led us to an interview room. The fluorescent lighting cast a harsh glow on the sterile walls. A small, scuffed table sat in the centre, its surface marked with faint scratches—the kind that told stories of restless hands and tense conversations.
“We need to borrow a phone,” I said, my voice firm, cutting through the faint hum of the air vent overhead.
“Soon. We will talk first,” the older officer replied, gesturing to two seats on one side of the table while he and his partner sat opposite.
“So, what happened?” the younger officer asked once we’d sat down.
I leaned forward slightly, my hands clasped together to mask the tension in my fingers. “We’re on holiday,” I began, keeping my voice steady. “We rented a car to explore the countryside. While driving down a quiet road, a man flagged us down. His car had broken down, so we stopped to help. But we were attacked. Another man, hiding nearby, had a gun. After robbing us, they forced us into the forest. They threatened to kill me and hurt my girlfriend. Luckily, we managed to overpower them and run. We hid out overnight, got lost, and have been trying to find help since. This morning, we stumbled into the village and met you.”
The older officer raised his eyebrows, frowning as he paused to translate for his partner. I stuck to the story I’d rehearsed. When I spoke to Marko, I’d repeat the same tale, so he and Miki could arrange fake flight details and anything else to back up our cover story. That way, we could keep our involvement in the farmer’s death and the killings hidden.
I kept my gaze steady, careful not to reveal any hint of the truth. These officers might seem decent, but Elizabeth Traynor’s reach was long, and I couldn’t afford to leave anything on record that could implicate me or the Rominovs when we brought an end to that sick hunting operation.
Thankfully, the police seemed to buy it.
The younger officer rattled off a string of words in Spanish that I didn’t catch.
“My colleague is just reminding me that there was a similar incident a few months ago,” the older officer said, his lips pursed as he mulled over my story.
“I know the detectives working on that case. I’ll go and speak with them now. They’ll want to talk to you,” he added. “In the meantime, Constable Banderas will fetch some food for you,” he said, nodding toward the younger officer, who followed him toward the door.
“And a phone, please?” I called after them as they left.
Marcie exhaled with relief as the door closed, her gaze shifting to me, her shoulders still tense from the conversation. I could see the edge of anxiety in her eyes, but she gave me a small, forced smile.
I slid my chair closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and murmuring in her ear, “They seem decent enough, but the sooner we get that phone, the better.” She nodded, pressing against me without a word.
Within minutes, the younger officer returned with water, ham, and cheese sandwiches.
“The phone?” I asked.
“Ah, sí, un momento,” he replied, stepping out again.
While we waited, we munched on the food.
The older officer came back, followed by a dark-haired man in black cargo pants and a brown leather bomber jacket, a police badge hanging around his neck. “Senor, senorita, this is the detective I mentioned,” he said gesturing to the new guy.
The detective quietly exchanged a few words with the constable in Spanish, and the older officer left. The detective approached, extending his hand. I shook it, then Marcie did the same.
“My name is Detective Rodríguez of the Brigada de Policía Judicial—what you would call the Criminal Investigation Brigade. The constable has told me what happened. I’m sorry for all you’ve endured. Unfortunately, this isn’t the first incident of this kind. There have been others, though you and one other person are the only survivors. I would like to speak with you further about this,” he said, his English flawless.
“Of course, but first, could we have a phone? We have family and friends who will be worried about us,” Marcie said.
“Sí, you may use my phone, but first I need to get you to a safe location. These men are part of a well-organised group, targeting foreign travellers and other vulnerable people. They’ve already killed my other witness. I believe they found out where he was from a corrupt officer in this very station. So, we cannot stay here. I need to get you to our headquarters and out of danger immediately. My colleague is waiting for us in my car outside,” he explained, his voice urgent as he ushered us to the door.
Alarm bells rang in my head, but with no choice but to do what the detective said, I grabbed Marcie’s hand and followed him. We rushed through the station and into the waiting vehicle. The moment we slid inside, the car sped off.
“Can I have that phone now, please?” I asked, my voice sharper as unease clawed at me. “You said we could make a call.”
The detective turned to the driver, ignoring me completely, and said something to him in low, rapid Spanish. That’s when I noticed the tattoo on the driver’s hand—the same hand I’d sworn to sever when it had been wrapped around Marcie’s throat at the start of this bloody nightmare.
The driver caught my gaze in the rearview mirror, his smirk taunting me.
Shit. I’d ignored my instincts and walked us straight into a trap. Fury surged through me at my stupidity, but there was no time for regret. We’d had little choice back at the station but to follow their lead. My hand moved instinctively to my concealed gun, relief flooding me that no one had searched us. They had no idea we were armed. That ignorance was about to become our biggest advantage.
Marcie glanced at me, fear etched across her face as she listened to the rapid exchange between the men in front. Their Spanish was too fast for me to catch more than a few words, but the way Marcie’s eyes widened told me she understood everything—and it wasn’t good.
“It’s a trap,” she whispered, her voice trembling with panic.
I gave a slight nod, keeping my gaze fixed on the men. “I know.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
“Let me know what they are saying,” I whispered, tearing my eyes from the front to meet hers, my mind racing as I searched for a plan.
Marcie shifted in her seat, straining to catch the rapid Spanish being exchanged in the front. Her face paled as the words registered.
“They’re taking us somewhere remote.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but the panic laced through it hit me like a blow.
I glanced at her, keeping my tone steady. “What else?”
Her eyes flicked to the men, her lips barely moving as she replied. “They want to make you watch. Hurt you… hurt me. Then kill us both. No one else knows—they want to enjoy it themselves.”
My grip tightened on the concealed gun. Fury boiled beneath my skin, threatening to break through. But anger wouldn’t save us now—calm would. I nodded once, keeping my expression blank. “Okay. Don’t react. Don’t let them know you understand. We’ll handle this.”
Her nod was slight, but her trembling hands betrayed her fear.
The car slowed, coming to a stop on a deserted stretch of dirt road, and the detective quickly climbed out.
Marcie shot me a sidelong glance—it was now or never.