Chapter Four
“O f course I’m scared ,” Becca snapped at Rio. Her brown eyes blazed. “I don’t know you, who you are, what you’ll do. I’m trapped here. Any sane woman would be frightened out of her wits.”
Suddenly Rio felt his temper rise. “If you’re frightened of me, you’ve got your villains mixed up.” He pointed to the door. “It’s those assholes out there you’d better worry about. Think I was kidding when I told you at least half of their kidnap victims are killed before the money is paid? If they feel like making a point, or getting revenge for some wrong imagined, they’ll gut you. They’ll cut your head off and hang your mutilated body from a highway overpass. It’s a warning to others—don’t mess with the cartel.” With angry movements, he rummaged in his canvas bag until he found a new t-shirt and pulled it over his head.
Most of the time the people Rio was tasked to protect were terrified, but they could at least think somewhat rationally. They knew their best chance would be to cooperate with him, not figure he was the enemy. He cast Becca a dark glance.
Lord save him from shallow, illogical females.
With any luck he’d be able to load her up on his Vespa tomorrow, sneak out of Chihuahua State, and deliver her into the hands of the proper authorities. He wasn’t really going to take her straight to her father, as he’d implied. She didn’t need to know that. He would simply pass her on to Black Eagle operatives, the organization that employed him. That was how he liked it. A simple hand-off, a contract fulfilled, pay me now, thanks.
Next!
Right then, he needed the job to go smoothly, with zero fuck-ups. For anything less than a perfect result, this time his employer, Harrison, would can him.
When he’d left a sleeping Becca this morning, he’d had to travel miles away from the mountains to get proper cell phone service and communicate with his Black Eagle boss. He knew how to avoid major roadways, stay out of sight. On the outskirts of a small village he’d gotten two bars on his cell and pulled the Vespa off road to make the call.
Harrison was pleased to learn he’d grabbed the girl. “Bring her back healthy,” Harrison warned. “A lot’s riding on this. Her father’s an important man.”
“She’s healthy,” Rio told him. “No worries. Just got a little graze on her leg during the getaway.”
“A graze?” Harrison missed nothing. His voice hardened. “What sort? Don’t tell me by a bullet. Do not tell me that.”
“Er, it’s shallow,” Rio prevaricated. “Nothing serious.”
Harrison swore softly. “I don’t need to remind you that there can be no repeats of the last contract. Screw up again, you’re done.”
“No worries,” Rio said. “I’ll have her to your men by morning.” He gave Harrison a delivery time at a predetermined location, a small valley several miles away. Harrison had no idea where his mountain cabin was, and he’d keep it that way.
It couldn’t be soon enough. While Rebecca De Monte was more than pleasant to look at, with long, thick mahogany hair, a slim figure and an impressive bust line, he didn’t need to spend any more time with her than strictly necessary. Shame, though. Her breasts were amazing.
However, it was always best to remain detached. Glancing over at her now, he saw that her eyes were rimmed with fluid.
“Are you crying?” he asked, frowning. That was all he needed. She hadn’t said anything after his rant.
“No.” She rubbed at her eyes, dug her fingers into their sockets. “My eyes are just watering. I woke up with the sniffles. Maybe I’m catching a cold.”
He noticed for the first time that her nose was pink. Shadowy circles ringed her eyes. She really didn’t look all that well. Digging in his pack, he found a few clean cloths and handed them over.
“Thanks,” she said, and looked at him. She pressed the fabric to her nose. “I really don’t want those men to cut my head off.”
He grunted. If she were at least smart enough to do as he said and not give him any trouble, she’d survive just fine.
As the morning wore on, Becca looked worse. Her nose began to pour in earnest and Rio was forced to rip a towel into pieces so she could staunch the dripping. Her eyes drooped tiredly and she didn’t move from the bed, didn’t eat the muffin or sandwich he offered, and didn’t want more coffee.
For a caffeine addict, that was strange. He knew about her love for the drink. He knew other things about her, too. It was part of his job to research his subjects thoroughly and know going in what he was dealing with.
Rebecca De Monte lived alone in a nice San Antonio, Texas, condominium. In high school, she’d excelled on the swim team. She’d graduated from University of Texas at Austin with a business degree. She had no current boyfriend, a wide circle of friends, and a robust social life. Her clothing was always stylish, yet she stuck mostly to stark black and white. She was close to her two brothers and they all worked for their father. She kept an aquarium of frogs. She loved dark chocolate. And muffins.
In another life, in different circumstances, he might have tried to date her. Not in a committed sort of way, that wasn’t him. Rather, in a consensual, sleeping-together-when-it-suited-him way. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind he’d enjoy bringing her to multiple orgasms. Studying her, he recalled the luscious, silky feel of her flesh when he’d placed his hand on her thigh. He wondered what she’d be like in the sack. Soft, kittenish and shy? Or a wild, raging tiger on the attack?
The sensual speculation made him instantly hot and hard.
However, in their current circumstance, he would remain hands off. This was business. He couldn’t touch her that way.
He wouldn’t. Never.
During the next several hours while Rio cleaned his gun, Becca dozed. By late afternoon she was running a temperature, the fever coloring her cheeks a splotchy pink, heating her skin, and making her shiver.
“I’m so c-c-cold,” she told him, huddling into herself. Still in the cap and sweatshirt he’d given her, and buried beneath the quilts, she looked miserable. Her body shook.
It occurred to him that her wound might have become infected.
He stood up. “I need to see your leg.”
“No,” she said firmly. “It’s fine. I want to stay under the covers.”
Despite her vehement protests, he lifted the quilts and firmly took her calf into his hands. “Just take a second.”
For a moment she fought him, clung to the quilts, but he won and she fell back, weak as a child.
Carefully unwrapping the tape and gauze, he inspected the wound. While it still oozed fluid, it looked clean, without any puckered and red angry edges to indicate infection. Re-wrapping the leg, he knew the gunshot she’d endured wasn’t the problem. While in the captivity of her Mexican kidnappers, she’d contracted some sort of virus, or maybe a bacterial infection.
He let her slide back under the covers.
Well, shit . This sure threw a crowbar into the workings. If in the morning the bad guys hunting them weren’t too close, he was planning to pack her up and escape down a track of off-road mountain paths he knew about. But with Becca sick, she’d be too weak to hang on the scooter.
Briefly, he considered some way of strapping her to him, then discarded the idea as unworkable. The paths would be bumpy, and they’d get knocked around. He couldn’t risk having her fly off the Vespa into rocks and trees.
He let his glance dart around the cabin. In the cooler he had plenty of provisions to last days, no worries there. He always planned ahead for such eventualities. As long as they laid low, he knew the shack was well camouflaged in the forest, and unlikely to be found.
This was a setback, but not a failure. So it took one more day? No big. His employer wouldn’t be happy, but too bad. Harrison might not like the delay, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Rio,” Becca said softly. “ Rio .”
He leaned over the bed. “What?”
“I’m so co-cold. I’m dying.”
“No. Your leg isn’t infected. You picked up a nasty bug. In a day or so you’ll be better.”
“Why can’t I get w-warm? I just want to warm up.”
Rubbing his jaw’s day-old growth of beard, Rio blew out a breath. Quickly, he shook out two ibuprofen tablets from the first aid kit and got them down her. Glancing around the spare room, he didn’t see any additional way to change her circumstances.
The warmest thing in the room was him. He’d told her he normally ran hot. He guessed he should utilize himself as a resource.
“Take off your sweatshirt,” he told her.
She frowned at him over her shoulder. “Are you insane? I want to put on another s-sweatshirt, not take anything off.”
With one knee on the bed, he drew back the quilts and pulled Becca up. She fought like a cat, tried to punch him, scratch his face.
Naturally he prevailed, and pulled the fleece sweatshirt over her head. “For this to work I’ve got to get close to you. You can keep your shirt and the hat on,” he said, and then slid under all the covers with her.
Wracked in head-to-toe shivering, she glowered at him.
As she flopped on her side facing away from him, he spooned up against her, and pressed his chest to her back. His legs tangled in hers, and he fit his crotch snug up against her bottom—her white-cotton, granny-panty covered bottom. Oh, he’d noticed.
“ What are you doing ?” she screeched.
“Shh,” he said. “I’ll get you warm, that’s all.” He held her in a tight grip until she stopped struggling. All her thrashing caused friction between their bodies and Rio felt himself go on high heat. He had to hold her across her breasts. As she wriggled, her bottom slid back and forth over his pants front. Damn.
With effort, he forced his mind away from thoughts of Becca’s sweet rear end and things he’d like to do to her.
Placing his left arm under a pillow, he kept his free arm closed around her.
Finally, she stopped fighting. In his arms, Becca felt small, vulnerable. She was sick and defenseless. Those jerks who’d stolen her away from her friend’s family home should be shot. As she shook, he held her tighter.
His body heat already enveloping her, he knew it was working when her shivers subsided and she sighed.
“Little warmer now?” he asked.
She nodded, her hair escaping the knit cap on the pillow, tickling his lips.
“I was right,” he said.
“About what?” Her voice was resentful and petulant.
“Your hair. It does smell like little yellow flowers.”
****
F rom freezing cold to a raging fever, Becca spent a miserable night. When she grew hot, Rio lifted the covers off her body, fanned her, gave her water. When she chilled down again, he pulled the quilts over them both and held her close. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was grateful for his big warm body. It kept the frigid air at bay.
He did it all impersonally, with a calm manner of one assigned a task which simply must be done.
At dawn her fever broke for good, and she was left listless, but better. She had to use the restroom, but so loathe to leave her cozy nest, she waited until she was near bursting before she told him.
In the end, she struggled to put on her pants and shoes, and by the time she had them on, she was completely winded. Rio had to carry her through the snow to the underbrush, and return when she was finished to lift her into his arms and carry her back.
When she was settled, he offered her peanut butter spread on hard crackers and canned peaches, more water, and a few grapes. Hungry at last, she ate it all and lay back again. “You said we might leave today. So I can go home.”
Considering her, he shrugged. “You’re too weak to hang onto the scooter. It’ll be rough terrain. For miles. Maybe tomorrow.” He zipped into his heavy coat and jammed a cap on his head. Over his neck he looped a pair of field glasses. “I’ll hike up the mountain, have a look around.”
“You’re going?” Instantly she felt anxious. She didn’t want to be left alone—here in this wilderness.
“There’s food and water in the cooler, if you get hungry.”
“How long will you be gone?”
He lifted a careless shoulder. “Few hours.” He turned to go.
“Rio?”
“Yeah?”
“How much are you being paid? How much money?” For some reason she really wanted to know.
“A lot,” he said. “A small fortune, but not as much as the cartel would get for your ransom, that’s for sure.”
Becca firmed her lips. How tired she was of being a pawn in someone else’s high-stakes game. How bitter it made her! “I’m just dollar bills to both you and the cartel,” she said. “Just cold hard cash.”
“Correct.” From a hook on the wall, he collected a pair of heavy gloves.
“Gee, thanks.”
He hesitated. “If I was smart, I’d contact the cartel boys and cut a deal. Probably I’d get a lot more money. The way I’m doing it now, I’m leaving a lot of cash on the table.” Clicking his tongue in regret, he left, slamming the door behind him.
Becca blinked at the now closed door. Alarm shrieked up her spine and adrenalin shot through her veins. With both fists, she gripped the quilts.
Before Rio changed his mind, decided that the cartel would pay him more than whoever it was that hired him, she had to get out here.
She must escape.