Chapter 32
Cal returned to the corner of the coffee house that Io was guarding and set down the tray on the coffee table.
Pastries and coffee for breakfast. So much for nutrition.
She sat on the sofa and he settled next to her.
Across from them were two ottomans that were supposed to be additional seating, but he planned to glare at anyone who tried to join them.
Io reached for a pionono, dug in her fork, and her eyes closed in bliss. Her hum of appreciation made it clear the pastry was good.
Most of the coffee house had bistro tables with banquet seating.
There were a scattering of smaller tables with chairs, but there were only two sofa-coffee-table arrangements.
The other one was near the front windows, which crossed it off the list. This grouping in the corner, though?
Nice and private. Perfect for discussing strategy without eavesdroppers as long as they kept their voices low.
“We should have stopped at the café,” Cal said, reaching for a mug. “Sugar leads to energy crashes. Protein would have been better.”
“That café would have had a list of health violations a mile long if it were in the States. I’d rather risk a sugar crash than food poisoning.”
She wasn’t wrong. He resisted the urge to point out they could have found another restaurant. Neither of them had wanted to waste too much time. “At least the coffee is perfect.”
“Good thing since you bought a pot full as well as the mugs.”
“We didn’t get much sleep last night.” His voice deepened as he said that, remembering how they’d spent the time.
Io’s lips quirked. “Worried about the sugar letdown, but not even a little concerned about a caffeine crash.” She leaned forward for her mug, took a sip, and then returned it to the table. “You’re right. The coffee is perfect.”
Cal dug into his pionono and understood the little hum of pleasure Io made. It was the best pastry he’d eaten, maybe ever. He let Io get halfway through the sugar-filled breakfast before he said, “We need to get our strategy in place.”
She sipped more coffee before she said, “Whatever option we decide on, it has to lead them away from the convent and the church.”
“Agreed. You have an idea already, don’t you?”
As Io finished her pionono, she returned the plate to the tray and leaned back, cradling her mug of coffee between both hands.
“He wants the treasure. I think that’s our strongest bait.
What if we used the ruins as a location?
We could shop around the convent, outfitting ourselves for a trek through the rainforest to the Huarona site. ”
Cal paused, taking time to drink some coffee while he considered her idea. “It could work,” he said at last. “Your coworker was taken hostage at those ruins. It would be easy to sell it as a potential treasure hiding place.”
“The ruins are far enough away from San Isidro that the townspeople should be safe, and the only other person nearby is a drug lord. I’m sure he can take care of himself.”
Considering the compound the man lived in and the army guarding it, Vargas could more than take care of himself.
Stifling a yawn, Cal set down his mug and rested his elbows on his knees.
“So we make it look as if we’re outfitting ourselves for a hike in the rainforest. And that we don’t want to stay at the inn in San Isidro? ”
“Correct.” Io leaned forward, poured more coffee in her mug, and then topped off his.
“We’ll buy a tent or something. I’ll pose questions at the shops about where I can find an expert on the terrain around the ruins.
You can scowl every time I ask and hiss something about how you can take me where I want to go. ”
His lips curved, and he snagged his cup before straightening. It was tempting to shift to face Io, but he wanted the door to the coffee shop in his line of sight, so he resisted the urge. “Thanks, I guess, for not fucking up my image as a badass mercenary.”
Io returned his smile, though her eyes stayed serious.
“Being blonde makes it easier to pull off the ditzy role. I can blithely ignore you and the people we’re talking to will write me off as a space cadet.
The big city, US photojournalist who thinks she knows better than the mercenary she hired as her bodyguard. ”
“Petrova isn’t going to believe you’re an airhead.”
“Want to bet? I was already kidnapped once. That predisposes him to thinking I’m not the brightest bulb on the tree.”
“But he believes you can find the treasure. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t be a good bet.”
“There’s a difference between getting ahead because you’re ruthless, and getting ahead because you’re smart. Let’s let him think I’m ruthless and on the dumb side.”
Cal studied her for a long moment, the soldier in him weighing risk against reward. “You’re playing with fire.”
Io shook her head. “It’s a calculated move.
Archer planted evidence that I have a gambling problem and like to live high.
The mole at the Paladin League picked that up and passed it to whoever they work for in Puerto Jardin.
By now, all the players have this intel.
That helps set me up as ruthless, maybe desperate, too.
They also know I’m a photojournalist with nothing more than a BA in Journalism.
It’s not as if I’m an archaeologist trying to play dumb. ”
He didn’t like it, but it had more to do with Io being at risk than with the actual idea. “Making yourself look dumb puts a bigger target on your back. Petrova will think you’re easy pickings.”
“I know, but if our plan works right, he’ll be chasing shadows out to the ruins and we’ll be in Trujillo, working on your op.”
Cal finished his coffee and sighed silently.
He didn’t want Io in danger, that was the bottom line, and yet she was in danger.
She’d been kidnapped before he’d even known she was in the country and Petrova’s men would happily kill him and drag her to their boss.
That meant this plan was their best option.
“Where do you want to start?”
“I can’t go into the rainforest in a cropped T-shirt and khaki pants and there happens to be a women’s clothing store near the convent. Close enough that the clerks were probably bribed to notify Petrova’s team if I showed up. We can begin there.”
The bell on the shop door jangled discordantly as Io stepped inside.
The scent of tropical flowers overwhelmed the space courtesy of a scent diffuser on her right.
Racks of dresses, pants, and pajamas were everywhere.
All of them were full, making it difficult to walk around easily.
Cal followed her inside, his gaze scanning. His frown deepened.
Yeah, she didn’t like the closed-in arrangement either, but it was the only women’s clothing store close enough to the convent to use as a target.
“May I help you?” a clerk asked in accented English as she approached.
There were a few ways she could have been pegged as an American—her clothes being chief among them—but Io’s money was on Petrova’s men asking the store to keep watch for a blonde woman from the US. It’s possible they even flashed a picture of her for the employees.
Io drifted deeper into the store and said in Spanish, “I’m looking for hiking clothes. Something sturdy enough to hold up to heavy brush in the rainforest. What can you show me?”
The woman folding clothing at a nearby display froze in place, her head coming up to look at Io before she quickly returned to work. Another woman behind the counter near the cash register gawked at her longer. Something about that gaze unnerved her.
“The rainforest?” the clerk who’d come over to help asked, sounding bewildered. “Why would you want to go there?”
Good question. Perfect for what they needed. “There are some ruins I want to look at. To photograph for our magazine. I’m with the Paladin League. Our donors love ruins.”
No questions about what the Paladin League was or what it did, and since the nonprofit was small, and only well known by archaeologists and donors interested in archaeology, the woman should have been confused. That she wasn’t told Io her instincts were right. Petrova’s men had been here.
“Ruins?” For a moment, the woman only stared and then she said, “Yes, of course, sturdy clothing. This way please.”
The young woman threaded her way through the overloaded round racks and Io followed, very aware of Cal behind her.
She could feel his tension, but she knew if she turned to look back at him that he’d appear relaxed.
Bored, even. It was the expression he’d worn since they left the coffee house.
He was firmly in the role of a mercenary being paid to shop.
“Here, Senora,” the woman said, stopping in front of a rack of long-sleeve, button-up shirts. “Any of these would hold up well for a hike.”
Io didn’t argue with her, although nothing she touched felt like something she’d risk wearing into the rainforest. She made a production of sorting through her size, occasionally holding up a shirt to her body, turning to Cal, and raising her eyebrows.
He shook his head each time. To someone who didn’t know him as well as she did, he’d appear half-comatose. But Io did know him and he was on high alert.
A phone in the shop rang. The clerk helping her looked up, glanced around, and excused herself. And that’s when Io realized the woman behind the counter was no longer there. She turned to Cal. “When did she leave?”
“Before we made it to the rack. She’s been gone too long for it to be job-related” His voice was softer than hers had been. “Want to bet she’s alerted our Russian friends to our presence?”
“I’m not taking that bet. I think we need to get out of here.”
“Agreed. Move, Thing. I have a bad feeling about this.”
With a quick nod, Io made her way back to the door, Cal on her heels. They passed through the detectors meant to prevent theft, and as she pushed out onto the street, the bells seemed to scream out their exit.
The humid air always felt like walking into a wall, but now it felt oppressive and it sent a shiver down her spine. Goosebumps rose on her arms as a sedan pulled to the curb half a block down on their left.
“Fuck,” Cal muttered.
Two men were exiting the car that just arrived. Unless she’d gotten Cal’s nicknames mixed up, it looked like Boris and Bullwinkle again. They must be high in Petrova’s trust tree.
They turned the other direction only to watch another sedan arrive. The clothing store was at their backs. That left one option. Nothing like running across a street with speeding vehicles.
“Ready when you are,” Io said, reaching for Cal’s hand.
Cal’s fingers closed around hers, firm and steady. Reassuring in the best way. “Don’t let go, Thing. On three.”
They ran into traffic. Cars and trucks roared past, horns blaring. They reached the opposite sidewalk, but more horns and screeching brakes made it clear the mobsters followed them. She glanced left, and then right. Both teams of assholes were there.
Cal continued straight ahead, leading her down a street that was going to put them dangerously close to the convent and church. There was nothing they could do about it.
Another sedan arrived. Petrova and his Spetsnaz guard. Cal changed course.
The steeple loomed above them, stark against the sky. Surrounded on three sides, the church was the only way left.
“Inside,” Cal said softly. “We’re going underground.”
The heavy doors groaned as he shoved them open, the cool hush of the nave swallowing them. Io’s breath caught—the silence inside was deceptive, fragile. She glanced back. The Russians weren’t through the doors yet, but it wouldn’t be long.
They hurried toward the vestment room, footsteps echoing too loud in the cavernous space. Io’s chest tightened. Time was short. They needed to disappear.
Before Cal was killed. Before she was captured.
The doors slammed open behind them. Voices barked orders.
Cal shoved her into the vestment room and locked the door. Io rushed to the priest’s chalkboard, snatching the chalk from the tray. Father Tomás’s scrawl stared back at her: Psalms 105:5.
“Come on,” Cal ordered, impatient, already at the tunnel entrance.
Io plunged into the opening. Cal followed, shutting it behind them.
The darkness was absolute.