Authors: H. Ward
Cal’s face crumpled at Amber’s rebuff. “Okay,” Cal said dejectedly.
“All this cloak and dagger stuff may be standard operating procedure for you, but it’s not for me. I need a little space to process everything.” Amber flopped, trying to find a cool space on the pillow.
Cal’s hand sneaked over to Amber’s butt. “Maybe in the morning then…”
Amber cut him off as she punched at the pillow, “Yeah, maybe.”
Cal was quiet for a moment. “Are you…crushing on Ramiro?”
“What?” Amber flipped over to look at Cal.
He repeated himself, “Are you crushing on Ramiro?”
“No. Stop being ridiculous. It’s just way too sticky tonight to be pressing flesh. Don’t have a cow.”
“I saw the way you were looking at each other tonight.”
Amber expelled a sigh, “And what way was that, Cal?
He looked off into space. “You’re…attracted to each other.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake. I’m not even going to entertain this.” Amber rolled on to her side.
“The minute I turned my back on you before, you had the princeling’s dick in your hand. So…why wouldn’t you try to screw my partner?”
Amber’s voice softened as her hurt filtered in, “I thought you said you trusted me.”
“I don’t want to fight, Amber.”
“Then don’t. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I’m tired, and I’m hot, and frankly, I’m fucking scared. Tomás, I might remind you, is somewhere out there, in the jungle, with a bunch of over zealous nut bags…and
I
…happen to be
here
…with
you
.” She slapped the bed to make her point. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just give the jealous act a rest.”
“Tell me that you’re not attracted to Ramiro.”
Amber squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Her voice hardened as she opened them, “I thought you understood that this possessive shit doesn’t really work for me, Cal.” She got out of bed and pulled on some shorts before grabbing her pillow.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to go sleep in the hammock on the balcony.”
“The mosquitos…will eat you alive.”
“I’ve got bug spray, and there’s a net and I’ll take my gun and shoot the little bastards if I must. It beats laying here listening to what a slut I am.”
Cal got tangled in the mosquito net as he tried to get out of bed to follow Amber. She turned around and snapped, “Stay put. I mean it, Cal. I’m in no mood for this.” She grabbed her gun and holster and clicked the light out as she left. Cal listened as Amber padded out to the balcony on her bare feet, the boards creaking a bit as she did. Next, he heard the rustle of her getting into the hammock, the snap of the holster, and a slight swish as she arranged the mosquito net. A moment later, he heard a faint sob, and then silence.
###
A rooster crowed noisily as Cal got out of bed. The thing most on his mind was how to apologize to Amber; he didn’t know why he had been so overcome with jealousy. In the morning light, his behavior
did
seem ridiculous. He reminded himself that it was normal for couples to fight sometimes, and they were both stressed with everything going on. He knew they’d patch things up, and he smiled at the thought of mind-blowing, make-up sex.
“Amber…” Cal stepped onto the balcony, but the hammock was empty. He looked around, but there were no sign that she was out there. Listening for a moment, Cal heard someone brushing their teeth in the bathroom. He stepped back inside, and started making coffee. The bathroom door popped open, but when Cal poked his head around to look into the living area, he saw Ramiro stepping out.
Ramiro cleared his throat a little, “Umm, did you and Amber…work things out?”
Cal realized Ramiro must have been able to hear them arguing, Cal only hoped his partner hadn’t caught the content.
“She slept on the balcony. I was kind of a jerk.” Cal scratched at his bare chest. “So where is she?”
“What do you mean? I thought she was with you.” Ramiro looked at Cal, puzzled.
Cal scrunched his face up, thinking. He looked around; all of her things were still in their room. “Amber—hey, where are you?” he called.
Silence. Cal looked at Ramiro with concern, “Where the hell would she go at this time of the morning?”
“Maybe she went to look for hair dye and make-up,” Ramiro offered.
“None of the little shops in town will be open for at least an hour,” Cal countered.
“But she might not know that.”
Cal tried not to panic. “I’m going to go have a look around.”
“You want me to come?”
“No, stay here, and if she comes back, tell her I’m really, really sorry for acting like a tool last night.”
“Okay.” Ramiro ran the flat of his hand over the top of his head. “Maybe she just went for a walk to blow off steam, or have a think. I’m sure she’s fine.” He tried to sound reassuring.
“Yeah, no doubt.” Cal tried to sound confident, but alarm bells were going off inside of his head.
###
What’s wrong with me? I can’t see anything…and my head feels like I’ve been on a three-day bender. And why are my clothes wet? That has to be the sound of an outboard motor, but why can’t I see? If Cal is trying to make up with some romantic surprise…this isn’t it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…that isn’t Cal. That’s Spanish…and not the way the locals speak it…lieutenant? Oh fuck no, why didn’t I hear them? How the hell did they get me off the balcony without me waking up? Maybe choloroform…so I didn’t struggle…that would explain why my head feels like someone has been banging on it all night with sledgehammers. That sounds about right—cheap…and old school.
Now what? My hands are tied, and they’ve blindfolded me. Better play dead, better keep listening while they think I’m out to see what I can learn. Do I stick with my Julietta identity, and offer to help them? Or have they figured out my boyfriend works for the DEA and my dad is a colonel who works for NATO? Or do they just think I’m a convenient tourist? They’re probably too dumb to know that the US won’t negotiate with terrorists, and as far as they’re concerned, FARC is a terrorist organization…or maybe a drug cartel. Shit. Why am I debating this now?
Need to listen…figure out how many people are in the boat with me. The motor sounds small, so can’t be many…one voice is a woman, and one is the lieutenant…it doesn’t seem like there are any more.
How long will it be before Cal knows I’m gone? Shit, he’s going to think I got mad and took off…except there aren’t any flights until Saturday, and the only other way I could have left is by boat and no one is going to hire a boat in the middle of the night. Plus, all my stuff is there…he’ll figure it out, I know he will…unless he’s still mad at me, too mad to think straight. How can he say that he cares about me while accusing me of trying to seduce Ramiro? What does he take me for?
My head is clearly screwed up if I’m thinking about romantic bullshit…Shit. What does FARC do with female hostages? There was that story about one woman who was rescued after four years in the jungle…she had a baby. No one ever said whether she was raped or brainwashed or voluntarily had sex. There was just a woman hostage with a baby…as if that baby materialized from nowhere.
The boat is slowing down…how long have I been out? How far have we gone? How did FARC get so bold to come this far across the border? Shit, someone is grabbing me, yanking me up. Oh fuck…Cal, I’m scared.
“Get up,” a woman’s voice commanded, while jerking at Amber’s arm. Her heavily accented English sounded more like “Geeet up,’ but all the same, Amber scrambled, trying to find her feet with her hands tied in front of her.
“Por favor, mantenga la calma!” Amber choked out, begging them to stay calm.
The woman growled, unimpressed by Amber’s Spanish. She pushed Amber forward, and Amber slipped in the water leaking up through the bottom of the little skiff. She started to fall, banging her knee painfully against one of the wooden bench seats. Other hands caught her, masculine hands, and she flinched back, falling on her butt. She could feel the water seeping through her shorts. The male hands pulled her up to her feet, and then suddenly she was off them. The man, presumably the lieutenant, had picked her completely up, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Automatically, Amber tried to struggle, but he pinned her legs with very strong arms, and just chuckled. The sound of him laughing made her furious, and she struggled harder.
“Beetch…” the woman said, and that was the last thing Amber remembered. When she woke up again, she was face down, next to a small fire in the jungle. Her blindfold had been removed, but her hands were still bound, and now leashed to her ankles. Her head felt even worse than before, and she realized there was a cut above her eye, and dried blood on her face. She sucked in a breath; her knee was throbbing from the pressure of laying on it. She forced herself to roll over, and staring at her—from the other side of the fire—was a young Panamanian man…and Tomás.
Chapter 14
Amber’s gaze locked on Tomás’ face; he dipped his head slightly to acknowledge her, and then tilted his head. Amber craned her neck to look in the direction he indicated, and she could see their captors. The woman was no older than Amber, dressed in camouflage pants and a black t-shirt. Her long, dark, wavy hair spilled out from under a camouflage hat. She was shorter than Amber, and might have been pretty, except for the scowl on her face. Amazingly, her eyebrows had been plucked into thin, hard arches, and she seemed to be wearing eyeliner.
The lieutenant was no more than thirty years old, Amber decided. He had a cropped beard and mustache and was dressed entirely in a lightweight, camouflage uniform with insignia sewn on the shoulder. A black beret completed his revolutionary look, and one could say he was dashingly handsome, but his piercing eyes made Amber shiver.
Feeling Amber’s gaze on him, the lieutenant turned toward her and mocked her in surprisingly good English. “Ah, our wild, little
bruja
awakes.”
Amber knew that a bruja was a witch and that Colombians had been known to murder women suspected of witchcraft, so even as a joke, it wasn’t much of a compliment.
“Better watch out,” Amber croaked in Spanish, her throat so parched she could barely speak above a whisper. “I might put a spell on you,” she added in English.
The lieutenant burst out laughing. He got up and grabbed a canteen before pulling Amber up to a seated position. “Drink,” he ordered as he poured water into her mouth. She gulped greedily, even though she knew the water probably contained parasites. But dehydration would kill a person faster than dysentery.
“Don’t worry,” her captor smirked, as he pulled the canteen away, “We’re smart enough to boil the water.”
Amber swallowed, relieved. “Gracias,” she said, before opening her mouth slightly again, a silent request for another drink. As he lifted the canteen, the woman soldier barked at him in very fast Spanish. Amber understood that the woman was suggesting that he would spoil the prisoner, but he snapped back at her, and gave Amber another drink. Amber watched the interplay between the two as water trickled down her chin; clearly the woman soldier was a subordinate, but Amber had the feeling they were also a couple.
Next, the lieutenant took a bandana from his pocket and poured a little water on it. He wiped the dried blood from Amber’s face, and checked the cut over her eye. “It’s not serious,” he said, as he capped the canteen, studying her face.
The young man with Tomás asked in Spanish for water. The lieutenant snapped his fingers at his comrade and pointed at the two men, “Mariana.”
Amber filed away the woman’s name, and watched as Mariana grudgingly gave water to Tomás and his guide. The lieutenant stood up. “Make some food,” he said to her, in Spanish, “I’ll be back soon.” And in a moment, he had disappeared into the jungle.
Mariana moved away from the trio of prisoners, and started digging through a backpack.
Tomás whispered, “She’s a bitch. Are you…okay?”
Amber nodded, “I heard about you on the radio the night they got me. People are looking for you.”
“That’s good, I guess. Were you out in the national park…by yourself?” Tomás asked, disbelievingly.
“Believe it or not, I was sleeping in a hammock on the porch of a house in La Palma.”
“What happened to Playon Chico?”
“That…was a lie.” Amber sighed.
The guide watched their interchange, “You two know each other?”
“Yeah—yeah, we do. I’m Amber, by the way.”
“Francisco…but everyone calls me Paco. I’d shake your hand but…” he held up his bound wrists.
“At least someone still has a sense of humor.” Amber tried hard to smile. “So, the lieutenant, what’s your assessment?”
“Hard to get a bead on him,” Paco said. “If he’s a lieutenant, he has at least a hundred soldiers under him. Clearly, he’s educated. I imagine he’s on his way up the food chain.”