Loretta woke to a prod in the ribs, and groaned. Theresa was looming over her.
“Get up, lazy one.” She scowled.
Bitch. Loretta yawned, and not wanting to antagonize her further, rolled out of bed. Theresa pointed with a flick of her chin to a glass of water and some bananas on the table.
“Eat, then I come back and take you to bathroom.”
Alone again, Loretta peeled the fruit and scoffed it down. She was hungry and had to keep her strength up. The water looked suspect, but she was parched and didn’t want to dehydrate. She lifted the glass and took a small swallow. It wasn’t Perrier, but it was wet and thirst quenching. The two bananas helped satisfy her hunger, and for the first time since being abducted, optimism surfaced. Zach would come for her, on that she could depend.
Scuffled sounds and men’s voices talking in rapid succession floated through the window. Her more than passable Spanish, learned at the knee of Maria, heralded the fact that her captors were making preparation to move her elsewhere, but why?
The door opened again, Theresa sauntered in. “Come, gringa, you go bathroom now.”
“And then what?”
Theresa shrugged and propelled her toward the door. “Stop ask questions and do as told.” Her English wasn’t perfect, but Loretta got the message.
She walked toward the bathroom with as much dignity as she could muster. The men gave her sly looks as she passed by. One muttered, “puta” and spat tobacco juice, but she held her head high and pretended not to understand. Better to keep them ignorant of her linguistic ability. The dialect was different, but still understandable.
The facilities were more primitive in the harsh light of day. Although there was running water, it was cold and just a murky trickle. Without toiletries, the best she could do was rinse her face and mouth and finger-comb her hair.
And where was poor Carlos? Visions of him lying dead in a ditch somewhere surfaced, and she almost broke down. She hadn’t prayed since she was a child but found the words now. “Please, God, let Beth have contacted Zach, and let Carlos be okay.”
Theresa banged on the door. “Hurry, we not have all day.”
Loretta opened it and demanded, “Where’s Carlos? What have you done with him?”
The deep throaty laugh was unexpected and jarred Loretta’s nerves. “What’s so funny?” she screamed.
“Stupid puta, he is home with wife,” Theresa jeered in Spanish, her eyes shining like black onyx.
“No, you’re lying, he…” She bit back the accusation as the realization hit she’d tipped her hand.
The Columbian woman raked her from top to toe. “Ah, you speak Spanish. The only interest Carlos have in you was ransom.” Her laughter was brittle, like nails on a chalkboard. Loretta itched to scratch out her eyes.
“I don’t believe you.” It came out as a husky whisper. Carlos was enraptured with her.
“Stupid girl, who you think drug you?” Her broken English held a harsh truth as Loretta contemplated the reality while retracing her steps back to the house.
“Good, you are back. We leave now,” Franco announced when they drew level with the truck. “Our cousin telephoned, the other gringa woman left the hotel with three Americanos. Silvio, now we must take this one to Don Salvatore’s and wait for further orders.”
“Not through the jungle?” Silvio gasped.
“We have no choice; it has been ordered.”
Silvio climbed into the passenger seat while Theresa pulled Franco aside and spoke to him in rapid Spanish. Loretta strained to listen, and as expected, the Columbian bitch was filling the big ape in on Loretta’s bilingual ability.
Franco marched over and with brute force and no compassion bound her wrists behind her back.
“So you understand,” he said, manhandling her into the back of the truck.
Dread flooded her body at the cold look she saw in his eyes. If Zach didn’t get here in time, the Columbian would have no qualms in taking her life.
Icy threads of fear whipped along her veins at the precariousness of her situation and her body trembled. A few seconds later the engine kicked over and the old truck moved forward at a steady pace.
The miles rolled by. Loretta concluded she’d be bruised from head to toe as her butt bounced against the metal floor. Franco proved to have a sadistic side, hitting every bump and hollow without reservation. The shock absorbers on the vehicle had long since gone and the jolts reverberated through her bones.
She was surprised when the truck halted and he ordered her out; they’d been traveling for less than forty minutes.
“The ride is over, we walk now,” he explained.
“Untie me.” It was sharp and loud and sounded like a command, so she softened her tone. “I can’t walk with my hands tied behind me. I won’t run. Where could I go?”
“I’m the one calling the shots, so shut up and walk.”
The hand between her shoulder blades propelled her forward, and she stumbled and fell. The big ape, Silvio, helped her up. Although he was big and dumb, he was kinder than the others, and his touch gentler.
“Just keep walking, señorita, and you will be okay.” Silvio’s voice was low as he gave the instruction.
They traveled through thick undergrowth for what seemed like hours before Franco called a halt. Bone-weary, she sank to the ground, grateful for the rest. Her hands were numb and had started to swell, her feet weren’t faring any better. The sandals she wore were not conducive to walking and were rubbing her skin raw.
Silvio held a bottle of water to her mouth, and she gulped the liquid. Two minutes later his hand was under her arm, and she was back on her feet continuing the trek.
With every step, the terrain became thicker, denser, more rugged. Even on her best day she could not be described as athletic, so when she slipped on a rock, unable to regain her balance, she fell hard, bloodying her knees.
“Franco, untie her. Look around, where would she go if she fled? The wild animals would have her. And if she injures her legs and can’t walk, then we have to carry her.”
Loretta struggled upright, her knees raw and bleeding, the skin shredded. What Silvio said was true; the jungle had swallowed them up. There was nowhere to run.
Franco turned on a dime, whipping his gaze over them. “You are too soft, but untie her if you must.”
He didn’t wait to watch but spun away and continued hacking a trail.
Silvio unknotted the rope with clumsy fingers. The blood flowing back into her fingers tingled with sharp painful jolts to her veins, but the released pressure from her neck and shoulders felt wonderful.
With her hands now free, she was able to brush the dirt from her knees. The cuts were deep and still trickling blood, but she was more concerned with what Franco had in mind for her. Why take her into the jungle if not to kill her? Why not keep her in the city and do the exchange there, not traipse her all over the Colombian wilderness?
Despair at never seeing Zach and Beth again made her heart constrict. So much had been left unsaid. Zach loved her, treated her like a princess. He trusted her, and she’d abused that trust time and time again. Lied to him whenever it suited her.
She’d dismissed her lies as harmless, but they weren’t harmless, she could see that now. Someone always got hurt.
When Zach confronted her about the pranks she’d instigated at school, she simply blamed Beth. Sure, she’d felt guilty the first few times, but Zach was so gullible, and he was away so much it was better he thought ill of Beth than her. So she’d taken the easy way out.
When Zach discouraged their friendship, she’d felt remorse. Zach said she was loyal, but it was Beth who was the loyal one, not her. Zach would be crushed when he learned the truth, but if she got out of this alive, she’d set the record straight. That was a promise.
Silvio fell in behind her as she trudged along. There was no discernible trail that she could make out, but Franco seemed to know where he was going as he hacked at the vegetation. And just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, the heavens opened.
Fat wet drops pelted the earth, muddying the ground. The deteriorated conditions made her balance more difficult. The deluge soaked her to the skin, molding her clothing to her body, plastering her hair to her skull. Visibility was reduced to three feet, and the noise was like a thousand drummers beating out a tattoo.
Hampered by the downpour, Franco slowed their pace but didn’t pause. It was tricky and slippery, and when her feet skidded from under her, she landed bottom first in the sticky mud with a squeal.
“Not much farther, señorita, twenty minutes, no more.” Silvio slipped a firm hand under her elbow and hoisted her up. Not much longer—twenty minutes didn’t seem so bad.
Twenty minutes later, she was singing a different tune. Filthy, bedraggled, and smelling like a polecat, she was desperate to get out of the cursed rain. Her blistered feet, rubbed raw and bleeding, pained with every step, so it was with wide-eyed relief when five minutes later she limped into the clearing.
The sight that met her was flabbergasting. Instead of a simple hacienda, what confronted her was a complex thriving organization made up of a collection of both small and large buildings resembling a compound.
Franco’s uncle was the head honcho—he was staying here with his wife. She’d learned that much from listening to Silvio and Franco.
The person she assumed was Don Salvatore appeared on the porch. A small ineffectual man, hardly the ruthless type required to head such an operation, but as they drew closer she could see his obsidian eyes were cold and devoid of any human emotion.
The acid glare he shot over her was unsettling. He turned his attention to her captors and began berating them in rapid Spanish, hand jabbing, finger pointing.
She interpreted as best she could. Don Salvatore was livid, accusing Franco of compromising the entire operation by bringing her here. They seemed unsure whether the three Americans were coincidence or backup, that’s why they moved her here. It was Zach and the rescue party. She had to believe that.
When she learned Beth was bringing the ransom, Loretta’s short-lived elation died. The other disturbing piece of news was that Carlos would be arriving before dinner.
“Lock her in the shed out the back. It has no windows so she can’t escape, and even if she did, my men would be on her before she went ten feet.”
“Yes, Uncle.” Franco gripped her upper arm, his beefy paws leaving indentations on her skin that by tomorrow would morph into bruises.
She bit back an expletive. Zach was on his way—she had to stay alive until then. If she provoked these goons then there was no doubt in her mind they’d kill her.
“Move.”
She moved quicker this time, thus avoiding the shove in the back she was learning to expect.
Franco jostled her to the shack. The door opened outward. She hesitated on the threshold and peered in, but could only make out dark shapes and shadows. Franco pushed her forward and she fell on her knees in the dirt, yelping as she hit the ground. He was cruel and laughed, delighting in her pain.
“Enjoy your stay at the Hilton, señorita,” he snickered, slamming the door and sliding the bolt into place.
The closed door shut out most of the light, but not before she noticed a mattress and blanket in one corner. Silent tears ran off her cheeks unchecked as she crawled onto it and pulled the thin cover up over her. Zach would come. He would. And Beth would be safe too.
She drew her legs up and hugged her knees. The blanket held little warmth and she shivered. Soaked to the skin, chilled to the bone, and scared witless. Alone in the dingy confines, she tallied the number of people she’d seen in the compound. It was a hive of activity, and there were at least half a dozen big apes carrying weapons. If she were a gambler, she’d just bet this was no ordinary plantation but a drug processing operation, and big oaf Franco and Theresa the cow were in it up to their eyeballs.