Damn Sam Lambert to hell. He’d done everything he could to keep the old man from entangling his daughter further in his crazy plans, but he’d been circumvented. Probably by Richard, thinking, as usual, that it was all for the best. But it was too late to ask Richard, and Maddy wouldn’t or couldn’t answer.
He couldn’t see any way out for the two of them. Too much had happened, too much would still happen, for them to find some sort of peace together. If they even made it through this whole mess in one piece, there’d be no way Maddy would ever forgive him, and no way he could ask for her forgiveness.
She sighed, and the soft sound made him clench his fists more tightly around the steering wheel. For a rash moment he considered turning the car around, heading up toward Canada, running off with her and forcing her to love him.
But you couldn’t force someone to love you, and you couldn’t turn your back on your responsibilities, your debts, your destiny. The game wasn’t finished yet. He could only hope the two of them would at least be left standing when it was all over. But he had the feeling that it was nothing more than a vain hope.
The cabin was a rough-hewn log structure, set in a small clearing, surrounded by white pines and ancient old spruces. She’d worked hard on it over the years, fixing the windows, patching the lost chinks between the logs, even having Sally and Chris out for a wine-soaked roofing party that left the house waterproof but not much more than that. The summer’s flowers were long since past, and the cabin looked dark and deserted in the early-morning sunlight.
Maddy roused herself from her self-induced torpor to look at the cabin. The last twenty minutes had done little to calm her state of mind, and even the sight of her usually welcome retreat couldn’t ease her worry.
She was climbing out of the car, heading toward the front door, when she noticed that the sturdy padlock was gone. And then something fell together in her tired brain, and she turned back to Jake, watching him as he followed her down the path.
“How did you know it was twenty-four hours?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, how did you know it was twenty-four hours?” she demanded, her voice shaking. “When you got to my house tonight you said that Carlos must have decided not to give me twenty-four hours. I didn’t tell you that he said I’d have that long. How did you know?” Her voice was getting shrill, and there was no way she could control it.
And Jake, damn his soul, said nothing. Maddy heard a noise behind her, and she turned back to see Carlos standing there in her doorway, a grin on his face, his lizard eyes squinting in unholy amusement, his knife in his hand.
“Welcome, gringa,” he said smoothly. “I’ve been expecting you. Come in and make yourself at home.”
She whirled around, prepared to run. But Jake was right behind her, and the gun in his hand was trained on her, not on his supposed enemy.
“Go in, Maddy,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. There was nothing she could do but go.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Shock and betrayal left her motionless, numb, physically and emotionally depleted. Even the gun in Jake’s hand had no power to move her. She just stared at him.
“Gringa, if you think Jake wouldn’t shoot you, you are even more foolish than I have already thought. And you should know by now that I would have no hesitation about carving you up a bit. Move.” Carlos’s final word had the power to waken her out of her stupor. She turned then, moving down the path, keeping her back stiff and straight and turned away from the man who had betrayed her on every possible level.
She walked into the cabin, holding herself away from Carlos’s body, but he made no move to touch her. It was cold and damp and eerie in the pale light of afterdawn, and her small cabin was no longer a welcoming friend. It was the enemy.
“She didn’t tell you anything, amigo?” Carlos addressed Jake as he followed her into the cabin.
“Nothing.” Jake’s voice was a distant rumble.
“And I thought you were the great lover,” Carlos scoffed. “You told me it would be easier to charm it out of her than to cut it out.” He made a slashing gesture with the knife, and Maddy watched him stonily, willing the panic to keep from rising and erupting into a scream. “But then, your charm is a highly overrated commodity, is it not?”
She could feel Jake’s eyes on her, those fathomless hazel depths that could look right through her, through the cotton sweater and the skin and the bones, straight into the heart of her. She held herself very still, unwilling, unable to meet that merciless gaze.
“Apparently so,” he said finally. “Ortega had her house trashed.”
“Did he really?” Carlos sounded distantly entertained. “You don’t suppose he found it?”
“His man was still watching when we left. I lost him on the freeway. If he’d found it he wouldn’t have bothered trying to tail us.”
“Who was it?”
“Chimichanga.”
Carlos grinned suddenly, and his basilisk eyes were tiny slits of amusement. “You realize what that means, my friend? Ortega no longer trusts you. It would seem that your usefulness as Ortega’s lieutenant is at an end.”
“We always knew it would be.”
“And you can come back and join us.”
“No.”
That caught Maddy’s attention. She lifted her head, but the two of them were caught in a silent battle of wills, and for the moment their hostage was forgotten.
“Don’t be a fool, Jake. We need you.”
“Enough is enough. I told you when I started this, that getting the map would be my last job,” Jake said in a rough voice. “I want Ortega stopped as badly as you do. But after that, I’m through. I meant it six months ago and I mean it now.”
“So you can live happily ever after with La Patronita?” Carlos scoffed.
Jake’s eyes met hers suddenly, before she had a chance to turn away. They were blank, opaque, completely unreadable. “No,” he said. “I don’t think that’s an option.”
Carlos snorted then, a sound of raw amusement. “You’re not free yet, amigo. Go search the car while I take care of her.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? I thought the little Lambert was of no importance to you.”
“I didn’t say that, Carlos. I said living happily ever after wasn’t an option.” Jake smiled a cool, pleasant smile that should have stopped Carlos in his tracks, Maddy thought. Carlos was definitely made of tougher stuff than she was. “But if you put one finger on her, touch her with your knife again, the women of San Pablo will find you essentially useless from now on. Do I make myself clear?”
Carlos laughed, unmoved by the threat. “Completely, amigo. And I know you could do it. Get rid of your sweetheart, Murphy, and we’ll search her car together. The closet would be as good a place as any. You told me she doesn’t like being closed up.”
To Maddy’s horror Jake nodded, and he gestured with the gun. “Into the bedroom, Maddy.”
It was the only closet in the place, and it boasted strong hinges and a sturdy padlock. Whenever she closed the cabin up for the winter she locked anything of value in its small, dark depths. She moved ahead of Jake, her feet stumbling slightly, her hands trembling in the panic that seemed to have taken permanent hold of her from the moment she looked into Carlos’s eyes.
The shallow slash in her side was stinging her, and the sight of the black, cold gun in Jake’s hand terrified her more than anything had in her entire life. Anything, that is, but the dark confinement of the closet. All her life she’d hated being closed up. Even in the midst of winter she had to sleep with a window open, or wake up convinced she was suffocating in the darkness.
“Don’t, Jake.” Damn, how could she plead with such a man? But she had to. “Please, don’t.”
He’d opened the closet door. It was shallow and narrow, more like a coffin than a closet, and the panic bubbled up inside her. “Get in, Maddy.” His voice was completely emotionless, as still and distant
as his face.
“Jake,” she whispered, her voice raw. “I’m scared.”
How could he look like that? Grieved, and kind, and loving. “I know,” he said gently. “Get in.”
She wouldn’t ask him again. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped into the closet, standing there in the tiny section of space as the door closed after her. She heard him fasten the padlock, and it took every last ounce of her strength to keep from screaming, to keep from pounding at the door and begging him.
Without a word she sank down to the rough wood floor. They’d emptied out the closet, probably with this purpose in mind, and there was just enough space for her to huddle there, forcing herself to take deep, steady breaths. She was trembling all over, covered with a cold sweat that ran down between her breasts and made the medallion cling clammily to her skin.
Think of something, she ordered herself. Don’t think of the damned darkness, or that they’ll drive away and never let you out, and you’ll die here in the darkness, screaming. Think of mountains. Of clouds and sunshine and flowers. …
And unbidden the scent and color of wild gardenias came to mind. And Jake’s mouth on hers, his hands hard and loving on her skin, with the smell of gardenias all around them in the tropic night. Leaning her head against the cold, hard wall of the closet, she wept, small, noiseless tears, until she fell asleep.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking them suddenly in the shadowy afternoon light. She was lying on the bed, a thin blanket over her, and the door to the main room of the cabin was open. She could hear the quiet murmur of voices, and as she gradually grew more alert she could see Carlos’s smaller, burly form sprawled in the rocking chair. Jake was standing by the door, looking out, and she could only make out Carlos’s part of the conversation.
Who had taken her out of the closet, and when? And did it really matter? Whoever had taken her out was also the one who’d put her in, and the reprieve didn’t cancel out the crime.
What mattered was that suddenly her earlier, uncustomary panic had vanished. Sleep had done wonders, and as she lay there on the bed listening to them, her mind was busy with plans for escape.
“It has to be done, amigo,” Carlos was saying. “You and I both know it.”
Jake turned then, and Maddy could make out his words. “Cold-blooded murder has never been my style, Carlos. Unlike you.”
Carlos didn’t even flinch. “Which only proves my point. Leave it up to me. Experience counts, you know. It will be painless, if that will make you feel better.”
“Go to hell.”
Carlos laughed. “What bothers you the most, Jake? The idea of what you call cold-blooded murder, or the fact that you’ll be involved in covering up what happened in the Indian village? To a man of your principles that must rankle most of all.” His voice was sneering. “You’re a good man to have been with El Patrón. Always so righteous, so sure of your decisions. Did you never have any second thoughts about turning against your friends, your comrades, when you testified about that village in Vietnam? Or do you still feel righteous and holy?”
“Why would it matter to you?” Jake took a drink of the coffee he held in one large hand, and Maddy’s mouth watered.
“Because I want to know how you’ll feel this time. This time you won’t be able to turn me in, turn in the men you’ve lived and eaten and slept with for the last ten years. This time you’ll have to watch them go free, praised by the international press, and no one will ever know that three hundred innocent Indians were slaughtered for no very good reason. And I want to know how you’ll feel.”
Jake set the mug down with a thud, and the sturdy pottery broke with the force. “I’ll feel like hell, Carlos. I’ll feel like I’ve betrayed honor, humanity, and any shred of decency. I imagine I’ll feel exactly as I felt after I testified about Den Phui.”
There was a moment of silence. “So you are well and truly caught between a rock and a hard place, my friend,” Carlos said softly.
“Yes,” said Jake. “And you can enjoy yourself, watching me squirm.”
“You and the gringa are already providing me with much amusement. Cheer up, amigo. Most of the men involved in the Indian village are already dead in the fighting around La Mensa. I don’t expect the rest of us to make it more than another couple of years. You won’t have to worry about taking care of any more lost souls like El Nabo.” Carlos sighed. “You always had an overwhelming sense of responsibility. It wasn’t your fault that your company went a little crazy in Vietnam. That happens sometimes—I know only too well. And it wasn’t your fault that Ortega is in such a position of power.”
“Isn’t it? You forget, I knew his connections. …”
“We all could have guessed his connections. He rose to power too quickly, arms and ammunition were far too available, for him to have been doing it without help. And now he’s the real head of San Pablo, and Morosa’s only a weak old fool who thinks he’s important. It is in the past, amigo. And soon Ortega will also be in the past. Among others.” With that cryptic statement he rose and came to the bedroom door. Maddy quickly shut her eyes again, but it wasn’t fast enough.
“Speaking of which,” Carlos said, “our little captive is awake. Do you suppose you could try some other tactics to persuade her to tell us where the map is?”
“What do you have in mind?” Jake drawled. “I forgot to bring my torture rack and iron maiden.”
“You norteamericanos.” Carlos sighed with mock disgust. “Always so dependent on technology. Believe me, a great deal can be discovered with something as simple as a box of matches and an ice cube.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You’ve decided not to be so squeamish after all, amigo?” Carlos questioned. “Good. Then I will leave it up to you. I’m going into town. I expect that everything will be taken care of by the time I get back.”
“And when will that be?”
“Oh, I’ll give you plenty of time. I won’t be back before tomorrow morning. That should give you enough leeway to find out what you need to find out and then finish things up.” He had moved away from the bedroom door, and Maddy opened her eyes a tiny bit. “If you finish sooner you can always meet me down in Budgewell. Otherwise I’ll be back after dawn.”
Jake said nothing, and Maddy couldn’t see him from her position on the bed. She considered moving around, then decided against it. They didn’t know for certain she was awake, and she needed all the time she could manage to decide what she was going to do.
“Unless, of course, you’d rather I—”
“No,” Jake snapped. “Get out.”
“I’m going, amigo. I’m going. Give my best to the little gringa.”
Maddy lay there unmoving in the center of the bed, listening to the sound of a car starting up. It had a deep, throaty rumble, definitely not her Alfa. Maybe there was as little left to her Alfa as there was to her house. She couldn’t count on it to get her out of here especially without the keys. Years ago Stephen had taught her how to hotwire her VW, but that particular talent had vanished from lack of use.
But there was no question in her mind, she had to get out of there, and fast. The conversation between Carlos and Jake had been anything but clear, but one fact had stood out with crystal certainty: Jake was going to kill her.
After all, they didn’t really have any choice, did they? He had said there was no hope for the two of them, and that would have been the only way he could be guaranteed her silence if he seduced her into it. Kidnapping was a federal offense, and only one of many the two of them had doubtless committed, and she knew too much about the Indian massacre to keep her mouth shut. No, Carlos and Jake had been arguing about who was going to kill her, and Jake had won the toss. Would he make it as painless as Carlos had promised?
She wasn’t about to lie here waiting to find out. Even if the Alfa was out of commission, she knew this area far better than they did. They might think they were eighteen miles from the nearest town, Maddy knew otherwise. There
was a path that started from the back of the cabin and wound its way down the side of the mountain, some two and a half miles to the highway. She knew it like the back of her hand, but someone unaccustomed to it would become hopelessly lost. If she could just get ten minutes’ start she’d make it.
“Are you hungry?” Jake’s raspy voice came from the doorway. She considered keeping her eyes closed and feigning sleep, but he knew her too well to be fooled by it.
She opened her eyes and sat up, willing herself to be icily calm. “Bean paste and tortillas?” she questioned in a cool voice.
His face didn’t register a change in expression, but she knew she’d gotten a reaction of approval, even of respect. But he just shook his head. “Not much better, I’m afraid. Carlos did the shopping, and he’s a junk food junkie. You’ve got your choice of Twinkies, Yodels, potato chips, or Mallomars. To drink there’s warm beer, warm Tab, warm Coke, or lukewarm instant coffee.”
“That might almost be more effective than a pack of matches and an ice cube,” she said, swinging her long legs off the bed. “Couldn’t you figure out how to turn on the refrigerator?”
“There’s no electricity up here.”
“I know that. That’s why it’s a gas refrigerator,” she said patiently, walking past him into the living room. Maybe she could hit him over the head with something heavy. He was no longer holding the gun, but she could see it tucked in the back of his jeans. Maybe she could lunge for it. …
As soon as the idea entered her head she dismissed it. Jake’s reflexes were much more professional than hers. If she went for his gun she’d find herself dead a lot faster than she expected. With a completely spurious show of calm she went into the kitchen, picked a warm can of Tab from the counter, and grabbed the Mallomars. Warm Tab was better than no Tab at all.
“Which of you is on a diet?” she questioned, dropping into the chair Carlos had vacated and opening the can. Even at room temperature it tasted wonderful, and Maddy’s returning strength increased.