Mercenary’s Promise Page 8

  Veron bent down, pressed the gun against Xavier’s forehead and turned to face Bethany. “Well?”

  She knew what he was doing. He thought her gender made her weak. That threatening Xavier would break her.

  And he was right.

  “Don’t,” she pleaded, looking up at Veron, eyes wide with fear. “Please don’t.”

  “The truth,” Veron insisted. “Now.”

  The truth? That would get them killed. But this was all happening too fast and she needed time to think. To plan.

  Veron cocked the gun.

  Time was what she didn’t have. “I work with a television studio as a consultant. I’m scouting a new location for a reality show,” she blurted out.

  For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence in the tent. Inside, Bethany cringed, ready for laughter, disbelief or—God forbid—a gunshot. It was a dumb lie, but the only one that came to mind as a random remnant from her job as a movie consultant.

  Instead, Veron cocked his head. “Reality show?”

  Hell. He didn’t know what she was talking about. “You know. Like Survivor.”

  “Perdón?”

  Did he never watch television? Bethany took a deep breath, willing herself to believe the lie. To put so much faith behind it that Veron had no choice but to believe. “We take a group of people, put them in an unknown, somewhat dangerous location, and then pit them against each other in a physical contest. At the end of the show, the winner gets a million dollars.”

  He still looked confused, but before Bethany could explain further, one of the soldiers spoke in rapid Spanish.

  “Ah, sí, sí,” he said, nodding. “You are a location scout?”

  “Yes,” Bethany confirmed, a sigh of relief escaping her lips.

  He looked interested, but the weapon remained pointed at Xavier. “Why claim to be a tourist?”

  She shrugged. “I’m under contract to keep the location of the show a secret.”

  The weapon dropped an inch and now pointed at Xavier’s shoulder. “What is the name of this reality show?”

  Bethany’s mind went blank with nothing but the name Survivor coming to mind.

  The gun rose again to point at Xavier’s head.

  “Endurance,” Xavier broke in. “It’s called Endurance.”

  Thank God.

  “Endurance?” Veron lowered the gun again.

  “Yes,” Bethany answered.

  Veron stepped back over Xavier then walked to Bethany. Flipping her over, he untied the rope that bound her and helped her to her feet.

  She tried not to sigh in relief. Maybe they were the good guys, after all.

  “We will talk more. Alone,” Veron declared. “Take him away.”

  Or not.

  “I stay with her.” Xavier struggled as two soldiers tried to haul him to his feet. “She is my responsibility.”

  In seconds, two more soldiers were on Xavier, subduing him in a flurry of legs and fists. Bethany lurched forward before Veron grabbed her arm and yanked her to a stop.

  “Stop them,” she screamed, trying to pull away. “They’ll kill him.”

  He shrugged.

  She glared up at him. “You want to know more about me. The show? Hollywood?”

  His eyes lit up.

  Bingo. “Then stop them.”

  Veron hesitated. “Cese.”

  Almost as one, the soldiers stopped the beating.

  “Sálgalo de aquí.”

  “Xavier,” she whispered his name, fighting back tears. His face was bloody, his clothes torn and his hands still tied.

  The soldiers hauled him up. Almost unconscious, he still struggled, but they didn’t seem to notice as they dragged him out the door, scrapping his knees in the dirt.

  “It’ll be okay,” she promised, but he was already gone.

  Xavier rolled over, groaning. How long had he been out? Surprised to find himself untied, he checked his watch by the dim light that filtered in from the lanterns outside the tent.

  Midnight. He’d been unconscious for an hour and Bethany was nowhere in sight.

  “Crap,” he whispered. An hour might not seem like much, but for a trained man like Veron, an hour was plenty of time to inflict pain.

  He thought of Bethany being interrogated. Tortured. Hurt.

  Or worse.

  He had to escape. He had to get to Bethany. His muscles groaned as he staggered to his feet. Nothing felt broken, but he’d bet money he was going to have some spectacular bruises tomorrow.

  Limping towards the opening of the tent, he pulled back the canvas and was greeted by two soldiers and the open end of a shotgun. He doubted it was loaded with something as innocuous as birdshot, but even birdshot at point blank range would leave a helluva hole.

  “Vuelva adentro,” the soldier snarled, ratcheting a shell into the chamber like a warning shot.

  Xavier hesitated, his hands searching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

  “Ahora.”

  He couldn’t save Bethany if he were dead. Frustrated, Xavier forced himself to do as the soldier demanded and stepped back inside. With a groan, he buried his hands in his hair. He hadn’t felt this helpless since FARC took Eva.

  He’d failed Eva that day. He’d been working in the bar and hadn’t even realized they’d taken her until he got the phone call.

  He’d be damned if he was going to fail Bethany. There were only two soldiers outside. He was sure Veron meant the lack of guards as an insult. That he considered Xavier less than a threat.

  Arrogance, mistake number one. A pleased grin twisted Xavier’s mouth.

  It was time to take back control of their situation. He scanned the dark space for something he could make into a weapon, but there was no chair, no bed—nothing but a worn, forgotten blanket against the wall of the tent.

  Unless he was able to transform it into an UZI, he was out of luck.

  That left just himself and his skills. Walking over to the far side of the tent, he strained to listen. The camp was quiet.

  “Xavier?”

  Bethany. He whirled around, his beaten muscles screaming at the sudden, violent movement.

  She stood in the doorway of the tent, the light behind her, leaving nothing but a silhouette. In four long strides, he crossed the tent and pulled her to him, relief as deep and solid as the bruises across his back. “Are you okay? Did Veron hurt you?”

  Bethany shook her head, her cheek crushed against his chest. “He didn’t a lay a finger on me.” She looked up, her eyes lingering on his face. “I can’t say the same for you, though.”

  “I’ve sustained worse in a bar fight.”

  Frowning, she stroked his cheek, her touch light and comforting as a cool pack against his flesh. His body sang with pleasure at having her safe. At being given another chance to protect her. He grasped her fingers, kissing the tips.

  Her breath caught and her eyes widened. With a tentative touch, she slid her hand up his torso, stopping at his heart, her fingers spread outward.

  “Your heart’s pounding,” she remarked, her voice raspy and just above a whisper.

  He pressed his open palm over her sternum, mirroring her stance. Bethany’s heart thumped like a bass against his hand. “So is yours.”

  God help him, he wanted to let himself go.

  But there were consequences to his actions, and the desire he knew they felt wasn’t real. It was a symptom of relief. Nothing more. They both deserved better.

  He was going to have to be the strong one. Savoring the feel of her skin, he dragged his hand up her torso, smoothed her hair back, leaned in and kissed her forehead.

  For a beat, there was nothing but awkward silence.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. If he didn’t, his treacherous arms might pull her back to him. “What happened?”

  Bethany stared at him, confusion in her eyes.

  He hoped she understood his sudden change, but he wasn’t going to ask. He wasn’t about to open up that conversation. “Bethan
y, what happened? What did he ask?”

  Disappointment replaced confusion then she shrugged. “He asked about my job. Hollywood. Angelina Jolie.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I didn’t know her.”

  Smart-ass. Xavier smiled despite the tension between them. “What else?”

  Outside their tent, someone coughed, reminding Xavier that he and Bethany were anything but alone.

  She opened her mouth to answer, and he shook his head, putting a finger over his lips then pointing to the blanket.

  Bethany took a seat. “That’s it. Details on what I was looking for in a location but otherwise, nothing important.”

  He didn’t miss the stress in her words. They needed to talk without raising suspicion. He sat down then stretched out. “We should rest.”

  She hesitated.

  He couldn’t blame her. He’d rejected her moments ago.

  She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes lit with a wicked glint. “Of course.” Lying down, she snuggled against him, her back fitted to his chest and her bottom against his groin and wiggled into him.

  Xavier gritted his teeth as she moved, trying to get comfortable. “Do you mind?”

  “No. Do you?”

  It was going to be a long night. And they needed to talk, not tease each other. One hand on her hip, he rolled her away. “Turn over.”

  With a “humph,” she faced him. Her hip pressed against his. There was no more wriggling.

  Xavier pushed her long hair away, exposing her neck, and leaned in. She smelled like sweat and earth. “Did he believe you?” he whispered, his mouth pressed against her ear.

  She shivered against him. “He wanted to, I know that.”

  “Good. We can use that against him.”

  She took a deep breath, her chest pushing against his. “What if Veron finds out who we are? What if wanting to believe isn’t enough?”

  He knew Bethany wanted him to say Veron wouldn’t figure them out. But he hadn’t lied to her yet. He’d teased, taunted and even charmed her but never lied, and he didn’t plan to start now. “If he discovers who we are and why we are here, we’ll go to jail.”

  “And Samantha?”

  Did she need him to say what they both knew?

  “What about Samantha, Xavier?”

  “She’ll remain FARC’s prisoner.” And so would Eva.

  Bethany gasped at his bluntness and hearing the possibilities aloud even knocked the wind out of him. “You asked.”

  “I did. I even knew the answer.” She twisted onto her back and stared at the top of the tent. He didn’t have to be a genius to see he’d all but killed her hope of rescuing Samantha.

  That wasn’t what he wanted. He needed her optimism. Her passion. Without that, they might as well tell Veron who they were and be done with it. He took her chin in hand, turning her head toward him, her mouth inches from his. “I said he might find out who we are, but I didn’t say he would. To do that would take days, and I don’t plan on being here that long.”

  With exquisite slowness, she rolled toward him. Her mouth brushed his as if savoring the moment. Once. Twice. Three times.

  Their kiss in the bar rushed back. How she pulled him to her, releasing the fierceness that lurked beneath her cool exterior. The strength that drove her to do whatever it took to find her sister.

  Bethany’s touch, her talk and even the way she walked reflected the confident woman beneath, the guide who was always sure of her footing.

  He knew that woman. Traveled with her. Admired her.

  This woman next to him, the one who hesitated with her mouth against his, was still the Bethany he had met just a few days ago. But also not her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t strong or wasn’t fierce. She was all those things and more. But she offered something new. Something the Bethany from the bar didn’t.

  Vulnerability.

  Her surprising openness pulled him to her. Made him toss aside good intentions and duty.

  Her mouth brushed his again. He traced a path up her arm, over her shoulder and to the back of her neck. Untying the strip of leather from her now-messy braid, he unplaited it, letting her hair fall past her shoulders.

  The strands were like silk against his fingers, and he buried them in the mahogany mass and pulled her tighter to him, urging her mouth open.

  She breathed him in, and for a beat, he was lost in her. Lost in what she offered. He ran his tongue along her lower lip.

  “Promise me,” Bethany said against his mouth. “Promise me we’ll get out of here.”

  He had no idea how he was going to get them out of the camp and no right to make such a claim. Duty reared it ugly head and struck a pact with hope.

  As much as he wanted her, there would be no lovemaking. Not while she was vulnerable. But he’d give her everything else. His protection. His loyalty. And her family.

  Using every ounce of strength, Xavier broke the kiss. “I promise.”

  “Major Veron wishes to speak with you.”

  Someone nudged Bethany, and she bolted upright, heart pounding. She breathed out the disorientation that came from being woken without warning and took in her surroundings.

  A soldier stood at their feet, one hand at his side and a pistol in the other. The flap to the tent lay open and the morning light slanted across the ground.

  “Speak to whom?” Xavier asked, sitting up behind her, his hand on her hip.

  Last night’s adventure rushed back. Their capture. Her conversation with Veron. The fear.

  The way she had kissed Xavier. How he had held her. Falling asleep with his arms around her, keeping her close.

  Oh, crap.

  The memory both warmed and horrified her.

  The soldier gazed past her. “The woman. Now.”

  “Like hell,” Xavier growled in her ear. “You’re not going. Not without me.” He started to rise and the soldier cocked his weapon.

  She could not go through the terror of seeing Xavier at gunpoint again. “Please,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and holding him down with the weight of her body.

  Xavier tried to shake her off, but she held firm. “I can’t protect you if I’m not with you.”

  The feminine part of her melted at the words, but she shut that woman up. Now was not the time to go girlie. “If he wanted to hurt me, he’d have already done it.”

  The soldier put a hand on Bethany’s shoulder.

  “Please,” she repeated. “I’ll be fine.”

  Xavier hesitated, lips pressed tight as he looked up at the soldier. He rose. “No.”

  Why did he insist on being a macho pain-in-the-ass? She was going to kill him herself. Still on the ground, Bethany watched the soldier. He shrugged.

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Bethany stood, stretching. The soldier gathered the burlap bags from the ground and put them over their heads. Fifteen stumbling, awkward minutes later, they stopped.

  She strained to listen. Veron was talking to someone—probably their escort from the angry tones. The bag was removed from her head. Veron waited in front of her, looking as awake and pressed as if he’d had a full night’s sleep. The escort remained, his gun trained on Xavier.

  “What do you think?” Veron asked.

  The back of her neck prickled. “What do I think of what?” she asked as her imagination roiled with the more negative answers—rape, torture, Xavier’s head disconnected from his shoulders while she was forced to watch.

  “The location, of course. It is beautiful, yes?”

  For a heartbeat, Bethany stared at Veron, her brain processing the unexpected information. “The location?”

  “My men searched the IMDb as you suggested. There was not much, but there was a mention of you working on a movie from last year. My men assure me it isn’t something you could have forged yourself.”

  God bless IMDb.

  Veron smiled, transforming him from a no-nonsense commander to starstruck fan, an
d she understood what had happened. She’d dealt with the same phenomena when she’d returned to Utah after her movie consultant position ended.

  People thought she had an “in” with the Hollywood crowd. They launched into soliloquies at weird and inappropriate times, and one young guide had shoved a movie script she’d written into Bethany’s backpack. All annoying considering she had as much “in” as a rock.

  Not that she planned to crush Veron’s perceptions of her worth. In this situation there was only one choice—encourage it.

  Veron continued, “Of course, I have calls out as well, but I am sure that you are who you say you are.”

  Her confidence slipped at the comment, but Bethany kept her smile cool. Standing behind her, Xavier touched her lower back. She gave a short nod of understanding. These people verified her consulting position, which was useful, but it was only a matter of time before they dug deeper and discovered the real reason she was here.

  Then none of her Hollywood connections would matter. She and Xavier would spend the next ten years in a Colombian jail.

  “So, what do you think?” Veron repeated, circling back to the original question. His eyes and tone betrayed his eagerness to be a part of the mythical Hollywood scene.

  And she’d give it to him. By the shovel full.

  Pursing her mouth and trying to appear as serious as possible, Bethany cocked her head and took in the scenery. From the thirty-foot waterfall to the stunning array of parrots that inhabited the trees, the clearing was an awe-inspiring example of what the world would be without man.

  She walked over to the edge of the pool beneath the falls. “How deep is the water?” It was so clear that perception of depth was lost.

  “Thirty feet beneath the falls.”

  She nodded. “Does it have a name?”

  “Agua del murciélago.”

  “Water of…”

  “Water of the bat,” Xavier translated.

  Water of the bat? Excitement rushed through her, making her tremble. The hostage that had brought her Samantha’s location had mentioned it. She was sure of it.

  “Named for the local bats,” Veron explained. He pointed at what looked like a cliff. “Over on the other side of the falls are caves. The bats have lived there for centuries.”