Fields' Guide to Abduction, - [famous ebook reader TXT] 📗

his head and the thunder roared (or maybe that was the lions).

The night air, my wet clothes, and Javier’s expression conspired to give me the shivers. I shook so badly the man with the gun lowered his weapon and helped me out of the truck.

“What happened?” Javier’s voice was as cold as the wind cutting through my sweater.

He wanted an explanation now? Here? In the drive? I was freezing and I hadn’t had enough time to rehearse.

Chariss always said acting was about mining one’s soul, borrowing real emotion, and using those feeling for a character.

My character was a traumatized woman. A woman about to break. A woman deserving of sympathy.

I needed tears. That was easy. I thought about Jake. I thought about how deeply he’d wounded me, how he’d lied, and how he’d used me. I thought about him not making it to the pick-up site and dying (for real) alone in the mountains of Sinaloa.

My eyes were awash with tears. “I was sitting on the veranda and someone shot your guard.”

“Who?” Javier demanded.

“A man. He didn’t tell me his name.”

“What did he look like?”

A circle of stone-faced sicarios watched Javier interrogate me. Their hands rested on their guns as if they’d start shooting any second now. A few spit on the ground near their feet—near my feet. Others shifted from side to side—edgy. They were ready to avenge their comrade.

I covered my mouth with a shaking hand and looked at the men. “He looked like them. “Jeans, boots, mustache, and a gun.”

A few of the men grumbled.

“You spoke to him,” said Javier. “In what language?”

“Spanish and English. My Spanish is bad. His English was worse.”

“Where were you going?”

“He said something about an airplane.”

“You were going to the landing strip?”

I thought about the man with the Glock in my ribs, his eyes staring sightlessly at the Baja sky, and my certainty I’d be next. I used that terror. “I was s-s-so frightened. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You stole horses.”

I stood silent—letting the moment stretch. Tears coursed down my cheeks and I crossed my arms over my chest. “He stole the horses. He had a gun. I thought he’d shoot me.”

“But, he didn’t.”

“No. But he—” my voice broke as if what came next was too terrible to say aloud “—he touched me. He said he was going to enjoy having Quintero’s woman. If I went with him he’d rape me.”

A few of the sicarios muttered.

“You went,” said Javier.

I gulped. “If I didn’t go with him he’d shoot me.”

Javier crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t buying my story.

“I fell off my horse at the first opportunity. I thought being on foot would slow us down.” I gazed up through my tangled hair at Javier’s impassive face. “I thought you might be looking for me. Maybe following us.”

His lips thinned. “Then what happened?”

“He put me on the second horse.” My voice hitched. “He said I walked too slow. When I fell off the second horse, he hit me.” I rubbed my collarbone where a sapling had whacked me on my fall down the mountain.

Javier’s expression darkened. Did he believe me?

“He dragged me along but I kept slipping and falling.” I looked down at the too-new boots (now muddied and scratched and water-stained). “Then we heard voices. I prayed it was you and your men and I dragged my steps.”

One of the sicarios cracked each of his knuckles. Pop, pop, pop.

I swallowed (hard) and continued. “When I was certain I heard voices, I pulled my arm free and ran for a break in the trees. I ran—” I paused and gauged my audience. The sicarios’ eyes might be dead but their foreheads were wrinkled in concern. “I ran until the ground fell away.”

Javier snorted.

Was he buying this? My life hung in the balance. I had to convince Javier. My character needed honesty. I thought about my dad. “I was unconscious for a few minutes. When I woke up I was in a poppy field. I figured there had to be a road somewhere, so I walked until I found one. Then—” I pointed “—those men picked me up. I told them your name and Señor Quintero’s and they brought me here.”

Javier spoke in rapid Spanish to the uniformed men.

They nodded.

No one looked pleased that I’d been rescued.

Somewhere nearby, a lion roared.

Javier stared at me with considering eyes.

Was I about to be given to the sicarios for their evening entertainment? Fed to the lions?

A sob escaped my chest—a sob that encompassed six dead people, a knife at my throat, a gun in my ribs, Jake’s parting words, and the blisters on my feet. I sank to the ground and buried my head in my hands.

Too much? I peeked through my fingers.

Javier was speaking fast and low to Manuel.

Too fast and too low for me to catch a single word.

I reached up to my throat, needing the comfort of my locket. My neck was bare.

Somewhere in those miles of mountain terrain, I’d lost my father’s last gift to me.

Fresh tears—real ones—welled in my eyes. I lowered my head and sobbed.

If Javier moved me from this house, Jake wouldn’t be able to find me.

If Javier suspected I was complicit in the escape attempt, he wouldn’t find Jake’s tracker.

I moaned as if I was in pain. That was easy. I was.

Manuel stepped toward me and extended his hand. “Senorita Fields.”

I pushed my wet hair away from my face and stared up at him. Had I convinced them?

“Ay!” He jumped back as if I was a poisonous snake who’d suddenly appeared in his path.

What? What had I done?

Manuel pointed at my face. “Zetas!”

Javier bounded off the veranda and grabbed my chin in his hand. His eyes searched my eyes, my face. Then, with his free hand, he traced a Z on my cheek. “You didn’t say anything about a knife.”

Oh. That. “I was more worried about the gun.”

Javier gave the sicarios rapid instructions.

A few of the men peered at my face and muttered, “Zetas.” The rest hurried toward parked vehicles.

If I’d only spotted those vehicles when I arrived, Jake and I could have stolen one and I wouldn’t be in this mess.

“Let me help you up.” Manuel lifted me off the ground and gave me his arm.

With Javier watching, we limped toward the house.

“Señorita Fields.” Javier’s voice stopped us.

I looked over my shoulder at him. The storm clouds were still there.

“I am glad you are back with us. The man who took you from us will pay.”

I simply nodded.

And people said I couldn’t act.