Resurrection Page 2

  “Good.” David turned to face her now, all civil politeness. The man had gone to Columbia Business School and was highly intelligent. Not only that, he was married with two kids and she’d seen him with his children once. He loved them dearly. She’d also seen him drive a blade straight into a man’s skull without changing his expression. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry? I heard you skipped lunch.”

  “Ah, I’m okay.” She’d skipped lunch because she had morning sickness. She hadn’t let anyone here know she was pregnant yet. She was pushing three months and wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer. Her belly had already popped but she was small and wore loose shirts. “I have a little stomach bug but I’ll get some crackers later.”

  He looked at his father, then back at her. “Come now. You should eat some.”

  She didn’t argue because she’d learned two months ago that it was useless. Not only that, it was stupid to disagree over small things. She needed everyone in this house to think she was weak, submissive and resigned to being a captive. The truth was, she would likely die here, but she had to keep hope alive. For herself, her unborn baby, and for a husband she missed more than anything in the world. She desperately wanted to get home to Mercer. A man she’d loved before he’d become a man, before she’d known what love even was. They’d been kids when they’d fallen for each other, and the thought of dying without seeing him again? She swallowed hard. She couldn’t break down in front of this man.

  “How is he doing? No lies.” David’s voice was low as they stepped out into a mosaic-tiled hallway.

  The palatial estate was in the Mexican countryside on a huge horse ranch. She’d gleaned enough bits of information over the last couple months that she knew roughly where the nearest town was. Not that she was certain she’d go there anyway if she escaped. Not when the Ramirez family basically owned local law enforcement throughout this region of the country. Hell, she wouldn’t go to any policía for help. If she escaped, she’d call her husband and friends back home for a way out of here. That was neither here nor there, however. She needed to stay focused on her conversation with David.

  “He’s doing as well as can be expected. Some moments he’s lucid and others…he drifts in and out, but he’s not in pain.” She had him on enough pain meds to ensure that. There was no cure for stage four pancreatic cancer—that had spread to his other organs—but she could make him as comfortable as possible in his final days. He was still in a lot of pain though.

  “Good. That’s good.” He nodded at one of the guards standing next to an open archway along the hallway. The man held an AK-47 with ease.

  She’d gotten used to the sight of weapons. Everyone here had one—whether it was a machine gun, pistol, or a machete, everyone was armed. Even the onsite chef carried a gun. The guard gave her a small nod and polite smile. She recognized him as one of the men she’d helped patch up after he’d been thrown from a horse. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if ordered, but hey, he was polite now, and he’d been grateful when she’d mended his wound. She’d take it.

  “How much time do you think he has?”

  Even though she didn’t like David, she didn’t think he was asking from a bad place. Which was weird to think. She wanted to paint this guy with broad strokes as a monster. Which he definitely was. And if she got the chance, she’d kill him and escape.

  But he still loved his father. The love was mutual. But David and his younger brother were at odds, both wanting to take over the cartel once Arturo was gone. Not that anyone told her anything, but she’d been here two months. She could read the writing on the wall. There would be a war after the father was dead.

  “It’s hard to tell. A week, a month… He’s got a strong will.” That much was true, but she didn’t think he’d last another week. The clock was ticking for her because once Arturo was dead, they had no reason to keep her alive. Unless they planned to keep her on as a personal doctor, but she didn’t think so. Not when her specialty was oncology and was the entire reason she’d been kidnapped.

  “I will miss him once he’s gone.”

  Mary Grace didn’t respond as they turned into another shorter, mosaic-tiled hallway. Exposed wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling of this hallway as well, making the place seem even bigger than it was. Everything in the home was tile and wood, giving it a rustic feel. But it had all modern appliances and technology.

  “He made me promise to let you go once he’s gone,” David continued. “I will keep that promise.”

  Mary Grace simply nodded because she didn’t believe David. When Arturo had been talking and awake more than asleep, he’d taken a liking to her.

  “You don’t believe me?” His voice was rich and cultured but there was no surprise in the question.

  “Of course I do,” she said as they entered the kitchen. A big, fat lie.

  “You do not lie well.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The scent of heavy spices filled the air and though she tried to fight it, a wave of nausea slammed through her. She couldn’t make it to the nearest bathroom. Gagging, she raced for one of the sinks and began dry heaving. Only the water she’d had half an hour earlier came up, but she couldn’t stop the shudders racking her body.

  She was vaguely aware of a gentle hand rubbing her back. When she straightened, she wasn’t surprised to find Jesus, the chef, looking at her anxiously.

  “Sit.” He was about five feet four and the kindest person in this place. But she knew better than to trust anyone here. She had no allies, no friends.

  She did as he ordered, ignoring David’s presence.

  Jesus pulled out a Popsicle from the refrigerator. “I usually save these for los niños, but this will help with the morning sickness. I’ll make you some ginger tea, then you need to rest. You can try crackers later.” He didn’t wait for a response, just moved to the pantry and started pulling out stuff.

  “You’re pregnant.” For the first time she heard true surprise in David’s voice.

  No point in denying now. “Almost sixteen weeks.” If her calculation was correct, and she was certain it was. She’d discovered she was pregnant after arriving in Mexico. She’d come to the country as part of a mission outreach program with a world health organization. She’d planned to cut her trip short, to ask a doctor friend to take over for her so she could return home, but hadn’t had the chance.

  The memory of the day she’d been taken was seared into her brain. She’d been working with two other doctors and a group of volunteers in a small village one of the doctors was originally from. He’d wanted to help out his hometown, which was why she’d volunteered to go in the first place. He’d been a brilliant doctor and a kind man.

  Everyone had been gunned down in a savage act of violence. Everyone but her. She’d begged for her friends’ lives, begged for the innocent civilians, but the man had said everyone had to die. Everyone had to think she was dead. They’d burned the village, burned all the bodies, gone completely scorched earth, then tossed her into a Jeep and taken her to the Ramirez compound. Almost every night she woke up in a cold sweat, remnants of gunfire and screams from her nightmares still lingering in her mind.

  She hadn’t had the chance to tell her husband she was pregnant either. Which was maybe a blessing. If he thought he’d lost only her it would hurt him, but if he knew he’d lost both her and their unborn child… No. It would destroy Mercer. Her huge, strong husband had a big, soft heart.

  “I will keep my father’s promise.” There was a note of conviction in David’s voice this time but she still didn’t believe him.

  Hell, maybe he believed he would let her live, but she couldn’t afford to trust anything the man said. Not when he was responsible for keeping her here against her will. Away from her husband.

  Instead of telling him she thought he was a liar, she said, “I’d like some prenatal vitamin supplements. I can let you know what kind.”

  “That will be no problem.”

  “Do you think i
t would be all right if I got some fresh air later?” They had two pools and at least thirty acres of ranchland. Occasionally if the circumstances were right—and the cartel wasn’t on high alert—she was given a modicum of freedom. It was all an illusion but she needed to get out of the house. Needed to think. And pray.

  He nodded once then paused as he pulled out his buzzing cell phone. He frowned at the screen, then after a short, muted conversation with Jesus, he left.

  Mary Grace knew that whatever his decision was regarding her life, she wouldn’t depend on his mercy.

  Because sooner rather than later she had to make a break for it. Even if she failed, she had to try to save herself and her unborn baby. The best way for that would be on a horse-riding trip. If she only had to get away from one or two men, it was better than trying to escape a fully guarded home. No matter what, she had to try something. Her time was running out.

  Chapter 2

  —You say bitch like it’s a bad thing.—

  Four days later

  Skye Arévalo scanned the tourist bar of the gulfside Mexican hotel. Right on the ocean, the view was beautiful and the drinks were relatively cheap. Hell, everything here was cheap compared to the States.

  Not that she cared. She was here for one reason and one reason only. To find a particular pilot. Diego Martin. He was going to fly her getaway helicopter. Guy was apparently a drunk, but he could also fly out of tight spots. That was what she needed.

  It didn’t take long for her to find him, hitting on a middle-aged American blonde who was very clearly annoyed by his advances. Her arms were tucked into herself; she wasn’t even turning her head to respond to Martin. But he couldn’t take the hint.

  No, he was leaning over trying to get a better view of her cleavage. Classy.

  Skye slowly made her way through the throng of people at the bar. Wind from the Gulf of Mexico rolled over her bare legs, but the sun was warm and there were no clouds in the sky. A perfect day.

  “Diego Martin,” Skye said as she reached the bar, sitting down on the opposite side of the tall, wiry man in his early forties. She had no doubt it was him since she’d seen his picture and he was missing the pinky and ring finger on one hand.

  As soon as Martin swiveled toward Skye, the other woman bolted, drink in hand. “I know you?” He didn’t sound drunk, so that was good. She knew he was bilingual—so was she—but if he chose to speak in English that was fine with her.

  “Nope.” Sitting on the high-top bar stool, she turned so she was facing him completely—not even minding as he checked her out in a leering, full sweep. She’d worn shorts and a flowy tank top. Flowy so she could hide a blade against her back. Not that she’d need it with this guy. She was fairly certain she could take him in hand-to-hand combat. “But you know Juan Perez, and he owes me.” Perez owed Skye big, and her using Martin as a pilot was only the tip of the iceberg for Perez’s payback.

  Martin paled and started to slide off his stool but she moved lightning fast, lifting her leg and slamming her heel between his legs against the chair.

  She held his gaze, ignoring the stares from others in the bar. “Walking away from me is like walking away from your debt to Perez. He owes me and he’s lending you to me as a favor.”

  “You’re full of shit, bruja.”

  “First, I am a bitch, but I’m not full of shit. Call Perez. I’ll wait.” Once upon a time when she’d been an agent for the CIA, Perez had fed her information and she’d saved his ass on more than one occasion.

  He wasn’t really a good guy, but he wasn’t bad either. He had a lot of legal business in the US, California specifically, but he also ran guns up the West Coast. She’d been able to look the other way when he gave her tips on potential terrorists. In her world, there was no good or bad, just shades of gray. And Perez, he was all right.

  When Martin looked as if he might try to run, she gave him her most winning smile and pulled her foot back. It took him off guard, making her smile even wider. “Please run. I haven’t had a good chase in a long time.”

  “You crazy, bruja?”

  “Yes. Call Perez or you’re going to find out how crazy I am.”

  He pulled out an old-school cell phone and flipped it open. She snorted at the sight and waved off the shirtless male bartender when he stepped in her direction. They wouldn’t be staying much longer.

  Diego cleared his throat as he held his phone up to his ear. She watched, probably too gleefully, as he spoke quietly to Perez. His tanned, weathered face grew paler and paler as the seconds ticked by.

  After snapping the phone shut, he shoved it in his pocket and attempted to smile, though he looked a little green. “I apologize for calling you—”

  “Save it. I want to make sure we’re on the same page. You will fly me in and out of where I want to go with no questions asked, correct?”

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes.”

  She knew that Diego owed Perez big—because the fool had tried to steal one of Perez’s cargo planes. Instead of killing Diego, Perez had cut off a couple fingers, beat the shit out of him and allowed him to pay off his transgressions. He’d also made some very specific threats regarding a certain part of Diego’s anatomy, and everyone knew Perez always kept his word. Since Diego wanted to keep his dick attached, he’d do whatever Skye said.

  She slid off her stool. “Good. We’re going straight back to your place. You can pack a bag and then we’ll head to your hangar.”

  He sat up straighter. “You want to go now?”

  “No. We’ll leave in a few hours.” After sunset, and she wanted him to sober up even if he didn’t seem drunk. He was sitting at a bar, with a beer in front of him, so he’d been drinking. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  He fell in step with her, avoiding drunk, dancing tourists as a steady thump of island music filtered through speakers. “Where are we flying?”

  “Anywhere I want.” No way was she telling him it was into the Coahuila region—aka Ramirez territory. Not yet. She’d wait until they were at the hangar. Because one of Perez’s men would be waiting to fly with them. He’d make sure Diego didn’t abandon her in the middle of Ramirez territory with no freaking getaway helicopter. Martin might be afraid of Perez, but the Ramirez cartel was scary as fuck too. She had to be cautious with this guy.

  “What should I call you?” he asked as they stepped onto a sidewalk.

  “Boss, boss lady, badass bitch. I don’t care.” She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him her real name. Even if Skye Arévalo wasn’t listed as dead, she still wouldn’t tell him her name. She’d faked her death six months ago, but before that she’d worked for the CIA. Using aliases was second nature to her. So were disguises, and she had one on now—with her brunette wig and contacts, it helped her to blend in better and made it less likely Martin would be able to ID her at a later date.

  Coming out of hiding was a risk, but she had to do it. She didn’t care for many people and had no family to speak of, but there was one man she loved. Loved so much she’d faked her own death to save him from a monster. Now someone he considered family had been kidnapped, so Skye couldn’t look the other way.

  Everyone thought Doctor Mary Grace Jackson had been killed in the violence of the Coahuila region when the Ramirez cartel decided to exert its power. They’d wreaked havoc and violence on a couple small villages who dared to stand up to them. And Skye had heard through the spy grapevine that an American doctor had survived. An American doctor who was a specialist in oncology. Considering Arturo Ramirez was dying of pancreatic cancer, Skye thought the tip had merit.

  So here she was in a coastal town in Mexico, forcing a has-been pilot to fly her into treacherous territory so she could save a woman Colt Stuart considered a sister.

  Because Skye had to do this for him. Walking away from Colt, faking her death, lying to him, making him grieve… It ate her up inside. It had been for his own good, and the hardest thing she’d ever done. But that didn’t mean she c
ouldn’t do this for him. A man she loved more than anything. A man she’d give up anything for. But he’d never know it was her who’d saved his friend. She’d make sure of it. She’d get in, get the doctor to safety, and disappear again.

  * * *

  Oh no. No, no, no.

  Mary Grace wiped her damp palms against her loose, cotton pants and glanced over her shoulder at the door to Arturo’s bedroom.

  The cartel leader was dead.

  The only thing keeping her alive was gone. The majority of her time was spent in his room, keeping an eye on him, taking care of him, making him comfortable. She’d only been away from him for about half an hour to eat and now…he was gone.

  She couldn’t be certain, not without doing blood tests, but she didn’t think Arturo’s death was from the cancer. Rafael Ramirez, youngest son and all-around asshole, had arrived at the compound this morning and she’d seen him sneaking out of the bedroom right before she’d come back from a quick dinner of soup and crackers. She’d managed to avoid him seeing her, but she’d heard David and him arguing about many things that morning. They’d been speaking in Spanish but she understood every word.

  Rafael wanted to make a move on some territory and David didn’t. Rafael had accused his brother of being weak and unable to make the hard decisions. He’d told his older brother that they weren’t letting her go either, that if they did they’d appear even weaker. He’d told David that getting married and having children had made him soft. Rafael had serious contempt for David and his family—and if she had to guess, he had a hard-on for David’s wife.

  Thinking of David as weak was stupid, considering Mary Grace had seen the guy kill more than one person without breaking a sweat. But Rafael was an absolute psycho, according to some of the household gossip she’d heard. There weren’t many here who liked him, thankfully.