Eye of the Beholder. Ingrid Weaver

guard from his pocket. The fourth key he tried unlocked the door.

      The crystal chandelier beside the staircase had been dimmed. In the semidarkness, the slender legs of the delicate antique tables along the wall looked skeletal, the flowers ghostly. Glenna took a deep breath and followed Rafe through the doorway, then winced at the noise as the wooden door clicked shut behind them.

      A light shone from beneath the door of the room where Juarez had met them. Glenna imagined him lurking there, his mustache lifted in that oily smile as he waited to mock their escape attempt and take them back to that basement cell with the rats in the corners and the guards outside and—

      Rafe grabbed her hand and pressed it against his shoulder, snapping her out of her temporary paralysis. Keeping his gun ready, he moved along the curve of the staircase in the opposite direction from Juarez’s office. Glenna gripped his shoulder for support and followed. The marble floor was cold beneath her feet. She hadn’t had time to notice it before, but now she was noticing everything. Her pulse was accelerating, her senses becoming so acute she was imagining footsteps again.

      No, it wasn’t her imagination. She looked to their left, squeezing Rafe’s shoulder as she whispered a warning. A large figure moved on the other side of the wrought iron entrance doors.

      Rafe spun around, clamped her to his chest and dove into the shadow beneath the curving staircase just as the doors clanged open.

      Glenna couldn’t see who walked past. She couldn’t see anything. Somehow Rafe had managed to place himself between her and the rest of the foyer, sheltering her completely behind his black-clad body. She didn’t even dare to breathe as heavy footsteps vibrated across the marble floor.

      A door opened. She heard Juarez’s voice call out a greeting. “Hello, Captain Aznar. You’re late. I wasn’t sure you were coming tonight.”

      “I got held up in a meeting with those damned soldiers,” a low voice grumbled. “We have to change our plans.”

      “No need. Everything is still progressing…”

      A door closed and the voices cut off.

      Rafe slid backward quickly, dragging her with him. “The front door is out,” he whispered. “Juarez’s visitor probably has a driver waiting for him.”

      “Then what—”

      “We head for a room at the back and find a window.” He returned her hand to his shoulder and started forward again. “As long as we keep clear of that loading bay you saw, with any luck we’ll be long gone before anyone thinks to bring us breakfast.”

      He made it sound easy. It wasn’t. Three more times they had to make use of Rafe’s quick reflexes, his black clothing and the shadows to conceal themselves as they worked their way toward the back of the sprawling house. But at last they found an empty guest room that overlooked nothing but trees. Rafe detached the alarm wires that were around the window frame, opened the window and dropped to the ground with a grunt, then held out his arms to help Glenna.

      By this time, Glenna’s ankle was too painful to allow her to do more than hop. She hadn’t realized that he was aware of her growing discomfort, since he hadn’t allowed them to slow down, but of course, he was. He pressed her into the wall under the window, using his body to shelter her and to hold her up as a pair of men with rifles walked past. As soon as the men disappeared around the corner of the house, Rafe scooped her into his arms. He carried her to a pale strip of a road that curved toward the blackness of the rain forest. “Stay here,” he said, setting her down behind the concealment of a bush. “I’ll find us some transportation.”