was cold.
Tomas swung his face to Julia’s and gave her a very wet kiss. “Bye-bye, Mama,” he said. “I’m going bye-bye!”
She tried to hold on to him, but he escaped her embrace and ran to his father. “Go now, Papa? Go now?”
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Julia had started to worry. What if he didn’t bring Tomas back? The question was silly, she knew. Where would he take their son? This was home and Miguel would never leave San Isidro, but the possibility had begun to haunt her.
Despite her earlier stand, she felt herself weaken. Too much was at stake not to try. “Please tell me where you’re going, Miguel.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m his mother. I need to know.”
She never touched her husband voluntarily. He looked down at her fingers, pale and slim against his black leather coat, then he raised his eyes to hers. “You’re acting foolish. The boy will be with me. Do you think I’d let any harm come to him?”
His words made sense but her anxiety only grew. “Promise me you’ll be back in two weeks?”
“Of course, we’ll be back. When my business is finished, we’ll return.” He looked down at Tomas and loosened his grip on the little boy’s fingers. “Tell Mama adios, Tomasito.”
Julia bent down and held out her arms, but Tomas was too fast. Laughing, he darted in and out of her embrace before she could even grab him. He then headed for the front door. With a final look of satisfaction, Miguel followed.
She told herself to stay put, but she couldn’t. She ran to the nearest window, the urge to cry overwhelming before the car pulled out of the driveway.
She watched the vehicle until it disappeared, but she didn’t allow herself the luxury of tears. Instead, spurred by her fear and last night’s conversation with Meredith, she let her long-growing resolve burn just a little bit hotter. She clenched her fists, her arms going tight underneath the silk gown she wore.
She was almost ready. Soon, very soon, she’d try again. Maybe even when they got back. She had nothing left to lose but her life.
THE NEXT DAY, Cruz waited.
Meredith and even Armando often complained about this part of what they did, but not Cruz. He’d been known to sit quietly, without moving, for hours at a stretch. After a while, the stillness entered his mind as well as his body. And no one knew how much he needed that kind of rest.
But today he would not reach that point. He’d seen the man and the child leave. Julia Vandamme would be on the move soon. She visited only one friend nearby. A woman named Portia Lauer. A British expatriate, the older woman had been friends with Julia for quite some time.
After an hour under the brush halfway up the mountainside opposite Julia’s home, Cruz’s attention was drawn by a movement at the villa. He peered through his binoculars to see the gates to the compound swing back and a white Toyota Land Cruiser emerge.
As always, there were two people in the vehicle. The sunroof was open and blond hair glittered in the bright morning sun, confirming what he expected. She was in the passenger seat, Guillermo driving.
Crawling from his lair, Cruz took the branches off his motorcycle and started it. In five minutes, he was waiting for them at the first turn. As the SUV reached the incline, the engine whined like a recalcitrant child. Cruz counted down the seconds, then he gunned the bike’s motor.
The SUV came into view, and Cruz took off.
A moment later, he drove directly into the vehicle’s path and slid beneath its wheels.
GUILLERMO CURSED and Julia screamed. She’d been thinking of Tomas and worrying about him, but she’d gotten a glimpse of the man on the motorcycle before he went down. The sound of the impact was sickening, the screech of metal on metal and the cry of the rubber drowning out every other thought.
Before the Cruiser had stopped, Julia unsnapped her seat belt. Fumbling for the door latch, she was about to climb out when Jorge grabbed her, pulling her back.
“No, no! Stay here,” he commanded. “It might be a trap!”
“Are you crazy?” Julia shook off his arm. “It was one man on a motorcycle and he’s underneath our car, probably bleeding to death. We’ve got to see if he’s okay!” Without waiting for Jorge’s reply, she pushed open the door again and tumbled to the road. She heard him curse again and call her back, but she ignored him.
Falling to her hands and knees, she looked beneath the chassis. Wedged against one wheel, the motorcycle was a tangled mess, the metal handlebars twisted against their front bumper, the leather seat ripped halfway off. She caught her breath, the smell of gasoline and rubber strong as her eyes searched the wreckage. She spotted the driver on the side of the road, his leather pants and jacket torn, blood oozing down his right temple.
Scrambling to her feet, Julia ran to where the man lay. By the time she got there, Jorge had opened his own door and was now standing over him.
Holding a gun.
“Put that away,” she cried. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?” She dropped to the man’s side as his eyes fluttered open.
“Are you all right?” Without waiting for his answer, she turned back to Guillermo. He still held the pistol. “Find me the first-aid kit,” she said. “It’s under the seat in the rear.”
Clearly displeased with the turn of events, Guillermo hesitated. “I don’t like the way this looks,” he said nervously. “Return to the truck and let me call for help. This isn’t good—”
“Don’t be an idiot,” she said from behind clenched teeth. “Go get me the damn kit.”
He backed up reluctantly and she focused once more on the injured man.
“Can you hear me?” She couldn’t believe he was conscious, much less aware. With no helmet to protect him, she would have expected much worse than the raw scrape on one temple. “Are you okay?”
His gaze flickered to the SUV behind her then fastened on her face. That’s when she realized his fingers had formed a handcuff around her wrist. He yanked her closer before she could react.
“Meredith sent me.” His voice was a rasp that grated down her spine. “Act like you know me and I’ll handle the rest.”
CHAPTER THREE
JORGE ROUNDED the fender and the man dropped his hand from her wrist. Blinking in confusion, Julia didn’t have enough time to make sense of his words before Jorge was at her side.
“Here.” He thrust a small white box in her hands, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the stranger by her feet.
Julia took the first-aid kit numbly. Meredith had sent this man to help her? Who was he? What could he possibly do? Had he really come from Meredith or was this some new kind of cruel trick Miguel had dreamed up to test Julia?
She stared at the man and he stared back at her, pushing a strand of his long, brown hair out of his face as he did so. His hazel eyes held a toughness she couldn’t ignore, their severity a match to the muscular body his shredded clothing revealed. Because of his body, he looked to be in his twenties, but the resolution in those eyes told her he was much older. Several days’ worth of stubble covered his lower jaw and she guessed his last bath had occurred about the same time as his last shave. He seemed poised, as if waiting for her to make the first move, but his look told her she didn’t have long.
Afraid something even more dangerous would happen if she stayed quiet, Julia spoke recklessly, spewing out the first thing that came into her mind. “I don’t believe this! What on earth are you doing here? My gosh, is this crazy or what—”
The stranger shot her an approving look then he struggled to sit up, extending a hand to Jorge as he did so. “Stan MacDuff,” he supplied, looking at Jorge as he spoke. “How ya doing?”