heart wrenched in his chest. Because the photo of Allison Landon spoke of a sensitive, warm, compassionate-looking woman. Not a fighter. “Thank you for sharing that personal experience with me, sir. I needed to know.”
“Yes,” the general said heavily, “you do. You’re not going to be able to extract her without her direct help. I know that. And there’s not a damned thing we can do to help you in this scenario. Your closest help, if you can extract, is a hundred miles downriver, working your way toward the Amazon and that Riverine Squadron boat crew who knows you’ll be coming with her. You’re going to be up against some of the most ruthless killers on earth, Sergeant. You think the Taliban is bad? Try drug soldiers. They like to torture, kill and maim even more than the enemy you’re presently fighting. They have no religion pushing them. They have pure greed, a love of raping and hurting others. They’re all sociopaths. No conscience. No human anything left in their dead souls.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I understand.”
“And you’re still willing to do this, Sergeant?”
For a moment Josh hesitated. He lived for these kinds of missions. He knew he was the best. And right now, Allison Landon needed help. His heart twisted and that surprised him. It meant he was getting emotionally involved and that just couldn’t happen. Josh could not afford distraction because it would get him and possibly Aly—Allison—killed. “Yes, sir, I’m more than willing to do this.”
Landon grunted and looked at his watch. “Wheels up in two hours, Sergeant. Get your ass over to Andrews. I have a car waiting for you outside. My attaché, Major Durmond, will take care of the details for you. You just check over the equipment before you board that C-130 heading for that GPS point in Brazil.”
Aly tried to hold on to her escaping terror as the drug soldier, Barrosa shoved her from behind, making her walk faster across the red-dirt courtyard within the villa. She had ridden for three hours through the jungle, in a direction she did not know. The ten-foot green concrete wall surrounding the villa appeared slowly out of the jungle, camouflaged. She would never have known it was nearby. She’d had time to recoup from the slap that Rusak had given her, but her left cheek was badly swollen and throbbed without relief.
It was the least of her worries as Barrosa kept her walking down a red-tiled walkway. Other men, armed drug soldiers, turned and looked at her. What were they going to do with her? Was she a slave? Aly couldn’t wrap her mind around what was happening to her.
Her ponytail had come undone when Rusak had slapped her and now, as she hung her head, not wanting to see the stares of the other soldiers, it provided a wall between them. She was dying of thirst.
“In here,” Barrosa snarled, grabbing her by the shoulder, yanking her to a stop. He kept a grip on her as he opened the door and pushed it open. “Get in!” He shoved her hard.
Aly gasped, almost losing her footing. She saw three women, all dressed in what could only be described as designer clothing, staring at her as she nearly fell into the huge room.
Barrosa growled, “Jakun, get her cleaned up. Don Duarte wants to see her as soon as possible. Put her in jeans and a T-shirt. She’s his medical doctor.”
Aly watched a very tall woman, who was painting her nails at a desk, rise. She was stunningly beautiful, her red hair piled up on her head, her oval face heavily made up with cosmetics. It was her huge green eyes, painted and emphasized, that got her attention. The woman wore white capris that showed off her long legs, a tight bustier that more than showed her breasts barely hidden by the dark green material.
“Of course, Barrosa. I will take care of everything.”
The door shut.
Aly stared at them. They all stared at her. Only Jakun, who swayed toward her like a model on a runway, bearing five-inch heels, didn’t seem surprised.
“I am Jakun,” she said in poor English. “Welcome to Villa Duarte. They had told us that Don Duarte was getting a medical doctor. You must be it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Aly swallowed tensely. “Who are you? And why am I here?” She wondered if the tall woman was going to slap her for asking a question and tried to prepare herself.
Jakun’s red lips pulled into a smile. “I can see that Rusak has already trained you to be subservient.” She flicked a long, elegant finger toward Aly’s face. Her smile disappeared. “You are now the property of Don Duarte. I am his mistress and these two...” she said, shrugging, “are his play toys when he desires a change from how I can pleasure him.”
A sickening feeling rolled through Aly. “Why am I here?”
Jakun pointed toward the white-tiled hall. “You are his doctor. He needs medical help. Come, I must get you out of this medical uniform, get you a shower and change of clothes. He’s been expecting you.”
“I—I’m thirsty. Do you have any water?” Aly looked around the opulent living room. The other two women, also dressed and made up, were reading magazines where they sat on two buttery-yellow leather couches. They ignored her.
Jakun nodded. “Yes, of course. Come to the bathroom. Everything you need is there.”
She followed the swaying Jakun. Everything about this apartment was elegant, richly appointed, modern. In the bathroom, which was as large as the living room, Aly saw bottled water on the counter. She grabbed it, twisted off the lid and gulped it thirstily. Jakun seemed amused, her arms across her breasts, a faint smile on her red mouth.
Aly drank all of it and half of another bottle. “Thanks,” she whispered, rubbing the water off her lips.
“You are welcome. What is your name, please?”
“Allison Landon. My friends call me Aly.”
“I am responsible for you and you must do as I ask.” She sniffed through her fine, thin nose. “Otherwise, Rusak will come in here and beat me. And I have had enough of his fists to last me a lifetime.” Her eyes narrowed on Aly. “You will obey me instantly. If you do not, I will call in Rusak to deal with you. Do I make myself clear?”
Oh, yes, perfectly clear. Aly had no desire to be anywhere near that bastard again. “Yes. What do you want me to do?”
Jakun smiled. “Thank you.” She turned and pointed to a stack of fluffy pink towels, soap, comb and brush. There was also shampoo and conditioner nearby. “Get washed as soon as possible.” She walked over to a stack of clothes with a set of sandals on top of them. “Rusak called me by radio and told me your height and weight. He guessed about your shoe size.” She picked up the strapped white sandals. “If they do not fit, I will get you a pair that does.”
“Okay,” Aly said, seeing that there was a pair of jeans, a pink tee, bra and panties. Nothing fancy. Thank God she didn’t have to wear those dresses and five-inch heels.
Jakun seemed pleased and left, closing the door behind her.
Aly ignored the gold faucets and showerhead. She felt as though she’d stepped into some rich man’s estate. Her mind whirled with terror and thoughts of how to escape. She knew she was in shock from being roughed up by Rusak.
As she took a cooling shower, she cried for Juan, her hands against her mouth so no one would hear her sobs. She washed her shoulder-length hair and quickly dried off. The clothes fit. But the designer jeans were too elegant for her. She was a plain Jane, liked utilitarian clothes, not gussied up with embroidery as these were.
The pink tee was loose-fitting and she was grateful. Aly wanted to hide in the clothes. Compared to the other women, she was lush and curvy. The three women reminded her of starving sticks. Runway models. Who were they? Jakun had said she was Don Duarte’s mistress and that the other two were play toys. Did that mean Aly was safe? That the man would leave her