“And you just strolled out of there after she died.”
“No, I escaped before anyone realized she was dead. I’m not stupid. I watched the guards for months and learned their habits and routines. When I found a weakness, I took advantage of it, but not until after my patient was deceased.”
He cocked his head a little to the right, and she could practically hear the gears grinding in his head. “This man who kidnapped you, he got a name?”
“Beto. That’s what his mother called him. Everybody else called him El Señor. I never got a last name. And no, I never asked. I learned early on that asking questions could be hazardous to my health.”
Giving a less-than-stellar medical prognosis hadn’t been good for her health, either. And sarcasm…yeah, definitely not good. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. Most of the time, she’d kept her big mouth shut and her eyes wide open, waiting for the opportunity to escape.
Jaw clenched, Tiny stared at her for a few long, uncomfortable moments. His eyes seemed to bore right through her. “Describe Beto.”
Hope closed her eyes and pictured her captor in her mind. “Hispanic male, mid to late-forties, short dark-brown hair, brown eyes…about my height, maybe an inch or two taller. He wasn’t fat, but he was soft, like he used to exercise or do physical labor but hadn’t in a long time.”
“Any scars or distinguishing features?”
“Uh…none that I saw. No visible tattoos or piercings. He walks with a slight limp that gets more pronounced when his minions aren’t lurking around. Oh, and the distal phalanx of his left ring finger is missing.”
A pair of lines appeared between his dark eyebrows. “Distal phalanx?”
Oops. In all the excitement, she forgot to translate that part from doctor to English. It was something she normally did when talking with patients or members of their families to make it easier for them to understand complex medical situations. She held up her hand to show him what she meant. “It’s the last joint of the finger, where the nail is.”
That got his attention. His gaze sharpened, nostrils flared, like a wolf that had just caught the scent of an unfortunate rabbit. “All right, I’ll take you to the American consulate. After you take me to Beto.”
Her heart dropped down to the brown tile floor. “Are you nuts? I’m not going back there.”
“Then you’re on your own. Good luck.” He turned to open the door.
“No, wait! I—” Panic shot more adrenaline into her system as she struggled to keep the tremor from her voice. “If I go back, he’ll kill me.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“Oh, really?” She didn’t bother masking her skepticism. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” The muscle along his jaw flexed. “Roberto Aranza, age forty-seven. Born in La Tuna, Mexico and raised by a poor farming family. At the age of twelve, he quit school and started to work for the local cartel. By twenty-three, he was running it. Now he’s one of the most powerful drug traffickers in the world. Directly and indirectly, he’s responsible for the deaths of thousands, including my partner. I’m going to kill him.”
Hope scoffed. “You and what army?”
“That’s none of your concern. All you have to do is show me what rock he’s hiding under.”
The thought of going back to that compound had her close to breaking out in hives. “I can give you directions. Draw you a map.”
“Not good enough.”
She glared up at him. Christ, he was tall. Not that she’d let his sheer size intimidate her. She’d dealt with assholes like him for most of her career and knew better than to show fear. His kind could smell it like an animal.
Still, she was smart enough to realize she wasn’t negotiating from a position of power. Like it or not, he held all the cards. If she wanted his help, she’d have to give him what he wanted and pray he was the kind of man who kept his word.
“If I lead you to the compound—and I’m not saying I will—do I have your word that you’ll take me to the nearest consulate? Before the killing starts?”
The corners of his mouth curved up into something too fierce to count as a smile. “Yes, before the killing starts.”
“All right, in that case, you have a deal.” Steeling her nerves, she extended her right hand. It was crazy—she had no reason to believe he’d uphold his end of the bargain, but what other choice did she have? She had no ID, no phone, no maps, and no money. She was being hunted by a drug lord who apparently had the local police on his payroll, and she was vulnerable traveling alone. This was her best, and possibly her only, shot at getting home in one piece.
After a brief hesitation, his much larger hand engulfed hers. The instant their palms met, a hot jolt of awareness shot up her arm and bounced around her chest. He must have experienced a similar sensation, because he dropped her hand and shoved his into his pants pocket.
She blew out a breath and forced a smile that probably looked as shaky as she felt inside. “By the way, my name is Hope.”
He arched a brow. “Doctor Hope?”
“Doctor Hope Chandler.”
He made a low noise. “Wade Flint.”
A knock on the door had her jumping again. Two knocks, a pause, and then two more knocks.
Wade must have noticed her unease. “Relax, that’s my partner.”
“I thought you said Beto killed your partner.”
His green eyes grew dark and hollow. “Different partner.”
The door opened, and a middle-aged Hispanic man stepped inside. He was leanly built and tall, though not as tall as Tiny, with gray peppering his short brown hair and fine lines creasing his angular face. A thin, straight scar marked his forehead just below his hairline. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, while a thin silver chain circled his neck. He wore cargo pants, hiking boots, and a plaid button-down shirt over a plain white tee.
One look at Hope, and his eyebrows scrunched together.
“Quien es ella?” the man asked Wade.
“Hector, this is Hope Chandler,” Wade replied in English. “She claims to know the whereabouts of Aranza’s compound and has agreed to serve as our guide.”
“Is that so?” A note of doubt, along with a hint of Texas twang, threaded Hector’s voice.
“I’d rather not,” Hope explained, her voice taut with tension. “But it was the only way I could get Tiny to agree to take me to the American consulate.”
“Tiny?” Hector’s mouth twitched.
Wade glared darts at her. “Long story. If we stock up on provisions tonight, we can leave first thing in the morning.”
Hope’s nerves skittered at the prospect of spending the night locked in a room with two strange men. Being in the rainforest probably wasn’t much better, but at least she’d have some freedom of movement, along with the ability to escape if either of them tried anything funny. She didn’t like thinking about people that way, but after everything she’d been through, it was becoming second nature.
The expression on his partner’s face made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t thrilled with this plan either. His gaze flicked from Wade to Hope and then back to Wade again. “Can I speak with you in private?”