Beyond the Breaking Point (Six Points Security Book 5) Page 2

  Her gaze darted to the back of the room, hoping to find an exit that she’d somehow missed earlier. No such luck, of course. That would have been too convenient. She was trapped, with only one way out. Pulse racing, she searched for something to use as a weapon, but the only thing she saw was the television remote.

  As the voices drew closer, her pulse pounded faster, until it got so loud it was a wonder they couldn’t hear it outside. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. From what she could tell, they were right by the door, and when the doorknob jiggled, she nearly let out a shriek.

  Time slowed to a crawl as she stared at the door, her hands shaking, senses sharpening with the sudden surge of adrenaline. She slipped one hand into her medical bag and unzipped the small leather case that contained her surgical scalpels.

  Without looking, she drew out the No. 10 blade, with its curved cutting edge. She’d used it in surgery so many times she knew which one it was by the feel of the handle. If given the choice, she’d rather not fight, but she would if she had to. One way or another, she was not going back to that compound. Because if she did, she was as good as dead.

  But then the voices started to move away, growing fainter and fainter until she couldn’t hear them any longer.

  Relief slumped her shoulders. Leaning back against the wall by the door, Hope closed her tired eyes and blew out a heavy exhale. Her whole body trembled and her skin was slicked with sweat, both perfectly normal physiological responses, given the situation. Eyes still closed, she concentrated on her erratic breathing until it finally slowed to normal.

  Now that the excitement was over, a dizzying wave of fatigue crashed over her. Five days without a full night’s sleep had a way of wearing out a woman. The shot of tequila on an empty stomach wasn’t helping matters. While on the run, rest had come in small increments: a half hour here, fifteen minutes there. Whenever she’d felt safe enough to let her guard down, and that hadn’t occurred very often.

  Food had been just as scarce. The supplies she’d brought had only lasted two days. After that, she ate what she scavenged in the rainforest. No meat—she would’ve had to build a fire for that—just greens, fruits, roots, and nuts that she’d deemed safe for human consumption. Thankfully, she hadn’t accidentally ingested anything poisonous, but she was looking forward to a real meal. With real silverware. Maybe a cup with a straw—or better yet, a cold, fruity drink with one of those tiny colorful umbrellas.

  But before any of that could happen, she needed to set foot on American soil. And that wasn’t going to happen until she figured a way out of…wherever the hell she was. She never had the opportunity to ask. She needed to reach an American consulate or embassy, where she hoped to obtain a new passport and book passage to the United States.

  Maybe Tiny could help her with that. Then again, maybe not. She didn’t know him from Adam, didn’t think she could trust him, and she’d rather not push her luck.

  The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart rate spike all over again. The steps drew closer, closer, and then came to a stop, and she backed away from the door when the knob jiggled again. Her fingers tightened around the scalpel handle, just in case whoever was on the other side of the door meant to do her harm.

  “Open the goddamn door,” a voice said, and she recognized it as belonging to Tiny.

  After a brief hesitation, she opened the door, and there he stood, looking tall, dark, dangerous, and more than a little pissed off.

  He was a mountain of a man, well over six feet, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his black jeans pulled across his heavy thighs. Slowly, her gaze drifted up, past the hard muscles beneath his shirt, his broad shoulders and thick neck. Dark whiskers framed his strong, square jaw. His short black hair was unkempt. He wasn’t handsome in a classical sense, but he had strong features and a rugged quality that she might have found attractive under different circumstances.

  But it was the scar on the left side of his face that captured her attention. She’d noticed it at the bar but hadn’t given it much thought with everything else going on. Shaped like a cross, the scar puckered in several places, making one corner of his mouth curve up slightly. She wondered what had happened to cause such a terrible injury, but she knew better than to ask.

  Menace hung in the air around him. He closed the door, locked it, and a sliver of fear snaked down her spine.

  “Why are the police after you?” The question sounded more like a command, a low, rough rumble that seemed to originate from deep inside his chest.

  Hope slipped the scalpel into her back pocket, no longer in sight but easy to access if she needed it. “I don’t know.”

  “Strike one.” Irritation pinched the corners of his moss-green eyes. “Try again.”

  She tried—and failed—to think of a way to condense her situation into a few brief sentences. It didn’t help that she didn’t know whether she could trust him. For all she knew, the cops weren’t the only ones on Beto’s payroll. “Like I said before, it’s complicated.”

  “Strike two.” He reached behind him and gripped the doorknob. “Lady, I don’t have time for this shit. Either tell me what the hell’s going on, or get the fuck out of my life.”

  Hope swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. She’d never been the trusting type, not even when she was a kid, and all of her instincts railed against the notion of trusting this man. But considering her only other alternative was to take her chances with the local police, the decision was relatively simple.

  “I’m an American.”

  “No shit.”

  Temper narrowed her eyes. Of course he was going to be an asshole about this. Being nice would have been too easy. “Are you going to let me tell you what’s going on, or do you intend to interrupt me every five seconds?”

  Her anger seemed to amuse him, which made her even angrier. He leaned against the door and crossed his feet at the ankles, effectively blocking her sole means of escape. His mouth curved up in the mockery of a smile, the action making the lower portion of his facial scar twist. “Be my guest.”

  She paused a moment to collect her thoughts, unsure how much she should tell him. In the end, she decided to go with the basic facts. If he wanted more details, he could ask.

  “I was kidnapped by a group of armed men while working with a medical aid organization in Guatemala. They took me…” She paused, and then threw her hands up in the air. “Christ, I don’t even know where I am. Where am I?”

  “Mexico.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” A vague answer, given the size of the country, but it was more than she knew a minute ago. “Anyway, their leader wanted me to provide medical care to a sick woman, which I did. At least, I did until she died. Unfortunately, there was only so much I could do. She was in bad shape when I got there. It took me a while, but I managed to escape and, well, here I am.”

  Tiny stared at her, his arms folded over his muscular chest, his face impossible to read. “That’s an entertaining story. Too bad it reeks of bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit. I was trapped up there for—what’s the date?”

  “February sixteenth.”

  Her heart stuttered. “Oh, my God. I knew I’d lost track of time. I didn’t realize how much.” Her uncle must be worried sick. Even when she’d been stationed overseas with the Army, she’d never gone more than a few weeks without calling him. “That means I was up there for almost five months.”

  “Taking care of a sick woman.” Disbelief ran thick in his voice.

  “It was his mother. She had cancer. He expected me to cure her. But it was too late for that; her condition was too far advanced.” Not to mention, she was a surgeon, not an oncologist. Curing cancer wasn’t her specialty. But even if that had been her field of expertise, she hadn’t had access to any of the latest medical technology. It was like asking a plumber to re-wire a house with nothing but a screwdriver and a spool of rusty wire. “The most I could do was slow the progress and make her as comfortable as possible.”

  “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 E
nglish. 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?”

  No way was she going outside so they could talk, not with the cops searching for her. She hitched her thumb toward the open door to her right. “I’ll, uh…I’ll go use the bathroom. Is that private enough for you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Appreciate it.” Hector gave a cordial smile, but she could practically feel the tension radiating off him.

  Hope crossed to the bathroom and flicked on the light, doing her best to ignore the huge spider crawling across the peeling floral wallpaper above the rust-stained toilet. To her right was a shower stall barely big enough for an average-sized adult. A faded green towel hung over the rack, right above the toilet paper roll holder.

  As she closed the door, she wondered whether the walls were flimsy enough for her to eavesdrop on their conversation. She hoped so. Her life depended on Hector going along with Wade’s plan, and she wanted to know as soon as possible if she was about to be thrown to the wolves.

  Chapter 3

  AS SOON AS the bathroom door clicked shut, Hector rounded on Wade and hissed in a low voice, “Dude, what the hell?”

  It was the reaction Wade had expected from his longtime friend and former mentor. He’d known that Hector wouldn’t be thrilled with the prospect of using Hope as a guide. Back in the day, he would have agreed, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  “I met her at the bar while I was waiting for you. Long story short, she claims to be a doctor who was abducted by Aranza and forced to provide medical care for his dying mother. When the mother kicked over, she escaped from the compound and eventually made it to town.”

  The lines between Hector’s eyebrows deepened. “You just met her. In a bar. And she happens to know where to find Roberto Aranza. That doesn’t sound the least bit suspicious to you?”

  “Sure it does. But I—”

  “Do you honestly think you can trust her?”

  “Hell no, but she’s the only lead we’ve got.” As a general rule, the only people Wade trusted were his immediate family and Hector. Everybody else, and that definitely included one Dr. Hope Chandler, was in the trust-them-as-far-as-he-could-throw-them category. He’d take what she gave with a grain of salt until she proved herself worthy, or until better intelligence came along. Speaking of which… “Did your guy come through?”

  “No, the asshole never showed up and now he’s not answering my calls. Good thing I didn’t pay him in advance or I’d really be pissed.” Hector’s shoulders slumped on a sigh as he cast a backward glance at the closed bathroom door. “I don’t like this, Wade. It’s way too convenient. For all we know, she could be a dangle.”

  Wade shook his head, though the possibility of Hope being bait for a trap had entered his mind on more than one occasion. “That’s not Aranza’s style. He doesn’t have the patience to set up something like this. If he knew we were here, he would have come at us by now.”