Night Rescuer

It took them nearly an hour to sort through her luggage and box up the stuff she wouldn’t need. John carried it down to the concierge, who promised to mail it to her home in Mexico City. She didn’t have the heart to tell John that she wouldn’t be needing any of it again. Ever. What he didn’t know truly wouldn’t hurt him.

She waited impatiently in their room until he secured a vehicle—a banged up Land Rover that might once have been white, but was now permanently stained a dusty beige. She was startled when he hustled her out to a loading dock behind the hotel where he’d parked the vehicle, but she had faith he had a reason for his caution.

She said nothing as he efficiently guided the Land Rover through the squalor and urban sprawl of Lima’s suburbs. Eventually, he turned the vehicle onto a two-lane, potholed road that apparently passed for a highway in this part of the world. Lima fell behind, and verdant farmland stretched out around them, terraced up the hillsides.

“What did the guy on the phone say?” she finally broke down and asked John.

“Not much. Just that you were to proceed to a set of coordinates and await further instructions.”

“That’s all? No…other messages?”

“What sort of message?” he asked smoothly.

“Never mind.”

They drove on in silence for a while.

Out of the blue, John said, “He said everyone’s fine, so far.”

She sagged in her seat, so relieved she felt like crying. The only thought that went through her head, over and over and over was, Thank God my family’s safe. For now.

And then John asked grimly, “So, tell me. Why would some guy feel compelled to let you know someone is fine? This someone wouldn’t be fine why?”

She winced. That was the question of the hour, wasn’t it? Bucking up her courage, she looked him in the eye and shook her head regretfully. His eyelids flickered in reluctant acknowledgement. It wasn’t a surrender, but it was a declaration of a momentary truce. She’d take it.

She would not…could not…answer his questions. She hadn’t the slightest doubt that to do so would spell a death sentence for her parents and her brother. Even if refusing to answer John’s questions spelled the end between the two of them, she wouldn’t sacrifice her family’s safety for her own personal gratification. Ever.

But in the meantime, she had a very curious and increasingly insistent problem on her hands. And it was named John Hollister.

Chapter 5

The drive—a bone-jarring affair that all but rattled Melina’s teeth loose—took most of the afternoon. John finally pulled into a gas station in a tiny, impoverished village as the sun began to go down. The hamlet, tucked into a valley lined with green pastures and herds of cattle and alpacas, looked like an old Western movie set with its dusty streets, rust-stained stucco cantina, and a few decrepit vintage cars parked along raised wooden sidewalks.

John opened the door and climbed out. He peeled a few bills out of his wallet and passed them to a wizened, dark-haired man who came outside to pump their gas.

“Stay in the car,” John murmured through the window in English.

She sighed. Her legs felt like prickly rubber. She was really ready to get out and stretch. But there’d been a certain tone in John’s voice, a warning that he didn’t like something about this place. She studied the one-street village out the window, trying to spot what was bothering him. Nothing moved. All was quiet—as in completely deserted. The locals were probably at home by now settling down to supper with their families.

She heard John ask the gas station attendant about the condition of the roads ahead and how far it was to the next village. But she didn’t hear the man’s mumbled answers. John climbed back in the car and made a production of stowing his wallet and settling into his seat again. As he did so, he said without moving his lips, “We have a decision to make.”

“Do tell.”

“This place is entirely controlled by whomever you’re trying to hook up with. Frankly, I don’t think it’s safe for us. We can stop here for the night, or we can move on and try to find a village that’s neutral territory.”

“Did the guy on the phone tell us to stop here?” she asked in an undertone.

John shook his head as he latched his seat belt. “Nope. He said this place was about halfway to where we were going and mentioned that it has an inn, though.”

She glanced outside. “Really?” I don’t see one.”

The gas station attendant said the pub has a couple rooms for rent.”

Melina grinned over at him. “For rent by the hour, or the night?”

He grinned back. “I hesitate to think of the state of the bed linens.”

She nodded. “We go on.”

“I can’t promise the next village will be any better,” he warned.

She shrugged. “I’m learning to enjoy not playing by the rules. Let’s do our own thing tonight.”

He grinned over at her. “I like the sound of that.”

They drove for another hour as the sun set behind them and twilight settled outside. When the hills had turned a colorless gray and the trees were black silhouettes looming over the road, John exhaled in what sounded for all the world like disgust.

“What’s up?” she asked quickly, picking up on his disquiet.

“Traveling at night in this part of the world is asking for trouble.”

That didn’t answer her question. What wasn’t he telling her? She pressed. “What kind of trouble?”

He shrugged and glanced at her. “Pick your poison. Anything from roaming wild pigs to Shining Path guerrillas.”

“The way I hear it, they’re not so different.”

John laughed. “I dunno. Those pigs are pretty smart.”

The lightness of the moment faded along with the last vestiges of twilight. She asked soberly, “So what are our options?”

“Here’s the thing. The guy in the last village lied to me. He said the next town was forty kilometers away. No more than an hour down this road. We’ve gone sixty-five kilometers, and there’s no sign of civilization anywhere near here.”

Alarmed, she blurted, “What does that mean?”

“I imagine our friend has called ahead to some sort of welcoming committee who’ll be out here looking for us before too much longer.”

Melina jolted, looking around outside, wildly.

“Easy, darlin’. We’re far from defenseless. I’ve got a few aces up my sleeve.”

Just then he gripped the steering wheel tightly and swore under his breath. She peered up ahead and made out some sort of large, irregular obstruction lying across the road. It looked like a fallen tree.

“Looks like it’s time to pull out one of those aces,” she bit out.

“Climb in the backseat,” John ordered tersely. “Hurry.”

She complied with alacrity, falling in an ungainly heap on top of something hard and sharp in his gear bags.

He continued, “In my green duffel that you’re lying on, pull out the big gun on top and a couple of pistols, and pass them up here. Then buckle yourself in back there. We’re going cross-country. It’s gonna get rough.”

He wasn’t kidding. He swerved hard to the left, off the road. They banged down and up again through some sort of ditch, and then they took off across an open field strewn with stands of trees and brush. In a matter of seconds, the Land Rover was bucking and bumping over the most god-awful terrain she could imagine. John fought the steering wheel like it was a wild bronco, muscling it forward by sheer force of will. It was an impressive display of strength.

Apparently, the field was some sort of drainage or flood zone, for it was streaked by gullies. Thankfully the gashes, varying in size from a few feet deep to large enough to swallow the entire Land Rover, were mostly dry at the moment. Mostly. Mud splashed up, covering the vehicle’s windows until Melina could barely see outside.

A crack of sound, like a truck backfiring, made her jump.

“Get down!” John yelled, flooring the accelerator.

The ride went from horrendous to epic in its discomfort. Amusement park rides had nothing over the pounding she was taking back here! She lay down in the backseat for a few moments, but got so sick so fast that she had to sit up again. She braced a hand against the ceiling to protect her head from banging into the metal roof. How John could see where he was going, she had no idea. It was pitch-black outside, and he’d turned off the headlights. A few more cracks sounded, from behind them this time. She thought she heard faint shouts, but she couldn’t be sure.

After a few minutes, the ride smoothed out some, which was to say it went back to merely terrible. A splash of water slammed the window beside her, startling her badly. However, it also washed most of the sticky mud off the window. They were running along the bed of a river-size gully, a high clay wall looming outside the window. Periodically, they crashed into pockets of standing water, some as deep as the front fenders. But the sturdy Land Rover plowed right through them.

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