Show No Fear - By Marliss Melton Page 0,39

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She, on the other hand, was doing a very credible job playing Gustavo’s distraught wife. Since Buitre might have aroused Fournier’s latent suspicions with his assertion that she and Gus were different, she even forced herself to shed a few tears for Gus.

Fournier didn’t need to know they were tears of frustration.

Gus had gone too far this time. What if those hornets in the shed were deadly? What if a few too many stings led to toxicity? He could actually die in there trying to make a stupid phone call, and what would she do then, huh? Had he thought of that?

Some of the anxiety she’d suffered at the outset of this assignment returned to her, making her wonder if her PTSD was here to stay. She had just begun to think she was getting a handle on it.

Holding herself back, per Fournier’s recommendation, Lucy watched Buitre hurry over to Marquez. Gesturing at the shed and nodding toward the bungalow, his dark eyes smoldered with contempt.

Lucy’s stomach cramped. God, she hated that look. But surely Marquez wouldn’t believe Gus had intentionally shot at the rebels. He listened at length, then abruptly raised a hand. “Release the Spaniard,” Lucy overheard him say.

She expelled the breath she was holding.

“I told you,” said Fournier with a comforting pat on her back.

“But, Commander!” Buitre protested.

“I said release him.” Lowering his voice, Marquez added something that put a cold, resigned look on Buitre’s face. The deputy swiveled toward the shed, removing the keychain from his hip to unfasten the padlock that kept it closed.

Lucy couldn’t wait a second longer. She leapt off the bungalow deck, sprinting to the shed to see how Gus had fared.

As he stumbled out, blinking against the harsh sunlight, the desire to deck him disintegrated. A lump on the side of his head disfigured the shape of his skull. Another puffed out just below his left eye. His neck was swollen and red.

“Oh, Gustavo,” she exclaimed, her dismay perfectly genuine. “Someone get a wet cloth,” she pleaded, touching fingertips to his swollen cheekbone and finding it hot to the touch.

“I’m okay,” he gritted.

“Here, you should sit down,” she said, dragging him toward a tree stump.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, but then he swayed against her, forcing her to catch him before he fell. She hoped to hell he was faking it.

S¸ ukruye, who’d rushed to get a wet cloth from one of the female rebels, handed Lucy a cool rag. She pressed it to Gus’s neck as the others converged around the Argentine.

“Rojas has agreed to let you speak with the hostages,” Álvarez informed them tiredly.

As Gus turned his head in surprise, Lucy whispered, “Did you get through?”

He gave a discreet nod, regarding the others intently.

“When?” Fournier demanded. “When can we speak to them?”

“Now,” said Marquez, approaching and waving them toward the hooch.

They were going to speak with the hostages via shortwave radio! With a look of shared victory, Gus let Lucy haul him to his feet. Together they trailed the others into Buitre’s quarters, thrilled by the prospect of speaking to Lucy’s colleagues. She couldn’t help but hope freedom was just around the corner for Mike and Jay.

CHAPTER 9

For the third time, the negotiating team took their seats at the crude table, waiting tensely as Marquez worked the shortwave radio, scanning frequencies until he found the one he was looking for.

The radio ceased to crackle. A voice responded to Marquez’s greeting, and they exchanged brief words. Marquez extended the radio to Fournier. “This is the jefe, the boss who guards the hostages,” he imparted with a stern look all around. “You have two minutes to speak to the Americans.” As Fournier took the radio, he left the building.

“Hello?” said the Frenchman cautiously.

“Yes, hello!”

Lucy’s heart leapt at the familiar sound of Jay Barnes’s voice. Relief sang through her veins. Soon he would get to go home. He would put this behind him and move on.

“Er, who is this?” Fournier replied in his heavily accented English.

“This is Jay Barnes, from St. Louis, Missouri.”

“Mr. Barnes, good afternoon. My name is Pierre Fournier. I am with a UN negotiating team. We are currently situated on La Montaña.”

“Thank God,” Jay exclaimed, his voice breaking with the force of his relief. “Please, I appreciate whatever you can do to seek my release.”

“How is your health, Mr. Barnes?”

“Fine. I’m weak, but my health is…it’s okay.”

“You make no mention of your companion,” Fournier pointed out.

“Oh, he’s…he’s here. He’s not doing so well, though.”

“Is he ill, Mr. Barnes?

“Yes, yes,