Show No Fear - By Marliss Melton Page 0,52

murmured, recapturing her focus, “this will work,” he said, reawakening their flagging confidence. “We will have done what we came to do.”

Lucy glanced at Gus and wondered if, despite his guarded optimism, he felt the tiniest bit torn that it might soon be over and they would go back to leading separate lives.

What was wrong with her? A peaceful resolution was a good thing. So why was her heart heavy, her mind so cautious? What mattered most was reuniting Jay with his wife, laying Mike’s body to rest in American soil. For the whole thing to be over in a matter of days, without a shot fired, was fabulous!

Yet the fine hairs at the nape of her neck prickled with the suspicion that something was amiss. Buitre’s dark eyes held secrets she wasn’t certain she wanted to decipher.

As they filed out of the brick building, Marquez waved them toward the fire pit, where they sat on tree stumps to consume an uninspired meal of rice and beans.

A strained, uneasy silence fell between the UN team and their hosts, broken only by the popping of firewood.

At last, Marquez put his bowl down and stood, signaling to Álvarez that they were leaving. In the same moment, David called Gus from the fire to help support the roof of the soldiers’ shelter while a beam was hammered in place. The lean-to had been sagging since the storm last night.

As Gus got up to help, Lucy’s stomach cramped. She looked sharply at the tin bowl in her hand and forced herself to eat another bite. Again her stomach cramped.

“Excuse me,” she murmured to the others.

Looking for Gus, she realized he had disappeared from view. With her intestines rumbling, she had no choice but to hurry into the forest alone, to the area where the women were assured some privacy.

Pushing as deep into the vegetation as she dared, she found a tangle of vines to hide behind and hunkered down, well concealed.

She must have eaten something that disagreed with her. Or caught a bug. Or been poisoned…

Surely Buitre wouldn’t go that far.

Minutes later, following a clammy sweat and sharp intestinal pains, she felt better. Hopefully, the attack was just a onetime deal and she wouldn’t be back in the woods in another twenty minutes.

As she retreated from her hiding place, still buttoning her pants, the hair on her forearms rose to stiff attention and she froze.

She could see nothing, hear nothing. She stood in a fishbowl of vegetation, surrounded by every imaginable shade of green. Not a single bird flitted past her. The jungle stood eerily quiet, but she knew she wasn’t alone.

Thoroughly spooked, Lucy headed briskly uphill, her thighs flexing with the urge to run.

“What’s your hurry, chama?” inquired a silky voice, startling her as its owner stepped from behind a tree, blocking her path. Buitre. He’d followed her, which meant that Gus had to be shortly behind him, only he wasn’t.

Lucy willed herself to assume an easy, unintimidated stance as Buitre swaggered closer, using the incline to give him a badly needed height advantage. His glittering black eyes sent a chill down her spine.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice surprisingly cool. She hinged her confidence on the sound of it, telling herself she could lick this bastard if she had to, so long as he didn’t use his gun, loosely held in his right hand and, for the moment, pointed at the ground.

“The map,” he said, giving her a cold, hard smile. “The one you took from the journal in my quarters.”

Fear leapt out of nowhere, clutching her heart. The jig was up. Buitre had realized the map was stolen, and he’d assumed she’d taken it. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Adrenaline flooded her bloodstream, tripling her heartbeat.

David must have told him he’d caught her leaving the building. What else had David told him?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her disdain was perfect. Again, she took assurance from her superb acting ability. If she could fool Buitre into thinking she was calm, then she could fool herself. PTSD had nothing on her. The realization slowed her breathing, curbed the adrenaline rocketing through her.

Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t in deep shit at the moment. Buitre wasn’t just crazy, he was dangerous.

“You’re a liar,” he breathed, his eyes glinting with malice as he stepped close enough to expel foul breath across her cheek.

And just like that, her confidence wavered.

Lucy’s joints seemed to slowly freeze even as a weak laugh sounded in