Show No Fear - By Marliss Melton Page 0,64

The vibration of insects filled the air.

“Buitre meant no harm, I’m sure,” Fournier commented, breaking the thoughtful silence.

“Are you okay, Gustavo?” Carlos inquired.

Gus’s only reply was a subtle snore.

“He’s sleeping,” Lucy told the others, knowing he wasn’t. Buitre had hoped to see them make fools of themselves. Gus had given him what he’d wanted, sparing the others and managing, at the same time, to speed him on his way.

She had to admire his quick thinking, his self-sacrifice. She reached over, intending to give him a quick pat. Fast as a trap, he caught her hand, proving himself still awake. To her bemusement, he lifted it to his mouth and placed a warm, tender kiss on her palm.

Lucy’s breath caught. James used to do the same thing, murmuring, “Love you, Luce.”

She loved him, too. But she was never going to say it out loud to him and mislead him into thinking they had a future together. If she made promises now, what would happen when she couldn’t keep them? And worse, if she did try to keep her promises, how much would they both have to give up to make their relationship work?

One of them had to be realistic, and at the moment it looked like it was going to be her.

So if the exchange went off as planned tomorrow, this was their last night together.

The realization smothered her like the impossible darkness.

In a moment of sentimentalism, she savored the creak of the ropes beneath her, the feel of Gus’s chest rising and falling under her hand, her fingers loosely twined with his.

Anyone could fall in love, she reasoned. But love should not require the surrender of everything she’d worked for and believed in. A strong woman didn’t need a man to feel whole.

* * *

THE DESCENT TO THE airfield at the base of La Montaña began with a harrowing ride on ATVs that bumped and fishtailed down winding, rutted paths. The muddy tracks ran up and down the mountain like veins linking Rebel Central to the Guayabero River.

It was a glorious day for a hostage exchange.

Patches of blue sky flashed here and there where the canopy thinned. The air felt crisp and cool in Gus’s face. It was tempting to just hold on to Lucy, seated between him and David, and enjoy the ride. But seeing a pile of crates hastily concealed under cut branches, he tried to fix their coordinates in his mind, thinking they should be seized before the rebels got the chance to use them.

He pointed it out to Lucy, who sent him a subtle nod. She’d already seen it. He admired that about her—her awareness, her instincts. What drove him crazy, though, was her stubborn insistence on isolating herself. She was still a victim of survivor’s guilt. It was perfectly plain to him. Her refusal to plan a date with him, let alone a honeymoon, had nothing to do with the rigors of her job. She didn’t think she had a right to be happy again. It was really that simple, that sad.

The path forked, and David broke right, followed by Estéban, Manuel, Julian, and Buitre, who carried the other four team members on the backs of their vehicles. Minutes later, they passed the hidden stockpile a second time, and Gus realized the rebels were driving them in circles to disorient them. The airfield probably wasn’t as far away as they wanted them to think.

David forked left this time. Several hundred meters later, he pulled off the trail and cut the engine. The drivers behind them did likewise. And that was when Gus heard it, the roaring of a river. Helping Lucy off the ATV, he felt tension in her fingers. He couldn’t blame her, either.

Given the looks of the other team members, they dreaded a river crossing. Reluctantly, they trailed Buitre toward the break in the canopy.

A gushing expanse of caféau-lait-colored water had carved a canyon of mud out the side of the mountain, at least thirty feet wide. Sticks and branches swirled downriver, caught up in its torrential current.

Seeing the bridge that crossed the canyon, the team members moaned in dismay. At least they wouldn’t be crossing via a steel box on cables. But the bridge itself was narrow and fraying. A fine mist, rising from the seething water, dampened both the rope and the boards, making them slippery, subject to decay.

No way had boxes of weapons been carried across this bridge. There had to be another way down the mountain, Gus realized.

But either