Come Midnight by Kat Martin

CHAPTER FIVE

ITWASLATEin the morning by the time the general’s men ordered them into the jungle. The authorities knew where the plane had landed. Bree had expected to see soldiers or Honduran police, some sort of law enforcement, when she walked out of the metal hut. She’d assumed they would have followed the plane’s GPS to the abandoned airstrip, but no one was there.

Derek believed the hijackers had threatened to kill the passengers, either with a bomb or some other method of mass murder to keep the military and police away.

As the hours slipped past, Bree followed Derek and half a dozen armed men along a narrow, overgrown jungle trail. Five more men and the female hijacker marched behind them, all heavily armed. The man they had met when they first arrived, General Batista, led the group. There was no sign of Castillo or Montez.

The airliner had taken off several hours earlier. Bree remembered the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as the sound of the jet engines grew fainter and finally disappeared. She prayed Carmen and baby Sophie and all the passengers would arrive in San Salvador safely.

A half-buried root appeared out of nowhere, and she stumbled and nearly fell.

Derek turned to check on her. “You okay?”

The man seemed to have a sixth sense where she was concerned, his instincts fine-tuned to pick up any shift in her demeanor as she followed the narrow, overgrown path in his wake.

“I’m okay. Just a root I didn’t see.”

“You need to be careful. No medical facilities. We can’t afford any broken bones out here.” He turned and continued walking.

Bree concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. A broken ankle could be fatal as they marched toward God only knew where. As they moved deeper into the jungle, the terrain seemed more and more forbidding. The temperature was rising, the humidity making her pink-flowered blouse stick to her skin.

She had forced herself to put on the long-sleeved cardigan she’d carried on the plane. She certainly didn’t need it for warmth out here, but bugs were a definite hazard.

She picked up her pace to keep up with Derek’s long strides, though he continued looking back to make sure she was okay. Only a few rays of sun fought their way through the canopy of trees, and the wide green leaves that obscured the trail glistened with drops of morning rain.

Even in the shade, the heat was oppressive, but as they trekked upward, climbing from the flatlands into more mountainous jungle terrain, the temperature was dropping, becoming more bearable.

She lifted the strap of her big leather purse and settled it more comfortably on her shoulder. The heavy bag was her lifeline. Traveling into a third world country, she carried everything from makeup to snacks, bandages to bug spray. She and Derek were both grateful for the latter.

The bag also carried the makeshift knife Derek had fashioned earlier from one of the wooden slats by scraping the ends back and forth across the rough cement floor.

Even if Batista or one of his soldiers found the weapon, odds were they wouldn’t hurt her. She was far too valuable.

Bree fixed her gaze on Derek’s broad shoulders. He had cautioned her to stay close as he moved up the trail ahead of her, watching for any sign of danger.

“They’ve got some big cats out here,” he’d said. “Puma and jaguar, ocelots, half a dozen smaller species, but they’re usually nocturnal and more afraid of you than you are of them. The biggest danger is snakes. There are dozens of poisonous varieties—coral snakes, bushmasters, vipers and big constrictors like pythons.”

Bree hated snakes. The thought of being bitten by one was terrifying.

“Stay close and be wary,” he said. “And be careful not to injure yourself. Infection is the real killer in the jungle.”

Though the orphanage wasn’t far outside the city, she’d educated herself on the perils of the jungle. She knew the dangers of infection and was glad she was wearing sneakers instead of the low-heeled pumps she usually wore. She prayed Derek’s expensive dress shoes wouldn’t rub blisters on his feet.

Her gaze returned to him as the guards marched them down the trail. His white dress shirt stuck to his back, outlining the solid muscles beneath his skin. His hips were narrow, his damp slacks clinging to a pair of muscular thighs.

Bree tore her gaze away and focused on where she was walking. The daily rains made the track slippery, and mud coated her sneakers. It took concentrated effort not to stumble over the roots and fallen logs on the narrow trail.

During a brief stop, Derek had put himself between her and Batista’s men while she stepped off the trail to relieve herself. She thanked God again and again that he was there.

The day wore on, and though the guards set a moderate pace, by midafternoon Bree was exhausted. She worked out at a gym and did yoga to stay in shape, but she wasn’t prepared for a trek like this.

She was beginning to feel light-headed when Batista called a halt. After checking for snakes, bugs and the vicious red ants Derek had warned her about, she sank down wearily on a fallen log.

Derek sat down beside her. “You doing okay?”

“I’ve had better days.”

His mouth edged up. “Yeah, that’s for sure.”

Cisco, the heavyset guy with the red bandanna, walked up and handed each of them a plastic bottle of water. He seemed to be in charge of them. Bree cracked the lid on the water bottle and took a long drink.

Cisco handed them each something to eat. “Baleada,” he said, naming the food before he walked away.

Bree examined the makeshift meal, a tortilla stuffed with refried red beans and some kind of crumbled cheese. “Looks like the Honduran version of a burrito.” She took another big drink of water.

“You need to conserve that as much as you can,” Derek said. “No idea when they’ll give us any more.”

She put the lid back on the bottle and bit into the tortilla, which tasted surprisingly good. Or maybe it was just that she hadn’t eaten any real food for more than twenty-four hours. Mindful of Derek’s advice, she ate half the baleada and wrapped the other half in a Kleenex she took out of the little packet in her purse.

Derek’s smile held approval as he ate half, plucked a big green leaf off a tree and used it to wrap up the other half. He stuffed it into the pocket of his wrinkled navy slacks and glanced at the armed band of men around them before returning his attention to her.

“You’re doing great, Bree. You just have to go a little farther. It’s too dangerous to travel at night out here, so they’ll be making camp soon.”

“Maybe we’ll reach the new camp by nightfall.”

Derek shook his head. “Now that the hostages have been released, the Honduran military will be looking for the men responsible for the hijacking. There’ll be soldiers all over the airstrip. Batista has to get his men farther away, somewhere they can’t be found.”

Her shoulders slumped.

“Sorry, princess. I wish I had better news.”

An ache slipped through her at his use of the name. “My dad used to call me that when I was a little girl.”

Derek smiled. “I’m not surprised. With your blond hair and those pretty blue eyes, you must have looked like a fairy princess.”

Warmth slipped through her at the compliment. “When I got older, I hated the name. I felt like it made me sound pampered and spoiled.”

“You’re beautiful. And the way you’ve held up today—whatever happens, you can be proud of yourself.”

She glanced away, her eyes suddenly stinging. “I hope I can do as well tomorrow.”

Derek took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll do fine. With any luck, your dad is putting the money together to buy your release. In a day or two, this will all be over.”

“If I’m leaving, so are you.” She leaned over and kissed him, just a soft brush of lips, but Derek groaned. “That’s so you’ll remember.”

She caught a flash of heat in his golden-brown eyes, which he tried in vain to disguise. At least the attraction wasn’t one-sided.

“Vamanos! Pronto! Pronto!” Cisco used the barrel of his rifle to nudge Derek to his feet. He helped Bree up and they set off once more along the trail.

Another hour passed. The sunlight was beginning to fade when Batista halted the march in a clearing beneath a tall canopy of trees.

Bree surveyed the dense grasses and endless jungle around them. It wasn’t their final destination. A temporary camp at best. Derek was right—tomorrow was going to be another exhausting day.