Chapter Fourteen
No surprise.
The attackers left Axe with nothing but the clothes on his back. He woke lying on his stomach with his face scraped against broken glass. His head throbbed, and his ribs ached. The cuts on his hands and face screamed when he pushed himself up.
Gingerly, Axe rose onto his hands and knees, wincing as he checked for his guns and knives.
Nothing.
Blood trickled down his face, and he twisted his head around in circles to clear the crick in his neck.
Damn.
What kind of bodyguard was he?
It was dark in the alley, but the sky held a faint rosy tint from the east, which meant the dawn of the next day. The cantina was locked up and silent, and Leanna had been left without backup.
Hopefully, she’d walked out annoyed, gotten into the car, and returned to the Motel Rancho Cumbres where she was safe and asleep on the four-poster bed.
Groaning, Axe stumbled to his feet, holding the side of his head. Dizziness engulfed him, and a bout of nausea had him bending over. He dry-heaved a few times and swallowed bile.
How had someone gotten the jump on him? Why hadn’t he even an inkling someone had snuck up behind him? Maybe it was the incessant heat and humidity, or he’d been careless, letting himself lust after Leanna’s voluptuous assets.
She’d been the object of his desire from the day he was assigned to watch over her. Forbidden fruit, and he should never have let himself touch her, much less kiss her and press her body against his.
Undisciplined.
He could hear his father berate him.
Using the wall to keep himself steady, he stumbled down the alley and emerged in front of the club. The blue Oldsmobile was still parked in front of a fire hydrant.
He dashed to the car and peered inside. The doors were locked, and miraculously, the windows were rolled up and unbroken.
There was no sign of Leanna.
Chills made him shiver. He rubbed his upper arms and whipped his head around. The street was deserted at this dark hour before dawn.
Leanna was missing and most likely in danger.
Axe picked up a rock and smashed a window. Reaching in, he unlocked the old jalopy. Fortunately, his toolkit was in the trunk, along with his night-vision goggles, first aid kit, sunglasses, a set of knives, and a gun.
He put on the mirrored sunglasses. Using a screwdriver and wire cutters, he hot-wired the Oldsmobile. Ten minutes later, he was back at the motel. He entered his room and went through the connecting door to Leanna’s, hoping she was asleep or in the bathroom.
Her bed was untouched, and there was no sign of her. No shoes, no purse.
Axe slapped his forehead and groaned. The Tres Amigos had her, and not only that, whoever attacked him had stripped him of not only his wallet and passport, but hers, too.
She was alone out there with no identification—a sexy, young, hot woman was prime meat for human traffickers.
Since he also lost his cell phone, Axe used the motel phone to call his buddy, Pablo. It rang and rang, finally going to voicemail.
“Hey, I’ve got trouble. Lady Blunt’s missing. I lost sight of her last night at the cantina. Come by as soon as you can.”
* * *
Leanna moaned and struggled to open her eyes. Her mouth was fuzzy and dry, and she felt like she was swaddled underneath a mountain of cotton. She was lying on the floor of a van traveling over a bumpy road. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her ankles were bound together. Not that she could have moved them. They felt as heavy as sandbags. The van rolled and swayed, and Leanna’s back and butt kept bumping against another warm body.
Her head rested on a scratchy blanket, and the scent of sweat and fear permeated the stuffy interior. She could barely lift her eyelids to see. It was dark, but not pitch-black because of the passing streetlights. A person facing her moaned and opened her eyes.
