“Broke even.” Which in gambling she considered a win. “Jules is waiting out front,” he said. “He’s got something for us.”
“What is it?”
Chase just shook his head. “Not here.”
They made their way back through the casino, weaving their way through the crowd, stepping out into the soft night air and heading for the parking lot, where Jules stood next to his Jeep.
“What did you find out?” Harper asked, unwilling to wait a moment more.
“Two men followed your brother and the woman out of the club. They spoke Spanish. According to my information, they were not locals. From their description, soldiers would be my guess.”
“Soldiers?” Harper repeated, fear curling in her stomach. “Why would soldiers be following my brother?”
“Mercenaries, Harper,” Chase said. “Men paid to do a job.”
“What...what job?”
Chase’s eyes met hers in the harsh white beam of the security light illuminating the parking lot. “It’s time to phone your father, Harper. We need to find out if he’s received a ransom call from whoever took your brother and Pia.”
Chapter Ten
The sounds of the rain forest surrounded him, the hum of insects, the shrill cry of a monkey, the rustle of leaves as a wild animal moved through the undergrowth not far away.
In the blackness of night, Michael Winston leaned back against the thick trunk of an eighty-foot kapok rising up from the damp, mossy floor of the rain forest. His wrists burned from the plastic ties biding his hands behind his back. The white Bermuda shorts his captors had allowed him to put on when they had boardedBUZZ Wordand found him sleeping naked next to Pia in the master cabin were gone, replaced by khaki fatigues more suitable for their trek into the jungle.
Huddled on the ground beside him, hands also bound, Pia rested her head on his shoulder, her long mahogany hair teasing his cheek. She was petite, no more than five foot three, with big brown eyes and smooth olive skin. Even with her makeup gone, her baggy fatigues damp from the afternoon rain and sticking to her lush curves, she was beautiful.
Every time he looked at her, guilt and fury washed over him. Fury that he was helpless to protect her from what might be in store for them. Guilt that if he hadn’t convinced her to go sailing with him she would be safe back in Aruba.
He could only pray that their captors would continue to obey whatever orders had apparently come down from their leader, which seemed to be not to hurt them.
At least no more than had already happened during the fight to subdue them that night on the boat. His jaw and cheek were bruised, and his ribs ached from the blows he had taken. He would have kept fighting if one of the men hadn’t pulled a gun and pressed it against Pia’s head.
That had been days ago. What day was it now? He tried to count backward, remembered making incredible love to Pia for the first time after a night of gambling at the Trade Winds Casino. Both of them had won a little money, enough to have them smiling when they returned to the boat and ended up in bed.
He remembered Pia falling asleep in his arms. Remembered the deep, satisfied sleep he’d drifted into himself, a rarity with the heavy work schedule he’d been under.
Sometime later that night, two men—big, burly and tough—had boarded the yacht and taken control, forcing him to sail out of the marina into the open sea. For the next two days, Michael had been certain the men’s intention was to pirate the yacht, kill them and dump their bodies in the ocean.
If it hadn’t been for Pia, he would have made an attempt to overpower his captors, but the men were heavily armed and well trained, and he wasn’t willing to risk Pia’s life unless there was absolutely no other choice.
Eventually, the boat had sailed into a quiet cove on a deserted stretch of beach several hundred miles from Curaçao. If his mental calculations were correct, they’d arrived somewhere in Colombia.
They’d been imprisoned two more days before soldiers had arrived to take charge of them. By then, Michael had been certain the motive was ransom, a demand for millions from his megarich father in return for his son’s release. But he was no longer sure.
Not since the soldiers had forced him and Pia to begin this grueling trek into the rain forest that covered the steep sides of the mountains. They had hiked all day in ill-fitting boots provided by their captors that rubbed blisters on their feet.
At dusk, the soldiers had stopped the march and began making camp. Exhausted, Michael had slumped against the tree and Pia had eased down beside him. He had no idea how long they’d sat there while the men ate and drank between raucous bursts of laughter.
They’d been given water and a little food, which they’d been released just long enough to eat, given a bathroom break, then been tied up again and left beneath the tree.
Equally as wet, numb and cold as he was, Pia shifted and raised her head to look at him. “How many more days, do you think, till we reach wherever they’re taking us?”
They hadn’t arrived at their final destination—he was sure of that. “I heard some of them talking. My Spanish sucks, but if I got at least some of it right, they’re planning to reach the main camp by tomorrow night.”
Which meant another long day of hiking through the harsh, wet, mountainous tropical landscape. Pia spoke far better Spanish than he did, but she’d been careful not to let them know. She was extremely smart, which was one of the reasons he’d been attracted to her in the first place.
“Do you think they’ve sent word to your father?”
