Harper could feel the men’s eyes sliding over her skinny jeans, the blouse she’d tied up around her waist, and could almost hear their crude thoughts. She should have changed into the T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans in her bag while the men went to scout the boat. Lesson learned—a mistake she wouldn’t make again.
As she approached the long wooden bar, she felt Chase’s hand settle protectively at her waist. Kil’s heavy footfalls sounded just a few steps behind. The men at the table cut their eyes and settled back in their chairs.
A bartender, whose girth barely allowed him to move around in the space behind, stepped up to take their orders.
“¿Qué les gustaria beber?”the man asked. What would you like to drink?
Kil replied in perfect Spanish,“Tres Aquilas, por favor. Y un poco de informacion.”Three beers, please. And a little information.
The bartender reached into a cold box and brought out the beers. He set them on the counter, popped the tops and shoved them over. Each of them grabbed a bottle and took a long swallow. Harper felt the slow burn and the welcome easing of the tension in her shoulders.
Kil went on to talk to the man about the boat, asking questions about when it had arrived and who it belonged to. Chase shoved a stack of banknotes across the bar, but the bartender just shook his head.
He pointed to the men playing cards. Apparently, they were the ones with the answers.
“Stay here,” Chase said. “We’ll be right back.”
Harper adjusted the woven leather strap on her shoulder. Knowing the pistol was in her purse helped bolster her courage. She refused to be anything but an asset to the men putting themselves in harm’s way to save her brother.
She listened to what was being said, Kil repeating the questions he’d asked the bartender, Chase setting the stack of banknotes on the table.
“Los Proscritos,” the largest of the three men answered, naming the rebels who called themselvesThe Outlaws. In a sweat-stained T-shirt, with his shaggy black hair and small black eyes, the man was as big and muscular as Kil.
In rapid Spanish, he went on to say that three men and a woman had been aboard the boat that had sailed into the cove. One of the men was American. When the man stopped speaking and picked up the money, Chase laid another stack down.
“Rebels met them when they arrived,” the man said. “Money was exchanged, and the American and the woman were handed over to Los Proscritos. The rebels took them into the mountains.”
Kil translated for Chase.
“We need to find them,” Chase said. “We need someone who can lead us to their camp.”
Silence fell over the table. “It will costmucho dinero.” Much money, the man with the beady eyes said, speaking mostly English.
“He’ll be well paid for his help,” Chase said.
One of the other men, this one tall and bone-thin, got to his feet. “I know someone who will take you.”
They bartered back and forth, settled on a price. “His name is Francisco. He is my cousin. He will meet you here tomorrow morning. Be ready to leave at first light.”
Kil nodded, and Chase handed the skinny man a wad of money. Chase and Kil walked back to the bar, upended their beers and set their empty bottles on the counter.
“May I take mine with me?” Harper asked the bartender.
The fat man grinned.“Sí, senorita.”
Harper turned and walked ahead of the men out of the bar.
“You need to call your father, Harper,” Chase said. “By now the rebels should have demanded a ransom.”
She upended her beer and drained it, tossed the empty bottle into the rusted metal barrel at the mouth of the alley, then pulled her cell phone out of her purse and held it up to check the bars. “No signal.”
“We’ll use the sat phone,” Kil said. “It’s in the cruiser.”
Chase retrieved the satellite phone out of a duffel in the back, and they walked across the dirt street to an aging picnic table on the grass facing the ocean. The sun sank behind an outcropping of land to the west, a golden dome disappearing into the shadows, the long day coming to an end. A humid breeze cooled the hot white sand along the beach.
“What’s the number?” Chase asked. Harper rattled off her father’s personal cell number. Chase punched it in and handed her the sat phone, which she pressed against her ear.
Her father picked up on the second ring. “Who is this?” he answered harshly, wary of his privacy and not recognizing the caller’s number.
