Fields' Guide to Abduction by - (list of ebook readers TXT) 📖

short nod then crossed the expanse of carpet to the doors to veranda, withdrew a keycard, and swiped a sensor.

Seconds later he swung open the doors and I stepped into the night air.

The veranda ran the length of the house with seating areas and fire pits and lounge chairs.

I took one very deep, very obvious breath then sank onto a chair and put my feet on an ottoman.

Almost-Grizzly rested his hand on his gun and leaned against the side of the house.

We sat in silence.

I tried to get a sense of the landscape despite the darkness. That large building to the right had to be the stable—the one filled with Ignacio Quintero’s prized Aztecas. But where was the road? Where were the lights from nearby houses? Thanks to the setting sun earlier in the day, I knew I faced west. Was that the best direction to run if I got the chance?

I saw darkness and stars. No road. No lights. No escape.

A cool breeze whistled through the trees and I shivered.

I stood. “I’m going to grab a blanket. I’ll be right back.”

I dashed inside, grabbed the throw that had been artfully draped across the bottom of the bed, and dashed back outside before Almost-Grizzly could lock me up again.

I chose a chaise, tucked the blanket around me, and stared at the darkness.

Almost-Grizzly did a fine job holding up the wall.

In the darkness, something roared.

“What’s that?” I looked over my shoulder at Almost-Grizzly.

“One of the lions.”

I swallowed. “Lions?”

“Sí. Señor Quintero keeps them as pets.”

“Real lions? From Africa?”

Almost-Grizzly nodded and grinned—a feral grin.

I turned back to the heavy darkness and stared until my eyes grew heavy.

Choo!

“God bless you,” I murmured.

Thud!

I looked over my shoulder again.

Almost-Grizzly lay on the stone pavers, surrounded by a growing pool of crimson.

He hadn’t sneezed. That choo had been a silencer. My hands rose in the air of their own accord.

“It’s okay, Poppy. It’s me.” A familiar voice filtered through the darkness.

I rose from my chaise. “How did you find me?”

“I put a tracker in your locket.”

My hand rose to my throat. Stalker much? “You what?” Outrage made me louder than was safe.

“You heard me. Listen, I know you’d like to give me hell for that. But could you do it later? We need to get out of here.”

Jake made an excellent point.

I looked back at poor Almost-Grizzly. “You killed him.”

“He wasn’t going to let you go.”

“But you killed him.”

“He was a sicario in the Sinaloa Cartel. He knew the risks.”

“But you killed him.”

“Could we talk about that later, too?” Jake’s voice was that of a man being sorely tested.

I stepped into the darkness. “How are we getting out of here? Do you have a car?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly do you have?”

“Feet. The rendezvous point is five miles to the west.”

“A landing strip?”

“No. They’ll be watching their landing strips. A clearing.”

In the distance an animal roared.

“What was that?” Jake asked.

“Ignacio keeps lions.”

“Oh.” He swallowed. “I’m sure they’re caged.”

I wasn’t. “We’re escaping on foot? That’s your plan? Seriously? We’ll never make it.” I looked down at my exceedingly new, exceedingly stiff boots. “They’ll hunt us down.”

“Of course we’ll make it.” There was the supremely confident Jake—the man who’d shattered my heart four times. Two break-ups, one death, and one Lazarus maneuver.

The need to punch him in the jaw tightened my hand into a fist. “We won’t make it. Can you ride?”

“Of course.”

“This way.”

I led Jake to the stables.

He paused in the doorway and stared at the stalls. “Those are horses.” A master of stating the obvious.

“That’s generally what one finds in a stable.”

“I thought you meant motorcycles.”

“Because the roads up here are so good. Can you ride?”

“I can fake it.” He didn’t sound convincing. So much for all that confidence.

“I hope so.”

I read the horses’ names on the front of the stalls, memorized two, and dashed into the tack room. There and there. I grabbed the horses’ bridles and returned to the aisle. “Grab Maria.”

“What?”

“The gray horse in the stall behind you.”

“How?”

“Never mind.” I slipped past Jake, petted Maria on the neck then slipped the bit into her mouth and the bridle over her head. Holding the reins, I led her out of the stall. “Hold these.” I gave the reins to a very nervous looking Jake.

“Hey, Pablo,” I crooned to the chestnut gelding in the next stall.

He nickered.

I slipped into the stall, put Pablo’s bridle on him, and led him into the aisle.

“No saddles?” asked Jake.

“No.” We didn’t have time to adjust girths or stirrups or find the right saddle blankets. “Hold onto Pablo and I’ll give you a leg up.”

Jake just stared at me.

“Can you mount a horse without a boost?”

Jake wore a deer-in-headlights expression. I was pretty sure the answer was no.

I laced my fingers together. “Step into my hands with your left foot and swing your right leg over Maria’s back.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Positive.”

Jake stepped into my hands and I hoisted him onto Maria. “You’ll need these.” I handed him the reins.

I took a second to rub Pablo’s velvety nose, gathered the reins and part of his mane, and threw myself onto his back. “Let’s go.”

We rode out of the stable.

“Which way?” I asked.

“To the west.”

“You already said that. I don’t have a sense of direction up here. Which way?”

“Take a left.”

We rode into the trees.

When we were at least a mile away from the hacienda—far from being overheard—

I straightened my spine and my shoulders, lifted my chin, and asked, “How could you?”

“How could I what?”

“Pick something.”

“I don’t know why you’re mad. That tracker is the only reason I found you.”

“Did you know I’d be abducted?”

Silence. Not a peep from the man on the horse behind me.

“I thought so.”

“You were interacting with dangerous people! Why did you come to Mexico in the first place?”

“I came to Mexico to get over your death.”

“So this is my fault?”

“Yes,” I hissed.

“I did what I had to do.”

“And how many people are dead?” I did a quick count. Marta, her grandparents, the man outside my door, the man in the desert, and the man on the veranda. Six. I was linked to six deaths. My fingers tightened on the reins and Pablo tossed his head at the increased pressure. “Sorry.” I pet the horse’s neck and loosened my grip.

“You’re sorry?”

“I was talking to the horse. Why would I apologize to you?”

“A little gratitude might be nice. I did just rescue you.”

I consciously kept my fingers loose and ground my teeth instead. “Let’s not talk.”

“Why not?”

“You work for a government agency. You could have gotten me out of Mexico. But you didn’t. You do whatever is easiest for you.”

“Skydiving into Ignacio Quintero’s stronghold wasn’t easy.”

“For you? I bet it was. Plenty of adrenaline and you get to play the hero.”

More silence.

Fine by me. Anything Jake said would probably be a lie.

“I am sorry.”

No he wasn’t.

“You could have just broken up with me like a normal person. You didn’t have to fake your death.”

“There are things you don’t know.”

More lies.

I’m sorry.” He actually sounded contrite. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you—haven’t missed you.”

Lalalalala. If my hands hadn’t held reins, I’d have covered my ears.