On Thin Ice Read online

  There were five of them, a little higher on the food chain than Izzy and Porco and their friends, though in two years MacGowan hadn’t learned their names, plus a new kid who looked small and nasty. He knew what they were capable of, though, and he stayed where he was. If they saw he was missing his handcuffs they’d do something to remedy that, and he wasn’t about to take that chance. The others only showed up when they moved camp, and this was his last chance.

  They’d brought something with them – it looked like nothing more than a pile of fabric and bones, and someone dumped it on the ground. It was either a skinny kid or a woman, and it had been so long since he’d gotten laid he didn’t care which.

  “They’ll be looking for this one,” the one in charge, a man MacGowan thought of as Redbeard, said, giving the bundle a little nudge with his foot. “We break camp tonight.”

  Shit. He’d been hoping for a couple more days, just to make certain Hans and Dylan would be up to it. Maybe he should say the hell with it and go alone. They’d probably be more of a liability than an eventual asset. But he did like money, and it was going to take a fair amount to get back to England.

  “Who’s this?” Izzy had approached the pathetic bundle on the ground, sniffing like a dog who’d found a bitch in heat.

  “Leave her alone. You already killed one of the nuns,” Redbeard said. “This one is worth a lot of money, more if she’s in good shape.”

  Izzy glared at the older man. MacGowan could remember the screams coming from the shed that had held the nuns. Two of them originally, now only one was left. If he had a chance before he left he was going to take care of Izzy, as a favor to the dead nun.

  “She’s mine.” The new kid was a little bit younger than Izzy, but MacGowan didn’t make the mistake of thinking he was harmless. “I’m the one who took her.”

  Redbeard looked at the kid with contempt. “She belongs to the Guiding Light now. No one touches her, comprende?”

  Okay, this was going to work out fine. They’d be so busy keeping the jackals from the new female flesh that they wouldn’t have time to notice as he slipped away. Froelich and the kid were going to have to fend for themselves.

  They weren’t guarded the way he was. The members of La Luz knew that neither of them had the skills or the determination to escape, and they had more freedom than he ever had, including bathroom breaks. He’d leave the prearranged sign in the latrine, and if they saw it and followed him to the meeting place, fine. Otherwise he was better off on his own.

  “Put him back in his hut,” Redbeard said. “We’ll move at first light.”

  MacGowan rose, keeping his wrists together so they wouldn’t realize the handcuffs were gone, and Izzy shoved him in the direction of the hut that had been his home for the last three months. He allowed himself one glance over his shoulder before stumbling into the darkness, long enough to see Redbeard pull the hood from the woman’s head.

  And she was a woman all right, with a spill of long, golden hair in the firelight. Unconscious, and better off that way, he thought, turning back to the narrow path. She was going to be keeping all of them busy tonight, and he was going to be able to get out of there because of her.

  Too bad there was no way to help her, but he had his own skin to think of. He just hoped he got far enough away before she started to scream.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The world was still whirling, the noise in her head unbearable, and Beth sank back down on the hard earth, praying for it all to go away, praying to wake up back in her tiny cell at the mission, knowing that no matter how hard she prayed, nothing would change.

  “Get up!” Carlos was kicking at her. Carlos, the little shit who’d refused to learn English but refused to leave her classroom. Clearly he’d had a different agenda. Had they been his hands she’d felt on her breasts, between her legs, as she’d been tossed from car to jeep and onto the back of some smelly animal that could have been a donkey or a llama? She was a gentle woman, who put her money and her life where her pacifist ideals were. If she had an axe she’d cut off Carlos’s hands.

  Someone hauled her to a sitting position, and she bit back her instinctive moan. They hadn’t bothered to tie her up – they would have known she’d be no threat to them – and she put her hand to her pounding head. Blood was matted there – whoever had clubbed her must have broken the skin. She tried to distance herself emotionally – did she have a concussion? It seemed likely. She was dizzy, disoriented, she couldn’t see clearly, and the blow to her head had kept her knocked out for what seemed like days. She’d have to talk to Father Pascal . . .

  The sob that caught in her throat was instinctive, too late to swallow it. She choked it back, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them to make herself into the smallest target available. And then she looked around her.

  They were up in the mountains – she knew that much. As she’d slowly regained consciousness during the long, jolting trip into the jungle she’d recognized the change in elevation, the sound of the jeep engine straining as it climbed higher. She blinked, and slowly things came back into focus.

  She’d lived in Callivera long enough to understand what had happened. Kidnappings for profit were everyday occurrences in other parts of the country, and while she’d done everything she could to keep a low profile, it should come as no surprise that she’d been taken. She couldn’t tell whether they were guerillas or paramilitaries, and in the end it didn’t matter. Kidnappings like this were about money, nothing more, no matter how noble the excuse the kidnappers gave.

  “No one will touch you,” one of the older men said in halting English. “Your family will pay your ransom and you will be returned, unharmed. There is no need to be frightened.”

  Beth raised her head to look at him. “I’m not frightened,” she said. “If you hurt me there won’t be any money. And revolutions need money.”

  The man with the reddish hair grimaced. “We do what we must do.”

  “Including killing a harmless old priest and two women who were only trying to help the people?”

  Carlos started to push past him. “Let me shut her up, jefe. She needs to show respect . . .” He was swatted away like the nasty little bug he was, and Beth felt a faint surge of hope.

  “The deaths were unfortunate,” the man said. “The result of young soldiers who panicked. You have my word of honor that you won’t be hurt.”

  She looked past him to Carlos’s glittering eyes, and to the slightly older boy behind him. The chief’s word of honor wasn’t going to mean squat if those two had a chance at her.

  She’d also been in a Latin country long enough to know that you don’t question a man’s power in front of his underlings. So she nodded, ducking her head again.

  “Put her in with the Englishman,” the older man said.

  A flurry of Spanish greeted that pronouncement, clearly protests, but he shut them off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Just in case any of you decide to disobey my orders,” he said. “The Englishman is a romantic – he’ll make certain you keep your hands off her.”

  One of the jackals said something, then spat. The boss still spoke in English, clearly to be sure she understood. “You will do as I tell you.”

  She was hauled to her feet with rough hands, and she just barely managed to keep her balance, but at the last minute she locked her knees and threw her shoulders back, standing upright. Anything to keep them from putting their filthy hands on her again.

  She was hungry, dizzy, and lucky they’d allowed her a few moments in the bushes to pee a number of hours ago. The ground was rough under her feet, but she had no choice. This time they tied her arms behind her back, and she stumbled into the undergrowth, Carlos and his friend on either side of her.

  She understood more than they thought she did. She concentrated on their voices and the rough footing underneath as they pushed her deeper into the trees. They were arguing, but at least the consensus was they wouldn’t touch her now. Not until something happen
ed to el jefe.

  She could barely see the hut in front of her – the night was overcast, the moon invisible. She stumbled and fell against the rough wood and it creaked in protest. She heard the door open and a moment later she was sent sprawling into the darkness, landing hard on the rough dirt floor. What little light had come from the overcast sky was now gone entirely, and she was trapped in the darkness, blind, helpless.

  A moment later a light flared, and she closed her eyes against the glare. The smell of sulfur followed the match, and she squinted, trying to take in the bearded, long-haired figure sitting cross-legged across the small room.

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God,” came the dry voice from the darkness. “As if things weren’t bad enough.” And he blew out the match.

  Finn MacGowan leaned back against the rough wall of the shed and contemplated fate, that fickle bitch. Izzy and the new kid were wandering off, complaining bitterly and fantasizing about what they would do to the new arrival the moment they had the chance. MacGowan wasn’t particularly squeamish, but he was glad the woman either couldn’t hear or couldn’t understand what they were saying. If she did she’d be screaming bloody murder.

  “No.” Her voice was flat, calm, as she struggled to sit up. He could see her quite clearly – the match had momentarily blinded him but once he blew it out he found he could concentrate on her silhouette and take in all the basics. Late twenties, maybe even thirties, long golden hair that would probably attract snakes, expensive clothes and shoes. They’d chosen someone with money this time – maybe the Guiding Light was finally getting smarter.

  “No, what?” he said, curious.

  “No, I don’t happen to be Holy Mary, Mother of God,” she said, wiggling herself into a sitting position. “My name’s Beth Pennington.”

  He would have been impressed with her coolness if he hadn’t heard the betraying wobble in her voice. “I won’t lie and say I’m pleased to meet you,” he said. “You have any idea why they put you in with me? I don’t suppose you’re my reward for good behavior?”

  He saw her silhouette jerk nervously, but her voice in the darkness was still calm. “As far as I could tell the General thinks you’ll keep me safe from Carlos and his rabid friend. Apparently you’re a romantic.”

  He couldn’t help it – he laughed. Faced with one major monkey wrench in his plans for escape, all he could do was appreciate the absurdity of it. “Afraid not, darlin’,” he said. “I’d as soon cut your throat as look at you. If I had to.”

  There was a sensible pause from the silhouette in the darkness. “Then I should probably not give you a reason to,” she said. “Who are you? How long have you been here?”

  He had a number of names he could offer her, but in the end they wouldn’t make much difference. One or both of them would probably be dead in the next twenty-four hours – it didn’t matter if she knew his real name or not.

  “MacGowan,” he said.

  “You’re Irish.”

  Score one for the new kid – he’d been using his generic BBC voice. “When I want to be,” he said. “When did they take you? Where were you?”

  “Why do you care?” It wasn’t a hostile question. In all, she seemed more curious than hysterical with fear the way most of the female hostages were.

  “I don’t,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out exactly where we are. If I know where you came from and how long it took them to bring you here that would help me pinpoint where we are.”

  “I was in the town of Talaca, at the Mission of Santa Luz.”

  “Oh, Christ, not another nun!”

  “Do I look like a nun? And what have you got against nuns?”

  He decided against telling her the truth. “I was raised by nuns, and still have the scars to prove it,” he drawled, using his best Irish.

  “I’m an aid worker. I teach English, help Father Pascal . . .” Her voice faltered. “I helped the priest in the infirmary.”

  “They killed the priest?” He kept his voice matter-of-fact.

  “They did. And the two women from the village who worked there as well.”

  “And they took you. They’re showing some brains. The Catholic Church doesn’t ransom priests – they only protect them if they molest children.”

  “Did they molest you?”

  “Jesus, woman!” He laughed it off. “Don’t believe everything you read. So where’s Talaca?”

  “Talaca is thirty-five miles west of Puerto Claro. I don’t know how long I was unconscious – and my sense of time is still a little rattled, but I think it took around three days. We were climbing steadily – first by car, then by truck, for a little while by animal, and then by jeep. What day is it?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t even know what year it is.”

  Silence, as she digested that information. “How long have you been here?”

  “Here? About three months. Before that, about a two day hike to the north. Before that, somewhere down in the rain forest. Or maybe that was the time before.”

  “How long since they took you?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  A deep intake of breath. “Are they going to keep me as long as they kept you?”

  “I doubt it. You’ll either be ransomed or dead long before then.”

  “How encouraging. And why are you still alive?”

  “They keep me around for comic relief.”

  “Yes, you’re a bundle of laughs.”

  Damn, he thought in the darkness, moving a little away from her. He liked her. Faced with a terrifying situation, she was neither panicky nor weepy. “I’m also a damned good poker player.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Her silhouette shifted in the darkness. They must have tied her up – they’d stop that after a few weeks, once they knew she wouldn’t make a run for it. “At least we’ll have something to do.”

  “Sorry, darlin’. I’m not going to be here long enough.”

  “You’re being ransomed?”

  “I’m getting the fuck out of here. And don’t even think of asking me to take you with me. I travel alone. You’re better off here, waiting for the ransom to be paid. Assuming someone’s got enough money to pay them.”

  “There’s enough money,” she said. No begging or pleading, just calm acceptance.

  “But you’d better watch Izzy and the new kid. They’ve got orders to keep their hands off you but they’re not real good at following orders.”

  “Carlos. That’s the new one’s name. He was one of my students.”

  “If you were anything like the nuns who taught me then it’s no wonder he wants to kill you.”

  “Carlos never paid any attention to me.”

  “That’s what you think. He’s clearly spent many hours thinking about what he’d like to do to you. I take it you don’t understand Spanish. What the hell are you doing in Callivera when you don’t speak the language?”

  “I speak Spanish. I just don’t understand the dialect and Carlos’s slang.”

  “Yeah, they don’t teach those words in schoolgirl Spanish. Trust me, their plans aren’t particularly pleasant. And once Redbeard leaves you’ll need to watch your back. I expect they’ll think fun with you would be worth more than any ransom your people could come up with.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “They like inflicting fear and pain on women, darlin’. It takes a hell of a lot of money to trump that.”

  “My name isn’t ‘darling’,” she said. “It’s Beth Pennington. Pennington. As in Pennington Pharmaceuticals. There’s enough money.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Well, shit. Maybe I’ll kidnap you.”

  “I can pay you more than you ever earned at your regular job if you take me out of here.”

  “Tempting,” he said. “But if I tried to take you with me I’d end up killing us both, and money’s no good if I’m dead. Tell you what – I’ll get the hell out of here, spend a couple of weeks getting drunk and laid, and then I’ll
come back and bust you out.”

  “Lovely,” she muttered. “I won’t hold my breath.” She squirmed again. “I don’t suppose you have anything to get me out of these ropes, do you?”

  “Maybe for a price.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, I figure we might both get out of this alive, and I can always use a little cash. Say ten thousand for untying you?”

  “You’re kidding,” she said flatly.

  “I never kid about money.” Too bad she couldn’t see him in the dark – he was using his charming Irish-adventurer persona and having to rely on his voice to do it. Then again, he had a matted beard covering his face, hair to his shoulders, and he hadn’t seen hot water in almost three years. Maybe she was better off with the voice.

  “All right,” she said finally. “I’m afraid I don’t happen to have ten thousand on me, but once I get out of here I’ll write you a check. You do take checks, don’t you?”

  “I prefer cash but I can be reasonable.” He dropped the handcuffs on the dirt floor and moved across the hut, quiet as he’d been trained, so quiet that she jumped when he put his hands on her. “Hold still,” he said. “I can’t untie you when you’re squirming.”

  “You’re not tied up?” She was beginning to sound a little testy – that was a good thing. Her unnatural calm was refreshing, but she was going to need a temper to get her through this.

  He made quick work of the nylon ropes – Izzy had never been very good at knots. Back when Finn had been kept tied up he’d always been able to get them unfastened, do what he needed to do, and tie himself up again.

  He finished untying her wrists, then began to run his hand down her legs to see if her ankles were tied, when she batted him away, scrambling back. “I can untie my own ankles,” she said. “I don’t want to have to spend another ten thousand dollars.”

  “Oh, I would have done those for five,” he said cheerfully. “You hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  He was learning her voice better – he could trace the edge of desperation beneath her measured tones, and he decided not to razz her any more. “Here,” he said, tossing her the candy bar he’d won off Izzy three nights before. He’d been saving it for something special – his first night off the mountain, or Christmas, whichever came first. He didn’t even tease her with it.