with the almost incessant breeze off of the water lulled her, and yet animal sounds from the jungle pierced those more soothing sounds often enough to keep her jumpy. Adrenaline rushed through her each time she heard the call or growl of some unknown beast and she would move a little faster until weariness overcame fear.
She’d begun to wonder if they’d lied to her after all and there was no village 31
ahead of her when a man suddenly stepped from the jungle in front of her. Relief instantly surged through her.
“Help!” she called, hurrying toward him. “Can you help me? I need help.”
She’d caught his attention before alarm bells went off in her head. In the lightening of early morning dawn, though, it finally struck her that the man wasn’t dressed like a peasant or a fisherman. He was wearing worn fatigues and carrying a rifle over his shoulder.
She halted uncertainly when he spoke to her, shrugging his shoulder to shift his gun to his hands. A half dozen more dangerous looking men came out of the jungle like ghosts.
The man she’d spoken to used the barrel of his gun to summon her.
She stared at him warily, flicked a look at the others who were slowly moving to surround her. “I’m an American,” she said shakily, trying not to think about how many times she’d read in the news that the drug cartels and guerillas had kidnapped Americans and held them for ransom.
A quick glance around told her she had no where to run, that there wasn’t any cover close enough that she could reach it before they shot her. She inched back toward the water, trying to keep them from surrounding her.
One of the men laughed, making chill bumps run up and down her spine. “Here, Gringa . We help.”
The other men apparently found that highly amusing. They grinned, displaying teeth in need of dental attention.
Sylvie bolted abruptly. She realized the attempt to escape was futile even as she tried. She almost managed to race past the man closest to her. He made a grab for her, though, and managed to snag the loose shirt she was wearing. She screamed, kept running, trying to wrench free of his grasp, but he’d slowed her momentum. Another man grabbed her. Screaming again, she clawed at the man, twisting and jerking. He lost his grip on her when she used her weight to throw him off balance, tumbling to the sand, but he nearly peeled her shirt off.
Someone else grabbed the waistband of her sweat pants, jerking them halfway down her hips and suddenly her terror switched focus. She’d never, for a moment, been in any real danger from Mac and his men, she realized dimly. These men meant to rape her and either cut her throat when they were done, or carry her off and rape her over and over until they were tired of it and then kill her.
One of the men dove on top of her while she was struggling to crawl away, flattening her. She uttered a feral scream when he rolled her over, biting and clawing at him when he tried to pin her down, but she realized in despair that she was surrounded now.
* * * *
As hard as Mac tried to focus on the task at hand, he discovered once he’d left Sylvie on the beach that all he could think about was how helplessly inadequate she was for defending herself. They couldn’t take her with them, he reminded himself.
They couldn’t afford to take her any closer to the village without risking their own necks—risking everybody. The entire reason he’d worked out the plan was to throw the bastards off, to make sure they were still guessing. They’d know once they chased 32
the boat down that they had to have gone ashore, but there was miles and miles of coast for them to search and the chances of them being found was remote—as long as there weren’t any locals to report having seen them in the vicinity.
He and Hawk had joined up with Beau and Cavanaugh shortly after they’d left Sylvie on the beach. He could feel their disapproval and it rankled.
It was the best plan he could fucking come
She’d begun to wonder if they’d lied to her after all and there was no village 31
ahead of her when a man suddenly stepped from the jungle in front of her. Relief instantly surged through her.
“Help!” she called, hurrying toward him. “Can you help me? I need help.”
She’d caught his attention before alarm bells went off in her head. In the lightening of early morning dawn, though, it finally struck her that the man wasn’t dressed like a peasant or a fisherman. He was wearing worn fatigues and carrying a rifle over his shoulder.
She halted uncertainly when he spoke to her, shrugging his shoulder to shift his gun to his hands. A half dozen more dangerous looking men came out of the jungle like ghosts.
The man she’d spoken to used the barrel of his gun to summon her.
She stared at him warily, flicked a look at the others who were slowly moving to surround her. “I’m an American,” she said shakily, trying not to think about how many times she’d read in the news that the drug cartels and guerillas had kidnapped Americans and held them for ransom.
A quick glance around told her she had no where to run, that there wasn’t any cover close enough that she could reach it before they shot her. She inched back toward the water, trying to keep them from surrounding her.
One of the men laughed, making chill bumps run up and down her spine. “Here, Gringa . We help.”
The other men apparently found that highly amusing. They grinned, displaying teeth in need of dental attention.
Sylvie bolted abruptly. She realized the attempt to escape was futile even as she tried. She almost managed to race past the man closest to her. He made a grab for her, though, and managed to snag the loose shirt she was wearing. She screamed, kept running, trying to wrench free of his grasp, but he’d slowed her momentum. Another man grabbed her. Screaming again, she clawed at the man, twisting and jerking. He lost his grip on her when she used her weight to throw him off balance, tumbling to the sand, but he nearly peeled her shirt off.
Someone else grabbed the waistband of her sweat pants, jerking them halfway down her hips and suddenly her terror switched focus. She’d never, for a moment, been in any real danger from Mac and his men, she realized dimly. These men meant to rape her and either cut her throat when they were done, or carry her off and rape her over and over until they were tired of it and then kill her.
One of the men dove on top of her while she was struggling to crawl away, flattening her. She uttered a feral scream when he rolled her over, biting and clawing at him when he tried to pin her down, but she realized in despair that she was surrounded now.
* * * *
As hard as Mac tried to focus on the task at hand, he discovered once he’d left Sylvie on the beach that all he could think about was how helplessly inadequate she was for defending herself. They couldn’t take her with them, he reminded himself.
They couldn’t afford to take her any closer to the village without risking their own necks—risking everybody. The entire reason he’d worked out the plan was to throw the bastards off, to make sure they were still guessing. They’d know once they chased 32
the boat down that they had to have gone ashore, but there was miles and miles of coast for them to search and the chances of them being found was remote—as long as there weren’t any locals to report having seen them in the vicinity.
He and Hawk had joined up with Beau and Cavanaugh shortly after they’d left Sylvie on the beach. He could feel their disapproval and it rankled.
It was the best plan he could fucking come
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