The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes

think he could have lit his own cigarette, while she just sat there looking…not frightened, so much as just…wary. As if she’d been half expecting something of this sort to happen. As she obviously had.

But all McCall could think about was what in the hell she’d thought she was going to do with that little bitty pistol of hers up against all those great big automatic rifles.

“I’m pretty sure it’s them,” Ellie said in that same mumbling voice, eyeing the two armed men who were approaching the car. “This isn’t exactly a well-traveled road. But they were obviously expecting us.”

“Some welcome,” McCall muttered back. “Nice people you do business with.”

“It’s understandable. They don’t want us to know exactly where their camp is. They’ll probably blindfold us before they take us there. Just do what they say…”

“No problemo.” As if he was planning to argue with men pointing machine guns at him?

The man on his side of the VW was gesturing emphatically with his weapon, indicating that McCall was to get out of the car. The man on Ellie’s side was doing the same. A short distance away, other armed men stood with weapons at the ready.

“Just remember to shut up and let me do the talking,” he said in a grating undertone as he pushed open his door. And, he prayed, Please, God, please don’t let her even think of trying anything with that gun.

He stepped from the car with his hands in the air and was instantly grabbed and jerked around, slammed against the car and thoroughly patted down, to the accompaniment of terse commands delivered in tones that resembled whip-cracks. Through it all he remained silent and stoic, steeling himself, concentrating on controlling a perfectly natural male-aggression response to such violations of his person and pride.

And at the same time he was bracing himself, preparing for the violent action he was certain was going to be required of him when these people-whoever they were-discovered Ellie’s gun. And they would discover it, of that he was certain. She was being subjected to the same thorough search he was-how could they not find it? He watched from the corner of his eye, holding himself in rigid anticipation, tense as wire, feeling every rough, rude touch she experienced as if it were a violation of his own body, frustrated beyond bearing at being unable to help her, expecting every second to hear the cries of triumph or outrage…

Which, mystifyingly, never came.

Apparently-and incomprehensibly-satisfied, the man who’d been searching Ellie then straightened up and pulled a black scarf out of his pocket. While McCall was giving himself permission to breathe again, a second man jerked her around and pulled off her sun visor while the man with the scarf wrapped it roughly across her eyes and tied it behind her head.

“Please,” McCall heard her say in a quavering voice, “can I have my visor back? My skin…I burn easily…please let me keep it.”

The sun visor. Whatever it was in there, McCall thought, it was obviously important. He called out to her captors in a croaking voice he barely recognized, translating the request, and was relieved when one of the men said something and then laughed as he shoved the visor back on Ellie’s head. He saw her lift her hands and resettle it, murmuring thanks in clumsy Spanish.

While this was going on, he was aware that yet another man had snatched the canvas beach bag out of the car and was pawing hurriedly through it. He saw the man remove the manila envelope full of money and thrust it inside his shirt, then toss the bag away into the jungle undergrowth. So much for brunch, he thought. And then his world went dark as a scarf was pulled tight across his eyes.

“Can I have my cigarettes?” he asked, and was surprised at how mild and calm he sounded. “Both packs,” he added as he felt the half-empty pack that had been taken from his pocket along with his lighter come into his hand. A moment later, with a laughing comment in Spanish, the unopened pack that had been tucked behind the VW’s sun visor was thrust into his shirt pocket.

“Gracias…” McCall tapped out a cigarette and put it to his lips, then held out the lighter. “?Por favor…?” There was a comradely chuckle as someone took the lighter, clicked it on and held it to the end of McCall’s cigarette. He felt the heat, heard the crackle…inhaled smoke and murmured again, “Gracias.”

There was another chuckle and a careless “De nada,” as the lighter was pressed back into his hand.

Making friends? he thought as he dropped it into his pocket. Or the condemned man’s last cigarette?

Then hands gripped his arms and he was pushed and shoved and guided until he was walking-stumbling-down what he was certain must be the grass and gravel track they’d been driving on only moments-it seemed like hours- before. There was no conversation among the troops now-no sound except for the muffled tramping of feet, a few bird calls, the screech of a monkey and the whine of a jillion insects.

And a moment later, a burst of automatic weapons fire.

For one interminable instant, McCall thought it was he who’d been shot. Shock lanced through all his vital organs; his knees turned to water. The world stopped.

Then he was pretty sure he hadn’t been shot. And that was much, much worse.

“Ellie!” Her name ripped through his throat. The images in his mind were an agony he was certain he could never survive.

“It’s all right. I’m here.” Relief shook him like a strong gust of wind. Her voice was unexpectedly near…bumpy and frightened but obviously unharmed. “I think they sh-shot the car.”

“The car!” Still quivering and numb with relief, McCall tried to digest that. It made no sense to him, so he ran it through again. “They shot my car?” It didn’t sound any better.

“I think so.” Ellie’s voice was still hushed and shaky. “I heard glass breaking.”

“I see,” said McCall. And after a moment… “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Ellie didn’t like it much, either. She could think of only one reason why their captors would have done such a thing. Fear trickled coldly down her spine. She said with a grim confidence she didn’t come close to feeling, “I had a feeling they might do something like this. That’s why I took out a little insurance.”

There was a grunt and some muffled swearing from McCall. He must have stumbled, she thought, or gotten slapped in the face by a branch; the trail had gotten narrower and considerably more overgrown. She was relieved to hear a surly undertone, “What the hell do you mean, insurance?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him-anyway, the part about leaving half the money behind in their hotel room, buried in her overnight bag and stuffed under the bed. She even thought about telling him about her weapon, and the last-minute premonition that had made her take the ankle-holster off this morning and hide it behind the dashboard of the VW. To the best of her knowledge the smugglers hadn’t found it…thank God. Thank God she still had her visor, too, and her watch and earrings. She should tell him about those, too, she thought. Just in case…

But before she’d made up her mind to do that, one of her captors gave her arm a jerk and rapped out a warning in Spanish, reminding her that they were surrounded by a dozen armed men, any of whom might know more English than they pretended. And she only had time for a hissed, “Trust me,” as she threw up her arms to protect her face from vegetation she couldn’t see.

McCall didn’t answer, but she thought she heard him laugh.

And why shouldn’t he laugh? she thought, once again lapsing dangerously into gloom and self-blame. I’m not sure I’d trust me, either. All I’ve done so far is get us into a mess.

Keep your wits about you, Rose Ellen.

And don’t lose confidence, either, she scolded herself.

Things really weren’t that bad. And so far, not her fault. She really couldn’t see how things would have been any different even if Ken had been with her. After all, they’d expected something like this might happen. Talked about and prepared for just such a double cross. Okay, shooting the car had been a bit unexpected, but so what? The important thing was that she was being taken to the smugglers’ camp, according to plan, presumably to meet with the head honcho. To whom she-or more probably McCall-would explain that if he wanted the other half of his money he was going to have to return them to their hotel unharmed. As McCall might have said, no problemo.

And if things didn’t go according to plan, well…they would just have to find a way to escape, that’s all.

“McCall,” she called softly, “are you there?”

“Yeah.” He sounded, Ellie thought, rather like a bad-tempered camel.