The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(25)

Pointing the gun toward the end of the hall, I remained flush against the wall. Sweat coated my hairline, and my entire body shook so hard, I had to support the gun with both hands to keep it steady. Time crawled, and just when I thought my heart fully intended to burst in my chest, the voices faded then disappeared entirely. My feet whispered down the corridor, simulating a delicate ballet prance.

One step.

Two more steps.

Five steps.

I counted every step, feeding off the power and control each one offered.

When I reached the end of the hall, I peeked around the corner. Empty. Thank God. Finally, some luck had flipped in my favor. I didn’t hesitate for one more second. Leading with my gun, I tiptoed into the vaulted living room.

My eyes skated over the large, overstuffed white sofa, the rattan chairs, and finally, the long wall of glass doors at the back of the room. There it was…freedom, dangling less than fifty feet in front of me. I could do this. I could really escape.

The thought injected adrenaline into my previously sluggish veins. I ran, hoping, praying, and pleading with every stride that the doors weren’t connected to an alarm system—and if they were, that some overworked soul had forgotten to set it. My sandaled feet slapped against the tiled floor, echoing off the voluminous beamed ceiling.

My momentum nearly propelled me into the wall of glass, but at the last minute, my foot clipped a chair leg. I lost my footing and fell to my knees. My head snapped forward, and my teeth collided with the tip of my tongue. The distinct copper taste of blood flavored my mouth.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, my eyes tracked the shadows through the room waiting for someone to find me. Long minutes had passed before I had enough courage to rise to my feet. This time I didn’t rush it. I twisted the lock to the right as slow as possible to minimize the sound. When I heard a click, I expelled every last molecule of air from my lungs and pushed the door open.

I didn’t wait for the alarm or any other sign of life from the villa. I ran, not even bothering to close the door behind me. Almost immediately, sultry jungle air wrapped around my skin like a wet blanket, strangling my chest and weighing down my steps.

Twigs snapped under my feet, the dense foliage scraped my skin, and rocks infiltrated the hard soles of my sandals. Without the benefit of any light from the villa, I could barely see five feet in front of me, but I didn’t hesitate. For the first time in over a week, I was free, and I refused to stop running until I’d put a couple miles between the villa and me.

At home, I jogged eight-to ten-minute miles every other day, but that was in a park with paved pathways and relatively linear routes. Given the rough terrain, I needed to run at least thirty minutes before I slowed to a walk. That might give me the lead I needed to find a town or someplace with a phone.

What seemed like an eternity of cuts, scrapes, and one nearly twisted ankle later, my body rebelled, refusing to continue for one more second. With my lungs burning and my chest heaving, I stopped, bending at the waist, cursing my need for water. My throat was so dry I could hardly swallow.

Stupid.

Fucking stupid.

Beyond f*cking stupid.

Disbelief ricocheted through me. I hadn’t bothered with any supplies except a gun. I couldn’t exactly drink the bullets. Silently, I cursed my dad for not forcing me to take a wilderness survival course in addition to the gun safety class. With my limited knowledge of the area, I’d be lucky if I ever found a road, much less one that led to somewhere other than the depths of this godforsaken jungle. Most likely, I’d wander further and further into the jungle until I collapsed dead from exhaustion, and whatever wildlife frequented this area would eventually pick my bones clean. I shuddered as I imagined rotting away in the jungle.

I rested on a nearby rock and surveyed my surroundings. What was that phrase my dad always used? Work smarter not harder. Yep, that was it. It was exactly what I needed to do. Now that I had put some distance between the villa and myself, I needed to open my eyes, take in my surrounding, and plan my escape.

Complaining wouldn’t get me anywhere. My stomach rumbled, my mouth resembled cotton, my feet throbbed, and my eyelids weighed a thousand pounds. So what? I was free.

Squinting, I tried to scout a landmark or trail leading anywhere but back to the villa. I didn’t see much of anything except dark shadows and more trees and underbrush. But then, I heard a noise. It sounded like the low hum of a convoy of trucks or other motorized vehicles.

My body froze. For a few beats, the frantic pounding of my heart muffled whatever I thought I heard, but it didn’t last long. The hum of vehicles turned into a muted roar, drowning out the sounds of the night and my thundering heart. I tried to convince myself my mind was playing a trick on me, but that didn’t last longer than a few seconds. The faint glow of headlights in the distance lit up the inky black sky. I counted them.

One set.

Two sets.

Three sets.

Four sets.

Hunger, thirst, and tiredness forgotten, I sprinted in the opposite direction of the lights, eating up the terrain one giant stride at a time. I didn’t know if the convoy had anything to do with the Vargas Cartel, but I immediately dismissed the idea of waiting around until I figured it out.

The ground was slippery beneath my feet. Branches whipped my face, probably leaving marks, but cuts and scratches healed, and they wouldn’t kill me. On the other hand, the Vargas Cartel or any other criminal element roaming the jungle in the dead of the night might do exactly that. I suspected Ignacio’s little slice along my neck would be tame in comparison to what would happen if they captured me again.