Marilyn Pappano - In the Enemy's Arms

Justin’s steps thudded down the stairs, startling her. He reached past to close and lock the door, then started down the hall. “Come on. We’re not staying here.”

“Why?” She hurried to catch up, regretting that she had only a moment to register the formal dining room and that incredible kitchen before they were out the back door and on a patio that surrounded a sparkling blue pool. A block from the ocean and he had a pool?

The rich are different.

“Why are we leaving? Has someone been here? Why? Looking for us? And what does this have to do with Trent and Susanna?”

He stopped so suddenly that she ran into him. The backpack, at least half-empty before, now softened the collision. It still knocked the breath from her, though. It must have. It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that they were so close. She was way too damn old for that. Besides, this wasn’t just any good-looking guy. It was Justin, for heaven’s sake. Enemies since the day they’d met, remember?

He dragged his hand through his hair. “Okay, look, you’re right. They didn’t just go off. They’re in trouble, and so are we. Yeah, those guys broke in here, looking for us and…”

“And?”

“And a flash drive with files that Susanna and I kind of, uh, stole.”

Cate stared. She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d declared he was wildly in love with her. Susanna stealing… Oh, hell, Justin stealing… It was so wrong, not just morally or ethically or legally, but for who they were.

She didn’t realize her mouth was gaping open until he pushed it shut with one fingertip under her chin. His grin was crooked. “I guess I should feel honored that you’re stunned speechless. You don’t think as badly of me as you like to pretend, do you?”

She tried to ignore the faint heat where his finger had been, tried to form a coherent thought. “So you guys st—” She couldn’t say the word. “You took some data that belongs to someone else and they want it back so now Susanna and Trent are…what? In hiding?”

Grimly he shook his head.

Horror replaced that stunned feeling. “Kidnapped? They’ve been kidnapped?” At his nod, she shoved him with both hands on his chest. “And these same people were shooting at us and they broke into your house looking for us and— Oh, my God, what have you gotten me into?”

She shoved him again, knocking him back a few inches, and he grabbed her wrists. “Hey, it’s not me. They got into trouble on their own. Well, more or less.”

“What does that mean—‘more or less’?”

“It means this isn’t the time or the place to talk about it.” He lifted her wrists a few inches. “If I let go, will you stop punching me?”

“Those weren’t punches,” she muttered. “I can show you a real punch.” His grip loosened, and she jerked free. “I can’t believe… Oh, of course I can believe it. You and Trent never did think about the consequences of anything you did. Why should you? Your parents or their money or their lawyers always took care of it for you.”

Scowling, he took her arm and steered her toward the vine-covered fence at the back of the yard. “You’re such a snot, Cate. When you see a patient in the E.R., don’t you wait until you have his history before you start passing judgment?”

“I don’t pass judgment. I treat their illnesses, patch up their injuries and turf them upstairs or out. My responsibility and interest end when they leave my department.” Stolen information, kidnapping, getting shot at… Dear God, this was not what she expected of this trip.

He led the way straight to a gate that she wouldn’t even have noticed, covered as it was with the same flowering vines as the fence. Brushing aside leaves, he typed a code into the keypad, then pushed the gate open and sneaked a look outside before he stepped out.

“So we’re going to the police now, right? Or no, wait, we should probably call Trent’s parents and let them contact the FBI. With all the lawyers and politicians in the Calloway family, they probably know someone who can get them straight through to the director himself, and we are in a foreign country. The FBI or the State Department should be involved. I can get in touch with Emilia…or maybe I’d better call Trent’s dad instead. Emilia will be so devastated—”

Justin stopped short and faced her. “Stop babbling.”

She stiffened. “I don’t babble.”

“We’re not contacting the police or the Calloways or anyone else.”

“We have to. We’re not cops. We’re not qualified to deal with a double kidnapping!” That was the way things went in her world: she came across evidence of child or spousal abuse, a sexual assault, a shooting, a stabbing, a beating, and she reported it to the police. End of her involvement, except for an occasional court appearance to testify.

“This may come as a surprise, doc, but the kidnap pers—the people who have Trent and Susanna in custody, the people giving orders to the bad guys hunting for us—don’t want the police involved. All they want is their files back, or they’re going to kill them, and they’re going to do their best to get you and me, too. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to piss them off anymore than they already are.”

She stared at him, his features as implacable as she’d ever seen them, then clamped her mouth shut and looked around for the first time since clearing the gate. They were on a narrow swath of grass, about as wide as the average car. On the left, fences and cinder-block walls marked the rear boundaries of homes and hotels that faced the ocean. On the right, heavy undergrowth that could conceal an army of thugs opened in a narrow gap to reveal the crumbled foundations of a structure long gone. Cozumel had found itself in the sights of numerous hurricanes over the years—probably the reason for the type of construction of Justin’s mini-mansion.

He exhaled, drawing her attention back to him. He mistakenly took her silence for acceptance, but she wasn’t convinced. “Did you listen to yourself just now?” she asked, the panicked tone gone from her voice, sounding much more like the seasoned E.R. doctor she really was. At least she had that much under control. “These criminals are threatening to kill Trent and Susanna. There’s not even a question what we should do next.”

“You’re right. There’s not. We’re going to find a place to stay for a while and come up with a plan for getting them back. Come on.” Shifting the backpack to his other shoulder, he started walking again.

Cate growled, surprising herself. Oh, she’d done it silently before when people annoyed her, but this was out loud, a good, threatening growl. She was that frus trated. But Justin’s only response was a snort as he continued moving at a steady pace.

Even as she dogged his footsteps, she considered her options: call her ex-father-in-law anyway. Call AJ and ask his smart detective advice. Call the local authorities—

She couldn’t call anyone unless she wheedled her phone back from Justin or managed to escape him long enough to find a pay phone. Wheedling was out—he would enjoy it too much and still refuse—and the idea of escaping him, of going out into town on her own when she didn’t speak the language and every man she saw might be the one who shot at them, turned her insides morgue-cold.

“Unless you like playing the subservient little female scuttling along ten paces behind, you might as well come on up here where we can talk.” Justin sounded entirely too easygoing. Why shouldn’t he? He was a risk taker, an adventurer, a thrill seeker and, as she’d said, he never worried about consequences. He’d probably gotten an adrenaline kick out of getting shot at. He was probably looking forward to the next moment of danger.