Page 5 of Bad Rio
As though she were a nuisance he’d rather do without, he stood over her frowning. Picking up the canvas bag, he rummaged around until he found a few garments. Pulling her into a sitting position, he yanked a thick fleece sweatshirt over her head.
“Hey!” she protested, disliking being manhandled.
As though she hadn’t reacted at all, he jammed a knit cap onto her hair. Grabbing a blanket, he wrapped it around her shoulders and propped her into a sitting position against the wall. “Better?”
Still shivering, Becca briefly closed her eyes. At least he hadn’t killed her yet. And he wasn’t bent on rape ... yet. “I’ll l-let you know in a minute.”
He went to collect the lamp and held it over her lower extremities. “Take off your shoes and pants.”
Everything left in Becca that wasn’t already cold rocketed straight to frigid. Her eyes snapped open. “Wh-what?”
“Your pants are wet. Take ’em off.”
As cold as she was, removing her slacks in this tiny room with a big, strange man didn’t seem like a good idea. She shook her head. “Not gonna happen.”
He shrugged. “Your choice.” Sitting beside her on the bed, he eased up her pants leg.
A dark slash oozing blood covered her entire calf. Becca gasped.
He studied it, then swore softly. “They winged you. Huh. Wonder why they took such a chance.” His eyes, which she could now see were a vivid blue, caught hers. They were as cold and hard as chipped glass. “Understandable they’d want to kill me, but you’re worth at least a million. That was a stupid risk.”
She blinked at him, feeling stupid herself. “I-I’ve beenshot?” The chill had slowed her thinking process to the consistency of mud. She had a hard time placing one thought after another.
“Why’d they do it, Becca?” He stared at her, accusation darkening his brow.
“Why’d they d-do what?” She huddled into her sweatshirt and blanket.
“Take chances with their valuable captive. Why’d they shoot at you? Well? Tell me.Now.”
“Look, Nemo, I d-don’t know what—”
“What’d you call me?”
“It isn’t Nemo? What is it?”
“I’m Rio.”
She blinked at him. “L-like the Brazilian city?”
“Just like that.”
Exotic. The fleeting thought trailed through her mind on a wisp. But he didn’t look Brazilian or South American. With his height and bulk and coloring, he appeared closer to a Norse god. Like Odin, father of Thor. All he was missing was a long golden beard, chest plate, and fearsome iron hammer.
Goodness. Her would-be savior washot.
With effort, she focused her mind. “Okay, Rio, look, I-I don’t know anything. I don’t know why those men took me unless it was for—”
“Ransom.” He bit out the word.
“Right.” She felt her chin trembling. It was the only logical conclusion. “How much are they demanding?”
“They haven’t made any demands yet.” He got up to rummage again in his bag.
Her eyes widened. “But it’s b-been at least a couple of days!”
“The cartel snatched you almost four days ago.”
Her mind reeled. That long? She’d thought only perhaps forty-eight hours had passed. The past days and nights had run together. It felt like forever since the violent assault on the ambassador’s Matamoros mansion, where a dozen men wearing drab green had overwhelmed the small security force and burst inside. Shouting and waving guns, they’d forcibly taken her, only her, into their waiting transport truck. Left behind were the ambassador and Maria, his daughter. Screaming and crying, Maria had been tied up, together with her father.
