Page 9 of Bad Rio
“I swear it,” he said. “It’s my job.”
****
When Becca awoke, shewas alone in the bed. Her eyes popped open and she experienced a moment of disorientation. In the next instant, her predicament came back with a terrible rush.
Sitting up, clutching the covers to her throat, she glanced around the cabin. The gun Rio had carefully placed on the small table was gone. Where was he? Had he abandoned her, out here in this wilderness? Would he come back?
Her thoughts frantic, she tried to figure out what to do.
Should she take the opportunity to run, to get away from him, find people—some sort of country home—and implore the residents to help her? She spoke excellent Spanish. She hoped she could come across nice people who were not in cahoots with the cartel.
That seemed the best plan. Her pants still hung on the rafters and she imagined they’d be close to dry by now. Perhaps her socks and shoes were as well. With no idea how far she’d have to run or how long it would take her to find someone, she figured she’d need food and water. No doubt there would be supplies in the cooler. The sweatshirt Rio had given her would serve her during the day, but if she were stuck out at night, it would not be enough. She glanced down. Lugging along several of the quilts wouldn’t be easy, but she had no choice. She had to get away.
Beneath the bed covers, she shifted her legs and was instantly reminded of her injury. Her leg still hurt. A lot.
Abruptly the door swung open and Rio filled the doorway. A frigid blast of air flowed inside. His head covered in a knit cap like the one he’d given her and wearing a sheepskin-lined coat, he appeared huge. Last night, Becca hadn’t fully realized how tall, how burly he was. The man wasbig.
He slammed the door and stamped his feet. White material flew off his shoulders and boots onto the floorboards. “Snowing out,” he said. “And I saw some good sized tracks nearby. Mountain lion.”
Becca’s hopes sank. Now that he was back, she didn’t suppose she’d be able to get away. Maybe it was a poor idea anyway. With the change in weather, she wouldn’t make it even a mile. If it were snowing, no bundle of quilts would keep her warm.
She’d need the scooter.
Before he’d closed the door she’d spotted the telltale outline of its shape, covered in tarp and netting under the wild oak. And she remembered now that he’d gassed it up. As a teen, she’d had her own scooter, and knew how to operate one, no problem.
She’d wait, and watch. Maybe she’d get a chance. Becca huddled into her covers, pulled the cap down over her ears. She sniffed. Her nose felt a little runny. In the opposite corner of the room, she spotted a tiny fireplace with a tiny mantle. “Can we have a fire?”
Taking off his coat, Rio cast her an incredulous glance. “Smoke can be seen for miles. We’re trying to hide, not send out a beacon.” He hung his coat on a hook beside the door.
“Where did you go? Is the cartel nearby?”
“Spotted them twenty miles south. They’re sending out patrols, canvassing the countryside in a search grid. Right now, they aren’t close, but they’re on the move.” He set down a pack she hadn’t seen before.
“They aren’t close?” she breathed.
“No, but it won’t be safe to move today. Here.” He withdrew a thermos from his pack. “I rode in the other direction, stayed out of sight, went to see some people I know.” He handed her the thermos.
Uncapping it to the aroma of freshly brewed hot coffee, she sighed in pleasure. Sipping the delicious drink, she said, “You must speak Spanish.”
“Yeah. And Arabic.”
She peered at him.Arabic?The two languages didn’t seem particularly alike. Strange.
It was time she got some answers. “How much are you being paid to deliver me back to my father?”
“A bundle.”
“How much?”
“You don’t need to know, Buttercup.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Cause your hair smells like little yellow flowers.”
“Don’t,” she said, frowning. It sounded far too intimate and she didn’t like it. “Don’t.”
“Don’t, what?”
