Crazy Ever After (26 page)

He asked for her understanding with his eyes, and relief rolled through him when she nodded.

“I get it,” she said softly. “But surely you can understand why it’s important to me too?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I do, Samara. I do. I was never trying to shut you out. At first I just wanted to make things easier for you when you were planning the funeral, with everything you were going through. Then I honestly didn’t think you were ready, and I was worried about what was best for the company.” Her eyes narrowed, and he smiled. “Then you stepped up and showed how smart you are. Jesus, when you came up with that idea to change our traceability system, I...” He searched for the words to tell her how much he’d admired her and respected her, and once again, her face softened. She nodded and pulled his head down for another kiss, this one full of mutual respect and understanding and...yeah...love.

* * *

The next day, the drive to the coffee estate belonging to Javier Alvarez took nearly two hours. Two hours of bouncing over potholes in the road. They’d driven through a sudden downpour, the wipers on Travis’s rental Jeep barely able to keep up. Then the sun had come out again, and the jungle turned steamy.

They climbed in altitude, and Samara felt the effects of it. When she’d arrived in Matagalpa, she’d felt a mild nagging headache at her temples and a slight fatigue. It had disappeared after yesterday’s sexual activity but returned now.

The air grew cooler as they ascended. Samara kept a lookout behind them, only a little paranoid after what had happened the day before, but it didn’t seem they were being followed.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Travis muttered, steering around a particularly large hole in the rustic road. “Don’t you wonder why we could never get hold of Alvarez?”

“Yes.” She nibbled her bottom lip, watching the lush greenery passing by. “You know phone service isn’t always reliable here. Maybe that’s why.”

Travis shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

She told him more about the Paquita coffee bean, the aroma, the tasting notes, the mouth-feel.

“It sounds amazing,” he agreed grudgingly. “You’re making my mouth water to taste it.”

She grinned at him. Their mutual love of coffee was another thing drawing them together. She reached out and squeezed his firm biceps. “Thank you again for coming with me.” For once in her life, she was happy to accept help, relieved and grateful that he was there.

He shot her a look, and the corners of his mouth deepened like he was trying to repress his smile. Probably thinking the same thing she was.

It was hard not to feel optimistic and enthusiastic after everything they’d shared. Knowing there really was nothing standing between them anymore, knowing Travis actually did want her, and knowing there might be a rare coffee bean that was going to make Cedar Mill Coffee Company tons of money buoyed her spirit. Even her nervousness about the man in the hotel and the possibility that he’d been following her yesterday faded away in the bright sunshine, cool mountain air and Travis’s reassuring presence.

“I think this is it,” Travis said, turning off the road onto an even narrower, rougher one. Neither of them had ever been to the estate, but Samara had detailed instructions how to get there from the concierge at the hotel.

They bumped and jounced down the road for a few minutes and then arrived at the farm. Samara knew it was large and had only started direct sales to roasters recently. The varietals they grew—besides the Paquita—were all top quality.

Travis parked the Jeep in the yard, and they looked at each other before climbing out. Samara smiled at him.

A man—dark skinned, dark haired, stocky and probably an inch or two shorter than Samara—emerged from one of the buildings. He started walking toward them. “Hola,” he called.

“Hola.”

Travis held out his hand. “Are you Javier?”

“Yes. Javier Alvarez. And you are?” Javier took Travis’s hand and shook it, an expression of hesitant curiosity in his dark eyes.

“Travis Murray. And this is Samara Hayden.”

She held out her hand and smiled. “I believe you knew my father. Parker Hayden.”

Javier’s eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and he dropped her hand. “Parker Hayden. You’re his daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Madre de Dios,” Javier muttered. “What are you doing here?”

Samara shot a sideways glance at Travis. Despite the question, she got that he wasn’t really asking her what she was doing there. He was telling her she shouldn’t be there.

“My father left some business unfinished when he died,” she said. “I hoped to talk to you about it.”

Javier’s gaze darted around. “No. No. We cannot talk. That is out of the question. No.” He stepped back. “You must go. Right now.”

“But we came all this way. I’d love to talk about Paquita. I think it could be very profitable for both of us. I’m sure my father told you what kind of price he can pay you for that bean.”

“Yes. Yes. But...” He took another step away and wiped his hands on the dark green cargo pants he wore. “I cannot do that now.”

“Perhaps we could go inside to your office to talk.”

“No!”

Samara’s insides tightened with frustration, and she pressed her lips together. She glanced at Travis for some help. His sunglasses didn’t hide his frown.

Javier’s eyes went to the jungle behind them then flicked back to their faces. “Please,” he said, a pleading tone in his voice. “Leave, now.”

A faint drone of an airplane reached Samara’s ears. Huh. She looked up at the clear blue sky above the trees. Javier noticed and looked too. Desperation filled his eyes, and now he moved forward. He took hold of Samara’s arm and started walking her to the vehicle.

She shook him off. “Hey.”

“I’m telling you, you must go,” he said. “Mierde. It is too late. Come with me.” He took hold of her arm again and started walking toward the building.

The buzz of the plane intensified as it drew closer. Samara stumbled along behind Javier over the dirt of the yard and turned to look at Travis.

“Hey,” Travis said, running up to them and releasing Samara from Javier’s grip. “Hands off the lady. Would you tell us what the hell is going on?”

Javier muttered and strode rapidly toward the building he’d just come out of, a small wooden structure with a tile roof. “Come.”

Samara looked up and saw the plane like a silvery insect in the bright azure sky, the sun glinting off it. It was descending and apparently about to land, and not very far from there. She frowned.

Javier was acting very weird. Tension coiled inside her as she and Travis followed him into the cool dimness. It was an office building, with ancient desks and filing cabinets arranged in the small room they stood in.

Javier strode through the room and yanked open a door. Before he could walk through it, a man appeared. Tall, deep-set eyes, hard bodied. The man from the hotel who’d told her to go home. And he was carrying a gun.

Chapter Nineteen

Shit. Travis stared at the man with the gun. It didn’t matter who the hell the guy was, and he had no idea, but there was nothing good about seeing a man with a gun at that point. Javier’s odd behavior and nervousness had infected Travis, too, and his gut felt like there was a rock in it. He resisted the urge to rub the tight muscles of his neck. He reached for Samara and pushed her behind him.

“Ms. Hayden,” the man said.

He knew Samara?

She said nothing, just held onto Travis, crowded up close against his back.

“You should not have come here,” the man continued in perfect English. “I told you to go home.”

He felt Samara stiffen behind him. Oh shit. She did not like people who told her what to do. He’s got a gun, he tried to communicate with her telepathically. This wasn’t a time for stubbornness.

“I’m here on business,” she said, and Travis suspected only he could detect the faint tremor of nerves in her voice. “I have a right to be here. How do you know who I am?”

“It is my business to know,” the man said enigmatically. Travis saw Javier frown, as if he, too, was surprised the man knew who Samara was. Clearly Javier hadn’t been expecting them, and yet, this man seemed to have been.

Another man, also dark haired, but short and slender, and also carrying a gun, appeared from the other room. “What is this?” he demanded, gesturing toward them with the weapon. “Who are they?”

The taller man sighed. “Raoul. Hijo de puta,” he muttered. “Never mind who they are. We will have to kill them.”

Travis’s heart lurched to a stop.

“There is no time right now,” Raoul said, staring at them through narrowed eyes. “The plane is landing. We have to get out there.”

“Tie them up, Javier,” the taller man ordered.

“I’ll do it,” Raoul said.

The taller man’s face tightened, and he gave a grim nod. “Good.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Travis’s mind spun. He had no weapon of course. What the hell would he need a gun for? There was no way he was about to take on a guy with an evil-looking handgun pointed at them. While Javier located a couple of lengths of rough hemp rope, both men stood there, legs spread, guns pointed at Travis and Samara.

Samara started trembling behind him. He reached for her and held her hips with his hands, keeping her behind him, wanting to reassure her. Christ, this was so not good.

Raoul pushed them onto hard wooden chairs. He bound their wrists and ankles then wrapped rope around their waists and the backs of the chairs.

Travis wasn’t sure if talking was a good idea, but hey, if they were going to die, he had to at least make an effort. “Look, we don’t know what’s going on here. Just let us go. We’ll drive back to Santa Anjelita, and we won’t say a word to anyone. We’re getting on a plane back to the States tonight. We’ll be gone in twelve hours.”

They ignored him.

Great.

“Don’t even think of trying anything,” the bigger guy warned with a glare. “We’ll be back soon.”

The door closed behind them, and Travis locked his gaze on Samara seated beside him. “Oh man. Shit just got real. Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, great. Fuck no! I’m not okay! Travis, they’re going to kill us!”

“Relax,” he said, although his body was tightly coiled. He gritted his teeth. “They haven’t yet, so there’s still hope.”

“That’s the man!” she cried. “The man from the hotel. How did he get here? How does he know me?”

“Shit.”

“Oh, god, what the hell did I get us into?” she wailed. “I can’t believe this.”

“Don’t fall apart on me now,” he said to her. “Come on, Samara.’

“This is my fault! I’m the stupid idiot who insisted on coming here. You tried to tell me it was dangerous.” She shook her head, and tears welled in her beautiful green and gold eyes. “God, Travis, I’m so sorry.”

“Let’s just try to get out of here,” he muttered, working at the ropes on his wrist. They bit into his flesh, but he ignored it. “Can you get loose at all?”

Samara bit her lip and started fidgeting with the ropes binding her. “No.” She tried again. “Dammit.”

Travis was silent as he made another effort. But the ropes were tight. Jesus. There. God! It might have loosened just a hair. He went at it again.

Samara’s eyes dropped to his hands. “Travis, you’re bleeding. Stop.”

“I don’t care,” he said through gritted teeth, pain burning his arms. “I don’t give a fucking shit if my wrists are bleeding. We have to get out of here before they get back.”

He tried to stand. The chair came with him, but when he tried to shuffle across the floor, his bound ankles made him lose his balance. Christ, he almost fell on his face but managed to shift back, and the chair hit the floor hard, creaking and jolting his very bones. Damn.

Samara started working at her wrists, too, but he could see she wasn’t making any progress.

Fuck.

Time stretched in the dim room. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and his armpits stung. His gut churned until he wondered if he was going to puke.

Eventually they both gave up, wrists raw, Travis’s blood reddening the ropes. “I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I can’t get out.”

“Don’t. It’s not your fault. Don’t apologize.” Her eyes closed, and her head fell back.

They sat and waited for whatever doom was about to befall them. Travis wasn’t prepared to give up all hope. When the two men came back, they’d have an opportunity to try to talk their way out again, or maybe escape. If he could get that gun away from that guy…

What the chances of that were he had no idea, but he’d try anything if it meant getting Samara out of there in one piece. Why the fuck had he let her talk him into doing this? He knew Parker’d been involved in bad shit. This just proved it. Obviously there was more than coffee being grown and traded at the Alvarez estate.

Damn you, Parker. Then he sighed. Parker had obviously gotten himself into trouble, but he couldn’t blame Parker for this. They’d done this themselves.

* * *

Samara sat there, rope biting into her wrists and ankles, her stomach churning at the sight of Travis’s bloody wrists. Sweat dampened her clothing, and her heart thudded so hard in her chest she could hardly hear.

What had she done?

She closed her eyes on a wave of dizziness. Guilt rose up and smacked her in the face. If she hadn’t been so stubborn and stupid about this, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Shit.

How could she fix this? She couldn’t get them out of here. The ropes squeezed her tightly. If Travis couldn’t loosen them, she certainly couldn’t. Her stomach heaved even more at the thought that they were about to die.

Just when they’d finally found each other and gotten past mistakes out in the open. Just when it seemed maybe they could have something together. After all those years. It was so fucking unfair!

She blinked at the sudden sting in her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. She didn’t pray often; maybe she should have. At that moment she was prepared to make a deal. If they could get out of here, she’d leave Portland and go back to San Francisco. She’d give up Travis and let him run the company. Obviously she couldn’t do it. She’d screwed everything up, so badly they were about to die. She didn’t deserve that job, and she couldn’t do it. Not now, not after this. And she didn’t deserve Travis.