Demon Seed (3 page)

There are no coincidences in life.

She had to be a plant.

None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t had a recurrent malaria bout three days ago. The low-grade fever that signaled the end of his chills and sweats had slowed his reactions and dulled his senses. No way could those fuckers have snuck up on him under normal circumstances. By now he was supposed to be halfway down the Orinoco on the way to the Brazilian border. He studied her profile for a brief moment. Plant or not, he had no choice now. She was coming with him.

Demon crossed the road and wound his way through the trees until the camouflaged jeep came into view. He put Jacinta down. “Don’t move.”

His team always ribbed him about being too softhearted about women. He’d fucking admired her and liked her gumption. And the odds of her being a mole had skyrocketed with her mention of Roraima.

He was grateful he could keep his hands busy, because he wanted to shake the stuffing out of her. Demon stripped the tarp from the vehicle and retrieved the distributor cap from where he’d hidden it. He popped the hood, replaced the cap, and got some measure of satisfaction when he slammed the lid closed. She never said a word, but he felt her eyes on him.

“Get in.” He opened the passenger door.

She flinched but did as she was told.

Demon stalked to the driver’s side, slammed into the worn leather, and snapped, “Buckle up.”

After they’d been on the road for a good fifteen minutes, she said, “You are angry with me.”

Too right
. “Who the hell are you, lady?”

“Jacinta Maria da Silva.”

“Why were you in a cloister?”

“I grew up there. When I turned twenty, I wanted to say my first vows. But Sister Helen said I had to live for six months in the city first. She took me to La Esconsa, a school run by the Dominicans, near Boa Vista. I lived in the dorms with the boarders. It was truly exciting. I can still remember the first time I had ice cream.”

“As fascinating as your tale is, I’ve got no time for it now. We’re almost there. I’m meeting business colleagues in a few minutes. Here’s the deal: You’re my woman. You don’t speak unless I give you permission. If anyone asks you a question, don’t answer. You stick to my side. And you are never to be alone with anyone. No one. Got it?”

“Yes.”

The SUV bounced and jiggled when he drove off the paved road. Demon shot her a glance. She’d fallen forward and winced when the seat belt tightened, banding her neck. “Hang on to the strap.”

She scanned the passenger side and shrugged.

“Above the window.” He gritted his teeth.

Without saying a word, she obeyed his terse command and clung to the strap. So she intended to take him literally. Big shitting deal.

Dawn stole over the night like a thief. Light crept in bit by bit, and like a scene unfolding, the panorama came into view. First, the dark outline of the mountain peaks in the distance, then the tall grasses, and finally the river, the mighty Orinoco.

Nothing he loved better than the start of a new mission, but the usual adrenaline rush hadn’t kicked in. And the reason for that sat in the other seat giving him the silent treatment.

Demon hadn’t been able to do a complete assessment of any of them—the fuckers, the blonde, or Jacinta—before darkness had fallen, and he’d kept out of the moon’s beams for most of the night. He jammed on the brakes, hit the overhead light, reached across, held her chin, and turned her to face him.

He had only ever seen eyes that shade of turquoise once before.

He wanted to howl. Or put her over his knees and paddle her fanny red.

“Where was Emilio taking you?”

“To meet my mother. He said he knew her. He showed me a photograph. I look like her. A lot.”

She had no idea. Jacinta didn’t just resemble her mother. She was her mirror image. Her mother, Rosa Nunez, was dead. Killed by her drug lord brother in a fit of rage.

And Demon’s target, Pedro Nunez, the criminal he had to bring to justice, would recognize Jacinta as his niece the minute he set eyes on her. And that would blow the whole operation in a heartbeat.

Demon had maybe twelve minutes to find a way to hide Jacinta’s identity.

Chapter Two

Jacinta twined her fingers together until her skin pulled painfully. The lenses that he’d put in her eyes felt itchy and grainy. She hadn’t protested once. Not even when he hacked off her hair. Sister Helen had said it was her only vanity. She’d always denied it, but tears had pricked her eyes when he cut the first clump. And she never cried, never. And he hadn’t even told her his name.

“No speaking. Stick close to me. And don’t look anyone in the eyes.”

A few of the nuns had taken a vow of silence. During Lent most of the convent gave up speaking. Once, she hadn’t heard her own voice for three days. And it was never considered polite to make direct eye contact. She nodded.

“Stay here till I come for you. Lock the doors and don’t open for anyone but me.”

He waited until she pressed the knob before walking toward a group of men gathered near a jetty. Business colleagues, he’d said. She stared at the group of scruffy males, some old, some young, most in their middle years. All had the pinched, cruel expressions of Emilio’s men.

Emilio. She shuddered and tried to block the images on the beach from her thoughts. But Consuelo’s horrible words kept echoing in her head. Emilio? Her half brother? It couldn’t be true. That woman in the photograph he’d shown her. He’d said it was her mother. Was she his mother too? Did they have different fathers?

Another shudder racked her body, and she hugged herself to keep the chills at bay. Though how she could be cold in the tropical heat made no sense at all. Sister Helen had always told her that people in the outside world wore masks. Now she knew.

Jacinta closed her eyes. Sister Helen had warned her of situations like this. Situations you no longer controlled. But she had also said anyone could survive anything for a minute, then another, then another. And then suddenly you were surviving five minutes, then ten, then an hour.

Think of the next five minutes. Get through the next five minutes. Then think of the five minutes following that.

Two boats were docked at the pier. Passengers boarded one; the other had three nets hanging from poles. Pushing off the seat, she glimpsed the muddied waters of a river so wide the other bank couldn’t be seen.

Sister Helen had often told her she had an innate sense of direction. And the nun had tested her often on their many hikes in the mountains. She knew at once that this had to be the Orinoco, and could still hear the hypnotic chorus of the song, “Orinoco Flow,” in her head. In spite of all that had happened, excitement surged through her veins. They were going to travel on the magical river and must be heading back to the borders, back in the direction of Boa Vista. Back to the cloister and the school. This was good.

Concentrate. Five minutes, survive the next five minutes.

She had no choice but to trust him. And he had rescued her. Had not once harmed her. Not even when he’d done
that
. He made her feel so safe. Okay, she would travel the river with him. But not without a weapon.

The bag in the backseat—the one where he’d stored the clothes she wore, the contact lenses, and the knife he used to cut her hair—before he’d zipped it closed, she’d glimpsed a cloth packet at the bottom. She glanced at the river. He was arguing with three of the men. Now was her chance.

Jacinta’s fingers shook, and her belly felt as if she’d swallowed a nest of wasps. She managed to squiggle over the gears. Time slowed, her fingertips went numb, the beating of her heart exploded into the pounding of thousands of samba drums. Slowly she unzipped the main compartment, checking his position every few seconds. She found the roll and struggled with the tie. Strangled a gasp when the material fell open and an assortment of weapons came into view.

She looked up; he was still arguing.

Three guns, four knives, grenades, and several other objects she didn’t recognize. She glanced at the soft trousers he had made her put on. They were obviously meant for him, and he’d had to cuff the material to get the legs to fit. Jacinta grabbed a knife. After tucking the weapon into a cuff, she rolled both legs twice more until the material hugged her ankles tightly. Positioning the bag as she’d found it, Jacinta crawled back to the passenger seat.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied her warrior knight bearing down on the automobile. Her stomach knotted, for he wore the aloof, distant expression of earlier. Had he seen her?

She lifted the lock when he approached, and opened the door.

“We’re going to be traveling the river for a few days. We’ll be in a boat with a couple dozen other men.” He lifted her into his arms and handed her a baseball hat. “Here, put this on your head. Remember the rules.”

Accepting the cap, she gathered her courage and whispered, “
Por favor
. Please may I know your name?”

He had chameleon eyes. Sometimes green, sometimes brown.

“They call me Demon.”

Demon? Who named a child Demon? She refused to believe any mother would do such a thing, but pressed her lips together, knowing from his furrowed brow that his patience wore thin. “Thank you.”

The hat felt strange, but so did her short hair.

“When we hit the first village, I’ll get you more clothes and shoes. Sweatpants aren’t meant for these temperatures.” Dawn bloomed early in the tropics. The sun rose and blistered before a body had time to breathe. It was barely daybreak, but already the heat raised a sweat. A lazy breeze coming off the streaming river did little to alleviate the humidity.

Jacinta turned her face into his chest when he began walking. She inhaled. He smelled clean and strong and—she pursed her lips to stifle a smile—a little spicy. The tang reminded her of the incense the regional priest burned during his blessing of the cloister.

She listened carefully. Over the beat of his heart, she heard men’s deep voices speaking in several languages—Portuguese, Spanish, and English.

Demon had halted, and his arms tightened around her back and knees.

A shadow crossed his chest, and she heard the sound of a man’s wheezed inhales and exhales. Who was the man blocking their path?

“Pedro’s gonna slice your balls off when he sees her.” The man’s sinister tone had her worrying about her bared neck.

Demon gripped her closer. “Fuck off, Hugo. And get your sorry ass out of my way.”

“Pedro fucks every woman that comes his way. Then when he grows bored, he gives them to me and Brio.”

“Touch her, get near her, and
I’ll
slice your balls off. Slowly. One cut at a time. Move. Last chance.” Demon’s low growl and the palpable tension between the two men had Jacinta holding her breath.

“I’ll deal with you later.” The other man stomped away, the sound of his boots pounding on the wooden jetty almost as loud as the blood roaring in her ears.

She didn’t flinch, not even when Demon hopped into the boat, and the rocking motion made her a little giddy. The boat was covered, and she welcomed the roof and the relative coolness compared to the bright sunlight.

Demon sat on a bench at the farthest end and held her close.

Jacinta counted the number of times the boat rocked. Twenty-three. He had said a couple dozen men.

An acrid aroma hit her nostrils before a motor roared to life.

“Okay.” His mouth grazed her ear. “No one can see your face. You can look around if you want to, but only over my shoulder.”

A boon she hadn’t expected. The sun lit the rippling river silver, but right below the bow, the waters held a brown-red tinge. She couldn’t see the far bank but glimpsed a thin black line when they neared the middle of the Orinoco. Birds gathered above an area to the left and swooped down to the surface in great, graceful arcs. Conflicting aromas mingled around a sharp bend, the pungent stink of fresh-cut bait when a fishing boat trolled past, the dank odors of oil, smoke, and gasoline, and when a stiff breeze reversed direction, the musty fragrance of males sweating.

The constant drumming of the engine drowned the men’s voices.

“Is Hugo your business colleague?”

He drew back, and then nudged her jaw. “He’s a man I’m forced to do business with. He is
not
to be trusted. You’re never to be alone with him. Understand?”

“
Sim
. Yes, I understand. And Pedro, the one who will slice your balls? He is not to be trusted either?” Jacinta flinched at the flash of anger sparking from his eyes, now a deep brown.

“You’ll never see him. I’ll make sure of that.” He fiddled with a spike of her hair. “It’ll grow back. Unless you’d planned to cut it short when you say your vows?”

“I decided not to say them a while ago. After I first got to the school.”

“Tell me more about the school.” He shifted and helped her to straddle him. “Put your arms around my neck. I’m going to kiss you in a few minutes.”

For a second, she couldn’t breathe. She had never been kissed, but then she’d never done the
other
and
that
had definitely not been pleasant.

However, he had saved her from the direst ordeal, and she definitely liked being in his arms. And she could never repay him for his rescue.

The day girls at school had spoken of kissing. Waxed lyrical about how wonderful it felt and had gone all dreamy-eyed and giggled in a way that had embarrassed her to no end.

“We kiss to prove to Hugo that I am your woman?”

“Hugo and his sidekick, Brio, as well as the other men.”

A kiss couldn’t hurt.

“Is Brio on board?”

“No. He’s joining us in a couple of days. Now. The school. How many pupils?” He tweaked her nose when she didn’t reply right away.

“Forty-three. I was older than most of the girls. There were twenty-five boarders and the eighteen day girls. The day girls were all from Boa Vista. At first, we weren’t allowed to mix, but when the new principal came, that changed. And we were even allowed to go into the nearest towns. There were so many new and exciting things that I had never even heard of.”