Morgan's Rescue (10 page)

     
How long had she felt depressed? Pilar was stunned to realize she'd been living beneath a dark cloud ever since she'd left Culver. She'd thought she'd recouped, moved on. Certainly Rane had provided a bright patch in what she now could see as an otherwise dreary world. As Culver walked toward her, she could see him looking around, all his senses on alert, as hers were. He had the look of a condor, with his regal power and watchfulness.

     
Culver fluidly moved up the steps toward Pilar. Without thinking, he started to reach for her arm, to lead her into the hotel. At the instant panic in her eyes, he dropped his hand.

     
"Come on," he muttered, stepping through the door.

     
The lobby was spacious and sumptuous, with sparkling crystal chandeliers highlighting the thick gold carpeting and white marble surrounding the registration area, where three clerks, dressed impeccably in the gray uniforms, waited. Pilar stood quietly at Culver's side as he checked himself in under the assumed name printed on his passport: John Kensington. Pilar smiled to herself at the inappropriate plainness of the name for someone with such an imposing presence.

     
Once registered, Culver shook his head at the porter and lifted his suitcase in his left hand. He looked at Pilar. "Come on," he said.

     
Pilar walked at his shoulder to the elevator, feeling a different type of tension around Culver as the doors slid open and they stepped aboard. He pushed the button for the fifth floor and they began to ascend.

     
"I don't like this place," he growled, watching the numbers light up in sequence as the elevator rose.

     
"Hector thought it would be safe."

     
He sent her a derisive look. "You keep saying that."

     
She glared at him. "He's been like a father to me. He's always been there for me."

     
With a nod, Culver watched the doors open,
then
looked both ways down the hall before easing out of the elevator. "Stay behind me," he ordered.

     
Pilar was mystified by his sudden caution. She was about to protest when she heard the slight click of a door opening behind her. Turning, she saw a man with a submachine gun step into the hallway from one of the rooms.

     
"Look out!" she shrieked, shoving Culver to one side.

     
Culver jerked around, his eyes narrowing. Two men in business suits charged out of a room not more than a hundred feet from them. Pilar was in front of him, her body a shield for his. Damn her! Dropping his suitcase, he grabbed her shoulder and hauled her toward the exit door fifty feet away, fingers tightened on the soft fabric of her dress as he literally threw her ahead of him. What was wrong with her, putting herself in the line of fire?

     
Bullets pinged and snapped around them as Culver ducked and ran, pushing Pilar ahead of him. The machine guns had muzzle suppressors, muting the sound. Bullets stitched an angry path beside his feet, and Culver dug his toes into the thick carpet, hurtling forward, sending Pilar crashing against the wall. She cried out as she hit it, but Culver was already shoving the exit door open. Twisting, he jerked Pilar past him and into the stairwell.

     
"Run!" he roared between ragged breaths.

     
Still stunned from the impact, Pilar staggered backward,
then
caught herself. She saw the terror in Culver's eyes. Sagging against the cold, concrete wall, she dug in her purse and produced a small handgun.

     
"Give it to me!" Culver yelled, holding out his hand, his shoulder against the door. At any moment, the henchmen would be upon them. "Get out of here. Run down to the first-floor exit!"

     
Pilar tossed the gun to him, turned and started down the stairs on wobbling legs. Her breath was coming in sobs as she reached one landing then another. Though her hand was clenched on the cool metal railing, she nearly fell when she heard the rattle of gunfire above her. Where was Culver? Her mind spinning, Pilar realized she had to get to the rental car. It was still in front of the hotel, she was sure; but
were
the keys in it or had Culver pocketed them?

     
She heard sudden heavy footsteps descending behind her.
Culver.
Or was it? Panic pushed her rapidly down the final staircase to the exit door and freedom. Gasping, she spotted the Buick and ran toward it.

     
A car's brakes screeched as Pilar ran in front of the vehicle. The driver honked and cursed, but Pilar ignored him as she reached the rental car and jerked open the driver's-side door. Yes! The keys were still in the ignition! Getting in, she started the engine. Where was Culver? Was he hurt? Dying?
Oh,
Dios,
please, get us out of this alive. . . .

     
Pilar backed the car out just as Culver burst from the exit door. She honked, and he halted, turned and ran toward her, gun in hand. As he leapt into the passenger side, she jammed her foot on the accelerator, nearly ripping the door from his hand as he slammed it shut.

     
"Get down!" he roared, his hand suddenly on the back of her head, pushing her below seat level. Bullets popped through the window, showering them with glass.

     
Peering out, Pilar yanked the car into the traffic, weaving and accelerating at the same time. She was aware that Culver's hand had left her hair. He had twisted around, looking out the shattered rear window.

     
"Keep going. Keep going. I don't see them."

     
As much as she hated
Lima
because it was such a big city, Pilar had grown up here, and she knew every back alley and side street. She drove relentlessly, making sudden turns to avoid red lights. For nearly an hour, they wove their way through the city, until finally they were out in the country once more, the lights of
Lima
behind them.

     
Pilar had been trembling for half an hour. Wind whipped through the damaged rear window, chilling her taut nerves. She could feel Culver's tension as if it were her own. Her mouth dry, she managed to say shakily, "I think we've lost them, don't you?"

     
Culver glanced at Pilar in the dusk. "I think so," he said, noting how pale she looked with the wind whipping her hair wildly around her face. He could see small rivulets of blood near her temple where flying glass must have struck her. Her lips were parted, her eyes huge with terror. Without thinking, he reached over and stroked her cheek, wiping at the blood. "You're hurt. . . ."

     
Pilar gasped as Culver's rough fingers touched her, sending electric tingles racing across her skin.

     
Jerking back his hand, Culver cursed richly. He hadn't meant to touch Pilar. She'd made it all too clear that she wouldn't welcome it, and now that same look was on her face, making him feel like hell.

     
"I—I'm okay. It's just a scratch. Are you okay?" Pilar whispered tremulously.

     
"I'm fine," he snarled. Relaxing for the first time, he said, "It looks like your friend Hector screwed us royally."

     
Gasping, Pilar darted a look at him before returning her eyes to the road. As darkness fell, the traffic around them became very light. "What are you saying?"

     
"That Hector gave us up to Ramirez's men."

     
"No!" Pilar cried. "No, that is impossible!"

     
"Do you have a better explanation of what went on?" He glared at her.

     
"Not right now. But we need to stop. I need to call Hector."

     
"Call him?" Culver couldn't keep the derision out of his voice. "You want to call him so he can run a trace on where we are and finish us off?"

     
"Listen to me, Culver, Hector is
not
our enemy!"

     
"Yeah, and at one time I thought you loved me, too."

     
Pain sheared through Pilar, so unexpected and shattering that she braked and pulled the car abruptly off the road onto the berm. Turning toward him, she rasped, "I can't help the past, Culver. I live in a hell because of it. But that was then, and this is now. We must call Hector. He's our only contact in the government. Without him, we're alone, and we're going to need coordinated help if we have a prayer of rescuing Morgan. You know that!"

     
Culver was breathing hard, the air seeming to sear his lungs as he held Pilar's raw gaze, taking in the anguish that burned in the depths of her eyes. Her voice was raspy, and as a flash of headlights momentarily illuminated her, he thought he saw tears glistening in her eyes. No, it was impossible. The seemingly innocent college girl who had played him for a fool would hardly be crying now.

     
"Look, the Peruvian government is riddled like buckshot with moles," he said in a low, guttural tone. "You know that and so do I. Hell, that's what damn near got me killed eight years ago, Pilar. Or have you conveniently forgotten that, too?"

     
Pilar felt as if he'd slapped her. "Stop it! Stop it! I have forgotten nothing, Culver. Do you hear me?
Nothing!
"
She was sobbing for breath. Fists clenched, she rattled, "I know our government isn't trustworthy. But Hector is!"

     
"We should head out to your village in the jungle," he snapped. "Leave
Lima
, Hector and everything else behind."

     
"I can't do that."

     
"Why the hell not?"

     
"Because," Pilar rasped, "my daughter is at my apartment in
Lima
. I
must
go back, Culver. I can't leave her there."

     
Culver raised his eyes heavenward. "For God's sake, why didn't you tell me that?"

     
"I was going to leave you at the hotel and go pick Rane up." Pilar swallowed hard, her voice sounding worried. "Culver, what if they know where Rane is? They could take her hostage. . . ."

     
"Then where the hell were you headed just now?"

     
Pilar felt as if she were being physically assaulted, his words raining on her like blows. "I was going to take you to my village, to my grandparents' hut. You'll be safe there."

     
His mouth compressed. "And then what? You were going to drive back to
Lima
alone for your daughter?"

     
She smarted beneath his glare. "Yes."

     
Culver swore and sat back.

     
"I know you don't want to be here. I know you don't want to do this mission with me." Her voice cracked. "I was just trying to make it easier on you—"

     
"Easier?" He turned, gripped her shoulders and shook her. "What the hell's easy about this?
Nothing.
Not a damn thing. But you aren't going back into that snake pit without me. You hear me? Next time, talk to me—let me know what's going on in that head of yours. I'm not a mind reader, Pilar, as you well know. I thought I knew you at one time, but I don't. I never did." He released her and his mouth flattened. "I thought I knew you…but I've learned. So from now on, you tell me what you're thinking, dammit."

     
Swiping at the small trickle of blood on her cheek, Pilar drew in a deep, unsteady breath. "All right, I'll tell you what I think. I have to go back to
Lima
and pick up Rane. I think we should try to call Hector from a pay phone somewhere after we know she's safe. Then we'll take her to my grandparents in the village, where she'll be protected." Her skin seemed burned where Culver had gripped her, but she felt herself drawing an odd sort of strength from his action—and the need to protect her that still seemed to run deep in him.