Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Near Trujillo, Puerto Jardin

27 Months Earlier

AS FAR AS PRISONS went, Zo couldn't complain. Torres had put them in a suite for the night, but he'd sent a bodyguard shortly after breakfast to get Finn. Now, she'd finished dinner and hadn't seen anyone for most of the day except the man watching her door and the staff member who'd brought her meals.

Zo paced to the windows and gazed out into the deepening twilight. She had a view of the side yard, but the estate was at a high enough elevation that she could see the lights of Trujillo below. She rested her forehead against the glass. She wanted to get out of here and return to San Isidro.

Where was Finn?

He hadn't cut his own deal and abandoned her. Maybe she was stupid to trust a mercenary, but he came when she called, and he'd watched over her since they met. Last night she'd expected him to put some moves on her since they were sharing a bed, but he slept on top of the blankets so she'd feel safe. So she'd understand he wouldn't force her into anything.

A mercenary and a gentleman—there was a combination she'd never expected to see.

Zo whirled as the door to the room opened. The guard inclined his head. "Se?or Torres would like you to join him for coffee."

She went from bored and restless to terrified in an instant. "Sí," she said, but Zo took a moment to calm her nerves. Her job required her to meet with illegal antiquity brokers, and they were shady characters. She'd learned to control her fear to deal with them, and she needed that same self-command now.

The back patio was as lavish as the house. Lights were placed strategically to ensure she could see well enough not to trip, and more light spilled from the mansion's windows. The guard led her to a table in front of an elaborately carved fireplace. It sat against a curved wall, two tall, round, narrow planters on either side, hiding the large gaps.

Silva and Torres stared at her as she approached with her guard, but Finn stood. She could feel his gaze sliding over her, assessing her wellbeing. He gestured to the other half of the love seat he was occupying at the table and waited until she was seated before sitting again. "How was your day, loquita?" he asked, his gaze locked with hers.

"Mostly tedious and punctuated by delicious food. How was yours?"

Finn seemed to relax at her answer. "Productive."

Torres waved away the man who'd escorted her. "Apologies, Zofia, for your confinement. Business is the province of men, and you'd have been bored."

Zo opened her mouth, thought better of lecturing him, and settled for saying, "I understand."

She looked over at Finn, but his expression and body language told her nothing. The atmosphere felt pleasant, so he must have convinced Torres that he hadn't double-crossed him. Zo jumped when someone reached past her, but the woman did nothing except place a plate of pie de limón in front of her. Another woman put a saucer and coffee cup down on her right side. Zo leaned back as the coffee was poured.

The pie was delicious, and she started to relax as the men talked about soccer. She was about halfway through her dessert when Torres addressed her again. "You received your undergraduate degree at Harvard. Why did you move to UCLA for your graduate degrees?"

It was hard to swallow, and Zo reached for her coffee cup, both to wash down the dessert and to buy herself time. She'd realized last night that she'd been investigated, but he must have received more information in the past twenty-four hours. "My parents decided it was the best school for me to attend for my master's and doctorate degrees. It would be difficult to concentrate on pre-Columbian archaeology at Harvard without taking any classes taught by my mother or father."

"Ah, conflict of interest."

Zo nodded, but she cast a surreptitious glance at Silva. His face remained inscrutable, and she had a bad feeling. The fact that she could feel the tension in Finn's body told her she was right to be concerned.

"It seems you and Henri have a mutual friend," Torres continued.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. "Really?" Zo asked, trying not to sound as scared as she felt.

"Marianna Castillo was your roommate at UCLA," Silva said, joining the conversation.

"Sí," Zo said as dread settled low in her belly. If he learned that she'd come down here solely to look for Mari… "Her father was the Puerto Jardinese sponsor of the Huarona dig my parents co-sponsored. We were the same age and became friends." She was certain they knew this. Girding herself, she asked, "You know Mari? "

A side of Silva's mouth quirked up. "Marianna was a special friend. You must have kept in touch with her after she left her PhD program."

She didn't like the way he said special , but Zo squashed her irritation. "We did, of course, but we didn't talk as much as I would have liked."

It wasn't untrue—Mari was her best friend. Zo had loved sharing an apartment with her and being able to chat with her every day. That had ended on Mari's return to Puerto Jardin.

Silva stared at her, and it took considerable will not to squirm. Or plaster herself against Finn's side.

"Marianna never mentioned me?" Silva asked. His voice gave away nothing.

Zo had been expecting the question. Curving her lips slightly, she asked, "Should she have brought up your name? How long were the two of you friends?"

With a frown, Silva ignored her questions and countered with one of his own. "You didn't meet her on your trips to Puerto Jardin?"

Finn pressed his thigh into hers, and Zo took it as a warning. She didn't know what he was telling her to do, though, and decided to stick to the truth. "We got together for a few lunches, a bit of shopping, but my previous visits down here were for my job, and I had to return to Los Angeles promptly."

She retrieved her coffee cup again, grateful to see her hand was steady as she took a sip.

"You were asking after her on this trip," Silva said without inflection.

The ground here was so shaky that it would be a ten if the Richter Scale could measure it. Zo took a deep breath. She was better at shading the truth than telling outright lies, but she had to pull this off. "I came down to spend Christmas with my friends in San Isidro. Since I had time, I phoned Mari to see if she wanted to have lunch, but she didn't answer my calls. I grew concerned."

Zo was grateful the sky had darkened to night, and that the patio lights cast shadows over their faces. She wouldn't want to deal with this questioning from Silva and Torres if they had a clear view of her expressions.

"And you don't know where she is?" Torres asked, taking over from his second-in-command.

"No, Se?or Torres, I do not," Zo said with complete truth. "Se?or Silva, do you know how I can get in touch with Mari?"

Finn pressed his leg even harder against hers. The question might be audacious, but it would appear odd if she didn't ask Silva about Marianna. Wouldn't it?

Before Silva could reply, a shout interrupted their conversation. Gunfire erupted in the distance. Her breath caught in her chest.

The bodyguards moved, surrounding Torres and Silva. They were hustled toward the house. Zo stood, took a step to follow them, but a guard pushed her back. If she couldn't go to the house, what should she do?

A thud returned her attention to the patio. A man was out cold on the flagstones, and Finn was armed. More gunfire. Closer this time.

Zo looked around, but there was nothing to use as a weapon except her spoon. She grabbed it off her dessert plate, licked it clean, and clenched her fist around it. If she went for the eyes, it would hurt.

"Stay down," Finn ordered and pointed toward the ground.

He didn't have to tell her twice. Zo dropped to her belly under the table, head down. She heard a whup-whup-whup sound. Helicopters. The noise intensified as they neared.

The patio went dark, and so did the house.

Deep rat-a-tat s echoed through the night. The rotors grew louder and louder, as did the booms. Zo looked up. The copter was coming toward the patio, big guns blazing. She gripped her spoon tighter.

The automatic rifle fire on the ground neared their position.

"Move," Finn ordered.

"Where?" She made it to her feet.

He pulled her to the fireplace and gestured toward the crescent-shaped crevice. "Get in there and stay quiet."

"Finn?" The gap between the fireplace and the curved wall was large, but not big enough for him. He wouldn't fit.

"When it's safe, I'll make this sound." The bird call was something she vaguely remembered from childhood. "Move, Zofia!"

Zo scrambled behind the four-foot-tall planter and squeezed herself into the cleft as deeply as she could fit. Her breath shuddered out in relief, but the moment didn't last long. From what she heard, a full-scale battle was taking place nearby.

And Finn was out there. Somewhere.

Easing forward, she peeked between the planter and the fireplace. She couldn't see anything. She didn't know where Finn was or what he was doing. But she had a bad feeling that he was close. Protecting her.

A bullet ricocheted, hitting the planter in front of her, and Zo tried to burrow deeper into her hideaway. Her breathing sounded loud and her heart rate was probably off the charts. The scariest thing was not knowing what was happening. Now she could only see the stucco wall in front of her—nothing else.

The yard lit up like it was noon, and it blinded her for a moment. When she thought she could see again, she squinted, easing forward to peer between the fireplace and the planter. Armored vehicles had lights aimed at the patio and back of the mansion.

Helicopters hovered; their lights also directed to the house .

Men with assault rifles closed in.

There was shouting, but Zo was slow to understand. Until she saw Finn lay down his gun. As he straightened, his hands were over his head.

He was safe. He was safe!

Men from the presidential brigade rushed forward, grabbed his arms, and cuffed his hands behind his back. He might be uninjured, but Finn was under arrest.