His arms came up around her, pulling her tightly against his body, steadying her.
Marta’s cheek pressed against the hard planes of his chest. Once again, she marveled at how hard his muscles felt beneath her palms and how safe she felt enveloped in his arms.
The truck kept moving, bouncing along the road.
Crusher seemed in no hurry to release his hold.
Frankly, Marta wasn’t in a rush to get away.
After a few more significant potholes, Crusher whispered, “Maybe we should sit before one of us goes flying.”
Marta’s fingers briefly curled into his shirt before she nodded. “We should.”
Still, they remained on their feet for a few more seconds until Crusher loosened his arms from around her body and took her good hand as she lowered herself to sit on the metal floor of the truck. Crusher dropped down beside her.
“Where exactly are we going?” Marta asked.
“My boss has a friend who owns a coffee plantation, an expat who’s been here for the past eight or ten years. They served in Afghanistan together. He has a plane.”
“So, he’s going to fly us to Panama?”
Crusher nodded. “That’s the plan. We just need to get to the coffee plantation. It’s located outside the town we’re headed for.”
“If the driver happens to stop in that town,” Marta pointed out.
“If he doesn’t,” Crusher grinned, “we’ll just have to make enough noise that he stops to figure out what the hell’s going on.”
“And hope he isn’t armed or that he doesn’t have a side job working for Vasquez.” Marta stared down at her bulky wrist, wrapped so neatly in bandages.
“We’ll get out of the back of this truck and make it to my boss’s friend,” Crusher said. “One way or another.”
The truck slowed, made a turn and came to a stop.
Crusher leaped to his feet.
The driver’s door opened and closed, and footsteps crunched on gravel, moving away from the truck.
“He might be going to notify the store owner of the delivery,” Crusher whispered. “Come on.” He pulled Marta to her feet and crossed to the door.
Expecting him to wait for the driver to return and open the door, Marta was surprised when Crusher bent, gripped the metal frame holding the overhead door together and gave it a sharp tug.
The door jerked free of whatever catch had held it in place during the ride and rolled upward.
“I thought we were locked in,” Marta spoke softly.
When it was only halfway up, Crusher ducked low and dropped to the ground.
He reached up, gripped her around the waist and swung her down. Then he reached up and lowered the door. The driver would never know they’d been inside.
After a quick glance around the truck and street, Crusher took Marta’s hand and hurried between buildings, heading away from the main street and the truck that had delivered them there.
By the time they reached the outskirts of town, Marta was out of breath and had a stitch in her side.
Crusher finally stopped in the shadows of some trees, pulled out his satellite phone and placed a call. While he waited for an answer, he grinned at Marta. “I jammed a rock in the lock mechanism on the truck’s door so that it wouldn’t fully engage, just enough for the lock to hold on the bumpy roads.”
Marta frowned. “But you tried to open it, and it didn’t budge.”
“I didn’t pull very hard.”
