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Ryan locked his knees to stop himself from collapsing. “She killed him?”
“That’s what the local authorities think.”
His throat was dry, and it took a couple of attempts to swallow. He knew he should say something, but he couldn’t formulate any words. She was a murderer? He’d let a murderer get close enough to bed him and clean him out. Hell, he didn’t deserve to be part of Benson Security. He was as big a screw-up as Belinda’s brother.
He felt a hand on his arm and tore his eyes from the laptop screen to see Elle’s sympathetic smile. “If it’s any consolation, she didn’t have a previous record.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, it’s a great consolation that her first foray into crime was to kill her husband.”
“I think there’s more to the story than meets the eye,” Elle said.
Ryan didn’t care. She’d made a fool of him. Damaged his standing with his team. Put their operation to find Belinda and Beast in danger. So, no, he didn’t give a crap about any mystery surrounding her husband. He only cared about one thing.
“Is she involved with the Martinez cartel? Did she have anything to do with this kidnapping?”
“No,” Elle said. “I’m certain the timing was pure coincidence.”
“Good.” Ryan nodded and straightened his shoulders. In that case, he was done with Essie, whoever she the hell she really was. “I need to make sure that second boat is here on time.”
Elle held out a hand to stop him. “I think there’s more to the story, Ryan. I think she’s in trouble.”
“Damn right she is.” Ryan pushed past Elle. “She killed her husband and stole from me.”
“No. I think she’s in trouble,” Elle called after him as he walked away.
Elle could tell Esperanza’s—no, Esther’s—story to someone else. As far as he was concerned, she’d taken enough from him already. He didn’t give a damn if she was in trouble. All he cared about was helping his team and getting the kidnapped pair back home safe. He’d learned his lesson. He wouldn’t be that careless again. From now on, he was going to be all about being professional. That way, no more women could take advantage of him and make him look like a fool to his teammates.
He stalked over to where Callum and Lake were discussing the operation with the rest of the team. He nodded at them, pulled up a chair and put Esperanza out of his mind for good.
Chapter 28
They woke at first light. After they were dressed and had condensed what they needed into one pack for John to carry, they shared the chocolate bar for breakfast. Neither of them seemed inclined to talk. It was as though the day loomed over them. Belinda felt the jungle pressing in on her. With each agonising step she took, it became harder to see things to delight in. Instead, it was a world of danger and treachery, ready to pounce and eat her alive. Even the colourful macaws couldn’t lift her mood. All she wanted was to go home.
The compression bandage on her knee helped somewhat, although it still hurt to walk, especially over ground that was uneven and littered with obstacles. The wound in her side throbbed with fiery pain, and she suspected it was infected. Not from the jungle, but from the dirty knife that had been used to cut her. She didn’t mention it to John—there was nothing he could do about it—and she’d lathered the site in antiseptic cream and hoped for the best. If there had been antibiotics in their stolen medical kit, she would have taken them, but the only medication she’d found was aspirin. She’d taken two, hoping they’d help her walk on her swollen knee.
“We can stop here for a few minutes,” John said as he looked back at her. “Get our bearings. Make sure you drink enough.”
Thanks to her bamboo trick, they had plenty of water. They needed it. The heat sucked the moisture out of their bodies with an unrelenting greed. Belinda didn’t argue; she sat on the nearest tree stump beside her, took the water bottle John handed to her and drank. It didn’t matter how much she drank—she still felt as though she were dying of thirst.
John gave her a look that said he was worried about her, and she answered with a smile that made the cut on her lip sting. He crouched in front of her, tucking her tangled hair behind her ear. His face was soft, his eyes tender. She blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes.
“Don’t be nice to me right now,” she said. “I think I would crumple.”
“Me? Nice? You’re thinking of a different man, Hollywood. Tell me who he is so I can introduce him to the Beast.” He flashed his tattooed knuckles at her.
She traced a fingertip over the letters. “When did you get this done?”
“When I was fourteen. I won my first underground fight and I wanted to celebrate.”
“Fourteen,” she said softly. “So young. At fourteen, I was in a high school for the performing arts and worried I wouldn’t get the lead in our Christmas production.”
“Did you? Get the lead?” His voice was tender.
It was hard to imagine him fighting to survive on th
e street while she chased boys, discussed lipstick with her friends and dreamed of becoming the next Ingrid Bergman.
“Yes,” she said. “It led to a role in a West End play. My first professional job.”
