Hush by Cherry Adair Page B

se dice? This little piggy?”
    Jesus.
    â€œMy daddy is head of the CIA,” Acadia said in a cool, surprisingly calm voice. “He’ll pay whatever you ask, but if you hurt us, he’ll kill every friend and relative you have, and then he’ll hunt you down until you don’t have anywhere to hide.”
    The ice in her tone made Zak’s narrow-eyed gaze slide sideways.
    â€œI love him, but he is not—” She shuddered. “My father is a cruel man. He killed my mother in cold blood because she just looked at the president of the United States at a dinner party .”
    She’d just managed to convey a powerful father, great wealth, and a presidential connection all in one breath. Bullshit. But impressive. Her bluff might protect her. For a while.
    â€œAsegúrese bien de que están atados.” Unimpressed, Piñero told her men to secure them well. “Vamos al campo.” Sheturned on her heel and stalked off, leaving her men to haul the captives roughly to their feet and encourage them—with an unnecessary and vicious prod from the barrel of one of the Uzis—to follow her to the tree line.
    Zak staggered forward in Piñero’s wake. “Wie stark bist du verletzt?” he whispered to Gid as they walked side by side through the dense grass and lush foliage, the sun beating a hot brand on the crown of his unprotected head.
    It was unlikely that the two men behind or the three in front understood German, but he kept his voice just loud enough for his brother to hear him.
    â€œRibs geknackt.” Ribs cracked. Gid slanted him a look that tried to catalog every ache Zak wasn’t acknowledging himself. “Du?”
    â€œIch bin gut.” Barring a few bruises, anyway. It wasn’t anything a damn long soak in a hot tub wouldn’t soothe. More important, he needed to know how badly that cracked rib was going to hamper them. “Kannst du laufen?”
    If Gid wasn’t able to run, they were going to have to start thinking about a plan B, C, and D. Because Zak suspected there weren’t going to be that many chances to make a break for it before these goons realized there was no ransom money coming.
    â€œJa,” his brother assured him. “Sprechen das wort.” Say the word.
    He got the point. As the less injured of the two—and not counting Barbie—he’d have to be the one to give the word to roll out. Zak hoped like hell it wouldn’t be the last fucking word he ever said.
    He watched the guards closely, but they didn’t seem too worried that the prisoners would bolt. Why should they? There was nothing for thousands of miles but jungle, flat-topped mountains, and rivers. Stepping off the rudimentary path meant death.
    Every now and then the guards in back fell behind to have a smoke, and Gideon, who’d taken the lead, let more and more space open up between himself and the guys ahead. Zak kept one close eye on them, and one on the suddenly all-too-silent blonde between them.
    Her clever little fingers dipped into another pocket, and she reached forward awkwardly to hand Gideon several aspirin. Zak did his best to block the motion from the guards behind them with his body, and frowned as Gideon chewed the bitter pills dry. That was enough to tell Zak that his brother’s ribs were hurting more than he was letting on.
    Serious problem. The more deeply they penetrated the jungle, the more dire their situation became. Making a break for it now, no matter how inattentive their captors were, wouldn’t exactly be optimal, Zak knew. But given the circumstances, he’d act on whatever opportunity arose.
    He was in the best shape he’d been in his life. So was Gideon, but not with that injury. And Barbie, as valiant as she was, was already flagging. Over the last hour her steps had become slower and slower.
    And the guards, now realizing how much space had opened between them, closed in again. There went