Page 67 of Wicked Suspicion

There was shouting, but Case ignored it. The men weren’t going to fire at him, no matter how much they might want to. Bribery might be rampant in Puerto Jardin, but innocent people being shot near the docks was not something even Ramirez could buy his men out of.

As Case began his roundabout route through the city, he considered alternatives. Showing up at the usual places was out. Ramirez’s men would know about the merc bar, and since they’d been tailing him for weeks, they knew about the open-air market, as well as the other usual check-in locations.

He shoplifted a baseball cap. It brought back memories. When his mom had been high, he’d stolen food to eat. Case wasn’t that kid anymore, though, and guilt had him memorizing the name and location of the vendor so he could come back later and pay for it.

He kept his eyes open, not only for the assholes after him but for one of his teammates. It would speed everything up if he could run into someone. No such luck, of course.

It was hours—hours—later when Case felt completely confident no one was on his ass, and he headed for the safe house.

The urge to rush was strong, but he needed to take his time. He needed to keep his guard up and continue to watch his surroundings. No mistakes. He wasn’t letting Nyx get hurt because he made a stupid error.

Case let himself in the kitchen, tapping in the code on the electronic keypad. The house was silent. He went room by room, but it was empty.

Fucking son of a bitch.

He was headed for the door, prepared to go out and look for his team when it registered how stupid that was. He had to avoid the usual locations, and finding a teammate by wandering around a city the size of Trujillo was idiotic. The smartest course of action was to wait.

Scowling, he searched for paper and a pen and settled at the dining room table. He might be forced to sit here, but that didn’t mean he had to twiddle his thumbs. Case sketched out the encampment—the huts, the river, the location of the guards, the topography, and everything else he could remember. On a separate sheet of paper, he jotted down notes about the site.

They’d move Nyx around the camp because it made a rescue more difficult, but he still marked the hut they’d been imprisoned in.

He was sketching out some minor details when the dining-room door opened.

“What are you doing here?” Captain Nguyen asked. “Where’s the Paladin League woman? Upstairs?”

“BD, I’ve got a problem and I need help.”

Half a day and Nyx was bored. Okay, scared, too. But at this moment, mostly bored. She had nothing to do, and with Case gone, she had no one to talk to. At least the raiders had left her alone. She’d rather grapple with the tedium than deal with them.

She’d remeasured the entire hut, making sure she had every inch of the place memorized. The chances were good that Case and his team would be coming in at night and her familiarity with the layout could only help.

Besides, it was something to do.

The sound of boots on the ladder to her hut had Nyx jumping to her feet, heart pounding. A man opened the door and stuck his head in. “You, come with me.”

Nyx hesitated, and he pointed a pistol at her. Scowling, he gestured with the weapon.

Reluctantly, dread in every step, she complied. When she reached the ground, two men escorted her across the camp and inside a large hut. One knocked on a bamboo door and went inside another room. Quiet murmuring reached her, but she couldn’t make out the words.

When he reappeared, he gestured for her to join him. Nyx was a beat too late responding, and the dude standing beside her gave her a shove. She flailed, regained her balance, and entered the room. The door closed. She looked behind her, but the two guards stayed on the other side. She turned her attention to the man sitting behind a quasi-desk, wearing camouflage fatigues.

It must be Ramirez. He was younger than she expected. He appeared to only be in his thirties and he was handsome. Not just a little handsome, but good looking enough that he’d turn heads wherever he went. But if Julián Vargas’s eyes were as flat as a shark’s, Nyx didn’t know how to describe this man’s. They were deader, flatter, soulless. Now she understood why Case preferred Vargas to Ramirez. Julián still had some humanity.

“You must be Señor Ramirez,” she said in Spanish, and Nyx was proud that her voice remained even. She’d been afraid it might crack.

“Colonel Ramirez,” he corrected her. “And your name?”

She didn’t know what Case had told him, so she didn’t dare lie. “Nyx Templeton.”

“Nyx? The Greek goddess of the night.”

“Sí.” She meant to leave it there, but his stare unnerved her. “I was born just after midnight, with lots of dark hair. My parents decided Nyx fit me better than Madison, the name they originally chose for me.”

He ignored her rambling. “Do you believe your fiancé cares enough for you to do what it takes to free you?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“You have no hesitation?”

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