Page 73 of Tainted Obsession 1
The way he’s looking at me makes the back of my neck prickle with instinctive warning, but I can’t give up now. I’ve exposed myself, and I have to see this through.
I don’t want to tell them about Massimo. They might know about his friendship with Adrián, and there’s a good chance that Adrián pays them to look the other way while he does business here.
I focus my attention on the dumbstruck one, sensing less danger from him. He’s more likely to assist me than the one who studied me with predatory interest.
“Will you help me? I just want to go home.”
“Come with us,” the dangerous one commands.
I hesitate, keeping my eyes on the quiet one. “Please?”
He glances at the other man, then nods at me. “I’ll take you to speak to our superior officer.”
I huff out a small, relieved breath, but my senses remain on high alert. I walk between the two men, edging my body slightly closer to the quiet one. He keeps his eyes forward, assessing our surroundings like the trained soldier he is. The dangerous one’s gaze strays to me.
I pretend not to notice. Once I contact the American authorities, no one will dare to touch me.
My feet ache in the designer heels, a ridiculous choice for the hardpacked earth streets as we leave the wealthy neighborhood behind. But Massimo didn’t provide me with anything as mundane as sneakers, and I didn’t take the time to change before making my escape. I didn’t have the luxury of time. I saw my chance and took it.
Blisters are beginning to form on my heels by the time we reach an official-looking building constructed of gray concrete blocks. It isn’t remotely ornate, but it’s in far better repair thanmost of the surrounding buildings. Someone allocates money to keep this place in order.
The Colombian military or Adrián Rodríguez?
I suppress a shiver and keep my composed mask carefully in place as I step inside, flanked by the two men as though they’re my personal guards.
Or my jailors.
The urge to turn around and keep the dangerous one in my line of sight is almost overwhelming. I lift my chin, striding with purpose as though I know where I want to go.
A broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a military-short haircut sits behind a massive desk. When we enter the building, he doesn’t immediately look up from his paperwork. That signals that he’s in charge. Or at the very least, he outranks the men accompanying me.
My high heels click on the floor as I step toward him, and the sound captures his attention. He glances up from his papers and immediately freezes. His shocked expression would be almost comical if I weren’t so desperate for his urgent help.
“My name is Evelyn Day,” I say quickly, wanting to plead my case before anything else happens. I have to maintain control of this situation, or everything could go very wrong, very quickly. “I managed to escape from the man who kidnapped me and brought me here. Could you please help me contact the American authorities so that I can go home?”
He stares at me for several long, painful heartbeats.
Then he throws back his head and roars out a laugh.
My blood runs cold.
Instinctively, I take a step back. Rough hands grab my upper arms, trapping me in place.
“She says she’s American,” the quiet one says, his tone uncertain.
“I am,” I manage.
Words are my only weapon. These men are armed to the teeth, and even if they weren’t, I don’t have a hope of fighting my way out of here.
“I’m an American citizen,” I assert again, struggling for calm as the older man gets up from his desk and prowls toward me. “If you contact the embassy in Bogotá, they’ll help me get home.”
The older one stops on the edge of my personal space. This close, I can see that his eyes are a dark, forest green, but despite the rich color, they hold no warmth. His buzzed hair is more salt than pepper, and weathered lines from long days in the sun age his face. They could be laugh lines, but the cruel amusement that creases the wrinkles makes my flight instinct kick in.
I try to twist free from the man holding me captive, but his hands clamp down hard enough to bruise.
“Maybe we should contact the embassy,” the quiet one still sounds uneasy. “There might be a reward for her return.”
“If you don’t have the stomach for this, you can leave,” the oldest one sneers.
