Page 11 of Bad Rio

With any luck he’d be able to load her up on his Vespa tomorrow, sneak out of Chihuahua State, and deliver her into the hands of the proper authorities. He wasn’t really going to take her straight to her father, as he’d implied. She didn’t need to know that. He would simply pass her on to Black Eagle operatives, the organization that employed him. That was how he liked it. A simple hand-off, a contract fulfilled, pay me now, thanks.

Next!

Right then, he needed the job to go smoothly, with zero fuck-ups. For anything less than a perfect result, this time his employer, Harrison, would can him.

When he’d left a sleeping Becca this morning, he’d had to travel miles away from the mountains to get proper cell phone service and communicate with his Black Eagle boss. He knew how to avoid major roadways, stay out of sight. On the outskirts of a small village he’d gotten two bars on his cell and pulled the Vespa off road to make the call.

Harrison was pleased to learn he’d grabbed the girl. “Bring her back healthy,” Harrison warned. “A lot’s riding on this. Her father’s an important man.”

“She’s healthy,” Rio told him. “No worries. Just got a little graze on her leg during the getaway.”

“A graze?” Harrison missed nothing. His voice hardened. “What sort? Don’t tell me by a bullet. Donottell me that.”

“Er, it’s shallow,” Rio prevaricated. “Nothing serious.”

Harrison swore softly. “I don’t need to remind you that there can be no repeats of the last contract. Screw up again, you’re done.”

“No worries,” Rio said. “I’ll have her to your men by morning.” He gave Harrison a delivery time at a predetermined location, a small valley several miles away. Harrison had no idea where his mountain cabin was, and he’d keep it that way.

It couldn’t be soon enough. While Rebecca De Monte was more than pleasant to look at, with long, thick mahogany hair, a slim figure and an impressive bust line, he didn’t need to spend any more time with her than strictly necessary. Shame, though. Her breasts were amazing.

However, it was always best to remain detached. Glancing over at her now, he saw that her eyes were rimmed with fluid.

“Are you crying?” he asked, frowning. That was all he needed. She hadn’t said anything after his rant.

“No.” She rubbed at her eyes, dug her fingers into their sockets. “My eyes are just watering. I woke up with the sniffles. Maybe I’m catching a cold.”

He noticed for the first time that her nose was pink. Shadowy circles ringed her eyes. She really didn’t look all that well. Digging in his pack, he found a few clean cloths and handed them over.

“Thanks,” she said, and looked at him. She pressed the fabric to her nose. “I really don’t want those men to cut my head off.”

He grunted. If she were at least smart enough to do as he said and not give him any trouble, she’d survive just fine.

As the morning wore on, Becca looked worse. Her nose began to pour in earnest and Rio was forced to rip a towel into pieces so she could staunch the dripping. Her eyes drooped tiredly and she didn’t move from the bed, didn’t eat the muffin or sandwich he offered, and didn’t want more coffee.

For a caffeine addict, that was strange. He knew about her love for the drink. He knew other things about her, too. It was part of his job to research his subjects thoroughly and know going in what he was dealing with.

Rebecca De Monte lived alone in a nice San Antonio, Texas, condominium. In high school, she’d excelled on the swim team. She’d graduated from University of Texas at Austin with a business degree. She had no current boyfriend, a wide circle of friends, and a robust social life. Her clothing was always stylish, yet she stuck mostly to stark black and white. She was close to her two brothers and they all worked for their father. She kept an aquarium of frogs. She loved dark chocolate. And muffins.

In another life, in different circumstances, he might have tried to date her. Not in a committed sort of way, that wasn’t him. Rather, in a consensual, sleeping-together-when-it-suited-him way. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind he’d enjoy bringing her to multiple orgasms. Studying her, he recalled the luscious, silky feel of her flesh when he’d placed his hand on her thigh. He wondered what she’d be like in the sack. Soft, kittenish and shy? Or a wild, raging tiger on the attack?

The sensual speculation made him instantly hot and hard.

However, in their current circumstance, he would remain hands off. This was business. He couldn’t touch her that way.

He wouldn’t. Never.

During the next several hours while Rio cleaned his gun, Becca dozed. By late afternoon she was running a temperature, the fever coloring her cheeks a splotchy pink, heating her skin, and making her shiver.

“I’m so c-c-cold,” she told him, huddling into herself. Still in the cap and sweatshirt he’d given her, and buried beneath the quilts, she looked miserable. Her body shook.

It occurred to him that her wound might have become infected.

He stood up. “I need to see your leg.”

“No,” she said firmly. “It’s fine. I want to stay under the covers.”

Despite her vehement protests, he lifted the quilts and firmly took her calf into his hands. “Just take a second.”

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