Men-of-Action-Seres-04 -Saints and Sinners

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Saints and Sinners

Copyright © 2011 Shunta Montgomery

All Rights Reserved

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Publisher’s Note:

Saints and Sinners is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, event or locales is entirely coincidental.

Special Thanks

Thank you, Barb, for catching the mistakes I missed.

Your assist with editing has been wonderful.

Thank you to my friend, U.S. Air Force Colonel Susan Cardin-Hoffdahl, who entertained my questions about military men. Thanks for your expertise on special ops, and Navy SEALs. I’m still using all the information you took the time to help me understand.

And, last, but not least, thanks to all of my readers for showing your support for my work by buying and reading my books.

By Capri Montgomery

The McGregor Affair

Dream Walker

The Geneva Project

The Admiral’s Daughter

Dangerous Obsessions

Watch Over Me

Educating Australia

Maid for Hire

The Map Trilogy

Sleeping Inn

My Brother’s Wife

The Bride Wore Black

Murder Unveiled

The Thirteenth Floor

The Proposition

Ride a Cowboy

And Many Others…

Coming Soon:

Keep a lookout for
Secrets and Lies
, book five in the Men of Action Series.

Saints and Sinners

"
Y
ou're bluffing," Javier Chavez grinned wide as he held the Brusletto Bamsen Hunting Knife to Alaina's throat. The heavy scent of his spicy aftershave hung thick in the air. The sweat from his body dampened his shirt. Alaina could feel the heat, his heat, as the five inch steel blade pressed close to her carotid artery. His free arm locked firmly around her chest, holding her petite frame hard against his body. She knew he could kill her with one slip of his hand. Even though she knew the danger Mr.

Chavez posed she still had something more threatening looming over her.

Right now, Javier Chavez wasn’t exactly who she was worried about.

"I'm a SEAL we don't bluff."

Alaina watched this stranger standing before her. Dark hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders, firm chest, narrow waist and long legs completed Saints and Sinners

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the tough exterior. His ease as he held his Smith and Wesson nine millimeter semi-automatic trained on her, the steadiness of his voice and the detached look in his eyes told her he was not bluffing at all. He had every intention of shooting the hostage--unfortunately she was the hostage.

He was at ease with his weapon, as if it were an extension of his body, of the man himself. Pulling the trigger would probably be as easy for him as breathing was.

Her heartbeat pulsed wildly with fear. If Javier didn't kill her this man surely would, and for what? A few government secrets couldn't have been worth her life. Her mother, Elizabeth James, director of the CIA, was always wreaking havoc on her life. Even moving to the farthest corners of the States hadn't kept Alaina safe. What was it this time? She could have guessed they wanted the release of some prisoner the CIA had in holding somewhere. Or maybe they wanted information on some joint security effort. It had to include the military or else they wouldn't have sent a Navy SEAL in to get her. Whatever the secrets were she was sure they were going to get her killed, just as they had gotten her father killed.

Great; thirty years of life and it all came down to this, this moment where the only thing flashing before her eyes was darkness. The words,

"don't kill me" raced through her mind. She wasn't sure to which man she silently pleaded. She only knew she didn't want to die. Her captors had already killed Edita, the overly friendly woman she had shared a canoe with during their group adventure tour of Barton Creek Cave.

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Group may have been too strong of a word since there was only the guide, Edita and Alaina. In fact, Edita had been a last minute addition as a single traveler. If Edita hadn’t signed on it would have simply been her guide, Mr. Chavez, and herself. She hadn't spent one moment questioning her guide’s credentials. He seemed like the average resort tour guide operator. She paid her money at the front desk, arrived at the tour departure, and met Mr. Chavez. He had been professional, friendly, even accommodating. He didn't protest when Edita wanted to join the tour, he simply explained the rules of following close behind him. He explained the cave and advised both of them to have their cameras ready because once they entered the cave there would be "much" to photograph.

Maybe she had been so excited to see Barton Creek Cave that she hadn't allowed herself to take note of any red flags before getting into the canoe. Everything had been going well when they entered the cave. The formations and the cultural artifacts had captivated her. She pulled out her medium format Mamiya 7II, loaded with her favorite slide film and prepared to shoot. Mr. Chavez had already assured her that he would make longer stops since the tour group was so small. He had said anything they wanted to see or know about they could just ask and he would gladly alter their course a little. His plan seemed perfect. Most tours she had taken were crowded, with everybody vying for the perfect take home shot, and her trying to keep enough breathing space to shoot. Normally, being five feet and one half inch, she wouldn't forget the half if anybody asked, she would get pushed and shoved as if she weren't standing there. She long Saints and Sinners

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ago learned a little nudge back halted that problem in its tracks. So when Mr. Chavez's small tour group went out she had every intention of enjoying herself. Then, as she aimed her camera on one of the nearby walls, her attention turned to a shadow of movement in the far corner. It was dark, too dark in the area to see what was moving. She heard skeletal bones shift and her first thought was a snake was slithering around on the rocks. She ignored the disruption, and perhaps that was mistake number two. Her first mistake had been trusting Mr. Chavez.

They found themselves surrounded by men with guns, loaded onto a small motor boat and carried off to the river bank before hiking through the jungle to a remote hut. They had killed Edita within the first three days, and Alaina knew it would soon be her turn to die. Yet, for some reason, they had kept her relatively comfortable. Bathroom breaks were awarded, of course that consisted of squatting out in the jungle while Mr.

Chavez's partner in crime pointed his gun at her. She had been allowed to wash in a nearby pond under the same conditions. She had been fed, never beaten except for the one time when her face got betrayed by her mouth.

She couldn't understand why they hadn't killed her, but after what she assumed was a few weeks in captivity, she figured out their reason. They wanted something, and she was the key to getting it; or so they thought.

They obviously knew nothing about her mother. Liz would sell her own mother to the Devil if she thought it could advance her career.

If Alaina had believed in heaven and hell then she would at least have some comfort that she would soon be with her dad. She didn't believe Capri Montgomery 5

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in the concept of either, and even if she had she wasn't sure if her life would have put her in the category of saint or sinner. She wasn’t evil, but she wasn’t an angel either.

She felt tears fall from her eyes and gently grace her cheek. She couldn't watch this unfolding nightmare so she shut her eyes tight and prayed to whatever God there was that she wouldn't suffer long. The anticipation of death was tearing her apart inside. She wasn't eager to die, but she wanted either man to do what they planned to do and stop torturing her. She wanted her heart to stop trying to sledgehammer its way out of her chest. She wanted to stop feeling the immense fear that being held at knife point, while having a gun pointed at her from across the small room, had brought on. She wanted this over. She wanted to be free. One way, or the other, she just wanted to be free of these men, of this hell that had been forced upon her.

For some unknown reason she opened her eyes and looked into the eyes of the man who had the power of life and death over her. Dark, cold, calculated. He stared back, down the cold barrel of steel, without a hint of compassion. Fear lodged thick in her throat as the man applied gentle pressure on the trigger. It was a warning to Mr. Chavez, and to her, as to what would come next. The next move he made would fully release the trigger.

"You don't do that!" Javier removed the blade from her throat just long enough to point his commanding hand at the man in front of him. It was long enough. With one pull of the trigger Alaina felt the stinging, Saints and Sinners

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burning sensation of the bullet hitting her arm and she went down hard.

One more loud pop and her abductor was dead.

Seconds seemed to pass before she felt a large hand wrap around her uninjured arm. "On your feet," came the commanding tone.

"You shot me."

"Bullet just grazed you. It's your arm, not your leg, so get on your feet and move."

In any other situation his rude tone would have elicited harsh criticism from her, but this wasn't any other situation. She was well aware that the other men had probably heard the shot and if they didn't get out of there they would both be in trouble. He would be dead and she would still be captive, or worse. Mr. Chavez was the one who kept the other men away from her.

She rose to her feet. She shivered, looking at the lifeless body of the man on the floor. One single shot to the head had killed him. She allowed this man, her rescuer, to pull her his way. She knew not his name, nor did she care. She wanted away; away from the situation, away from him, away from the world her mother had created for her. She just wanted to get State side and move on with her life.

Recent events brought an entirely new outlook on traveling abroad, on traveling anywhere for that matter. She couldn't afford the fear factor.

She was an artist. She could avoid vacationing, but she couldn't avoid going to debut shows of her work. Like every other painful event in her Capri Montgomery 7

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life she would just have to get over this, use her art to help her deal with the fear, the pain, the heartache.

"Down."

Before she could process his words she felt his big hand pushing against her shoulder and knocking her to the ground.

"Ouch," she moaned as dirt hit her wound. "What is your problem?"

"Quiet," he barked abruptly as he knelt on one knee beside her.

She glared up at him, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but she stopped short when she saw that same determined look in his ash eyes that he had just before he shot her. True to form, his finger eased back on the trigger and that eerie pop blared out again. A soft thud followed the sound of his weapon firing. He checked their surroundings from his knelt position before wrapping his hand around her arm and pulling her up with him.

"Walk," he commanded.

She wasn't a dog. She didn't sit, walk, speak or do anything else on command. If it weren't for the fact that she was still in danger she would have apprised him of that fact. Instead, she walked forward as quickly as he dragged her beside him.

"What is your name?" She wanted to know now because she planned to tell his commanding officer about his tactics. Saving her life or not, he had shot her, pushed her around, dragged her by her arm, and been entirely rude. Somebody needed to teach the man how to rescue a hostage.

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"Quiet."

"No. I will not be quiet. I thank you for saving my life, but your attitude could use some help. Now I asked you a question." She stopped walking and yanked her arm free from his vice-like grip.

"And I told you to be quiet. We're not in this jungle alone. If you don't shut up and stop giving away our position I'll knock you out myself."

Her eyes widened. He had that look again; the one that told her he was deadly serious.

"Walk or be dragged. The choice is yours."

"You've been dragging me all along," she snapped, but quickly moved her feet to walk beside him. She just needed to make it back to the States, and then she and Mr. Cranky Pants could go their separate ways.

They walked through the jungle and they seemed to be heading deeper into it, not out, but then again she wasn't exactly sure of their position and he obviously was. At least she hoped he knew where he was going, because by her recollection of memory, the river was back the other way.