style="font-size:15px;"> In her mind, they had no chance of escape. Don’t try anything, Jett. Please.
“What now?” Jett snapped at Tom. “Are you ready to tell us what you really want?”
Tom turned to the two who were pulling Del Young from the truck. “Strap him to the stretcher securely. The first part is vertical.”
“The first part of what?” Sarah said.
He glanced at her as if he had just now remembered her presence. “The journey.”
“The journey where?” she nearly shrieked. “Where are you taking us?”
Tom smiled. “Back home. To the United States.”
It was not the answer she’d expected, and it left her dumb with surprise. He was returning them to the US? Had she been wrong about Tom and his colleagues?
Jett snorted. “I don’t see a border crossing anywhere around here.”
“There are many ways to cross the border.”
“Why not do it the easy way?” Jett countered. “We’re Americans. Drive us to the border. Turn us over to the authorities, and they’ll investigate. We’ll get home eventually.”
“Eventually is not quick enough. We have a prearranged meeting.”
The truth was starting to trickle out. “With whom?” she asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Jett strode forward abruptly. The man behind him stepped up, immediately pressing a gun into Sarah’s temple. The circle of cold metal dug into her skin, and her heart stuttered into an irregular rhythm. One quiver of his finger and she would be dead. It was terrifying and surreal. Her brain did not believe it, but her flesh went cold.
“Don’t,” Jett snarled. “Don’t touch her.”
“There will be no need for violence,” Tom said calmly, “if you cooperate and do as you’re told. You are navy, aren’t you?” A tone of mockery crept into his voice. “You should be well versed in taking orders.”
Jett’s eyes glittered as he looked from the man holding the gun to Sarah. The muscles in his arms were tensed, every sinew rigid, his body a coiled spring.
She locked on his stare. “It’s okay,” she said firmly. “We aren’t going to resist. We will do as you say and he won’t hurt me. Right, Jett?”
His eyes narrowed, wheels no doubt turning as he calculated the chances of knocking the guy with the gun away from her. He could do it—she’d seen him practicing in the ring with a mixed martial arts instructor back in their dating days. But the other three men stood at a careful distance, hands on their weapons, watching. They would not get close until they had to.
Jett would die. The thought made her stomach tie itself into knots. Her former love, her lost best friend—she could not stand the thought of watching him cut down in front of her eyes. For her.
“Right, Jett?” she repeated softly. “This man is not going to hurt me.”
Though he did not completely remove the gun, her guard moved it away from her head. His conciliatory gesture to avoid bloodshed, which must have been part of his orders.
After a moment of hesitation, Jett recoiled a fraction, just enough. Sarah’s knees went weak with relief, but she held herself steady. If he could be strong, so could she.
“All right,” Tom said. “Now that we are clear, it’s time to go.”
Where? Sarah wondered, her mouth too dry to say it aloud. Jett went to her and took her cold hands in his. He gave her fingers a squeeze, and she squeezed back. The skin on his wrists was raw where he’d chafed against the restraints. She wished she could soothe the angry wounds, but he would not take comfort from her. Blinking back tears of relief, she waited to see what on earth would happen next. Together, they watched.
Tom went to a stack of pallets and he and another man pushed it away. He leaned to the floor, tracing his fingers along the filthy concrete until he found a small divot, which he used as a handle to heave a neatly cut section of the cement upward. It swiveled open on invisible hinges.
“Drug runners are resourceful, aren’t they?” Tom said with a smirk.
“This is a drug runner’s tunnel?”
Tom nodded. “One of the more sophisticated. Gets the product right into the States without the need for any border crossings or security checks.”
Sarah gaped as the men started down a sturdy wooden ladder, carrying Del Young on his stretcher. In moments, they had disappeared deep into the vertical tunnel.
Tom gave a formal bow. “After you,” he said.
Dread surged through her body, and for a brief moment she did not think she could get her legs to take her into that dark place. One look at Tom convinced her that if force was necessary, he would not hesitate. Swallowing her fear, Sarah made her body obey.
For the second time that day, she found herself climbing down a ladder, wondering if she was heading toward escape—or a dead end.
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