“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. They could be taking us across the border into Colombia.”
“I’m not,” Marisol said. “I am taking you to Las Grutas. It is only five kilometers.”
I leaned forward so I could see around Carter. “Doesn’t grutas mean caves?” I didn’t wait for a response before I elbowed the stupid doctor. “She’s taking us to the caves. That doesn’t sound sketchy at all.”
“Not sketchy. At least, not the part where my abuela lives.” Her wobbly smile wasn’t reassuring.
“I’m beginning to think Marisol speaks English,” Carter muttered.
I ignored the Carternapping woman and focused on the doc himself. “Could you not at least have asked a few simple questions first? Like, ‘Hey, stranger, what town are we headed to, and is your sketchy friend going to return us after?’ Or, ‘Can you wait a sec while I message HQ and let them know we’re traveling deep into uncharted territory?’”
He shrugged.
I glared at Marisol again. “You’re taking us back to Gelada after we see your abuela. Do you understand? No setting up a clinic in your village or whatever. The doctor’s program doesn’t allow—”
“How did you learn English?” Carter asked Marisol in the same friendly tone he used to put nervous patients at ease. “You’re far away from a city out here.”
“La antena parabólica,” she said with a laugh. “American television channels.”
“Satellite dish,” I said to Carter. The truck bounced hard enough to bruise my spleen.
They talked happily for what seemed like ten hours. I spent that time trying desperately not to think about the feel of Carter’s hot naked body beneath mine and the sharp gasp he made while coming against me. That simple frot had been hot as fuck, and I couldn’t help but replay it in my mind on a dirty, mesmerizing loop.
Stop thinking of fucking your principal.
According to my watch, it was actually closer to forty-five minutes by the time the pickup pulled into a cluster of small buildings. We’d gained a little altitude, and the trees had opened up to reveal earthen buildings with clay tile roofs. The area in front of the buildings was paved in stones, which didn’t make the ride any smoother.
The few people out and about craned their necks to see who Marisol had brought back with her. Before pulling up outside of a small house that had been painted pink once upon a time, Marisol repeated her thanks to Carter in both Spanish and English until he’d finally said, “No mas, por favor,” with a kind smile on his face.
She led Carter into the building while I grabbed our supplies and followed. Just before stepping into the dim light of the building, I took another look around the hillside village. Several pairs of eyes were watching us, which was no surprise, but I noticed a teenage boy turn and begin to run up a mountain path as if going to tell others of our arrival.
As soon as he turned his back to me, I saw the familiar outline of a handgun under his T-shirt. He clearly had a holster on the waistband of his ratty cargo shorts. Why was he armed?
I’d done plenty of research about this part of Venezuela before leaving on the trip. As much as I hated being on a babysitting job, I still took my job seriously. That included mission prep which necessitated location intel, multiple evacuation plans, background checks of the principal people Dr. Rogers would come in contact with, and keeping critical information and communication devices close at hand.
Doctors Across Continents had assigned Carter to Gelada, which was located on the edge of the Andes mountains. It was a good two hundred kilometers east from the border of Columbia, where 80 percent of the world’s cocaine supply was produced. Venezuela had its fair share of drug trafficking, but I’d made sure there was no cartel activity anywhere around here before I’d approved the Gelada assignment. Champ had even reached out to a contact at the DEA for the latest intel on the area and verified that all the known cartel members with ties to the region were currently operating out of Caracas or elsewhere.
But that didn’t explain why a kid in a rural village was open carrying… unless the intel was seriously wrong.
I stayed extra close to Carter once we entered the small home. My eyes were constantly on the move, and I immediately looked for alternate exits and sketched out escape plans. I was almost positive it was an overreaction, but my gut didn’t usually ping unless there was trouble.
It was a low-key ping, but it was there.
I pulled out my cell phone and wasn’t surprised to find no service. The satellite phone was in my emergency kit. I rummaged through the bag until I found it and slid it into a pocket in my pants just in case. I also checked the knife I always had strapped to my calf as well as the Glock 19 I’d smuggled into the country and carried at my lower back. I went ahead and slipped an extra mag of ammunition in another pants pocket while Carter was busy making nice with the old lady on a bed in the corner of the one-room house.
After bringing the medical supplies closer to Carter, I took another peek outside from one of the front windows. Marisol watched me pace between windows. When I turned to ask her to make sure her friend wasn’t leaving with the truck, I noticed her biting her lip nervously.
“¿Que pasando?” I asked in a low voice.
“You’re making me nervous,” she said. “You’re a soldier?”
I shook my head. “No. Only the doctor’s helper.”
She didn’t believe me, but she nodded anyway before wandering back over to help translate for Carter and the abuela. It was obvious the older woman was very sick. Carter gave her some oxygen from the small portable bottle we’d brought and connected the EKG leads while reassuring her in a measured voice with simple words like “Está bien” and “Càlmate.”
I couldn’t deny the man had a stellar bedside manner. He was kind and gentle, patient and considerate. I could see why he’d become a doctor and why he’d done so well at Vanderbilt in Nashville. It was less obvious to me why he’d moved to Great Nuthatch in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee. I couldn’t imagine what about the place appealed to a blue-blooded guy like him. But listening to his stories about his friends—and their pig—and seeing how hard he worked to make a difference… maybe it wasn’t such a stretch to see why he fit there.
After a few minutes, I heard Carter laugh. I turned away from the window and watched his face flush with mirth. “No,” he said. “No…” He looked up at Marisol as if searching for the right word. The young woman rolled her eyes and blushed.
“No casado,” she said, looking away.
Not married.
I glanced back out the window and noticed everyone had gone back to not paying us much attention. Yul, the guy who’d driven us up the mountain from Gelada, had come into the house and helped himself to a pitcher of chicha, a sweet, refreshing rice drink. I heaved a sigh of relief knowing our ride hadn’t taken off without us.
Carter spoke to Marisol. “Tell her she’s not my mother so she doesn’t get to tease me about getting married.”
I watched him continue to work. He was paying closer attention to the old woman on the bed than he appeared to be. Tiny wrinkles of concern bracketed his mouth the way they’d done when he’d diagnosed a small child with pneumonia a few days ago.