He hadn’t gotten off to a very good start. She’d already tried to shoot him, and she definitely had considered shoving a knife into him. The remark about her being out of condition hadn’t helped his cause either. Kane frowned. So far, his scorecard read pretty much zero. A big fat zero, to be exact.
“No, they were drunk and they wanted el presidente’s nephew to kill him. I’m sorry we couldn’t save him, Rose, but we had no time, and we had to get the five-year-old to safety.”
“I know. It’s just hard to think of his mother waiting for him to come home, knowing those horrible monsters took him from her for no reason other than their own amusement.”
Kane didn’t know how to comfort her, so instead, he took her hand and set a much slower pace, catering to her short legs and lack of physical fitness. The terrain changed from pure sand to patches of saw grass. A few hearty flowers tried to grow among the thick stalks. Rocks formed a rough terrace along several of the rolling hills of dirt and sand. This was barren country, without the natural beauty of the desert. The land was so stark, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to build a home in the middle of such a wasteland—unless they were in hiding.
“Who exactly was this man you befriended? To come out here, he must have a lot of enemies.”
She didn’t look up at him, but he caught her smile. “He was in his eighties, and let’s just say he lived a very full life opposing the government. He lost his children and his siblings to the fight and eventually his wife.”
Kane closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to hold on to his sanity. “You befriended a rebel wanted by the government.”
“Well, yes,” she confirmed. “He was very adept at hiding his presence. I was on the run, he was on the run, it was sort of natural. And he needed help.”
She didn’t know it, but she damn well needed Kane. She didn’t have any sense in her pretty head. None.
“You do realize even a man in his eighties could kill you, Rose, if he thought you were a threat to him, especially one who spent an entire life killing those he perceived as enemies.”
She walked in silence beside him, choosing not to see his logic or answer his charge. He scowled down at the top of her head. She was so headstrong she just blazed a path straight to trouble. He was going to have to put a stop to it, that was all. She definitely needed looking after, whether she thought so or not. Satisfied that he wasn’t just being selfish, he walked up the sloping hill, noting the vegetation was thicker in the area than most of the surrounding dirt and sand.
“You’re about to walk right up the roof.”
He halted abruptly. “You’re kidding.”
She looked pleased—and a little smug. “Yes, it’s right there. Take a look around. The place is amazing. To get here, you have to know the GPS location. He was always careful to come in different ways and leave no tracks. There is a dune buggy, and he dragged a carpet behind it to cover the tire marks in the dirt and sand. That was how he would get his supplies. He has a truck parked in a garage in the village right on the edge of the desert. He drove the buggy across the sand and left it in the garage when he shopped with the truck.”
“Clever. And no one ever betrayed him?”
“According to him, everyone who knew about his desert retreat is dead.”
“Just who is this saintly man?”
“His name was Diego Jimenez.”
Kane felt something inside him go still. “And he just happened to tell you about the place?” Diego Jimenez led a shadowy group of rebels determined to overthrow the previous government. They did so by bombing oil and natural gas lines. They had a reputation for killing locals who didn’t agree with their policies. Jimenez had lived by the sword, betraying everything humanity stood for. He had an extensive family, and Kane doubted that they were all dead. He was evil, pure and simple, and Rose couldn’t see beyond a dying old man. Leopards didn’t change their spots, and snakes were snakes.
He took a careful look around, using night vision. The night seemed still, but what had been a place of refuge suddenly felt hostile.
“I know what you’re thinking, but I took care of him until he died. He gave me the location and the keys. He knew I needed a place to lay low until after the baby was born.”
She gestured toward the dirt- and grass-covered roofline. He could see the low rectangular stone structure was situated between the two sloping hills. The way the house had been built, it would catch natural light and crosswinds. From the front the structure looked like a half-buried ruin, which, he was certain, was the entire idea. The shrubs on the roof had been planted and carefully cultivated to look part of the natural surroundings. The dirt looked as if the wind had blown it there, again all natural. Kane walked up the slope to inspect the roof. He had to really look to find the portals that allowed light into the subterranean rooms below. The entire structure looked more like an ancient bridge built between the two slopes, now buried in soil and shrubbery and tall grass stalks.
They walked down the sloping ground to the front door. The walls showing were quite thick.
“The glass in the windows is bulletproof,” Rose said as she unlocked the door.
He caught her shoulder and shoved her none too gently behind him. She didn’t protest, but he heard her sigh overly loud. It didn’t matter. He knew she didn’t—couldn’t—see Jimenez as evil, but he knew better. He didn’t trust rebels, not even eighty-year-old dying rebels. It was just too generous a gesture to hand over the keys to the desert retreat. Something was going on here, something he didn’t trust or understand, but she wasn’t just walking into that house without him clearing every inch of it first.
He handed her back her gun and stepped inside. The interior of the house was cool without being cold. He moved easily in the dark, staying along the wall as he moved through the wide entryway that spilled into a large living room. The furniture was sparse, a couch and two chairs, but they appeared well made and in good condition. A low coffee table was cleared of any magazines or objects. The room held no ashtrays, and the air seemed clean.
He noted two separate arched doorways leading to other rooms and made his way to the nearest one in silence. The floors were hardwood with handwoven, very expensive rugs thrown artistically in front of the couch and chair. The room he entered was a single bedroom. A large double bed with a carved wooden frame came out from the center wall with a large, low chest at the end of it. Bookshelves surrounded the headboard, forming a bridge up around the wall. He could see beneath the bed that no one hid there. A closet drew his attention, and he slipped inside the room and moved to the side of the door. In one move he turned the knob and pulled it open. The space was empty of everything, even clothes.