Course of Action: The Rescue: Jaguar Night / Amazon Gold

Jakun smiled. “Thank you.” She turned and pointed to a stack of fluffy pink towels, soap, comb and brush. There was also shampoo and conditioner nearby. “Get washed as soon as possible.” She walked over to a stack of clothes with a set of sandals on top of them. “Rusak called me by radio and told me your height and weight. He guessed about your shoe size.” She picked up the strapped white sandals. “If they do not fit, I will get you a pair that does.”

“Okay,” Aly said, seeing that there was a pair of jeans, a pink tee, bra and panties. Nothing fancy. Thank God she didn’t have to wear those dresses and five-inch heels.

Jakun seemed pleased and left, closing the door behind her.

Aly ignored the gold faucets and showerhead. She felt as though she’d stepped into some rich man’s estate. Her mind whirled with terror and thoughts of how to escape. She knew she was in shock from being roughed up by Rusak.

As she took a cooling shower, she cried for Juan, her hands against her mouth so no one would hear her sobs. She washed her shoulder-length hair and quickly dried off. The clothes fit. But the designer jeans were too elegant for her. She was a plain Jane, liked utilitarian clothes, not gussied up with embroidery as these were.

The pink tee was loose-fitting and she was grateful. Aly wanted to hide in the clothes. Compared to the other women, she was lush and curvy. The three women reminded her of starving sticks. Runway models. Who were they? Jakun had said she was Don Duarte’s mistress and that the other two were play toys. Did that mean Aly was safe? That the man would leave her alone?

As she walked out of the bathroom and into the living room, Jakun gave her a scathing look.

“I cannot say that Don Duarte is going to be pleased by how you look.” She sniffed. “Really, you look more like the common Indian laborers he employs here.”

Aly said nothing. A quick glance at the other two women, who gave her bored looks and went back to reading their magazines, said it all. In Aly’s opinion, ugly was good.

Jakun came forward and handed her a rubber band. “Put your hair back,” she ordered.

Aly nodded and took the rubber band. In no time, her ponytail settled between her shoulder blades.

“Are you hungry?” Jakun asked.

“No.” Her stomach was a tight knot of unending terror.

“Well, you will be later. I will have the chef make you something. Come.” She gestured toward the main door.

Aly followed the beautiful, graceful and gazelle-like Jakun down the red-tiled walkway. On either side was bougainvillea in bright bloom, fuchsia and other white and red flowers. She took in the details of her surroundings.

There were two levels to the villa. Two floors. The trees practically embraced the villa, some of their limbs hanging over the wall and into the courtyard itself. The smell of orchids, in trees somewhere, provided a hint of clean fragrance. The humidity was high and she was perspiring.

At the dirt plaza that led to a massive ten-foot-high wooden door, Jakun halted. She gestured sharply.

Aly’s heart squeezed. It was Rusak. Oh, God...

“She’s ready,” Jakun said, stepping back. “She’s yours.”

Rusak nodded. He gave Aly a slow appraisal. “Come,” he growled. “Follow me.”

To her relief, Rusak turned on his heel. She hurried to catch up with him as he took the red-tiled walkway around the villa. She saw two black Jeeps and a black Mercedes-Benz being cleaned by several young Indian boys. There were also two women, wearing long, dark blue dresses, with huge baskets on their heads. It appeared as if they were carrying laundry.

Rusak took her inside a huge foyer that led into a massive living room. He then sharply gestured for her to precede him up a circular tiled staircase with black wrought-iron handrails.

The sandals were a bit too big and Aly nearly tripped once, catching herself. At the top, Rusak moved to the right and she followed him down a long, wide hall. On either side were red doors and blue doors, and at the end of the hall, a yellow door. Rusak halted in front of it and knocked twice, sharply.

Aly held her breath, not knowing what to expect. A young, beautiful Indian girl with long black hair halfway down her back answered. She bowed to Rusak and stepped aside. He turned, jerking his head, a sign for Aly to enter before him.

Her throat tightened. She felt as if she were being thrown into a den of lions to be eaten.

The room was large, opening up into an airy patio. Soft Latin music was playing in the background. Aly saw two more Indian girls, both in their teens, perhaps, and dressed in skimpy costumes similar to Jakun’s.

Her gaze moved to a man sitting in a very large black leather chair. He wore a white peasant-style shirt and black slacks. Her eyes caught the fact that his feet were bare. She glimpsed that there was something wrong with some of the toes, but feared being slapped for staring at the man. He was a heavy man, rolls of fat beneath his round face. He had long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and a thick black mustache that emphasized his full, thick lips. His dark brown eyes scared the hell out of her. They held the same flat, dead look she’d seen in Rusak’s eyes.

“Come, come,” the man said. “Sit here.” He pointed to a leather stool near his feet.

Aly instantly obeyed, her heart hammering with fear. When the man smiled, it made her stomach roll.

He seemed pleased that she easily obeyed. Looking up at Rusak, he said, “Leave.”

“Don Duarte,” Rusak protested, “I should remain. Her medical bag contains sharp objects.”

Duarte shrugged. “Then stand over there. Out of the way.” He turned his attention to Aly. “And you, my new physician... What is your name?”

Aly’s eyes went wide and she almost blurted that she wasn’t a physician. She remembered what Rusak had said earlier. “M-my name is Allison Landon, sir.”

Duarte chuckled and gave Rusak an amused look. “Rusak. Look, an American who calls me sir. Isn’t that sweet?”

Rusak glared at Aly.

She gulped, belatedly remembering to call him Don Duarte. She tensed, waiting to be slapped by Rusak. Or by this man who looked jovial in comparison. She didn’t dare speak.

“Tut, tut,” he told her, slowly leaning forward. “You may call me sir if you want. It’s a sign of respect and I can see you are frightened, Allison Landon.” He touched her jaw, peering at her swollen cheek. “Hmm,” he murmured. “You must be a fighter? Rusak had orders not to touch you....” Duarte turned, glaring at his Russian security chief. “What happened?” he demanded, anger in his voice.

Rusak told him the details, and then added, “She needs to learn to be subservient to you, Don Duarte.” The Russian smiled a little. “I would be complimented if you’d allow me to bring her into line for you.”

Aly gasped, freezing. Her heart went wild in her chest, adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream. Rusak had roughly touched her breast. She automatically gave Don Duarte a pleading, silent look to not allow him to touch her.

“Well,” Duarte murmured, sitting back, giving Rusak a glare. “Under the circumstances, you’d have my new physician incapacitated and unable to cure me. Your request is declined, Rusak.”

Relief skittered through her. Aly closed her eyes for a moment, her emotions raw.

“My dear...” Duarte said. “Look at me. You don’t need to be afraid any longer.” He gave her a slight smile. “I own you. No one, not even Rusak, touches my property. Now, we must talk of my health and you must listen closely. I have need of your services.”

“Y-yes, sir...I mean, Don Duarte.”

His eyes gleamed with delight. “You are very refreshing to me, Allison. You’re a scared little rabbit. Not very pretty, but I will not blame you for that. What I’m most interested in is that you can cure my feet.” He held up one bare foot and placed it across her thigh. “Unfortunately, I’m a diabetic. I cannot go to any hospital to be treated because they will arrest me and throw me into prison.” He scowled, but then went on pleasantly, “That is why I had to kidnap you. My sources in the region have spoken highly of you for the past two years.”

Aly’s brows shot up.

Duarte smiled. “Yes, my dear, I have eyes and ears all over South America.” He made a flourishing gesture with his manicured hand. “I must hide here, in my jungle villa, while being hunted by the police and Brazilian army. I am safe enough here, but I cannot get help for my toes.” He pointed to them. “I need you to help me, Allison. My diabetes is severe. I have gangrene on several of my toes. I need it stopped. That is why you are here.”

* * *

Josh was standing near the open ramp of the C-130 as it flew through the dark night over Brazil. He’d double-checked everything, including the eighty-pound pack hooked to the front of his parachute harness. That ruck contained everything he’d need for this op. It was a lot of weight, but it couldn’t be helped.

He looked through his goggles, which protected his eyes, as he moved the oxygen mask on his face, making sure it was sealed and he was getting a good flow on an inhale. They were at forty thousand feet, circling and adjusting for the winds. The roar of the four-engine turbo prop, the not-so-subtle vibration through the transport, moved through him.

The air was freezing cold, whipping and slapping against Josh’s body. With his gloves on, he checked the helmet strap one more time. He wanted nothing loose before he strolled off the end of the ramp and into the black space.