his
eyes on his side of the line.
It wasn’t as if she openly tempted him.
There was just something natural about Chloe that gravitated him
toward her.
Perhaps it had to do with his last
relationship being so long ago.
Jericho shut his eyes tightly, pinching at
the bridge of his nose.
He was frustrated with many things, but at
the moment, he was most frustrated with himself.
He sat with Miguél a while as the man worked
late on forging the passports and IDs, but at last Jericho left the
little basement and went to the living area.
He watched Chloe as she slumbered, wrapped
in an afghan throw. She had needed this night. She was a sheltered
American girl. She didn't deserve to be caught up in his mess.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, willing
dirty thoughts of her away.
What in the hell is wrong
with me? he silently muttered. Jericho
pulled his hands back out of his pockets and raked them through his
hair as he found a spot on the floor by the couch. He eased himself
down onto his back, folding his arms behind his head.
Jericho turned his mind to his men, anything
to remove himself from the hazardous thoughts swirling his mind
with images of the woman lying so close to him.
Yet again, he wondered where in the hell
Butler and Gunner were and what had happened to them.
Chapter Seven
0700 hours, Sunday
Barbacena, Brazil
Chloe breathed in
the Cafezinho, or small cup of coffee, set before
her. When she tasted it, the coffee was very sweet in the Brazilian
way. Mrs. Carvalho had mixed hot milk with her coffee for
breakfast.
Jericho sat beside Chloe at the kitchen
table, ignoring his cup for the window, peeping out at an angle
from behind the lime-green curtains.
Chloe ignored him for the
coffee, enjoying not having MREs for the last two meals. From the
kitchen, Mrs. Carvalho nattered on about the strong flavor of
the pequi she had
used the night before as she finished her husband's breakfast and
set a plate before him. All the while, the children were flying
around the older woman like planes, the whole way from the kitchen
to the table and back. Their mother began to berate them in their
native tongue, both boys laughing hilariously at her.
Chloe smiled and chuckled again and watched
the boys’ antics as she finished her coffee and then began to tear
away the peel from a banana. She turned her attention back to
Jericho as she bit into the fruit. He was still watching through
the window.
"Is something wrong?" she asked him around
the bite.
"The police are coming back from the alley,
probably to radio in the stolen bike," he said, glancing out the
curtains again. He raked his hands over his face and then shook his
head. "Damn it. We need to go," he said suddenly.
"What?" Why?" Chloe asked, lifting a hand to
cover her mouth, as she had just taken another bite. She stood as
he pulled her up by the elbow and dropped her banana to the table.
She had known they would be leaving shortly for the airport, but
not so soon.
"Just trust me. We don’t need anyone
breathing down our necks right now." He turned to Miguél. "Tell
them you know nothing of the bike. You haven’t even noticed—"
A knock at the front door startled them all
into deep silence. Chloe glanced nervously through the group.
Miguél held out his hands, motioning them to
calm down as he stood from his seat, wiping his mouth with a
napkin. "I will handle this, but you need to go. The back is
probably watched though."
"That won't be a problem," Jericho said.
"Eh, don't kill anyone, okay?" Miguél said,
glancing to his children, starting for the door. "Get yourself to
the airport," he told them both over his shoulder.
Jericho slung his assault pack on, shrugging
into the other strap. He picked up Chloe's and held her pack out
for her to take, then took her by the hand to lead her to the
back.
She looked worriedly behind them at Mrs.
Carvalho huddling her children to her side behind the counter.
Chloe and the woman both jumped at the