The Jaguar Star (Tales of the Were: Jaguar Island Book 4) by Bianca D'Arc (the first e reader .TXT) 📕

wondered about the events of the day: his closeness with Angelica, her hard body and gentle scent. Like tropical flowers.

He wondered about her bruises, the handprint on her face, and the dark circles on her abdomen. What must her life be like in a place like this? Obviously she wanted out, but could he trust her? Could he risk going with her tonight? Could he risk not going? He thought about his mother and sister in Florida and grandfather in Texas. Would he ever see them again? And then there was Gabe.

Gabe, who intruded; Gabe who had rescued his sister from that flooded decompression chamber at the bottom of the river; Gabe who kept talking about finding a cave diver’s gold line that would guide you out of darkness no matter what went wrong; Gabe who said he believed in God more than in electricity, more than anything.

Where was that God now? Now, when he was so desperately needed? What else was it Gabe had told him? Oh yeah, his three things to live by: “All have sinned and fallen short of what God demands. All are sinners in need of a savior and Jesus is that savior, and that by God’s grace those who believe will be saved.” Maybe that was four things. Not that it mattered. But the other thing Gabe said made sense now, “There are no atheists in foxholes. If you’re not a believer, it just may be that you haven’t been threatened enough, terrified enough, close enough to death to cry out for help.”

I think I’m there. This was the most scared he’d ever been. He looked up at the window and the pure white light pouring in. He realized that he was shaking, freezing, in fact, and it was a tropical night. He sat up, got out of the bed, down on his knees and began. “Dear God, I’m so sorry. I got myself into this mess, and there’s no one to blame but me. Now my whole family is threatened. Please, God, help us tonight, and I promise I’ll do better. Please. I promise.”

Chapter 20

TOM AND GABE SAT IN beach chairs watching the sunset. It was a safe place to talk, as Tom suspected their rooms and hotel phones were bugged.

“Carol thinks I’m crazy for doing this,” Tom said. He was staring deeply into a half glass of good bourbon and watching sadly as the ice melted. “She called me Don Quixote. And she’s probably right. Do you know the cartels have 450 thousand people on their payroll? And their profits may be thirty billion dollars a year.”

“That’s a big windmill,” Gabe observed. He was drinking a Coke and therefore not feeling as philosophical.

“Ninety percent of the cocaine in the US comes in from Mexico, and a big percentage of that comes across the Texas border. And now they’re bringing in Fentanyl, a dozen times more lethal than coke.”

Gabe just listened.

“And I saw on the news that the Mexican government says it’s no longer focused on taking out the heads of the cartels because as soon as they do a worse one takes his place. But did you know there have been more killed in the Mexican drug wars than in Afghanistan and Iraq combined? I saw a report that said the estimate is 165 thousand since 2007. How can any government, much less an honest one, combat numbers like that? That’s three times the number we lost in Nam. It’s staggering.”

Gabe nodded without speaking.

“And the scary thing for us,” Tom continued, “is if we don’t stop it, we could have the same thing going on at home. The insanity of the Chicago killings could be just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Do you see any way to stop it?” Gabe asked.

“We have to make a statement, loud enough that it will be taken seriously. If our government won’t stop it, won’t close the borders and get serious, we will.”

“That’s a tall order.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it. But we still have to try. If we don’t, we’re giving away our kids’ futures. Handing our country over to drug lords.”

“And you have a plan?” Gabe twisted in his chair to face Tom.

“It’s more of a goal than a plan. I have a vision of what needs to happen—I just don’t have all the parts assembled yet. But I’m working on it.”

“It must be one hell of a plan,” Gabe offered.

A fleeting smile passed Tom’s rugged visage as he looked at Gabe briefly and then stared back out over the water. His one-word answer would have made John Wayne proud. “Yep.”

They watched the evening sun sink into the sea in a final blaze of glory. Tom got up, nodded to Gabe, and marched back to the hotel. Gabe lingered a while longer and wondered about what he had just heard. He wished he could remember how Don Quixote ended. Did he survive or did the windmill win? I’m sure Carol will know. Tomorrow.

Angelica went to Paul’s room just after one. She was still dressed in scrubs and carried in a tray of food. She put it down by his bed and motioned. “Eat.” There were several bananas and sandwiches. Paul helped himself with relish.

She sat beside him in the silence of the moonlit room and ate as well. Between bites, she smiled, and once rubbed his head. She could tell how anxious he was, and without speaking, which would have alarmed the listening guard, she tried to encourage him and lift his spirits. She glanced at her watch frequently, and shortly before two she motioned him to the door. Very quietly they left the room and moved cautiously down the hall. In the hall, they heard men’s voices and ducked into the shadows while two guards crossed from the galley to the bunk room, and when the creaking iron gate had closed, they continued to the end of the hall and down the stair. On the second floor, the old building remained as