Shooting Scars: The Artists Trilogy 2 by Karina Halle

Author:Karina Halle [Halle, Karina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472211699
Google: OnCIB1gytYYC
Amazon: B00CYKHQW4
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2013-08-19T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ELLIE

The trek through the jungle didn’t take as long as I imagined it would but it felt a hell of a lot longer with the tension between Javier and I. Burt Reynolds led the way, a chatty Kathy to Peter behind him, while I was sandwiched behind Raul in front, Javier in back. I could feel his damn eyes on me the whole time, burning holes at my back, at the tattoo on my leg. As childish as it was for me to enjoy rubbing it in, that Camden left his mark, it also made me worry for him. Javier was nothing if not jealous and unpredictable. I was doing all of this to protect Camden but I had to wonder if I was putting him in danger all the same.

Aside from being awkward, the ride was unbearably sweaty and uncomfortable, horsehair sticking to my legs, mosquitos feasting on every bare inch of me. Howler monkeys added to the hostility, hurling animal obscenities from hidden spots in the trees above. The tiny seaside hamlet of Montepio seemed like a godsend after that.

Javier handed over a wad of US bills to Burt Reynolds who eagerly took it from him, stuffing it away in various pockets like a squirrel. Raul helped me off Churro much to my dismay, especially since his hands seemed to linger a bit around my ass.

I swatted him away under the guise of wiping off horsehair and glared at him. Javier was watching us over Burt’s shoulder, cold and calculating, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be someplace air-conditioned, a cold drink in hand. To be honest, I think I wanted to be back on the boat. Captive or not, it was the only place I’d been able to get a routine going since I’d left Palm Valley for the first time.

We handed the horses to Burt who attached them all together in a long line and led them back into the jungle.

“Now what?” I asked Javier, hands on my hips. The four of us were standing on a cobblestoned street corner and getting some pretty curious looks from bare-footed children who were walking past.

Javier looked to Raul and Peter, completely ignoring me. “There’s a car waiting for us around the corner from here. It will take us to Alvarado. We have a house there, disguised as a fish shop. I’m afraid it might smell a bit but that’s as far as we can get to Veracruz without causing trouble. At least, not right away.”

I could have sworn that last bit was directed at me.

We followed Javier down the street, past the faded signs of small shops and businesses, past the group of kids who were hiding behind a phone booth and peering at us with gap-toothed grins, past a produce stand where an owner and a customer were in a showdown over the price of bananas. It was such a scene of old Mexico but as I followed Javier and his men, all in

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