A Touch of Malice Read Online Free Page B

floor. She curled her knees to her chest and lowered her head.
    The thought which ran through Julie’s mind was the same thought she’d always had when Nick packed a bag to leave.
    Would he live long enough for Thomas to remember his father?

Chapter 4
    Trent Merrick knew his text message had reached its destination because he was still alive. His leg throbbed. His head was lacerated. But he’d survived the fall and knew his brother was responsible for his current ability to take another breath. That and the soft rainforest floor.
    Trent was still semi-conscious when he’d overheard someone from the Cameno Cartel challenge his brother into admitting his identity over Trent’s cell phone. Something his brother wouldn’t do unless he was really pissed, or really drunk. Or both. Nevertheless, now the Camenos knew who they had for a hostage and they were about to negotiate a hefty price for his release.
    After a brief stint in a makeshift medic tent, Trent was relocated to his current facility. A dome-shaped building made of thatch and bamboo. The smell told him he was still in the thick of the rainforest. He could feel the humidity and temperature drop that equated to around two thousand feet elevation. He was lying prone on a portable cot in a room with a dirt floor and two candles hanging from the ceiling. A man maneuvered his way through the mosquito net covering the doorway wearing a white lab coat with a Red Cross emblem over the breast pocket. He smiled affably and picked up a round stool from the corner of the room and brought it toward Trent.
    “How are we feeling?” the man said with a slight Spanish accent. He sat on the stool and clasped his hands together, examining Trent’s torso with his eyes.
    “Who are you?” Trent asked.
    The man removed his black-rimmed glasses and cleaned them with the bottom of his lab coat. “I’m Doctor Paulson.” He pointed to Trent’s leg which was immobilized by a piece of bamboo and lots of white athletic tape. “I am the one who patched up your leg and tended to your head wound.”
    Trent was mostly unconscious for his treatment, but he touched his forehead and came back with dark, moist fingers.
    “It’s iodine,” Dr. Paulson said. “I had to secure the wound with some strong adhesive strips. They should hold it together as long as you don’t exert yourself.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Sure. You took quite a fall. I’m surprised you did not break anything.” The doctor had a barrel chest and his arms were so muscular they stretched out the sleeves of his jacket.
    “Where am I?”
    “You’re in a Cameno camp. They’re keeping an eye on you until they can determine your future.”
    “And who do you work for?”
    Dr. Paulson pointed to the red cross on his coat. “They sent for me when they realized how badly wounded you were. They didn’t have anyone who could handle your injuries.”
    “I see. Exactly what are my injuries?”
    “Well, of course there were some lacerations across your forehead. Then there was your leg. It wasn’t broken, but you’ve definitely torn a ligament.”
    Trent pulled himself up on his elbows and twisted his left foot to the left, then back to the right. There was no knee pain. “Which ligament?”
    “Oh, any number of ligaments could have been torn.”
    “I see.” Trent certainly was no doctor, but he knew there were only a couple of ligaments which could’ve caused him that much damage.
    Dr. Paulson took a furtive glance over his shoulder at the open doorway and said, “Care to enlighten me on why you were in that tree?”
    “Why do you want to know?”
    Dr. Paulson shrugged. “I’m curious. They tell me you’re a spy for the United States government. Is that true?”
    “Yes, I am.”
    Dr. Paulson’s eyes lit up like he’d discovered a pot of gold. “Really?”
    “Yes.” Trent leaned closer to Dr. Paulson and lowered his voice. “I’m trying to uncover a brilliant plan by an incompetent cartel stooge who pretends