Page 88 of Depths of Destruction

Ryker shifts on his feet. "There's another question I have."

"What's that?"

"We know why they didn't kill Naomi and Emilia, but why didn't they kill the other women? What was the point of holding them hostage all this time?"

My pulse beats harder. "You think it's all connected?"

"Yeah. I don't think it's a coincidence all six women were imprisoned together and Interpol was called only when they took Naomi and Emilia."

Only when they—

"Wait. The rest of the women weren't together before a few days ago?"

"They were together in the pit for a while. But not the entire time. And I highly doubt they have been in Belize all this time. So why would Santiago Gómez buy Vanessa from the guerrillas and have the other women all moved to the jungle before Naomi arrived?"

My stomach twists.

You've not been paying attention. You need to talk to Naomi.

"What do you think the reason was?"

"I don't know yet. But I think we need to figure it out."

"Julieta and Vanessa haven't said where they were kept all these months?"

"Vanessa moved around with the guerrillas. Julieta is scared to talk about anything. She...well she has night terrors and they're bad. They remind me of what some of our guys coming back from war have."

My mouth goes dry. "That's horrible. What did they do to her?"

Ryker's face hardens. "She won't say. But if I see anyone who touched her, I'm killing them, and it isn't going to be a quick, easy death for them."

Tinker comes back into the room and slaps four passports on the table then looks at me. "Need you and Naomi. It's picture time."

15

Naomi

Julieta leadsme down the hall to the restroom.

I need to find out what she and Vanessa aren't telling the others.

When we get to the bathroom, I pull her inside and close the door. "Tell me how you're leverage."

"Naomi, I can't."

"Why?"

Julieta's hands shake. It's only a small tremble, but I notice it. "Vanessa is right. The more we spill our secrets, the more we put everyone in danger."

I put my hand on her forearm and gently say, "I don't believe that."

"You would. You're a reporter. I live in the real world."

I jerk my hand away and snap, "What does that mean?"

She sighs. "I'm not trying to be mean. But you're used to spilling the dirt on others. I can't afford to talk."

Insulted, I ask, "So, you think I can't keep a secret?"