Her Seal Protector. Jillian Burns

her Tweet. “Could you—” he pointed at the bags of luggage sitting beside him “—find a porter, por favor?”

      Gabby sighed inwardly. This was the third time in as many days that someone from her own office had mistaken her for a hotel employee. It was understandable, she supposed. Especially now that, with the conference over, everyone was scrambling to check out and get home. And her plain black suit jacket and skirt looked similar to the hotel employees’ uniforms. Mr. Van Horton had probably seen her speaking in Spanish to the hotel manager a moment ago, thanking the woman for the excellent accommodations on behalf of all the New York Corporate Bank Inc. people during their stay in Paraguay.

      But most likely her Hispanic heritage caused him to mistake her for a local.

      Still, she’d worked at the bank for almost two years. Seeing the executives in the break room, passing them in the hallways. She’d even sat in on a meeting with Mr. Van Horton once.

      She should say something. She was going to say something this time. She drew in a deep breath. Squared her shoulders.

      But... Mr. Van Horton was the executive vice president. Did it really matter if he didn’t know who she was? Maybe she—

      “Do you speak English?” Mr. Van Horton spoke slower and louder. “Find a porter?” He gestured at his luggage again and glanced at the registration desk, then back at her.

      The deep breath of determination deflated. “Yes, sir.” Gabby turned toward the concierge’s desk.

      “Sir.” James Pender blocked her path. He nodded at the Executive VP and gestured toward Gabby. “You know Gabriella Diaz, our newest credit risk analyst?” James winked at her as Mr. Van Horton’s eyes widened and his mouth opened and shut like the white bass she’d once caught on the Guadalupe River.

      “Oh, of course, I’m sorry, Ms. Diaz.” Mr. V recovered with a strained smile. “I didn’t recognize you.”

      “We’ve never been introduced.” Gabby could feel her cheeks heat. “I’ll get a porter for you, sir.” Wishing she could disappear, she stepped to the concierge’s desk and arranged to have Mr. V’s luggage taken out to a waiting cab.

      Despite being colleagues in the same department, until this moment Gabby hadn’t thought James Pender even knew she existed.

      After thanking the hotel manager once again, she rolled her own suitcase out to the hotel drive just as Mr. Van Horton was getting into a cab.

      She dabbed at her temples with the back of her hand. February was summertime in South America, but even so, the weather was sweltering. Still, it beat the freezing temps back in New York. She shivered thinking of the dirty snow and slush she’d most likely return to. If only she’d had more time to explore the beautiful city of Asunción.

      “Ms. Diaz!” Mr. Van Horton waved her over. “You and James share my cab.”

      Gabby glanced over to see James wheeling his suitcase to a stop beside hers. He mugged a “why not?” face and proceeded to load his bag into the cab’s trunk.

      “Come on, Ms. Diaz.” Mr. Van Horton waved at her again with a winking smile. “I should get to know my newest credit risk analyst.”

      Gabby drew a deep breath. Get to know her? Anxiety set in at being the center of attention. He was probably just feeling guilty about his mistake. But if she declined, he might think she was holding it against him. There was no hope for it. Resigned, she rolled her bag to the trunk. James had taken the front seat, so she slid into the backseat beside Mr. V.

      As the cab pulled away from the hotel, Gabby glanced back at the unforgettable mountain vista behind the hotel. Definitely the best perk of her job. Just in the last eighteen months she’d traveled to Los Angeles, Miami and now Paraguay. Of course, that probably had more to do with her bilingual skills than her risk-analysis savvy, but it all helped her career. The raise last month had gone straight to Jorge’s college fund. And once her brother graduated next year, she could start helping Patricia.

      “So, how do you feel the conference went, Ms. Diaz?”

      Gabby turned her attention inside the cab and found Mr. Van Horton studying her intently. She swallowed and glanced at James, who had half turned from the front seat to face them, smiling encouragingly. She cleared her throat. “The workshop on financial globalization in a nonrisk asset world was very interesting.”

      Mr. Van Horton’s eyes narrowed. “I highly doubt that.” Then he grinned. “Tell me you at least saw some of the sights while you were here. Have you ever been out of the country before?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Now, none of that sirring me. Call me Bob.”

      Oh, she couldn’t picture herself calling him Bob. Gabby gave a shy smile.

      “How about you?” Mr. Van Horton addressed James, who proceeded to chatter on about the amenities of the hotel, the nightclub he’d been to the night before and a quick rundown of the lectures he’d attended.

      The cab screeched to a stop, throwing Gabby against the back of the driver’s seat. An explosion of gunfire roared around her. Shattered glass sprayed over her, and she screeched and covered her head. Before she could comprehend what was happening, a man wrenched her door open and shouted in Spanish for her to get out.

      Gabby couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. The bandit reached in, yanked her out of the cab and dragged her toward an old Jeep. Mr. V was pulled out of the other side and shoved beside her. The cabdriver was cowering on the ground next to the car.

      The lower halves of the attackers’ faces were covered with bandannas and they all carried big automatic rifles.

      James scrambled out on his own and stuck his hands in the air as one of the gunmen poked his rifle in James’s stomach. “Throw out your phones!” the gunman yelled in heavily accented English.

      James and Mr. V both fished in their coat pockets and tossed their phones away.

      A second gunman found her purse on the cab’s floor, dumped it and smashed her phone with the butt of his rifle.

      The bandit closest to Mr. V yelled at them in Spanish to get in the Jeep.

      “What are they saying, Ms. Diaz?” Mr. Van Horton whispered to her.

      “No hablar!” The gunman jabbed the butt of his rifle into Mr. Van Horton’s stomach and he doubled over.

      Gabby bit off a scream.

      “In!” The gunmen shouted again, waved the rifle toward the Jeep and this time he shot at the ground in front of them.

      Gabby screamed and James, his face twisted in terror, jumped into the back. Gabby was shaking so hard she had to try twice to get a good enough grip to pull herself into the Jeep. But Mr. Van Horton didn’t follow.

      “Speak English?” He addressed one of the gunmen. “I have money. No need to take us. I can—”

      With an expression of pure hatred, the thug bashed Mr. Van Horton in the head this time and he collapsed to the ground. The men picked him up and threw him into the back of the Jeep, got in the front and sped off.

      Blood gushed from Mr. V’s head. So much blood. She shrugged out of her suit coat and tore it into a makeshift compress. “James, hold this while I take off his tie.”

      “What?” He was shaking uncontrollably.

      “We’ve got to stop the bleeding. Keep pressure on the wound.”

      James just stared at her.

      With a tsk of exasperation, she reached over and placed his hand on the bandage. “Press hard.” Then she loosened Mr. V’s tie and used it to hold the compress.

      She kept a close eye on Mr. V as they bumped along in the rusty Jeep. It seemed like hours as they climbed into the mountains. Even if she’d wanted to jump out, the kidnappers kept a gun trained on them. And she couldn’t