by Elle Kennedy
“And there’s the dump,” Rebecca said, her gaze fixing on the wooden sign indicating the turnoff for the town’s garbage dump. “Why would anyone willingly live near a dump?”
“Clearly old Rudy was a risk taker.”
She laughed. “Clearly. Hey, did you also find it weird that the captain seemed to know a scary amount about Rudy?”
“Not really. I mean, Rudy was a genuine fish whisperer—of course he was popular around these parts.”
Another melodic laugh left her mouth and tickled his ears. “I guess you’re right. I kind of wish I got to meet him. It sounds like he was an interesting chara— Hey, you missed the turnoff,” she suddenly said. “The captain said to turn at the red fence.”
Now Nick was the one laughing. “We’re not going to pull up right into his driveway, Red. We may as well wave around a big sign that says We’re Coming for You.” He snorted. “Ha, I knew you’d be terrible at recon.”
She stuck out her tongue at him.
“Wow, real mature of you, Rebecca.”
This time she gave him the finger.
“Even more mature,” he said mockingly, but his lips were twitching with amusement.
Jeez. He was having way too much fun with this woman. He definitely needed to stop that.
He kept driving for another fifty yards or so, slowing down when he neared a section of road where the vegetation was thicker. “Hold on to the dash,” he told her. “Might get bumpy.”
She barely had time to respond when he’d veered off the road and drove directly into the thick canopy of trees. The Jeep bounced as it traveled over the tangle of vines and rotting undergrowth that made up the jungle floor, and the sun disappeared from view, hidden by the trees. Everything was green and lush in the rainy season, and the air smelled like fragrant wildflowers and damp earth.
Palm fronds scraped the sides of the Jeep as the vehicle skidded to a stop in a small clearing. The trees provided shade, but no protection in terms of bugs. The moment Nick killed the engine, mosquitoes swarmed the vehicle, whizzing past his ears with a high-pitched whine.
As Rebecca began swatting at the persistent insects and cursing in her noncursing way, Nick hopped out and grabbed his go bag from the back of the Jeep. He rummaged through it, found a can of heavy-duty bug repellent, along with a mosquito net that he tossed to Rebecca. Then he began to arm himself, sliding a pistol into his waistband, a knife sheath on his hip, a second pistol in his right boot and another deadly KA-BAR in his left one.
When he finished, he stalked to the passenger-side door and held out a 9-millimeter Beretta. “You know how to use this, right?”
She nodded. “I go to the target range every couple of months, and I have a permit to carry.”
“Good. Safety’s on, keep it that way. Move into the driver’s seat and don’t get out of the car, no matter what. If I’m not back in an hour—”
Her eyes widened. “Why wouldn’t you come back—”
“—I want you to get the hell out of here. Make your way to the airfield and call Tate. He’ll arrange for a plane to take you to Ecuador. Understood?”
After a moment, she nodded again.
“With that said, I’ll be back shortly,” he assured her.
“You better be,” she grumbled. “I can’t do this alone, Nick. You’re the Watson to my Sherlock, remember?”
He laughed again and resisted the urge to do something stupid, like lean in and kiss her goodbye. The mere thought of feeling Rebecca’s pouty lips pressed against his own sent a bolt of lust straight to his groin, and he took a step back before he gave in to the overpowering urge.
“Remember, stay put,” he said in a strict tone.
“Yes, sir.”
He left her in the Jeep and disappeared into the trees, swiftly making his way through the heavy brush. His boots didn’t make a sound as they stepped over the overgrown jungle floor; years of training and experience had honed his ability to move like a ghost.
The half-mile trek to Waverly’s property didn’t take long, and soon the house became visible through the trees. Nick found himself staring at a small shack constructed from an unusual combination of brick and wood, with a brown clay-tiled roof and a front courtyard overrun with dirt and sand. He couldn’t see the ocean, but he could smell it, salt and seaweed and fresh air.
Flattening himself against a gnarled tree trunk, he drew his gun and examined the house. Through the blossoming foliage he made out a rust-covered sedan. Someone was home, then, unless Waverly was out on that dinghy the captain had mentioned.
Nick crept closer, assessing, pinpointing entry points. Front door. One window.
Satisfied, he made his way to the back of the house, traveling silently through the brush. His grip on the 9 millimeter was solid; the weapon had become an extension of his hand over the years.
A rickety wooden deck graced the rear of the shack, ringed by a slatted railing with several broken posts. Nick’s gaze zeroed in on the beer bottle sitting on the rail. Condensation dripped down the side of the bottle, hinting that it had been recently opened.
Footsteps.
His spine stiffened when he heard the footsteps. He edged backward, camouflaged by the trees, but he still had a clear line of sight to the man who’d just stepped onto the deck.
Paul Waverly.
Jackpot.
The tall, blond man wore khaki shorts and a white polo T-shirt, and the Costa Rican sunshine had brought some color to his normally pale face, which meant that he no longer resembled someone who’d spent his entire life locked up in an attic.
He had something in his hand. A cell phone. He was typing furiously on the keypad and he didn’t look happy. Not by a long shot.
Nick shifted his gaze and noted the large window behind the blond man, then the screen door with its mesh torn to hell. When he concluded his appraisal, he made his way through the trees again, this time emerging at the side of the house.
Now he could see the ocean. About a hundred yards away, and getting there required a trek down a rocky slope that opened onto black sand rather than white, a product of the volcanic rock much of the landscape had been carved out of. He glimpsed a small wooden dock at the water’s edge where an old white motorboat was tied up.
Satisfied, he returned to the back of the house, but Waverly was no longer on the deck. A flash of movement in the window confirmed that the man had gone inside.
Nick stared at the screen door, thoughtful. There was really no reason why he couldn’t make a move right now. The house was isolated, no neighbors for miles. And yes, it was daylight, but Waverly was indoors. Unless the DoD aide had ten bodyguards with assault rifles in there—which Nick highly doubted—gaining the upper hand on the man would be a piece of cake.
He checked the tactical watch on his wrist. Only fifteen minutes had passed since he’d left Rebecca. It shouldn’t take long to handle Waverly. And if the man refused to talk, he could always tie him up and go back to the Jeep to grab Rebecca before his hour was up.
Decision made, Nick palmed his weapon and stepped out of the brush.
Chapter 10
Rebecca’s arms were getting a real workout swatting at the relentless mosquitoes that were determined to possess her blood. Fortunately, the netting kept the annoying insects out of her face, and the bug repellent she’d sprayed all over herself seemed to be working. The bugs swarmed, but so far none had been brave enough to take a bite.
Nick had been gone for nearly thirty minutes. She kept checking the time on the screen of the secure cell phone he’d given her. The numbers for his friends were already programmed in, but she didn’t plan on making any calls. No way was she abandoning Nick here. If he wasn’t back in an hour, she had every intention of tracking him down and saving his butt.
She kept a comfortable grip on the Beretta in her hand, grateful for all those shooting lessons her father had forced on her when she was growing up. Theo Parker, God bless his soul, had desperately wanted a son, a boy he coul
d take hunting and fishing, a male he could groom to take over the law firm one day.
Instead, he’d gotten a daughter, and yet to his wife’s dismay, it was the kind of daughter neither of them had expected. Rebecca was the furthest thing from a sweet Georgian peach. From a young age, she’d been fearless, feisty, daring. An absolute terror, in fact. She’d driven her parents crazy by running around with the boys and causing heaps of trouble around the neighborhood.
Bzzzzzzz.
Another mosquito flew by her ear. Ugh. She wholeheartedly believed that mosquitoes were the most useless insects on the planet. Who cared if they helped the food chain go round—the creatures that fed on mosquitoes could easily find something else to eat, in her humble opinion.
Bzzzzzzz.
She slapped away the next intruder. “For the love of—”
A gunshot sliced through the air.
Rebecca froze. As her pulse sped up, she peered in the direction Nick had gone in, but her sexy soldier didn’t come bursting out of the trees.
That had been a gunshot, though.
Right?
Panic soared inside her, along with a rush of fear that seized her chest and made it difficult to breathe. She sucked a deep gust of oxygen into her lungs, forcing herself to relax. To think.
Okay, so she’d heard a shot. That didn’t mean Nick was in trouble. Maybe he—
Maybe he what? an incredulous voice demanded. He was only supposed to case the house! There’s no reason for anyone to be shooting anything!
Her heart started beating even faster, pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest. Taking another deep breath, she jumped out of the Jeep, tore off the mosquito net and adjusted her grip on the Beretta. She aimed at the trees, but there was no movement, no sign that she was sharing this jungle with anything other than the pesky mosquitoes and the mysterious creatures that scuttled across the tangled undergrowth on the ground.
She took a step forward, then halted as Nick’s order echoed in her head.
Don’t get out of the car, no matter what.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. She stood there, torn. Did hearing a gunshot count as no matter what?
Probably, but darn it, she couldn’t just do nothing. What if Nick was in trouble?
A quick peek wouldn’t hurt, right? She’d check out the house, just to make sure that he was all right, and if everything looked kosher, she’d simply sneak back to the Jeep and Nick would never be the wiser.
With a decisive nod, she started to walk, making her way toward Waverly’s property. She cringed each time a twig snapped beneath the hiking boots Nick had bought her. It was difficult to move quietly when the jungle floor was covered with vines and branches and dried leaves, all of which made so much noise it was like she was walking to the tune of her own personal sound track.
Several minutes later, she caught a glimpse of the house’s clay roof, a flash of reddish-brown amid the greenery. She approached with caution, then ducked behind a tree and carefully peeked out. Her gaze swept over the back of the dilapidated shack, the open screen door, the curtainless window. No movement in front of the window or the door. Not a single sound wafted out of the house.
No sign of Nick.
She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If he was still casing the place, then he’d probably be hidden away somewhere, so of course there’d be no sign of him.
But then what had that gunshot been about? Was Waverly doing target practice around the side of the house or something?
She bit her lip again, unsure of her next move. Did she keep looking for Nick, or did she head back to the car?
She was debating what to do when a second gunshot cracked in the air.
Nick.
As a rush of adrenaline sizzled in her bloodstream, Rebecca sprinted out of the trees and raced toward the back door without a single concern for her safety. She practically dived through the broken screen door, stumbling into a narrow corridor, then blinking wildly as she tried to orient herself.
God, where was Nick?
Had he been shot?
Panic, terror and worry jammed in her throat, but she managed to keep moving. When muffled thuds and male grunts greeted her ears, relief crashed into her with the force of an 18-wheeler. There was more than one person in this house. That meant Nick was still alive. She followed the sounds of a scuffle to the other side of the house and quickly emerged into a small living room.
Rebecca’s heartbeat accelerated as she absorbed the scene in front of her. Nick was on the floor, wrestling with a bulky blond man she knew had to be Paul Waverly. Angry curses and ragged breathing filled the air, then a loud snap as a fist connected with a jaw.
Heart pounding, Rebecca raised her gun and took aim, but she didn’t dare fire a shot, not when there was the risk of hitting Nick.
Whether or not to pull the trigger became a moot point, because Nick gained control of the situation in the blink of an eye, flipping Waverly onto his back and straddling the man with a growl.
“Don’t move,” he snapped.
“Screw you!” Waverly spat out.
Nick jammed the muzzle of his gun into Waverly’s throat. As the man made a loud gagging noise, Nick’s shoulders suddenly stiffened and his gaze sharply moved to the doorway.
He swore loudly. “I told you to stay put!”
Rebecca offered a feeble shrug. “I heard a shot and...” She trailed off, knowing he wasn’t in the mood to hear her excuses.
But she refused to apologize for disregarding his orders. What if he hadn’t managed to subdue Waverly just now? What if he’d truly needed her help?
On the floor, Nick let out another curse. His brown eyes glared daggers at her before taking on a resigned light. “Well, fine. As long as you’re here, see if you can find something to tie this son of a bitch up with.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Paul Waverly was secured snugly to a chair that Nick liberated from the man’s dinette set. Using the roll of duct tape Rebecca had found in the kitchen, Nick had restrained Waverly’s hands, feet and torso. The entire time, he’d been infuriatingly conscious of Rebecca’s presence, but he’d forced himself to bite back his anger.
The woman seemed incapable of following orders, and at the moment, her presence bothered him on a whole other level. Who knew what he’d have to do to get Waverly to talk, and he didn’t feel comfortable resorting to forceful methods of persuasion in front of Rebecca. Call him old-fashioned, but he’d been raised with the belief that women needed to be protected and kept out of harm’s way.
Allowing Rebecca to witness a potential torture session didn’t really adhere to either of those rules.
However, when he turned to ask her to leave the room, the stubborn woman just crossed her arms and said, “Don’t even think about it. I’m not going anywhere.”
The man in the chair suddenly sucked in a breath as his gaze shifted to the doorway where Rebecca stood. Waverly had been staring at her for the past ten minutes, and recognition had finally dawned on his face.
“Are you...you’re Rebecca Parker!” he sputtered, his ice-blue eyes widening. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Shut up,” Nick snapped. “I’m the one asking the questions here.”
“Screw you!”
Nick glared at the man who’d nearly blown his head off. He was pissed off beyond belief, but at the same time, he grudgingly had to give Waverly kudos for catching him off guard.
Standing on the back deck, the DoD aide hadn’t revealed any indication that he’d realized he was being watched, and yet the second Nick attempted a stealth entrance, Waverly had popped out of a doorway with a gun in hand. Only the aide’s piss-poor aim had saved Nick from a bullet to the head. As the bullet lodged into the wall five inches from his left ear, he’d quickly disarmed Waverly, but the other man had managed to make a run for the front door, unfazed by the warning shot Nick had fired at his feet. Despite Waverly’s football-player build, Nick had finally brou
ght the man down, and now he loomed over his captive, though he could have done without Rebecca lurking in the doorway like that.
“Who are you?” Waverly demanded with a scowl.
Nick’s jaw tightened. “Take a wild guess.”
The man’s cheeks turned red. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have asked! They sent you to kill me, didn’t they?”
He arched a brow. “Who’s they?”
“You know damn well who I’m talking about.” Waverly’s gaze drifted to Rebecca and his resolve seemed to falter. “But why is she here? You can’t kill me in front of a journalist.”
“Nobody is killing anybody.” Nick paused. “At least not yet. First, you’re going to tell me everything I need to know. Then I’ll decide if I’m going to let you live.”
“Who are you?” A miserable note entered Waverly’s voice.
“I’m a colleague of Sebastian Stone.”
Waverly went even paler, a feat Nick would have deemed impossible.
“Stone,” the man mumbled.
“Yes, Sebastian Stone. You know, the guy you tried to infect with a deadly virus?” Nick said sarcastically.
There was a long silence, and then Waverly’s breath hitched and understanding dawned in his eyes. “You’re one of them. One of the three soldiers who skipped town.”
“Give the man a cigar.” Nick moved toward the flower-patterned sofa and leaned against the arm, absently resting his gun on his thigh. “It bodes well that you know who I am. So now tell me, who authorized the killing of my unit?”
Waverly didn’t answer.
“Come on, Paul. Or William. Or whatever you want to call yourself these days. Let’s not play games. Who wants me and my men dead?”
More stony silence.
“Who decided it was a good idea to engineer the Meridian virus and test it in San Marquez?”
“I’m not saying a goddamn word,” Waverly mumbled. “Go ahead and kill me. Either way, I’m dead.”