by Elle Kennedy
Sorrow thickened her throat. “Your aunt demanded you pay her to take care of her own nephew?”
“Yep.”
“What happened when Will came of age?”
“He enlisted, too.” Tate’s voice went hoarse. “When I was asked to head up a spec-op unit, I requested that Will be assigned to my team.”
“So the two of you stayed close over the years.”
“He’s—was—the only person I’ve ever been close to.”
She choked down a lump of sadness. “I’m sorry for your loss, Tate.”
He offered another one of those careless shrugs, which she was beginning to see right through. “S’all good, sweetheart. I’ve made my peace with it.”
An incredulous laugh slipped out. “No, you haven’t. You’re currently risking your neck just to exact revenge on the man who killed your brother.”
He laughed right back. “Talk about the pot and kettle. You’re here for revenge, too.”
“Maybe,” she agreed, “but I’m not pretending to be at peace with what I’ve lost.”
“My brother’s dead, Eva. I have made peace with that.”
“Okay.” She tilted her head. “What happens after you avenge Will? You go back to hiding?”
“Yes. At least until I figure out why I’m a wanted man.”
The reminder had her biting her lip in thought. “I still don’t get it,” she murmured, her brain kicking up a gear. “You must have seen something during that mission. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Nothing makes sense,” he grumbled. “And I didn’t see a damn thing.”
“Tell me again what happened.”
He released a sigh, his green eyes focusing on the road ahead. The brown peaks of the mountains loomed in the horizon, making a seriously pretty picture against the cloudless blue sky and shining yellow sun. But there was nothing pretty about any of this. What awaited them in those mountains was ugly. Very, very ugly.
“Tate?” she prompted when he still didn’t answer.
“I already told you,” he said in a tone overloaded with frustration. “When we infiltrated the camp, the doctor was dead and—”
“How did he die?”
“Bullet between the eyes, courtesy of Cruz’s rifle.”
She flinched. “Okay. And the villagers?”
“The rebels burned the bodies.” His jaw set in a grim line. “Hopefully they all got bullets between their eyes, too. I’d hate to think that son of a bitch burned them alive.”
Queasiness churned in her belly. Banishing the horrifying images Tate had brought to mind, she gulped down the acid lining her throat and said, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would Hector kill the doctor and burn the villagers?”
“Who knows. Maybe he knew the U.S. would never negotiate with him and decided to cut his losses. Or maybe someone alerted him that a military force was closing in on him, so again, he decided to cut his losses. Trust me, I plan on asking Cruz the very same questions before I slit his throat.”
A chill skidded up her spine. God, that cold, blunt statement terrified her, and as much as she hated doing it, she couldn’t help but compare Tate to the very man he was itching to kill. Hector had no qualms about slitting throats, either, and just like Tate, he considered it his duty to exact revenge on his enemies.
The sad truth caused a sense of weariness to wash over her. Men were ruthless creatures. Honor, loyalty, vengeance, justice—sometimes she wondered if the male sex just used those concepts as excuses to be violent, tried to give some legitimacy to their primal desire to kill and destroy.
“And afterward?” she said quietly. “After you kill Hector and confront the people who want you dead, what will you do then?”
“Disappear.”
“And live the rest of your life alone?”
“Yes.”
“That’s very sad, Tate.”
He went quiet for a beat before letting out a husky laugh. “Don’t waste your sympathy on me, Eva. I want to be alone. I prefer it. Hell, if it weren’t for Will, I would have waved goodbye to the world a long time ago.”
She gasped. “You mean, killed yourself?”
He laughed again, sounding far more amused this time. “Of course not. I definitely would’ve left civilization behind, though. Built a cabin in the woods or a shack on the beach, and lived the rest of my life in peace and quiet. On second thought, I still might do that.”
“That’s...sad,” she said again.
“You know what they say, one man’s hell is another man’s heaven.”
* * *
The cabin was actually cozier than Eva expected it to be. Made of weathered logs, the A-frame structure was nestled in the trees, almost entirely hidden from view, and a good ten miles outside of Valero, the little town where Tate had stashed their pickup truck. They’d trekked it to the cabin on foot, reaching it just as the sun set and the air grew considerably cooler.
Eva sighed in relief as she followed Tate toward the front door. The past four days had been nonstop walking, and though she was in good shape, she looked forward to the rest. Tate had said the cabin even had indoor plumbing, and she could not wait to take a shower.
“Stay out here,” he ordered, swiftly bringing his rifle up as he approached the door.
Although she was dying to immerse herself in some semblance of civilization, she patiently waited for Tate to assess the interior of the cabin. A few minutes later, she heard a soft whistle, then his gruff voice saying, “We’re good, sweetheart. Come in.”
Sweetheart. She didn’t know why, but her heart did a dumb little flip whenever the endearment left that man’s lips.
Make that mocking endearment, she had to amend. But still, even knowing that those two syllables were most likely a taunt didn’t squash the desire that hearing them inspired.
As they entered the small main room, Eva dropped her backpack on the hardwood floor and glanced around. Her gaze encountered sparse furnishings, bare walls and no personal touches—the place looked uninhabited, which apparently wasn’t the case since Tate said his former army buddy had been living here for years.
“Where is this Hastings?” she asked warily, continuing to inspect her surroundings. A minuscule kitchen took up the other side of the room, and she deduced that the narrow corridor behind her led to the bedrooms.
“Picking up some supplies for us,” Tate replied.
Right. She remembered something of that nature being discussed when Tate contacted his buddy via the sat phone. Nevertheless, she didn’t particularly trust Tate’s mysterious colleague. All she knew was that he was a former Green Beret turned expatriate who now lived in a cabin in the middle of the wilderness. Needless to say, she wasn’t sure how comfortable she felt about any of this.
Tate must have sensed her hesitation. “Relax. Ben is a good guy. He can be trusted.”
“I’ll decide that for myself, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He shot her a crooked grin. “The jury’s still out on how much we trust each other, so what’s one more untrustworthy companion?”
“I’m really starting to hate that word,” she grumbled. “Trust.”
“Deadliest word in the English language,” he said with a shrug.
Tate leaned his rifle against the back of the ratty polyester couch, then slid his pistol from his waistband, and he made such a sexy, imposing sight that Eva couldn’t tear her gaze off him. Everything about him excited her—the muscular body, clad in cargo pants and a snug white T-shirt streaked with dirt. The thick beard growth covering his strong jaw, lending him a lethal air. The ease with which he held his weapon, the soundless way he moved despite the heavy boots on his feet.
The dark, seductive smile he flashed when he caught her eyeing him...
“Oh, sweetheart, if you keep looking at me like that, I will kiss you again. You know that, right?”
Heat danced through her body, bringing a flush to her cheeks and an ach
e to her core. “We already agreed that wasn’t going to happen,” she reminded him.
He set his pistol on the uneven table next to the sofa, his eyes downright predatory as he made his way toward her. “We agreed to no such thing,” he said, that hot gaze glued to her mouth.
Eva’s pulse raced. “I told you I didn’t want it.”
“You lied,” he countered.
She gulped. Hard.
Tate’s gaze continued to eat her up as if she were a juicy steak he couldn’t wait to dig his teeth into. “I have no idea what to do with you, Eva,” he said after a moment.
His voice came out rough and rueful, and the odd glimmer of apprehension she saw in his gorgeous green eyes was absolutely puzzling.
“What do you mean?” Her voice came out as a squeak, which was super annoying.
“I mean... Ah, hell, I don’t know what I mean.” His massive chest heaved as he released a breath. “All I know is that I’m going to kiss you again.”
Her words came out squeaky again. “I don’t want that.”
“Liar.”
And then he called her bluff and slanted his mouth over hers in a deep, unapologetic kiss.
Yep, she’d lied. She did want this. She wanted it desperately, and as his sensual mouth coaxed and teased and kissed her into oblivion, she realized she’d never, ever wanted to kiss anyone more than she wanted to kiss Tate.
His spicy, intoxicating scent enveloped her senses, and the persistent strokes of his tongue unleashed a rush of pleasure that heated every erogenous zone in her body. With one strong hand, Tate yanked at the elastic band holding her ponytail and let her hair loose, tangling his fingers in her long tresses and angling her head so he could kiss her deeper, harder, more possessively.
He slid one hand to her throat, swept his thumb over the pulse point there, then chuckled.
“Your heart’s beating fast,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling her lips. Both his hands traveled down to her chest. “And your nipples are hard.”
Eva gasped as he squeezed her breasts. When he toyed with her nipples over her shirt and bra, she nearly passed out from the wild pleasure that rocketed through her.
“So who’s playing games now?” he rasped. “You want this as badly as I do. At least have the guts to admit it.”
He was right.
She wanted him.
She craved him. Like heroin. Or something equally addictive.
“Fine,” she choked out. “I want this. I want you. God, I want—”
Click.
She froze midsentence, as the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked echoed in the room.
Battling the tingle of fear, she shifted her gaze to the door and found herself staring down the barrel of the gun.
Chapter 10
Despite the fact that a gun was currently being aimed at him, Tate didn’t feel threatened in the slightest. If anything, he was just annoyed by the interruption.
“Nice to see you, too, Ben,” he grumbled without turning around. “And your timing sucks.”
“Gee,” came the deep, sarcastic voice, “sorry to interrupt, Robert. Next time I’ll be more considerate in my own home.”
Chuckling, Tate stepped away from Eva and strode over to his old friend. He’d seen Ben a few months ago when he’d come to San Marquez to do some digging about Cruz’s whereabouts. Ben had taken him in without question then, just as he did now.
“It’s good to see you,” Tate said, holding out his hand.
Ignoring the hand being extended to him, the beefy African-American pulled Tate in for a hearty hug, then slapped his shoulder and released him.
“Still alive, I see,” Ben remarked, sounding pleased. “How’re the boys?”
Tate hid a smile. Stone and Prescott hated being called “boys,” but neither of them had voiced a single complaint when Ben had referred to them as such during that last visit. With his shaved head, harsh features and black goatee, not to mention the roped muscles and barrel chest, Ben Hastings was one mean-looking SOB. And it wasn’t all for show—the man really was as lethal as they came.
“The boys are also alive,” Tate answered.
Ben’s dark eyes drifted to Eva. “This her?”
Tate nodded. “Ben, Eva. Eva, Ben.”
With visible wariness, Eva walked over to shake Ben’s hand. At six-five, Ben towered over her petite frame, and for some reason Tate felt the oddest urge to move to her side in a gesture of protectiveness.
Brushing off the strange thought, he glanced at Ben and said, “Mind if Eva uses your shower?”
The request brought a blush to Eva’s cheeks, which made him roll his eyes. “You keep longingly looking at the corridor, as if you’re dying to find out if there’s a bathroom there.”
“There is,” Ben confirmed. “And it’s yours for the taking. Spare towels in the cabinet below the sink. Soap in the medicine cabinet.”
Although Eva’s expression perked up, she didn’t make a move to go. Rather, she looked from one man to the other, then frowned. “You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”
“Yep,” Tate confirmed.
After a second, the frown faded. “Fine. Whatever. Talk behind my back all you want. As long as I get to shower, I’m cool with that.”
Tate noticed Ben’s lips twitching as Eva dashed off toward the hallway. Once she disappeared from view, his buddy let the grin show. “That is one fine woman.”
Tate couldn’t disagree.
“But, dude, is it really a good idea for you to be hitting that?” Ben continued, heading to the kitchen. “Or have we decided she’s trustworthy?”
“We haven’t decided a damn thing,” he admitted.
“Beer?”
Before he could answer, a longneck bottle sailed in his direction. He caught it with ease, making a face as he studied the label. The local beer sucked, but for some reason, Hastings seemed to love it. Whatever. After three days of traveling through the jungle with the ultimate temptation by his side, he deserved a reward, even if it came in the form of watery beer.
Twisting off the cap, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a long swig. “Thanks.” He arched a brow. “What’s for dinner?”
“If you think I’m gonna cook for you, you’re seriously delusional.”
Tate stared at his buddy.
“Fine. We’re having lamb stew,” Ben said grudgingly.
He barked out a laugh. Ben Hastings might be strong, dangerous and downright frightening, but the man did love to cook. And he was damn good at it, too.
The sound of creaking pipes wafted from the corridor, followed by rushing water, and the second Tate pictured Eva stepping under the shower spray and getting all nice and wet, his mouth went utterly dry. Christ. She would look spectacular naked. No doubt about that.
Pushing aside the wicked images, he took another sip of beer, then said, “So tell me what’s been going on around here. ULF seems to be causing even more trouble since Cruz went underground.”
Ben’s expression darkened. “Let’s talk outside.” The silver dog tags hanging around his neck clinked together as he headed toward a door off to the right.
Tate followed the other man to the back porch. The wooden slats beneath their boots creaked as they walked to the pine railing, where both men set their beers. The back of the cabin offered a view of the mountains in the distance, as well as the narrow creek visible through the trees.
“There’s been more riots,” Ben began, as he tapped his long fingers on the railing. “A couple of assassination attempts on high-ranking officials. Cruz’s second in command, Luego, is flashier than his boss—he goes for shock and awe, big explosions and loud noises to get his point across.”
“Always an effective strategy.”
Ben snickered. “Yeah, well, it’s not working. Military presence has gone up a hundred percent—”
“I noticed that at the harbor. There were a lot more soldiers compared to only a few months ago.”
“Like
I said, Luego has been causing some trouble.”
“So Cruz still hasn’t shown his face,” Tate mused.
“Nope. Ever since he pulled off the Great Escape, he’s been MIA.”
Tate stifled a curse. Crap. That meant he had no choice but to go forward with this potentially suicidal mission. Cruz sure as hell wasn’t going to come to him.
“Your girl really knows where Cruz’s hideout is?” Ben asked, reading his mind.
He made a gesture of frustration. “She claims to, but who the hell knows if she’s telling the truth?”
“I am,” came Eva’s sharp, yet earnest, voice.
Both men turned to see her standing in the open doorway. She wore a fresh pair of jeans and a tight black T-shirt. With her black hair loose, feet bare, and face pink and glowing from the shower, she looked absolutely incredible, and as usual, Tate’s body responded to her nearness.
As his groin stirred, he banished the rising arousal and focused on Eva’s blue eyes. “So you keep saying,” he said vaguely.
A sigh left her lips. “I thought we agreed to the whole trust thing.” Without letting him answer, she turned to Ben. “Do you have a computer I can use?”
Ben arched one bushy black eyebrow. “And what do you need a computer for?”
“I made our friend Robert a promise,” she replied, shooting Tate a pointed look. “You still want to figure out why you’re being hunted, right?”
As much as he didn’t enjoy giving Eva the upper hand, he couldn’t deny how tempting her offer was. If she could truly discover the truth behind the past eight months from a few keystrokes, he’d be a fool to stop her.
With a resigned breath, he turned to Ben and said, “If you’ve got one, give it to the lady.”
Looking intrigued, Ben nodded and headed back to the door. Tate trailed after him, beer bottle in hand, as he watched the bulky African-American stride toward the tall wooden cabinet in the corner of the living room. Ben unlocked the cabinet with a set of keys he unclipped from his belt, opened the doors and removed an older-model Dell that he placed on the coffee table.
It was hard to miss the way Eva’s entire face lit up at the sight of that laptop. The resulting rush of jealousy that burned his gut was downright laughable. Jeez. He was jealous of a damn computer? Because it had put that look of rapture on her face?