by Elle Kennedy
So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that he was being watched?
One minute passed. Two. Five. Ten. By the time the fifteen-minute mark crept up, Tate was wondering if his intuition was on the fritz or something. Whatever danger he’d sensed was gone. If the threat had even existed in the first place.
Reluctant, he stepped out and continued making his way back to camp, but the hairs on the back of his neck tingled the entire damn time.
* * *
“That is a terrible idea!” Eva hissed a few hours later, after Tate divulged the details of his plan.
The moonlight cast a glow over his handsome face, emphasizing the determined line of his mouth. “It’s the best one I’ve got,” he said in a low voice.
She shook her head, unable to fathom how he could sit there so calmly after outlining the flimsiest, most suicidal plan she’d ever heard in her life.
To make matters worse, he’d completely misled her. The two of them were ducked behind a cluster of thick shrubs about twenty yards from the rusted metal hatch that was barely visible through the brush. That hatch led to the tunnel, which in turn led to Hector’s bunker, and by bringing her here, Tate had made her believe he needed her help with this mission.
Apparently that wasn’t at all the case.
“I’m going in alone.” His tone was firm, his expression inflexible. “I already told you that a dozen times before.”
“But that was when Ben had your back. Now you’re on your own.” She frowned. “What happened to the rocket launcher plan? The big distraction?”
“That was when Ben had my back,” he mimicked. “With Ben watching the front and me here in the rear, there would have been no chance of Cruz getting away, but now, Cruz could flee the bunker while I’m blowing the main entrance to smithereens, and I won’t be here to stop him.”
“I could watch this exit while you blow things up,” she offered.
“No.”
“Fine, then let me blow things up.”
“No.”
Frustration spiraled through her. “Stop saying no to everything. This plan of yours sucks. You’re just going to waltz through that hatch without trying to distract any of the guards standing right on the other side of that hill? And then you’re going to shoot your way to Hector, kill him and shoot your way back out?” An amazed laugh popped out of her mouth. “You’re nuts, you know that?”
He merely shrugged.
“And let’s not forget about my part in all this. What’s my part again?” She faked an epiphany. “Oh, right, nothing.”
Tate ignored the sarcasm. “Same deal as before, Eva. Get yourself to the coordinates I gave you. Take the sat phone, and if I’m not there at the arranged time, call Gomez and he’ll come pick you up.”
She scowled. “Just like that, huh? What happened to what you said about the government shooting unauthorized aircraft out of the sky?”
“Gomez won’t be flying you off the island, just taking you to the coast. You can make your way to Tumaco from there, and then Gomez will rendezvous with you in Cali and bring you back to Mexico. Back to your kid.”
The thought of seeing Rafe brought a rush of longing to her chest, but the fear and concern already swimming there overpowered the new addition. No matter how much she wanted to be reunited with her son, she couldn’t let Tate undertake this crusade alone. Walking into Hector’s hideout like he owned the place? With no contingency plans in place? No backup? No guaranteed way out?
The stubborn fool was going to get himself killed, damn it.
Her gaze drifted toward the unguarded hatch in the distance. Tate had said there were nearly a dozen rebels on the other side of the rocks, but back here, the hills were dark and deserted at four in the morning.
She understood his point about not wanting to risk Hector escaping, which was a real possibility if Tate was forced to take out the front entrance and then rush all the way over here. By then, Hector could already be halfway down the mountain in one of those off-road vehicles Tate had seen.
“I’m coming with you,” she announced.
“No.”
She lifted her brows in defiance. “Say no all you want. It won’t change a damn thing.”
Reaching around, she pulled her gun from the waistband of her jeans, ignoring the way Tate’s green eyes smoldered with menace. In the darkness, with his angry expression and thick beard, he looked deadlier than usual, but Eva wasn’t about to let him push her around.
Somehow during the past week, she’d come to care about this man, and she refused to let him die, especially not when she was the one who’d dragged him to San Marquez in the first place.
“Eva...” His voice thickened with annoyance.
“Tate,” she replied, her voice calm.
“You’re not coming.”
“Like hell I’m not.”
“Eva.”
Now she rolled her eyes. “Quit saying my name. And quit arguing with me. I’m going into that tunnel with you, whether you like it or not.”
He let out an exasperated breath. “I won’t let you.”
“You don’t have a choice.” She removed the magazine of her gun and checked to make sure she had a full clip, then shoved it back in and cocked the weapon. “I’m coming.”
“Why, damn it?”
Because I’m in love with you and I don’t want you to die!
The thoughts whizzed to the forefront of her mind so fast that her brain nearly shorted out. Shock slammed into her, but she scrambled to maintain her composure, to remain expressionless.
God. It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t have fallen in love with Tate.
Right?
As her throat became dry and tight, she gulped a few times, searching for an excuse, an excuse Tate would believe. Because no way could she tell him the truth. He wouldn’t be comfortable with the idea that she wanted to help him because she cared, and as that notion settled in, she realized the best answer she could give him was the one that catered to his natural cynicism.
“Because I want to see Hector’s dead body with my own eyes,” she said with a shrug.
A deep crease dug in his forehead. “I see.”
“I thought you would. Trust, remember? You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you. How am I supposed to know you’ll actually kill Hector?”
“Oh, I’ll kill him,” Tate declared, a fierce look entering his eyes.
“Well, forgive me if I can’t take you at your word. I’m coming with you, Tate.”
His head tilted pensively as he appraised her. “To make sure that I actually kill Cruz.”
“Yes.”
For a moment, she thought he’d continue to argue, but apparently her appeal to his cynical side had worked.
It was pretty damn sad that he couldn’t accept worry or affection as a reason for her to offer backup on a mission, but fear of betrayal? He had no problem buying that.
Even sadder? That she might actually be in love with a man who, given the choice, would probably prefer her distrust to her love.
* * *
Tate was acutely aware of Eva as the two of them moved through the shadows toward the unmanned hatch. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and cart her back to safety, but after days of traveling with the woman, he knew she wouldn’t take too kindly to being pushed around. She’d made up her mind about coming along, and nothing he said or did would change that.
I want to see Hector’s dead body with my own eyes.
Her words continued to float through his head, bringing a multitude of emotions he couldn’t quite get a handle on. On one hand, he absolutely understood her need to ensure that Cruz truly met his demise. He wouldn’t be satisfied with secondhand confirmation, either—oh, no, he’d need to see that bastard’s head on a spike before he believed Cruz was dead.
On the other hand...well, he supposed it shouldn’t bother him that Eva had so little faith in his ability—and his promise—to follow through and kill Hector.
But it did bother him. It bothered him a helluva lot.
It shouldn’t, though, seeing as he didn’t trust her, either.
Yes, you do.
He nearly froze in his tracks. Had to force himself to keep moving, even as that alarming revelation continued to flash through his head like a strobe light. Was it true? Did he trust Eva?
Christ, did he care for Eva?
Stricken, he forcibly banished each and every disturbing thought from his mind. Now was not the time to ponder any of it. Maybe after he killed Cruz. Or after he managed to get him and Eva out of this alive. Maybe then he’d let himself think about the answers to those terrifying questions.
“Stay behind me.” His voice was barely a whisper as they came upon the entrance of the tunnel.
Raising his rifle, he reached for one of the rusted handles on the two halves that made up the metal hatch. The opening was low to the ground and on an angle, which meant Tate would be looking down at whoever happened to be behind those doors.
“Ready?” he murmured.
As Eva offered a soft assent, he said a quick prayer, then yanked open the door. Despite the thick layer of rust on it, the hatch didn’t make a single sound as it opened. No creak or groan or croak. Someone must have been oiling the hinges regularly, a fact that Tate was incredibly grateful for at the moment.
When they didn’t encounter a single guard behind that door, however, his gratitude transformed into suspicion. He stared at the three concrete steps leading to the gaping opening, then glanced at Eva. “You said there should be a guard here.”
She looked confused. “There was the last time I was here.”
Frowning, he carefully descended the steps and entered the tunnel. The overhead lights flickered incessantly, humming like insects in the musty-smelling space and bringing a throb to his temples.
He turned at the sound of Eva’s quiet footsteps and raised his finger to his lips to signal her silence. She nodded slightly, falling behind him once more as they made their way down the narrow tunnel. It was only fifty yards or so before the tunnel ended in front of a metal ladder built into the wall.
Tate glanced up and spotted yet another hatch at the top of the ladder. Eva had mentioned there’d be guards up there, too, but considering they hadn’t encountered a single man in the tunnel, he was beginning to question everything she’d told him.
Sure enough, they didn’t run into any trouble once they slid through the second hatch. This one led to a small room with cinder-block walls and no furniture, and as he crept to the door, rifle in hand, Tate’s uneasiness continued to grow, until his gut was damn near overflowing with it.
Nothing about this seemed right.
Battling his rising apprehension, he slowly pushed on the door handle and peered out into the corridor. Empty. Why wasn’t he surprised?
He replaced his rifle with his pistol, which was affixed with a silencer, then gestured for Eva to follow him. He’d memorized her drawing, and knew exactly where to go, provided her intel was solid.
The bunker was deceptively larger than it seemed from the outside, and Tate felt far too exposed as he and Eva moved deeper into the enemy’s domain. The lack of security continued to unnerve him—not only the absence of guards, but he didn’t see a single camera mounted on any of the walls, either. Maybe Cruz didn’t deem it necessary. Maybe Cruz was so arrogant that he believed himself to be untouchable.
Wouldn’t surprise him. He’d witnessed that same arrogance eight months ago when Cruz had nonchalantly murdered Will. The rebel had considered himself untouchable then, too.
On the other hand, maybe the lack of precaution had nothing to do with arrogance, Tate decided as he noted the bad lighting and poor ventilation, the cracked cinder-block walls and dirty cement floor. The ULF wasn’t as well funded as other “freedom” groups, and he doubted Cruz had specifically built this bunker for the purpose of having a secret hideout. The rebel leader had probably just stumbled upon this lair and knew a good thing when he saw one.
“Hector’s quarters are this way.” Eva’s voice was barely over a whisper.
Tate still wished she’d agreed to stay behind, but it was too late to second-guess his decision to let her come. He just hoped this all didn’t blow up in his face.
After rounding another corner, they descended a set of low stairs and crept down another hallway, this one narrower than the others. They took a left, then a right—and suddenly found themselves face-to-face with the startled eyes of a dark-skinned guard.
Odd as it was, the notion that they weren’t alone brought a blast of relief to Tate’s gut. He’d been starting to think this damn bunker was abandoned, and he was happy for some proof that it wasn’t.
Still, that didn’t mean he enjoyed the killing the man.
He had no other choice, though. He pulled the trigger and shot the guard between the eyes, then darted forward to catch the limp body before it toppled to the floor. The suppressor screwed to the barrel of his pistol ensured that the kill had been soundless, and nobody came running to the guard’s rescue.
As he lowered the dead man’s weight to the floor, his peripheral vision caught Eva flinching.
Without remorse, he offered a dry look and murmured, “You have something to say?”
She slowly shook her head, but her cheeks were pale.
Tate got to his feet and stared at the wooden door the dead man had been guarding, then glanced at Eva in an unspoken question.
When she nodded, he gestured for her to move behind him. She did, all the while holding her gun in a two-handed pose, her breathing soft and steady.
Taking a steadying breath of his own, he tucked his pistol in his belt and raised his rifle instead.
You ready for me, Cruz?
The notion that his brother’s murderer was right behind that door flooded his mouth with saliva. As bloodlust ripped into him, he aimed at the doorknob, pulled the trigger and let the bullets spray. The deafening sound of gunfire reverberated in the corridor, making his ears ring and Eva yelp.
Adrenaline burned a path through his veins, giving him a boost of energy as he kicked open the bullet-ridden door and bounded into the room that lay behind it.
A yellow glow filled a room that turned out to be half a bedroom, half a library. But it wasn’t the abundance of books stacked on every available inch of the small space that triggered Tate’s bewilderment. Nor was it the futon across the room, or the laptop blinking on a round metal table, or the wine bottles sitting on the floor.
No, what had him gaping in disbelief was the man on the ratty beige couch that spanned one cinder-block wall. Hector Cruz. Sitting there with a semiautomatic Ruger resting on his knee as if he had no care in the world. In fact, he looked downright bored as his gaze collided with Tate’s.
“Hello again,” Cruz said with a pleasant smile.
White-hot rage funneled through his body and lodged in his throat like a piece of spoiled food. The son of a bitch looked the same as he remembered: curly black hair, mocking eyes, unkempt goatee. Only his attire was different—he didn’t wear a brown uniform, but a pair of black cargo pants and a threadbare gray tank top that revealed the tattoos covering both his biceps.
Bad call.
Tate couldn’t get the taunt out of his head. It repeated in his mind like a continuous loop, until all he could hear were those two teasing words and all he could see was the blood gushing from Will’s throat as—
Sucking in a breath, Tate blinked once. Twice. And then he pointed his rifle at Cruz and finally found his voice. “Anything you want to say before I kill you?”
Cruz’s smile widened. “I suppose a thank-you would be in order.”
He faltered. “What?”
“Thank you.” The rebel leader shrugged. “For bringing my woman back.” He craned his neck, peering past Tate’s shoulders. “Where is she, by the way? Eva, are you out there in the corridor?”
His jaw stiffened. He opened his mouth to tell Cruz to shut up
, but the rebel kept talking—and his next words made Tate’s blood run cold.
“Eva, mi amor, did you bring our son?”
Chapter 15
Our son.
Those two words left Tate momentarily frozen. Just for a second, but it took only one second of hesitation to send everything to hell, and that was exactly what happened.
Before he could blink, something hit him from behind with the force of a Mack track. His rifle clattered out of his hands as he went sailing forward. A female scream registered, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t look in Eva’s direction, because now there was a five-hundred-pound weight crushing his back.
Pain jolted through him as his arms were yanked violently behind him. He felt himself being disarmed—guns, knives, all gone—and then his wrists were twisted and tied together, and his equilibrium abandoned him once again as he was hauled to his feet.
It happened so damn fast Tate didn’t know what hit him, and he bit back a string of expletives for allowing himself to be caught off guard like that.
A quick assessment of the situation he’d found himself in, and Tate realized he was out of luck. Four more rebels with assault rifles had entered the room, joining the one who’d tackled him, a beefy man with the shoulders of a linebacker. With all those AKs pointed at him, he had no chance in hell of fighting his way out.
And where was Eva? He shifted his gaze, then stiffened when he saw her standing in the doorway. Her blue eyes were glued to Cruz, her cheeks paler than snow and her slender shoulders trembling like leaves in the wind.
There were no guns pointed at Eva. That he didn’t miss.
Our son.
“Don’t worry, mi amor,” Cruz spoke up, his voice strangely somber. “I understand why you didn’t bring our hijo. There are probably some matters to straighten out before we involve our boy.”
Tate’s jaw tightened further, a response that Cruz noticed, because those black eyes focused on him. “Judging from the look on your face, I gather she didn’t fill you in on our history, did she, amigo?”
A shaky breath sounded from the doorway. “Tate—” Eva stammered.