He made a face at Nikita, who shot him a thumbs up.
“Perhaps we could meet somewhere quiet this afternoon to…”
“I’m presently out on a private excursion.”
“Ah, yes. Daylin did mention that you were traveling with your mistress before we, uh, lost touch with him.”
Drake let all of the cold chill that washed over him spill into his voice. “Yours is not DR, Inc.’s only investment in the area. I can—” Nikita put a hand on his arm to warn him off.
I can disassemble you far faster than GSI put you together.
“I can meet you for drinks at eight this evening?” Drake wished that he had a cellphone tracker so that he could see if the person he was speaking with was presently at the construction site just across the river.
“That is…possible.”
“Good. I will be at the front gate of the El Carbón dam site at that time.”
“That won’t—”
“As you know, I’m on a ship that leaves port later tonight. That is the only time I can spare, and I always do my own site risk assessments myself. I will meet you there. End of conversation.”
There was a long pause. “I shall look forward to that. Ask for me; I will be there.” And he was gone.
“Norma?”
“Ye-es?” the hotel manager’s stutter of embarrassment at being caught was sweet.
“Could you please have my white Armani and a nice summer dress for Nikita delivered with a rental car to the town of El Carbón by nightfall?”
“Hey,” Nikita frowned and Drake ignored her.
“I can take care of that for you, Mr. Roman.” Much more in her comfort zone.
Nikita nudged her shoulder sharply against his in protest.
“Also a set of casual dark clothes from Nikita’s wardrobe and…” he drew it out just to make Nikita crazy, which was clearly working. “Her black rifle case.”
Nikita’s smile finally made him able to picture the young girl reading her Dr. Seuss, suddenly happy to have her toys. She must have been a serious handful as a kid.
Couldn’t just fall for some timid, stay-at-home babe, could you, Duck-man?
There was no response over the phone.
“Norma?”
“I will…take care of it personally, Mr. Roman.”
“Thank you, Norma. It would probably be best if you made the car reservation in the name of GSI’s former chief, Buck Baer.”
“Mr. Roman?” her tone shifted enough that he knew what was coming next and didn’t force her to ask the question.
“Yes, Arthur was actually very helpful today and appears to be clear of any intentional wrongdoing.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” the relief in her voice spoke volumes.
“I have to ask,” and Nikita’s look said he shouldn’t, but it was too late to stop now. “You and Arthur?”
“He isn’t the most…impressive of men,” her voice grew softer than he’d yet heard, or ever expected to hear. “But he is a good man despite that and he’s being very good to me. I’m glad he didn’t do anything to get himself in trouble.”
“He didn’t,” Drake couldn’t think of what else to say. His parents had an A-plus marriage, as did a few military couples he worked with, but he didn’t know many others who did. “Please keep who we are under wraps until after we’re gone.”
“Of course, Mr. Roman,” and the hotelier was back. “I’ll now see to everything.”
He hung up and looked at his watch.
“Six hours until sunset. Oh, what shall we do with the time?”
“Hike back upstream without getting ourselves killed, bitten, or poisoned,” Nikita eased back into the jungle away from the camp.
“Spoilsport.”
No, Nikita told herself, not a spoilsport. Sensible.
Sensible because she’d wanted to have groaning sex right there beneath the eyes of the watchtower. Because she wanted to lose herself in his arms and not just for an hour or a day.
They clambered over tall roots that splayed in all directions. They backtracked around patches of foliage too dense to penetrate and jumped narrow, steep canyons carved by rushing streams heading down to the river.
What had been a twenty-minute float was a two-hour battle of hard labor to return through the fading sunlight that slipped past the high, leafy canopy and dappled the jungle floor. By the end of the journey, the sun was lost behind the heavy gray overcast.
Once they rejoined the rest of the team, the planning began.
As with almost everything else on this trip, Nikita decided that her role in the plan they put together completely sucked.
Chapter Fifteen
The major sent out the two Little Bird helicopters to extract them from the twilit jungle.
Or to at least move around the pieces on the board.
Drake could only smile as Nikita kept griping about not going with LCDR Altman, but it was clear that her place had to be at Drake’s side. Besides, if ever there was a one-man army for a special assignment, Drake knew that Luke Altman was it.
Then their Little Bird, nearly as silent as the night birds whose calls filled the forest, set him and Nikita down on the road a half kilometer outside El Carbón. He enjoyed the stroll through the descending darkness with Nikita. It was easy to imagine walking like this with her, making it a regular part of what they did together, talking about not much of anything.
He told her about his big sister, who stood five inches shorter than he did and just how much that continued to make her crazy.
She told him about the life with her mother before the Curtis Contracting debacle had shattered her family. Even back then it had been mostly just the two of them as her father was always away on “assignment.”
The wind, which had buffeted the Little Bird, was now building through the high trees, rattling the leaves together almost as loudly as the various birdcalls. Whatever they were, they weren’t chickadees or cardinals. There was a moving cacophony of clicks, buzzes, throaty rattles, and other birdlike noises, warning of their progress along the darkened road—they certainly didn’t sound like any birds from New England or even Alabama.
The small packs they’d been handed during the brief flight had lightened rapidly as they each drank several bottles of water and ate two meals’ worth of rations.
By the time they reached the village, lit only by a few stray indoor lights, he wished he’d thought to grab a flashlight. The “main highway” through the region had turned into an agility test of stumbling among unseen potholes.
Their rental was waiting—and it had gathered a large circle of gawkers in the small town. No wonder. It was a town with only three buildings that were two stories high; the others were better than shacks, but not by much. Donkey carts, not cars, were the standard.
And there, in the center of town—as defined by the tiny cluster of buildings huddled together along the road—sat a shining black Toyota Land Cruiser. He and Nikita picked up their own following as well, mostly children eager to see the two white people who had walked into town along a road that stretched empty for over twenty kilometers before the next community, farther up into the interior.
Behind the Land Cruiser, a small white pickup was parked with two men sitting on the tailgate.
“Senor Baer?” The rounder of the two men struggled to his feet and asked.
“Si,” Drake nodded, hitting another third of his Spanish. He only remembered at the last moment that he’d decided to keep posing as GSI so that his own name didn’t appear on any paper trail in Honduras.
The man replied with a long fluid cadence of which Drake didn’t catch a single word.
Much to the man’s consternation, Nikita was the one who answered with something that might have been questions or might have been music. He was going to have to learn the language just so that he could listen to her speak it so beautifully.
The man handed her the keys and a card and looked relieved to be rid of it.
“Bue
no,” Nikita finally finished and turned to Drake. “He says that this is an armored version to B6+ standards. That covers us through all the 5.56 mm ammo and most of the 7.62, up to armor-piercing. Our clothes and gear are inside. We simply call this number and tell him where the vehicle is when we’re done with it and they will fetch it back.”
“Wonder what the insurance waiver is on this thing. Norma done good. Remind me to tip her well.”
“Let’s just be glad that J-dawg is paying for it, both the waiver and the massive tip.”
“Roger that. Gracias,” he used up the last third of his vocabulary on the two men. They drove away as fast as they could as if there was going to be a gun battle right here in the middle of El Carbón. Unlikely, as they had gathered quite a crowd of locals by that point.
“I’d be more comfortable if we got out of town first.” She went straight to the driver’s door.
He thought it was amusing, until he saw the puzzled look on the crowd’s faces. In this culture, the man would always be the one to drive. He stepped up and plucked the keys from her hand.
“But—”
“You’re messing with my macho, woman.” Her glare as she circled to the other side warmed his heart.
Nikita had wanted to go straight to her tactical clothing. Norma had even packed her boots and she was going to kiss the hotelier the next time she saw her.
“No,” Drake had insisted as they changed by the soft wash of the dome light spilling out the back of the SUV on an empty stretch of dark, dirt one-lane. “We have an image to maintain. And you’re the surprise.”
That’s why she hated her role in this. There was only so far she was willing to compromise.
Before putting on the dress, she strapped a Glock 19 on one thigh, her knife with three spare magazines on the other, and slipped the Glock 36 subcompact and its spares into a purse that Zoe had made her buy because there were no pant legs to hide an ankle piece. Now she felt halfway to human. If only she could think of a way to slip five feet of sniper rifle under her clothes…
Roman had pulled on a fresh t-shirt and slacks, strapped on an ankle piece (which she envied), and shoulder-holstered a pair of Glocks under his jacket. Then he leaned back against the open door and watched her. Steady, calm, and armed to the teeth—he looked so damn good. His smile said he knew it, too.
No.
His smile said she was standing naked except for her underwear and her weapons in the middle of a dark road in a hazardous country.
“Damn but you’re a picture, woman.”
“I’m not a fantasy poster-babe.”
“You sure as hell are. What I wouldn’t give for a camera at the moment.”
“That would be good. It would give me something to break over your head, Duck-man.” How was she supposed to keep herself from being dazzled by him? Nobody ever saw her the way Drake did. She almost wished that Norma had packed that ridiculous bit of La Perla frippery just so that she could pull it on at this moment and then tell him he wasn’t allowed to touch her.
“If only we had the time,” his voice was soft as he reached out and brushed a thumb down her cheek. Not her exposed breasts, not her bare waist, but her cheek.
She struggled with the unexpected tenderness as she wrestled the dress on over her head and her weapons. It made her feel…what? Desirable? Drake’s every glance and gesture made her feel that. Exposed? Absolutely, as if he could see parts of inside her that even she couldn’t.
But there was something else.
She turned her back to him, “Zip me.” What stupid men had designed dresses so that a woman needed a man to get her in and out of them? Bastards.
Roman zipped her in, then slipped his hands around her waist and held her tightly—so tightly it was even harder to breathe than the dress’ tight waistband made it.
Wanted? There was no question that Drake wanted her. Nor that she wanted him. She could finally accept that a man had gotten so far past her shields that she wanted him deeply.
“When we get out of this, Nikita, we’re going somewhere and you’re mine. Completely mine. You hear?” His voice was intense and his arms squeezed even tighter about her abdomen as he buried his face in her hair.
That’s when she knew what Drake made her feel.
Loved. Sugar and Zoe had both said Drake was “gone” on her. She hadn’t understood. Maybe they hadn’t even understood, not fully.
He wasn’t gone on her, he was in love. That was something she truly wasn’t ready for. But the words that came out weren’t careful or a rebuff. They were soft and…feminine.
“Yes, Drake. Completely.”
Now she had a new question: why was that answer not scaring the crap out of her?
Chapter Sixteen
You touch her and you’re a dead man,” Drake kept his voice low and calm.
The gate into the construction site was reminiscent of an army base guard station. Multiple stops, alternating concrete barriers forcing a slow, weaving drive to enter, massive floodlights fighting back the jungle darkness. And at the far end of the gauntlet, they’d been asked to climb out of their car.
When the guards went to inspect the inside, he’d hit the remote door lock on the key fob. The SUV had sealed itself with a smug click from all four doors and the rear hatch. There were items in there, like Nikita’s rifle, that were best kept out of sight.
That hadn’t exactly set the tone for a friendly welcome.
Then one of the guards had slung his rifle over his shoulder and moved in to frisk Nikita.
“I won’t repeat myself. Do not touch her.”
The guard glared at him, then made a point of looking at his three companions, all armed with M16A4s before sneering at him. The guard took the last step and raised both hands chest high to make it clear exactly where he was going to start patting her down.
“I tried to warn you.”
When the man glanced his way, Nikita shifted into action.
In a blur Drake could barely follow, she pulled the man’s KA-BAR knife out of his own sheath. With it, she slashed the carry strap on his M16. Snagged it by the grip with one hand as it dropped and aimed it at the guard who had been standing well back so that he could provide cover protection for the three closer guards.
She heaved his long knife, point first, into the ground, drawing everyone’s attention down.
Then, on the upswing of her arm, she yanked the guard’s SIG Sauer P226 out of his holster. She continued the upward motion and rammed the big pistol up under his chin hard enough to make him squeak.
While everyone was watching her in surprise, Drake pulled his pair of Glocks and rested the barrels on the temples of the two guards closest to him.
All four gate guards froze as if cast in concrete, their eyes shot wide.
“Nikita, can you please tell me why people just don’t listen to a simple warning?”
“Lack of education, Mr. Roman.”
“You,” Drake nudged one of them hard enough with his pistol to draw blood that began to drip down his temple. “Give us one good reason not to continue the lesson.” He’d finally found a problem with the Glock: because it had no safety, there was nothing to make a threatening click when he flicked it off.
“Because the tower guard will drop you where you stand,” he’d gotten over his surprise and shifted to anger. The tower they’d observed from across the river, looming above the front gate, had actually blocked their view of the gate itself. He wished it was still afternoon and he was once again lying close beside Nikita under the trees. Now the rising wind blocked any sound of the nearby river.
“Really, that’s your answer? Whichever one of us the tower guard targets first, the other one will still have time to kill at least two of you, but probably all four. You’ve got to do better than that.”
A Mercedes sedan rolled toward them from inside the compound. It didn’t come from a distance—one moment it wasn’t there, the next it was already in motion with its lights on. Whoever it was, th
ey’d been waiting outside the floodlit perimeter to see how the first meeting played out.
The sedan stopped twenty meters back and a man in a suit stepped out of the driver’s side.
“What did I tell you boys about these people being guests?” He called out as he got close.
“They wouldn’t allow us to inspect their car,” the guard facing Nikita’s M16 from too close a distance didn’t sound happy about it.
“Or check them for weapons,” the man with the dribble of blood easing down his temple was still pissed.
Drake ignored them and focused on the man. “Mr. Gutierrez, I presume?”
“Franshesco, please, Mr. Roman.”
“Then I’m Drake.”
Franshesco. One of the most prominent members of the Gutierrez family, with dirty fingers in far more than large construction contracts. They also controlled shipping, a small airline that specialized in moving very questionable cargo from Colombia to Mexico, and much more. He was into everything ugly in the country.
“What do I do with these?” Drake nudged his pistol once more against the man’s bleeding temple, earning him a hiss of anger.
“I couldn’t care. They’re replaceable.”
“Hear that, boys?” he asked the guards. “Next time you’re looking for work, contact Drake Roman, Inc. On second thought, don’t. We’re looking for people with skills.” Then he made a show of reholstering his weapons slowly as if he had no worries in the world about the two angry and armed men standing less than a meter from him. It was a calculated risk but he figured that it made him look more like an arrogant mercenary. That, and Nikita was still armed to the teeth.
As a kid he’d always wanted to be a Wild West cowboy. Not cowboys and Indians or Pony Express, but a gunslinger on the streets of Tombstone, Arizona, had sounded good—sometimes on the side of the law, sometimes not, but always The Blazing Guns of Justice. It had sounded good to a kid anyway. That’s how he’d gotten into acting, now that he thought of it. Funny that this was the first time he’d ever played the role of gunslinger. There was a certain satisfaction to closing that circle.
Target of Mine: The Night Stalkers 5E (Titan World Book 2) Page 19