by J. M. Madden
Kenny ran his hand over his head again, his smile not so sure, and the men laughed even louder.
That was how Madeira found them, laughing and joking with one another. She had a stack of hotel room keycards in her hands. “You boys get to double up. Two queen beds each room. Fontana, you and I both get singles. Suck it up, kids because we’ll be in the jungle tomorrow. This will be the most comfortable night you’ll have until we get back on the plane headed home.”
A couple of them groaned, knowing how right she was. Fontana wondered when she’d last been in the jungle.
“How long since you last visited?”
She glanced at him, her eyes calm. “A couple years. I have family in the area.”
“Family with helicopter connections?”
She blinked at him, then turned to ask Zero a question.
Fontana frowned, wondering if she’d just shut him down or what? Well, there was no wondering. She had shut him down. Period. He’d tried to make a joke but apparently it had been too long since he’d tried and he was lame as fuck.
Fontana looked at the bottle in front of him. He’d peeled most of the label off the bottle, but had drank less than an inch of beer. Other things weighed on his mind and he didn’t want his brain fogged by alcohol. The group’s emotions were pressing on his shields.
No one else seemed to be drinking a lot either.
“So, what kind of things are we going to be dealing with when we go in?” Zero asked, leaning forward on his elbows.
All eyes turned to Fontana, and he sighed. “I hope nothing, but we just had an altercation with the Chief Operations Officer of Silverstone. I’m sure you saw the news articles?”
A couple of them nodded.
“That wasn’t how she died, or her men,’ he admitted, “but it’s how the Collaborative spun it. The fact that they can disappear more than a dozen bodies and no one is the wiser is disturbing. It means they have support from government, probably local, state and federal. And definitely more resources than we do.”
Fontana looked around the group, appreciating the stalwart acceptance. He’d just told them his team had taken out over a dozen people but they hadn’t even blinked. It was nice working for former military like this. They knew what needed done, and it wasn’t always pretty. It wasn’t always socially acceptable.
“Are you sure there’s even going to be a camp?” Payne asked.
Fontana shook his head. “This information we’re working from is a couple years old. We’re not sure of anything. But we have to check it out just to be sure.”
“What did they do to you?”
The softly voiced question slipped in, even through the noise of the bar. He glanced at Madeira before he continued messing with the bottle. “Everything. The drug they were testing, Ayahuasca, was actually having a positive effect on us, but the testing was brutal. Most of the people in my group died within the first few months. Those that survived were tested more and more strenuously. They moved on from illnesses to injuries, sometimes devastating, because they wanted to simulate what might happen in wartime conditions. Broken legs, broken backs. Gunshot wounds. Knife wounds. We recovered from it all.”
She lifted a brow, obviously skeptical.
“And when we recovered we were stronger. Mentally stronger. That was the part that they didn’t know. Yes, they enhanced our bodies, but they also enhanced our minds.”
The group in front of him still didn’t shift and he wondered if they understood what he was telling them.
“How strong are you?” Madeira asked.
Fontana gave her a long look. “Strong enough to make you do things you’d never recover from. Strong enough to knock out the power in this room if I wanted to. Maybe even the hotel.”
Madeira sat back in her chair, crossing her arms beneath her chest. Finally, he thought, he was getting through to her. “Do you plan on making us do things we prefer not to?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I’ve been at the mercy of men who didn’t give a damn about me or my choices, and I would never force another person to deal with what I did. That’s why I want to get in and make sure no one is suffering at their hands.”
Fontana took a swig of his warm beer, looking away from her penetrating gaze. The guys he could deal with, but there was something about Madeira’s eyes that made him want to tell her everything. Right now, he’d given them the surface facts, but there was a reservoir full of secrets he’d never told anyone, not even Aiden or Wulfe. If he had his choice, those details would go to the grave with him.
So, the team’s mental security was good with him. He would never intentionally invade anyone’s privacy, because it was so precious to him. If possible, he would monitor the people around the team, though. Their safety was his priority.
A young man wandered up to their table, speaking to Madeira in rapid-fire Spanish. Wincing, she turned to the young man and forced a smile. Fontana frowned at the interaction. It was similar to what had happened with the bus driver, but his basic Spanish wasn’t allowing him to follow everything said. The kid was excited though, and broadcasting loud enough there was no blocking him out. Then the kid pulled out a cellphone and held it out at arm length. Madeira said no and held up a hand, her anxiety spiking loud enough to hit Fontana, but the kid took the picture anyway.
Fury overwhelmed Fontana and before he could think better of his actions he pulled the kid away from Madeira, sending a zap of power through the cellphone as he pushed him away. The kid took the brush-off good naturedly and returned to his friends, thumbing through the cellphone to show them his prize. When he realized the phone was fried, he gave an outraged cry, turning to look back at their group.
Fontana sat back down, looking at the woman across from him. Her expression had turned guarded, wary.
“Want to tell me what’s going on here? Why are these people stalking you like a celebrity?”
She sighed. “Because I kind of am,” she admitted. She looked at the group of men she worked with. “My mother was a war hero in Venezuela. She flew the president to safety when there was a violent coup attempt. When the dust had settled, the president knew that she would be seen as a rallying point for bravery and courage. She’s very beautiful and well-spoken, and he used her for a long time in his propaganda. Then she fell in love with my father and moved to the States.”
She paused for a moment, glancing around the bar and through the door to the lobby. No one seemed to be watching them at that second.
“My mother brought me here many times when I was growing up, proud of our heritage and family. When I was injured in the helicopter crash, they got ahold of the information and considered it courageous, even though I wasn’t in their Army. My scars are proof that I am as brave as my mother. The last time I came down things got a little wild. My picture was everywhere. Paparazzi stalked me the entire time I was here, taking pictures of my scars and broadcasting them.”
She scratched a fingernail over the surface of the table and Fontana knew how difficult that had to have been. Scars were a very personal subject to most military, and to have them glorified like that had to have been hard. He ached for her.
Madeira glanced up, as though she could feel his empathy.
The men were silent for a long moment, before all four broke into laughter. Madeira scowled until Zero clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been working with a celebrity and I didn’t know it! Fuck!”
“They need to come to Denver,” Kenny laughed. “We’ll show them courage and an assload of scars!”
“So if I show them where my eye used to be, you think I can pick up girls here?”
Madeira shook her head at them. “You guys are such assholes.”
But she ended up laughing, her smile broad on her face. Fontana stared, struck with how pretty she looked, with humor filling her face with joy.
Then he shook himself. He didn’t need that kind of distraction on this operation.
“I suggest we head to bed and get an early s
tart in the morning.”
They all agreed and trouped out of the bar. Zero and Payne took a room, then DeRossett and Kenny. He caught Madeira’s gaze, making sure she was as solid as she seemed to be. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
With a wave, she swiped the keycard and let herself into the darkness.
Jordyn had to drag herself away from the hotel hallway, where Fontana stood watching her. Nothing had been said outright, but something was humming between them. This wasn’t the time or place for any kind of attraction to spark, but it seemed to be happening anyway.
There was a way he looked at her, intense and steady, that seemed to be looking into her soul. Hell, if he had mental powers like he said, maybe he was. No, she seemed to trust him instinctively when he said he would not influence them.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about the whole mental thing. There was no denying what had happened in the conference room, or his apology later. Duncan and the other two LNF partners believed them, so she was trying to keep an open mind, but it was hard. It seemed so farfetched.
Jordyn wouldn’t put it past the government though. During her time in the Army she’d seen some shady shit. The grunts in her platoon had gone on some wild goose chases and lost a lot of men at the whims of some guy in a suit, five thousand miles away. But that was what they’d signed up for.
But what had happened to the kid’s cellphone downstairs? She hadn’t done anything to it, but she wondered if Fontana hadn’t sent a tiny little zing of power through it or something. Like the bulb over her head the other day. The thought that he might have done that for her made her feel appreciative of having someone like him on her six.
She dropped her bag to the bed and moved around the room, checking out the amenities. The window was locked shut, which she didn’t like. It was always good to have an escape route.
The bathroom was clean white tile and gray counter. Very nice.
Unzipping her pack, she pulled out her overnight pack. Through the years she’d learned how to pack efficiently and correctly, using every bit of spare room in her bag for essentials like food and water and baby wipes; more ammo for her sidearm.
She glanced at the connecting door between her room and Fontana’s, wondering what he was doing right now. Cleaning his weapon? She snorted as her imagination inserted a totally inappropriate image of him stroking himself. It had been a long time since she’d been attracted to a man, and this was entirely the wrong time for it to happen. Digging out her toothbrush and floss, she headed into the bathroom to get ready for bed.
Chapter Five
They met in the lobby before dawn the next morning. Fontana looked at the team, all clear-eyed and ready to go. Most of them were dressed in some version of black or jungle camo, mostly BDUs and t-shirts. Even Payne’s black arm looked tactical. There were no weapons showing but it was very apparent as the early morning workers swirled around them that they were a dangerous crew. Madeira, as diminutive as she was, looked like she could chew nails. Maybe she hadn’t slept well last night.
In spite of himself he’d listened for her movements next door. He’d heard her brush her teeth and flush the toilet, then the sound of rustling as she’d climbed into bed. And he’d heard her rustling hours later as he laid upon his own bed waiting for the tiniest sliver of sleep. It had been tempting to knock on the connecting door and see if she wanted to talk. But what did they really have to chat about? She was leery of him, and he couldn’t blame her. He probably would have done something inappropriate. Again.
Something about the woman seriously appealed to him though. Yeah, he’d hooked up with a woman when he’d gotten back into the states, but she hadn’t been serious. He’d had to fuck her to prove that he could, that that hadn’t been taken away from him in that damn camp. If it had, he would have offed himself. No hesitation.
Madeira appealed to him as a woman should appeal to him, though, and for the first time in years he felt desire, and need for human touch.
He watched as she turned on her boot heel and headed through the lobby, her lush little ass jiggling a little with her movements. Dragging his gaze away he looked up, straight into Zero’s cold eyes. The other man gave him a dangerous look before turning to follow Madeira, effectively blocking Fontana’s view.
There was a shuttle waiting to take them where they needed to go. Madeira leaned against the railing, speaking to the driver as the men filed on. Fontana brushed against her but didn’t actually mean to. She reacted like she’d touched a live wire, though, jerking toward the windshield to give him more room to pass.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
He settled into a seat a few rows back, his gaze falling to her naturally. She gave the driver a smile and nod, then headed to the seat she’d chosen.
The bus trundled out of the hotel turnaround and onto the road. Madeira had said that her uncle’s place was several miles outside of the city, so it would take them a while to get there. Fontana watched the city scenery roll by. It was surprisingly heavily populated here in Caracas, with tall white skyscrapers crowding the expansive blocks. There was a lot of homelessness as well, with tent cities here and there. They seemed to be traveling through a fairly destitute area. It didn’t smell great either, like the city’s septic system was at capacity.
Soon, though, the cityscape gave way to suburbs and then some farm areas. Even the farming communities seemed to be struggling, though. Trees began filling the area and the vehicles became fewer and farther between.
Eventually the driver turned south and they travelled for about fifty miles, but as the roads degenerated it felt more like five hundred. Finally, they slowed and pulled in through a line of trees. Fontana assumed this was a driveway because it was even rougher than the road. It seemed like they travelled another ten miles before the forest began to clear and several long, white, rust-stained buildings popped up.
Madeira leaned forward, obviously excited. As the shuttle pulled to a stop, an old man came out of one of the buildings, grease-stained blue jeans hanging down on his ass as he sauntered toward them. He was wiping his hands on an even more heavily stained rag, but his dark face split into a bright smile as Madeira walked toward him. With no hesitation she wrapped her arms around the old man, hugging him like she hadn’t seen him for years. Which, Fontana supposed, she hadn’t.
Fontana tipped the driver and gathered Madeira’s bag and weapons case as well as his own, then stepped off into the heat. It was only a bit past midmorning, but the humidity was beginning to boil. He glanced around the compound.
Fontana tried not to be judgmental because he knew it was hard to make a living in Venezuela, but the buildings of the ‘airport’, if it could be called that, looked to be damn near falling down. There wasn’t a single one that appeared to be square. The tin siding was dented and dinged, which in this humid environment, produced rust. There was a lopsided, heavy duty towing truck parked against one wall of the longest building that had to be older than he was, and there appeared to be a car junkyard against the wall of one of the others. There was no way any of those things ran… He hoped the helicopter they would be entrusting their lives with was in better condition.
Madeira was gushing Spanish faster than he’d ever heard anyone speak, and the old man was nodding and reaching down to cup her cheek. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss first to one side, then the other, before looking up at the men behind her.
“Mi Tío Pablo, gentlemen. My uncle. Brother of my mother. Pablo can work on anything that can fly. And even if it doesn’t fly, it might by the time he’s done with it,” she laughed.
Pablo waffled his hand in the air. “If we have luck,” he said smiling broadly.
Madeira introduced the men and they all shook hands. Fontana liked the comfortable old man. It didn’t seem like anything would shake him.
“Is she ready, Tío?”
He cupped her cheek again. Madeira was obviously a beloved niece. The man nodded and motioned toward the hangar again. “Of course, niñ
a. She has been waiting for you!”
Madeira headed toward the hangar, her steps almost running. It was only as she heard the shuttle toot as it drove away that she apparently remembered her gear. “Oh, no!” she cried, turning toward the retreating vehicle.
Fontana waved the bag and case for her, and she grinned at him. “I thought I was in trouble,” she gasped, taking them from him before jogging away. “Thanks, Fontana!”
Suddenly, Fontana found himself entranced with more than her ass. That smile directed at him made heat curl up through his gut, and it wasn’t from the jungle.
Following along behind as they headed into the hangar, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the spotless, well-lit garage he walked into, or the equally spotless dark gray helicopter sitting on a transport dolly. The windows gleamed and it was obvious that the machine had been well taken care of. It wasn’t new, but the bird carried her age well.
“Gentlemen,” Madeira breathed, her eyes alight with excitement as she began the introduction. “This is Margarita. She’s going to take us wherever we need to go, and she will bring us home safely. Because she loves my uncle as much as I do.”
“Dayam…” Shane breathed, lifting his glasses for the barest moment to look at the gleaming machine.
“I think I’m going to love Margarita,” Kenny said, sauntering close to look inside. “We got all kinds of room in here.”
“This is a Ka-62 medium duty helicopter,” Madeira said, her Army green irises lit with pride. “She’s used as a Medevac ʼcopter and for the oil and gas industry, and she has some of the most amazing bells and whistles you’ve ever seen on a craft.”
“How the hell did you get your hands on it?” Payne asked, arms crossed over his chest.
Madeira grinned. “It was actually given to my mother, a gift. Like I said, she’s a national hero. She has clearance at every airport. Because, you know, national hero.”
The men snorted and Zero reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get this bird in the air. We have a long day ahead of us.”