The Protector of Ambra (Mercenaries of Fortune, #5)

by Lyn Brittan

  Pierce clipped in his seat belt, then reached into a bag that had grown dark and soggy with grease. “This is a cornmeal dumpling,” he said, handing her a wax paper-wrapped bundle. “And I’ve got some pechuga adobada – chicken breast – for back up. I went a little more basic for myself,” he said, pulling out something a little thinner than a standard quesadilla.

  He looked at her food with an almost childlike hope, nodding her on as she took her chicken whatever to her lips. It was less horrible than she’d expected. Not great, but better than the excrement they served from fast food joints.

  “You’re working very hard not to frown, aren’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Sorry. Hey, it’s not bad. Just not...you know...my thing.”

  “Hmm,” he said, handing over a Styrofoam drink container. “Our team demands countermeasures, redundancies and backup plans for every situation. Try this.”

  She shook her head. “Not in the mood for soup.”

  “Not offering you soup. Try. This.”

  As soon as he lifted the lid, she caught the scent of sugar and cacao. Pure cacao. The kind she’d get a freaking second mortgage for. She ran her nose along the rim of the cup and her heart skipped a beat. “What is this?”

  “Pozol.”

  “Iced chocolate?”

  “No ice. Made from cornmeal and—”

  If Pierce said anything after that, she didn’t hear it. Every cell of her being was lost as the cool, chocolaty rain from heaven skipped across her taste buds. “Good God.”

  “You’re welcome. Do I win this one?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He didn’t steal this sweet moment from her. After a fist bump of triumph, he put the car in gear and drove away. A relaxed silence settled between him, her and the pozol. Honey in the rock. She drank it almost to the last drop, choosing to save the rest for a second dose of culinary loving later on. “You still have that woman’s number?”

  “The waitress?” His cheeks turned Santa Claus red and he fished the scrap of paper out of his back pocket before balling it up. “Meant to toss it as soon as we got away.”

  She plucked the crumpled mass from the ashtray. With utmost reverence, she flattened it out over her plump thigh as best she could. “Don’t you dare. This is some amazing grade cacao. Your flirtations may have just found me a new supplier. I could kiss you for that.”

  “One, not flirting. Two, I’m not opposed to a kiss.”

  “I was kidding.”

  He wagged an unbelieving finger. “You weren’t.”

  “Just met you.”

  “I know. You’re weird.”

  As they drove, modern buildings morphed into yellow and orange stucco colonial houses. Out here, moisture trapped in massive spider webs glittered, not broken glass on street corners.

  More miles passed. The road cleared. Mission bells and archways replaced the brutish spires of towers and antennas. The air cleared too and new sounds emerged. Birds cawed and trilled at their arrival. Maybe the birds had been doing it all along. But with nothing but the rumble of their jeep’s tires on the gravel, for the first time she could hear their winged companions. It was, in a word, perfection.

  Aside from the corrupt business partner she needed to hunt down, a strong-armed robbery on the street and riding into the jungle with an American spy, this had to be the most perfect trip ever. Pound for pound, her first trip out of the country was a win. Not only was she set to potentially come home with a new supplier, but she was this close to exposing Noah for the snake he was.

  In the end, that was all she’d wanted. The truth. She hated liars and thieves. Noah was both and she’d do whatever it took to bring him to justice.

  Chapter Four

  He was a liar and a thief, but Pierce smiled anyway, as they pulled into the town where the monastery waited. Melody had fallen asleep hours ago. Her brows twitched against her short bangs. His fingers itched to brush her hair aside, but it wasn’t his place and his hand dropped lamely to his lap.

  She wasn’t his to console. Protection was one thing, but when his feelings started moving towards something more than minor flirtation, he redirected his focus back to the artifact.

  Olmec treasures were hard to get. The market on them was small – everyone preferred Aztec, Mayan or Toltec treasures – and those who did own Olmec artifacts rarely sold them. Then there was the fucking heartbreaking thought that more Olmec items did exist, but so many early archeologists had mislabeled them as having belonged to some other culture, and the pieces were now locked away.

  Well, he’d do his small part in making the world right again by stealing a piece of that history tonight. He looked back over at the beauty to his right. She complicated things, but on the whole, she’d kept his mind occupied. Instead of worrying about saving his ass, he’d fallen into the oddly comforting role of saving hers.

  He’d come to Mexico certain that it was the adventures that he missed most about his past life. Turns out, that was only the half of it. He missed saving people too. Pierce rubbed his knee. It felt good to be at the forefront of that again.

  “Now who’s smiling?” Melody asked. Her brassy voice was croaked and dry.

  “So are you.”

  The corners of her droopy lips slowly rose again. “Dreaming of pozol. What’s your excuse?”

  “Knowing that I introduced it to you. And...”

  She wiped the corners of her mouth and egged him on. “And?”

  “And we’re here.”

  “Here doesn’t look like much.”

  “It wouldn’t. See that building over there? It’s a monastery. The thing I need to take care of is inside.” Her hand dropped as fast as her jaw did. “What?”

  “Take care of? Like...” She made pew-pew sounds and pointed her fingers.

  “Jesus, Melody, I’m not killing anyone.”

  As if every bone in her body had turned to jelly, she folded back onto the seat in open relief. “Good. I mean, ‘cause they’re monks. I’m thinking, what kind of asshole am I with, who’d do something to monks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean, I’d get if they were some secretly evil monks,” she said with laughter in her voice. “You had me going for a second.”

  Yeah. More and more, he wished they were evil too. It’d chip away the guilt a little. He mentally added another five grand to the cash he intended to send to the monastery afterwards. Guilt’s a bitch...with spiky hair. “So, look I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait, you’re walking up there? It’s gotta be a mile away.”

  “Half a mile and it’s the middle of the night. This place is surrounded by lights and protections. I come rolling up there in this loud jeep and everyone wakes up,” he said, shrugging on a black backpack that included his gun, a backup gun, tranquilizers and every anti counter-theft device known to man.

  “But they are expecting you.”

  “Of course. Look, they’ve got lauds at three in the morning. I figured I’d give them a few extra minutes of sleep. Like I said, they’re good—”

  “Lauds?”

  “Morning prayers. These guys are up from three in the morning, all the way until nine at night. It’s only the one guy I need to meet anyway. He’s meeting me at the hostelry a bit off grounds. Go back to sleep, okay? It might take me about forty minutes to finish up.”

  “I don’t even want to know how you know that.” Her eyes scrunched in confusion, but she nodded against the headrest and her lids swooped back down. In the cool light of day and with a clear head, no way would she have bought the full load of shit he’d just thrown at her. But her exhaustion was on his side. As long as he was back here safe and sound and they were off to handle her business before sunrise, she’d never have to know the truth.

  Chapter Five

  Melody spun a coin on the dashboard for the millionth time. It looked quartery-ish. Only it was gold colored with silver around the outer edges. Whatever it was, it didn’t cure her boredom.

  She tried listening to th
e radio. Static.

  She slurped the last of her pozol. Hard.

  She even briefly considered calling her mom to fill her in on the crazy details of the last few hours. And it had been hours. She’d fallen asleep under the skies of a midnight moon. Melody swiped her forehead against her once white and dry sleeve. It had to be a billion thirty-seven degrees out here. She felt each one of them, and the sun still hadn’t come up yet.

  Another check of the rearview mirror didn’t show much. Just the edges of the road and more leaves. She’d tiptoed to the road every half hour or so, but there was nothing around her except gravel and trees.

  And the gun.

  The not-quarter she’d spun had crashed into it more than once. A gun wasn’t the sort of thing a person accidently left behind. Which meant he wanted her to have it.

  Which probably also meant that he had another one on him.

  Which then begged the question, why?

  Okay, this part of the country had strange creatures in the jungle. Fewer of the kind that might kill people, but a fair share that could hurt people if scared.

  But come on.

  Leaving her a gun? He might as well have left her the nuclear launch sequence code. Even with basic instructions, she’d never be able to get a shot off.

  Her eyes kept going back to it. The thing twinkled in the moonlight. Whenever the coin got too close to the barrel, she’d shiver and nudge it away with her pinkie.

  She’d known for a while that she could trust the agent. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have come out here with him in the first place. But him leaving her a weapon that she could turn around and kill him with, sealed it. He was a good guy.

  Why the hell couldn’t she have met him back home?

  She dropped her chin on the dashboard with a snort. Because, she wouldn’t have paid attention to him back there. Somewhere along the way, time had gone on without her. She’d been so focused on preventing professional failure, that she’d somehow prevented having a personal life. She was hitting THAT age. Her mom hadn’t pressured her, thank God. Still, he was the kind of man she’d had dreams about.

  She and Angela had gone through a few frogs. No princes in their pasts. After a while, it was easier to focus on work. Sweet Happiness Chocolate Haus had saved them all. She’d gotten along fine without princes, until now.

  Here was a prince who had saved her and then promised to save her business. She’d never believed in fate. Kismet was the stuff of old movies. And yet, here she was with an honest to God hero who also happened to have an MD after his last name. Whatever that was.

  She popped up, flipped down the visor and snapped her finger at the not-totally-visible woman in the reflection. “No. You will not mentally MapQuest your way from the shop to Massachusetts. Even if it is just over the border. No!”

  Daydreaming hadn’t gotten her this far in life. Worrying about tomorrow wouldn’t do her any good if she didn’t get her shit straight today.

  She checked the time on her phone again. Pierce had been gone forever. She must have been half-asleep when he left. She tried to remember what he said before leaving. They hadn’t driven up to the monastery because of prayers or some such? She didn’t buy it. The monks probably had some ancient rules about women on the grounds.

  She wasn’t going to make the poor man walk because of archaic practices that made no sense in the modern world. Hell, she wasn’t about to hop into bed with any of them. And the way she smelled, they’d have to be insane to want to do anything other than pray for her.

  That sealed it.

  Melody hopped into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition and put the car in gear. Then immediately shut it off. The guy was a freaking agent. Presumably, doing agenty things. He wouldn’t have brought her out here if it was dangerous, but the man had a reason for leaving her out here.

  Unless it actually was dangerous and he’d put her in a place as far away from that danger as possible. Maybe he wasn’t even in the monastery at all. “Crap.”

  Her skin prickled and her mouth was as dry as cotton. She twirled the coin, looked at the gun, then looked at the mirror again.

  The monastery lights that had pissed her off moments ago suddenly became beacons of hope. If there was something crazy in the woods, that crusty, old building might be the one place to save her. The urge to rotate in the seat was overwhelming. Even if she couldn’t see it clearly, it was good to know that there were people out there. If she screamed, they’d maybe even hear her.

  A twig snapped to her left. “Pierce?”

  No response, but the snapping morphed into heavy crunching. Not closer, but parallel. Like it, whatever it was, was sizing her up.

  “Fuck this.”

  She turned the key again. Mud splattered and earth crunched under her tires, but nothing was as sweet as the sound of rocks beneath her jeep. With each second, her heart lightened at the prospect of seeing another human being.

  She only made it a few hundred feet up the road before shattering shards of glass prickled her face. She should have paid attention in high school physics. Something about the speed of sound? Because she didn’t hear the bullet until it hit its mark and the windshield came crashing in around her.

  Chapter Six

  “Kill the damned lights, Melody!”

  Pierce’s feet crunched on the road while he zigged and zagged to avoid getting shot. It was one of four sounds; the senses strip down to the essentials in times like this. His brain only processed the sound of his feet pounding the gravel, his heart punching against his eardrums, a bullet racing for his back and Melody shouting, “What’s going on?”

  Who asks that while getting shot at? Apparently, the same type of woman who didn’t freak out at the prospect of getting shot. She wasn’t crying or driving off in the other direction. She just looked pissed. Woe to the men trying to kill her if she ever caught up with them.

  “What the hell have you done, Pierce?”

  And maybe woe to himself. “The lights,” he screamed. “Off. Sooner is better than later.”

  The jeep faded away from direct view. His ears took over again. His breathing, his feet, the bullets and the deep crunch of slow moving tires. Good girl. She was still coming for him.

  When the awkward square of the vehicle was within his sights, he heaved himself into the seat. Glass pierced his left hand on the cushion. “Are you hit?” he asked, shining his flashlight across her face.

  “Lights!” she hissed back, then in one of the best three-point turns he’d ever seen, she whipped that jeep around and jetted down the road.

  “You okay?”

  “Peachy.”

  “Shot?”

  “Got lucky.”

  He wanted to see her face again to make sure she was okay. To perhaps see if there was a hint of excitement on her lips. He thought he’d heard it. She’d handled this a little too well to be not enjoying it. He sure as fuck was.

  Pierce leaned back into the bucket seat a bit. Feeling the bundle of the antique knocking against his spine with each bump in the road warmed his thieving heart. He’d done it. Hell, yeah, he’d done it.

  Melody snapped her fingers above the wheel. “Why do I see teeth? You’d better not be smiling.”

  Perhaps his initial assessment was off. “Sorry?”

  She blew out a long gush of air. “I don’t want to be a nag...”

  “You’re not. Not at all, Mels. Can I call you that? I feel like we’ve been through—”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “You may not call me Mels,” she said with all the love of venom dripping from an asp’s forked tongue. “You have gravely misjudged something.”

  “I do believe you’re right. So...I should explain.”

  “Do that.”

  “Okay.” He owed her the truth for getting shot at. Or at least, a truth for helping him not get shot. “So, look...”

  “It’s not a monastery is it?” she asked, slowing the car.

  He cleared his
throat and drummed his knuckles against her too-nice thigh. “You’re going to want to keep going. I doubt we’re done being shot at for the night.”

  Melody jammed the gas and swore under her breath. “Guess that answers my question. Look, I get that you can’t tell me everything, but when my life is in danger, I have the right to know what’s up.”

  “Your life wouldn’t have been in danger—”

  “Don’t you dare say it.”

  “Right, so, uh, still a monastery and still monks inside.” She snorted and shifted gear, but kept her mouth shut. He snatched the opportunity to clear the gunpowder-scented air between them. “I mean, Melody, it is a legit monastery and there are monks inside it, though it’s safe to assume it wasn’t the monks shooting at us.”

  “Shooting at you. Point of clarification.”

  “Noted. Listen, Melody—”

  “What you’re really saying is that you hadn’t expected to find bodyguards at a church and they housed your ass.”

  “Not exactly. I don’t think they were hired by the church. Probably one of the buyers wanted to make sure that his goods were safe.”

  “Buyers of what, Pierce? Are you a crackhead?”

  “No.”

  “Crack dealer?”

  “No, no one is doing anything with crack. Jesus, woman.”

  “Were you, or were you not shot at?”

  “Well, I—”

  “And did I, or did I not narrowly miss getting a windshield inside my face?” she screeched, hands up and clawing by her lava-red face.

  “And whose fault is that?”

  Bad idea.

  The woman’s eyes went from the color of spring on a Sunday to gunmetal blue. “Uh, your fault. What was the big deal anyway? Why were you even there? You said buyers. If this is a drug deal of any kind, I swear to God...”

  He flickered on his flashlight again. “Windshield in your face? You said you were okay.”

  “Don’t dodge the question.”

  He hadn’t been trying to. He was simply recovering from a stomach that twisted in on itself at the sight of tiny nicks in a thin line across her jaw. “When I ask if you’re okay, I expect to be told the truth.”