Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

I raised my wine glass and held it in front of me. “Here’s to working with you,” I said. “It’s been, well, an experience.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I’ll say.”

  As we ate our meals, I decided I really liked Dalton. I was feeling more comfortable with him. Too bad I’d probably never see him again after we left Costa Rica in two days.

  Neither of us wanted dessert, so he called for the car and we headed back to our room. He parked and got out to open my door again. “Let’s take a walk,” he said and took me by the hand. He led me down by the pool to a deck that looked out over the valley. Tiny solar lights lit the walkway and gave a warm glow to the night. The insects croaked away in the thicket, the warm air full of the scents of the floral garden. He leaned on the railing and turned to face me. “Nice view, huh?”

  “Yes,” I said. I could barely see him in the faint moonlight but the glow of Arenal Volcano stood out in the dark sky.

  “Don’t look now but,” he whispered, “we’re being watched.”

  “Oh?” I hadn’t seen Yipes or anyone around when we got out of the car. How had I missed him?

  “Kiss me,” he said and pulled me to him. His lips met mine, a gentle caress, then he pulled me tighter, passion rising. It’s too dark for anyone to see, I realized, mid-kiss. But I didn’t care. I wanted his kiss. I wanted his arms around me. He pulled away for a moment, as if he were giving me the chance to back away, as though he knew that I knew no one was really watching. I hesitated. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I—”

  I wrapped my hands around his neck and pressed my lips to his and I was like a teenager, back in high school at the homecoming dance. My nerves tingled. Oh he could kiss! I leaned into him, pressing my body against his. He held me tight, his hands at the small of my back. I remembered how he’d lifted me up and twirled me around in the airport. Strong but gentle. His kiss was like that, strong but gentle. A flush of warmth came over me and I wanted to give into it. I wanted him to take me back to our room. I wanted to feel his hands on me, to—I pulled away to catch my breath.

  “We probably shouldn’t—” I bit down hard on my lip.

  “I know,” he said and nuzzled my neck.

  “I mean, essentially, you’re my boss and—”

  “Yeah,” he said, his head nodding in agreement. “You’re right.” But he didn’t let me go from his embrace.

  “We should call it a night,” I said. “Head back to the room.” I pinched my lips together. “I mean…you know what I mean.”

  I couldn’t see his expression in the dark, couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but his breathing changed and he held me against him as though he didn’t want to let go. Finally, he nodded and we walked straight back to the room. He shut the door behind him and I was in his arms again. This time he pulled away. “I thought you said—”

  “Shut up and kiss me,” I said. He grinned. “No wait,” I said. Crap!

  I spun around and took a few steps away, then turned back to face him. His eyes had turned to a soft brown. He looked at me, waiting, his breath coming in short pants.

  “I’m not sure we should—I mean, you and I—we probably ought to…”

  He nodded.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I said. I escaped to the bathroom and locked the door behind me. I looked in the mirror. My hair was all frizzed out. This humidity has messed with more than your hair. Your damn hormones are on the fritz. I cranked on the cold water.

  CHAPTER 17

  I left the bungalow early under the guise of wanting to get to the bakery before they were sold out. I told Dalton to wait, I’d be back. I didn’t want him to catch me pacing and I didn’t want him going to the house. Maria hadn’t called yet and I was starting to wonder if she would. Either way, I was leaving tomorrow, back to the U.S., back to the grind, back to working my way up from the bottom. As Dalton had made clear, this was a one-time deal, a necessity wrung from a senior agent’s mistake.

  My plan had to work.

  I climbed the stairs to the tree house. Noah hadn’t been back yet and the place had a lonely aura. So small, so primitive. I went to the bathroom and gave the biscuit can a shake. I grinned with absolute, unadulterated relief when Clyde bounded up the side of the house and swung on the hammock, launching himself into position to catch a biscuit.

  “There you are,” I said. I lobbed a biscuit into the air and he caught it. I watched him gnaw at it, holding it in his little hand and stump. I marveled at his ability to cope without his right hand. He compensated well. After all, what choice did he have? “Life is suffering,” I said. “That’s what the Buddha said.” He didn’t look my way, didn’t look up from his biscuit. He lived in the moment. That peace for which we strive, he’d mastered. Live for today. Live and let live. “If only others could share your wisdom,” I said.

  I went out onto the balcony, leaned on the railing, and gazed out at the ocean. “Oh, Clyde, what if she doesn’t call?” The morning sun streamed down into the water making it glow an aquamarine. “I’ll never have this chance again.” I turned back to Clyde. He was swallowing the last crumb. “Maybe I should have listened to Dalton. Maybe I should tell him what I’ve done. I think he’ll understand.”

  Clyde jumped onto the railing beside me and bobbed up and down, chittering away, his way of communicating.

  “I’m just trying to make a difference, you know.” Clyde grinned at me, his round, black eyes looking into mine, like he knew. “You’re lucky now, little buddy. You have Isabella. And Noah.” I frowned. Noah. What was I going to do about him?

  “I don’t think I’ll ever see you again, Clyde. This is goodbye, you know. Adiós.” Clyde frowned, covered his eyes with his tiny hand, and shook his head. “Isabella must have taught you the word adiós, huh?” He shook his head again. “Oh Clyde.” I picked him up, sat down in the chair, and cuddled him in my lap. “I’ll miss you.” I stroked his head and he cooed. I laid my head back, enjoying the warm morning scents, and warmth of another being, loving me. It was simple. “You’re the perfect man, Clyde,” I said. “Those other guys, complicated. But not you.” I scratched behind his ear. “Not you.”

  The phone rang. I jerked in the seat. Clyde leaped from my lap. I looked at my cell. Unknown number. “Hello?”

  “Brittany, this is George.”

  “Hi, George.” Of course she’d have George call.

  “Maria mentioned that you might be interested in looking at some animals yourself?”

  “Oh that,” I gave him a Brittany giggle. “No need. I’m all set. Thanks anyway.” I hung up.

  I gave Clyde a scratch on the head. “Time to talk to Dalton,” I said and headed for my moped.

  He was in the bathroom when I got there. I paced around the room, doubting, rethinking how I was going to tell him. The door opened. “We need to talk,” I said.

  “I know last night was—”

  “What? No. This isn’t about last night.”

  He looked confused. “All right, what then?”

  “George just called me. He offered to show me some more animals.”

  “What? George? Called you? Why would he call you? What did he say?” He paused. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “He said Maria told him to call me.”

  Dalton’s brow knit with confusion.

  I shifted on my feet. “Maria believes I’m the one making decisions on the big ticket buys.”

  He stared at me for a long, thoughtful moment, then his expression turned to annoyance. His temper in check, he forced out the words, “And why would she think that?”

  I offered a don’t-be-too-upset grin. “I kinda told her that.”

  His jaw tightened and he asked through clenched teeth, “And why would you do that?”

  “She cornered me in the horse barn. She knew I spoke Spanish. She accused me of hiding something.” I gave up on the grin. “So I went on the offensive.”

  He spun around, ran his fingers through his hair, and gripped a handful at the top of his
scalp. “Please, tell me what you mean by offensive.”

  “Nothing really, I just tried to connect with her, you know, psychology 101. Since she’s really in charge, and George is her lackey, I figured if I made her think I had really been faking the ditzy wife thing, give her a good reason, you know, the redirect, she’d understand and we’d bond.”

  “Bond?” He spun back around to face me. “You’re not making any sense. And why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  I held his gaze. I had no answer. At least one I could tell him.

  “Tell me everything.”

  “That’s about it really.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” He paced toward the window and back. “So where did George say to meet and when?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you said he called with an offer.”

  “He did. I turned him down.”

  “You what?” He grabbed his hair again and laced his fingers together. He looked like he was holding the top of his head so it wouldn’t blow off. “Why would you—”

  “You don’t bite at the first offer.”

  “Gee, don’t tell me, Negotiation 101?”

  “Actually, I saw it on an episode of MacGyver,” I said, deadpan. He didn’t need to be a total jerk.

  He held out his hands like he wanted to grab me by the neck.

  “Don’t worry. She’s going to call me herself.”

  His cheeks were turning red. “And how the hell do you know that?”

  “Trust me. She will.”

  He plopped down in the chair, his mouth hanging open.

  “I worked hard to make her think I’m a hard-nosed business woman. If I told George yes, she would suspect something was up. No good businessman would jump at the first offer.” He stared at me, unblinking. “Only a cop would do that.”

  His expression turned to disdain.

  My cell phone rang. “See,” I said. “Right on time.” I picked up. “Howdie,” I said in a cheerful Brittany voice.

  Dalton flopped back in the chair with a groan.

  It was Maria. In a calm, clear voice she said, “I’m confident we can come to an arrangement that will suit your needs.”

  “I’ve already made arrangements that suit my needs,” I said. Dalton covered his face with his hands.

  “I tell you what,” she said. “Hear me out. We already have an established relationship. Take a look at my merchandise. I will match any other offer or beat it. What have you got to lose?”

  “Hold on,” I said. I held my hand over the phone and winked at Dalton. He shook his head. I sang a verse of Row, Row, Row your Boat in my head. That was probably a good amount of time. I put the phone back to my ear. “All right,” I said. “We might as well take a look.”

  CHAPTER 18

  I mentioned to Dalton on the way to Maria’s house that we should stop and pick up a torta chilena. I don’t know why, but that seemed to irritate him more.

  He felt the need to remind me of our goal. “We are to confirm she is the head of this operation. Nothing else. We don’t reveal ourselves. We keep our cover. Nash decides what to do with the information. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “I mean it, Poppy. We’re not in the U.S. Our goal here is not an arrest. Our goal is intel. That’s it.”

  “I understand.” I got it the first time.

  “Even if we get an offer to sell, we do not arrest, we do not hint at arrest. We don’t warn, talk, sing. We do nothing.”

  “Got it. No singing.”

  He yanked the steering wheel to the right and skidded to a halt on the side of the road. He spun in the seat to face me. I instinctively pulled back from him. He was pretty fired up and I had no idea what was coming.

  “Let me be very clear,” he said, his jaw set. “I don’t like this. I don’t like how this has transpired. How you’ve—” He sneered. “I’m damn sure there’s more you’re not telling me. But we are going in there together. And there is no question about it, our lives are in danger. Do you understand that? Do you?”

  I nodded. I did.

  He stared ahead, his hands gripping the wheel for some time, then shook his head, reluctantly coming to some conclusion. “You got the invitation, however you did it. If she believes you’re the one running the show, then––” he clenched his jaw, then let out a breath “––then we need to continue with that. You need to take the lead.” He looked down, his tongue stuck in his cheek. “I’ll act the clueless husband.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had underestimated him. He was a true professional, dedicated to the mission—no matter what it took.

  “Just remember,” he said, his finger in my face. “My life is in your hands.”

  I nodded.

  “I need to know you understand. I need to hear you say it.”

  I looked into his eyes. “I know this is not a game. I know it’s dangerous. I promise to be careful.”

  He seemed somewhat relieved. “You better be.”

  I held his gaze, serious. I nodded.

  He eyed me. “What else do I need to know?”

  That I made her believe there’s another kingpin in town, threatening to take over her business. That I tricked her into paying a ransom. That I put Carlos in jail for running drugs. “Nothing,” I said. “I swear.”

  “All right.” He seemed satisfied.

  “I didn’t mean to––” I sighed. “I just knew she was the kingpin and the opportunity was there and––”

  “What’s done is done.” He stared ahead for a long time, thinking. It was as though some of the events of the past few days were clicking into place, making sense to him. “Believe me, I’ve been there. I just wish you would’ve told me before.” He stared, thought some more. Then turned to me, his expression stern, as though to drive home the point. “Remember what I said? This whole business of working under cover is like improv. So now, whatever happens, whatever is said, we go with it. No matter what happens, we stay in character.”

  “I can do improv.”

  “Not just improv. The most important skill you can have—more important than any combat training, physical strength, or technical skills—is your ability to twist the truth to fit the situation, to shape it to your advantage. On the fly.” He grinned. “And the ability to sell it. Which,” he shook his head, “I have no doubt you can do.”

  He slammed the gearshift into drive and pulled out. “Let’s do this thing.”

  As we pulled into the drive, the butler stepped onto the porch and called the guard dogs off. We parked and got out of the car. The butler greeted us. “She is waiting for you in the horse barn,” he said with a smile, as if we were there for afternoon tea.

  Dalton took me by the hand and, as we walked toward the barn, he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “For luck,” he whispered.

  As we entered the barn, part of me feared this was a farce, that she wouldn’t be there. That all my work had been for nothing. But she was waiting.

  If she hadn’t been an evil wildlife smuggler, I’d have admired her poise. She carried herself with a confidence most women would envy. She was neither friendly nor stand-offish. She simply welcomed us.

  Her little dogs circled, yipping their hellos. The same man was with her, the one who carried the gun. “Ramon will hold your cell phones,” she said.

  Dalton handed his over without reluctance. I dug around in the bottom of my handbag for mine. Fortunately, I’d erased all the texts and numbers already. “Search her bag, too,” Maria said.

  I shrugged and handed him the bag. “Keep it,” I said. If he searched it, some items might give him pause. This way, he’d be less likely to bother. I didn’t like being without those items, but you do what you’ve got to do.

  Maria gestured to three horses that had been saddled and were ready to ride. “Let’s go then.” Maria made it look easy. She seemed to float onto the back of the horse. Her man picked up each dog and they w
ere placed in the saddle bags on either side of her, their little heads poking out.

  Dalton helped me mount my horse. Not that I needed help. Then he heaved himself atop his.

  We followed Maria out of the barn and down a trail, the trail that led to the neighboring property and the coffee-roasting shed. She wasn’t hiding now. Maybe it was arrogance. Maybe she figured I knew now anyway. What was there to hide? Either way, she was taking us directly to her hidden lair and, I was sure, going to offer some class I species—scarlet macaws, howler monkeys, ridley turtles, maybe even a jaguar. If we were really lucky, she’d offer shark fins, but that was unlikely, since we’d established we were in the pet market. One step at a time.

  I felt a divine sense of satisfaction. She was leading us to our goal, to confirmation. Yet, at the same time, it felt hollow. We’d get up to the shed, see the illegal animals, confirm she was the kingpin, then we’d smile and walk away. I wanted to see her in handcuffs, dragged off to prison for what she does. I couldn’t help it; I wanted her to suffer for every animal she’d ever harmed.

  At one o’ clock in the afternoon, the heat was more than uncomfortable. The horses labored, huffing with sweat. Maria didn’t seem to care. She pushed her horse up the inclines and we had to keep up. She said nothing. Simply led and we followed.

  Finally, with my blouse soaked with sweat and my inner thighs raw from rubbing the saddle (of course I wore shorts), we came into the clearing where the roasting shed stood amid the concrete slabs. We dismounted and a guard led the horses to a shaded area with a trough.

  I tried to hide my excitement. This was it. Once Dalton saw the class I species inside, there’d be no question she was the kingpin.

  Maria led us around the corner of the shed and as we stepped inside I stopped short and my knees turned to jelly. It was empty. The two old coffee roasters stood in the corner and that was it.

  She gestured toward a couple of folding chairs. “Have a seat.”

  What was this about? I glanced at Dalton. He acted the dopey husband, as he’d said he would. He happily grabbed a chair and popped it open, placing it in front of me, then set up another for himself. He plopped down as if he didn’t have a care in the world.