Mach One: An International Clandestine Enterprise Novel (ICE Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  I hate him.

  “I’ll see you at breakfast,” he said as he stood and walked out the door.

  Once it closed, she hid her face in her hands and released a whispered scream, burning her throat. She hated being trapped. Is that why she’d always found ways to make him angry with her? Why couldn’t she accept her lot? Why did she always do things she knew would upset The Godfather? No, El Padrino would never love her, but he provided shelter, food, and protection from the wickedness in the world.

  But I cannot deny he is evil. He’s vile.

  She wrapped her arms around her body and rocked. Remaining under El Padrino’s roof condoned his actions. Enduring his torture and then pretending that nothing was wrong ripped her apart on the inside. Living lies hurt more than the pain of electrocution.

  If only I had a friend—someone in whom I could confide.

  Continuing to rock, Mia refused to think about escape. She had run three times before, and each time the punishment had been worse. She’d been seventeen when she’d run last and El Padrino threatened to kill her. He nearly had. It took two weeks for her to regain enough strength to walk down the stairs. The Godfather might lie about many things, but when it came to threatening murder, she had no doubt he meant what he said.

  She swirled her fingers around her temple—the same place where Lucas had kissed her with such strange tenderness. She would never forget how gentle the pilot had acted in the weight room.

  But then in El Padrino’s office he ignored me. He even tried to be insulting.

  Her throat thickened, not wanting to admit how much the Australian’s standoffishness bothered her. Could she trust him after what he’d said? Was he trying to impress The Godfather as all men did?

  True, Lucas’ words were often harsh, but when no one else was around, he acted differently. And his actions didn’t match his words, which had cut deep. Was she uneducated? Yes. Was she sheltered? If living on a bad man’s hacienda and seldom allowed out of his sight counted, then yes. Was she an immature brat?

  I don’t know. What are twenty-one-year-old women supposed to act like? The only examples Mia had were from books and movies.

  In El Padrino’s office, the pilot had barely acknowledged her except for his insults. But no one needed to tell her if he’d showed concern, The Godfather might have shot him with that gun. Then her heart leaped when Lucas grabbed the revolver away and took control—of The Godfather for heaven’s sake. In her eyes, Lucas was a hero just for disarming him and walking out the door alive. Mia had never seen anyone do that. Why hadn’t the pilot killed El Padrino and assumed the role of the don? Gulping and drawing a hand to her throat, Mia realized how much she’d wanted Lucas to pull the trigger. She’d scooted to the edge of her chair. She’d held her breath. But then the pilot snubbed her and shoved the pistol in the back of his pants.

  Nothing made sense. Yesterday, Lucas had wrapped his arms around her and made her feel safe. Would he turn on her, too? Would he expose her to El Padrino?

  If so, then why did he kiss me? His lips were gentle and soft and made me feel like he cared. Until…

  Doubt clawed her insides. Had Lucas been acting? If so, was his act for her or for The Godfather? She had to know.

  Chapter Eleven

  Luke sat at the table in his flat emailing from an encrypted connection that fed directly to ICE. Even though Asa had said he wouldn’t be detectable, he limited his online time to very short sessions, then put the computer into airplane mode, turned it off and hid it. Until he understood the extent of El Padrino’s security, he wasn’t taking any more chances than necessary.

  He typed, “Going on a road trip tomorrow with VM’s goons. Heist of enemy truck. Think it’s another test. Going silent until I return…hopefully alive.”

  A reply instantly came back from Garth: “Any leads?”

  “Too early yet. Must earn VM’s trust first.”

  “Roger that. What about recruiting internal help?”

  Luke flexed his fingers. Should he mention Mia or not? She wasn’t a sure thing, but Garth needed to be thrown a carrot. It couldn’t hurt. “There’s a woman close to VM who could be of help. Not sure yet.”

  “Find out. Pronto.”

  “Yes, sir.” A soft knock came at the glass door, now concealed by vertical blinds. Luke glanced over his shoulder. “Got company. Over and out.”

  Closing the laptop, he didn’t wait for Garth’s reply. “Just a minute,” he said, quickly hiding the computer in the false bottom he’d cut out under the couch’s seat cushion. He cocked El Padrino’s Glock and stood at the side of the door. “Who’s there?”

  “Me,” a woman said in English. Only one woman in the entire hacienda had a voice as smooth as silk.

  Luke shoved the gun in the back of his jeans, opened the door, and pulled her inside. “It’s past midnight. What the hell are you doing here?”

  She wrenched her arm from his grasp and glared at him. Her eyes were angry red. “I couldn’t sleep. Do you know how much you hurt my feelings?”

  His heart twisted. God, he felt like a louse. “Back there?” he hedged, guilt clawing at his gut for having been so crass. But he wasn’t Luke Fox lady’s man, he was Lucas Lewis, outlaw bad guy. “In El Padrino’s study?”

  “You don’t remember?” She crossed her arms over her snug-fitting tank top and glared. “You didn’t even acknowledge me.”

  Luke tried to pass off a grin, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Something bad had happened before he entered the man’s lair—and Mia had received the brunt of it. As soon as he’d stepped into the room it had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to reach across the desk and strangle Morales. And wouldn’t that be a cluster-fuck to try to explain to Garth? Luke wasn’t there to be Mia’s savior. He’d been sent deep inside the world’s most notorious drug cartel on a critical assignment—a job meant to take down an operation that was killing teens across the world. Steeling his mind against his goddamned emotions, he looked her in the eye, careful not to glance lower at the supple cleavage begging to be admired. “What would it have looked like if I’d shown any sign of surprise? If I had dashed to your side and wrapped my arms around you?”

  “I—”

  “Morales would have pulled his gun from behind the desk—from a point too far for me to reach. Then I would have been dragged out of there in a body bag.”

  “But—”

  “This isn’t a bloody game. Your owner, or whatever the hell Vincent Morales is to you, made it damned clear I was to steer clear where you’re concerned.”

  “He’s jealous of everyone.”

  “Yeah, so jealous, he won’t think twice about committing murder.”

  “But you’re not like the others. You’re special.” She threw out her hands and paced in a circle. “I saw you stand up to him. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. Not ever.”

  Luke pushed his fringe away from his face. He needed to focus. Too many thoughts raced through his mind, the most urgent being he needed to get Mia out of his flat as fast as possible. Hell, if anyone caught her there, they’d both be shot at dawn.

  But damn it, he couldn’t just act like a buffoon and ignore the fact that she was in danger. How could he ask her what happened without showing his hand? Could he turn her into a double agent like he’d just suggested to Garth? Doing so could explode in his face in so many ways. He hardly knew the girl. Where was she from? What, exactly, did Morales have over her? Jesus, if only she weren’t a factor in this op. She could get him killed just by walking into his flat—just by talking to him.

  Finally, he grasped her shoulders and looked in those too-beautiful-for-words eyes. Eyes that were too lovely for a lone wolf like Luke Fox—a name Mia didn’t even know. “Look, I don’t react well when someone pulls a gun on me. If I didn’t stop him, he could have squeezed the trigger and you would have been sitting there in shock, splattered with my blood and brains.”

  “You were worried about that?”
<
br />   His eyebrows slanted together. “Huh?”

  “You cared if I got messy?”

  “What?” He shook his head. “No, I’m trying to tell you why I stood up to Morales.”

  She grinned. “I know and I admire what you did. But—” Those pretty blues filled with agony before she looked away. “I’m sure it didn’t mean anything, not to you. But yesterday, when I was with you…for the first time since I was six years old, I felt like someone cared. I felt…safe.” Her words were barely audible, eerie, but it was the tear slipping from her eye that twisted Luke’s heart into a million knots. God, he couldn’t get too close.

  “What did Morales do to you before I came in?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  She shook her head. “If I tell you, he’ll kill me.”

  “That bastard seems to threaten his loyal servants with death far too often.”

  “You don’t know the half of it—the problem is he follows through.”

  “Why do you put up with him?”

  She crossed her arms over her midriff as if she were about to double over. “Because I have no other place to go.”

  “Do you have a family? Anyone?”

  “No. I did once but—” She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes round as coins. “Don’t make me say any more.”

  Before he thought, Luke pulled her into his arms. The poor woman was shaking like a frightened kitten. “Christ. He’s a monster.”

  “That’s why I asked you to train me. A-and you proved it today. You don’t put up with guns in your face, you don’t drool over El Padrino’s riches and wealth and bow to him. I see how you move and I want to be like that.”

  Luke closed his eyes and inhaled. The scent of fresh rain filled his nostrils—fresh rain and sultry woman. “Being good at martial arts takes years. Being an expert takes a lifetime.”

  Her hands slipped around his waist as she rested her head against his chest. “You don’t think I can do it?”

  “I think you can, but a little skill can get you killed. Especially around here.” He smoothed a hand over her hair—soft as new fleece.

  “I don’t care. I want to learn.”

  Luke cradled Mia’s head and gave her a gentle peck on her crown. “El Padrino will never give his consent to allow me to train you. Especially now.”

  She tilted her face up to him. Heaven help him, she looked more delicious than whipped cream. “Maybe if we say it’s something else?” she pressed.

  He snorted. “You got any ideas? Because as far as I can see, he has you on a short leash.”

  “How about weight training? We could meet in the employee gym where there aren’t any security cameras.”

  “Strength and conditioning?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I still don’t think Morales will buy it.” He held her at arm’s length. “What about yoga?”

  “You know yoga?”

  “Yes, and my guess is Morales hasn’t ever taken a yoga class. He’ll think it’s some frou-frou dance moves, but he won’t know we’re throwing in some badass self-defense.”

  Mia eyes brightened as she clapped, looking more like a prep school cheerleader than a woman in trouble. “You mean you’ll do it?”

  “Yoga.” Luke held up his finger. “If you can convince El Padrino to agree. Don’t forget I have a job to do here and I’m not looking to end up dead.”

  “Thank you!” She grasped either side of his face and planted a kiss on his lips.

  Luke’s heart stopped as he reflexively sank his fingers into her waist and pulled while a crackle of energy ignited between them. Good God, she was playing with fire. Her breaths came hot and heavy as she looked him in the eye with nothing remaining of the innocent cheerleader image. She gazed at him with slightly swollen and parted lips, the desire behind her pupils steaming to the surface, embodying temptation on a platter.

  Passion overrode caution. He slowly lowered his lips, challenging her to move away, yet craving one more sweet kiss. As he lowered his eyelashes, he joined with her mouth—soft lips welcomed him, caressed him, greedy for him. In a rush, his tongue slipped inside, craving to taste her.

  A feral growl rumbled from her throat as she instantly responded, met him swirl for swirl, frantic suck for frantic suck. Luke’s hand rubbed up and down, kneading her, touching all of her, feeling her softness beneath the rough pads of his fingers.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he had Mia pinned against the wall. Her fingers threaded through his hair as her body rubbed against his. Breasts softer than silk brushed against his chest, sending his mind in a whirlwind of fervor. Her hips jutted forward, sweeping the length of his erection into her. God save him, the bed was only paces away. In two seconds, he could strip her bare and have her flat on her back. Plunge into her slick wetness. Feel those lithe hips gyrate around his cock. Show her what it was like to be with a man who knew how to give her a taste of what it meant to be a woman.

  God, it was insane, hot, erotic and totally reckless. Luke slid his hands down to her bum and lifted her, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him.

  Brrrrrring!

  The landline erupted with an obnoxious ring, loud enough to club Luke over the head with the jolt of sanity he obviously needed. Swiftly, he let her down and snapped his gaze to the phone.

  Shit!

  Mia scooted away and drew her hands over her mouth. She looked at the ringing phone as if it were a two-headed monster. “You’d better get it.”

  Luke had already reached for the receiver. “Si?” He reverted to Spanish.

  “Our sources say Zambada has changed the shipment time. We leave at 0500.” Thank God it was Juan, and thank God no one knew Mia was there.

  “Got it.” Luke hung up the receiver and looked to the woman with guilt hanging around his neck with the weight of an anvil. “You’d better go back to your ivory tower before you’re missed.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Central Mexico was like being in Australia’s outback. It was hot, trees were sparse, the roads weren’t paved and civilization seemed a million miles away. From his hiding place in the scrub at the bend in a dirt road, Luke watched the cliff for Marco’s signal. Aside from motorized vehicles and the AK-47 in his hands, the ambush seemed like something out of a Hollywood western.

  Except it’s deadly and real.

  He didn’t trust anyone in El Padrino’s ranks and he sure as hell didn’t trust the Zambada Cartel. It was clear Juan had made Luke the point person to put him in the most danger—to see how well he performed under pressure and to ensure the new guy was killed if it turned into a stonking shootout.

  Put me in a plane and I’ll show them pressure.

  El Padrino’s men flanked him on both sides, their weapons locked and loaded, ready for the attack. Luke had been in dogfights before, but never with enemy combatants on all sides. If things crashed and burned, he had no backup. Sure, he’d done his best to arm himself, to keep his body toned. But he wasn’t bulletproof and these murderous Comancheros didn’t issue Kevlar vests.

  On the cliff, Marco moved into sight and waved his arms. A few seconds later, the low rumble of a truck hummed from around the bend. Luke glanced to Juan. “Ready?” he asked in Spanish. “I’ll take out the driver’s side tire first.” He didn’t wait for Juan to respond. Shooting the tire would stop the truck, but Luke wasn’t about to admit his approach would also give the sitting ducks a chance to escape—maybe live if they were smart.

  Raising the AK-47 to his shoulder, Luke stepped from the brush and aimed. As soon as the grille of the truck came into view, he fired at the tire with a resounding crack. Surprised and panicked faces shifted his way as the men in the cab shouted, flailing their arms and scrambling to duck for cover. The man on the passenger side swung a rifle out the window, pulling back the bolt.

  Luke dove behind a boulder and rolled. El Padrino’s men opened fire, creeping from the bushes, sweeping their semi-automatics back and forth like fire hoses. Luke chec
ked his path. All clear.

  Bullets pinged on metal and thudded into flesh. Dying men wailed. The stench of blood and gunpowder wafted through the air while Luke ran to the rear of the truck. Reaching the door, he looked for Bruno—the bloke who was supposed to charge in from across the road and help open the back.

  Shit. Luke crouched below the doors, secured with a padlock. Shouts and pounding came from inside.

  How many guards are in there?

  “Bruno!” Luke yelled, but the ass didn’t respond. Together they were supposed to secure the shipment. Had he been set up again?

  Swearing under his breath, Luke shot off the lock. The door burst open to a volley of gunfire. Luke dove beneath the van, rolled to his belly and waited.

  Three guys jumped to the dirt.

  “Drop your weapons!” he shouted.

  One man fired.

  With a blast of bullets, Luke dropped him, then trained his rifle on the others. “I’ll let you live if you drop your weapons now.”

  The two exchanged glances and gingerly set their guns down.

  “Kick them away and lie on your faces.”

  Only after they obeyed did he sweep his weapon into the van—filled with coca. Once sure no one else was inside, Luke zip-cuffed the two guards.

  “I’m shot!” screamed a man from the scrub—Bruno’s stakeout place.

  When no one else moved to help, Luke scrambled over to the boy. “Where’re you hit?” Then he looked. Blood gushed through Bruno’s fingers, his palm plastered against his head.

  “Jesus Christ. Don’t move.” Luke stripped off his shirt, cursing the day El Padrino was born. The man was wealthier than the head of the most successful company in Silicon Valley and there wasn’t a damned field dressing among them.

  A couple shots popped near the truck, but Luke didn’t look back. He rolled his shirt then slipped it under Bruno’s head, keeping hold of the ends. “Let go now.”