Gideon

by Cherry Adair

  Shifting his focus from her face to her bare legs, he moved to the other end of the narrow cot. Lifting one slender muddy foot, Sin ran his hands up and down her leg, turning it this way and that, searching for a raised welt, a hot spot, a small hole indicating a puncture wound. Her skin felt warm and silky smooth, but there were no welts. Redness and scratches from her fall through the trees, but no hot spots. Gently returning it to the mattress, he did the same to the other leg and foot. He noted that the long scratch on her thigh was healing well. Mama’s poultice had done its job.

  Pushing up the too-large T-shirt to expose her bare lower body, Sin kept his focus on what he was looking for, but the smooth skin of her belly, the silky dark hair hiding where he wanted to be, distracted him. He found himself stroking instead of inspecting.

  Her abs tightened as he stroked her belly, causing him to lift his eyes to find her watching him, narrow-eyed. Her hand rose to tangle in his hair, riveting his attention to the invitation in her dark gaze.

  “You have to stop groping me when I’m unconscious, Diaz.” Her voice, low and sultry, shot straight to his groin.

  He skimmed his hand up her midriff to the under curve of her breast. Her nipple beaded beneath his light touch as he murmured, barely able to get the words out, “You’re not unconscious now.” He leaned over the bed, all the while thinking he should be backing away and knowing that he wouldn’t.

  The sharp sting as she gripped handfuls of his hair in her fists added to the leap in his pulse. Eyes locked on his, Riva pulled him in closer, her lips an open invita—

  The hard blow to his chest came out of nowhere, dissipating the sensual haze as Riva rabbit-punched him with both knees straight to his solar plexus. The blow to his chest shocked the shit out of him and he lost his balance, landing on the bed beside her, gasping for breath.

  “That’s for punching me, asshole.”

  With unexpected speed, she rolled until she was sitting astride him.

  Surprisingly strong, alert, and with murder in her eyes, she pressed down on his elbows with both knees, effectively incapacitating him. For the moment. In her left hand was his Glock, which he’d stuck in the back of his pants.

  Fucking hell. She was good, damn good.

  He now knew one thing for certain: She was absolutely, positively, not an aid worker.

  “I warned you it was coming,” he pointed out.

  Her eyes widened, but he only glanced at the surprise that he saw there for a second. Her crotch, inches from his face, smelled enticingly of feminine musk and captured 200 percent of his attention. Sin’s dick leapt with excitement. The rest of his body, especially his brain, wasn’t so hopeful. Swallowing hard, he lifted his gaze up her body to the cold, calculating intent on her face. “Who the hell are you?”

  She shot him a bland look. “The woman who just got the drop on you, Mama’s boy. And next time you give a warning, make it more than an incoherent mumble. Communication skills definitely need improvement. Where the hell are my clothes, Diaz?”

  Sin settled back. With a view of her open pink folds and smooth belly, he had the best seat in the house. Let her rant. He’d had heavier adversaries sitting on him, but none nearly as appealing.

  The first faint rays of dawn highlighted her curves and valleys. Sin’s gut clenched. She had scars. Faint pink lines, he saw now. Her wrists… Not from Mama’s rope. Old scars, faint, telling badges of pain. Christ. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for her.

  Irritation, yeah. Lust and sympathy? No.

  “Whatever you’re thinking,” she snapped, tilting up his chin with the barrel of his Glock, “forget it. I want my things and then I’ll be on my way.”

  Untidy strands of glossy black hair escaped from the long braid down her back and spilled over her shoulders. Early morning sunlight made the dark strands look as though they were coated in gold. She painted an enticing, exotic picture juxtaposed against the rough, worn gray brick of the walls behind her.

  Supremely uncomfortable with her sitting square on his trapped dick, and her hard knees pinning his arms, he was strangely entertained by her. “You’ll have to kill me first, and look into my eyes when you do it.”

  She exerted a little more pressure on his elbows with her knees. “You say that like you think it’ll bother me. Trust me. It won’t.”

  If he wasn’t looking right at the tempting folds of her vagina, he’d say she had the cojones of a rhinoceros. Riva Rimaldi also had the fearlessness and aggression of a honey badger. Both attributes could have her bleeding out on the floor right now if he wasn’t so damned amused and turned on by her.

  “If you think you’ll be able to walk out of camp undetected, think again,” he said easily, shifting his hips just enough to ease a little of his discomfort. Didn’t help worth a damn. “My men will shoot you on sight the second you leave this building, and there’s no telling what Mama will do to you. And if you’re lucky enough not to be dead, you’d never find Maza. You won’t make it a mile before some animal decides to eat you for lunch.”

  His gaze darted to her intimate folds and he raised a brow in silent invitation.

  “I’d rather take my chances with the animals. Thoughtful of you to be concerned, but it isn’t this Maza I want to find.”

  He almost believed her. “No?”

  “I want to go to where the chopper crashed to bury my friends and pay my respects.”

  That came out of left field, making Sin frown. He shifted his legs to see if he could. He could. Bucking her off would be easy enough. For now he’d see just how far she wanted to take this. He’d draw the line at being shot point blank if he could avoid it. “Crash site’s three hours away.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not on a timetable.”

  He could smell her heat and was almost salivating to get inside her. “And once that’s done? Then what’s your plan?”

  “Get to Santa de Porres and join my fellow aid workers.”

  As the sun climbed higher, the camp was wide awake and raring to go. He heard the stomp of booted feet. The sound of weapons being cleaned, low voices. He dragged his attention up to her face. “Lady, you’re no aid worker.”

  “Why? Because I got the jump on you?”

  “Yeah, and because nothing I’ve done to you has scared you. Yet.”

  “My daddy was a Marine. He taught me how to defend myself on a date.”

  “If this is how you treated your dates, you were dating the wrong guys.”

  “I’m going to let you up.” She pointed the Glock at the base of his throat. “But I have this trained on you, and believe me, I will shoot and not bother with questions later.”

  She rose on her knees over his body, a move that stole his breath with its possibilities. “Stay still, like a good boy.” Keeping the gun trained on him, she eased her way over to the side of the narrow bed, got her feet on the floor, and stood. “Up. Hands behind your head, fingers locked.”

  Sin got to his feet and obeyed. She took several steps back, out of his reach.

  “Now what?” Just by size alone he could overpower her and have her flat on her back, legs spread, in about two seconds flat. It might be worth the risk of getting shot to try it.

  “Where are my clothes and boots?”

  “And weapons?”

  She gave him a dirty look. “Those, too. Family heirlooms.”

  “Really?” He kept his lips still with effort. “Unusual for an aid worker to carry a SIG-Sauer and a KA-BAR, not to mention that cute little knife you wore as a necklace.”

  “Let’s just say I’m not typical.” She gestured with the barrel of her gun. “Clothes?”

  “In back.” He eyed the barrel, then her face. Yeah, she’d shoot to kill.

  “Let’s get them.” The gun didn’t waver. “Move, Diaz.”

  Fast as a death adder, he wrenched the weapon from her hand, then held it to her temple. “I’m not in the mood for games.” Sin gripped her chin hard, forcing her to stare into his molten eyes. “Give me any
more shit and I’ll willingly hand you over to Mama’s charming interrogation techniques just to get rid of you.”

  He kicked the door shut with a slam without breaking his hold on her, and the gun in his hand didn’t waver. “Speak now or forever hold your peace, lady. I’m out of patience. No more bullshit. I’ll know if you’re lying, and frankly, it would be easier for me to kill you than have you shrieking and giving me a headache.”

  “Wouldn’t taking an aspirin be more expedient than killing me?”

  He gave her a cold look. “It wouldn’t give me nearly as much satisfaction.”

  She believed him.

  Dropping onto the thin mattress, Riva’s eyes welled with tears until his rugged face blurred and the room disappeared in a wash of gray and green. A vast improvement.

  “You terrify me, you know.” She let the tears slide down her cheek, drip off her chin. She sighed for a little more effect. Men hated tears. They hated a woman sighing in despair, too. Playing a victim, as much as it burned her stomach, could go a long way to persuading him of something she wanted him to believe. Maybe.

  He was not a pushover, though. This game required finesse and poignancy with a little layer of fear thrown in. She didn’t oversell it with a sob. Instead she managed a credible, and subtle, lower-lip tremble. Her ability to cry on cue frequently assisted her in her job. Like her SIG and the KA-BAR, crying was a merely a tool, a means to an end.

  She’d stopped crying real tears at nine, because it hadn’t helped then. But it had worked outside that Hong Kong bar when she’d been approached by three tangos looking for a T-FLAC operative. She’d persuaded them that she was just a lost girlfriend looking for her soldier boyfriend.

  Worth a shot now.

  Sin leaned a shoulder against the wall, folded his arms, and gave her a cool, unsympathetic look. Well, damn. Apparently, it wasn’t going to work with this hardened man. “You finished yet? If you think that’ll make me consider going easier on you, it won’t. I don’t give a flying fuck if you drown in those crocodile tears. And believe me, they won’t deflect the question. Tell me what you’re doing for Maza and I’ll consider letting you join him.”

  She gave him a dewy, drenched look filled with girly hope. “S-seriously?”

  “How fucking stupid do you think I am? Stop the melodrama. I saw the real you when you absorbed my punch like a pro. The real you managed to survive that helicopter crash. Lady, you’re a pro. But a professional what? Who the hell are you?”

  Asshole.

  Still, maybe she was going about this all wrong. He wasn’t a regular guy. He was a live-by-the-sword, die-by-the-sword guerrilla. He was apparently impervious to feminine wiles, and since she wasn’t an expert at them anyway, she turned off the waterworks.

  She wiped the useless tears off her cheeks, squared her shoulders, and gave him a look that was all Riva Rimaldi, T-FLAC Operative. She gazed at him with unfiltered bravado, hoping he saw exactly who she was: a woman warrior who was tough as nails on the inside and outside and determined to meet her goals. Yeah, she wanted him to know she meant business—get the fuck out of my way or pay the price.

  He gave her a slightly startled look, then narrowed his eyes, his jaw tight. “Jesus. You are good. Now. Who the hell are you?”

  “You’re like a damned broken record.” She had to give him something since he wasn’t buying the aid worker bit, and time was a-wasting. What she gave him, though, had to serve her purposes, not his. “Not who I am. But what I am.”

  He raised an inquiring brow. Riva felt a violent urge to punch him. She refrained in an amazing display of self-control as she got to her feet to face him, mirroring his arms folded position. With no room to back up, and since she was a good nine inches shorter, she had to tilt her head to see him. “You hate Maza.” Statement of fact. Not a question. Putting them both on the same side would be a good start.

  He watched her, unmoved. He could be posing for a Soldier of Fortune cover. The flak vest lay open. Hard-cut abs beckoned her hands, her mouth. Her gaze travelled south, following the arrow-like trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. Riva dragged her gaze back to his face. Even more distracting.

  “Two kings,” he bit out. “One mountain. My mountain.”

  Lord, he had a giant ego. “I can resolve that problem.” She held his gaze. “I’m here to kill him.”

  “Kill Escobar Maza?” Eyes amused, mouth unsmiling, he cocked his head. “Are you now?”

  Now she had his interest. What the hell do you want me to do? Knock information into your head with a hammer? “Yes.”

  “Why? Did he abandon you and the baby and go back to his wife?”

  If she had her KA-BAR, she’d stab him right in the middle of his black, octagonal heart. “He’s not married. And no, I’ve never met the man. I was paid good money to come here, posing as his psychic so I could get close enough to kill him.”

  “I’ve heard about Maza’s deep belief in psychics.” He gave her a considering look, as if assessing her skill level and the validity of her claim. “He’s said to be as superstitious as hell, and buys into all that shit. If you have a hope in hell of pulling this off, you’d better be a real psychic, or an even better actress. Are you either?”

  Both. And apparently she was going to make Sin Diaz’s every sexual fantasy come true pretty damn soon, unless she figured out a way to change that unfortunate future for herself. “Psychic? Of course not.” She’d denied it all her life. Most people took her at face value. The ones who heard the truth fled like rats from a sinking ship. Family. Friends. Lovers. No one wanted to know what was coming, even if they claimed they did. “But he doesn’t know that.”

  “Are you good enough to fake it?”

  “I used to be a jury consultant. I was damn good at reading microexpressions and body language. I can play him, and do an Oscar-worthy job. Besides, I don’t need to be that good. All I have to do is get close enough to kill him. There won’t be time for me to do any predictions of his future.”

  “The minute he sees you the game will be over, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Graciela and I are very similar physically. I talk like her, walk like her, and know things only she could know. I’m not worried.”

  “Maybe he carries a picture of her in his wallet.”

  “Aw, sweet. You’re a romantic. If that’s the case I’ll be in trouble. I’ll worry about it if and when the time comes.”

  “So you have particular skill sets for the job. Reading microexpressions and all that woowoo stuff.”

  There was nothing woowoo about her gift. She either saw or she didn’t. Frequently she got nothing. And rarely did she have such a strong vision that it was almost in real time. “I’m a woman of many talents.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “No idea.” Riva dropped her arms and walked to look out of the window. Jungle. Jungle. Green. And more jungle. Without her weapons, GPS, rations, that package… She wouldn’t make it one click. Chance of survival? Not much better than the hostages she’d freed.

  Fellow operative Jake Dolan had taught her how to live off the land, and sniper AJ Cooper had taught her how to make her last bullet count. “Maza sent two of his men to accompany me, but I insisted I know his GPS location to assist with my ‘prediction.’”

  Riva turned and leaned her butt against the wall beneath the cracked window, tugging the oversized T-shirt down her thighs. She would really, really like to have this damn conversation while she was at least wearing underwear.

  “Are you telling me you blindly accepted a job from an anonymous employer to go into dense jungle, in a foreign and, may I add, dangerous as hell country, just on blind faith?”

  “Blind faith and an obscenely large paycheck. I never know who my clients are.”

  Dark eyes flickered to her unconfined breasts, then back to her face. His lips twitched. “You’re a hitman?”

  And turn the hunting knife slowly. “If it wasn’t for his crappy helico
pter, his crappy pilot, and your fucking missile, Maza would be dead by now. Help me track him so I can kill him. I’ll wire one million into your bank account when I get back home.” Hell, she could offer him fifty million. But since she had no intention of doing it, she might as well sound sincere as well as realistic.

  “Two of Maza’s men accompanied you on that helicopter. The pilot was also found in the wreckage. Who were the other two men onboard?”

  It never got easier losing a fellow operative. What they did was dangerous, and no matter how good, how experienced an operative was, there were always losses, always the risk of dead in the field. She never thought of her own mortality. And she couldn’t allow herself to think about them. Not until she’d done her job and was debriefed. Right now, many more lives hung in the balance. She had to stay focused.

  She shrugged as if it was nothing that the two men had given their lives before the op had even started. “They weren’t with me. Probably the real deal.” He gave her a dark look and a raised brow as she finished. “Aid workers.”

  “Doubt it. Where’s home?”

  He’d glommed on to the last word.

  “In my line of work I travel too much to bother with one.” That part was true. Home was T-FLAC Headquarters in Montana.

  He held the Glock steady, no matter where she moved, pointed at her heart. Wasn’t his arm tired?

  “A million…US?” He quirked a dark brow. A strand of his shoulder-length coffee-brown hair had snagged in the rough stubble on his chin. Seeing it there annoyed her. No. He annoyed her. Everything he said and did irritated her. “What percentage of your fee would that be?”

  Mercenary ass. Both of which he was. “It’s a crapload of money for something you’ve failed to do for years. Plus you get the bonus of removing your primary competition. All that infighting with mommy dearest has slowed your reflexes.” She gave him an assessing look. “Perhaps you should be paying me.”

  Riva got the impression Sin was a pacer. But the room was too small; even with just the narrow bed and the metal cabinet, there was hardly any floor space. She was across the room from him, and barely ten feet separated them. The very stillness of his large powerful body made her think of a caged panther.