Down to the Wire

by Lyn Stone

  “You buried candy!” he said with a short laugh. “Sweet tooth?”

  At last he got a smile from her. She hadn’t smiled at him for almost twenty-four hours. He’d missed it.

  She pulled a long slender knife from her boot and cut the bag open. Joe’s mouth almost dropped open when he saw the blade. Didn’t that prove he was losing his touch? Couldn’t even disarm a woman. He ought to become a bean counter, it would serve him right.

  But Martine was no ordinary woman, he reminded himself. No, she was extraordinary with a capital E in every respect. Some men might like helpless women they could coddle and protect, but for him, competence had always proved a large turn-on.

  Of course, he had always known he’d have to change his preference when he got out of this racket, and that time was almost here. If he tried to settle down with somebody like her…well, they weren’t the settling kind, now were they? Home and family would never be enough. Too bad, because Martine had him hot as a firecracker most of the time. He wasn’t too sure he could ever go for helpless after having met her.

  He promptly shoved aside the current wave of lust he was experiencing when he saw her stash. There were clothes in there. Civvies. Shoes. Grinning, she tossed him a passport.

  Joe opened it. His photo stared back at him, an old one taken a couple of years ago. Made him look like a terrorist. Typical tourist picture, he thought. “You are very resourceful, lady,” he said, thumping the page.

  She tossed him some of the clothing. “Prepare for all contingencies whenever I can. We’ll bury the uniforms. You change here, I’ll go upstream. Give me about twenty minutes.”

  So she was typically female after all, he thought with a laugh. He could be ready in five. She handed him a pink plastic razor. He stared down at it, turning it this way and that.

  “Lose the mustache,” she ordered, plunking a small bar of hotel soap in his hand, “and there are some horn-rims in the bottom of the bag.”

  “Gotcha,” he replied. The girl thought of everything. “Thanks, Martine.”

  “The name is Guadalupe, Jose,” she said in her perfect Spanish. “Do not forget it.” Then she left to do her thing.

  Joe stripped, waded into the shallow water and sat down to wash. He soaped and scraped off his mustache and the couple of days’ worth of beard.

  Hurriedly, he dried himself on the uniform and tugged on the clothes. She’d brought nothing flashy, only muted colors. His pants were pull-ons, the shirt a dull print with a long enough tail to cover a pistol. The shoes were leather, lightweight soles, a fair fit. Not much good for walking a long way, but he suspected they were chosen because they took up little space. He stuck the passport in his shirt pocket, dug around in the bag, located a couple of Mars bars and sat down to eat one while he waited for her.

  A few minutes later, she appeared. At least he thought it was her. She was wearing worn sandals and an ankle-length skirt of dark green. A long-sleeved brown pullover hung loose to her hips. He noticed a slight padding over her abdomen that made her appear a few months pregnant. But it was the rest of her that truly astounded him.

  She was also checking him out and nodded her approval. “Amazing transformation, Jose. The bare face makes you appear quite civilized. What do you think?” She did a slow turn for his inspection.

  She was brunette now and her hair was slicked severely back into a bun at her nape, the strands still wet and straight as a die. Her eyes were dark brown. Contacts, of course. And her skin had deepened several shades. A faint tint of brown lip gloss had replaced the enticing natural rose color that he knew for a fact didn’t come out of a tube. He had the stupidest urge to kiss off the fake stuff.

  “Wow,” he said simply. “Lupe, you are a knockout!”

  “Knocked-up,” she corrected with a wry smile. “And let that be your last comment in English if you know what’s good for us.” She pulled a purse made of dark parachute cloth higher on one shoulder. “Let’s get the AK and the uniforms buried.”

  He nodded and quickly did as she said, packing one large weapon and their clothing into the hole she’d just emptied and covering it carefully so the earth looked undisturbed. Then they headed for the road into the city.

  As they walked along, she commented idly on the scenery, pointing out several wildflowers he had absolutely no interest in. He could hardly keep his eyes off her and the amazing changes she had made in herself.

  She even walked differently, affecting a much more feminine sashay with a delicate little waddle thrown in. Pregnancy became her. Her voice sounded musical, now minus its former overtone of command. Joe wasn’t sure he liked it.

  Had she spoken to Humberto this way? Was that how she’d grabbed the man’s interest and held it to the point of letting her do damned near anything she pleased while she was supposed to be a prisoner?

  He couldn’t keep thinking that way, dwelling on what she might have done. It was robbing him of any good sense he might have left. Taking a deep breath and forcing a smile, Joe joined the conversation she’d been having with herself.

  “So where’d you train?” he asked.

  “McLean. Quantico. Local police academy and a private dojo. You?”

  “Same deal, basically, plus three years with the army. Rangers,” he added.

  She nodded.

  “How is it your Spanish is so perfect? Bet you didn’t learn that in school,” he observed, still digging for more facts about her.

  “My mother’s Andorran. Spanish was my first language.”

  “And your dad?” he probed.

  “American. He worked for the embassy.”

  Joe smiled. “Totally against what you’re doing for a living, I would bet.”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  When she didn’t follow that with an explanation, Joe’s curiosity overcame him. “Well? Why not?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry. And your mother?”

  “Gone home to her family,” she said simply, emphasis on the last word, her tight expression telling him in no uncertain terms that the conversation about her family was over. Obviously, she was hurt by her mother’s return to Andorra, so Joe didn’t pursue it.

  As they walked along, she fished in the slouchy purse and handed him a cheap leather wallet. He checked the contents, finding a driver’s license to match the passport she’d given him, a few photos of little Latino kids he didn’t know and a fairly generous supply of pesos.

  “What, no airline tickets?” he joked.

  She patted the purse and smiled. “Air fare for two!”

  Well, damn. Joe laughed out loud. “Talk about backup plans. You really take the cake, you know that?” His admiration knew no bounds.

  “Gracias,” she replied laconically as she bit down on the chocolate she’d unwrapped.

  “Why didn’t we simply head for the city and fly out to begin with? Why hire the chopper?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “You really enjoyed that hike?”

  Joe saw her point, but this plan was just way too easy to really work. This would be when they were captured, he knew it. Then he would see that look of horror on her face, the one he had conjured up accidentally out of her future.

  But it seemed he worried for nothing. They entered the city where he hailed a cab that took them to the airport. On the way, Joe disassembled their weapons so he could ditch them in pieces. No point adding to Colombia’s already significant arsenal of illegal firearms.

  Martine headed for the nearest phone. In moments she was back, wearing a beaming smile, tear tracks all the way to her chin. “He’s safe!”

  “Your brother? Damn, that’s great!” Joe exclaimed, giving her a hug that she promptly returned, holding him even longer than he would have expected. She had obviously been more worried about Duquesne than she had let on.

  When he released her, she kept hold of his arm. “He had a fall and broke his leg. I don’t know the details, but he’s all right now. He’s home.”
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  Their mood was up. A happy couple. Joe kissed her cheek, loving the feel of her skin against his lips. She didn’t resist, even a little, only smiled up at him as if he’d saved Duquesne himself.

  Slick as a whistle, they grinned their way through customs, boarded a bad excuse for an airplane, endured a short, uneventful layover in Panama and flew on to Miami. Unbelievable.

  Joe decided the minute they touched down that he was out of the business, as of now. He was going to turn in his resignation before he even started with Sextant, settle down in some podunk town on the Florida coast and become a couch potato slash beach bum. And if he could talk Wonder Woman into joining him, she could come, too. Maybe she was ready for a break.

  Though he couldn’t quite picture Martine just hanging out, boiling up crabs and watching the daily soaps, he could still dream of lazy walks in ankle-deep surf followed by hot nights in a beach shack. Did his heart good to think about it, even if there wasn’t much hope that it would come to pass.

  He resisted the urge to try for another vision. For one thing, it took more energy than he had at the moment, and for another, he was afraid he wouldn’t like what he saw.

  The last two hadn’t been pleasant in the least and one of them still hadn’t been realized. He and Martine had not been captured coming out of Colombia. That meant something else would happen. A chill ran up his spine.

  In Miami, they stood in line for customs just like everyone else. A few of their fellow travelers were Americans returning from sojourns south, chattering about how different things were down there. If they only knew.

  Joe kept his arm around Martine’s waist, maintaining their charade as a devoted married couple who were expecting a child. No longer a critical disguise since they were safely back in the States, but he had gotten used to it really fast and hated to give it up.

  No, acting the fond husband, lover and prospective father wasn’t necessary at all now, but he still leaned into her, brushed a kiss over her cheek, gazed deeply into her eyes when she shot him a questioning look.

  He caressed her face, trailing one finger across her forehead to brush away a strand of hair that had escaped, then closed his hand around the back of her neck in a gesture of comfort. Her skin was so soft, that nape of hers so vulnerable he wished he could kiss it.

  After a while, he realized he might be overdoing the touching. It was hard to keep his hands off of her, no pretense about it.

  She hadn’t moved away from him the way he’d expected her to, so he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Where are we going next, querida?”

  “Atlanta.”

  “Is that where you’re from?”

  “That’s home now,” she answered in English absently just as they reached the customs agents who would plunder through her voluminous purse.

  There would be so little time to talk about all that had happened. Joe wanted to talk to her openly, out loud and at length before they reported to the authorities about all that had gone on.

  He worried a little that she would disappear on him before that. Nothing said she had to go with him and report anything at all. Joe just hoped she might agree to go with him to D.C. so he wouldn’t have to leave her just yet.

  They cleared customs in a few minutes and went to purchase tickets for the next leg of their trip.

  He planned that they would go on to D.C. from Atlanta. He would, at any rate. He certainly had reports to turn in and a resignation to deliver. After that debriefing on the mission, he would be free to do as he pleased.

  No longer would he have to think about every single move he made and every word he said. He wouldn’t have to speak Spanish unless he was talking to his dad, and even then, he wouldn’t have to. And, best of all, he wouldn’t need to worry about not being able to fix all the world’s troubles. It was somebody else’s turn.

  He was going to Florida and decided he’d definitely try to talk Martine into coming with him. Just for a little while. Beach life could be seductive, soothing. Maybe if she liked it enough, she’d be willing to quit what she was doing.

  Damn, but he’d like to pursue what he had begun to feel about her. But not if she planned to go traipsing off every few months on some dangerous assignment.

  “You look so tired,” she commented with a worried look on her face.

  “Yeah,” he admitted with a pained sigh. “This gets to you after a while.”

  “Maybe you should take a vacation,” she suggested.

  He searched her eyes for interest and found it. “Maybe you should join me.”

  For a minute, Joe thought she might have been tempted to say yes. Then one of her fine, shapely brows kicked up and she smiled. “You wish.”

  “God knows, I do, and that’s a fact.”

  Wouldn’t it be great to lie around doing nothing but what he felt like doing, and doing it with Martine? Maybe il was for the best if he didn’t do that, though. Someone who didn’l talk shop, or didn’t even know shop, would suit him a whole lot better in the long run. But a short run with Martine sure had a great appeal.

  They barely had time to grab a quick burger before boarding the jet for Atlanta. Once aboard, Joe settled down to await takeoff, wishing for a drink, knowing he’d have to reconcile himself to something nonalcoholic.

  He turned to Martine. “You know what? Soon as I get debriefed, I’m getting rip-roaring drunk,” he informed her.

  “Thanks for sharing that,” she said, her tone sarcastic. “Big drinker, are you?” She smoothed the wrinkled skirt over her thighs.

  Damn, but she had fine thighs. And great ankles. And nice breasts, not big enough to call her generously endowed, but quite large enough to make him sweat bullets.

  “You don’t strike me as the type,” she commented.

  The type? Oh, a drinker, not a breast man.

  Joe laughed at himself, both for indulging in a galloping case of desire that was heading nowhere and for the idea of liquor settling any of his problems.

  “Well, I’m no lush yet,” he admitted, “but the possibility is definitely there. Yeah, I think I could adapt. Tequila. You like tequila?”

  “Not much.”

  He watched the stewardess up front fiddling with the serving cart, stocking it with soft drinks. Bourbon would be nice, he thought with a sigh. So very nice.

  “Until the shoot-out, you seemed to be faring well enough. You got along very well with Humberto and the others. Was this assignment really so terrible?” she asked, sounding truly interested.

  “Not as bad as it could have been,” he answered. That much was the truth.

  She had been there almost a week herself. And surely she’d had it rougher than he had. Joe hadn’t been required to share a bed with Humberto. Martine obviously had.

  But then Joe reminded himself, Humberto hadn’t been ugly, despite his lack of character, and he might have been a real expert in the sack for all Joe knew.

  Latin lovers got their flattering rep from somewhere, after all. He wondered if he qualified, being half-Latino himself. Probably meant he half-qualified, he thought with a laugh. She shot him a questioning look.

  Joe returned it, wondering if he’d ever have a chance to find out how he qualified with present company. He’d bet she was a damn good lay. She’d done everything else with the expertise of a well-trained professional. Still it made him sick to think about her making it with Humberto.

  He looked away, upbraiding himself for his silent sarcasm. No, he shouldn’t judge her. He’d already decided that. She’d done what she had to do to insure a relative amount of freedom in captivity. He couldn’t very well complain since that had surely saved his butt. If Humberto had locked her inside a room in the compound, she wouldn’t have been where she was with that gun in her hand.

  Joe felt terrible. But his conscience ragging him about being critical of her morals wasn’t the only reason. Imagining what she must have done with the man was driving him crazy.

  “Did I say thanks, Martine? My manners proba
bly got lost in the shuffle down there. But I want you to know I appreciate what you did. All of it.”

  “You’re welcome, Corda. Mission’s accomplished and I’ll get a paycheck. That’s thanks enough.”

  God, she sounded so…well, company-oriented. “You really get off on this, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Your animosity is showing,” she said with a smile. “And, yes, I like what I do. Otherwise, I would be doing something else. I have a pretty good head for business.”

  “Monkey business,” he muttered under his breath while he fiddled with his seat belt.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Uh-oh. Joe looked at her. Both brows were up now and she wasn’t smiling at all. “I shouldn’t have said that. Never mind, I know I shouldn’t. It’s just that I’m having a hard time getting my mind around you and Humberto, y’know? I mean, how could you just…let him?”

  “Let him what?” she asked, all prim-lipped like his sixth grade teacher used to get when he’d said something off-color.

  “Sex,” Joe hissed through gritted teeth. “How could you have sex with somebody like him?”

  For a long time, she said nothing, just trained her gaze out the window and ignored him. When they were finally in the air and the cabin noise resumed, she whispered, “I didn’t.”

  Another of her lies, but he wanted to believe this one. Real bad. “No? Why not?”

  “Humberto found out exactly who I was, so I didn’t bother to lie about it. He didn’t know why I was there. I told him I was looking for my brother who had disappeared on an assignment I knew nothing about.”

  “Truth works better in cases like that,” Joe agreed. “So, since you were working for this company and not law enforcement, he figured he could persuade you to throw in with him?”

  She shrugged. “That was his plan, I think. He treated me exceptionally well because he wanted me to be content to stay. Also, he enjoyed playing the Old World gallant. You know how pretentious he could be. I got a fairly good estimation of the man by assessing his traffic on the computer.”

  “How in the world did you manage that?” She never ceased to amaze him.

  She shrugged, a small smile tickling her lips. “Let’s just say I tend to wander a bit in the wee hours of the morning and Humberto was a very sound sleeper.”