Down to the Wire

by Lyn Stone

  Joe shook his head, unable to hide his doubt. “And he let you have that free a run, given what he knew about you? How stupid was that?”

  “I had a freer run than he knew I did, at least within the compound. Getting past the gate guards would have presented a problem, of course. At least before the distraction your leaving caused.” She sighed and shook her head. “Maybe he knew why I had come and was waiting for me to identify you. I couldn’t get a message to you without danger of your being caught. He’d been notified that DEA was in place undercover, but you could have been any one of the new people. He watched each of you like a hawk.”

  Joe grinned when he thought how successfully he had bypassed that scrutiny when he went to wire the truck. “Closer than he watched you?”

  “Obviously.” She continued the explanation. “When you took off, that as good as identified you. That’s why the squad followed. And why Humberto did. He wanted to be in on the kill.”

  “And how did you manage to find that out?”

  She grinned. “I’m a dedicated eavesdropper, Corda. Amazing how much you can learn when guys think you’re just a wide-eyed female with feathers for brains.” She examined her nails with a frown. “When business came up, he forgot I was around. Especially when you took off.”

  “So you followed. And shot him. That must have been hard for you after…” He let his words die off, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. It was in the past now, over and done with. She’d want to forget it. Hell, he wanted to forget it. But he couldn’t seem to. It bothered the hell out of him that she had slept with Humberto.

  Martine expelled a frustrated breath. “After what?”

  Joe shook his head and grimaced. “After how…close you were. You don’t owe me any explanations. I just wondered about it, that’s all.”

  She nodded. “All right.”

  So that was it. Joe tried to let it go and forget it.

  “I take it Duquesne’s your real name? Or did you and your brother choose that as your alias?”

  “Yes, it is real. There seemed no reason to change it since neither of us is exactly famous. You see, Ames International—”

  Joe interrupted “—liberates Americans caught in embarrassing quandaries outside the boundaries. What made you go for that kind of job?”

  “I think we’d better change the subject.”

  Reluctantly he agreed. “So, you coming on vacation with me?”

  “Certainly not,” she replied. A little too zealously not to have at least considered it.

  “Offer stands. You could use a little R&R after shooting up Colombia, couldn’t you? Just think, you could be lying on a beach down at Port St. Joe, eating oysters and watching the tide roll in this time next week. That’s where I plan to be.”

  “Port St. Joe?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m actually named for the place. Gulf Coast of Florida. My mother’s a teacher at the local high school. Dad’s retired. Both my sisters still live there. It’s home.”

  She smiled at him, a real smile that warmed his insides. “Sounds lovely,” she said. “Thank you for asking me, but I can’t join you. There’ll be another assignment waiting when I get back.” She sighed. “At least, I hope there will be.”

  Joe chilled around the region of his heart. “Good grief, nobody but a newbie is that gung-ho! Tell me you’re not.”

  She was biting her lip, frowning, not saying squat, looking out the window instead of at him.

  “You are! This was your first op?”

  She nodded once, just a little nod.

  When he got his voice back, Joe had to work hard to keep from yelling. Instead, he rasped, “You could have gotten yourself killed, Martine! Hell, you could have gotten me killed. What the devil was Mercier thinking about, hiring you, of all people?”

  “Me, of all people?” she asked, definitely offended. “Why do you say that, because I’m a woman?”

  “Because you’re green! Damn, they don’t even send green operatives down there from the Company.” Joe shook his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta think Mercier didn’t want me back very much if he sent somebody green.”

  “He sent my brother, who is very experienced!” she argued.

  “Even as backup, they shouldn’t send a novice.” That thought alone reinforced his decision to quit the minute he got back.

  “No, you shouldn’t blame Mercier,” Martine said vehemently. “He only contracted for my brother to go. I talked Matt into letting me go as far as Bogotá. Sort of to get my feet wet without being in on the actual operation.”

  Joe studied her for a minute. “So when your brother disappeared, you were the next body in line?”

  “I had to make sure Matt was all right. And that you made it back, too. I’m trained to do anything Matt can do. You saw for yourself, I can shoot. No hesitation, no misses. I planned everything right down to the smallest detail and I prepared for every possible eventuality. Go ahead, tell me something I did wrong, I dare you!”

  Joe couldn’t. She was highly competent. No mistakes. If you didn’t count sleeping with the enemy. And even that could be explained, if not condoned.

  He forced himself to calm down and think rationally, to put aside the weird swell of fury that felt a whole lot like jealousy all mixed up with a spiky wad of regret. It hurt like a sonofabitch.

  “You…you did okay,” he ground out. “What exactly is your job at Ames, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Technically…” She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “Information analyst. Coordinator. That sort of thing.”

  He closed his eyes. His jaw clenched until his teeth ached. “A secretary?” he growled. “They sent a friggin’ secretary?”

  “I told you before. No one sent me. They sent Matt,” she said with an exasperated roll of her eyes.

  “Yeah, and you’re the one who wound up in Humberto’s bed!” Joe accused.

  “He only kissed me one time! And it was just a little kiss, like a kindly old uncle’s or something. We never went all the way.”

  Joe groaned. “All the way? What a quaint little old-fashioned phrase, Martine. Tell me, did you two go steady? Did you head him off at second base? God, Martine, you make my head hurt, you know that?”

  “Then take a nap, Corda!” she suggested in a snippy little voice he hadn’t heard her use before. “This conversation is over.”

  “You’re damned right it is! I’ll take this up with your brother and your boss. You’ll be lucky if they don’t bury you in the bowels of the files in the basement.”

  “That’s where I was,” she countered. The fire in her eyes was so bright, he thought he could see the blue burning through her brown contacts. “And if you get me demoted back there, Corda, I’ll hunt you down and make you sorry. That’s a promise!”

  “Threatening a government agent, Martine? What’re you gonna do, shoot me?”

  “There’s an idea.” She crossed her arms over her chest, gave him the back of her head and didn’t say another word.

  He was really glad right then that they’d had to ditch the weapons in order to fly.

  Chapter 4

  Martine hated to leave things as they stood. Neither of them had said much on the flight to Atlanta, just enough to create gross misunderstandings.

  She had called her office from Miami and had left Matt a message that she was on the way. Joe had phoned his old office and stated only that his mission was complete, leaving the details for his debriefing when he arrived in D.C.

  The adrenaline had ebbed along with the danger, leaving them both exhausted.

  They deplaned still looking like refugees. She had ditched the padding that made her appear pregnant and her clothing hung loose on her frame. She had also removed the brown contacts that had irritated her eyes and left them red-rimmed. Corda’s five-o’clock shadow had grown into a near beard. She ached for a hot shower and at least, eight hours’ sleep.

  “Well, I’m on home turf at last,” she told him wh
en they entered the terminal, “and you soon will be.”

  She wondered if she would still have a job when she returned to work. Hopefully, when she admitted to her brother that she had gone to the compound after him, he and their boss, Sebastian, would see it as her taking initiative and would agree she had done as well as either of them could have under the circumstances.

  They would read her the riot act, of course, and she could hardly blame them for that. But if they attempted to make her give her word she would never do anything remotely like this again, she would simply have to resign. Her days behind a desk were over.

  “Is this where we part company?” Joe grinned at her, but it looked like a real effort. “I was hoping you might deliver me personally to Mercier. Plop me on his desk and demand payment for the job.”

  She shrugged. “Where do you go for the DEA debriefing?”

  “D.C. Then on to McLean after I deliver my spiel and I’m officially released. I’ll commend you to Mercier when I get there.”

  “Thanks.” She didn’t quite know what to say next. They had said so much over the course of three days. And yet so little about anything that really mattered.

  The attraction they felt stood between them like a swaying rogue elephant. They both recognized it. There was no point pretending it didn’t exist, but she’d been having serious second thoughts about whether they should approach and attempt to tame it. It just loomed there, promising trouble. Maybe it would be better to steal away from it in opposite directions and avoid eye contact.

  Martine didn’t think now that she could take a relationship with Joe as lightly as she ought to. It might mean too much to her.

  He ushered her to the tram that would take them to the main terminal. Just before it reached there, he cleared his throat. She looked up at him.

  “Could I buy you dinner?” he asked, then patted the folded currency they had exchanged for in Miami. “Your treat?”

  She smiled. All those second thoughts she’d been having evaporated. “Sure, why not?” In the back of her mind, she knew it was a bad idea. This was leading directly to a one-night stand. They both knew it. It was there in his eyes, a promise clear as could be.

  Maybe she should be offended. He thought she was promiscuous, that she had slept with Humberto as part of her cover. And that she would sleep with him for no other reason than he was there and willing. That last assumption might be a shade too close to the truth, but there was a bit more to it than that. Damn. He was looking serious and she couldn’t afford to do serious.

  She’d have to make certain she stayed uninvolved emotionally. And that he did, too.

  “Want to hit the shops here and get you some clothes?” she asked. “I’ll bill Mercier.”

  He laughed and plucked at his shirt. “I guess I do look a little scuzzy for a night on the town.”

  “Or for reporting in…tomorrow,” she added, giving him the suggestion to wait until then to fly out instead of seeing him off after the dinner he promised.

  His reply was nonverbal and non-tactile, but his acceptance was clear in the heated look he gave her. He would stay over.

  They went to several vendors of horribly overpriced merchandise where he bought a small Swiss Army knife—he confessed it was a ritual comfort purchase he made every time he landed weaponless in an airport. He also picked up a sports bag to hold his purchases.

  Next he selected a change of clothes and a few toiletries. He boldly plunked down a box of condoms with a raised eyebrow that dared her to comment.

  She lifted her chin, looked him straight in the eye and said nothing. Silent consent.

  No turning back now, she thought. She was committed. A frisson of excitement vibrated through her. The adrenaline was pumping again. Danger did that.

  They took a cab to her apartment. On the way, he kept throwing her speculative looks that often approached the boiling point, but their conversation remained impersonal. How the weather here compared to Colombia’s, the atrocious Atlanta traffic, the gold dome of the Georgia capitol, anything other than what they were both thinking about.

  When they reached her place, a modest two-bedroom in LeJardin, a sprawling complex with a faintly French flavor, he hummed and nodded his approval. It wasn’t terribly pricey, but it had charm and the neighborhood was nice enough. She led him up the stairs, punched in her code and opened the door.

  He stood just inside for a minute, looking around. “Now, this is just not you. I was expecting…I don’t know…not this. More sophistication, I guess. It’s too homey.” He looked down at her and winked. “You’ll simply have to move.”

  “You think?” She had to laugh. Her rooms were shabby chic, so she supposed she should feel complimented.

  He examined the exotic travel posters she had framed for the wall. Her globe-trotting brother had sent her souvenirs from all around the world, so her taste in accessories must seem wildly eclectic.

  Nothing matched very well, but she didn’t really care. One cohesive style or single identifying preference in her surroundings would be boring to live with. Her home suited her better than he knew.

  “You remain an enigma,” he declared, flashing that charming grin of his. “So, which way to the shower? I’ll race you. Or we could share.”

  “How sophisticated is that? Let you watch me scrub off this disguise? I don’t think so.” Martine pointed to the guest bedroom. “I have two. Yours is through there. Help yourself to anything you need that you forgot to buy.”

  The moment he disappeared through the door, Martine hurried to her own room. The message light on her answering machine blinked like crazy. She deliberately ignored it. There would be time enough to sort things out with her brother tomorrow after Joe left for D.C.

  Tonight was hers, a reward for her daring, a benefit she meant to claim. No matter what happened in the future, she would have this adventure to remember. A time when she had used all her senses, all her wiles, all her knowledge and training. A mission where she had experienced every emotion from the depth of fear right up to—she hoped—the height of passion.

  When she said goodbye to Joe on Saturday morning, she would have lived to the max for once in her life.

  She scrubbed away the dusky makeup easily enough. Then she shampooed out the substance she had used to temporarily darken her hair. She’d stolen that from Humberto. The man did like to cover his gray. Unfortunately, the dye left a residual shade of red in hers. She would have to bleach to get the original color back, but there wasn’t time. She slathered on conditioner and hoped for the best.

  At least she knew what to wear. Joe had only the black long-sleeve pullover, a pair of gray slacks and casual deck shoes, things he had purchased at the airport. Her little black dress would be perfect if she kept it simple. Gold hoops for her ears and a plain gold chain. Her black sandals with the medium heels would do.

  She dried her hair, applied her makeup and dressed quickly. By the time she found her purse and went into the living room, he had already raided her fridge and found the wine. Faintly embarrassed that it was only an inexpensive bottle of Riesling, Marline blushed a little.

  “Nectar of the gods,” he said, handing her a glass. “Hope you don’t mind. I made myself at home.” His voice was a low, seductive Southern drawl. Though his dark good looks gave away his Latino heritage, his voice did not unless he spoke Spanish. She wondered which language he would use when they were intimate.

  He looked very comfortable in her kitchen, very comfortable in his skin. She liked that about a man. She liked Joe. A lot.

  The wine was deliciously fruity, despite the fact that it was cheap. She sipped, meeting his gaze over the rim of her glass. He looked fantastic. Very hip. Very macho. Her pulse fluttered when he smiled that way, like he knew secrets that would make her incredibly happy once he shared them.

  “So, where shall we go?” he asked, rocking his wineglass a little and glancing down into it with a thoughtful expression, then back at her.

  Martine fro
wned at the motion, wondering if he had little cork pieces floating. She stared into her own and saw nothing but clear amber liquid. “You like Chinese?” she asked.

  “Not much,” he admitted and took a sip of his wine.

  She watched the muscles in his throat, saw the drop of wine cling to the corner of his upper lip when he lowered the glass. Her mouth almost watered, anticipating the taste.

  “You know what? I’d kill for a pizza,” he told her. “You have more of this.” He rocked his glass again, again watching the liquid as it swirled. “We could order out.”

  “It’s white wine. Red goes with pizza.”

  “Since when do you follow rules?”

  She reached to pick up the phone. It rang just before she touched it. Her brother’s number appeared on the caller ID. Reluctantly she answered.

  “Hi, Matt,” she said, her gaze still locked with Joe’s.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he shouted. “Never mind, I know where you were! What happened?”

  Marline had jerked the receiver away from her ear and winced at the volume. “Glad you made it back, Matt. I’ll explain everything, but not now. See you Monday,” she said and hung up.

  “He’s a bit testy,” she explained to Joe. “Must be the heat.”

  “Right. Temperature’s definitely rising.” He stepped closer so that they were almost touching. He lifted his hand and touched her face with one finger, drew a featherlight line from her brow to her chin. She shivered.

  His lower body pressed hers to the wall. She could feel his breath on her cheek, his heart beat against her breasts, his leg between hers. “I thought…you were hungry,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. Famished,” he whispered as he possessed her mouth.

  Martine returned the kiss, sliding her arms around him, pulling him even closer, reveling in the pleasure of his hands. They seemed to be everywhere at once, gliding, grasping, claiming.

  The growl in his throat reverberated through her, a primal demand. She pressed herself to him and undulated, an intimate, urgent age-old invitation. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, blocking out all sound.