He shoved his chair away from the table, away from her, and stood. It was a risk, but one he was beginning to believe he could afford. Why else hadn't she finished that call to her ape of a driver or simply walked out? She needed to be here just as badly as he did. With or without the pretense of a date. The woman still had squat to take back to her cousin, much less anything she could hoard to use privately on him. She needed leverage as badly as he did. Worse, in fact.
He had the drugs on her. She had nothing.
The seconds continued to tick out, magnified by the ebb in conversation around them his deliberately defiant stance had caused. She set her purse on the table and carefully smoothed from her face the loose strands of hair that had slipped past her shoulders. "You ordered dinner?"
"Yes. Two burgers, all the fixings. Fries." He'd finished just before Juju walked in.
Thank God. She considered his arguments for several more moments, and then, she relaxed. He relaxed. Breathed easier.
She nodded to his vacant chair. "We may as well eat them, then." It was definitely given grudgingly. The set to her chin had returned, too. The regal cool was back. So much for their truce. One more reason to deck Juju the first chance he got.
Tom took his seat, deliberately shifting his chair until he was opposite her. If he'd learned one thing about Anna Shale tonight, it was that she didn't do trapped well. Hell, neither did he. He dragged the bottle of Scotch from the center of the table and broke the seal as she tucked her purse down beside her feet. Her gaze met his as she sat upright, stabbing him clean through.
"For the record, I don't use."
In other words, she was still in denial. Given her panic in his hotel room, he wasn't surprised. Nor did he bother arguing. Any attempt to force her to face up to her problem wouldn't go over well. Not here and not now. And especially, not from him.
She was wrong. He did understand. All too well.
But he'd be damned if he'd let her off the hook scot-free. He poured out two fingers of the booze Juju had left and saluted her with the glass. "Honey, I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I'm not your cousin and I'm sure as hell no priest. As long as it doesn't interfere with my job, I don't care how you get your kicks." The lie burned more than the Scotch. He ignored both as he replenished the shot glass and carefully lined it up beside the still-open bottle.
"No, I imagine you don't. Not—" her dark gaze narrowed remarkably well given the drugs she wasn't using as she flicked it to what she clearly believed to be his own mind-altering substance of choice "—that I'd expect much from a hypocrite who does what you do for a living."
There it was again. The disdain. Had he not caught a hint of the icy note in her cousin's study tonight, he might have chalked it up to lingering fury. Though she'd done her best to conceal her contempt in front of those lithographs, he'd felt the chill woven amid a searing, almost palpable need to know if the idea of murder bothered him. Now, why would a former naval officer who'd knowingly and willingly sold out a team of fellow American soldiers and Panamanian agents care if complete strangers died?
The inconsistency bellowed at him. Especially in light of her reaction to that fountain pen.
Unfortunately, that was something else they weren't supposed to talk about. What the hell? Their attempt at a date was a bust. At the rate they were going, they wouldn't even make it through dinner. Tom leaned forward, only to stiffen as he caught the scent of fruity sugar mixed with good old-fashioned beef and grease. Scratch that, the burgers and fries were here.
And so was Juju.
Tom didn't bother disguising his temper as he snapped his scowl toward the man, laden with their meal. "I thought I told you you'd done enough, buddy?"
Juju shrugged. "Thought I'd take the opportunity to apologize."
"I did it for you. Now drop the food and go."
This time, Juju returned his scowl, but he also obeyed. It was the first time in his life Tom had seen the Jolly Brown Giant bow before anyone, himself included. He was forced to appreciate the effort. If they were lucky, the act might go a long way toward assuaging Anna's anger and suspicion, not that either of them would know by looking at her face. The fury she leveled on Juju as he set her plate in front of her would have charred her open-faced burger to a crisp.
Tom waited until Juju set the second plate in front of him, before offering a terse thanks for both.
"You're welcome, amigo." He grouped the pair of napkin-wrapped silverware and plastic bottle of ketchup in no-man's-land, just shy of the shot glass and Scotch. "Can I get you anything else?" He nodded to Anna. "Another Coke, perhaps?"
Her gaze smoldered anew.
Juju weathered the fire with his usual shrug. "Perhaps not." He tucked the serving tray beneath his arm and turned. He took a step toward the next table, then stopped. Tom held his breath as the man swung back, ignoring him completely as he faced Anna square on. "I am sorry I misjudged the situation. More importantly, you. Please don't let my ill manners affect your evening. Your date here scored much better on his cadetiquette exams at West Point than I did. Hell, I hear the man's not bad in bed either—" Juju flashed one of his trademark, obnoxious grins. "—for a gringo."
No doubt about it. Juju might be half Hispanic and half Samoan, but he was also one-hundred-percent asshole. Tom was about to shoot out of his chair and pound some sense into his friend along with those missing manners when the knowledge hit. He froze, instead. Waited.
Son of a gun. The stunt had done the trick, distancing Anna from her anger.
Tom could feel the shock displacing Anna's fury as Juju swung around and headed out across the room. By the time Juju reached the bar and shot a covert wink back in his direction, she'd recovered the innate poise he'd come to admire in just two short days. She retrieved one of the silverware sets from no-man's-land at the center of the table, carefully peeling the paper napkin from her fork and knife before she smoothed it across her lap as if it was made of linen. That done, she drew her half-empty soda closer and took a sip, sans straw.
Again, silently.
What the devil was she thinking? Any other mark, and he'd be reading her easily by now. It drove him nuts to admit that with this particular woman, he just couldn't. Hell, he couldn't even hook in to her psyche long enough to find his edge, even with the drugs. He finally sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you. Juju can be—"
"—a complete cretin?"
His surprise and chuckle were genuine. Her answering smile wasn't. Just like that, they were back to cool, strained. Probably the best spot for them anyway.
He shrugged. "I was going to say crude, but that works. I admit, the man can be a bastard. But he's also been a damned good friend."
"With friends like that, Mr. Wild, you truly don't need enemies." At the moment, he was forced to agree.
"What about you?"
She blinked.
"Friendships?" He flipped open the lid of the plastic ketchup bottle and squirted out a generous portion beside his fries. "Cretin or not, I'm guessing you could use a few right now. From what I heard, even your old man won't give you the time of day anymore."
He caught her flinch as the barb struck home.
Good. It was time to get this game moving before it—and part of this city—blew up in his face.
Tom dropped the bottle of ketchup between them with more force than he'd intended. He frowned as it skidded into the shot glass. He'd pulled the napkin off the second set of silverware before he realized what he'd done and cleaned up the booze that had sloshed over the rim. She was still staring at him as he finished returning the glass to its spot beside the bottle of Scotch. Silently.
"I'm sorry. That was out of line."
The twist to her lips carried more melancholy than humor as she shook her head. "No, you're right. I'm pretty much Benedict Arnold and Typhoid Mary rolled up into one according to anyone Stateside, former friends and nonexistent father included. Probably why I'm still here in Panama with Luis." She retrieved her Coke
and saluted him with it, much as he'd done with the Scotch. "Well, Tommy, looks like you don't need me to grade your homework after all. You've aced the test all by yourself." Her pretense of a smile faded as she took a sip. The terse frown that followed caused the scar at her mouth to cut deep. The silence accompanying it managed to cut into him.
He ignored both as he prepped his next shot.
"Oh, I don't know. A woman cunning enough to fool the U.S. Naval Intelligence community for seven long years? I'm sure I missed a few things."
The scar cut deeper as he scored again.
She set the Coke on the table and snagged a French fry, pushing the shot glass out of the way so she could dip the fry into the ketchup he'd poured out on his plate. "You mean like the fact that, while I might prefer blondes, there are some men—blond or not—that I'd never be attracted to?"
Bull. She might hate his guts, but she was definitely attracted to him. It was in the way she stiffened, however subtly, when he came near, as if she needed to steel herself against his very presence. He could feel the sparks igniting every single inch of his own flesh whenever he dared to brush against hers, torching not only them, but the entire room around them. You didn't have to like a person to want to crawl into bed with them and set the sheets on fire and she damned well knew it. She felt it. So did he. Right now.
What intrigued him was that she was willing to risk denying that attraction. An attraction he could prove with one simple touch. She had to know he'd call her on it. He'd done it last night in his hotel room. He was about to do it again, if only to knock her off balance. Hell, he had to do something to rattle that ironclad self-possession of hers. That irritating calm. He tamped down on his own gnawing desire as she leaned forward to dip another fry into his ketchup. He followed her back across the table and retrieved her Coke, slowly and deliberately turning the glass so that he drank from the precise spot her lips had been.
The flush darkening her cheeks added another point as his blatant invitation struck home.
He replaced the glass, biting back victory as she stared but refused to touch. "As I mentioned, Ms. Shale, I only had a week. Give me a bit longer and I might uncover all sorts of things about you. Things that weren't in your Top Secret background investigation or your officer evaluations."
She licked her lips. "Like what?"
He knew the motion had been unconscious, a nervous tick more than anything. It didn't help. Not when his finger itched to absorb the trail of moisture left behind. He killed the urge and settled for reaching out and grazing his fingertip across another spot that had ignited his curiosity from the moment her stunning beauty had enveloped him in person. Her scar. "Like how you got this."
She stiffened. A split second later, she shot to her feet, her chair scraping sharply across the floor. So sharply, every single patron five tables deep turned to stare. Before he could open his mouth, she was gone, her heels clipping across the tiles as she made a beeline for the door to the right of the bar and the bathrooms beyond.
At least, he assumed that's where she was headed. He couldn't be sure. The only thing he was certain of at the moment was that he'd just made one hell of a miscalculation.
And he had no idea why.
* * *
She was going to be sick.
Anna clamped her fingers on the edge of the chipped sink, praying the half-dozen women crowded into the bathroom behind her would hurry up so she could crawl into a stall before she humiliated herself. She hadn't been this nauseous since she'd spent her freshman summer of college hung over the bow of the USS Talisman, tossing her cookies into the Atlantic.
Take that back. This was definitely worse.
She sucked in her breath, welcoming the antiseptic air. It might reek of Lysol in here, but it was better than that godawful cigar smoke. Another few minutes and she might be able to head back to the table without Tom figuring out he'd finally gotten to her. She inhaled again and risked a glance in the mirror. Great. She was as white as the redheaded turista still tapping her foot at the head of the line.
She needed makeup, and a lot of it. Concealer, at least. Something to erase the stark shadows beneath her eyes. Blush wouldn't hurt either. She dropped her gaze to her mouth. Definitely lipstick. She dropped it lower, only to rip it right back up before the nausea returned. It was bad enough Luis had all but ordered her to sleep with Tom, but to then have the man touch her there? Her stomach roiled again.
She grabbed the knob to the faucet and twisted hard, leaning down to splash the frigid water up on to her face.
It didn't help.
"¿Hágalo necesita a un doctor?"
She waved the woman off. "No, no, soy vale. Soy vale. Gracias." But she wasn't fine. She was trapped in a shoddy bathroom with a line of impatient women, two of whom were openly doing what Juju had offered to procure on her behalf as she fought the sudden urge to race back out to the table and get her own. Unfortunately, no purse meant more than no makeup and no cell phone to call Pepe. It also meant no pills.
Her chest throbbed.
God, was she a fool. Tom's story about running into his "old friend" might be true, but his offer of a date sure as heck hadn't been. He probably considered the spark between them a bonus. Either way, the man was using her, pure and simple. Just like Foster and Luis. She forced herself to study the mirror. Just like her aunt had used her.
Her chest throbbed harder.
The ache was so bad she changed her mind, cursing her decision to hold to her prescribed dose two hours earlier, despite the fact that it no longer kept the pain at bay. Who was she kidding? The Percocet hadn't even taken the edge off. Thirty-six hours back on the stuff and her body had already adjusted, welcoming the pills like an old friend. The only friend she had left.
Dammit, Tom was wrong.
A quick, fortifying glance inside the vial would have proved it, perhaps even helped to stave off this insidious craving. But again, she didn't have her purse. She'd left it at the table. She had to get out of here before Tom realized she'd left her bag behind and decided to paw through her belongings in the middle of the bar—and stumbled across the hidden compartment and figured out how to crawl inside her. She checked her reflection in the mirror one last time and caught sight of the door opening. Two women entered the bathroom, stepping in line as two others left. The pair—both natives like her—had been sitting at the bar. The taller woman's dress was more subdued than her companion's and more…complete, but she was definitely on the job. She'd also been staring at Tom.
Anna wasn't offended. Fifteen years of living in the States hadn't been able to erase her first fourteen in the slums across town. No amount could. The woman's gaze met hers. Envy simmered within as the prostitute stepped up to the sinks. But so did resignation. Both resonated through Anna. And in their wake came a plan. Tom wanted a date tonight? She'd give him one. A date that was not only attracted to him…but more than willing. She turned before she could chicken out and immediately launched into their native tongue. "Excuse me, do you have change for the phone?"
She'd seen it in the hall.
Suspicion pinched the woman's lips as she studied the classic, shamefully expensive sheath Luis had purchased three months earlier. Fortunately, most of the gold omega chain as well as that hideous charm stayed hidden beneath her collar as she shrugged. "It's my date. I only met him yesterday. He's coming on much too strong, looking for more than I can give."
The message was clear. You want him? Go get him.
Just give her the change.
The woman reached into her tiny purse wordlessly. A moment later, she pressed several coins into her palm. Anna didn't bother counting. She whispered her thanks instead as she turned again, this time to make her escape. She was dimly aware of the prostitute following her out of the bathroom and continuing on, out of the darkened hall as she stopped beside the kitchen to grab the receiver and shove what turned out to be exact change into the pay phone's slot. Anna punched out Pepe's number and gave him the addre
ss. The surge of adrenaline bled off as she hung up.
Pepe had been eating. It would take him fifteen, twenty minutes to collect the limo and drive back across town. She couldn't return to the table yet. Even if Tom was interested in the replacement she'd sent, the woman would need a few minutes at least to solidify an agreement. The thought of returning to the bathroom to wait didn't sit well. Not with the drug use copious and in plain sight.
Foster. She stared at the phone, the empty hall. Did she dare? Even if she did, she was out of nickels.
She could always call collect.
He'd be pissed.
That settled it. She waited as the bathroom door opened. The moment the redhead turista passed behind her and turned into the bar, she grabbed the receiver again. A local operator and a religiously memorized long distance phone number later, the phone rang again. Foster picked up on the first trill and suffered through the operator's rambling request. The moment their connection turned private, he lit right in.
But not with what she'd expected.
"Where the hell are you?"
"What do you mean, where am I? You planted that thing inside me. Aren't you tracking it?" She sealed the receiver to her ear as she turned into the wall to tune out the loud crash reverberating through the wall from the kitchen beyond and the Kuna tirade that followed. She needn't have bothered. Foster's purple spew surpassed both.
"It only works if you turn the goddamned thing on!"
A Dangerous Engagement Page 8