"Juju won't give that crap to you if I ask him not to."
"Oh, I'm sure the promise of an introduction to one of my cousin's…business partners…would convince him to override the bonds of even a West Point friendship. Don't you?"
Silence. It didn't matter. They both knew the answer.
But he still refused to speak.
She shrugged and turned to the bar. His hand snapped out again, clamping down before she could complete her first step. She turned back. There was no point in calling the men. This would be over before they could return anyway. It was obvious Tom intended to see to that as much as she did. He stepped closer. "How do you plan on preventing me from lifting the next batch? Now, or a day or two from now?" His grip tightened about her arm, underscoring the barely suppressed fury in his voice. She ignored it. Like his earlier concern, it wasn't really meant for her. The raw desperation he couldn't quite exorcise from his voice or his grip convinced her.
It also sealed his fate.
She whittled the remaining distance between them down to a fraction of an inch, sliding her free hand onto his muscular shoulder as she tiptoed up to whisper her solution in his ear. "If I decide to swallow two or three pills before then, or maybe even the whole blessed bottle, I won't have to worry about that or you anymore, now will I?"
He flinched. Foster would have approved of her method.
She didn't.
But it did produce the desired result. The one she desperately needed. He released her arm and shoved the bottle of pills into her hand. She locked her fingers around the vial, holding on tight lest the relief coursing through her give her away. The waves finally passed. She had no idea what to do then. Pepe and the limo were four blocks away. Nothing could convince her to stroll the streets with this man now. From the fury still radiating off him, she doubted Tom was up for an amenable hike either. She reached into her purse and withdrew her cell phone. Ten seconds after she hit the correct speed-dial button, the limousine backed up to the head of the alley five yards away. Bemused, she canceled the call as Pepe idled the limo and got out to open her door. Her old friend had been waiting. Worried. Evidently Pepe knew Tom Wild better than she did. Or maybe Pepe just knew men.
She turned her back on the one man she truly needed to get away from and crossed the remaining fifteen feet of cobblestone. A mixed crowd of partygoers from the Iguana caught up with her, reaching the limo door along with her. Several of the tourists gawked until a local spotted the hand-detailed scorpion beneath the license plate and hurried them along. The group skirted the rear of the limo and turned down the street.
Tom did not. His fingers singed her flesh as he snagged her elbow, guided her the remaining three feet to the open limo door and politely seated her within. He seemed pale beneath the stark light flooding out from the car's interior. A fresh round of guilt bit in. Why not? Pepe was here.
"Do you need a lift, Mr. Wild?"
Tom shook his head. "Just seeing my date to the door."
"Can I…call you a cab then?"
"No. I think I'll head back to the club and catch up with an old buddy. Who knows, I might even see if that dessert's still available. On the house, of course." The door snapped in her face before she could respond. After everything that had happened between them tonight, it shouldn't have hurt.
But it did.
Chapter 7
For the first time in his career, Tom was in over his head and he knew it. Why else was he sitting in a jeep concealed in jungle foliage five yards off the private driveway leading to and from the Ortiz hacienda, hoping his most promising mark's limousine didn't pass him by? Hell, not even a sleepless night followed by a predawn breakfast of stale coffee and half a roll of Tums had been able to kill the hope. The prayer. Juju was right. He had to get his head screwed on straight and soon.
Those damned pills.
As much as Tom hated admitting it, Anna had had a point. Why did he care? By all rights, he shouldn't. He hadn't before. With his mother, sure. Not that it'd made a blessed bit of difference. But he hadn't cared with Gayle. Not enough. And he'd been living with her. Sleeping with her. Was Anna right? Was that all last night had been about? Guilt?
He didn't know. He did know that if Sigmund Freud were alive today and telepathic, the good doctor would be having a field day inside his head. Anna certainly had. Especially with those razor instincts of hers. Tom stretched out his legs, ignoring the pinch in his right dress shoe as it hit the dormant gas pedal. He still couldn't believe Anna had been able to get under his skin this quickly, let alone this thoroughly. It pissed him off. It was also unnerving.
Like that kiss.
No, that kiss had definitely struck deeper. She'd struck deeper. An entire night spent second-guessing his actions, and he still wasn't sure how it had happened. Let alone why he'd pushed it. How many times had he heard those same arguments? And how long had it been since he'd learned to recognize them for the self-deluding hogwash they were? All except that last reason. The one that had actually managed to strike home. The one he knew in his gut had been the most telling reason of all. Because it had resonated with the truth. Haven't you ever wanted to forget all the pain and just let go?
Sure he had.
He imagined most folks got to that point at least once or twice in their lives. But he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that Anna had reached the breaking point more often and much, much sooner than the average person. Not that she'd ever let it show. After the limo had pulled away last night, he'd been consumed with finding out more about her than a bunch of dry files and reports had revealed. He'd called his own cab, ending up in the slums where she and Luis had grown up. He'd located their hovel and, unlike the locals, he'd disobeyed the gold scorpion painted smack-dab in the middle of that rotting door and gone inside. One whiff had taught him more than two weeks' research combined.
Anna hadn't been born in the gutter, she'd been born beneath it. Even now, six hours later, he could still smell the stale grease permeating the walls, feel the ghostly, gnawing sensation of hunger. Taste the utter desperation. Just thinking about the place had him whizzing both windows down until they were flush with the jeep's doors, to let more of the predawn breeze in the Rent-A-Wreck's cab. According to her Navy background investigation, Anna had shared that hole with her mother her first six years, until her mother had been struck by a city bus. Afterward, Anna had been forced to share the two-room shack with the very woman rumored to have pushed her mother in front of that bus.
Her loving aunt.
That sure as heck couldn't have made for a happy home life, and from all reports, it hadn't. By the time Anna's father tracked her down at fourteen and sent for her, Anna was desperate to leave Panama behind for the promise of home, hearth and heart in the States. Instead, she'd discovered the only reason her father had sent for her was because his pious wife had finally learned of her existence and insisted he take Anna in.
That had to sting.
From the ache he'd glimpsed last night, it still did. Worse, he'd gotten the distinct impression there were more demons lurking in her past. Demons that hadn't been included in her backgrounder. Demons she'd yet to reveal to anyone, let alone openly acknowledge herself. Ones so foul he wasn't sure it was his right to call on them and use anymore. Not even for his case. All he knew for certain was that for a brief moment in that darkened alcove, Anna had dropped her smooth poise and vigilant guard and he'd caught sight of the real woman beyond the facade. Before he realized what he was doing, he'd caved in to the temptation and reached out to touch it. To touch her. From the second he'd slid his arms around her, it felt as if Anna had always belonged there and always would.
But that was impossible. Ridiculous.
And the fallout? That was damned ironic. He'd done exactly as he'd threatened at their first meeting. He'd lit the woman's fuse, all right. But somehow, despite those drugs, Anna had managed to light his, too. Tom unclipped his seat belt and wrenched it to the side as he continued to stare
out through the shadowy three-foot hole amid the banana trees and jungle ferns that led to the Ortiz private driveway. Who was he kidding? Anna hadn't lit his fuse seven hours ago, she'd torched it. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to douse the fire. His cell phone rang, dousing the memory for the moment at least. He blessed his caller as he reached into the fresh suit jacket he'd tossed on the passenger seat.
"Wild, here."
"That's not what Carmelita said."
Tom winced as Juju's obnoxious laugh grated through his right ear. "Yeah, well, I thought you were the one who told me to save it for someone I loved." Wrong thing to say.
The silence confirmed it.
"Does this mean—"
"Don't even go there, Juju."
From the muffled chuckle that followed, Juju refused to take his snarl to heart. Either that or the man's morning box of candy had already sweetened it. The stale coffee Tom downed at the hotel sloshed at the mere thought of sugar before dawn. On top of everything else, he'd just met the woman.
"There is such a thing as love at first sight, amigo."
The sloshing increased. Tom focused on the rare ribbon of perfectly maintained Panamanian blacktop beyond the opening in the ferns. The sun had to be sneaking up on the horizon, because the shadows were beginning to lighten. "How would you know? From what I remember, you can't seem to get past lust."
"True. But I did get past the Austin County General medical records' clerk. I thought I'd give you a call before I turned in for the night—or morning, as it were," Juju reported.
"Just a sec." Tom shifted the phone to his left ear in order to grab his Palm Pilot. A howler monkey let out a bloodcurdling shriek less than fifty feet from his jeep as he slipped the plastic stylus from the Pilot's side holder and used the tip to punch the electronic assistant On.
"Where are you? The middle of the bloody jungle?"
"Close enough."
Tom caught Juju's low whistle as he tapped open his notes file, and ignored it. Dealing with a friend in the Intel biz—regardless of the specific branch—had its advantages, because the man didn't ask for clarification. They both knew he couldn't give it anyway. As it was, they were operating on the tacit understanding that Juju would give what he could and in return, when and if Tom was able, he'd return the favor.
"What have you got for me?"
There was no mistaking the disappointment in Juju's sigh. "More than you wanted, amigo."
Damn. Tom knocked back his own disappointment and forced himself to reserve judgment until he heard it all. "Spill it."
"I've got a buddy in the Austin DEA offices who owes me one. Meaning you now owe me two. Anyway, he got a look at the woman's college medical records. Her surgical one."
Tom tightened his grip on the stylus, nearly snapping it in two. It made sense. It also meshed with his gut. He didn't think Anna had gone down willingly. She was just too tough. She also had way too much spunk and more than enough pride. Exhibit A: the slums she'd survived. Exhibit B: the razor edge to that smart-assed tongue of hers. When he added on the fact that Percocet was the number one choice for after-patient care, despite its addictive nature…
"What kind of surgery did she have?" Okay, so he was curious about more than the pills.
"Some female thing. Beginning of her junior year, over Thanksgiving break it looks like. Ovarian cyst. Sounds like they took one of 'em out—ovary, that is—but left the other. Least, I think they have two." Another chuckle, this one bordering on forced. "Never checked, myself."
Tom sighed, his patience with Juju's attempt to soften the confirmation shorter than his store of sleep. "They gave her Percocet, didn't they?"
"Yup. But…there's something else."
Great. "Meaning, she went back for more."
Juju's next sigh confirmed it.
"Dammit, why didn't someone talk to her then?"
"Not sure. But my contact says she hit them up that one time. Claimed the prescription vial had been stolen from her purse. It was believable enough on a campus that large with a drug that in demand. She was living with a group of ROTC women at the time, some kind of sorority called—"
Tom caught the rustle of papers and filled in the missing information. "Sisters-in-Arms." He could feel Juju's nod.
"That's it. Anyway, my guess is one of the others figured it out, knocked some sense into her and yanked her back on the straight and narrow. You know how it was at West Point. I'm betting the women banded together and kept their mouths shut, maybe even covered for her at her ROTC unit and with her profs if needed while she came down. And she did come down, probably over Christmas break, because she was clean by the time she took her precommissioning whiz quiz that spring."
It was something. She'd beat the pills once before. She could do it again. He hoped.
"So…does this mean I made up for my gaffe at the club?"
Tom frowned as he heard a car start up in the distance. From the direction of the hacienda. "I'll let you know."
"Well, while you're thinking, I've got something else that may interest you. About some NCIS dweeb named Foster."
Tom straightened, relatching his seat belt with his free hand in case he had to peel out after that distant revving engine. "Foster? The guy who investigated her security breach at the embassy three months ago?"
"The one and only. My Austin DEA buddy is Navy Reserve. Intel of all branches. He got curious after he came up with the Percocet and did some digging on his own. Wanna know what else Foster investigated—or rather who…and when?"
Tom dumped his Palm Pilot on the passenger seat and grabbed at his tie, loosening the knot along with the top button on his dress shirt as the only conceivable possibility set in. Anna had only been investigated twice. The only two times that had been necessary. "Are you saying Foster was involved in the legwork on her Top Secret background information?"
"Yup. Pops plain as day if you're looking for it. Foster was stationed down here at the time. Fall of '96. Before the Canal turnover, so there was no need to hide the NCIS contingent. Interesting, isn't it?"
Damned straight it was interesting. He had to ream Juju a new one more often because it had definitely paid off. But right now, there was no time. Tom could hear the car approaching the hacienda's twelve-foot wrought-iron gates, then slow to idle. The limo? He'd find out soon enough because the car door opened and then slammed shut. "You're forgiven. Just stay the hell away from her from now on, even if I bring her in. And don't replenish her supply."
Silence. He knew exactly which condition Juju was having a problem with. He didn't care. Not even when he heard the gears on those gates squeal. "I mean it. No goddamned drugs. No matter what you think you'll get on her cousin in return."
A heavy sigh filled his ear, rife with argument. "We go back a long way, Wild Man, but—"
"Please." His voice was hoarse.
More silence. And then, "You ain't playing fair on this."
Tom kept his gaze fused to the road. "Nope."
"She know you care?"
Nope. "She's a mark, Juju. Just a mark I happen to need sober. That's all."
"Bullsh—"
"That mean I have your word?"
Even more silence as the gates squealed shut. The car door slammed shut again. Finally, a growl in his ear. "You'll owe me, amigo. Big time."
"Yup."
"I gotta go."
Good, 'cause that unseen car was closing in. "Bye." Tom severed the call and tossed the phone on the passenger seat. Five seconds later, a souped-up silver Blazer zipped past his vantage point as he stared through the dark green fronds concealing his own pauper wheels. With the atypical Panamanian Pacific-side sunrise bleeding up past the horizon he got a clean backlit view of the driver, upswept hair and all.
Anna Shale.
Disappointment tore through him as he switched on the jeep's ignition. He forced himself to wait a ten count before he nudged the Rent-A-Wreck into gear and inched its nose out onto the private driveway. He waited until he saw
the Blazer's taillights turn to the right onto a larger two-lane stretch of seriously pockmarked blacktop that eventually connected with the Interamericana highway five miles away. As he approached, something in his gut warned him to take the corner easy. He complied, slowing the jeep to a crawl.
It turned out to be a wise move. Not only had Anna stopped the Blazer a mere three hundred yards past the turn, she'd inched the SUV to the side of the road and partway into the concealing foliage beyond. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear she was attempting to hide the darn thing and herself.
But why?
He blessed the jungle shadows fingering across this section of the road as he followed suit, burying the grill to his jeep in the lush foliage as he grabbed his binoculars and craned his neck out his driver's window to zero in on the rear of the Blazer. Anna had gotten out of the SUV and popped the trunk. From the tension in her denim-clad waist and legs, she had to strain to shift the crate someone had loaded in the back. What the devil was she doing?
And where was her gorilla?
According to Manny's reports, Anna never traveled without her no-neck ape in tow. Not that he blamed her. Not with the Colombian border a stone's throw from the Canal Zone. And certainly not when her cousin's local and Colombian business rivals were known to have built their vast fortunes on not only the production of cocaine, but also the kidnapping and ransoming of wealthy Central American residents and tourists alike. So what was Anna doing on the side of the road at the crack of dawn without so much as a capuchin monkey in tow?
Tom stiffened as the woman's chosen inanimate companion made its appearance. A tire iron? The Blazer had a flat? He scanned the rear left tire, the only one he could clearly see. It had to be one of the others. Still, he couldn't believe she intended to change it. The woman was in shape. She was also a runner and a good one. He'd seen her physical training scores. It would take her four, five minutes to reach the wrought iron gate. Or did she have some hang-up on doing for herself?
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