Turner. Whatever was eating his friend, it definitely concerned his dead sergeant. Despite the alley's shadows, it burned within his eyes. Tom hadn't been offering platitudes. Turner had been a good man. An even better platoon sergeant. He ought to know, he'd worked with Turner himself.
Christ. Tom sighed.
He knew damned well his buddy wasn't down here on the level. Nor was Eve. If they had been, they wouldn't be going through Anna, possibly Luis, too. From the activity he'd monitored when he'd gone back to recon the jungle hooch Anna visited at dawn, he now had a pretty good idea what was going down, too. "You're going back, aren't you?" Into a communist country currently embroiled in its own very private, exceptionally ugly civil war. If Rick or Eve got caught, they'd be lucky if all they ended up with was a sudden infusion of lead in their brains. Even if they didn't get caught, there was an even better chance their careers would be over once their little jungle vacation came to light.
"Yup." Another one-syllable grunt worth a thousand more words. But this time, Rick gave him the rest. "Anna claims she's got it all under control. We're supposed to make like cats in heat out on that dance floor and then head back to the room where I'll slap a Do Not Disturb on the door. It'll remain there for the duration, which she's also supposed to have covered. Meanwhile, Eve and I leave at oh-four-hundred tonight."
"What's your problem then?"
"Military sorority or not, I don't trust the woman."
Neither did he. But that hadn't stopped him from obsessing over her for the past few days now had it? "What about supplies? Does she claim to have those locked in, too? Two rucksacks, a couple AK-47s with enough ammo to start your own war, a pair of handheld global positioning units along with several pieces of truly choice gear and a seriously old Huey chopper with an even older ex-Army expatriate of a rotary-wing jock to hold the rusted thing together long enough to fly you two over and dump you off in the middle of hot, steaming nowhere?"
It was Rick's turn to blink. "How did you know?"
Because he'd seen the scruffed-out geezer packing it all up just before noon. But again, he couldn't discuss that.
"The woman's on the level, then?"
But he could discuss that. Tom nodded. "She is about that." Regardless of how low Anna had sunk, she seemed determined to toss her old sorority chum enough rope so Eve could pull herself out of her own hole before Eve went under. He squelched the burst of admiration before it surged out of control. "I say go for it. I'll watch your back, buddy. You have my word. I'll make sure she's on the level about the rest, especially your plans on getting out." Those he'd be discussing with Anna personally. Within the hour if he had his way. And he would. It was about time the answers fell into place according to his schedule. If he had to lie and hold Anna's friend over her head to accomplish it, so be it. If nothing else, Anna's actions today had proven that Eve was more important to her than the pills. For the moment.
"I owe you one."
"The hell you do. Now get out of here before the missus sends the hounds after you. Oh yeah, and don't forget to invite me to the wedding. I just might be able to make it."
As expected, his buddy opened his mouth to deny the latter half. He must have remembered who he'd been chatting with because he promptly closed it. In the end, Rick settled for a terse nod before he turned and headed to the still-cracked window to heft his frame back up inside the men's room. His parting words floated down into the darkened alley, "Good luck, Wild Man." The window snapped shut. A second later the curtains fluttered into place, darkening it further.
"You too, buddy. You too."
Something told him they were both going to need it.
* * *
"Carrie was pregnant."
Anna stiffened as the confession ripped through her body with more force than Tom Wild's thunderous rage when he'd confronted her outside the hacienda gates that morning. Somehow, she managed to blink, then swallow. She even managed to open her mouth. But before she could force a single word past her throat, Eve blurted out the rest.
"The father was enlisted—and one of her regular passengers."
This time, Anna gave up all pretense of speech. She slumped back in her chair and just gaped, her brain still caught in some surreal alternate reality that had rendered her incapable of speech. Eve finally reached out, her hand shaking as she bypassed her empty water goblet to grab Bishop's full one. But like her, Eve couldn't seem to drink. She simply clutched the glass as she settled into her chair.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I wasn't even sure I should tell you. I didn't want to put you in the position of ever having to lie."
Anna closed her eyes as the irony of her friend's concern bit in. She didn't have the heart to confess that the lies she'd told these past three months had already earned her a one-way ticket to hell. And the ones she'd dripped for Tom Wild these past three days? They guaranteed she wouldn't be stopping in purgatory along the way. But a baby. What a secret to live with. Poor Carrie.
No, she hadn't been close to the woman. Not like she'd been with Sam and Meg. Their first year under the same roof at the sorority house, she'd told herself it was because Carrie was Army. But that wasn't true. She'd gotten along great with Eve. But Carrie, she'd always politely avoided. It wasn't even the rags-to-middle-class background they'd shared. No, it was a far more painful reminder. Put politely, Carrie Evans liked men. Tall ones, short ones, dark ones, light. Carrie hadn't much cared. So long as she had a man. Anna didn't even think Eve knew why. But she did. She'd recognized it right off. Not in Carrie, but in Carrie's mom.
The first time they'd met, it had come through clear as a Caribbean sunrise. Carrie's mother had been a working girl. Just like the one she'd sent over to Tom last night. And Carrie had dealt with the emotional fallout the only way she could. The one way Anna had sworn she never would.
But a baby?
Fire smarted at the corners of her eyes as years of polite but deliberate avoidance congealed into regret. Tears followed. But it was too late to make up for any of it. No matter what she'd give to go back and hug Carrie, to tear down the invisible barrier that had always been between them, it wouldn't happen. The tears welling in her eyes slipped free. Anna scrubbed them away. It was too late to cry. But it wasn't too late to help Carrie the only way she now could.
If she had to give in to Luis and sell herself to Tom Wild to do it, so be it.
"Bring them both home."
"I will." Eve smoothed her own tears. Or rather, she tried to. But as her gaze dropped to the scarlet candle flickering between them, they continued to glisten.
Anna knew why. She and Carrie might not have been the best of friends, but Eve and Carrie had been. So much so, that Eve was willing to risk her life to find out what had caused that crash and bring home their Sister.
"Eve?"
She set the glass on the table. "Yes?"
Anna opened her mouth, but the words just clogged up behind the rest of her unshed tears. She knew what she wanted to say but, despite her heritage, she'd never been able to express herself openly. Not like Carrie, who'd been even freer with her affections among her friends than she'd been with her lovers. Anna drew her breath in deep and silently begged the woman to guide her now. To help the friend she'd left behind. Carrie must have, because suddenly the words were there. She used them. "Don't be careless with your life. We can't lose you, too. We all love you, you know. You're not alone."
From the way Eve flinched, she was afraid she'd done exactly the opposite of what she'd intended, said exactly the wrong thing. But in the moments that followed, her friend's glistening tears flowed even stronger, Anna knew that somehow Carrie had gotten through. She was sure of it when Eve smoothed her tears away and reached out to wrap her arms around her.
The hug was for Carrie and her.
And it was okay.
Better than okay, because as Anna hugged Eve back, she could feel Carrie hugging her back too. But the moment Eve pulled away, she f
elt the rest. It was in the air around them, as if the pulse of the room had shifted and it wasn't due to the sudden swell in music, laughter and muted conversations.
It was Bishop. He'd returned. But Pepe hadn't. And neither had Tom.
"Is it—"
Anna shook her head. "It's your guy. He's coming back."
And she had to be leaving. Soon.
She'd already been forced to admit to Luis's involvement when Eve caught sight of her necklace. Or maybe she'd drawn her friend's attention to the distinctive scorpion on purpose. Distinctive to anyone who lived here in Panama or who'd been briefed on Central American politics recently, that is. As Eve would have been upon arriving in San Sebastián before the crash. Eve's horror at discovering who her mysterious benefactor really was had been offset by her subsequent realization that, monster or not, Luis truly did have the power to see the private, unauthorized mission Eve and her captain had committed to through to the bitter end.
A mission that was about to begin.
The hard, clipped stare Bishop shot her just before he leaned over the back of Eve's chair to nuzzle her neck according to their plan and invite her to dance assured Anna of that. Anna waited as the man took her friend's hand and drew her away from the table. She waited as he escorted her through the maze of tables to draw her onto the small wooden dance floor at the far corner of the restaurant. The moment he took Eve in his arms, Anna knew everything would be okay. There was no way Eve or Rick Bishop could fake the desire that flared between them as he drew her close. Even from here, it was apparent the two weren't so much merging with the slow, sensual rhythm set by the elderly guitarist as with each other. Once the couple reached Córdoba, Eve would be fine.
Bishop would make sure of it.
It was time for her to go. Time to make sure her part in getting them there went off without a hitch. Soon she'd be slow dancing as well, with the very devil himself.
She didn't see him as she stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her basic black dress. She didn't see him as she retrieved her purse and withdrew several bills to cover the meal. Nor did she see him as she turned to walk calmly out of the restaurant and cross the street, right up to the doorman at the hotel where Eve and her captain would be returning shortly. She didn't even see him as she accepted the cab the doorman hailed for her or when the taxi pulled out into the crazy late-evening rush.
Not to worry. Tom had been following her.
She could still feel him.
She wasn't even concerned when twenty dark, haphazard, traffic-and-pedestrian-congested blocks later, she could no longer feel him. Not even when the cars thinned out to just her cab and the odd rusted heap or two. If Tom had done his research well enough to know she'd send Pepe after him, he'd done it well enough to know exactly where she was headed.
"Pare aquí."
The driver turned and stared at her as if she was insane, the argument already gathering in his face. A woman dressed like her wanted to stop here? In the midst of these slums? With no big, bad man to protect her? She slipped her fingers beneath the collar of her dress and withdrew all the protection she'd need, carefully arranging the scorpion with the telltale bloodred ruby dripping from its stinger beneath the driver's now horrified stare. The cabbie all but vaulted from the car to wrench her door open, refusing the twenty she held out. She ignored his protest and tucked the bill into his hand as she turned to cover the remaining blocks on foot. She needed the time to gather her nerve as well as a few moments to stop at the corner bodega and purchase a lighter and two of the novena candles her mother had always burned.
Mama would simply have to forgive her the blasphemy.
The clerk, too.
The old woman was clearly torn between not wanting her to pay and wondering why anyone with that charm would be buying religious candles in the first place. She didn't humor the woman, or the pack of strutting barrio boys who immediately ceased their barrage of wolf whistles to apologize and move aside as she passed. As if she'd be interested in a gaggle of immature boys. No, she was looking for a man. A sanctimonious, blue-eyed blonde with a filthy temper when roused.
But was he a thug? One way or another, she was about to find out. She had to. Carrie and her baby were dead. Eve needed help. With Samantha leaving for Moscow any day and Meg already there, it was up to her. She shifted the paper bag containing the eight-inch candles, careful to cushion the glass containers as she reached into her purse to retrieve the remote control. She blessed Sam for demanding it as she switched off the bug.
Foster could join her in hell for all she cared.
She was doing this her way.
The last two times they'd done it his way, innocent men had died. One in her arms. Eve and her captain would not be joining them. However, someone would be joining her, and soon. She quickened her stride. Knowing Tom, he'd beaten her here and was already waiting inside. She shifted the paper sack and shoved the remote back into the concealed compartment in her purse as she turned. In retrospect, it hadn't been a smart idea. The distraction sent her plowing straight into a waiting man, all right. A pair of them. But neither was Tom. White-hot pain exploded inside her chest as the larger man spun around, one of his elbows slamming squarely into the bottom curve of her left breast—right into her three-day-old surgical scar and the bug beneath. Hard. She didn't recognize the man who'd accidentally struck her or the one who caught her as she screamed.
A moment later, she couldn't recognize anything at all.
Because she'd passed out.
Chapter 9
Tom stared at the three-foot scorpion that had been painted over the door at the end of the alley. A door that had been left six inches open, the faint glow of light spilling out letting him know in a message as old as hospitality to come on in. His hostess was waiting for him despite the hour. He wasn't surprised. From the moment Anna had walked out of that restaurant after Rick had walked back in, he'd known it would come down to her and him. Right here and right now.
To be honest, he wasn't looking forward to it.
Most of the rage he'd been nursing against this woman had been purged upon learning that she wasn't a traitor. Her concern and willingness to put her life on the line for her old college friend and an unknown SF operator had washed away the rest. Yes, she'd screwed up with the drugs. Her life and possibly others. Though to be honest, Foster's involvement at the two most crucial turning points in Anna's intelligence career had raised questions about the veracity of those crimes as well as Foster's report, at least in his gut. Not only had he shot off his own report to SOCOM this afternoon, he'd put out a few personal feelers of his own, this time on Foster. Unfortunately, nothing had come back. He was back to square one. Back to Anna Shale. He had no choice but to walk into that shack and take her down any way he could.
Time was running out.
He didn't need a calendar or even the mounting nighttime madness in the streets to tell him that. Five years of working terror takedowns had all but guaranteed that whatever Luis was plotting was bound to go down sometime between the coronation of the Carnaval queen that Friday and the symbolic burial of the sardine in the sand the following Wednesday at dawn. He'd stake that vial of pills Anna carried that, this year, the hardy few who managed to show their hungover mugs out on the sands at the Bahía de Panama would be mourning not only Jesus, but also themselves.
He needed that rifle. It was his only link to whoever Luis and Ortiz Imports were really doing business with. As a former intelligence analyst and not a down-in-the-trenches operator, he doubted Anna knew AK-47 rifles were stamped with a code that not only pinpointed which country the rifle had originated in, but the actual plant in which the steel had been forged. Even if she did, he seriously doubted she'd be able to translate those codes. But he could.
Unfortunately, not a single photo he'd taken included an unobstructed view of the section he needed. He checked his watch and shrugged. The half-hour detour he'd made to the Iguana Azul would pay off one way or the other. If he
was lucky, Anna was past wondering where he was and well into impatience. Which was right where he needed her. He slipped off his jacket and folded it over his arm as he crossed the remaining cobblestones to reach the door at the end. Even without the scorpion and his previous night's reconnaissance, he'd have known which one. It was the only door that wasn't locked up tight despite the day's lingering heat. Panama had two seasons—hot and dry, and hot and wet. He shoved the door open and stepped inside. It was roasting in here.
"You're late, Mr. Wild."
True, but she wasn't even in here. Not in the front room anyway. There was nowhere to lay his jacket so he kept it with him as he crossed the darkened empty room, his dress shoes echoing over the scrupulously swept concrete. The stench of old, embedded grease had been offset by the scent of citrus, wax and smoke. Candles. Made sense. Loony Louie might keep the rats out of the joint, but Tom doubted even he was fanatical enough to try to keep the electricity on in an unoccupied shrine. Not in Panama where even Fortune 500 companies had their power disconnected at the drop of a hat. Tom passed through the kitchen and entered the equally empty room beyond. Empty but for her.
Anna stood in the far corner of the windowless room, her black leather heels flanked by two eight-inch-tall candles encased in glass. Together the flames put out enough light for him to make out not only her matching black dress but her cool, regal face as she lounged against the wall, her hands tucked at the small of her back. And her hair was down, the thick mass swirling about her shoulders. Not a good sign.
She smiled slightly. Her shrug was even slighter. "I trust I haven't offended you with my choice of accommodations."
He hooked his fingers into the collar of his jacket and shifted it over his shoulder. "Not at all. I'm not above ceding the home-court advantage to a woman, especially a woman I've…dated." Her subtle flinch assured him she'd caught the reference to that morning and his warning over her continued use of his formal name in an attempt to put him in his place. He leaned back against the opposite wall. "Though you have to admit, my room would have been much more comfortable."
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