A Dangerous Engagement

by Candace Irvin

  "Meaning that from now on, Marvin, here's how it's going to go down. What you won't be doing is contacting Anna Shale again. When? Never. Where?" He tamped out another thin grin, this one almost genuine. "In light of the former, I don't think we need to cover that point, do you?"

  The man's cell phone shrilled.

  Marvin ignored it. "And the why?"

  "Ah, now there's a damned good question. My favorite one, as a matter of fact. It's sort of the reason I got into this line of work. And I've got part of the answer right here." Tom slapped his palms onto the top of the battered case and heaved it forward, shooting the duct-taped leather down the polished surface of the conference table. The guitar case slammed smack into Marvin's thighs. "Take a peek."

  "I know what's inside."

  "I'll bet you do. I'll also bet you already know the stain some goon dribbled on the packing material reeks of Chinese fish head soup instead of Russian borscht."

  This time, Marvin grinned.

  Tom wasn't surprised. Not anymore. And, despite those mind-blowing moments he'd spent in Anna's arms this morning, he was far from being satisfied. "Like I said, that's only part of the why. But as far as SOCOM is concerned, it's the only part you're now privy to. Once your Company boys are done taking a look-see at the evidence, it's ours."

  "Along with the lovely ex-Lieutenant Shale?"

  "Nope. She's mine."

  The bastard's grin turned taunting. "You forgot the how, Major. As in, how do you plan on enforcing the conditions you've just laid out?"

  "Personally."

  Marvin threw back his head at that and just laughed. Great big booming, nerve-grating guffaws.

  It was the exchange gift Tom had been waiting for. He vaulted down the table in two seconds flat, knocking Foster, Marvin, or whoever the hell he really was on his knees, hacking the man's two-inch height advantage down to a two-foot handicap with a single blow. Tom followed up with a head-lock, gaining one of his deepest desires and the upper hand in the same lash. The birth-control glasses went flying as his prey bucked violently. He tightened his right arm—the one clamped about the bastard's neck—forcing Foster's body to still even as his filthy, lying trap ripped wide-open to gasp for air.

  Tom lowered his head and sealed his mouth to the man's left ear. "One simple twist. That's all it would take and you know it. And you sure as hell know why I would willingly follow through."

  The man jerked out a nod.

  "Good. Now listen up, 'cause this concerns the why and the how. You and I both know why you really picked Anna and it wasn't because you thought she was the best one to get to Luis. You needed a patsy in case this whole freaking mess—whatever it is—blew up in your face. Well, I've got news for you, Marvin. It just did. As we stand here all cuddled up, my boss is already speaking to yours, and I am not talking about some pissant local station chief. He's on the horn with Langley. You will leave Anna Shale alone. If you do, I might not be back some night to give you a personal kiss—away from Company property and in some darkened Panamanian alley—to thank you for that goddamned roach you planted inside her. Not to mention, Marvin, that Manny Morales was a friend of mine. A real good friend. Have I expressed the depth of my dedication to your pending health clearly enough?"

  "Yes."

  "Great. Now, my boss has also authorized me to ask you a question. Given the fact that I was allowed to stroll in here with my gift unimpeded, I'm assuming the moron on the other end of that phone call of yours when I arrived was in the process of telling you to answer it. Am I right?"

  "Yes."

  "What is Luis Ortiz smuggling out of China?"

  "Let go of me first."

  He tightened his arm instead. "Wrong answer."

  Foster hacked and gasped for air as he loosened it. "Jesus, Wild Man. Screw some alley, you're killing me now."

  He shrugged. "Yeah, I know. It's a hell of a name to live up to. But I find my ways."

  "Can I at least move my arm?"

  Why not? He was in a charitable mood at the moment, thanks to the hungry promise in Anna's parting kiss. "Do it. But if you come up with anything that contains lead, I'll turn it around and feed it back to you—cold."

  He saw the man's arm move, pull his suit coat away from his waist, but other than that—

  "It's tucked in my pants. Grab it."

  "Sorry, buddy, I joined the old Army. I don't subscribe to that 'Don't ask, don't tell', crap. And I'm sure as hell not reaching into some guy's pants, 'cept to cut it off. Then again, I do have a blade on me. You still want me to reach?"

  Foster turned green. "No, I think I can get it after all." So much for the ploy to get him to loosen his grip.

  A second later, the mystery item thumped onto the table. A split second after that, Tom's stomach punched into his gut. Fury fired the contents to a roiling boil. The longer he stared at the slim, pocket-size beeper, the hotter it got. The black casing looked innocuous enough. Hell, so was the circuitry inside it. But the material the personal, portable, Geiger counter was calibrated to sniff out, was not. It was deadly. In the worst way.

  The bronze statuettes.

  Only he'd wager they weren't bronze after all, but bronze-coated lead. No wonder Luis had freaked over a cracked casing. A radioactive leak was enough to ruin anyone's day. But that wasn't the most chilling discovery. "That son of a bitch wants me to build a dirty bomb." He could do it, too. Pretty much all he had to do was strap one of those statuettes to a conventional explosive and boom. Contrary to Hollywood's propaganda, the yield would be on the minor scale, especially with the right atmospheric conditions. But there would be mass hysteria. During Carnaval.

  "I take it I've managed to surprise you this time?"

  There was no use denying it. "Yup."

  "So, do you have anything I can use, Major?"

  No. But Anna might by the time they linked up in his room. Thanks to this bastard's help, not one of her former Asian Intel contacts would take her call. But one of her sorority sister's had. The same Sister who'd provided him with the means to take out his frustration on this asshole.

  "I'll let you know." But first, he had one more question. And it better have an answer. "Why didn't you tell her?"

  "Need-to-know."

  The assessment was issued coldly. Callously. And it enraged him. Tom wrenched his arm in tight. "She was working for you in her cousin's house. She's been to that warehouse. I think she had a need to know she could be exposing herself to radioactive material!"

  Foster didn't turn green this time—he turned blue. "You…want to…keep your…voice down?"

  "Why? You afraid I blew the receiver inside your bug?"

  Disgusted, Tom released his grip on the man's neck and shoved him into the edge of the table, hard.

  Foster slammed into the table with his ribs, hacking and spewing out the bulk of his lung capacity as he struggled to his feet. The man loosened his tie as he worked to wheeze in enough air to replace what he'd lost until, finally, he managed a succession of deep breaths. He shook his head as he turned. "All this concern for a simple addict?" He clucked his tongue. "I have to admit, Tom, I'm stunned."

  "You shouldn't be. You gave her the push."

  "True, but I didn't the first time, did I? Or the second."

  "The hell you—" The second? This was the second.

  Wasn't it?

  Don't! The guy was trying to get even. Salve his own bruised, warped pride. He had to get out of here. Before the bastard succeeded. "I'll call you if I need you, Marvin. Otherwise, stay the hell out of my case." He turned to the door. As Tom was the senior undercover agent, Luis Ortiz was now his mark and this thug in a Company-issued suit knew it.

  "She didn't tell you, did she?"

  Don't stop, buddy. And for God's sake, don't listen.

  "She was fourteen."

  Christ. He stopped. Turned.

  Foster waited.

  Tom stalked back to the table. Back to the viper. "You got something to say, say it."

/>   "Valium."

  The whispered blow struck hard. Deep. Just as the bastard knew it would. Somehow, he found his air.

  "You're lying."

  He shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Ask her. While you're at it, ask her why. She'll tell you. You two are close, right? Real close. If not, hang out on those streets a while. You know the ones, you've been there."

  Curundú.

  "Talk to her first john."

  It wasn't the shock exploding in his brain that did it. It wasn't even the scream of denial ripping through his heart.

  It was the smirk.

  Mike Foster's smarmy, filthy sneer.

  It stabbed in deep, slicing the frayed remains of his self-restraint clean through. Tom snapped, lashing out before he even realized he'd moved. A split second later, he'd clipped the bastard behind his skull and shoved Foster face forward and straight down, right into that polished mahogany table, fracturing the man's nose for the third time in his life. Then again, knowing how the guy operated, he might have underestimated a fracture or two. By the time Foster groaned, he'd pulled the man's head back for a second bash—and froze.

  It wasn't worth it.

  This thug wasn't worth it.

  Tom spun on his heel and headed for the door, ignoring the stream of purple filth and promise of revenge that followed as he grabbed onto the knob.

  "Major!"

  He stopped, but he didn't turn.

  "Three times now, Tom. You'll never be sure. Never."

  There was nothing he could say. Not to Foster, or to himself. Only Anna could do that. So he did the only thing he could. He opened the door and left.

  * * *

  He found her in the bathroom of his hotel room, standing in front of the marble vanity, from what little he could see of her face in the mirror above, transfixed by the cluster of pills already in hand. In her pale, shaking hands. Tom forced himself not to shout, to scream, to vault forward, much less to jump to conclusions. Instead, he hooked his suit jacket over his shoulder and leaned into the whitewashed frame of the bathroom's half-open, beckoning door. And he prayed.

  "Need any help?"

  She jumped, sending the contents of his shaving kit spilling out across the gray marble. The box of disposable contact lenses skidded into the sink. He didn't care. He was too busy watching her gaze as it swung up to the gilded mirror to collide with his. He studied it openly, studied her, counting each thud of his heart as he waited for her to speak. Nothing. He finally stepped into the room, his gut bottoming out as she flinched like a recovering thief who'd been caught with her hand still inside the jewelry box.

  Or worse.

  She jerked that same hand up, the pills still clutched inside her fingers. "The Tylenol wasn't helping so I…checked your things. I hope you don't mind. I—uh—found your ibuprofen. I was about to try them."

  Her hand opened.

  Relief seared in as he stared at the twin brown caplets in her palm. Ibuprofen. There was a God after all. He reached past her arm, hoping to cover the quaking in his own hands as he tossed his jacket on the vanity to scoop up the box of contacts. He tucked the lenses inside his shaving kit and tossed the bag under the sink. He forced himself to ignore her second flinch as he reached out again, this time to retrieve the upturned glass beside the sink and fill it with water.

  He held out the glass.

  She took it. "Th-thank you."

  He nodded. "I'll meet you in the bedroom."

  He grabbed his jacket and left before she could argue. They both knew why. He'd seen it in her eyes. Once he'd gotten his own private terror under control, hers had been as plain as the deep gold flecks amid the stark, carefully masked brown. He dumped his jacket as well as his encrypted cell phone on the bed and loosened his collar and tie. She was standing behind him when he finished, looking far too much like the cool, distant stranger he'd met at the hacienda at the beginning of the week. Maybe it was the fact that she was dressed in a similar off-white linen sheath. Maybe it was her carefully maintained stance, as if she didn't trust herself to take another step, lest her legs buckle. He didn't know. All he knew was he couldn't take it anymore. Or the silence. He was about to break it when she spoke.

  "Foster told you."

  He shook his head. "He tried. I wouldn't listen." Tom dragged his hands through his hair and forced himself not to cave in to the knocking in his own knees. He stepped closer, knowing damned well she could hear the desperation in his voice, and not even caring. "I need to hear it from you."

  To his eternal pain, she stepped back. Then she rounded his body completely to cross the room. She stopped in front of the window, between the cherry desk and plush reading chair flanking the far corners of the room. Relief seared in for the second time in as many minutes as she drew the heavy draperies across the panoramic view of Panama City's financial district, plunging the room into a soothing twilight at the height of scorching afternoon. She wasn't avoiding him. At least, not completely. She just needed time to gather her thoughts. And perhaps regain a measure of the protective shield they'd both lost this morning on that ottoman wrapped up in each other's arms. So he waited. She finally turned in the now obscuring shadows, drew her breath in slow and deep, and shrugged.

  "He's right. My aunt pimped me."

  His eyes slammed shut. His knees finally buckled. He caught himself as he swayed and forced his legs to lock. He was dimly aware of her taking advantage of his instinctive horror to push through the worst of it while he couldn't move. He couldn't have stopped her if he'd tried. Because now, just as he knew she had to say it, and say it fast, he had to know.

  "I was fourteen when she came to me. She told me it was time to earn my keep. The neighborhood pharmacist had offered to cut her a deal on Luis's insulin. But the man wanted something in return. Me. Once I realized what she was asking, I refused." Tom watched her hand creep up to her mouth as the dizziness began to ebb from his brain. He watched her finger the scar that had driven him insane with curiosity. And, despite the shadows, he watched as the memories churned through that thousand-yard stare he'd seen on more shell-shocked soldiers in his life than he cared to remember. Her aunt's fury. The beatings that must have followed.

  And then the fog.

  "She drugged you."

  Anna jerked her hand down and dropped her gaze to the desk. To the purse he'd left lying at the corner. "Yeah."

  "How did you get out?"

  "Luis."

  Ah, Jesus. He hadn't said it out loud and she hadn't even looked up, but she must have sensed it.

  "Yeah, I know. I told you he hated drugs. I mean, he'll run them through his business and keep the profits, but God help you if you take 'em. Maybe it's tied to his diabetes. I don't know. I've given up wondering." She stopped. When she failed to start up again, he stepped forward.

  She flinched.

  He froze. Waited. And when he couldn't stand it anymore, he finally begged her to finish it. "Anna…what happened?"

  The ragged breath she purged filled the dimly lit room. "You know, I'm not really sure. To tell you the truth, I've worked really, really hard to block it out."

  But she hadn't succeeded. Not completely.

  He didn't need the stark, illuminating light of day to see that. He didn't even need her to tell him. His own past, as well as three weeks of painstaking research, did it for him. But it was his heart that allowed him to feel the disjointed memories as they crashed in, right along with her. Fourteen years old. Just a girl. But not after that dark, sweaty body had crushed into her, ripping her apart. He could feel her struggling to breathe, to cry, to scream, until suddenly, she just didn't care anymore. He knew he was right when he heard her swallow, when he felt the utter resignation in her shrug and in her whisper. "I know you don't want to hear this, but there can be benefits to those pills."

  The next swallow was his.

  She cleansed her lungs swiftly and plunged through the rest. "Anyway, a neighbor stopped by. I guess the door had been left open. The guy inter
rupted, beat the tar out of him and then he waited with me until my aunt got home. Luis got there first. He lost it. I can still hear him screaming at my aunt. The drugs were bad enough, but that his own cousin was a whore? That freaked him out. I have to give Luis credit, he does double standards better than anyone I've ever known. But when Luis found out my aunt knew where my dad was—had always known—because she was blackmailing him for child support, that was when it got ugly. Twenty-four hours later, I woke up in my father's house in Arizona. I spent the next few days huddled on the bed in a cold, shaking sweat with my loving new papa bellowing at me, thoroughly disgusted, and I didn't even understand why. Not until college."

  "From one perfect family to the next."

  "That about sums it up."

  The iron band around his heart clamped in tight as her nod finished on a wobble. Tighter than it had since he'd walked into this room. Tighter even than when he'd spotted Anna in the bathroom and realized she had pills in her hand. But the suffocating pressure was nothing compared to the excruciating burn as a single glistening tear finally slipped free, rolling down her cheek and straight into his heart. He sucked in his breath at the pain.

  The absolute agony.

  He had to go to her. He needed to hold her. But her body language kept his feet nailed to the carpet beside the bed. She still wasn't ready. When she dropped her hands to the desk and nervously fingered the edge of the wood, he was sure.

  "I'm sorry."

  "For Christ's sake, why? Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for. Absolutely nothing."

  "I made you break your rules. Maybe you didn't pay for it. But because of me, you slept with a—"

  The band on his heart snapped.

  He was across the room in two seconds flat, his hands shooting out before he could stop them, his fingers digging into her arms as he dragged her in close. "Don't."

  She waited for him to release her. Her eyes begged him to. When he finally did, she pushed it. Quietly. "Tom, it's true. And Foster's going to make sure everyone knows. You think it's going to matter that I was half-conscious? Not after he finishes putting his special spin on it. What's going to happen to your career when the rumors start circulating that you've been sleeping with an addict and a wh—"