by Honey Jans
"That's not going to happen.” He shook his head.
"But I have some connections..."
"Look, Sugar, I've been at this game a lot longer than you have. Whoever is behind this plays dirty and they want you dead, too. From now on, we become Siamese twins. Where you go, I go."
Melanie didn't like his disapproving tone. Was being stuck with her such a trial? She pushed her way off his lap and glared down at him when he tried to grab her.
"Where are you going?"
He was only worried she'd escape, the bastard. “Inside to get dressed,” she said as her chin rose. Damned if she'd let him see her cry. She turned and stalked toward the house, not caring that he was probably ogling her naked body.
"I'll go with you."
She almost jumped when his rough voice came right behind her. Damn it, how did he move so silently? She wished she could learn the knack. It went a long way to backing up his story that he was an agent for an agency she'd never heard of. Of course, he could be handing her a line of bull. It wouldn't be the first time. She'd check him out no matter what he said.
As he fell into step beside her, she slanted him a resentful look. She didn't need an escort, but she realized it wasn't an offer. It was an order. He didn't trust her out of his sight. Smart man, she would have been sorely tempted to steal his jeep, take her chances with the CIA, and save his stubborn ass.
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Chapter 8
Ace went to the dresser and tugged it open hoping to find something to fit Melanie. The sooner he got her dressed the better. That way she wouldn't be so much of a distraction. He smiled when he saw some shiny garments. One of Santos's women had been here. He pulled out a glittery pink tube top, white short shorts, and red thong panties. “We're in luck."
When he turned to look at Melanie, the jealous look on her face stopped him cold. She thought he shacked up here with another woman. It was enough to make him smile. He tossed them at her. “Put them on."
She caught them and scowled back at him muttering, “I think I'd rather stay naked."
He arched a brow, remaining silent and she grumbled. “The shower still works if you want to use it. And there's a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.” Her sudden smile warmed him like the summer sun. He watched her rush off to the shower and then turned to do what he needed to do. He dressed in fatigues and went to rifle through Santos's cache of weapons.
Melanie walked out of the bathroom half an hour later feeling more human. The shower and toothbrush had been forms of gallantry from Ace and she treasured them. Whether he was crook or spy, she didn't know, but she knew she couldn't betray him.
She looked down at the scanty tube top and shorts she wore and groaned, reconsidering the thought. Who did these things belong to? The thought that he'd had some other woman here rankled. He hadn't been forthcoming, not that she'd expected him to be. Men never admitted to their peccadilloes.
She walked into the bedroom and found a pair of high-heeled strappy sandals set out for her. Hooker shoes. To her embarrassment, they fit like a glove. She stood up and went in search of her benefactor. Thuds coming from the vicinity of the kitchen drew her. She came upon him in the kitchen, his back turned to her. He was rooting through the locked closet she'd noticed last night. Her heart sped up as she eyed him and realized she had a thing for soldiers. The uniform did impressive things with his sexy butt. He turned to look at her and she saw he was armed, and sorting through an arsenal. Even with her limited experience, she recognized the automatic weapons, ammo, and a few other things. He could fight a small war from here.
When Ace's sultry gaze swept up her body like a caress, her nipples hardened, and she cursed the fact she couldn't wear a bra with this top. Not that her bra was in any shape to wear, thanks to Ace.
He smiled at her. “Can you shoot?"
She nodded, thrilled he was finally beginning to trust her. “Did I tell you I outshot Jeb?"
"People tell me things all the time,” he murmured.
She got the message, just because she may tell him something, it didn't mean he believed her. Who the hell had burned him so bad, made him so distrusting she wondered? Maybe the slut whose costume she was wearing, but she didn't think so. She waited for him to make up his mind and smiled when he handed her a Glock and a magazine for it. The moment she had it in her hand she felt better, in control of her own destiny. She'd be his wingman and she could protect the both of them if need be. She hadn't been boasting when she said she was an excellent shot.
"Looks like you're ready for your own private war,” she said, gazing at the arms packed in the closet.
"Not me, an associate."
A surge of happiness went through her at the confirmation that this wasn't his place. Thus, the slut clothes she was wearing didn't belong to one of his lovers. “I see."
"We do each other favors from time to time,” he said, shutting and locking the door. “Know how to load it?” he asked, glancing at the Glock.
She nodded at him and checked to make sure there wasn't a round in the barrel. Then she locked the magazine into place. When she looked up, she saw his approval.
"Come on, let's move out.” he said a little gruffly as he took her arm and steered her toward the door.
Melanie followed him back to the barn wondering why he was so subdued now. It was as if they moved one step forward and two steps back. When he popped open the jeep's lid and did something to the engine, she understood why the engine hadn't started. He had the dumb thing rigged.
As they drove down what seemed like a goat path, and deeper into the jungle, she sighed. Up ahead she knew there were mountains and then cliffs that led to the sea. But her captor wasn't in a talkative mood and she didn't much feel like conversing with him, either. Their bodies might be in sync but their minds weren't. Why wouldn't he let her call Dot, her trusted source? She'd be doing it for both their benefits. How could he be so stubborn? Simple, he was a man. He might be miles up the evolutionary ladder from the likes of Jeb, but he was still thinking with his dick. Macho stubbornness wouldn't get the job done. She'd have to save him from himself. Her stomach grumbled, interrupting her thoughts. “Any chance you have some food in that duffle bag?"
He slanted her a smile, popped open the console to pull out a granola bar. “It's not much but it'll have to do."
She tore it open, inhaling the heavenly aroma, and then felt guilty. He had to be just as hungry. As responsible as he was for her predicament, she couldn't let him starve. She broke the bar in half and handed him his share.
"What's this for?” he said, in surprise.
"Just eat it,” she said, not wanting him to think she was weakening toward him. She waited for him to take a bite before she did the same. The honey sweet snack made her groan with pleasure and she noticed him smile as he watched her mouth. Never had she thought of eating as an erotic art. But then she'd never watched her dream man savor a granola bar before, swallowing it down. He'd savored her the same way last night. She heated up just thinking about it.
Deliberately pulling her mind off sex, she swallowed down the last bite and glued her eyes on the path ahead. When he turned onto a gravel road her spirits picked up, civilization at last ... at least sort of, she thought as they drove up to the edge of a village. The smell of food cooking revived her hunger, but she needed to pee even more. She couldn't help wiggling on the seat.
"What's up with you?” he asked.
"If you must know, I have to use the bathroom,” she said, fidgeting on the seat.
He gave her an indulgent grin. “Just so happens I need petrol or else I'd tell you to use a bush."
She shook her head at his humor as he pulled up into an old gas station. The minute he pulled up to the pump, she opened her door. He grabbed her wrist as she started to get out and she turned to look at him. “What?"
His eyes flashed. “Try anything and I'll get out my lasso, and that's a promise, Sugar."
The stupid cowboy wo
uld do it too, she decided. “I won't try anything,” she said. She thought about getting the Glock, now nestled in the glove compartment, but rejected the idea.
"Neither of us reports in until we know who's chasing us. Agreed?"
She felt his will bearing down as he pinned her with a determined gaze and nodded. “Agreed."
"Good. Then you can go.” He let go of her wrist as a teenaged gas station attendant came their way.
"What a gentlemen you are,” she said sarcastically and jumped out of the jeep.
"I live to please you, Sugar,” Ace said with a grin, watching her go.
Melanie walked past the scruffy attendant trying to ignore his blatantly sexual once over. High tailing it past him, she breathed a sigh of relief when she slammed the bathroom door closed after her.
* * * *
Ace bit back a snarl when the teenaged grease monkey turned to leer at Melanie. “How about some petrol,” he bit out, gaining the punk's attention. The kid turned wary eyes on him, flicking him an overly macho glance, which showed he'd been in his share of street fights. Ace gave him a steady look back, which soon had the kid backing down.
"You have American dollars, Gringo?” the kid said.
Ace flashed him the wad of twenties he'd already peeled off. “Fill it up. And we'll need supplies, too.” He watched the look of avarice in the teen's eyes as he rushed to do his bidding.
"Si, Senor, anything you want."
Ace nodded and walked over to the pay phone while Melanie was out of the way. He dropped a coin into the slot and punched in a number he knew by heart.
"123 Logistics,” the gravelly female voice on the other end said.
Ace winced when he heard Mable's voice. What the hell was his former foster mother doing back on the job? “I thought you retired."
"I unretired myself with you getting into trouble and all, Acheron. You're going to be the death of me yet, kid. Why don't you settle down with some nice girl and make me a grandma?"
"Get me Clark,” he cut in.
"Is that any way to talk to your mother?” she scolded.
"You're not my mother,” he said with a sigh. His mother had done a bunk on him when he was ten, running off with some gambler she'd picked up. Mable had become his foster mother, chief ass kicker, and the biggest supporter for two young hellions like Clark and him, and he hated it when she pulled her guilt trips on him.
"Don't get snippy with me, young man."
"Sorry,” he said, feeling her warmth coming through the phone. “Just get Clark for me, Ma. You can yell at me all you want later."
"Bran Frost is beating the bushes looking for you,” she said.
He hated the worried note in her voice, but he also knew that she knew he could take care of himself. If Bran Frost was worried about him, it might not be too bad. “I thought you and Weston would be on that cruise right now,” he said with a grin, thinking of Ma's latest beau, Hal Weston, an Austin cop.
"We were incompatible."
Ma's sudden reticence made him smile. “Roughly translated he wouldn't let you boss him around..."
"I'll get Clark,” she cut in before cutting him off.
"What the fuck is going on in banana-land?” Clark asked a moment later.
Ace grinned at his former foster brother's gruff question. Trust Clark to put things succinctly. “I'm still trying to figure that out, bro.” He turned to see the kid washing his windshield and trying to listen in. He didn't know how much English the kid knew and he wasn't taking any chances. “Get the supplies,” he said, making the teen jump.
The teen nodded and hurried back to the station.
"Sounds like you're going off the grid,” Clark said.
"You don't know the half of it, bro, and I don't have time to explain,” he said surveying the scene, making sure the kid was getting their supplies. “What have you picked up through the grapevine?"
"There are two conflicting stories going around. First rumor is that you fucked up, cracked up, and went into hiding. Second story, certain people believe, is you switched sides or went into business for yourself. Guess which one Vance pounced on?"
Ace didn't need to guess, they both knew that Vance already thought he didn't play well with others. “The stupid bastard."
"No shit. Word has it you took a prisoner ... a female prisoner."
Ace smiled, recalling Melanie's soft curves pressed against him in bed last night. The way she'd taken him in her sleep, like a female Amazon, still blew his mind. Then he'd turned the tables on her and made her his. The realization hit him in that instant. She was his and he was going to do all he could to keep it that way. “Your contacts talk a lot."
"So it's true then."
"I can't confirm or deny..."
"Yeah, I've heard that song and dance before. Listen up, bro, now is not the time to let some broad mess with your head."
Ace tensed, letting out a growl when Clark called Melanie a “broad,” and knew in an instant he'd miscalculated when his brother chuckled.
"So it's that way, is it?"
"Looks that way,” he said, not wanting to talk about something he didn't understand himself. “It's pretty clear one of us was set up. I was sent in to take out an assassin who turned out to be no more than a glorified CIA computer nerd."
"The woman?"
"Yeah, Melanie Cordova. I need you to do a background check on her. I need to find out why she was targeted.” Ace said, keeping an eagle eye out for Melanie. She'd yet to come out of the bathroom. He only hoped she wasn't going to try to split on him. Just the thought made his gut tighten. Didn't she know she was dead without him?
"What a cluster fuck ... um ... fudge."
Ace smiled as Clark instantly censored himself. “Ma come into the room?” Ace asked with a dry chuckle, then sobered. “Listen, a death squad hit my safe house last night. We barely made it out alive. Now I've got to find out who they're trying to hit and shut them down."
"It's clever, really.” Clark said.
Ace could practically hear Clark's logistically focused mind working as he muttered, “Diabolical. Who thinks like that?"
"My advice would be to get the hell out of the kill zone and then call me back before you investigate."
"I'm ahead of you. We spent the night at the farm and we're on our way to Rosa's Cantina."
"Does she know you're taking her to a whorehouse?” Clark asked with a hoot of laughter.
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Chapter 9
Melanie washed her hands thoroughly and glanced at her reflection in the cracked restroom mirror. She looked like a wild woman, her sun streaked blond hair tumbling riotously around her shoulders, curling with the tropical humidity. And she was glowing, sunburned, she told herself, not all flushed from a suddenly hot sex life. Deep inside she knew it was a lie. Ace had released a wicked part of her that didn't want to fade into the background anymore. When this was over, she'd try to get a life, even if it wouldn't be with Ace.
Stepping back, she tried to get a better look at herself, straightening her barely-there outfit. Whoever owned these clothes was either a preteen or a hooker. The clothes were at least one size smaller than her, making the tank top and shorts cling to her indecently. The outline of her nipples were visible through the glittery pink tube top she wore, and the white shorts hung low, baring her belly button, scarcely covering her red thong.
No wonder the teenage gas station attendant's eyes had practically bugged out when she passed him by. This was so unlike her usually buttoned up businesslike persona, it was shocking. So your life has changed, hopefully for the better, get over it already, she told herself, turning to go. She opened the restroom door and was immediately assailed by loud Columbian street music.
Stepping out into the alley, she saw the reason for the ruckus. A group of men clustered around an old truck, hanging about while another worked under the hood. At first chill, she thought about their pursuers last night, but this old pickup truck was nothin
g like the SUV that had overturned. Judging by the bottles of beer on ice, the men were here for the afternoon. They all stopped what they were doing to leer at her. What is it about macho men that makes them feel it's necessary to act like apes?
"Si, Jeffe,” one of the men said to an older man handing him a beer.
Boss, she realized and glanced at the man. Older, and better dressed, with a thin pock marked face, he wore his authority with a swagger. She looked at them wondering if they were friend or foe, noting the boss was armed. But a lot of men in the country were armed. It didn't mean they were crooks. Then she noticed he had a cell phone and her eyes widened with delight. She could call Dot; get them out of this mess. Or she could call Harry and have Jeb rubbed out, she thought with a smirk, not that she'd ever sink that low. But plotting her revenge was wickedly fun to think about. She let out a sigh, knowing she'd do neither. She'd promised Ace she wouldn't, at least not without talking to him about it, and she never broke her word.
Stupid or not, she was pathetically honest. So she turned and headed back toward the gas pumps to try to talk some sense into her hardheaded lover. When she emerged from the alley and saw their abandoned jeep, she stopped dead in her tracks. Where was he? Had their pursuers captured him? Her heart almost stopped at the thought. She knew he wouldn't leave her on purpose. Then she turned to see him at a pay phone, and all her soft feelings vaporized. What a liar.
His back was turned to her and he seemed to be tense as he talked on the phone. She gaped at him in disbelief. How could he have lied to her, strung her along? Easy, it was what he did for a living, and he was damned good at it. She'd actually thought she meant something to him. Did this mean he thought Jeb was responsible for their plight? Somehow she couldn't cast Jeb Mason in the roll of a criminal mastermind, a lecher, yes, a killer no. She was going to stop being a patsy right now she decided, the tinny sound of the music in the alley drifting her way.
She spun on her heel and stomped back toward the alley. When the men saw her coming back, they ogled her once more, making dirty comments in gutter Spanish. She ignored the lurid commentary that all added up to look at the gringo whore. Given the outfit she was almost wearing, she could understand where they were coming from, even if she didn't like it.