Suddenly she blew out air and surged up and back, her legs kicking wildly. He surfaced as she continued backing, searching the river as if she were being chased by something from the depths.
“Hay algo debajo del agua.” She reverted to Spanish. Something was beneath the water. With the elegant fingers of her right hand splayed across her chest, she continued backing away. “Algo feo.” Something ugly.
“A snake?”
“No. Tiene piernas.” It has legs. She spun in a circle, gaze down, searching. “It touched me.”
Mark looked beneath the rippling clear water, scanning the sandy bottom for the something that had frightened her.
Then he saw it. Right next to the shampoo.
A pretty big camarón, a cross between a shrimp and a lobster about eight inches long, lay on the bottom, its brownish body curled around the tiny bottle. The crustacean seemed to find the shampoo interesting and clasped it as Mark dove.
He surfaced, holding the bottle with the prawn clinging stubbornly to it.
Laura let out a muffled screech.
“It’s just an overgrown shrimp,” he said.
“It has legs,” she said, her hand still on her chest.
“Lots of them,” Mark agreed, with a laugh.
She backed away. “Get it off.”
He shook the camarón off, sending it plunking into the water downstream, far from her, then held the bottle out. “Here’s the shampoo.”
She screeched again and scrambled back as if he’d tossed the shrimp at her.
“It’s gone,” he said, turning the bottle so she could see.
“You made it look like it was still there,” she accused.
“I didn’t,” he replied, but smiled. “How can you be scared of a shrimp? You stayed in that miserable excuse of a room where I’m sure roaches the size of T Rexes crawled on you every night.”
Before he knew it, she was swimming quickly toward him. He made a half-hearted effort to back away just as she reached him. She surged up and pushed down on his shoulders, sending him below the surface. If he hadn’t seen the wicked smile on her face, he would have thought he’d really frightened her. But the expression on her face said she simply wanted a bit of revenge. He ducked away from her and spun around, but before he took a step, she caught the waistband of his boxers.
He grabbed at her hand too late to keep her from dumping a handful of river sand down the back of his boxers before dashing away. He ducked down for some sand, surfaced, and went after her.
She backed away, smiling. “I didn’t mean it. Really.”
“Yes you did,” he said with a laugh. “Now it’s my turn.”
She pushed her wet hair out of her face, turned and swam strongly away from him, pausing only once to look back. That pause made it possible for him to snag the hem of her shirt. He reached around and rubbed the small amount of sand left in his hand onto her bare stomach.
She grabbed his arm and, still laughing, turned, her hand going to the top of his head. She meant to dunk him again. He went down, but took her along, holding her tightly against his body.
In the silence beneath the water, they floated together, nearly nose to nose, fully front to front, and she smiled, her face animated and carefree. And he couldn’t help it. He reached out and traced a line from her throat to her chest with the tips of his fingers.
The current tangled her hair around them. She closed her eyes, her head back, as if enjoying the cool water. He pushed them to the surface and held her pressed belly to belly, chest to chest, his erection nestled firmly between her thighs.
She opened her eyes, lashes spiked with water. He lost himself in the inky depths. Her smile faded, her lips parted.
He bent and kissed her. As she held on, as he dropped the shampoo and let his hands slide down her back to cup her bottom, he pushed the clamoring warnings out of his head. She responded without inhibition, wrapped her legs around his hips and stroked his tongue with hers. trying to accommodate his cock, still constrained by the fabric of his boxers.
He thrust against her, one hand skimming wet skin to cup her breast. Her nipple pebbled against his palm. He broke the kiss, his breathing harsh, and saw her eyes were closed. He kissed one eyelid, then the other. She opened her eyes, licked her lower lip, and kissed him. With his free hand, he pushed her panties down. She pushed the front of his boxers down freeing his erection and he positioned himself against her slick heat.
She moved against him while his senses roared and the kiss raged on. Still cupping her bottom, he raised her and thrust deep. She gasped, breaking the kiss, her forehead leaning on his, and hummed with pleasure before levering herself up, then down.
Condom. Damn. He’d never gone without. Where the hell was he supposed to get a condom? Then it didn’t matter. She was riding him and he could do nothing but thrust, deep and hard. She buried her face against his shoulder and nipped at his neck. Moments later he felt the first spasms of her climax. He held still as she came.
He rubbed her slick back, rejoicing in the tremors of her orgasm. She pulled back and gave him a sheepish and satisfied grin. “I was a little fast.”
“Fast is good.” His voice cracked. “Slow is good. You okay?”
She nodded, hot and liquid around him.
“Hold on,” he said.
He thrust, slow and steady. He could wait, but he was so damn ready—
Rumbling from the bridge above stopped him. They looked upward. More rumbling. It would take something heavy to make the bridge shake like that. Senses now screaming, he pulled out of the heat of her body and lowered her so she could stand.
“I’m going to see what’s happening.” He shoved himself back into his boxers.
She nodded, her eyes wide.
He swam to the shore and, still wet, scrambled into his jeans before pushing his way through the thick weeds until he could see what had caused the bridge to tremble.
Several trucks sped south, followed by several transport trucks, their side flaps rolled up, filled with soldiers. Army, not Guardia like before.
“The insignia says they’re from Huamachuco,” Laura said from behind him. She’d pulled on her clothes. “From the garrison north of here.”
“From the north, not the south, like the Guardia?”
“Yes.” She followed the movements.
Why would the army move south when the disputed border was in the north?
Then came six huge flatbed trucks covered with tarps. He was pretty sure about what they carried. The last truck’s tarp had come loose in the back and verified his guess when it flapped open.
A Russian made T-90 military tank.
Chapter Eleven
“Ruiz is behind this,” Laura pushed the words through the constriction in her throat. “He has to be.” She’d been too scared to say anything as she and Mark finished dressing and got back in the pickup. What could happen now was too horrible to contemplate. “He’s been Minister of Defense for a few hours and already he’s—”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. We—”
“I’m not! He has my son. He’s arrested my father. What if he’s doing to him, to Esperanza, what he did to Victor Fuentes?” She blew out two quick breaths. “What if he hurts Tony?” she choked out.
Mark pulled her across the seat into his arms and whispered something against her hair that she didn’t understand. Couldn’t, because she couldn’t think. The terror was too much. But slowly, she felt Mark’s hands stroking her back. She gulped back a sob. This was no time to fall apart. She lifted her head from his shoulder.
“I need to get to the city. Ruiz can’t start something as quickly as today. Tomorrow I’ll be in his house. I—”
“We, Laura, we,” Mark insisted.
She nodded. She had to believe. Had to trust him.
He was all she had left.
***
Mark started driving, praying he’d convinced Laura that everything would work out, but she was right. If the country was desta
bilized, finding Tony Iglesias would be more than difficult.
Minutes away from the river, four more trucks sped past them moving south toward the capital, some with troops, some with military equipment, tanks, and cannon. Others moved north. What the hell was going on?
Beside him, Laura scanned radio frequencies for news, but there was none.
No way to ignore the fact that Ruiz had finally become a part of the government at the same time these troops were moving. Mark could think of no reason for a southern movement of troops. Northern movement would mean that something big was about to happen along the border with Monte Blanco.
The newspaper had mentioned a cross border shooting yesterday. San Mateo and Monte Blanco had fought two wars in the middle of the twentieth century over a twenty kilometer stretch of mineral-rich jungle. Both countries maintained a contingent of troops along the heavily fortified no-man’s-land.
Unfortunately, both countries had unscrupulous politicians interested in stirring up the conflict for their own gain. Now Ruiz had the power of the military in his hands, a perfect opportunity to use the border to further his agenda.
While San Mateo didn’t have a long democratic history, the last four elections had been considered fair. President Valdivia had been elected with a majority and the country was one of the strongest democracies in South America, supported by the US and its allies.
If Ruiz broke the treaty somehow, diplomats would step in. Eventually they might find a solution, but meanwhile, lots of innocent people would suffer. Mark had seen it, traveling with his father in war-ravaged countries. Countries where those with power and weapons killed at will. He’d outraged his father when he’d decided to join the army. Spencer Williams wanted the spectacle of high-powered diplomatic negotiations and clean hands. Mark knew the only way to stop evil was with strength, so he gave up the promised funding of his university degree and graduated courtesy of ROTC.
The army had only reinforced his beliefs. But despite the discipline he’d learned, he’d disobeyed orders. Twice. He’d salvaged his military career with sheer luck—once because what he did saved his men, the second time because the CIA needed Juan Marcos. The oath he’d taken when he accepted this position with the agency was really no different from his army officer’s oath. If disobeying orders could have impacted his army career, doing so now would have much more far-reaching consequences. Even though his ties to the agency were untraceable, he could picture Jonathan Ethridge having an apoplectic fit if he got caught.
Hell, now it would be easier for Ethridge, the CIA and American foreign policy if he got dead.
***
Midnight
The Capital
Laura directed Mark to Julie’s step-father’s home, located in a small plaza in an older part of the city. Mark drove onto a narrow street behind the house and entered via the wooden double gate of the back patio. She breathed in a sigh of relief as soon as she closed the gate behind the truck.
The house, now vacant, built around 1900, had high ceilings, marble floors and plaster walls over reinforced cement for the frequent earthquakes. Julie’s step-father’s family, native San Mateans, had kept the original furniture, all heavy and ornate, with a decided Spanish flavor. Since it wasn’t used unless extended family came to the city, all the furniture was covered with sheets. The wooden front door and the few windows facing the plaza had iron bars.
A quick tour of the house ended upstairs. While Mark made sure the doors and windows were secure, Laura pulled off the worn white sheets that covered one enormous four poster. Tony would love to jump on the bed and pretend it was a big boat.
Tony.
She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Was Esperanza still with him? Was he scared? Hungry? What if they couldn’t find him? What if—?
She had to stop the exhausting thoughts that played over and over in her head or she’d be too tired to think clearly when it came time to rescue him. The last times she’d slept, she’d been either wrapped in Mark’s arms, or laying in his lap. He’d certainly made good on his offer of physical distraction. Giving in to it at the river had been amazing—and selfishly one-sided when it ended much too soon for him.
Selfishness seemed a theme with her. She had loved José Antonio and longed for the security of marriage, a family, so she accepted his proposal even though she feared army life after losing her brother. José Antonio was a good man, bound by duty. An honorable and kind man who deserved a wife more supportive of his career. He never asked her to do more than she was comfortable with when it came to the socializing that went with his position.
For years, she wanted her father back, not the man consumed with rage at Ruiz. To that selfish end, she’d recklessly risked her son by returning to San Mateo when her father expressly told her to stay away.
“What time are you supposed to report to Ruiz’s?”
She jumped at the sound of Mark’s voice and clutched the pillow tighter. Sleekly muscled and powerful, he stood in the bedroom doorway.
“I was told in the morning. No particular time.”
“Same here,” he said. “Which room is mine?”
Was he asking if they were going to share? Or was he saying he didn’t want to?
“It doesn’t matter.” She hoped that sounded casual. “This bed and the one in the next room are made. Julie said they keep clean sheets for anyone who visits.”
“Do you have a preference?” he asked.
Yours. “No.”
“I’ll take the one next door. Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
“We should probably get to Ruiz’s before eight.”
“Yes.” She hated yet another one-word reply, but what else could she say?
“Sleep well,” he said.
She saw lines of exhaustion in his face. Had he slept at all? She’d used the comfort he’d given her last night to sleep. And she’d used him at the river.
Used. Because she needed.
Which made another thought pop into her head.
She had to say something, but had to force herself to look at him. “About… At the river. I’m… It’s the safe time of the month.” Oh, God, could anything be more awkward? “And except for when I was married, I’ve never… Without a condom.” There. She’d said it.
He kept his gaze on her. “I’ve never without either.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t...” She couldn’t find the words.
He smiled, just one corner of his mouth tilting upward. But his eyes. Por Dios. “It was my pleasure.”
Heat suffused her face and she looked down.
“Don’t be embarrassed.”
“I’m—” Not? Of course she was.
He stepped toward her. “We’re both tired, Laura,” he said quietly. “Get some sleep. We both need it.”
She nodded, finally raising her face to him.
“If you need me—”
“No. I’m fine—No.” She watched as his smile gentled from the teasing one he’d given her a moment ago.
“Okay. Good night, then.”
“Thank you,” she said. Thank you? ¡Ay! What was wrong with her? What kind of reply was that?
She watched him walk away, suddenly realizing what she should have realized when she’d pressed her lips against his neck and felt his passion.
Yes, she wanted Mark, wanted his passion, but she wanted more than that, more than his help. And he was the last man she should want in any way.
Julie’s description of the men in her life came front and center.
Men who disregarded their safety for the greater good.
Mark was that type of man. He would never be what she needed in her life.
***
Mark tossed his backpack on the floor of the bedroom down the hall from Laura’s and remembered her reply to his question about which room she wanted.
Hell, what would he have done if she’d invited him to her bed?
He’d counted on her answer, had to count on it, because if s
he ever asked him to share, he’d be doomed. Somewhere between the gutsy moment she offered her services to Margarita Ruiz in order to find her son and her very feminine reaction to a huge shrimp, she’d gotten to him. She would always be the woman who made him wish for a life he couldn’t have.
Because he still had his duty. And he owed Laura. Stealing time with her was contrary to both.
He heard her bedroom door close. Moments later, he made out the sounds of the mattress as she got into bed. He crept to the hall in time to see her light go out. She’d driven part of the way. She had to be exhausted. She’d be asleep in no time.
He went out into the warm night through the back gate. Quickly getting his bearings, he cut a zigzag route, backtracking twice, to the CIA safe house. Within half an hour of leaving Laura sleeping, he knocked on the back door of a single story house along a narrow street.
When the door opened, he found himself standing face-to-face with a man he hadn’t seen since he’d left a hospital in the mountains of San Mateo a year ago, his shoulder a wreck.
“What the hell are you doing here?” First Sergeant Sam Mackenzie asked. The American Delta operator, wearing street clothes, had let his hair grow out and sported an untidy beard. They’d met years earlier when they’d earned their Ranger Tabs, before tours in Afghanistan.
“The real question is what are you doing here?” Mark extended his hand.
“Orders, man. Orders.” Sam laughed as they shook hands. “Didn’t think you’d stay with the agency after the mess at the Río Hermoso. You okay?” Sam had been called in to guard Mark at his hospital room, ostensibly to provide needed security for a combat decorated veteran. In reality, to keep Mark’s cover as Juan Marcos from being discovered.
“Shoulder aches when it rains,” Mark said once inside with the door closed. “So, Uncle Sam brought his muscle.”
“The powers decided they wanted someone who knows the lay of the land and the players. Gabriel’s out. Conflict of interest, so he’s stateside.”
Whatever it Takes (Shadow Heroes Book 4) Page 13