She grimaced when she spotted the muddy footprints she was leaving on the pristine floor. A roll of thunder shook the heavens and the surrounding jungle, and she flinched, wrapping her arms around her body.
“Eve?” Matt’s voice echoed from one of the bedrooms.
Slipping out of her shoes, Eve left them in a corner of the bathroom and made her way to the bedroom nearest the staircase. Piles of clothing covered the bed as Matt searched through a stack of T-shirts. He had changed into a pair of jeans.
His back was to her and she gaped at the dark, sun-browned skin over his broad back. She had twice shared a bed with him and not once had she seen his bare back. A long, pale, jagged scar ran from his right kidney up to his left shoulder. The unscarred right shoulder blade was tattooed with the design of a bird in flight, rising from fiery flames. Closing her eyes, she bit down hard on her lower lip at the same time Matt turned around.
“What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
His hoarse whisper prompted Eve to open her eyes. She wiped her moist palms down the sides of her slacks, nodding. He thought the impending storm had frightened her. “Your back,” she mumbled weakly.
Matt’s mouth curved into a wide grin. “Oh, that,” he replied glibly. “My father had a bull that wouldn’t allow anyone to ride him. I bet some of the men who worked for my father I could.”
“Did you?” Her gaze was fixed on his chest covered with thick, curling black hair. The masculine beauty she’d only had glimpses of over the past two days was blatantly displayed, and for the first time she noticed several medals suspended on a thick gold chain that was nearly hidden in the furred darkness. He hadn’t worn them before.
“I managed to stay on for a record time of ten seconds before he threw me and ripped open my back. His horns just missed my kidney. He was the best damned stud bull we owned, but my mother threatened to shoot him if my father didn’t sell him.”
Eve had to smile. “Did he?”
“Damn right,” he drawled. “A dead bull isn’t worth a dime. And knowing my mother, Clayton Sterling had it on the market before the end of the week.” Turning back to the pile of clothes, Matt picked up a black T-shirt.
“When did you get the tattoo?”
Matt pulled the T-shirt over his head, tucking the hem into the waistband of his jeans. “I had it done on a lark,” he explained noncommittally. What he didn’t tell her was that it was a constant reminder of his brush with death in El Salvador.
Eve cocked her head at an angle. “It’s a phoenix, isn’t it?”
His gaze met hers. “Yes, Eve, it’s a phoenix. I’m going out,” he continued smoothly. “Will it frighten you to be here by yourself if it begins raining?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be okay.”
Matt smiled. “Good. I should return within a few hours. I’ll put my clothes away later.”
“What would you like for dinner?” Eve asked. She registered his amused expression. “I managed to get an A in Home Economics.”
Matt walked over to her and cradled her face between his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of her eyebrows. “Surprise me,” he whispered, leaning over and brushing his lips against hers.
Eve curved her fingers around his strong wrists, unable to tear her gaze from his bold features. “Be careful, Matt.”
“I will be more than careful, Preciosa, because I want to come back to my beautiful wife.”
Eve heard the words, felt his warmth and then his loss as he released her. She stared at the doorway, long after Matt disappeared through it, and listened for the car’s engine. The rumbling sound of thunder drowned out everything, and soon the only sound she heard was the staccato tapping of the driving sheets of rain against the windows.
She went into her own bedroom and began unpacking. How convenient, she thought. How orderly everything was that had been set up for them. An unoccupied, furnished house hidden away on the top of a mountain, with a freezer stocked with food.
Who were these invisible people Matt worked for? How far did his network reach? Would this mission be added to his list of successful and completed, or would he fail? She whispered a prayer that he would succeed. To fail meant there would be more than one loser. Counting herself, there would also be her son.
Matt whistled to himself as he maneuvered the Range Rover down the rain-soaked mountain. He silently thanked Horst for leaving the rugged four-wheel drive vehicle. He knew Horst preferred driving back to Mexico City to piloting his Cessna.
Horst Van Holt complained bitterly whenever he had to put his aircraft down on the narrow strip of land beyond the house. The rising fog always made his descent and landing difficult, but each time Matt had flown with him he was amazed by his ability to bring the plane in for a smooth, bump-free landing.
The flat stretch of land had been the reason Horst built the house high up on the mountain instead of near the beach. Like Matt, Horst valued his privacy, and living in Puerto Angel allowed him to mingle comfortably among the natives who knew him as a wealthy European who preferred Mexico to his native Holland.
Matt liked Puerto Angel. It was even more laid-back than its nearest neighbor Puerto Escondido. It remained unchanged, unlike Acapulco and Puerto Vallarta, and he never tired of returning to enjoy the unhurried solitude it offered.
He slowed the Range Rover, parking in a narrow alley next to a small grocery store. Sprinting from the car, he jumped several puddles and landed heavily on the wooden boards under a faded awning.
“Took you long enough to get here,” came a muffled voice from under a battered straw hat.
Matt glanced down at the extended legs and feet of the man slouched in a rickety chair. “Couldn’t be helped. The rain held us up in Oaxaca City.”
“Us?”
Matt leaned against a post, doubting whether it could support his full weight. “My wife—”
“Wife?” The man jumped up and knocked over his chair in a loud clatter. He stared up at Matt, shock and surprise on his face.
“Sí, Jorge,” Matt replied, smiling.
“Where is she?”
Matt laid an arm over Jorge Martín’s shoulder. “She’s up at the house. You’ll get to meet her later. Right now you and I have to discuss a few things. Business my wife knows nothing about,” he added with a firmness Jorge had no difficulty interpreting.
Jorge put a sign on the door indicating he was closed and led Matt inside. “I haven’t made more than twenty pesos all day. It’s a good thing I don’t depend on these people for my livelihood or I would starve to death, and so would my wife and children.” He chuckled.
Matt followed Jorge through a sparsely stocked store to a back room. He waited until Jorge turned on a small lamp, illuminating the dark space. “How many children do you have now?”
“Two,” Jorge announced in a proud voice. He removed two bottles of beer from a freezer, handing one to Matt.
Matt straddled a low stool and took a deep swallow of the cold beer. He shook his head in amazement. “Damn, man, give the woman a break. Two children in three years of marriage.”
Jorge shrugged his shoulders. “She likes babies and I like making them.” He winked at Matt, then put the bottle of Carta Blanca to his lips, not stopping until it was empty. “Good beer, a good woman, and strong children. What else could a man want?”
Matt ran a forefinger down the moist bottle. “How about seeing this job finished so you can go back to Texas?”
Jorge Martín ran a hand over his face and through coal black hair. Large, equally black eyes stared blankly into space. “I want to go home so much that I sometimes think I’m going to lose my mind. Every time Lilian has another baby I freak out.”
Matt knew the man was under a great deal of pressure when he began slipping into English. His amber-green eyes searched the chiseled features of his friend. “It’s almost over, Jorge,” he said in English. “I’m here to wrap it all up.”
Jorge blinked several times, his mouth working furiously be
fore he was able to speak. “Nate’s using you?”
“Kirkland’s now in charge. Cord told me Nate is off this one.”
“Well, I’ll be double damned.” Jorge sighed, smiling. “I knew El Halcón couldn’t keep his hands clean by passing himself off as a Jamaican entrepreneur.”
“Falcon is the best man for this operation, and we both know it,” Matt murmured under his breath.
“When is all of this going down?” Jorge asked, his dark eyes bright with excitement and anticipation.
Matt accepted another bottle of beer from his grinning friend. “Cord will be here in less than three weeks. He’ll have the dates and positions on everything and everyone. I’m going over to Puerto Escondido in a few days to visit my grandparents. While I’m there I’ll see what I can pick up on my own.”
“When it hits, Mateo, all Mexico is going to feel it.”
He nodded in agreement. “Just be sure you’re far enough away from here when it does happen.” He stared down at the scarred table top. Talking about getting out of Mexico reminded him of Eve and her son. He had to find the little boy before Joshua Kirkland and his men began their campaign.
“I’m sending Lilian and the kids up north to her sister in Nueva Casas Grandes,” Jorge said softly. “From there I’ll have the American authorities get them back to the States.” Jorge’s eyes narrowed as he peered closely at Matt. “What about you, Mateo? Do you have any idea of what you’re risking by throwing in with the rest of us? Mexico is your home. You still have family here. What are they going to think about you once everything is out in the open? The Arroyo name will be worth less than donkey dung.”
Matt propped his feet up on a chair and leaned back against a wall. “I’ve thought about it. I’m hoping I can remain far enough away from the center of activity so I won’t be implicated or named when the authorities come around asking questions.”
“How about your wife? Does she know about you? Does she know that her husband will be up to his ears in Mexican drug trafficking?”
“Eve knows nothing,” he mumbled harshly.
Jorge leaned closer. “She’s American?”
Matt searched for a cigar, then remembered he’d left them back at the house. Jorge pushed a pack of cigarettes across the table. They were a Turkish brand.
He shook his head, refusing the cigarettes. “Yes, she’s an American,” Matt confirmed, staring at his contact. Jorge Martín was more than a contact. He was a boyhood friend from Texas. They ran together as teenagers, dated the same girls and joined the military together. After they were discharged, they lost contact with each other until Matt was reunited with the undercover DEA agent less than a year ago. Now, again, they had to watch each other’s backs.
Jorge leaned back on his chair, frowning. “What the hell are you doing bringing her down here?” he hissed.
“I’m trying to locate her son.”
“Here in Mexico?”
Matt decided to be direct. “Her ex-husband kidnapped the boy.” His jaw hardened noticeably. “She was married to Alejandro Delgado-Quintero.”
Jorge stared at Matt in disbelief. “What are you going to do to Delgado?” he asked as a savage expression distorted Matt’s features, an expression that he was familiar with. It meant trouble. Serious trouble for Delgado.
“Nothing until I get the child back. Then I’m going to cut him into little pieces for shark bait.” He drained his bottle of beer. “How about you and Lilian come up for dinner one night? Bring the kids if you can’t get someone to watch them.”
“I think she’d like that.” Jorge gave Matt a weak smile. “In fact, both of us would like that.”
The rain had stopped and the emerging sun revealed its tropical brilliance in the late afternoon shadows. Eve ignored the wetness seeping through the canvas covering of her jogging shoes as she inched her way down the slope. The raucous cries of birds and other forms of wildlife filled the humid air, and the redolent aroma of wet earth rose sharply in her nostrils. Water from rustling activity in a tree rained on her.
The hill leveled off until it flattened to a dirt-packed plateau. Recalling what Matt had told her about Indian ceremonial places of worship, she wondered if this hill had been flattened for that purpose hundreds of years before. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she stared out at the stretch of beach near the ocean, and turning east she saw the density of the jungle and what she assumed was the country of Guatemala.
She continued her tour, gasping loudly when she discovered a waterfall spilling over into a large pool of clear, cold water. Lying flat on her belly, she looked down into the pool, trying to determine its depth. All around her, vines, wild flowers in every hue, and large fronds from towering trees created a curtain that tempted her to partake of the natural splendor of the exotic boudoir.
Eve took off her shoes and trailed her feet in the water. She’d managed to repress her impulsiveness. Leaning back on her hands, she closed her eyes. For the first time in her life she felt free from ridicule and rigid restrictions.
Whenever she came home from school during a recess, she had made certain to do and say what was proper so that her father and stepmother wouldn’t think about sending her back. It was always “Thank you” and “Yes, Ma’am” and “Please,” and of course, “Thank you very much.”
All of her good manners and demure smiles went completely unnoticed. She’d always been sent back to school.
She punished her teachers and her classmates instead of her parents. She broke curfew, wore makeup, and chewed gum. Floyd and Janice Blackwell were unable to believe the reports they received from the headmistress, and promptly re-registered her for another year, praying she would become the model daughter they sought.
The sun shifted position, filtering light through the trees, and Eve moved over to a sunny spot to take advantage of the strong rays. Moisture formed quickly on her flesh as she tied the hem of her blouse under her breasts in a tight knot. Resting her back against a massive tree trunk, she closed her eyes.
Eve had to sort out her feelings. She kept telling herself that she was afraid of Matt, but the more she thought about it the more she realized that he didn’t frighten her—what he did for a living did. With this, she felt guilty. She’d come to him for help, then become guilt-ridden whenever snatches of morality crept into her consciousness. Even after she dismissed how Matthew Sterling earned his living, he continued to haunt her. Her needing him went beyond needing; she now wanted him.
She hadn’t thought she would ever want a man the way she wanted Matt. Total surrender and possession. That was what she was ready to offer him.
It was those feelings that made her tongue as sharp as a rapier in order to keep him at a safe distance. She would not permit herself to get close. There was no way she could make it back this time from the heartache and disappointment.
Chapter 14
Matt stood watching Eve as she sucked in her lower lip. She was engrossed in dicing onions and didn’t see him as he crept silently into the kitchen. Her hair had been neatly brushed off her forehead and over her ears. He smiled. She wore one of his T-shirts over a pair of shorts. The sleeves ended below her elbows, and the hem inches above her cuffed shorts. Her firm breasts moved gently under the cotton shirt as she reached up for a platter from an overhead cabinet.
Being drawn into this scene of domesticity was like a punch in the gut; he’d missed so much. Now he knew how Carlos felt when he’d talked about wasting so many years playing the perennial bachelor before he married Alma. Walking into the house filled with mouthwatering smells and seeing Eve casually dressed and concentrating on preparing a meal he would share with her grabbed him and stirred emotions he hadn’t realized he possessed.
He had only known her for a month, and already he’d grown used to her shy smiles and seductive glances. There were times she was so at ease with him that he couldn’t help responding to her. He’d say something to make her smile, and she would lower her chin and glance up at him through thic
k, black lashes.
It had shocked him once he realized he was falling in love with her; he made love to her in his mind because he was honest enough with himself to know that once he claimed her soft, fragrant body he would never let her go. There was the realization that every woman he’d ever met became meaningless when he thought of the woman he’d claimed as his wife.
He knew what she looked like with his eyes closed, what she smelled like—even if he had to pick her out in a dark room with ten other women—and when they were apart his mind always drifted back to the satin blackness of her eyes that teased, seduced, and went through him.
“What’s on the menu, Preciosa?”
Eve spun around, giving him an open smile. “French onion soup, salad, veal cutlets sauteed with herbs, and a peach mousse.”
Matt strolled into the kitchen and examined the table covered with bunches of fresh herbs. “I see you discovered Horst’s herb garden behind the house.”
Eve brushed past Matt. She separated several leaves of thyme from parsley. “I discovered his garden and his delightful waterfall.” His hands circled her waist, stopping her as she turned back to the sink.
She went limp when he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck. Closing her eyes, she couldn’t stop the soft groan escaping her parted lips. “Matt, no.”
“Why not, Eve?”
“I…I have to finish dinner,” she mumbled ineffectively.
“I’d rather have you for dinner,” he teased. “Think of me as the Big Bad Wolf who has his hungry eyes on Goldilocks. And this time there’s no woodcutter to save you.”
Eve giggled. “Wrong story, Matt. It was Goldilocks with the Three Bears, and Red Riding Hood with the Wolf.”
Matt’s hand searched under the red T-shirt. “You’re wearing red, so I’m not entirely wrong.” His fingers brushed the velvet flesh over her ribs until they grazed a ripe breast.
Hidden Agenda Page 11