Duke didn’t like the idea of them being an hour away. If they needed an emergency extraction—he cut off the negative thought. Nobody knew they were coming. And they were dropping in a distance away so no one would discover they were there until it was time to attack. He breathed through his unrest, remembering that these four had come to get him in Africa. They hadn’t left him to die. He could trust them.
After rappelling out of the helo with all their gear, the team had a long, hot, boring walk through the thick foliage to reach their observation point.
And then there were the bugs.
And the snakes. Caimans. Piranhas. Poison frogs. Duke added vampire bats to his list just for the hell of it. If a jaguar came around, he hoped Uri’s dog and the Wolves would be enough to scare it away. Moshe was good at alerting the team to snakes. Anacondas. Boas. Vipers. Yeah, the jungle teemed with all of them.
After a three-hour hike, they located the villa. A rutted road ran from it into the jungle headed toward El Palmar, the nearest town, but it was the helicopter landing pad and the rough runway hacked from the voracious foliage that caught their attention. Kin and Loch stripped and shifted into their wolf forms to scout the area.
Though he’d seen the Wolves of the 69th change, the process still fascinated Duke, even as it freaked him out a little. One moment the two men stood there, butts hanging out, and the next two very lethal wolves stood on four paws, panting, and looking hungry. Moshe growled, but settled after each wolf came to sniff him and allowed him to sniff back. Moments later, all three disappeared into the bush.
The overcast sky decided to open up, drenching the men before they could unroll ponchos.
“Soon as the rain passes, I will put Golda in the air,” Uri said as he set the magnificent falcon on a sheltered branch. She fluttered her wings before settling, head tucked against the rain dripping from leaves surrounding her.
The team hunkered down to wait. The life of a special operator was 99% boredom followed by 1% massive adrenaline rush. Once the denizens of the jungle became used to their presence, life and death under the canopy went back to normal, the jungle teeming with noises. The rain let up, and Uri launched Golda into the sky. The bird didn’t like flying in the dark, but she did as Uri commanded.
Tank and Dalton napped. Duke mentally reviewed the intel they had. Uri leaned against the trunk of a tree, eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration as he mentally followed both dog and falcon. Duke didn’t know how the Israeli did it, but the scouting advantages were obvious. About oh-four hundred, it was like a giant hand flipped the mute button. Silence swamped the waiting team.
A low growl announced the arrival of the canid troops. Moshe padded in first, settling beside Uri, his head on the man’s knee. A sleek, black wolf followed. He shook his wet fur, sending water flying.
“Dude! Watch it,” Dalton’s complaint was followed by a huge yawn.
The wolf showed teeth and then with pops and cracking bones, the animal morphed into Kin. He had the good graces to step into briefs and combat pants before mimicking the surfer as he replied, “Dude, you needed a shower.”
While the two of them traded taunts, Loch slipped in and shifted. Once he had pants and boots on, he squatted down beside Duke as he pulled a tee shirt over his head.
“The man’s paranoid t’be certain, Duke. He’s got a barracks full o’soldiers and the security system on the house t’is high tech.”
Uri’s attention focused on them. “I should be able to disable it.”
“The colonel has the best of everythin’. Solar panels, wind generator, fuel storage tanks. He thinks the place is self-sustaining. We can disabuse him of the notion easy enough.”
Kin looked up from lacing his boots. “Sentries on the perimeter. They march around like toy soldiers scunnered outta their heads.”
“Bored,” Loch translated. “They’ll not be lookin’ fer trouble.”
“Moshe found their bunker. Drugs and explosives both.” Uri stroked his dog’s back.
Loch’s face lit up. “Well, now. T’isn’t that a blessin’ an’ all. You’ve a good nose on ya, Moshe.”
The shepherd thumped his tail, tongue lolling in a happy grin at the Wolf’s praise.
Uri let loose with a shrill whistle and held out a leather-gloved hand. In moments, a brown and beige blur dive-bombed in. Wings spread, talons extended, and the graceful raptor landed on Uri’s fist.
“Golda found a vantage point. Clear line of sight to the living area and outdoor space of the villa. We can relocate there at daylight.”
Duke nodded. “Roger that. Dalton, you and Tank are on watch. Everyone else get some sleep.”
Chapter 14
CORY HUDDLED on the bench seat of the military truck doing her best not to bounce off either the driver or the stone-faced officer sitting on her other side. She couldn’t believe this was happening again. When her cousin Gerald first contacted her about joining a medical task force, she never dreamed she’d be sent to Guayana City, Venezuela.
She was an idiot. A complete and total idiot. She should have known better when the Venezuelan Army lieutenant knocked on her hotel door. Should have realized there was something off when he asked her to pack her suitcase and come with him. Oh, he’d been official enough, but she’d studied the region and the political situation. She was aware of the depth of corruption and should have seen the man for what he was.
A particularly vicious pothole in the road sent her careening into the driver. He offered her a vile leer that made her want to cross her arms over her breasts. Shrinking away from him, she still managed to flash him an arrogant sneer. The lieutenant who’d kidnapped her chuckled and patted his lap, offering in Spanish to let her sit there. She ignored him.
After three hours, the truck turned off the main road and climbed a series of switchbacks along a rutted, dirt road. She caught a glimpse of a magnificent house high on top of the hill. When the vehicle rolled through an electronic gate set in a tall wood and adobe fence with barbed concertina wire strung across the top, Cory knew she was in serious trouble.
Just like before, there would be no rescue because no one knew she’d been kidnapped or where she’d been taken. She clasped her hands together so the soldiers wouldn’t see them tremble. For the past few months, she’d second-guessed herself over the night she spent with Duke. Now, knowing she’d never see him again, she didn’t regret a thing. Even terrified, heat flashed just under her skin, tightening her breasts and making her insides go squirrelly. No matter what happened to her now, she would have the memory of their night together, of the way he’d dominated her and turned her into a giant puddle of turned-on goo.
The description almost made her laugh, and she would have if her situation wasn’t so serious. Distraction. That’s what she told herself. She needed the distraction, and remembering what they did together, how Duke Reagan made her feel, was just what the doctor ordered.
She was such an imbecile, pretending they meant something to each other, that he reciprocated her feelings. The scientific, rational part of her brain poked fun at her. Hero worship. Wistful thinking. Schoolgirl crush. But her heart? Her heart was a romantic and believed in love at first sight, in heroes, and in happy ever afters. As a result, her heart refused to let him go.
The truck rolled to a stop, along with the other trucks in the convoy that had accompanied them. She didn’t want to think about the cargo they carried, fearing other women had been taken also. As the lieutenant lifted her down, she caught a glimpse inside the truck in front of her. Crates. As she stood there, men swarmed and began to unload. Some of the crates appeared to contain liquor. Others luxury goods according to the markings stamped on them. And one broke when it fell off the truck. It held bricks of white powder. Cocaine.
“Buenos dias, señorita.”
Cory whipped around. A man stood in the arched entryway, both sides of the wooden double door flung wide. Of medium height, he sported slicked-back brown hair and a precisely trimmed must
ache. His dark eyes watched her like a snake with a mouse in his sights.
“I demand you release me immediately.”
“Por favor, señorita. I apologize if my men gave you the impression that you are a prisoner. Did they not bring your luggage? Have they mistreated you in any way?”
There was intimidation and there was assault. His men were guilty of the former, if not the latter. The man knew he had her.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Philippe Morales. Welcome to my home, Señorita Prince.”
“Doctor.”
“Perdóname, doctor. I meant no offense. You are a beautiful woman, and I forget that you are also so well-educated.”
Cory pushed her sunglasses back up to the bridge of her nose. Beautiful? Ha. She didn’t know what he hoped to achieve by flattering her but she knew what she looked like and beautiful was not the adjective she would use. At least she wasn’t filthy as opposed to the last time she’d been kidnapped. She watched the driver pull her two pieces of luggage from the rear of the truck. The lieutenant held her purse. She reached for it, but he jerked it away.
Glancing back at the colonel, Cory assumed her haughtiest expression—the one learned at her mother’s command, the one that eased her through her medical boards, internship, and residency. “If I am not a prisoner, colonel, why is your man keeping my property?”
The colonel ripped off a string of rapid-fire Spanish, though she managed to translate most of it. The officer with her purse opened it and dug through it with such insolence Cory wanted to slap his face. When he pulled out a pouch and looked inside, only to blanch, she wanted to fist pump.
“Feminine hygiene products, lieutenant. Are you familiar with their use?”
He flushed and bared his teeth at her, his comments in Spanish very uncomplimentary. She simply stared at him, arrogant mask in place, extended her hand in a haughty gesture.
“My bag, if you please.”
The soldier threw it at her. She caught it and managed not to spill anything. Draping it over her shoulder and feeling a little emboldened, she faced down the colonel. “Since I’m not a prisoner, you will arrange for me to contact the American embassy in Caracas and ensure that I am returned there immediately.”
“My apologies again, Dr. Prince, but that will not be possible. You will remain here as my…guest.”
Cory liked neither the colonel’s tone nor the implications. He ordered the driver to take her luggage to a bedroom in the villa, but she received the distinct impression there was something sinister about that particular room assignment.
Morales took her arm and tugged her inside. With a firm grip just above her elbow, he steered her on a short tour of the house. His descriptions were perfunctory, and the presence of at least one guard in each public room was frightening. This wasn’t a guided tour for a guest but a blunt statement to a prisoner. There would be no escape.
After a quick-march circuit of the lower floor, he urged her upstairs. Cory choked back her panic as he pushed into what was obviously the master suite. Her suitcases sat on a bench at the foot of the bed.
“I trust you find these accommodations satisfactory, señorita?”
“I trust you will be sleeping elsewhere?” She crossed her arms over her chest and stabbed him with her most imperious stare. The back of her neck prickled, like someone was watching her. She had an urgent need to look around but understood Morales would take her shift in focus as a sign of weakness.
The colonel stalked around her in a circle. She shifted to keep him in front of her at all times. He stopped with his back to the French doors opening onto a veranda. Beyond the balcony, the view opened onto hills covered in the deep green of equatorial foliage and trees.
“I will tame you, little doctor. You will learn to come to my hand for both punishment and praise. I will teach you to enjoy both.”
Cory couldn’t control her instinctive reaction. She blanched and her eyes widened in fear. Morales saw and smiled. He stretched his hand and stroked her cheek with two fingers. She fought the urge to either run or slap him. In the end, she just stood there as Morales laughed and walked out, locking the door behind him.
Sinking to the bench beside her luggage, Cory gave in to the urge to cry. What sort of bad karma had she garnered to end up in this sort of situation for the second time? A slightly hysterical giggle escaped.
In Africa, she’d thought about selling her soul for a hot shower, clean clothes, and sheets on a real bed. Here she was—in captivity again. With a bed, an en-suite bath, and her clean clothes folded neatly in the suitcase she never had a chance to unpack.
Only this time, it just might be her soul that was in danger. Morales didn’t want to kill her. He wanted to humiliate her. She wrapped her arms around herself and refused to give in to the shakes threatening to make her teeth chatter.
She glanced out through the doors and realized there were no curtains. Any guard—and she knew they’d be out there—could watch whatever Morales did—or would attempt to do—to her. God, did the man like an audience? She shuddered again.
Cory was alone. She’d have to rescue herself because lightning would not strike her twice. Duke lived in Key West. Retired, she supposed, or whatever the Navy did to SEALs horribly injured in the line of duty. His team was dead, Duke the only survivor.
The State Department had no idea something had happened to her. She didn’t think to call the embassy to check the lieutenant’s credentials before accompanying him. The colonel had her cell phone and her passport, though she’d been left her wallet after all the money and cards were removed. Her captor could spend the money easily, but credit card use would alert the authorities to her location. They’d most likely be discarded.
They didn’t know about the extra money hidden in the toes of her hiking boots, and the debit card. If she could get out of the house, she damn sure would walk back to civilization. And if she couldn’t? Better to get eaten by some creepy-crawly critter than submit to Colonel Morales.
Because after that night with Duke? There was only one man she’d ever submit to, and it surely wasn’t a sleazy, popinjay of a Venezuelan Army officer turned drug lord.
Chapter 15
DUKE LOWERED his head to the sniper scope. And swore. Just like the last time he’d sighted in on that face. Then, the background had been mud huts and the African savanna. Now he was in the freaking equatorial jungle spying on a multi-million dollar villa built on the side of a hill. And just like last time, the face in the crosshairs was the same. She’d changed slightly in the last eighteen months—her face fuller, and her curves. And she wasn’t covered in gore.
This was the face that haunted his dreams, leaving him awake and aching, so hard and wanting her so much no cold shower could dent his need. And he’d never even fucked her. What the hell was up with that? Only one time in recent memory had he reacted to a woman with the same enthusiasm. His one-night stand from the bar. Part of him still thought his imagination had conjured her, but Dalton insisted he’d seen her leaving the house.
Shifting to give his damn unwieldy hard-on extra room, Duke checked the scene again. It was impossible. Or at least highly improbable that Dr. Cory Prince was here in Venezuela. Why the hell would she be here? At the mansion of a fuckin’ drug lord. In his gawdamn bedroom. Then again, why was he surprised? After all, the first time he’d seen her, she’d been in the company of an African warlord.
His conscience kicked him in the ass. Africa hadn’t really been her fault. She never should have been there to get kidnapped in the first place. The woman obviously had no sense of self-preservation. She needed a keeper, but he wasn’t volunteering for the job. Oh, hell no.
Fraser Kincaid snaked up beside him, but didn’t speak. Despite having worked—however briefly—with the former Army SpecOps guys collectively known as the Wolves, Duke got slightly twitchy that the guy could turn furry in the blink of an eye. The non-Wolf members of Hard Target had watched Kin and Loch shift often enough, knew how
the basic process worked. Still, the whole thing was sort of disturbing and he hoped the Wolves never went furry all over his ass because they were hellacious special operators no matter their form.
Duke continued to watch the compound across the valley. “We have a complication.”
“Aye. Seems the colonel has a little side piece. She’s American.” A Scottish burr smudged Kin’s reply. “That said I suspect from the way you’re scowling there’s a bit more to the story.”
More? Hell yeah there was more. He’d made her kill that warlord, right after his whole SEAL team had been blown to shit, and he’d lost his eyesight. He didn’t explain any of that to Kin, saying only, “I’ve run into her before.”
Which was the world’s biggest understatement. Eye glued to the sniper scope, Duke glared at the woman who’d proven his nemesis every time their paths crossed. Her eyes remained the clear blue he remembered, but he was shocked to discover her hair was red. In his dreams, her hair was brown. Or blonde. Even black. Never red.
He had a thing for women with red hair. Hated them. Completely and absolutely. He’d dated one redhead who pretty much ruined his life at the ripe old age of eighteen and now here was Dr. Cory Prince, with her long legs, lush curves—she’d put on weight since Africa—and that deer-in-headlights expression he recognized. Could Fate fuck with him any more?
The odds of finding her here in the Venezuelan jungle at the house of the man they’d been sent to destroy were a little too pat for him; the current mission a little too similar to the situation in Africa to be coincidence.
“When did she get here?”
“That last convoy we tracked this morning. If it makes a difference, the lass was under guard. And, she’s got a temper t’match all that bonnie red hair. The poor wanker what unloaded her got an earful. Seems she was sent by your State Department or some such.”
Double Cross (Hard Target Book 1) Page 11