Risk no Secrets

by Cindy Gerard

  “Thank you.” She smiled over the rim of her glass. “For knowing I needed this.”

  He could have said a lot of things then. Could have gone for the gold and told her that whatever she needed, he had it. Could have flirted outrageously and turned the moment into something she hadn’t wanted it to be. Not right then. Right then, she needed just what he gave her. A silent nod. A soft smile. And a clean, handsome profile that she found herself studying for a long time after he’d turned his head to gaze at the pond.

  She liked him for that. In fact, she liked him for a lot of reasons. He was sweet and smart and intuitive enough to know that a picnic by a pond in a verdant glen would score an eleven out of ten on her “Just what I needed today” chart.

  Yeah. He was one special guy.

  Like Hugh Weber was special. Special in ways that too often made her heart flutter and her knees get a little weak.

  She thought of Hugh now. Knew that she thought of him too much. Hugh was just such a … presence. Larger than life. Movie-star gorgeous. And as persistent as a bee after honey.

  Hugh wanted her. He made no bones about letting her know it. Made no excuses for his outrageous flirting and flattering, and, well, she liked it. He excited her.

  Maybe too much. He was a spooky boy, after all. And she knew, bone-deep, that nothing good could ever come from getting involved with a CIA operative.

  “You are thinking waaaayyy too hard,” Wyatt said, snapping her out of her musings.

  She glanced at him and felt her face flush with embarrassment when she realized he must have been watching her for a while. “Guilty,” she admitted. “I probably need more wine.”

  He grinned and lifted the open bottle out of the basket. “There may be hope for you yet, Teacher Lady.”

  “Oh, God, I hope so.” She laughed and let him fill the glass to the brim.

  An hour or so later, she was feeling full of his yummy lunch of delicious French bread, cheese, and grapes and drifting on a mellow little wine buzz.

  “Bear,” she said as they lay side by side on their backs, finding shapes in the fluffy white clouds. “See him? To the left. Right there.” She lifted her hand and pointed when he squinted.

  “All I see is a cloud.”

  “Do all Georgia boys lack imagination, or is it just you?” she teased, turning her head to find he’d rolled to his side and propped himself up on an elbow so he was looking down at her.

  “Never had much problem in that department, nope.” His eyes searched hers. “In fact, my imagination’s going wild right now.”

  He wants to kiss me, she thought. It didn’t take much imagination to figure that one out. Even less for her heart rate to pick up as she imagined what it would be like to kiss him back.

  While Hugh had always been the aggressive one, she’d known that Wyatt was interested in her, too. And while it was Hugh who captivated her, there was something about this cute Southern boy that intrigued her.

  He’d moved in closer. So close she could feel the heat of his big, hard body against her side. See the pulse beat at the base of this throat. Notice, and not for the first time, that his thick lashes were lightly tipped with gold, that there were the beginnings of smile lines around his eyes.

  Yeah, she thought as his eyes searched hers. He really wants to kiss me. And in that perfect moment in time, she really wanted to let him.

  “You okay with this?” he asked, because he was Wyatt, and he was a Southern gentleman.

  “Would you accuse me of being cautious if I said no?” she asked, even as she lifted her hand and cupped his face in her palm.

  “No, ma’am. I’d accuse you of lying.” His blue eyes twinkled with an intoxicating mix of fun and teasing and arousal.

  “Then yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper as his big hand moved to cover her hip and he urged her gently toward him. “I’m very okay with this.”

  His eyes softened with desire as he lowered his mouth to hers, touched, pulled back, touched again, with a slow, deliberate seduction made all the more enticing for his calculated patience.

  Just when she thought he would never truly, deeply kiss her, just when she thought she would burst into flames if she didn’t get a richer, fuller taste of his wine-scented breath, he opened his mouth over hers and took the kiss to another level.

  A level that sizzled and burned and awoke everything female and sexual and not cautious bone in her body. Heady and thorough and hot, and, holy God, did this man know how to kiss a woman.

  “W … wow,” she managed when he lifted his head and smiled down at her.

  “In a word,” he agreed, lowered his head, and kissed her again.

  If possible, even deeper. Took her even higher, with gentle suction and luscious sweeps of his tongue and the exchange of breath that had become labored and heartbeats that had become frenzied.

  She lost herself in honeyed sensation, clung to every nuance, sank into the incongruous reality of his soft, seductive lips and hard, hot body that had moved over hers and pressed her deep into the summer-sweet grass beneath the blanket.

  Lost herself in pleasure as she ran her hands up under his shirt, and wild for the feel of skin on skin, tugged frantically at the hem, moved restlessly against an erection that pressed against the relentless ache in her belly.

  She was absorbed in him, in thrall with him … and then totally without him.

  On a frustrated groan, her eyes snapped open to dappled sunlight and sky. She turned her head, and there he was. On his back beside her. One arm flung over his eyes. Breathing hard. The heel of his hand pressed against the bulge beneath his fly.

  “Wya—”

  “Don’t. Say. A. Word,” he ground out between labored breaths. “Give me a minute.”

  After several rough breaths, he sprang to his feet on an oath. Then, without a word, he walked off into the woods.

  Sophie closed her eyes. Attempted to level her breathing and regulate her heartbeat. She’d only halfway succeeded when she heard Wyatt walk across the grass toward her again.

  She took a page from his book and covered her eyes with her forearm, unable to look at him, wondering what the hell had just happened.

  She didn’t lose control like that. She didn’t do things like strip naked under the sun and indulge in mad, passionate sex with men she barely knew.

  But she would have, she admitted, trying to ignore the tug of the blanket that told her he’d sat back down beside her. She really, really would have, if he hadn’t stopped it.

  “Sophie.” His voice was gentle. “You can open your eyes now.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, beyond embarrassed.

  His soft chuckle finally had her lifting her arm and chancing a glance at his face.

  Oh, God. Would you look at him? His lips were swollen from their kisses. His eyes were so blue they could have been a flame. And he looked so kind she wanted to cry.

  “I guess we can officially cross cautious off your list of character traits,” he said with a grin.

  Which finally made her smile. Then laugh. Then cover her eyes again with both hands.

  “Hey,” he said, touching a hand to her arm. “It’s okay. Now come on. I’d better get you home.”

  “How did you meet Wyatt?”

  The sound of Crystal’s voice took Sophie away from that long-ago summer in Virginia and back to the kitchen in San Salvador. She glanced across the room at Wyatt, then back to the serving platter she’d filled with meats and cheese and bread. “I taught him Spanish.”

  “And what did he teach you?” Crystal asked with a cheeky grin.

  Sophie wasn’t feeling so cheeky. “He taught me about loyalty,” she said, and thought about the look in Wyatt’s eyes when, six weeks after that picnic, she’d married Hugh Weber, with Wyatt standing at his side as his best man.

  9

  It was so hard to let her baby go. Sophie held Hope tight and hugged her close one last time before she helped her settle into the backseat of the rented SUV.
If only she could have sent someone with her, Carmen or Maris from school. But she couldn’t ask that of either of them. They had their lives to live, and who knew how long Hope would be gone or if and when this nightmare would be over.

  “Think of it as summer camp,” she said with false brightness, leaning in through the open car door. “Crystal tells me that Dr. Flores’s villa looks a lot like a castle.”

  “Got that right,” Johnny Reed said from the shotgun seat. “And I fully expect to be treated like a king.”

  “More like court jester.” Wyatt stood by, his gaze watchful and concerned.

  “But I can be the queen.” Crystal caught Hope’s eye and smiled into the rearview mirror from the driver’s seat. “Hope, you can be a princess.”

  When Hope had returned from Carmen’s and seen the BOI crew in the living room, Crystal and Johnny had both made great efforts to draw her out of her silence. Reed had even teased a smile or two out of her. He’d become aces in both Hope and Sophie’s deck from that point on.

  “See?” Sophie hugged her daughter one last time. “It’s going to be good, baby. And I’ll get you back home as soon as I can, okay?”

  Hope’s arms tightened around Sophie’s neck. She nodded uncertainly, and it broke Sophie’s heart.

  “Tell you what. I packed your jewelry kit. Why don’t you make something special for Lola while you’re there?”

  “Like a welcome-home present?” A flicker of hope flared in her daughter’s dark eyes.

  “Yes. Exactly like that.”

  “I could make her a bracelet. Maybe I could make two,” Hope added, her voice rising with excitement at the prospect of something that might please her friend. “One for each of us so we’ll match.”

  “I think Lola would love that.” Sophie touched a hand to Hope’s hair, relieved to see even this little spark of life return.

  “Sophie,” Wyatt said quietly behind her, “we need to move on this.”

  She braced herself and, for Hope’s sake, plastered on a smile. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you buckled in so you don’t miss your plane.”

  Her face felt as if it would freeze in forced-smile mode as she watched Hope fasten her seatbelt.

  “Ready to go, Princess?” Johnny asked, shifting in the front seat and directing his dazzling smile at Hope.

  Hope nodded, and Sophie could see that her daughter was just a little bit taken with the handsome Johnny Duane Reed. Unable to help herself, Sophie leaned into the car for one last kiss and hug.

  “We’ll take good care of her,” Crystal promised when Sophie finally made herself shut the car door and back away.

  “She’ll be fine,” Wyatt assured her, standing beside Sophie in the driveway, watching the SUV back out and pull onto the street. Jones, Colter, Green, and Mendoza followed them in the Suburban, providing escort.

  Sophie hugged herself and finally let the tears trail down her cheeks, watching until the vehicle taking her daughter away drove out of sight.

  “She’ll be fine,” Wyatt repeated, and pulled her into his arms.

  She gave herself that moment—that one heart-wrenching moment of loss—and let herself lean into him. Let the tears fall. Let his warm, comforting strength surround her. Then she drew a bracing breath.

  “You doing okay?” he asked after she’d taken a moment to compose herself. “Truth, now, darlin’.”

  “Okay. Truth. I’m more frightened now than ever. What happens when she remembers? How will she cope? I won’t be there.”

  “But Juliana will be. She’s a doctor, Sophe. She’ll take good care of her. The key here is that Hope will be safe in Argentina.”

  That was the bottom line. Until these people were caught, Hope remained in danger, especially once they realized they’d taken the wrong child.

  “Okay.” She made herself pull away. The clock was ticking for Lola. “Where do we start?”

  He checked his watch and, with his arm still slung supportively around her shoulders, walked her toward the front door. “As soon as the guys see the Reeds and Hope off at the airport, they have a few purchases to make.”

  Sophie knew what purchases he was talking about. She’d heard them talking. They needed to buy weapons. Lots of them. Which told her they thought they were going to meet up with deadly resistance.

  “Then they’re going hunting.”

  “The guys are chameleons,” Wyatt had told her earlier. “They can blend in and adapt to any situation. And it doesn’t take long to figure out where the bottom feeders hang out. When enough money is involved, someone always talks. They’ll work every angle. They’ll get a lead. They’ll pin it down.”

  “I need to help,” she reminded him.

  “You already have.”

  Earlier, they’d pored over city maps, and she’d pinpointed target areas for them to search—specifically Soyopango, the gangland on the east side of the city. She didn’t know anything about their specific strongholds or the names of the lesser-known gang leaders, but the head bad guy was common street knowledge.

  “Vincente Bonilla,” she’d told Wyatt, “is a ruthless, soulless import from L.A. Hugh once told me that Bonilla earned his top-dog status before migrating to El Salvador and muscling in as the Mara Salvatrucha kingpin.

  “His specialties are execution, abduction, and prostitution. He sees himself as a real cocksman,” she’d gone on. “Likes to use his knife to intimidate.”

  And because of what she knew of Bonilla, she was terrified for Lola. She’d also ID’d FMLN fringe groups and their headquarters as well as alleged GN strongholds—information she’d bullied out of the policía when she’d first spoken to them about Lola’s abduction.

  “I need to do more.” Sophie turned to Wyatt. “I have this fund-raising event I’m supposed to attend tonight, but I’m going to cancel. I can go out on the streets with you and help you question people.”

  His head came up. “What kind of fund-raising event?”

  She gave a dismissive shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “What kind of event?” he persisted.

  “A cocktail party for renovations on the Teatro Nacional de El Salvador.”

  “Who’s on the guest list?”

  When she saw the contemplative look on his face, she realized he wasn’t just making idle conversation. “I don’t know specifically—doctors, lawyers, university types, school administrators, I would imagine. You know, the usual suspects with deep pockets who shell out for the arts.”

  “And political figures? Like maybe FMLN leaders? Other city officials?”

  She nodded, finally seeing where he was going with this. “Them, too. Probably the police commissioner. Some foreign dignitaries as well as regional government officials. But Wyatt, it’s not as if they’re going to come out and talk to me about Lola. After my meeting with the police commissioner yesterday, he’d just as soon shoot me as help.”

  “Ticked him off, did you, sugar?”

  She grimaced. “You could say that. He didn’t particularly like my not-so-veiled opinions of his incompetency in the face of several other unsolved abductions,” she explained. “But someone had to light a fire under him.”

  “So why not start a few more fires tonight? Sounds like there’ll be a lot of likely candidates there. You get enough people riled, sometimes you get unexpected results. Maybe even a lead. And no matter how corrupt this government is, not everyone can be on the take. Someone might actually be looking for a chance to approach you without drawing any suspicion. The party will create a safe environment and an opportunity for that to happen.”

  He could be right, she realized. Fear bred silence, and there was a lot of fear among the ranks.

  “What time is this shindig supposed to start?”

  She checked her watch. “In a couple of hours. And this shindig isn’t a backyard barbecue. It’s black-tie all the way.”

  A resigned look came over his face. “I never thought I’d willingly ask this question, but where can I get a tux fast?�
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  10

  Antonio Gutierrez, the director of the National Theater of El Salvador, droned on in Spanish from a podium erected in the theater’s Great Hall. “As many of you already know, the Teatro Nacional de El Salvador is the oldest and one of the most beautiful theaters in all of Central America.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, Wyatt thought as Gutierrez continued his welcome address, which would no doubt end with an earnest and heartfelt plea to open up wallets for the ongoing restoration project. Let’s just get this over with and get back to the elbow rubbing.

  It was closing in on ten. They’d arrived unfashionably early at eight fifteen, and Sophie had been masterfully mingling and introducing him as her American friend from college ever since. The hope had been that someone would approach Sophie with information about Lola that might be of value. So far, it wasn’t happening.

  Sure, it had been a long shot, but Wyatt’s experience had taught him never to discount even the slimmest possibility. As his buddy who worked homicide on the LAPD repeatedly said, it was the unexpected tip that generally broke the case and trumped all of the intricate forensic findings.

  Wyatt figured there must be three hundred or so highbrows, lowbrows, famous, and infamous crowded into the theater’s massive Great Hall, listening attentively to Gutierrez extol the building’s virtues. As he scanned the crowd, he had to admit that the theater was an impressive piece of architecture—a mix, according to Gutierrez, of French Renaissance, rococo, art nouveau and Versailles style. What Wyatt knew about architecture could fit into an empty rifle shell casing, but he could still appreciate the stunning murals and frescoes covering the walls and ceilings. And the elaborate copper artwork fronting the doors to the theater boxes was pretty damn cool.

  Not that he was a complete dolt, but this Georgia boy felt way out of his element. He had a college degree—his momma had seen to that—and yeah, his experience with the CIA could damn near qualify as a master’s in political science. But he’d been manning the trenches with the BOIs for a while now and was out of touch with the high rollers of upper-crust society. Dressed in a hastily rented tux, he felt like a pair of scuffed brown shoes in a room full of shiny black patent leather.