My Spy: Last Spy Standing

by Dana Marton

  He gave the bag back. Damned if he knew what to make of her. “Okay. Get sick if you need to.”

  She ran for the bushes she’d come from, and a second later he could hear her retching.

  He turned to the bodies on the sand, then to Zak, who was inching forward from his hiding spot. He looked green around the gills, too. He threw a questioning look toward the bushes, where they could still hear their mysterious guest.

  Mitch shrugged and collected the weapons. “Go see what they have in their bags.” Food would be welcome. He looked with regret at the yerba maté that had been spilled.

  “Hey, check this out!” Zak held up a two-kilo bag of white powder a minute later, grinning from ear to ear.

  Mitch leveled his gaze on the idiot. “Rip it open, then dump it into the river.”

  “What? No way.”

  Mitch went stock-still. “Dump it into the river or I’ll leave you here to rot.”

  A long minute passed before the kid sprinkled the white powder over the water, his stance belligerent. He took a quick sniff from the back of his hand when he thought Mitch wasn’t looking.

  The governor of Kansas was a decent man, but too softhearted. He was going to have to learn tough love in a hurry if he wanted to straighten out his son. Mitch didn’t envy him.

  He collected the AK-47s and tossed them into the river. He had plenty of ammo for his own gun and didn’t need the extra weight to carry in this heat. No way he was giving one to the kid.

  The bushes rustled as Blondie returned, none too steady on her feet. She kept her distance. She was too pretty to look truly pitiful, but she looked tussled—in a curvaceous, wholesome way. “Are you Americans?”

  She wasn’t the kind of woman Mitch could relate to. He didn’t exactly lead a suburban lifestyle. He fixed Zak with a look to keep him quiet. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  “Megan Cassidy. From New Jersey. I’m on a South American orchid tour.” She swallowed hard. “We were attacked in the jungle.”

  Here? What was she on, the kamikaze boat run by Stupid Tours? He swatted some bugs away. “How many people?”

  “Twenty-two of us tourists...” Her voice faltered. “Plus the two guides.”

  He felt infinitely tired all of a sudden. He didn’t have time to rush into the jungle. He couldn’t. It wasn’t part of his mission. He asked anyway. “Survivors?”

  “Just me.” Tears spilled over and ran down her alabaster skin.

  He didn’t trust tears. He never knew when they were genuine and when they were used to simply manipulate a man. Her crying made him uneasy.

  What did people like her think they were doing in the jungle? Hell, she shouldn’t have been allowed in the country. Women like her should stick to attending PTA meetings, sipping double lattes while strolling through the mall and playing golf at the country club.

  “I need to go home.” She swallowed a sob. “Could you help me find the nearest town? I need to get to the police and an airport. Please?”

  An unwanted complication at a time when he couldn’t afford to be slowed down. “When did all this happen?”

  She blinked rapidly. “This morning.”

  “How far away?”

  “I don’t know.” She sniffed. “I kept running.”

  He hadn’t heard gunshots, but the dense greenery muffled sound—the jungle formed solid walls in places. It all came down to this: he had no way to figure out where exactly the massacre had taken place. And he had no time to look for it.

  He finished considering his options and shot Zak a look to remind him to keep quiet. “I’m Mitch and this is Zak here. From Panama. We’re hiking buddies. Just got on this trail when these drug runners ambushed us,” he lied with practiced ease.

  He didn’t want to have to kill her and didn’t have the heart to leave her, either. But he would, if she became a threat to his mission. “About that attack on your group...”

  She folded her arms around her slim midriff, her skin tightening over her cheekbones. “Would you mind if we didn’t talk about it? Just right now, I mean?” Her amber eyes begged him. There went those trembling lips again.

  The sight of her twisted something in the middle of his chest, an unfamiliar sensation he didn’t care for. He supposed his questions could wait. “You can come with us as far as the nearest town.”

  She looked ready to melt with relief. “Thank you. I won’t be any trouble, I swear.”

  He didn’t believe that for a second.

  Her shoulders straightened as she visibly pulled herself together. “What can I do to help?”

  All right, she got a point for that. He’d yet to hear that question from Zak.

  “Take whatever food and water you can find and store it in our backpacks,” he told her. He nodded at Zak to help her, then went to see about the bodies.

  He searched their clothes, but found little beyond cigarettes. No ID on any of them. The last thing people like this would have wanted, if they were caught, was for the policía to be able to identify them.

  Ten minutes later, the current carried the bodies of the three goatherds-slash-drug runners downriver. Another minute and the bags were packed. Mitch’s had been hit, his GPS/radio unit among the casualties. It would have been a lot worse if he’d lost that on his way in. But from this point on, the way back out was fairly straightforward.

  As he swung his backpack over his shoulder, he caught Megan looking at him.

  “Let me see to your wound.” She stepped closer, her movements hesitant, but her gaze determined.

  His shoulder. Back at home, he would have ignored something this small, but it wouldn’t be smart to risk an infection in the jungle.

  “All right.” But he watched her carefully. She hadn’t taken the earlier gunfight well. He didn’t want her to faint at the sight of his blood.

  She seemed more together now as she peeled back the torn fabric of his shirt, took a good look then went for her first aid kit.

  Zak wiggled his eyebrows at Mitch from behind her. He glared back at the kid, who seemed to have little on his brain beyond drugs and women. He looked decidedly less tired than he had before Megan had shown up. His gaze kept returning to her, lingering on her curves.

  “Try to focus on something useful,” Mitch told him. “It tends to increase the chances of survival in a place like this.”

  He rolled his eyes, but asked, “Where do we cross?”

  “I’ll figure that out. Don’t you worry.”

  The woman’s glance darted to the river, concern in her eyes, before she returned her attention to the task at hand, her movements quick and efficient. He wouldn’t even have felt her light touch as she cleaned and bandaged his wound if he wasn’t so damned aware of her. He closed his eyes so at least he wouldn’t have to watch those long, slim fingers as they touched his skin.

  He stepped back the second she finished. “Thanks.”

  She couldn’t have been much older than the kid was. No more than late twenties. In some ways, he felt ancient compared to the two of them. A couple of years of black-ops duty had a way of aging a person. But not enough, it seemed. He definitely wasn’t too old to appreciate the way she moved. He caught himself. He wasn’t any better than Kid Idiot, the two of them ogling her as she packed away her emergency kit.

  He cleared his throat and glanced up and down the river, evaluating the height of the opposite bank and the speed of the current. “We’ll cross right here,” he decided after a moment of deliberation.

  If the locals had picked this spot, it had to be the easiest crossing in the vicinity. He looked back at the jungle behind them, watching closely for a few seconds. Listening did no good—the noise of the river blocked any distant sounds. He didn’t see any flocks of birds suddenly taking flight or movement in the vegetation. That didn’t guarantee anything, but he’d learned over the years to trust his instincts. He felt reasonably sure that Juarez’s men hadn’t caught up with them yet. Crossing the river should be safe, as long as
they didn’t stay out in the open longer than was absolutely necessary.

  “Let’s go.” He reached for the woman’s small hand and nodded for Zak to take the other one. They strode into the water, the three of them forming a human chain.

  “If we get separated and washed downriver, turn on your back and aim your body toward the other shore at an angle. Don’t fight the current. Work with it.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the rushing of the river now that they were standing in the shallows.

  The water wasn’t high, but it moved fast in its narrow bed. Which was better than slow water and the pools it formed. At least here they didn’t have to worry about piranhas, poisonous water snakes or alligators. All they had to contend with was the current and any logs that might wash along under the water. Being hit by one of those wouldn’t be pleasant. He knew from experience.

  Soon they were in up to their knees and Mitch fought to keep his balance. “Remember, if the water breaks you loose, stay on your back.”

  “Why?” Megan had his hand in a death grip, her delicate fingers folded tightly around his.

  “To protect your vital organs. There might be sharp rocks on the river bottom, or logs and other junk being swept along under the surface.”

  She paled.

  “You’ll be fine.” He tried to find the right words to reassure someone like her but came up empty. He felt like he should carry her out of the jungle without letting any danger touch her. He felt guilty that he couldn’t, then angry with himself for feeling guilty. He hadn’t asked for any of this.

  He couldn’t let her mess with his head. He had no time to mollycoddle her. He swore under his breath. She was definitely going to slow them down, despite her promises.

  But she did keep up in the water. He didn’t have to drag her or anything. She did slip once, but he was quick to haul her up against him.

  Wet top. Award-winning curves. Man, it’d been a long time since...

  He made himself look away.

  Zak’s eyes were seven kinds of shiny and glued to her. Mitch frowned at the kid and kept going, testing the river bottom with his foot at each step before putting his weight on it.

  In the end, he was the one who messed up. When she slipped again and this time went under, he was suddenly all thumbs, not wanting to grab anything, um, delicate. A moment of hesitation, but it cost him. As she scrambled to right herself, her frenetically moving legs kicked his legs right out from under him.

  Zak pulled her up. Mitch let go of her, not wanting to pull her back down with him. He tried to stand, but finding purchase on the muddy bottom was no easy task. His feet couldn’t find purchase on the slippery silt.

  The current carried him downriver.

  “Get to shore. I’ll find you,” he shouted back to them, trying not to swallow too much of the frothy water.

  Zak looked green with panic. She didn’t. Probably because she didn’t know enough to realize how much trouble they were in—two complete amateurs in the middle of a raging river.

  Chapter Two

  An eternity seemed to pass before Mitch crawled up the muddy bank on the other side of the river, exhausted from battling the current. He scanned the hillside behind him.

  No sign of Juarez’s men. Yet.

  He could see Megan helping Zak out of the water a few hundred feet away. She hadn’t panicked. In fact, she had enough presence of mind to even help the kid. Maybe she isn’t as helpless as she looks, he thought as he began marching toward them.

  “Better get into the woods and out of this sun.” He took charge when he reached them, leading them into the cover of the trees so they wouldn’t be seen from the other side. They could use some rest, and this place was as good as any.

  On closer inspection, she did look shaken. And more than a little lost. She kept casting worried looks at him. He couldn’t blame her. This morning she’d been on a bus tour that she’d thought was safe. She had no way of knowing that the only roads up here were the ones cut into the jungle by loggers who were little more than criminals, clearing the jungle illegally. Traversing those roads without permission from the local crime lord could be deadly. Without protection, the bandits who controlled the area would consider anyone on them free prey.

  Whoever had put her tour together was running an irresponsible operation, exploiting tourists who didn’t know better. He’d probably figured he could take a few people in and out quickly without being seen. Idiot.

  And so were the people who would sign up for a trip like this. You couldn’t hire the first local guide that showed up at your hotel. Nor should you get on the first rickety bus that promised a grand adventure. He had half a mind to tell her that, but she looked like she’d already paid plenty for her error in judgment. She’d almost paid with her life. The thought set his teeth on edge.

  “What did your husband have to say about you coming all this way for a flower?” he asked once they were settled on a big rock, shaking water out of their boots. He wanted to know what kind of man would let a delicate woman like her come to a dangerous place like this.

  “I’m not married.” She finger combed her hair, then pulled her clothes away from her skin. She seemed to be trying to air-dry the fabric, but it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon considering the humidity level.

  He tried not to look much, but it wasn’t easy. She had perfect proportions. Everywhere. And a pretty face, with symmetrical features, thick lashes and full lips. She radiated a kind of wholesome innocence he didn’t know what to do with.

  He took the cheese and chunk of flatbread that they’d taken from the goatherds out of his waterproof backpack, and divided the food between Zak and Megan. “You go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

  He’d eat grubs if he got desperate. He had a feeling the other two wouldn’t.

  “You two hike a lot in these parts?” she asked between bites.

  “Here and in other places.” His missions took him all over the world.

  As far as the kid went, this was Zak’s first trip to South America. Based on the scant information he’d been given, Mitch knew Zak had graduated from being a pothead to more serious vices and decided that as long as he was using, he might as well get into the business. He’d probably taken one too many college business classes and fancied himself an entrepreneur. And since he’d learned from his father that when you wanted to get something done, you went to the top, he’d bought a ticket to South America.

  Big mistake.

  “How far is the nearest town?” Megan wiggled her toes in the sunshine. They were tipped with nail polish and looked like candy. Her pants were rolled up to above her knees.

  He looked away. Her dainty toes and long legs were none of his business. “We should be there by nightfall.”

  “Do they have an airport?”

  Sure. Right next to the day spa. “We’ll be lucky to find a phone and a shack to sleep in. We’re in a sparsely populated area. There isn’t any industry around here, and little agriculture. The natives farm a little, but mostly they live off the jungle’s bounty.” He didn’t mention the criminal element, didn’t want to remind her.

  In the morning, he would hook her up with a dependable guide who’d take her to the nearest city. She couldn’t come with them any farther. When he contacted the Colonel, they’d get a military transport out of the country, which wasn’t something she could be allowed to see.

  “But they have shops, right?” She tugged on her top, her eyes filled with embarrassment. “This outfit is completely ruined. Everything else I have is soaking wet from the river, too.”

  Educating her on the local realities didn’t seem worth the energy. She’d be out of his hair tomorrow morning. Simpler for him and safer for her. She was a babe in the woods. Megan Cassidy had no business being someplace like this, around men like him.

  * * *

  THEY REACHED THE TOWN at twilight, walking out of the rain forest tired and dirty.

  Mitch wiped the sweat off his forehead as he led his small
team toward the largest wooden building he could see. Kids ran around in the dust, chasing dogs and small, black pigs. The hum of generators filled the air, providing the few-dozen houses with electricity. A couple of ancient bicycles leaned against crumbling walls. A beat-up, rusted-out pickup—probably the only car in the village—hid in the shade of a fruit tree.

  He scanned the scene before him carefully, but everything seemed as it should be. He couldn’t spot anyone paying them undue attention. Juarez’s influence may or may not extend as far as this place. But even if Juarez was looking this far afield, he’d have people watching for a young man, not two men and a woman. They had that going for them—a definite advantage.

  “Hola!” They reached the building, and he slowly pushed the door in.

  The local guesthouse had four rooms, the toothless old man who shuffled out from the back explained, but one had burned out and two were permanently occupied, so only one was free. He didn’t have a phone, but there was one in the next village, fifty kilometers to the east. Mitch paid in advance, took the key then led the others down the hallway to the room the man indicated.

  “This is it.” The door stood ajar. He nudged it open with his boot, his hand near his weapon, ready for ambush, ready for anything. Juarez’s men could have cut in front of them.

  But as he looked around, it didn’t seem they did. Nobody waited for them in there save a handful of cockroaches that skittered across the floor. A single bed took up most of the room, covered by a torn blanket that might have had bright-colored stripes at one point in the distant past, but was now beyond faded.

  He could hear Megan swallowing behind him.

  “Didn’t the sign on the front say LUJO? Doesn’t that mean luxury in Spanish?” Her voice was a touch faint.

  He felt sorry for her. She was so far out of her element.... “We have our own bathroom. And you’ll be in a nice hotel by tomorrow this time. Hang in there just a little longer.”

  She nodded bravely.

  He walked forward to the open door in the corner and took in the small shower that probably had only cold water. The chipped toilet had no seat. The pipes were rusty, but none of them were leaking. And he didn’t have to worry about water quality as long as they had their filter bottles.