by Pamela Clare
“Tower will be here tomorrow. We’ll fly back to Miami and—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “No, what happens to us—to you and me.”
He rolled away, sat up. “I care about you, Gabi, but I’m not good with relationships.”
Her heart seemed to crack, darkness seeping into her chest. “So, we saved each other’s lives, had terrific sex, and that’s it? We say goodbye in Miami and move on.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She sat up, rested her cheek against his shoulder, his body tense. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Want to hear why I left the Teams?”
She wasn’t sure what this had to do with anything. “Tell me.”
He turned to face her, both of them sitting on the bed. “Being an assaulter, a member of Blue Squadron, meant everything to me. The Team guys—they were my brothers. I would have gone with them into hell. We spent more time with each other than we did anyone else.”
“You must have been very close.”
“I thought so.” His brow furrowed, his gaze dropping. “Most of the guys were married or divorced with kids. I was the single one. I met Valeria at a bar off base. There are women who hang out there every night, hoping to marry Team guys, but I thought she was different. A year later, we were engaged. I had it made. I was an elite warfighter, I had a beautiful fiancée, and the two of us were expecting a baby.”
A baby? He was a father?
What else don’t you know about him?
“That sounds like a good life.”
“One night, the Team went out, got hammered. We’d just gotten home from a deployment and had lost a guy. Everyone was broken up about it. I sent a text to Valeria, telling her I’d need a ride home. One of my buddies was drunk off his ass. He said, ‘She’s not home, man. She’s with Kruger.’”
“Who’s Kruger?”
“He was our squadron commander.”
Oh, God.
Gabriela had a terrible feeling she knew where this story was going.
“I took an Uber to Kruger’s place. Her car was parked in his driveway. I pounded on the door. He answered, tried to lie his way out of it, standing there in his designer bathrobe. I forced my way inside and found Valeria half-naked in his bedroom.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“The bastard had been fucking my fiancée while I was deployed. He sent me into combat and fucked my fiancée.”
“And the baby?”
“I demanded a paternity test. She resisted at first. The baby wasn’t mine, but the two of them were fine with letting me believe it was.”
Gabriela remembered his reaction to discovering she was an Agency officer and not a religious sister—the rage, the sense of betrayal.
No wonder he hated being deceived.
“I’m so sorry, Dylan. I can’t imagine how that must have felt.”
“That wasn’t the worst of it.” He shook his head, a grim smile on his face. “I found out the next day that the Team guys knew. The married guys—their wives knew. Word got around, but no one bothered to tell me.”
Gabriela’s heart shattered for him. “You lost everything—your whole life.”
“It was all a lie.” His gaze met hers again, his eyes shadowed by grief—and anger. “After the paternity test came back, I resigned. I reported Kruger to higher-ups and spent a month drinking. I figured I must have done something to push her away. I must not have been the man she needed.”
That’s why he thought he wasn’t good at relationships.
Gabriela took his hand. “It wasn’t you, Dylan. It was Valeria.”
“Maybe.” He drew a breath, let it go. “Eventually, I sobered up and tried to figure out what to do with my life.”
“You found Cobra.”
“A friend of mine knew Javier Corbray. He’s former DEVGRU also. He and Tower pulled me out of a nosedive, gave me a new purpose.”
“Thank you for trusting me with that.” Gabriela tried to digest what he’d just shared with her. He’d been with Cobra for five years, so this hurt wasn’t new. But it wasn’t ancient history either—and it cut deep. “I can’t imagine how hard that was, how hurt you must have been. I bet it’s been difficult since then to make friends.”
Or to trust women.
“Yeah.” He took her hand. “I have feelings for you, Gabriela, but I…”
She waited for him to finish, then tried to articulate what he couldn’t seem to say. “You’re afraid of being hurt again. You find it hard to trust. That makes so much sense, Dylan. But there’s one thing you’re forgetting.”
“What’s that?”
She rose onto her knees, kissed him. “I’m nothing like Valeria.”
She made love to him then, soft and slow, pouring her heart into every kiss, every caress, trying to show him what she couldn’t tell him.
Afterward, they lay together, hearts thrumming, his fingers tracing a line along her spine, the cry of gulls and the pulse of the surf in the distance.
21
“One day you’re running from sicarios. The next, you’re relaxing on the beach in Curaçao, soaking up the sun.” Dylan sipped his mai tai, the taste of rum and citrus shimmering over his tongue, the sea and surf calling to him.
“It’s surreal, isn’t it?” Looking lethally sexy in a low-cut one-piece suit in white, Gabriela ate the cherry from the top of her piña colada. “It feels like a lifetime ago that I was abducted from the mission, but it’s only been twelve days.”
“A lot can happen in twelve days.”
Like falling in love.
They’d slept in, fucked each other’s brains out, ordered room service, then bought bathing suits and hit the beach, scoring a couple of reclining chairs not far from the bar. After all that had happened, neither of them felt bad about drinking before noon.
Hell, Dylan needed the alcohol. He was in love with her—and after last night, he was pretty sure she felt the same way. It ought to have been easy, but it wasn’t. He should be able to trust her after what they’d been through together. Then again, he’d trusted his Team guys, and look how that had turned out.
This doesn’t have anything to do with trusting Gabriela.
He’d let himself be deceived by the people closest to him, blinded by his love for Valeria and his faith in his SEAL brothers.
It was himself he didn’t trust.
He finished his drink, handed it to a server, got to his feet. “I’m going in.”
Gabi smiled from behind new sunglasses. “Have fun.”
He ran out to the water, dove into the waves, swam against the tide as hard as he could, ignoring the pain in his bruised ribs, until he was maybe a half-mile offshore, alone with the gulls. He stayed there, bobbing on the swells, trying to control the maelstrom of emotions inside him.
You’re an idiot if you let what happened with Valeria and Kruger rule your life.
Yes, but how could he be sure this was real? They hadn’t even known each other for two weeks. When they got back to the real world and the adrenaline wore off, their feelings might fade, too. Getting caught up in her too soon was risky.
Too late for that, cabrón. Besides, you take risks for a living.
But could he take a risk on Gabriela?
Having found no peace in the water, he swam back to the shore, where some blond guy in blue trunks stood talking to Gabriela, drink in his hand.
She waved to Dylan. “There’s my boyfriend.”
The dude took one look at Dylan, mumbled something, and moved on.
Gabriela removed her sunglasses, her gaze moving over Dylan. “Water running down muscles—I think that’s my new favorite art form. Go back, jump in the water, and come out again. Pretty please?”
He appreciated the compliment, but his gaze was still on the jerk in the blue trunks. “Was he hitting on you?”
“I was about to tell him I’ve killed men, but you scared him off.” She sipped the last of her drink. “Every woman on th
is beach is staring at you, including me.”
Dylan grabbed his towel, dried off, and ordered another drink for each of them, trying to find his courage. What was he going to say? He didn’t know.
He took hold of Gabriela’s hand. “When we get back…”
“Cruz.” A shadow fell over them. “We’ve been busting our asses to get the two of you to safety, and I find you on the beach sipping umbrella drinks.”
Tower.
Dylan stood, as did Gabriela. “Glad to see you, too, sir.”
Tower held out his hand. “Ms. Marquez, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I’m glad you’re safe.”
Gabriela gave him that smile of hers. “Thanks for all you and Cobra did for the hostages and me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Dylan.”
Was she campaigning for him now? That was sweet.
Dylan couldn’t imagine he needed her help. He’d gotten the job done. Yeah, Tower had caught him holding Gabriela’s hand just now, but Dylan knew what to say if Tower got his boxers in a twist over that.
“I’ve got lots of questions. You two finish your drinks and get your gear together. The jet is refueling. We’re wheels up for Miami in two hours. There will be a flight waiting there to take you to Langley, Ms. Marquez. Cruz, we’ll head on to Denver for a formal debriefing. Meet me in the lobby when you’re ready to go.”
Gabriela watched Tower walk away. “He seems very professional.”
“Former Green Beret.”
“Aha.”
Back in their hotel room, Dylan stripped out of his wet trunks, rinsed the salt off his skin in the shower, and dressed. Gabriela had changed into the black sundress he’d bought her, her other belongings in a shopping bag.
“What were you about to say before Tower walked up?”
It’s now or never, buddy.
Once they stepped onto that plane, things would change.
He tried to find the words. “That night after I gave you morphine, you told me you didn’t want this to end. You didn’t want this to mean goodbye.”
“I meant that. I still do. I… care about you, Dylan.”
He heard her hesitation. Had she been about to say love?
He sat beside her. “What you don’t remember is my answer. I said that I didn’t want it to end, either.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, but you were high as a kite and exhausted. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. In fact, I was counting on that.”
“Chicken.”
It was the truth.
“I’m scared to death, Gabi. I don’t know how it could work with the two of us living so far apart, but I can’t stand the idea of not seeing you again. I’m not ready for any commitments. I don’t know that I ever will be. But I want you in my life. I know that’s unfair, but is it enough for you for now?”
She took his hand. “Yes.”
And because he couldn’t help himself, he drew her close and kissed her.
Gabriela had never flown in a private jet before. Comfortable seats. Wet bar. Huge TV screen on one wall. PS4. Restrooms. A conference room. She tried to hide her surprise. “This is … acceptable.”
Dylan wasn’t fooled. “It’s the only way to fly. Can I get you a drink?”
“What do you have?”
Dylan walked to the bar, opened the refrigerator. “There’s beer, water, champagne, ginger ale, Coke, some fancy flavored seltzer.”
“Champagne sounds perfect. Shouldn’t we be celebrating?”
They were going home—alive and safe.
Then why are you feeling so down?
Dylan.
She didn’t know when she’d see him again.
Dylan popped the cork, poured them each a glass, calling to Tower, who was up talking to the pilot. “Hey, Tower, want some champagne?”
“No, thanks.”
“Stupid question.” Dylan sat beside her. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” She sipped, the bright taste tickling her tongue.
Dylan lowered his voice. “I need to get your cell phone number.”
“I don’t have a cell phone or an email account or any of that.”
“Right.” He stood, walked into the conference room, and returned with a pad of Cobra stationery. He wrote down his phone number, held onto it for a moment as if hesitating, then handed it to her. “Here’s mine.”
She took it, his effort warming her. She knew none of this was easy for him. He’d looked more afraid sharing his feelings with her in the hotel room earlier than he had when they’d dragged him off to torture him. “Thanks, Dylan. This means a lot to me.”
“Buckle up,” Tower called to them. “We’re about to take off.”
The plane taxied onto the runway, gained speed, and took to the skies.
Gabriela watched out the window as Curaçao became a small island in the middle of a vast turquoise sea, Venezuela in the far distance.
“Hey, are you okay?” Dylan asked.
“I can’t believe I’m going home. It’s been so long.”
Then Tower sat down across from them—a deliberate choice since there was a lot of room and many empty seats. A tall man, he was lean and hard with a tanned face and blond hair, every inch of him the military man.
“You gave me the basics last night over the phone, but I’ve got a lot of questions that need answers, and some of these questions are for you, Ms. Marquez.” He paused as if waiting for their consent, but what choice did they have? “How did you know the Agency asset was going to betray you?”
They went through it all from that point—Gabriela noticing the physical changes in Sander, Sander admitting that he’d been trying to get paid double.
“I had no choice but to eliminate him,” Dylan said.
Gabriela knew that weighed on him. They hadn’t talked about it, but she knew it just the same. It weighed on her, too, since he’d done it to protect her.
“It was necessary for the success of the mission and your survival.” Next, Tower asked about their thwarted attempt to cross the border and getting caught by Ruiz and his men. “They believed you were a nun?”
Dylan grinned. “She can be very convincing.”
Tower shot Dylan a quelling look.
Gabriela fought back a smile. “Yes, sir, they did, though I know Ruiz suspected me of knowing something about the drug shipments at the Mission.”
Tower nodded. “It was you, Ms. Marquez, who killed Ruiz.”
“Yes. I knew that if I didn’t act before Sánchez arrived with the reporters, we would fail at our most critical mission objective. I also knew they would keep torturing Dylan until he talked—and then they would kill both of us.”
“You’re certain he’s dead.”
“I can confirm that.” Dylan described what he’d seen.
All at once, the horror of it hit Gabriela, made the blood rush from her head, leaving her dizzy.
Gunshots. Bodies strewn across the floor. So much blood.
She blinked, found the men watching her. “Sorry. I … I just…”
“You don’t owe anyone an apology.” Tower’s gaze softened. “What you did—I couldn’t have asked for more from one of our operatives.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dylan threaded his fingers through hers and picked up the story from there, his touch reassuring. He told Tower how he’d let Imelda go and then blown up the house.
“I didn’t have the heart to kill her, and I take full responsibility for that.”
“Understood.” Tower looked at his notepad. “Then you stole one of Ruiz’s vehicles, drove back to the Aveo, and then on to Maracaibo and finally to Coro, where you hired Paulito to bring you to Curaçao.”
Dylan answered. “Yes, sir. We stayed in Maracaibo for one night, so I could take care of Gabriela’s graze wound and we could get some sleep.”
Tower grinned. “You’ve made Jones happy—and a little richer. The guys placed bets on how you’d get Ms. Marquez out of Venezuela. Jones said you’d go SEAL
on them and head for the water. I think he won five hundred bucks out of it.”
Gabriela had to ask. “Who is Jones?”
“Malik Jones. You’ve met him.” Dylan grinned. “He’s the big black dude who was my black-market sales assistant.”
Gabriela remembered him, of course. “I guess he knows you pretty well.”
“I guess he does.”
Tower got back to business. “Here are some things you two should know. Ruiz’s death has caused serious instability. In the past twenty-four hours, a cartel war has broken out along the border. There have been more than a dozen killings, part of a power struggle.”
Gabriela had expected that.
“What I’m about to tell you now is classified.” Tower’s gaze moved from Gabriela to Dylan and back. “Luis Sánchez has asked the US to enter him into witness protection. He wants to turn state’s evidence for the DEA against the cartel and his brother-in-law, who is, as you know, the president of Venezuela.”
Gabriela gaped at Tower, trying to grasp what he’d just said. “He… what?”
Tower repeated it. “That’s what you accomplished by killing Ruiz, Ms. Marquez. The cartel blames Sánchez. He’s smart enough to know he won’t survive long without help. You did one hell of a job—both of you. Enjoy the champagne. You earned it.”
Tower left the two of them alone.
“I can’t believe it.” Gabriela looked up at Dylan. “Sánchez giving evidence against the Andes Cartel and the president? This could bring the entire regime down.”
Dylan smiled, brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “Maybe you’ll be able to go back to Venezuela sooner than you think.”
And for the first time in so long, Gabriela felt hope for her parents’ homeland.
The flight to Miami lasted a little more than three hours.
Dylan could see Gabriela’s spirits slipping as they prepared to land. “When you get a phone, call me. I’ve got a lot of time off coming, so I’ll be around.”
“No missions for a while?”
“Not for a couple of weeks, at least. How about you?”
“I imagine I’ll have a few months off. I’ve got to put my life back together again—find an apartment, get hooked up to utilities and WiFi, buy a car, probably spend some time with my parents here in Miami.”
