by Elle Kennedy
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That must have been difficult.”
“I survived.”
She released a frustrated breath. “Do you always do that? Brush everything off like it’s no big deal?”
“Only when it really is no big deal.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart, with those big pitying eyes. I dealt with my crap years ago. The past is the past.”
God, she wished she could think like that. But for her, the past wasn’t the past, not when it threatened her future. Her son’s future. She’d made a mistake when she’d fallen for Hector four years ago, but Rafe didn’t deserve to pay the price for it.
The wind picked up and snaked underneath her ponytail, blowing the ends of it into her mouth. She shoved the hair away and adjusted her hat, then glanced at Tate, still trying to make sense of him. “So your father, is he still alive?”
Tate moved his gaze back to the horizon line. “He died eleven years ago. DUI.”
“I guess it would be too optimistic to think you mourned him.”
He chuckled. “I was tempted to throw a damn parade.”
“That’s sad.”
“What, that I didn’t grieve for the bastard?”
“No, that you had him for a father in the first place,” she said quietly.
He sliced off another chunk of mango and chewed slowly, shooting her a what-can-you-do look. “Luck of the draw. Some kids are just destined to have crappy parents, I guess.”
Didn’t she know it. Her son had drawn the short stick, too, when he’d gotten Hector Cruz for a father, but Eva was determined to protect Rafe from the man who’d sired him. Not only was Hector a violent, sadistic killer, but nothing was sacred to him, not even youth. The ULF frequently recruited child soldiers for its cause, a horrifying truth she hadn’t realized until much later. Hector had even bragged to her that he’d personally trained some of the children in the movement.
Well, she refused to let Hector corrupt her little boy. Solving violence with violence had never been a philosophy she’d subscribed to, but in this case, she would make an exception. Hector had to die. It was the only way to keep her son safe, the only way to—how had Tate put it? Preserve innocence.
Eva rose from the crate and approached the railing. She gazed out at the greenish-brown dot in the distance. The island of San Marquez. Her birthplace, her son’s birthplace. In a few short hours, she’d be back in the place she’d vowed never to return.
“You haven’t been back since your kid was born?” Tate asked gruffly, following her gaze.
She shook her head.
“Where exactly does the name Dolce come from? I figured you’d have a Latin American name since you were born in San Marquez.”
“My dad’s Italian,” she explained. “He met my mom when she was vacationing in Italy as a teenager. She was from San Marquez, and Dad was too smitten to say goodbye to her, so he followed her all the way to another continent and they lived here for a couple of years. He worked in the capital, but then his firm transferred him to the States right after I was born, so we moved to America.”
A cloud of smoke wafted in her direction, making her wrinkle her nose. Glancing over, she spotted a tanned deckhand standing by the stern, one arm resting on the steel railing ringing the deck, the other holding a hand-rolled cigarette. He inhaled again, then blew out another puff of the sweet, potent flavor unique to the tobacco produced on San Marquez.
The scent brought both a wave of nostalgia and a rush of dread to her belly. The latter feeling increased the closer they got to the island. Funny, how such a small, beautiful place could harbor so much ugliness.
San Marquez was smaller than the countries on the mainland but larger than most of the island nations dotting the continent. To the west sat the Marqueza Mountain range, looming over a coastline that offered nothing but boulder-ridden white sand and jagged cliffs with steep drops. Merido, the capital city, was centrally located, a crowded metropolis with a struggling tourism industry thanks to the strife with the ULF. The eastern region of the island featured an array of coastal towns and villages, along with a harbor that served as the base of the country’s fishing and trade industry.
“Damn,” Tate muttered, as the ship neared its destination.
Eva immediately understood the source of his unhappiness. The telltale navy-blue-and-gold uniforms stood out among the throng of people bustling in the harbor.
“I don’t remember there being much of a military presence on the coast before,” she remarked with a frown.
The deckhand she’d been eyeing ambled over, sucking hard on his cigarette. “Smuggling happen,” he said in garbled English. “Drugs, weapons, hide on boats.”
“ULF?” Tate said sharply.
The man nodded. “They be getting reckless lately. Cruz gone, rebels fighting each other.”
Eva’s frown deepened. Dissent within the ULF. Hector was probably fuming about that. Would he come out of hiding to take care of the problems? She prayed he wouldn’t, at least not before she and Tate reached his hideout.
The closer the cargo vessel got, the more uneasy Eva felt. The port wasn’t overflowing with soldiers, but she spotted at least a dozen posted at various points of the harbor, their hawklike eyes sweeping over the people milling the area.
By the time the ship reached the dock, her pulse was racing. She didn’t want to attract any undue attention, but she might not be able to help it once they disembarked. The dockworkers were mostly male, and as a female, she’d stand out like a sore thumb.
Tate evidently concurred because he lowered his voice and said, “When we get off, keep your head down. I don’t want anyone getting a good look at our faces.”
She nearly said “mine more than yours” but quickly bit back the words. If anyone was the more recognizable of the two, it was her, the former lover of the ULF’s leader.
Panic tugged on her belly as she realized that everything could go up in smoke if anyone connected to Hector recognized her. If Tate found out she’d been involved with his enemy, he’d either kill her or abandon her. Unfortunately, neither of those outcomes was desirable.
She nearly fell overboard when she heard a loud metallic thump. She relaxed when she realized it was the gangplank being lowered, but then she noticed Tate picking up his duffel bag and her anxiety returned. She didn’t exactly know what was in that bag of his, but she had a pretty good idea that most of the contents weren’t legal.
“What if we’re searched?” she murmured.
“Taken care of,” he murmured back.
She didn’t have time to question that statement, but she found out soon enough. The customs official that greeted them on the walkway barely even glanced in their direction—or at the passports they handed him. He scribbled something on his clipboard, stamped their passports, then stalked off.
“How’d you manage that?” Eva asked as she watched the burly man’s retreating back.
“All that cash I handed our captain in Tumaco? That was so he’d put in a good word for us with his brother.” Tate hooked a thumb in the direction the customs clerk had gone in. “That was his brother.”
She grinned. “How lucky for us.”
After bidding goodbye to their captain, she and Tate maneuvered their way through the busy harbor, heading for the road several hundred yards away. The odor of fish, salt and earth hung in the air, along with that sweet tobacco that every male within ten feet seemed to be smoking.
Eva angled the brim of her hat and kept her head down as they walked, doing her best not to make eye contact with anyone. People jostled them, some pushing past using their hands, and she squeaked in objection when a particularly aggressive dockworker bulldozed past her, nearly clipping her in the side of the head with his elbow.
“You okay, baby?”
Tate’s sandpaper-rough voice made her blink in surprise. Baby?
“Uh, I’m fine, he just bumped—”
She almost jumped out of her
own skin when Tate slung an arm around her shoulder and dipped his head to nuzzle her neck. Despite the hundred-degree temperature, goose bumps rapidly rose on her skin.
What the hell was he—
His husky voice interrupted her thoughts. “I cannot wait to get you alone,” he rasped. “Just you and me. On a bed. All night long.”
Chapter 6
Shock and arousal coursed through Eva’s body like an electrical current. Her heart pounded, nipples puckered, core ached. She couldn’t remember ever getting this turned on this fast.
Beside her, Tate seemed as cool as a cucumber. He rubbed his stubble-covered cheek on her neck, the prickly beard growth abrading her suddenly feverish skin. And he didn’t even slow his pace—nope, just kept walking, practically dragging her beside him even as his lips closed over those sensitive tendons in her neck and sucked gently.
“What are you doing?” she stammered.
“You taste incredible.” He swiped his tongue over her heated flesh then took a teasing nip with his teeth.
Before she could even attempt to figure out what had gotten into him, he abruptly straightened his shoulders and slid his hand to the small of her back, resting it there in a casual but possessive pose.
What on earth? Up until now, Tate hadn’t shown an overt amount of sexual interest in her, but all of a sudden he was a different man. His smoldering green eyes, the sensual lift of his mouth, the dangerous seduction radiating from his masculine frame.
“Easy,” he murmured, rubbing circles over her tailbone. His voice lowered to a scarcely audible pitch. “Play along, sweetheart.”
Understanding dawned fast and hard, becoming clearer when she caught a flash of navy blue and gold in her peripheral vision. Soldiers. Two of them. They must have been walking directly behind her and Tate, but now they veered to the right and hurried off in a brisk march toward a group of unruly boys who looked to be in the middle of a full-out brawl.
As the soldiers shouted and raised their guns, the fighting boys broke apart and took off like bats out of a cave, disappearing in all directions.
Eva and Tate took full advantage of the soldiers’ distraction, picking up their pace as they made their way to the road. It wasn’t until they were out of sight that she allowed herself to dwell on the completely inappropriate response she’d experienced back there.
She’d wanted Tate.
In that moment, when his warm lips had met her skin and his big hand slid under the hem of her shirt to stroke her lower back, she’d wanted him more than she’d wanted her next breath.
His kiss. His touch. His powerful body crushing hers as he moved inside her. She’d wanted it all, damn it.
Even now, those wicked images caused that spot between her legs to tingle. God, this was wrong. Having sex with Tate would be a bad idea. A terrible idea.
And not even a viable idea, considering he’d faked that entire flirty, seductive exchange. While she, idiot that she was, had believed every second of it.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered. “They were staring at us too long for my liking.”
She swallowed the embarrassment lining her throat. “How do you know they were staring? They were behind us. Do you have eyes in the back of your head or something?”
“Sensed it. Fifteen years in the military will do that to you.” He shrugged. “I can sniff out a threat from miles away, even if it’s behind me.”
“Yeah? What kind of threats are around us right now?” she couldn’t help but challenge.
“Other than the government soldiers crawling over every inch of the harbor? Well, there’s the ULF rebel trying to blend in over there by the loading dock. The pickpocket that’s already robbed two fishermen, which is damn impressive because the kid can’t be older than five or six. That woman standing by the fruit cart is packing heat—AK, judging by the size and bulk, but I suppose it could be a lower-caliber ri—”
“I get the point,” she cut in, unable to fight a smile. “You know your threats.”
He tipped his head and shot her an ironic smile. “I sure do, Eva. And the biggest threat of all happens to be right beside me.”
She bristled with insult, but she couldn’t exactly fault him for being distrustful. This man was risking a lot to be here. He’d come out of hiding, and now he was taking a gamble that Eva could lead him to Cruz. Well, fortunately for him, the gamble would pay off because she planned on delivering Tate right to Hector’s door.
And watching while he killed her son’s father.
A shiver ran up her spine. Did it make her a coward, for not doing the job herself? Or a monster, for actively seeking out a man’s death? Maybe both. Maybe neither. All she knew was that her son would never have a normal life as long as Hector was alive.
“You’ll realize soon enough that I’m not a threat,” she said quietly. After a beat, she offered a dry smile. “Until then, try not to kill me in my sleep, okay?”
His lips twitched as if he were fighting laugher. “Deal.”
* * *
“This is as far as I go.”
The driver of the ancient truck they’d flagged down let the engine idle, which made the entire vehicle chug like a steam engine. Tate was happy to get out of the truck; he and Eva had been crammed in the front seat for the past three hours, and his body desperately needed a reprieve. Sitting there with Eva’s firm thigh pressed against his had been pure torture.
He’d tried to distract himself by focusing on the scenery, but the green hills and soil-rich fields that made up the island’s eastern landscape hadn’t succeeded in making him any less aware of Eva Dolce. The woman smelled like temptation, all sweet and spicy and orange-blossomy, and she tasted like heaven—he knew that for a fact now, seeing as he’d had his lips buried in her neck earlier.
Christ, this unfortunate attraction to a woman he didn’t trust was liable to drive him insane.
“Thank you so much for the ride.”
Eva’s melodic voice jolted him from his thoughts. As he pushed on the broken door handle of the passenger side, Eva leaned in to squeeze their driver’s shoulder in thanks. Which was kind of impressive because Tate wouldn’t have touched the man with a ten-foot pole. Long, greasy hair, bushy gray beard with what looked like pieces of food stuck in it, dirty fingernails and several missing teeth. The guy looked like a cartoon hobo, for Chrissake.
But hey, in the hobo’s defense, he’d stopped to pick them up when he’d spotted them on the side of the road, and Tate was compelled to offer a thank-you of his own before he hopped out of the truck.
He rounded the vehicle and grabbed his duffel from the truck bed, which was piled high with wooden crates overflowing with oranges. The citrus scent filled his nostrils and made him think of Eva, who came up beside him, tightening the straps of her backpack. The moment he slung the duffel over his shoulder, the truck driver revved the engine and sped off in reverse, raising a cloud of moist brown dirt that nearly blinded them both.
Tate wiped the dust off his face, watching as the driver executed a rapid U-turn that made the vehicle lurch and chug harder. After the truck disappeared, he glanced at Eva. Her blue eyes were apprehensive as she gazed at the landscape up ahead, where the road became impassable.
Thick vegetation awaited them, and the scents emanating from the tangle of greenery were ones he’d recognize anywhere—damp earth and wildflowers and acrid rot. Even from where he stood, he heard the din of the jungle, the familiar noises of the wildlife, the buzzing of insects and rustling of trees, and he drew great comfort from it all. This was his element—out in the wild, hunting down his prey, a silent, shadowy predator. This was what he’d been trained for, not hiding away in a stone fortress like a coward.
“I hate the jungle,” Eva remarked in a glum voice.
“Well, start loving it, because we’ve got a long walk ahead of us. Three days, barring any unforeseen complications, and that’s factoring in only a few hours’ sleep a night. If you want more sleep time, it’ll take longer.”<
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She made a grumbling sound. “Trust me, I won’t be sleeping at all.”
He had to grin. “Scared of what bumps in the night?”
“More like what crawls. I do not like bugs.” Her tone was flat and emphatic. “At all.”
“Then the jungle ain’t gonna be your friend, sweetheart,” Tate said with a chuckle.
They moved into the thick canopy of trees, and immediately, the temperature became more humid, the air muggy and moist. Clinging foliage and dense vegetation blocked the sun, but shafts of light found their way through gaps in the trees, making the dew sparkle on the colorful flora that cropped up all over the area.
And everything was so damn noisy. Mosquitoes buzzing past Tate’s ears, a macaw squawking from somewhere high in the trees, the unmistakable bark of a spider monkey followed by a sudden rustling of branches. The jungle was a whole other world, a living, breathing entity pulsing with life and activity.
A sense of peace washed over Tate, ironic considering that danger lurked in every corner, from the decaying matter underfoot to the trees up above and everything in between.
He unzipped his duffel and grabbed a few necessities, including a razor-sharp machete, a handgun, his favorite Bowie knife and his trademark M-16 rifle.
“Planning for an assault?” Eva asked wryly.
“Always.” After a beat, he removed a 9 mm from the bag and extended it to her. “Here. We might as well both be prepared.”
She looked surprised, but handled the gun with ease as she checked the clip then stuck the weapon beneath her waistband at the small of her back.
Tate sheathed his knife, shoved the H&K in his belt and slung the strap of his rifle over one shoulder. The machete he kept on hand.
“No mosquito netting,” he muttered, as he peered into the duffel. Damn. Prescott must have forgotten to shove it into the go bag. Ah, well. He’d remembered the bug repellent, at least.
Tate quickly transferred the remaining contents of the duffel into his backpack, then shoved the duffel beneath a pile of rotting palm fronds; he’d only needed the bag to carry and conceal his weapons. Now it was time to travel light.
