Accidental Commando

by Ingrid Weaver

  Tyler had difficulty grasping what he was hearing. He and the rest of the team trusted Redinger with their lives. After decades of operating in secrecy, he couldn’t be taking Eagle Squadron public, could he?

  “You seem confused, Matheson. Weren’t you aware of the deal Miss Wright proposed?”

  “Yes, Major. She would continue to assist us in identifying El Gato as long as we allowed her to gather material for an article on us and on our mission here. But I hadn’t expected you to agree.”

  “It was the best option. Otherwise, she might not only refuse to help us, she could attempt to go to the media immediately, which would cause us to divert our resources at a critical time. She also doesn’t appear to comprehend the risk to her personal safety if she remains in Rocama on her own.”

  That sounded like Emily, all right.

  “We don’t want her to be a target any more than we want her to be a loose cannon,” the major went on. “That’s why it’s imperative that we maintain control. By embedding her, we do exactly that.”

  This still wasn’t making sense. Allowing Emily to be an embedded journalist would only delay the publicity. It would keep her safe and save this mission, but what about the next one? What about Eagle Squadron’s future?

  The major picked up the rolled print and stored it on the equipment shelf. “For the duration of the envoy’s visit, Miss Wright will remain where we can monitor her activities and her communications. That’s where you come in.”

  “Major?”

  “Her safety will be your responsibility.”

  “What about my duties?”

  “You’ll need to incorporate her into them so she can help us identify El Gato.”

  “She’ll expect to interview us.”

  “I trust you to use your judgment concerning how much to say. The less you give her, the less we need to worry about afterward. Avoid discussing past missions or anything classified but give her enough to keep her occupied. Giving personal details would present the lowest risk. As long as she believes she’ll get what she wants in the end, it’s in her best interest to cooperate.”

  Understanding flooded him all at once. He should have realized it immediately. The major would agree to Emily’s deal because it was expedient. He would do whatever was necessary for the success of a mission, just as he’d trained the rest of them to do. That didn’t mean he was going to follow through on his promise. “Once the mission is over, you’re not going to let her story get published.”

  “Correct. That’s out of the question. We can’t compromise Eagle Squadron’s anonymity.”

  “But how—”

  “We’ll do a full cleanup before we leave.”

  Tyler knew what the major meant. They’d done it before when they’d needed to eliminate any trace of their presence. In addition to removing all physical evidence, the team would need to destroy Emily’s notes and any photographs she might have taken. They would deny they had ever been in Rocama. If she did attempt to publish an account of them, even without any documentation, there were other, more heavy-handed legal measures the major could take. When it came to national security, the government had a long and powerful reach.

  His conscience stirred. “Is it necessary to deceive her? Maybe it would help if we explained the need for confidentiality more thoroughly.”

  “I tried, Sergeant. I don’t like deceiving her, either, but she wasn’t in what I’d call a reasonable frame of mind.”

  “She’s having a rough time. She’s recovering from some kind of breakup. That’s why she’s so…”

  “Combative?” Redinger supplied. “Irritable?”

  He’d been about to say “fragile.” Or had he been imagining that? It was possible that beneath her armor there was more armor. Still, he couldn’t forget the tears he’d pretended not to see. Nor could he forget the smile that had lit up her face when she’d first proposed her deal. This was important to her for a variety of reasons. “On top of her personal troubles, Miss Wright’s in financial difficulty. She’s likely counting on the income from selling this story.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Sergeant Matheson. To be fair, we’ll find a way to compensate her for her time. Is there anything else?”

  He could see by the major’s demeanor that he considered the decision made, which meant there was no room for discussion.

  Tyler didn’t understand why he was tempted to continue protesting. Why would he risk questioning his commanding officer’s orders on behalf of a woman he barely knew?

  Why? Because strangers or not, he did know one very important fact about Emily Wright: She had a problem with trust when it came to men.

  Damn. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere near her when she discovered the truth about this deal.

  Emily flung open the curtains, put one knee on the window seat and filled her lungs with the morning air. There were no squawking chickens or barking dogs to disturb the peace here. The small courtyard at the center of the private wing of the palace was as quiet as a painting. It even looked like one, with the traces of mist floating in the shadows beneath the orange trees and clinging to the cobblestones around the tinkling fountain. The flower beds were loaded with furled blooms awaiting the touch of the sun. The air held the humid bite of ozone. It would likely get as hot as the day before outside, but some clever pre-air-conditioning architect had put the bedrooms on the north side. The thick walls were cool to the touch.

  Yawning widely, she twisted to regard the room she’d been given. Though it would be small by royal standards, it was more than adequate by hers. She chuckled. Adequate? That was an understatement. Lengths of romantic, rose-colored tulle swooped from a ring in the ceiling to frame the bed. Instead of a closet, there was a huge, hinged wardrobe that was carved from what appeared to be walnut and smelled of oranges. The tile floor, which had been sensuously cool beneath her bare feet, extended into the bathroom where there was a claw-foot tub that was almost as long as the bed. And there were vases of flowers everywhere, filling the air with exotic scents and flashes of color.

  Oh, yeah, she could get used to living in a palace. She wasn’t going to miss the Royal Rocaman Hotel at all.

  She’d been delighted to see that Major Redinger had kept his word about the repairs. The lock on her hotel room door had been fixed, the bullet holes in the wall had been patched and the balcony doors had been replaced by the time she’d gone back for her suitcase yesterday evening. Everything else had been cleaned up and tidied, as if the attack had never happened. Amazing. Not only that, most of the deposit she’d shelled out for the honeymoon suite had been refunded to her credit card. She didn’t know how the major had managed to get the hotel to agree to that. The travel agency had insisted that everything was nonrefundable. Obviously, the army had more clout than she did.

  There was a tap on the door. “Miss Wright?”

  Though he had spoken almost as softly as he’d knocked, Emily instantly recognized Tyler’s voice. She pushed away from the window, snatching her robe from the floor as she passed the bed. “Just a minute.”

  She fumbled to tie the belt. The robe was new, like most of the things in her suitcase. The silk was as slippery as water and only fell to mid-thigh, but it was better than nothing. Then again, Tyler had already seen her in nothing, hadn’t he?

  She scowled, annoyed that she was still dwelling on that. She shouldn’t think of him as a man. She had to think of him as a source. From now on, their relationship was strictly business. This story could change her life. Besides the possible benefits to her bank account and to her future career, the work was giving her something positive to focus on. And God knows, she needed that. This was the first morning in weeks that she’d actually looked forward to getting out of bed.

  She yanked the door open. “What’s going on?”

  Tyler didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gave her a long perusal from her bed-head hair to her bare feet.

  Emily couldn’t seem to find her voice, either. He was wearing a
suit today. A dark gray one, along with a white shirt and a steel-blue tie that made his eyes look fabulous. His body was totally covered. Not so much as a hint of bare muscle or hair-fuzzed skin was showing, yet she knew it was there. She’d thought he looked sexy in a golf shirt and jeans. That was nothing compared to the effect of this large hunk of masculinity that was standing in front of her in a tailored suit and… She glanced down. He was wearing his cowboy boots. They’d been buffed for the occasion, but they still carried the scars of hard and probably interesting use.

  There was something intriguing about a man who wore boots with a suit. As if he set limits on how civilized he was willing to be.

  “My shift starts in forty minutes,” he said.

  She blew out her breath, then raked her hair off her face, curled her fingers and gave her scalp a brisk scrape with her nails. She needed to get some blood flowing to her brain. Strictly business, she reminded herself. The major had agreed to let her accompany the men. Obviously, he was being true to his word on this, too, so she didn’t want to squander her first opportunity to get some good material. “What will you be doing?”

  “Accompanying the envoy. She has a breakfast meeting with President Gorrell in an hour.”

  Norberto Gorrell, the President of Rocama. A genuine head of state. Emily needed a moment for the reality of that to sink in. No wonder Tyler was wearing a suit. “Where?”

  “Here in the palace.”

  She fiddled with her belt while she mentally cataloged everything in her suitcase. God, what was she going to wear? Men had it lucky. All they needed was one suit and they were done.

  “We’ll clear the room beforehand, so we won’t actually be attending the meeting,” he said. “We’ll be taking up a post in the hall.”

  “Okay. Sounds easy enough.”

  “We can’t relax for an instant, Miss Wright.”

  “You don’t think El Gato could get into this palace, do you?”

  “We have to operate on the assumption that no location is completely secure.”

  She nodded. These were good quotes for her article. She should be taping them, but she hadn’t brought her recorder. She hadn’t brought her laptop, either. Not for a vacation. At least she did have her digital camera. She wished she’d thought to grab some of the hotel’s stationery before she’d checked out. “Would you have a pad of paper I could borrow?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s for taking notes.”

  He hesitated. For a moment he seemed uncomfortable. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “How could I?” She waved her arm behind her, then grabbed the collar of her robe as it slid off her shoulder. “There’s no phone in my room, not that I would expect the palace to have room service, but I’m pretty isolated here. My cell phone doesn’t work, either. That reminds me, what kind of phone service does your major have? I noticed his phone worked.”

  “It’s military issue. You can share breakfast with us. We eat in our quarters.”

  “I never thought to ask. Where are you staying?”

  “Upstairs.” He used his index finger to slide her robe back onto her shoulder. “First you might want to put on something that doesn’t play peekaboo.”

  She shuddered. The silk had a mind of its own and wasn’t that easy to hang on to, so he probably hadn’t meant to trail the backs of his knuckles over her skin. “I’ll try to find a dress without bullet holes.”

  He dropped his hand. “If you’d rather join us later…”

  “Not on your life. A deal’s a deal. I plan to take advantage of every minute.”

  The minutes seemed like hours. The first day of Emily’s embedding with Eagle Squadron dragged into the second. Little changed other than the hall they were positioned in. She chaffed at the lack of activity, but it didn’t appear to bother Tyler. When he was on duty he appeared as calm as a living statue. About as talkative, too. Currently, they were outside the conference room while the envoy attended yet another meeting. This one included a group of sober-faced men and women who made up the president’s cabinet. The carved wood doors were too thick for the sound of voices to penetrate, so Emily couldn’t guess at the topic.

  Whatever it was, both President Gorrell and Helen Haggerty appeared to be deep in discussion, their gray heads angled toward each other, whenever they were together. Neither spared her more than a glance when they passed by, so Emily had stopped fretting about what to wear a day ago. She redid her ponytail, tugged at the cuffs of the cardigan she was using to make her sundress more respectable and looked around.

  Vic Gonzales was teamed up with Tyler today. He stood at the bend in the corridor, and though he seemed relaxed at first glance, he’d been as alert as Tyler whenever there had been a sign of movement. He had an expressive mouth and sparkling dark eyes that made him appear to be on the verge of a smile—he’d have to be good-humored to accept the nickname “Gonzo”—yet he’d been as reserved around Emily as the rest of the men. They had the neutral, don’t-give-away-anything expressions of on-duty cops or football players on a Sunday in December. They were wearing their game faces.

  The only exception had been the bald man who had been in charge of the monitoring equipment upstairs, Chief Esposito. He reminded her of her uncle Wade, not chatty but approachable. He’d inputted her description of El Gato into a computer program that he’d said he’d obtained from Homeland Security. Emily realized that by sharing her knowledge so early she had weakened her bargaining position. She hadn’t really considered withholding it, though. She wasn’t going to play games with an innocent woman’s life. Thanks to the help of Duncan Colbert, who had some kind of connection with Army Intelligence, they’d managed to construct a good likeness of the assassin. It had been printed out and distributed to the entire team as well as to President Gorrell’s elite palace guards.

  Those guards were as no-nonsense as the American soldiers. Rather than suits, they wore tan uniforms that were belted at the waist with dark leather. They appeared to do regular patrols throughout the palace, as she’d noticed the same pair of men walk past the conference room three times this afternoon. And she was certain it was the same men, since she’d made sure to scrutinize them each time.

  Tyler nodded and mumbled something she couldn’t catch. A glance at Sergeant Gonzales made her realize they were talking over their radios again. She sighed and leaned her back against the wall. Her shoulder brushed the frame of a painting, knocking it askew. She straightened it, moved a few more inches to her right and tried again. She wished she could pass the time by snapping a few pictures, but the president’s guards had forbidden her to take photographs in the private wing of the palace. “Is it always this boring?”

  “Boring is good,” Tyler said. “When things get exciting there’s usually a problem.”

  “It seems we were in a big rush to get here and all we end up doing is holding up the wallpaper.”

  “It’s the army way.”

  “Huh. ‘They also serve—’”

  “‘Who only stand and wait,’” he finished.

  She blinked. A cowboy who knew his Milton? “Let me guess. Your sisters made you read poetry.”

  “Something like that.”

  “By the way, where’s that big gun of yours today?”

  “I left my rifle upstairs.”

  She leaned sideways to study him. There were no obvious bulges under his jacket. Nothing that couldn’t be accounted for, anyway. “You’ve got to be carrying a weapon someplace.”

  “We always come prepared for the job.”

  “You don’t want to get specific, do you?”

  “It wouldn’t be relevant to your story.”

  “How would you know? A lot of readers would like to learn—” What you’ve got hidden under your clothes. She tamped down the thought. “They’d like to know exactly what a soldier does on an undercover mission,” she finished. “Major Redinger said you’d cooperate with m
e, remember?” He grunted.

  “And that reminds me, you haven’t yet told me what kind of soldiers you are. Only the major wears a uniform. Are you from the Special Forces?” When he didn’t reply, she tried again. “You might as well tell me, because I’m going to keep asking until you do.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah. Okay, that’s what I thought. You’re commandos, right?”

  “We’re just soldiers, ma’am.”

  She glanced at the closed doors again. “Come to think of it, I remember reading something about the envoy’s father when he was in the Gulf. General Haggerty used to move around with a group of Special Forces guys for bodyguards. He didn’t really need them. He just thought they looked cool in their black outfits. He was able to make a great entrance whenever he walked into a room surrounded by his personal ninjas. I think they were from Delta Force.” She focused on Tyler again. “Like you, right?”

  “I was in grammar school during the first Gulf War.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “Are you from Delta Force?”

  He hesitated, as he frequently did before he replied. Clearly he was weighing everything he told her concerning the mission. “Only Hollywood uses that name. The men you’ve met belong to Eagle Squadron. We’re from Operational Detachment Delta.”

  She pursed her lips in a silent whistle. The Hollywood name was fine with her. This was better than she could have hoped. How many reporters got the opportunity to be embedded with Delta Force commandos? They were notoriously secretive. This story would be hot. Almost as hot as these commandos.

  But that particular fact definitely wasn’t relevant to her story, she told herself. It made no difference if each of the men she had met happened to be incredibly handsome in their own, individual ways. Vic Gonzales had his brooding, Latin good looks. Jack Norton had a lean and hungry predator aura. Kurt Lang reminded her of Wolverine without the hardware and bad hair, and Duncan Colbert could have posed for a book cover as a buccaneer. Of course, none of them came close to Tyler with regards to sheer, physical magnetism.