Wrenching her gaze from his unyielding profile, she hugged her knees tighter and fought to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Can you at least tell me how much longer it is until we get there?”
“That post up ahead marks the driveway.” As he spoke, the car slowed. His gaze flickered to her through the rearview mirror. “I should’ve added that I wish you could be in charge of your own fate. And I’m sorry it’s not that way for you anymore.”
“Thank you.” And for whatever reason, she felt better. Like at least he cared enough to feel sorry for her.
The car turned left onto a narrow road at a steep incline.
A radio chirped to life somewhere at the front of the car. “This is Montgomery. Devil, do you copy?” The male voice was strained, his words rushed.
He lifted a radio. “Copy. We’re here, right on schedule.”
“Abort the mission. We’re taking fire.”
He slammed on the brakes. “You’re what?” For the first time since they started driving, his tone held a note of concern.
“The safe house has been compromised,” the man on the radio—Montgomery—said. “We’re under attack. We can’t—”
The radio signal cut out.
Chapter 4
A series of gunshots sounded nearby. Cursing, Diego threw the car into Reverse. No time or space to get turned around, so he barreled backward down the hill.
“Get low,” he said. “Cover your head and don’t get up until I tell you.”
Thank God Vanessa didn’t fight him on it. She threw herself to the floor behind his seat.
He negotiated the final turn before they reached the main road at a speed that sent the tires skidding, but he muscled the car back under his control in time to see three vehicles stopped at the intersection of the driveway and the road, blocking him in. He stomped on the brakes.
They opened fire. Diego slouched in his seat. The rear window shattered, but at least Vanessa was on the floor. He reached onto his belt for a grenade and lobbed it through the broken window.
The gunfire stopped. Shouts sounded behind him as he jammed the gear into Drive and ground his foot on the accelerator, his goal the fire access road thirty meters ahead. Not a second later, a huge blast propelled the car forward. Through the mirror, he watched a cloud of smoke and flame belch into the sky. Looked like all three cars took a hit, though two men on foot had escaped the blast.
They ran toward his car, shooting, but there was no time to worry about them. Two armored SUVs appeared ahead, coming straight at him from up the driveway. He hooked his rifle out the window, threw the car back in Reverse and got busy squeezing off rounds at the same time a hooded man popped up through the sunroof of one of the armored SUVs and took aim.
Firing at the shooter and driving with his knee, he reached for another grenade, pulled the pin and stuffed it in his rifle-mounted launcher.
Aiming at the open sunroof, he fired. Rather than dropping through the sunroof, it caught on the hood up close to the windshield. Good enough.
The SUV driver must’ve figured out he had a live grenade hooked to his vehicle because the car screeched to a stop. The shooter from the sunroof leapt onto the roof and slid over the windshield, his arm out to knock the grenade off. He was nearly to it when it exploded, blocking the second SUV from passing but not stopping the passengers of that car from firing at them through the smoke and flame of the demolished lead car.
The bushes and trees lining the road were too thick for him to blaze a path through, so the only option he could see besides heading out on foot was to muscle his way past the burning cars at the base of the driveway.
He stretched his rifle over the backseat.
“Stay down, Vanessa,” he commanded before spraying rounds through the blown-out rear window at the blast survivors. One dropped and the other ran for cover in the forest.
Diego swung the rifle forward again and emptied the rest of the rounds at the still-shooting SUV as he gave the car more gas, working up a nice, powerful helping of backward momentum.
“Impact,” he barked.
The rear of their car slammed hard into a burning vehicle. The force whipped their car around, spinning it head-on into the second car. Somehow, and he wasn’t sure how he accomplished it, he spun the wheels in reverse and zipped backward through the opening he’d created between the cars and the shoulder of the road.
He kept up the spinning, ramming one of the cars out of the way behind them, until he saw open road. Working the brake pedal, he pushed the gear to Drive and got them the hell out of there.
He remained silent until the battle was out of sight, coming down from the adrenaline spike. That had been close. Way closer than he liked when it came to protecting an asset. He should’ve known better than to accept the safe house ICE had chosen—the long, isolated driveway was way too convenient for someone to stage an ambush. Bugged the hell out of him that he hadn’t seen it coming.
He shook off his building aggravation. There’d be time enough later to beat himself up over what he’d allowed to happen. “You okay?”
“I think so.” Her voice was shaky.
“You’re not sure?” If she were injured, he’d have to rethink his whole getaway plan.
“No. I’m sure. Not hurt. Just rattled.”
Women. They could transform an easy question into something complicated. His sisters were the queens of that sort of crap. In his world, everything was black-and-white. Save who needs saving; kill who needs killing. Bam. It was that simple.
Sighing through his nose, he lifted his radio. “Crew, do you copy? How close are you to the safe house?”
“Copy, Devil. We’re two clicks away,” Ryan said.
“Abort mission. Safe house was ambushed.”
“Are you and the asset all right?” Alicia asked.
“We’re fine. On the road again. What do you think the chances are that someone in ICE leaked the operation to the Chiara brothers?”
“Either that or there’s a bug on the asset. No other way for the safe house to come under attack,” Ryan said. “How do you want us to play it?”
“Dreyer and Montgomery were fighting hostiles when we beat it out of there. I’m not sure it’s the right call for you to blast in there like the friggin’ National Guard and save them, since we don’t know who we can trust anymore. If you decide to go in there, watch your backs.”
“What’s your plan, Devil?” Rory asked.
“I’m calling a Leroy. And I suggest you all do the same. Do you copy?”
“Copy on the Leroy,” Alicia said. “Eight Ball and I are close enough to the safe house that we can see Panama army helicopters buzzing the area. Troops are moving in. There’s nothing we can do to assist without getting caught by the wrong people.”
It was a relief that his crew agreed with him about going Leroy, rather than jumping into the fray. “Ghost Rider, Thriller, you copy, too?”
“We’re here. Copy on the Leroy.”
“Okay, then. Stay safe. We check in tonight no matter what, then decide what we want to do.”
“Good luck,” Ryan said. “See you on the flip side.”
* * *
It took Vanessa a few tries to string enough words together to ask a question. She pushed up onto the seat and smoothed an unsteady hand over her skirt. “Tell me what’s going on. Please.”
“You probably already guessed that your chat with Uncle Sam is a no-go. The rendezvous place is under attack, presumably by the men who are after you. The mission’s been aborted.” The way he said it, he could’ve been talking about the results of last Sunday’s ball game. Like there was nothing life could throw his way that would scare him, nothing that would rattle him to the core.
And maybe that was
a good thing, because Vanessa was terrified enough for the both of them.
“What are we going to do? I mean, your mission’s aborted, but you’re going to stay with me, right? Is that part of whatever the Leroy plan is? The man on the radio, Eight Ball, said the asset could be bugged. That’s me, right? I’m the asset?”
He swerved right, onto a dirt road she hadn’t noticed. The highway disappeared behind a curtain of trees. “You’re the asset, yeah.”
She fingered her dress shirt, royally spooked by the idea that she might have a tracking device somewhere on her body. “Okay, so how do I know if the bad guys planted a tracking device on me? I’ve got to get it off.”
He afforded her a passing glance through the rearview mirror. “We’re not going to try to find it. If they bugged you, it’ll be on your clothes. Grab the bag by your feet.”
Inside the brown paper bag she hadn’t noticed before, she discovered a complete change of clothes in her size, including sneakers and undergarments. Without removing the bra from the bag, she fingered the cream-colored, satiny material, her cheeks flushing. The matching panties were edged in lace.
Had he chosen them for her?
As if in response to her silent question, he looked out the side window, clearing his throat. “Phoenix, uh, Alicia, on my team, bought those. I have no idea if she got the right fit. I...” His voice trailed off. He adjusted the rifle lying across his lap and shook his head again.
The car slowed to a stop on the edge of the road. He slung the rifle strap over his shoulder and opened his door. Once out of the car, he ducked to look at her. “After you change, I’ll destroy your old clothes. When we’re back on the road, I’ll do my best to answer your questions. Be fast about it, will you? We’re killing time.”
He closed the door and set his back to her, facing toward the road with the rifle in his arms, his posture vigilant. Protecting her. She counted the weapons she could see. Besides the massive rifle he held, there was a handgun in a shoulder holster, another strapped to his thigh and a third on his belt. Two knives on the belt, along with an array of other cartridges and cases she couldn’t name.
Studying him, knowing he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone get to her for the moment, she allowed the silence and warmth of the car to wash over her like a wave of calm. She removed the bulletproof vest and released a long, slow exhale for the first time since before she’d copied the account files onto the zip drive that afternoon.
The zip drive.
She wormed her fingers into her pocket and brought out the drive. With all that had happened, she’d forgotten about it. Perhaps the best plan would’ve been to drop it into the paper bag to destroy it along with the clothes, but the chauffeur’s advice came back to her about playing her cards close to the vest. So instead, she set it on the seat.
With one eye on her protector’s back, she wiggled out of her skirt and panties. The panties from the bag were a perfect fit. Over them, she pulled up a pair of roomy khaki pants and tucked the zip drive into the front pocket.
As she unbuttoned her blouse, her eyes slid along the curve of the chauffeur’s spine. There was a mesmerizing juxtaposition of physics at work in his muscled build. Though his physique seemed carved from stone, he gave the impression he could move effortlessly and instantaneously in any direction, as if he were solid and fluid at the same time. Constantly at the ready, yet relaxed.
Reaching behind her, she unclasped her bra. Heat was building in the closed car. The bra stuck to her perspiring skin as she peeled it away. She was confident he wouldn’t turn around, but she still felt exposed, admiring a strange man’s body while partially nude. She blotted the perspiration on her chest with her discarded blouse, then fitted the new bra and stretchy white T-shirt on.
The socks and sneakers went on last. His crew member Alicia had even chosen the right size shoe for her. Maybe she should’ve been creeped out that someone she’d never met knew her every measurement, but her mind was too full of real problems to care. She stuffed her old clothes in the bag and then stepped outside.
He turned and looked down her body with dark, inscrutable eyes. A muscle in his jaw near his ear rippled.
“Everything fits,” she said lamely, handing him the bag. “It’s nice to have shoes again.”
Walking to the middle of the road, he peeked inside and she was extra glad she’d stuffed the underwear to the bottom. He set the bag on the ground and reached for a canister on his belt, emptying the liquid over the paper. An accelerant, if she had to guess. Next from his belt came a match. The bag burst into flames.
Watching fire consume the last of her possessions, an unexpected ache started inside her, like her very being had been bruised. She drew a ragged breath, then clutched her upper arms. Besides the few trinkets she kept at her cubicle in the bank, she had nothing left.
“I’ve been thinking about the questions you asked.”
She wrenched her gaze from the burning clothes and watched him move toward her, his eyes radiating the same unflappable grit he’d exhibited from the moment she first saw him.
“You wanted to know if I’m going to let the bad guys get you or if I’m going to help you, even though the mission was aborted.”
Though her heart rate picked up in anticipation of his answer, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. If he didn’t offer his help freely, she’d fight for it. Beg if she had to. Her survival depended on him. “I don’t know who else I can trust. I don’t have a car or family here, and my ATM card and ID were probably lost when my apartment blew up. I don’t know how I could stay safe without your help.”
He stopped more than an arm’s length away, his hands loose on top of his rifle, his posture that of a soldier at rest. “Do you know what my job is?”
Was that a trick question? “You’re the chauffeur.”
He nodded. “And do you know why my bosses signed me up to be your driver?”
“No.”
“Because the people I’m assigned to help, they come out the other end of trouble without a scratch on them. That’s my job—keep the asset safe or die trying. Do I look dead to you?”
She inhaled and shook her head.
“That’s right.” He opened his arms and let the rifle hang from its strap around his shoulder. “The fact that I am standing here with you in the middle of this god-forsaken jungle means I have a perfect record when it comes to protecting people. I don’t mess up. I don’t fail. And I’m sure as hell not going to screw up that reputation with you. Are we clear?”
They weren’t pretty words, but they were the most comforting she’d ever heard. He didn’t know her, yet he’d protect her with his life. She was going to be okay. Relief snapped the dam of her emotions. She gritted her teeth and stared at the dirt near his boots.
There was no way, in her lifetime, she could repay him or adequately express her gratitude. He could claim all he wanted about this being a job for him, but this was her life they were talking about. “I think it’s time to tell me your name, because I’m not going to call you Devil.”
Perhaps she’d caught him off guard because he pulled his face back. Then he stepped closer and stuck out his hand for her to shake. “ICE Special Agent Diego Santero.”
She’d dealt with Immigration and Customs agents off and on over the years with her job at the bank, but none of them looked remotely like the man whose hand currently enveloped hers in a confident handshake. A ripple of awareness coursed through her. “Nice to meet you, Agent Santero.”
He released her hand and reestablished the space between them. “Diego’s fine. But I’m not sure how nice it is. Most civilians, if they have to meet me, that means they’re having the worst day of their lives.”
That was certainly true for her. Her eyes slid to the clothes bag, now a smoldering pile. Bits of gray ash swirled in the breeze. Her life would nev
er be the same again. She swallowed and blinked, working to regain control of her emotions.
“You’re not going to cry, are you?”
The ludicrous question jarred her from her trancelike melancholy. Diego’s brow was furrowed and his lips had stretched into a cringe. He fidgeted with the rifle, his gaze darting anxiously to the car as though he was contemplating escape. Here was a man who’d jumped onto the roof of a moving minivan, shot and killed at least one man and shielded her from an explosion with his body...and yet he was threatened by the possibility of a few tears?
Despite everything she’d been through and her fear of the future, a spark of affection had her biting her cheeks to hide a grin. Apparently there wasn’t much difference between the college football players her dad coached and macho military alphas. Nothing brought them to their knees faster than the threat of genuine emotional expression.
She drilled him with her best offended look and set her hands on her hips. “I might cry. What are you going to do about it?”
He squirmed, then scratched his head. His eyes shifted to the car again, then the jungle beyond. “Look, forget I said that.”
She shouldn’t mess with him, really. This man was the only thing standing between her and certain death at the hands of a whole bunch of bad guys—but she couldn’t help it. She sniffed to draw his gaze back to her, then blinked hard, jarring a tear loose. It started a slow roll over her cheek.
He stared at her, his eyes dark and serious. Then he startled and took off in a fast stride to the car. “Time for us for bolt. The longer we’re on the grid, the more danger you’re in.”
He opened the backseat door for her and jumped into the driver seat.
Yep. Her assessment had been right. The man of steel had a soft and gooey center. She settled into the seat, contemplating that revelation as she watched the play of skin and muscle on his arm as he shifted the car into gear and pulled onto the road.
Tempted Into Danger Page 5
