by Wendy Davy
Cara sputtered and coughed; milk spewed onto the table.
“Guess not?” In spite of the circumstances, Gage was beginning to enjoy this.
“Not.” She managed to choke out as she dabbed a napkin to her lips and cleaned up the mess. “I do not sleep around. In fact, I’ve never slept with anyone…” Her face turned crimson as blood flowed through every nook and cranny of her neck, face and tips of her ears. She scooted back her chair. “Which is also none of your business. I need some air.”
Gage needed air as well. He had suspected she was innocent, but not that innocent. How had their conversation become so personal? Why had a seed of respect and admiration for her begun to grow? Unsure of the answers, he opted for the quickest escape route. “I’ll clear the dishes and then meet you outside.”
7
Cara’s embarrassment followed her all the way across the beach, dogging her every step. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Still warm. Of all the things to admit to a man she barely knew, she had to tell him that? He’d coaxed out the answer as if he hadn’t even been trying.
She stepped barefoot through the sand until the ocean waves touched her toes. The crashing surf lulled her mind, calming her senses, and easing her strain. In this environment, it was hard to remain on edge. It was also difficult to imagine someone wanted to kill her.
She breathed in the salty air and looked to the sky. Pink, coral and charcoal gray clouds decorated the horizon. She closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth. Oh, how she wished this was a vacation she could enjoy.
“If you’d like to see farther out into the ocean, you can climb the watchtower.” Gage’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“What kind of beach house has a watchtower?” She shielded her eyes from the glaring sun and looked past him. A tall steel structure stood to the left and behind the house. It looked like some sort of old fashioned fire tower. “Yours does. Of course.” Her stomach somersaulted at the idea of climbing to those heights.
Gage lifted his arms out wide, and his cane dangled in the air. “All this used to be a Coast Guard station.”
Aside from the two story house, a few other separate buildings sat along the sand. One looked to be a double car garage, the other structure matched the house with its wooden shingles, but Cara couldn’t tell what Gage used it for. Wooden sidewalks ran a maze between the buildings and the watchtower, while a ramshackle pier jetted out to the right, with only thick pilings remaining.
“Where’s the other pier? The one we tied the boat to?” Cara tried to gain her bearings.
“Behind the house. That old pier you’re looking at was destroyed during Hurricane Isabel, along with a couple of other houses on the island.”
She eyed Gage’s house. It looked as if it could withstand a beating. “Yours survived.”
“That it did.”
“Aren’t you afraid nature will claim it one day? It’s quite a risk for such an investment.” An errant wave caught her by surprise, soaking her pant legs. She scurried up the beach, stepping on hoards of shells. Pain radiated through her tender feet, and she tiptoed to a safer spot.
“Shoes are a good idea out here.” He indicated his hefty work boots. “And, to answer your question, I’m not afraid of losing the house. Nothing in this world is permanent anyway.” A shadow crossed his features as if his remark held a deeper meaning.
Cara studied Gage as he looked out toward the sea. She may not know much about him, but she did know the look of someone with a lot going on inside. “You speak as if you’ve lost something, or someone important.”
He tore his gaze from the ocean, and pierced her with a glare. “Haven’t we all?”
“I suppose. By the time you get to be our age—”
“Our age?” He scoffed. “What are you? Twenty-five?”
“I’m twenty-seven, if you must know.” Oh, drat. He’d done it again. He maneuvered information out of her without even trying. And, her age at that. What was next? Her weight?
“I’m thirty-three and a good deal more experienced than you.”
Was he referring to experience with losing people, or other kinds of experiences? She hoped she didn’t start to blush again. She cleared her throat and swiped away loose strands of hair. “What’s your point?”
“Don’t try and figure me out.”
“So, you’re older and wiser. I can’t understand what you’ve been through? Is that right?”
He stepped so close she had to look up to keep eye contact. “That’s right,” he whispered.
Aware of his large masculine presence taking up her personal space, Cara wanted to move back but refused to let him intimidate her. Instead, she poked him in the chest. “I may not know where you come from or where you’ve been, but I do know one thing. You, Mr. McKenna, are a bully.”
His lips parted, his eyes widened. Then, he had the nerve to laugh.
“I don’t see what’s so funny.” She stomped past him, regretting the action as hard-edged sea shells dug into her feet.
“I give you a place to sleep, cook breakfast for you, and offer you protection. That makes me a bully?” He called after her.
She stopped mid-stride, turned and glared at him. “You didn’t offer anything. Jonas coerced you into allowing me to come here. You cooked breakfast for yourself, and as far as giving me a place to sleep”—a nudge of conscience told her to stop talking, but she didn’t want to—”that military style bedroom is about as warm and inviting as you are. The mattress is so hard I’d rather sleep on the floor.”
Gage narrowed his eyes, shifted his weight to his right leg, and planted the cane into the sand. “That can be arranged.” He crossed his arms.
“You big, overbearing…” She crossed her arms too, mimicking his stance. “I want off of this island and away from you.”
“That also can be arranged.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Call Jonas. Have him come and get me.” She tapped her foot in the sand.
“No can do. He’s in Columbia. Besides, I wouldn’t put him in danger because you’re having a tantrum.”
She sucked in an offended breath. “I am not…oh, never mind.” She turned and strode toward one of the outbuildings. Perhaps she had gone a little too far, but a tantrum? This man was infuriating.
“Where are you going?” Gage grumbled.
A bright flash of light caught her eye, and she searched the marshland beyond Foley Creek. The blinding light appeared again, this time she pointed toward it. “What’s—”
Before she could finish her sentence, a harsh blow knocked the wind from her lungs, stealing her words and her breath. She catapulted forward. Her head snapped back and pain radiated along her spine. She slammed into the sand with such force she welcomed the darkness overcoming her.
8
Gage covered Cara’s warm body with his, shielding her head with an arm as he tugged his handgun from an ankle holster. “Stay down.”
She stirred and gasped for breath, spitting out sand. “What’s happening?”
Gage lifted some of his weight, easing the pressure of his body on hers, but still kept her covered. “That flash of light could’ve come from a sniper rifle’s scope.”
Her muscles tensed. “Did someone shoot at us?”
“Not yet.” If there was a skilled marksman out there targeting them, they probably would’ve been fired upon by now. But, he wasn’t willing to take any chances. “When I say go, we’re going to run until we reach the cover of the nearest building. Got it?”
“Won’t that make us more of a target?”
“We can’t stay here. Let’s go. Now.” He grabbed Cara by the arm, hauled her up and moved as fast as he could with his injured leg.
By the time they arrived at the building’s side, the assailant could’ve squeezed off several rounds. But, nothing happened. The breeze continued to blow, the waves continued to crest. Seagulls and sand pipers went about their normal routine.
Gage released Cara’s arm, and she p
lastered herself against the building’s wooden shingles. Her skin had paled, and tears pooled in her wide eyes. His earlier irritation vanished, and he gave her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “I’m going to see what’s going on. Stay here.”
Her fingers wrapped around his. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you.” He didn’t need to add a promise to that. His word was his word. The sooner she learned that, the better.
Gage untangled his hand from hers and edged toward the building’s corner. His boots sank into the sand with each step, and a burning sensation ignited in his knee. Sweat seeped from his pores as he peeked around the side.
He scanned the marsh, concentrating on the area he’d seen the flash. Nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention. He checked out the inlet, and his gaze landed on a trawler floating through Foley Creek. The sun caught the windshield, and the flash appeared again. “It’s a boat.” His knotted muscles relaxed. “The sun’s reflecting against the glass.” Gage returned to Cara. “It’s a just a fishing vessel.”
“Are you sure?” Fear resonated deep within her eyes.
“I’m sure.”
Her shoulders sagged in relief. “I think I’ve had enough excitement. Can we go inside?”
“Change your mind about wanting to leave?” He’d agreed to protect her, but he would not hold her against her will. “If you’re going to stay with me, you have to want to.”
“I…I want to stay.” Her gaze strayed to the gun in his hand. “Do you have another one of those I could use?”
“Do you know how to handle a gun?”
“You could teach me.”
“We’ll see.” He set the safety on his gun and bent to shove it into his holster. Searing pain shot through his knee. His leg gave out, and he ended up in the sand.
Cara hurried forward, offering a hand up.
Gage despised needing assistance. So used to caring for himself, and others, this burden seemed too much to bear.
“It’s OK to need help from time to time.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He took her hand, cursing Mercado beneath his breath. Once on his feet, he limped toward the cane.
“I’ll get it.” Cara took a step forward.
“Don’t.” Gage pushed himself to the limit, but managed to get the cane. Not that the stick did that much good in the sand, but having something to lean on kept him upright. He made his way across the beach and entered the house with Cara close behind. He shut and locked the door, sank onto the couch, and begged God for mercy. “I need those pills. The ones on the nightstand in my room.”
Cara retrieved the bottle and brought a glass of water along with it. “You moved pretty fast out there. One minute I’m concentrating on fighting with you, and the next I’m on the ground with a two-ton gorilla on my back.”
“Gorilla? I thought I was a bully?”
Cara sank onto the couch next to Gage and let out a breath. “Yeah, about that…I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes you did.” He had been trying to intimidate her. Now, a touch of guilt nudged him. She wasn’t as tough as she’d like to appear. She’d been frightened out there. “You OK?”
Her eyes moistened again, and she rubbed away residual sand from her cheeks. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”
He could relate. He shifted, and his leg screamed for relief. He tapped out two prescription pain killers and swallowed them. His physical pain should ease within half an hour. He had no doubt his mental struggles would last much longer.
He had protected Cara from a boat today, what would’ve happened if it had been the real thing? Could he have saved her?
“It must be difficult to have a career stolen from you in the prime of your life.” Her soft voice broke as her eyes filled with compassion. “Is spying all you’ve ever known?”
“I’m not a spy.”
“Right. You mentioned that.” She settled back onto the sofa. “Are you a mercenary?”
“Nope.”
She fiddled with the edges of a throw pillow. “CIA?”
Gage tensed. She was getting too close. “You’ve been reading too many novels.” He flung an arm across the back of the sofa. His fingertips brushed Cara’s shoulder. To his amazement, she didn’t shy away.
“Do they teach you the art of evading answers in the FBI? ‘Cause you’re pretty good at it.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Wrong again, but nice try.”
9
Popayan, Columbia
As Alejandro Mercado strolled through the fields toward the makeshift lab, he ran his fingers over luscious coca leaves, enjoying the feeling of power rushing through his veins. The rainy season had begun, creating an ideal atmosphere for many acres of thirsty crops.
With his carefully planned infrastructure working to his advantage, as soon as he found the woman, no one, not even the Americans would be able to stop him. He would earn the money to pay his debt to Serrano, and have enough left over to build his own army. A satisfied smile played across his lips.
His people knew to expect his arrival, but as Alejandro approached the lab, he ordered his men to surround the area. He hadn’t built his empire by taking unnecessary risks, and he wasn’t going to start today.
As he stepped beneath the canopy of vegetation camouflaging the lab, his excitement mounted. It had been too long since he’d seen his operations first hand. Carlos had taken up much of his time lately. Raising his son was a worthy cause, but time consuming nonetheless.
Shouts came from underneath the tented area. About thirty workers paused in their duties, and then upon recognizing his face, got back to work with diligence. Alejandro strode through the small area, inspecting the rustic, yet efficient operation.
When he found the pile of end product, he let the white powdery substance sift between thick fingers. He sampled it. A hush fell over the workers, as if they held breaths. One quivering young boy stood next to him.
Pleased with the purity, Alejandro squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Bueno.”
The group began to breathe again, and the boy smiled, showing crooked teeth. Although a bit older, he looked as innocent as Carlos. “What is your name? How old are you?” Alejandro demanded.
“Pedro.” The boy straightened his shoulders. “I just turned twelve.”
Alejandro eyed the boy who was young enough to circumvent suspicion when transporting the drug, yet old enough to understand the consequences of failure. “You’ll make a good mule.”
The boy’s smile faded.
“You’ll earn four times the pesos for your family. You’ll get to see Mexico and Puerto Rico. Perhaps even America.”
A gleam of hope entered his young eyes.
“Come with us.” Alejandro signaled one of his men to take the boy. A woman began to protest, probably the boy’s mother, but he gave her one hard look and she tucked under her chin and quieted.
Satisfied with his discovery, Alejandro finished his visit and gathered his men. As they hiked to the awaiting SUVs, sweat beaded along his temples and trickled down his neck. He made sure Pedro settled into a vehicle with the others and then climbed into his personal SUV. He instructed his driver to start the engine, and cool air conditioning surrounded him. Even with the relief, his mood spiraled downward as his thoughts turned toward what awaited him at home.
“Let’s go.”
The driver shifted into gear, and they began their lengthy return trip. Once in range, he checked his cell phone for messages. None. His nephews had yet to call with an identity of the American woman. He fisted his hands as his impatience grew. Time was running out for those two. He’d turn them into mules along with Pedro if he thought they wouldn’t mess it up. Although, if they did get caught smuggling, they would no longer be his problem.
Alejandro stored away the idea for future consideration.
His phone sounded and he answered, half expecting to hear Santiago’s voice.
“I have an important client you must
meet within three days.” Serrano’s grating tone came through.
Alejandro’s blood drained to his toes, and he cleared his throat. “Where?” Please don’t let it be in the States.
“New York City.”
A wave of dizziness washed over him. “Sir, I don’t think—”
“Is there a problem?”
Alejandro recognized Serrano’s underlying threat. “No. No problem,” he lied.
The woman was a problem. If she decided to talk to the authorities, he wouldn’t make it into the country without being detained.
Serrano sucked in a breath, probably inhaling one of his imported cigars. After he exhaled, he continued. “Good. The rest I’ll tell you after you get there.” He paused. “This deal must go through. You owe me.”
Alejandro’s palms grew sticky. “Of course.” He had promised Serrano a huge payday, and although he despised bowing down to this tyrant, failure was not an option. “I’ll be there.”
He disconnected. The stakes had risen. He could no longer afford to wait on Santiago and Rafael. He had ties in multiple countries to dignitaries, politicians, and all levels of rankings inside domestic and foreign governments. But, who should he contact?
He recalled the incident the woman had witnessed. He’d been over the scene many times in his head, but he’d never come up with an acceptable answer as to why an American woman would be traipsing through the Columbian rainforest alone. How had she stumbled upon one of the most remote villages outside of Cartagena? Unless…
She’d followed someone. But, who?
Aside from himself, his men and the traitor he’d disposed of, there were no others there that day. Then, he remembered. His most successful mule had come to pick up a shipment. The man had more luck getting drugs across the border than any he’d ever known. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t luck after all.
Alejandro sat straighter, picked up his cell phone and dialed a number as a plan began forming in his mind. If this man had anything to hide, he had ways of finding out.
“Hello?” A familiar male voice answered.
