by Kim McMahill
Olivia reentered the room with long graceful strides, a pitcher of tea and a fifth of scotch balanced on a tray. Cash helped himself to the scotch and dropped onto the sofa, dragging Diane with him. He put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close, and pressed his lips to her temple.
“Sorry I’m such a jerk. I’m just so frustrated. I had that chunk of crystal in my hands and lost it. Thanks for covering my back and putting up with me. I knew you’d be a heck of a field agent, if you ever got the chance, and you proved yourself tenfold on your first day out.”
“Wish I could have gotten to the hacienda quicker. I guess I’ve lost of little bit of my long-distance speed since college.” She patted his knee and pecked his cheek.
“Probably all the beer we drink. Maybe we’d better switch to scotch,” he said as he winked at Diane, then took a long gulp from his glass.
“I’ll stick to beer,” she replied, wrinkling her nose at his drink and resting her head on his shoulder. She was exhausted, and she couldn’t stay mad. Despite his rough edges, she never doubted the depth of his feelings for her. Like all women who laid eyes on Cash, Diane had hoped for more than a close friendship when they first met, but the more time they spent together, the more she cherished their relationship. Every now and then, she still wondered what it would feel like to have those strong arms wrapped around her in a lover’s embrace, but she would accept what they had and never regret what they didn’t.
Once everyone took a seat and got comfortable, Cash explained what transpired in Mexico, including locating the crystal, only to lose it. He hated admitting failure. His only consolation was in taking out one of the murdering thieves. Unfortunately, the body did little to shed light on the group behind the devastation, since the man he shot was Marjorie’s assistant, Kamal, a player already identified.
“Your turn,” Cash said as he finished his story.
“Wow, and I thought we had excitement,” Pete replied, stunned by the events, but too wired up about his and Ian’s adventure to hold his story in for long.
Cash’s head still hurt from the physical beating he took in Mexico, and listening to Pete and Ian excitedly talking over each other, gesturing as they described how Ian had discovered the destroyed boat and had reached the beach undetected didn’t help. They spoke like kids on a sugar high as they relayed how Ian tracked the noise of the Jet Skis, gunshots, and flashes of light from shore to try to catch up with Pete. They explained how Pete eluded the three attackers, found a pool they believed to be the Healing Hole, and the tunnels feeding the legendary waters.
Emotions had no place in a typical mission, Cash thought as he studied the expressions on everyone’s faces. In his experience, a criminal’s motive generally revealed itself early in an investigation, but in this instance, the objective continued to prove elusive, and nothing about this operation followed any previous mold. When Pete described what he saw in the dead-end room, the scientist’s energy waned, his shoulders sagged and Cash sensed him drifting away—back to the cramped dark tunnel that almost claimed his life.
Olivia moved to Pete, took his hand in hers, and stroked it. “Pete, what happened next?” she whispered.
“I’m not sure. Tell them, Ian.”
Ian jumped back into the story and explained how he found the tunnels, followed the voices, and discovered the exit to what Pete believed to be a dead end. He described how he had planned to burst in and save the day, but when he pulled the door, Pete fell through, so instead, he closed the slab and blocked the way, preventing anyone from following. They then waited until certain the others had left and backtracked the way Ian had come.
“From there, we hiked to Alice Town, located a phone and called the CIA, but didn’t tell them or the Bahamian authorities about the relic that was taken from the room. They sent for us, we made a quick trip back to Langley, and here we are. Pete hadn’t found the renowned Healing Hole, but had stumbled across a similar pond connected to the fabled hole by the network of tunnels he discovered. The Bahamian authorities speculate the hurricane, which decimated large sections of mangrove last fall, made it possible for Pete to make it through the usually impenetrable forest and find the unknown pool. Anyway, we contacted Diego and Marjorie. They haven’t experienced any excitement yet, but they’re working an interesting angle, and they have a lead in Salta, Argentina they’re following up on as we speak,” Ian said.
“Well, thank goodness our governments put their best on this operation,” Cash mumbled sarcastically as he toasted the group and then drained its contents. “Maybe the civilian archeologist will have better luck than us well-trained agents.”
“I bloody well hope,” Ian added. “I feel like we’re foxes barely keeping ahead of the hounds. And, from everything that’s happened so far, these are some really bad dogs.”
The group sat in silence, mulling over the details of their individual missions.
“Well, at least we’re all still alive,” Pete stated, emerging out of the fog created by recalling his brush with death, and the adorned room with the mesmerizing crystal head in the ornate golden chest.
“But not one step closer to the truth. Unless anyone remembers anything else, I think we could all use some sleep. Can you put us up again, or do we need to find a hotel?” Cash asked as he stood and refilled his glass.
Before Olivia could answer, Pete leapt to his feet, an expression of triumph on his face.
“Actually, I do. I know who’s behind this…I mean, you know who’s behind this,” Pete stated. “Or, at least she knows you. The woman who tried to kill me in the tunnels mentioned you by name—said she was disappointed not to have the opportunity to test her new filet knife on you.”
Cash stopped and whirled around. “What’d she look like?” he demanded.
“Thin, voluptuous, hair the color of midnight, and almond eyes the most unusual shade of green I’ve ever seen.”
The glass slipped from Cash’s fingers, but landed on the carpet, dowsing any dramatic effect. His hand remained frozen in mid-air and his tanned complexion paled.
“Who is she?” Diane asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I haven’t. Pete has. Zara lives.”
“No, it can’t be,” Diane hissed, knowing the story behind Cash’s fall from grace and the rumors about he and Zara’s steamy relationship. They had been partners until he stumbled across evidence that she was working both sides. Cash planned a sting to obtain proof, but the operation collapsed and resulted in a devastating explosion. When the smoke cleared, Zara was gone. Cash hadn’t tried to save her, certain he had been used, she was guilty, and his intel was valid. Everyone agreed Zara’s death was justice, but Diane knew Cash’s conscience ate at him. He never acquired the proof or allowed her the chance to defend herself. He confided in Diane once, after a night of too many drinks, and to her knowledge, he had never talked about that night with anyone else.
“Let’s get some rest,” Diane stated, issuing a warning glare to everyone in the room that the conversation was finished. She had no doubt Cash would tell them about Zara, but he needed time to come to grips with the information Pete had revealed.
“I’m exhausted,” Pete said as he stood, stretched, and yawned.
“Me too,” Ian added as they left Cash sitting on the sofa and headed for Olivia’s two guest rooms.
Cash slumped on the cushion, staring at nothing in particular. He didn’t even notice as Olivia blotted up the spilled drink, gathered the pizza boxes and plates, and left the room.
When Olivia returned ten minutes later, he still hadn’t moved, paralyzed with memories from the past. He had been partnered with Zara to keep close tabs on her, but he had been taken in by her, blinded to the warning signs until it was too late. The CIA never completely trusted her, but they needed her too much. No one was better in foreign ops. In places where he stood out, she blended in, and she never failed at an assignment.
“Here. Let me check your injuries.”
H
e nodded, but made no effort to take off the souvenir t-shirt he’d purchased in Mexico to replace the shirt destroyed at Señorita Ruiz’s hacienda.
Olivia eased the shirt over his head and dabbed at the scratches on his chest with a warm washcloth. Not until her fingers began tracing some of the deeper wounds, trying to determine if any debris still remained imbedded that might cause infection, did Cash acknowledge her close proximity. He reached up, grabbed her hand, and brought it to his lips.
He kissed her palm so gently that Olivia could taste his pain. Tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why his agony touched her so deeply, but it did. “I’m sorry,” was all she could think of to say, knowing it wasn’t enough.
They sat for several minutes in silence, hand in hand. Olivia hated to free herself from Cash’s warm touch, but she doubted he was ready to talk about Zara, and the guilt and fatigue in his lost eyes tore at her heart.
Olivia stood, easing out of Cash’s grasp. She placed her hands on his shoulders and gently maneuvered him back until he lay on the sofa. He didn’t resist as she unlaced his hiking boots and pulled them off, draped a blanket over him, and turned out the lamp. She touched her lips to his forehead and left him alone in the dark with his demons.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
September 26, 9:00 A.M.
Argentina
MARJORIE DIDN’T CARE that her doctor had instructed her to wear the sling for another two weeks. Her arm seldom hurt, and she was tired of looking like a liability. She slept last night for the first time since the Egypt explosion, but most of all, she was beginning to enjoy working with Diego. He didn’t treat her in the condescending way Cash did. He never insinuated being an archeologist and an academic, rather than an agent, diminished her contributions to the team. He seemed to value her opinion and accepted long silences with no discomfort.
So far, six hours into their journey to Salta where a historian knowledgeable on Argentina’s crystal relic lived, nothing unusual had happened. Marjorie cringed when the thought popped into her head. She pushed the nagging concern their luck was bound to change out of her mind and looked over at Diego’s perfect profile. No matter the time of day, a shadow always darkened his chin and the area above his lip, and his features bore sharp curves, all of which enhanced the aura of strength surrounding him.
Her gaze caught his attention. He flashed a sly grin that warmed her heart. She smiled back, her fine nearly-white blonde hair blowing in the wind as the Jeep sped down the road. They had kept off the main highways as they departed Buenos Aires and headed northwest. As they left the humid, lush coastal area behind, the landscape became somewhat arid and devoid of humans, which Marjorie relished. More often than not, people let her down, so she had learned to take solace in open, empty spaces and enjoy the freedom and adventure of her chosen profession.
“Are you sure you should have removed the sling? This is a very rough road, and it will probably get much worse.”
“My arm is fine. I only fractured the bone.”
“Still, those are often as painful as a break. You are lucky to be alive after what you went through, so I understand why you want to see this operation to the end. Just tell me if you experience any discomfort, and I’ll slow down, or we can rig a new sling.”
Marjorie had never met such a caring and intuitive person. He was too perfect, and that worried her. Raised by an alcoholic father after her mom ran out on them, she cleaned hotel rooms to pay for college. She’d fallen into one bad relationship after another, including her recent divorce from a dangerously handsome man who, apparently, couldn’t sleep alone when she was away for work, which made her leery of the easy path and attractive men.
As the heat of early afternoon peaked, they pulled off the road to put on the Jeep’s soft-top. Marjorie stepped back as she watched Diego dig through the canopy’s storage compartment and any others large enough to hold the item.
“Sorry. The top is not here. I should have checked when I verified the rest of our gear and supplies.”
“No need to apologize,” Marjorie stated, bending over the side of the Jeep, digging around in her bag. “I enjoy the fresh air.”
Marjorie sensed Diego’s eyes on her as she leaned into the vehicle. She supposed she should be offended—instead, she enjoyed the flush of heat racing through her body. She stood and turned to face him, reveling in the appreciation evident in his eyes.
“But you are very fair and your skin so delicate. I fear you will burn without shade,” he said, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.
She smiled and slapped a floppy well-worn hat on her head, securing the strap under her chin to keep it from blowing off once they resumed the drive. Stepping away from the Jeep, Marjorie unscrewed the cap from a tube of sun block, squeezed a generous dollop in her palm, and slathered the lotion on her skin. She felt his gaze follow each pass of her hand down her bare arms, shoulders, and chest exposed by her low-cut tank top. She finished by putting a white glob on her nose.
His head fell back with hearty laughter. “I see you have everything under control.”
Marjorie found his laugh delightful. His dark eyes danced as he touched the tip of her nose so gently, he didn’t even remove any sunscreen, yet the contact sent shivers down her spine.
“I may not be with the CIA or British Secret Intelligence Service, but I do work under harsh, often challenging, and sometimes deadly conditions when I’m in the field. I’m not as fragile and helpless as Cash believes.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. He’s the type who likes to work alone, and at the moment, he’s responsible for a sizeable group he knows little about. In his defense, it is difficult for a man to look at you and not want to protect you. But do not fear—in my mind I know you are more than capable. You proved your ability to survive in Egypt. It’s our male egos, among other things, that often get in the way of good judgment where beautiful women are concerned.”
This time it was Marjorie’s turn to laugh. She found nothing sexier than a man who admitted to his weaknesses with humor. They climbed back into the vehicle and resumed the trek toward Salta.
As they chatted about the countryside, Marjorie couldn’t help but stare at his fingers as they loosely griped the steering wheel. No rings. He seemed too good to be true. A flaw in his character must exist, and she doubted it would take long to uncover the imperfection. She hated playing games, so she opted for the direct approach.
“How does your girlfriend handle all the traveling?”
“With my work and travel schedule, dating is a lost cause. I can’t even remember the last time I was in a serious relationship. How about you?”
“No significant other. I was married until I discovered my ex-husband turned out to be afraid of the dark when left alone.”
“He must have been a coward as well as an idiot. I can’t imagine what kind of man could forget about such an angelic-looking woman with a determination of steel. I hope you don’t believe all men are afraid of the dark. I do some of my best work in dim lighting.”
Marjorie couldn’t think of any response, so conversation fell silent. The topic brought back such painful memories, but the sweetness of Diego’s words made her wonder if real, unshakable mutual love wasn’t a fairytale after all.
FROM THE MOMENT he saw her sitting at the conference room table in CIA headquarters with her arm slinged and her face battered, Diego was entranced. Under the scrapes and bruises, he appreciated the ivory skin and bone structure of a porcelain doll, but sadness and distance emanated from her in an invisible aura. When she rose, smiled, and took his hand in introduction, the shield evaporated and he sensed kindness and strength.
Diego acknowledge the stupidity and danger in allowing anyone to distract him, but being so close to Marjorie made it nearly impossible to keep his focus. He had argued with Cash about retaining Marjorie as part of the team and hoped he had pled her case for the right reasons. As he stole a glance at her delicate profile, he struggled to re
member the reasons and that they were involved in a very dangerous mission.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
September 27, 10:00 A.M.
Sedona, Arizona
OLIVIA WANDERED INTO the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She watched from the doorway as Cash stood in front of the stove frying something. She had never been particularly susceptible to good-looking men, but he exuded a magnetism she couldn’t fight. His body bore too many scars to be considered classically handsome and the rough edges added to his allure.
He wore only a faded pair of blue jeans, resting low on his narrow hips, and the sight nearly made her sigh aloud. The damage marring his tanned, muscular back reminded her of the dangers associated with his job, and of how little she knew of his past. She cringed at the sight of all the fresh wounds, though those accounted for only a small proportion of his total scars. He didn’t turn around as she closed the distance between them, but she had no doubt he was aware of her presence.
“Where did all these come from?” she asked, tracing a disfigurement running diagonally from his left shoulder and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.
She felt him tense the moment her fingers glided over his warm skin, but as she stroked his back, the tension drained away.
Cash clicked off the gas burner on the stove and turned toward Olivia, expecting her to retreat. She held her ground just inches in front of him as he placed his hands on her shoulders, enjoying the smooth silk of her short robe against his rough palms. Starring into her eyes, he recognized compassion and curiosity. He seldom talked about his past, and he never discussed the disastrous mission responsible for most of the scars, but for some reason, he wanted to tell Olivia.
“Here and there, but the majority are mementos from an assignment gone bad. A long-time trusted contact was supposed to meet my partner at a warehouse in Hong Kong, where she had arranged to sell him restricted documents, specifically a list of names and the locations of all our Middle East field agents. The buy was the proof I needed to expose her as a double-agent. Before the exchange could go down, an explosion rocked the warehouse. The entire structure collapsed. A metal beam crashed down across my back as I dove toward a blown-out window to escape the flames. The building, an abandoned fireworks factory, burned so thoroughly, the authorities found no bodies, not even the remains of the six agents I had staking out the place.”
