by Cherry Adair
He opened the door, and shut it behind him.
“Sit.” Riva plopped her butt down at the foot of the bed. “Clearly all these years of therapy aren’t working,” she muttered, unwinding her braid, then finger combing the long, thick strands with her fingers. Too damn thick, too long. When she got home she was going to shave it all off, and keep it that way. Nothing wrong with a bald operative. “A few hours with Sin Diaz and I’m reverting back to my mouthy-living-dangerously self.”
Getting to her feet, she put both hands behind her head and executed a tight French braid, tucking it underneath securely. “Stupid, Rimaldi, damn stupid.” She started to pace the small room. “You have to get a freaking grip here. He’s a Latin male, you know Latin males.” She had to be silent, and feminine, and not challenge his authority if she had a hope in hell of doing her job.
Surely he wouldn’t send her out into the jungle without some sort of weapon? Would he give her the SIG back? The knife? She’d be grateful for either.
The door opened, and she was on her feet. When she saw it was Sin, she breathed a sigh of relief and almost kissed him again, but she refrained. “That was quick.”
“Here, hurry and get dressed.” Sin tossed her clothing in a heap on the bed, and placed her black backpack on the chair. “We’re leaving.”
As Riva untangled pants from shirt from boots, Sin got a flash of smooth olive skin and a hint of silky, dark pubic hair before she zipped up.
“You’re taking me to Maza?”
“I’m your ticket there.” He was sorry to see that she’d tamed the wild tumble of her hair into a tight, complicated braid. Not a strand out of place. He liked her a little wilder looking. “If he’s still at the location you have.”
She found a sports bra and managed to pull it on under the cover of his T-shirt without flashing her tits.
Damn.
Sin felt an urgency he didn’t understand. But he trusted his gut, and his gut said to take this opportunity to get the hell out of camp. It was a flimsy as hell excuse. His reputation alone would lead anyone to believe he’d have sex with Riva, then toss her into the hovels they called holding cells until a ransom was paid, or he sold her to the highest bidder.
Instead he was going to watch her back until he knew what the fuck he really was going to do with her. Or until he handed her off to Maza.
Taking the chopper was out of the question. Maza’s men patrolled the jungle. The helicopter was only to be used in emergencies. The second the SYP saw it lifting over the canopy, they’d be shot down. There wasn’t a road for hundreds of miles. The river was a possibility. He had a small outboard hidden six miles away. It was nowhere near where Riva claimed Maza was waiting for her, and that was okay; he wasn’t getting close to the enemy until he had a better bead on how much he could trust her.
Once he got to the boat he’d decide what to do with her. He was loath to leave her with Andrés, knowing his friend’s view of women, and he was sure that Andrés wouldn’t think twice about turning her over to Mama, once he was done with her. He also felt strangely conflicted about her going into Maza’s camp alone, if it came to that.
Decisions to be made in three days.
In her fatigue pants and his T-shirt, she grabbed up her bag. She saw he’d placed her gun on top and took it out, looking pleased. “I don’t suppose this comes with the clips?”
“I’m saving them to give to you for Christmas. Get your ass in gear.”
Her sigh was lugubrious as she laid the weapon beside the rest of her clothes. “You should keep things interesting and not be so damn predictable, Diaz.”
“I predict I’m leaving without you if you’re not dressed in five. Socks in your boots. Move it.”
Sin left the door ajar. If she ran now it was her choice as to the outcome. He paused until the two men patrolling passed, told them to tell Andrés to prepare for a weeklong trip, and to bring the rest of his team with him. They’d meet in fifteen minutes at the generator.
Going round to his storage unit, he’d mentally packed a backpack with supplies. After unlocking the heavy door, it took just a matter of minutes to find what he needed and pack everything tightly into two canvas bags. He grabbed a few extra boxes of bullets, and why not? Another submachine gun.
Andrés would bring only their most trusted men, they’d head in the general direction of where she wanted to go, then veer off to the river and go to Abad, to the south. Closer than Santa de Porres, and where his son was located. He didn’t remember the woman he’d assaulted or the event. He didn’t even have a picture of the kid. But it was high time he met his only child and gave the woman some kind of financial assistance. An apology wouldn’t go amiss. What better opportunity than now? Kill several birds with one stone.
He didn’t have a long life expectancy.
He cracked the door open, listened for a few moments, then slid out, letting the door close and lock, and slipped back into his hut, where Riva was still dressing.
As she wriggled to pull a tank top under his T-shirt, Sin ran his fingers over the tightly folded square of a glossy magazine page in his back pocket, the one with that tantalizing picture of the two men. He’d finally run a ZAG image search and see what came up.
Perhaps if he found them, they could tell him something about himself that made sense or at least jog his memory. His real memory, the kind that came from within his own gray matter. Not the memories of himself that came from the mouths of other people.
He adjusted the pack on his back. “Ready?” God, yes. She now wore a form-fitting black tank top that revealed well-toned muscles and caramel skin. She looked lickable and good enough to eat.
“No, I thought I’d hang around, maybe grab a drink with your terrifying mother so we can bond.”
Sleek, bad-ass, and sexy as hell. Too bad she’d confined the natural swell of her breasts. Too bad for his viewing pleasure, but a good decision considering where they were going.
She shook her head as she stuffed the rest of her belongings back into her backpack. “Shit. Sorry. Yes. I’m ready.” Slinging the straps over her shoulder, feet spread, she gave him a measured look. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I have places to go and people to kill.”
The pack was heavy. He didn’t offer to help the little lady with her luggage. She wanted her own crap, fine. The pack on her back held emergency supplies and he was glad to have it with them on the hard, long, dangerous trek.
He took a quick look around. Something told him he wouldn’t be back.
Indicating that she precede him, Sin closed and locked the door behind him. They walked down the middle of the wide dirt path. The sun was high, but the camouflage netting strung over the small settlement blocked out the brightness and cast a greenish tinge to Riva’s skin. It also trapped in the sweltering heat.
“We’re meeting up with some of my men.” He felt eyes watching their progress. “Safety in numbers,” he told her.
She shot him a look under her lashes, clearly aware their every move was being monitored. They met Andrés and the other five men beside the generator, then headed south. The first three or four miles were relatively easy going, as they were well-traveled by the patrols. Later, they’d have to hack their way through the thick vegetation.
If Sin was alone, it would take the better part of a day to reach the river. Riva was strong and athletic, and should be able to keep up with him, but he had to keep in mind that she was still recovering from the crash.
He was sorry to see her dressed; he’d enjoyed her long, toned legs, and the gentle bounce of her unfettered breasts under his T-shirt. Now she wore her own camo cotton pants, which nicely cupped her firm ass as she walked slightly ahead of him.
Concerned about the slice in her leg—cuts could kill in this climate—he’d patched the corresponding rip in the pants with duct tape to keep the bugs out. The black tank top showed off her lightly muscled arms and straight back. She’d shifted her back pack over one shoulder, and her dark, glossy brai
d, thick as her wrist, hung between her shoulder blades, swaying like a metronome as she walked.
Andrés had brought the five men they trusted most, all heavily armed. If they walked into a Maza trap, they were vigilant and more than ready.
“You don’t believe her, do you?” Andrés demanded quietly as the two of them dropped back slightly, allowing Riva to be flanked by the others.
Sin shrugged. “I don’t not believe her. If she thinks she can kill Maza, I’ll let her try. Why not?”
Andrés shot him an amused glance. “When you’re done fucking her, can I have her next?”
The thought of his friend touching Riva roiled something deep inside him, a reaction he was careful to keep off his face. “She won’t be around that long. Keep your snake in your pants, amigo.” Adjusting the strap of his pack more securely, Sin kept her in his sights at all times. Inside his pack was Mama’s precious laptop computer. He’d retrieved it before getting their supplies, while his mother was out on patrol. It was never to leave her quarters, and certainly never to leave camp. When she discovered it missing, she’d be hot on Riva’s heels.
Mama was sure to think their liberated prisoners had stolen it and he bet, without doubt, she’d blame Riva for the theft as well as their liberation.
Sin needed time and an Internet connection. With any luck, he’d have both in a few days. Either when they reached higher ground, or they got to town.
Ahead, Riva carried both the heavy backpack and her black nylon bag. Sin knew how heavy it was. He’d carried it, and Riva, all the way down the mountain the night before. In it were her weapons, minus the clips he’d held back, three fluffy, battery-operated teddy bears, a Ziploc bag of coiled, colorful hair ties, another of cheap disposable cell phones, a giant jar of petroleum jelly, and a semiautomatic assault rifle.
Plus a no-longer-tightly-wrapped brown paper parcel containing a selection of paraphernalia Sin was more than familiar with. All of which had been locked in a bulletproof black case. The lock was fingerprint secured. Easy enough to press her finger to it as she lay unconscious. He’d removed all the bells and whistles, but let her keep her toys.
All pretty innocuous on the face of it, unless one was adept at bomb making. Which Sin was. The “hair ties” were, in fact, cleverly disguised detonation cords filled with RDX.
Whatever else was necessary for making a bomb or bombs would be relatively available on any site. What did she plan to bomb? An explosion seemed melodramatic when a single bullet to Maza’s head would do the trick.
Behind him, Andrés talked quietly into a basic walkie-talkie. All that currently worked because of Maza’s jamming of their satellite connections. The walkie-talkie was a step up from two tin fucking cans and a piece of string.
Hopefully his friend was getting information that would help them. Or he was talking to one of his numerous lady friends in Abad or Santa de Porres, which was a no-no.
He turned to give his friend an inquiring look.
Still talking quietly, Andrés gave him a thumbs-up. Which could mean anything. Andrés could have information about what the hell Maza was doing or he’d just made a date with a pretty girl. Although not all of his friend’s dates could remotely be called pretty, Sin thought, waiting for Andrés to catch up with him and keeping his eye on the back of Riva’s head as she walked ahead of him.
He motioned Hernán Alejos to overtake him, and to keep a close watch on Riva, then dropped back. Hernán, a stocky man in his early forties, carried his AK-47 like a club. His casual grip was deceiving. He could whip that puppy up and be firing it in two seconds flat.
Andrés shoved the walkie-talkie in his vest pocket, gold tooth sparkling in his wide grin. “That was Loza. He didn’t want to wait until we reached town to make a deposit in his bank account. I told him to lift the jam, and we’d be happy to. Fucker will charge us double, plus interest, for the delay.”
“What he had to tell us better be worth it. What did he give us? Are we headed in the right direction this time?”
Andrés tugged his bandana back over his ear, exposed so he could use the walkie-talkie, as they resumed walking. Riva and the others were now hidden by dense foliage. Sin walked faster, and his friend kept up. This outing would kill several birds. Get him away from camp. Lose Riva. Access a computer.
He was done being defined by other people.
And when he was in Abad, he’d search for the son he’d never met.
“Two pieces of valuable info,” Andrés said, keeping his voice low. “Whatever’s happening is happening in Santa De Porres, and it’s set to happen on the nineteenth.”
Eight days to fuck with whatever Maza had planned. So Riva hadn’t lied. Not about Maza’s timetable, at least. “That’s it?”
“That’s more than we had five minutes ago,” Andrés pointed out.
“True. If it’s profitable and/or beneficial to the Sangre Y Puño, it will be profitable and beneficial to us.”
“Another thing of interest. The buzz is that Maza’s bringing in an expert.”
Sin shot him a glance, tired of having to drag every damn little thing out of his friend. It was almost as if Andrés was toying with him. Playing cat and mouse. Sin hated to think his friend and mother were in cahoots, but that was frequently what it felt like. “An expert at what?”
Andrés shrugged, then raised his eyebrows, and pointed to the wall of green ahead with a jerk of his chin. Indicating, Sin presumed, Riva.
Sin rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah. She claimed to be here to kill his enemy, but there was a lot more going on behind those beautiful features and big brown eyes than she let on.
“An expert at fucking? You tell me. Is that what she’s the expert of?” Andrés laughed.
Sin’s hand fisted, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “Push Loza. See if you can get more.”
The question now was, was she really here to kill Maza? With a bomb? Or was she here to build a bomb for Sin’s enemy?
“Whatever’s happening in Santa de Porres is some fucking kind of well-kept secret. We haven’t heard a breath of any big happenings. What group of any importance is expected? It can’t be a coup. El presidente is still in Washington, DC, with his family.”
Andrés shrugged. “Haven’t heard anything.”
“Well, listen harder. Eight days isn’t a lot of time to counter whatever Maza is planning.” Whatever it was, it would affect the ANLF, and himself, adversely. That was a given.
Instead of being there to kill Maza, was Riva bringing the hard-to-find-locally supplies to Sin’s enemy? Or some other skillset Maza needed? Like what?
Even without the detour to the river and the hidden boat, it was a long hike through rugged terrain to reach what Riva claimed was Maza’s location. And that was if he didn’t move before they reached it. Like the ANLF, the SYP was sure to have sentries along the way, just waiting to pick them off.
Was he, in fact, walking into a honeyed trap?
He felt…off kilter. A strange sensation when he was usually completely self-assured. And how the hell did he know if he was usually self-assured, or a complete pussy?
He. Didn’t. Fucking. Remember.
Yet being in charge seemed to come naturally to him.
It was as though he’d seen everything in black and white for months. But those facts had all been told to him by Mama, Andrés, and the others who claimed to be his friends. Now, suddenly, everything was in color, albeit somewhat blurred. Not that he’d give his men even a hint that he wasn’t in top form, but it was as annoying as it was puzzling.
If not for Riva Rimaldi, he’d be holed up in one of his secret lairs, working at getting his shit together before either the SYP or his own shot him in the back of the head, execution style.
Perceiving everyone as an enemy was damn disorienting. He had expected the paranoia to dissipate as he weaned himself off of Mama’s headache potions. Instead, the distrust became more acute, his doubts more alarming.
Whether the residual eff
ect of the injuries he’d suffered at the hands of Maza was brain-trauma-induced paranoia, or whether he had any legitimate basis for questioning everything he’d been told since he’d awakened, was a fucking mystery. He was damn tired of trying to reason through it. No wonder he couldn’t fucking sleep.
They’d been walking for what seemed like days to Riva. It was hard to gauge the time of day with most of the sky obscured by the tree canopy. But her internal clock said it was late afternoon. They hadn’t stopped once, not even to drink water or gnaw on jerky and protein bars. They ate and drank as they walked.
The process of putting one foot in front of the other was mindless. The men had the machetes and they hacked away, producing a long tunnel of trimmed foliage for them to walk through. She kept her eyes out for predators, both human and animal, and watched out for snakes and spiders and thick vines across her path.
A million shades of green were broken up occasionally by a brightly colored spray of acid-yellow colored orchids or a blue and yellow macaw. Now and then a small monkey followed overhead, eyes curious. She saw a couple of five-foot-long green snakes, and bunch of cute black-faced monkeys trailed them for a while.
Riva trudged along beside a guy who looked like a sumo wrestler, called Tomás Saldana. She recognized Saldana from T-FLAC intel, which told her that Saldana had died three years earlier at an ANLF hospital bombing in Argentina. Wrong intel. Beside Saldana was a giant of a man named Nicanor Pando. Her two bodyguards, apparently.
Clearly done talking to her, Sin stayed at the end of the processional. Fine with her. Having him out of her face was a blessing. She wasn’t attracted to Pando’s ass, didn’t have visions of having sex with him. Let Diaz stay out of sight and out of mind.
Concentrate before you get killed, Rimaldi.
Five men, plus Sin Diaz.
Tomás carried one of the compasses and a Russian-made PP-200 submachine gun. The ANLF were in bed with the Russians, no better than the SYP being in bed with Iran. Six of one and half a dozen of the other. She swatted a moth the size of her palm off her cheek, then wiped the dust-like residue off her fingers on her pant leg.
