“Have you heard of the Green Berets?”
“Sure. They’re the guys who wear green berets. Like John Wayne.”
“They are,” Duane agreed amiably. He’d been 75th Rangers, but he didn’t want even the stain of this shit’s thoughts on his old unit. Chad had come to Delta out of the Green Berets. Too bad for him that he wasn’t here to defend their honor.
“How many people have you killed?” Sofia’s mother was as disdainful as her son.
Duane was so goddamn sick of that question. Civilians never understood what it took to keep them safe. It wasn’t how many he killed; it was killing the right ones that mattered. General Aguado’s guards counted as proper takedowns. The bug hunt in which his team had knocked down twenty percent of the US supply of cocaine at its source had been a righteous one as well.
A glance around the table revealed varied reactions to the question.
Maria Alicia Forteza y Borga de Olivella watched him closely. She appeared to be waiting to see how he would handle the question rather than what the answer might be.
Sofia blushed and looked down, ashamed of a family that wasn’t worthy to lick her boots.
Camila and her son, Emilio, poised in unison to label him murderer.
And the quiet Consuela looked up just enough to show her smile as she watched him. It was her amusement that gave him the right answer.
He rose slowly and put on his best mosey around to Sofia’s chair, helping her to her feet. Duane had to tip up her chin to make a slow, clear, delicious point of kissing her in public. He led her a step away then, as if reconsidering, he left her there and returned to grab Camila’s and Emilio’s shoulders.
A wink at Consuela was rewarded with a particularly nice smile—one that looked as if she wasn’t used to other people seeing it; or even noticing her existence. He turned his attention back to the pair of pit vipers.
“Y’all gotta understand something. I’m trained to protect good people, at any cost to myself.”
Then he dropped the Southern from his voice and let it go harsh.
“That doesn’t include you,” he squeezed Camila’s shoulder hard enough to ensure her undivided attention.
“Or you,” he clamped down on Emilio’s hard enough to go right through his gym-trained strength and earn a gasp—the pressure of Duane’s fingertips pressing on the Pectoralis Minor Nerve Trigger Point distracted Emilio too thoroughly to permit anything as trivial as speech.
He held the pressure for a count of five then eased just enough that Emilio would be able to hear him. Duane let his voice go back to good-old-boy.
“As to how many people I’ve killed up until today? Well, hell, ya’ll. The day ain’t over yet. I’ll jes’ have to keep ya posted.”
Emilio let out a whimper when Duane let him go abruptly. The sudden release would be nearly as painful as the pressure itself. His arm wouldn’t work right for a day or two.
Camila moved in fast to console her son the moment Duane let her go.
Consuela was hiding her face behind her napkin, but her eyes gave away the look she was hiding.
Nana’s infinitesimal nod accepted his solution to the problem without condoning or condemning.
He strolled past Sofia, taking her hand, and led her off the porch and out into the fields.
“Was he always that awful?”
Sofia could only shake her head. Emilio had never been friendly—perhaps due to being the oldest male in a matriarchy—but he’d never been so thoroughly pugnacious either.
“Your mother’s influence.”
Sofia guided him around the side of the house to get out of view as quickly as possible. She could feel the pressure ease the moment they were out of sight. A shaky breath was incredibly cleansing—the crisp fall air purging the worst of the experience.
Ahead lay the Corazón de las Vides tasting rooms and the wine lounge. Open to the general public, for a fee, it was focused on cultivating the big spenders. It had been built farther around the hilltop than the house, commanding an equally impressive view to the south and west. The Coast Range, while far lower than the Cascade Mountains to the east, was also much closer. Starting less than five miles away, its conifer-shrouded shoulders rose to impressive heights above the last of the Willamette Valley patchwork that surrounded the Dundee Hills.
It was a masterpiece of yellow faux adobe, heavy stone, and wooden beams, capped with red Spanish tile. Inside it offered seating for cozy groups by warm fires, and a luxurious old-world dining room where, for special events, a hundred could dine, and wine, behind the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. World-class chefs had created feasts here, all paired with the estate wines of course. On summer days, the glass walls could be folded aside. No expense had been spared and buyers would be able to feel it just by entering the building.
Colina Soleada wines started at seventy a bottle and went up rapidly, so they’d expect no less. More affordable vintages were grown and bottled at other vineyards quietly owned by the Forteza empire, but here at the main estate only the best, showpiece wines were served and sold.
Her entry caused a familiar flurry among the staff and guests—familiar and, now, strangely foreign.
The appearance of a family member in the wine lounge was always an occasion. Isabel, the Corazón de las Vides manager, appeared moments after their arrival with her unvarying air of having been waiting specifically for the most honored guest. She offered the same to everyone from the beginner, who’d invested fifty dollars for a thirty-minute tasting, to the owner of a restaurant chain that placed a hundred thousand dollar order over a complimentary glass of the three hundred dollar a bottle Soleada Signature Reserve.
It was a standard practice that she’d learned at Nana’s knee, for the family to visit any groups that happened to be there. It was a practice she knew well and had always enjoyed. A friendly handshake and a few words with a family member served to confirm to buyers that they mattered; that they were actually seen.
That was the wholly unexpected thing that Duane had done over lunch.
Certainly they’d had amazing sex, but she didn’t need to be told that’s all it was. He’d taken one look at her, ripped off her clothes, and they’d had a wonderful time. Startling, breathtaking, mind-bending sex, but she knew better than to think there was any real relationship behind it. Her family exemplified that there was no such thing.
She’d seen actual relationships, appropriate for the rare few like Carla and Melissa, but she and Duane knew better.
Yet if ever there was a man she would choose… Throughout the whole meal, Duane had remained pleasant and easygoing, leading conversation when it lagged—even teasing Nana about falling off a horse.
“You let your horse throw you? I don’t believe it. I bet you were just testing our your flying skills,” said with such charm that even Mother couldn’t find an offense in it—something she’d striven to do at every turn.
Duane’s background, which neither of them mentioned to anyone, showed in his every word and gesture—Southern gentleman to the very core. A Southern gentleman well trained in how to host a party and be the perfect guest—at least until Emilio went so far out of his way to be insufferable.
Unit operator Duane Jenkins had seen her family, with uncomfortable clarity. He’d made her feel seen as well. Despite her first expectation in the Venezuelan jungle, Duane hadn’t been trying to charm her simply because she was a woman. When he spoke, which she now understood was less rather than more often, he worked to charm everyone. He saw them and let them know that.
Isabel acted as genteel escort, making it even more clear to guests that this was an occasion and just how lucky and special each of them were. Each time, she found a new way to slip into the conversation that Sofia was only here for one day after a year abroad—so they should feel even more privileged—and implied that she had been doing wonderful, wine-related things during that time.
In one of the more private rooms, Sofia greeted a buyer from Wolfgang Puck’s
restaurants who she remembered from when he’d started out as a wine buyer for Palace Station casino in Vegas.
She traded air kisses with Phoebe, a Michelin-starred French chef down from Portland. She was a slender woman who preferred to serve Colina Soleada wines over her native country’s. When Sofia found out she was planning a second restaurant, this time in San Francisco, she introduced Phoebe to Wolfgang’s buyer. Before she was gone, it was clear that the two were hitting it off on many levels—talking about wine, but thinking many other things as well.
A group of Japanese tourists had all sprung for the full tasting, tour, and tray of traditional tapas finger food created by the onsite chef. They traded low bows and then took dozens of selfies with her despite the mess her hair must still be from drying in the sun. At least it was back in a ponytail.
Through it all, Duane followed close beside her. Silent, powerful, she supposed that he appeared to be her bodyguard, as if she needed one. Or the perfectly solicitous assistant, holding Phoebe’s chair, taking the group photo for the Japanese, and a dozen other small niceties.
Duane moved through it all with an ease and familiarity that belied his rough appearance and callused hands. Money didn’t daunt him…or impress him. The more people they did a meet-and-greet with, the more she found herself watching him than the patrons. He was proving that he was magnificent out of the bedroom as well.
They finally made it through to her favorite place, the second floor balcony. She often sat here in any weather. A table umbrella against summer sun or spring rains and a standup heater close by the outdoor hearth against fall and winter chills. This had been her escape from the rest of the family. Always by herself. Now she took her favorite table by the railing and Duane sat with her.
Isabel provided them with two glasses of the estate reserve before tactfully disappearing. Sofia knew that there would be a waiter on alert watching for so much as a raised finger, but out of eyesight.
“You do that very well,” Duane toasted her.
“It might be my very first memory, walking among strangers, reaching up to hold Nana’s hand, and welcoming them here.”
“Bet you were charming as hell as a kid. Cute too.”
“It felt strange this time.”
“Me or you?” Duane’s perceptions were as clear as ever.
“I…don’t know.”
Duane sipped the wine and relished it with an unexpected practice. “Wow, that’s a good year.”
“The 2012, our best in over twenty years.” She was halfway to tasting her own glass when the implications sunk in. “Colina Soleada. You said you’d never heard of it.”
Duane shrugged easily. “I didn’t want to make you self-conscious about telling me who you were.”
“You lying son of a bitch. You took advantage of me. I thought that for once I found someone who might like me for me not for my heritage. You—”
“I only implied I didn’t. Half truth,” and the twitch of his shoulders said he regretted it. “We were already in the air on the way here before you told me. Besides, my interest is in the brilliant and beautiful intelligence analyst who kissed me on the balcony of a Portobelo casa, not in some wine heiress.”
Sofia rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms. “Oh, as if I’m supposed to trust that.”
Duane shrugged again, even less comfortably. He studied the dark red wine as he slowly twirled the stem in his battle-callused fingers.
Yet with him, perhaps she could trust it. He too came from wealth, true wealth. Her fortune would have less impact on him. “Most men I meet are more like Emilio, always hungry for more.”
“If you are the ‘more,’ then yes, I seem to have an insatiable appetite. If your money is, I don’t give a damn. The Army more than covers my expenses never mind Mother and Father.”
“Are they still together? Your parents?”
Now it was Duane’s turn to wish for a subject change. He wanted to shrug the question away, would have with anyone else. But he’d seen the disaster that had somehow created the wonder of Sofia Forteza and he could hear the pleading and hope in her voice, even if she probably couldn’t.
“Yes, but not in the way you mean. Not ‘The Real Thing’.” It was the best answer he had. “I don’t know that they were ever ‘together.’ Well, except for the fact that I was conceived in there somewhere, maybe once was enough as I’m an only kid. They are the perfect host and hostess for each other’s careers though: the Coca-Cola exec and one of the most powerful lawyers in Atlanta. They make an exquisite couple at parties. A couple who live in opposite wings of a seven-bedroom mansion with their mostly unnoted son living somewhere in the middle. Mother lost all interest when it became clear I was following in Father’s footsteps rather than hers. He lost all interest when I followed in the Army’s instead of his.”
Sofia didn’t look up at him.
“At least you have your grandmother. She’s wonderful.” Wrong thing to say, as the fear was once again back in Sofia’s eyes. He wanted to reassure her, but couldn’t think how. For all of her spine of steel, Maria Alicia Forteza was a frail woman who had barely touched her meal.
“I can’t imagine how she fell,” Sofia still didn’t look up. “She and Diablo finished second in a major eventing seniors’ competition just three years ago.”
“Eventing?”
“Dressage, cross-country, and show jumping. It’s a combined event that challenges all aspects of horsemanship. Think the decathlon for horse and rider, and Nana is an expert. There is an entire room in the house just for her awards.”
“Oh.”
Sofia was eyeing him carefully. “You do ride, don’t you?”
“Some.” Every Unit operator had at least basic horsemanship training. Ever since the very first troops into Afghanistan after 9/11 ended up deploying on horseback and mules to mix in with the hill tribes, Delta had added a one-week riding course. But other than that… “Not a lot of horses in downtown Atlanta.”
“This,” Sofia declared, “we must fix soon.”
“Sooner than we go back to bed?”
Sofia’s smile gave him some hope, but her response dashed that. “Absolutely!”
“This should be fun.” Not!
Sofia sudden scowl told him that he needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut.
He went for a subject change. “So how long have your mother and brother been lovers?”
Sofia’s wine glass flipped out of her hand and shattered on the flagstone at her feet. “They what?”
Duane really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.
Chapter 15
Sofia took Diablo herself, suspecting that Nana’s horse had been too long unridden. She placed Duane on Genuine—short for The Genuine Fake Copy of the Artificial Real McCoy, a name Sofia had given the mare when it was still a gangly foal struggling to find its feet for the first time. She had turned out to be a genuinely pleasant animal and an easy ride for even the least skilled riders. She and Genuine watched Duane closely. He might not be skilled, but he at least had the basics down.
She guided them into the woods, first at a walk, then a light trot. Duane’s uncertain seat made her decide against a canter, though Diablo was begging to be allowed to run. Once well clear of the house, and circling deeper into the woods between Domaine Serene and Erath wineries on the uncultivated west side of the Dundee Hills, she slowed them once more to a walk. They were following a dirt road that let them ride side-by-side for a little while.
“What you said back there…” she couldn’t complete the question.
“Uh-huh,” Duane didn’t sound happy.
“How sure are you?”
“Very,” he was sticking with no more than two syllables, a restraint he’d shown since the waiter had rushed over to clean up the shattered wine glass and make sure she was okay.
“But…” It was pretty much the most disgusting thing she’d ever heard. And when talking about her mother and brother, that was saying something. It was even wors
e than when he’d come into her bedroom thinking he get some of that from his sister.
“Ask Consuela.”
“What? Why?”
Duane was settling more easily into the saddle, loosening his hips to take on the horse’s rhythm rather than continuing to force his own. Maybe they could canter later. After Duane stopped being so close-mouthed.
“Why ask my sister?”
“She doesn’t miss anything.”
Her confusion must have shown on her face.
“You two aren’t close either.”
“She was entering third grade when I left for college.”
“Well, she’s a grown woman now with a very sharp mind.”
“How do you know? She never even spoke at lunch.” Or had she? Would Sofia have even noticed? Every time she looked at Consuela all she could remember was the little girl in pigtails who had seemed bolted to her hip.
“Didn’t need to,” Duane stated, then apparently decided to throw caution to the wind and speak like a normal human again. “You didn’t see the proof about your mother because I was blocking your view. It was the way Camila clung to Emilio the moment I released my hold on him. I wasn’t feeling kind—still not—so he’s going to be hurting for at least a day or two, but what Camila was showing had to do with far more than a mother’s care.”
“There’s not a maternal bone in her body,” Sofia wanted to spit to clear the foul taste of that out of her system.
“Making my point all the more. There’d been a puzzling dynamic all through the meal that I couldn’t explain, but that’s the piece that made it all fit. Your sister was watching me, not them. She already knew and wanted to see if I noticed. When I did, it earned me a sad smile as if she was saying, ‘Welcome to my world.’ Seems like a pretty shitty one to me.”
Sofia couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed. Now that Duane had pointed it out, Sofia supposed that it was obvious—perhaps painfully obvious. Yet, despite her vaunted intelligence skills, she’d missed what was right in front of her face. She knew from training that the hardest thing to see was often the most obvious because it disguised itself in the world of the accepted “normal.” Yet another lesson: there was always more to learn.
Wild Justice (Delta Force Book 3) Page 17
