Hidden Agenda

by Rochelle Alers

  “It begins now,” Matt whispered.

  A frown furrowed Eve’s high, smooth forehead as a rush of unanswered questions attacked her. How could she have forgotten?

  “What if your cousin asks about us? How we met? Shouldn’t we at least get our stories together before we go in?”

  He smiled down at her. “Don’t worry so much. There’s no need to rehearse a script. Just follow my lead.” Reaching for her hand, he squeezed her fingers gently. “Ready?”

  She hesitated, studying his shadowed features. “Let’s do it.” Her voice was steady and filled with newfound confidence.

  Matt shifted a thick, black, arching eyebrow. He knew Eve Blackwell was ready. She was ready to play any role assigned her to hold Christopher Delgado in her arms again.

  He pulled the chain to the clapper attached to a large bell beside the iron door. A dull peal echoed melodiously before fading. Unconsciously, Eve moved closer to his side, and his left arm went around her waist.

  A massive, inner oaken door opened, spilling more light out onto the loggia. A slender young woman with chemically straightened, chin-length black hair and velvetly dark brown skin peered at them through the elaborate swirls of iron.

  “Matthew?”

  “Please close your mouth, Alma, and open the door,” Matt ordered in a teasing tone.

  Alma unlocked the iron door, blinking rapidly. “I hardly recognized you without the beard,” she continued in a Southern drawl reminiscent of Matt’s. “You’re beginning to look civilized, dear cousin.”

  Leaning over, Matt kissed Alma’s cheek. “And hello to you, dear cousin,” he teased.

  Alma patted his lean jaw. “The mustache makes you look like a bandido.”

  “I am a bandit, Alma. I steal the hearts of all beautiful women. And that includes you, prima.”

  Matt shifted slightly and Alma noticed Eve for the first time. The shock at seeing her American cousin garnered all of her attention as her dark eyes now darted from Eve to Matt. “Have you stolen this one’s heart?” she questioned in rapid Spanish.

  His arm tightened around Eve’s waist. “This is Eve, mi novia.”

  Alma’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re going to marry him?” she asked Eve, switching smoothly back to English.

  Eve, smiling, peered up at Matt. “Yes, I am.”

  Alma crossed herself and rolled her eyes upward. “My prayers have been answered.” Stepping aside, she motioned for them to enter the house. “Please come in.”

  Following Alma, Eve glanced up at a two-story skylighted atrium. A plaster, low relief above the archway was complemented by a tile wainscoting and floor, lending a Hispano-Moresque ambience to the area. Ebony Anglo-Indian armchairs and gray-blue upholstery on the sofa, lounge chairs, and several ottomans added to the eclectic furnishings.

  Matt’s left arm curved around her waist in a natural gesture of affection and she stiffened, feeling the bite of his strong fingers against her ribs. Inhaling deeply, she relaxed against his side.

  “Alma, this is Eve Blackwell, my fiancée. Eve, Alma Navarro, my American cousin,” he stated, introducing the two women.

  Alma extended a hand, smiling. “Welcome to the family.”

  Eve took the proffered hand, returning the warm smile. “Thank you, Alma.”

  The other woman was about an inch shorter than Eve’s five foot, seven inches, and a loose-flowing red and gold caftan artfully concealed the roundness of her thickening waist and belly. Her haircut was simple yet sophisticated. Bangs were feathered over her forehead, while the blunt-cut ends curved gently along her delicate jawline.

  Alma’s gold-brown eyes crinkled as her smile became a wide grin. “Matthew has chosen well. The two of you will have magnificent children.”

  Eve’s smile faltered momentarily before it was back in place, while Matt’s laughter rumbled deep in his chest, adding to her apprehension.

  “Let us marry first before you start counting children. Speaking of children,” he continued smoothly, “how are you feeling?”

  Alma cradled her belly with both hands. “Much better. At least I don’t have to spend all day in bed. Please make yourselves comfortable while I pull Carlos away from his paperwork long enough to share in your wonderful news,” she said quickly, not pausing to take a breath.

  Turning gracefully, the silk of the gold and red caftan sweeping around her bare feet, Alma made her way up a staircase with an assortment of Portuguese tile stair risers and an elaborately carved iron railing.

  “Come, Eve,” Matt urged softly. “Sit down and relax.” He led her to the sofa, sitting and pulling her down beside him.

  She moved closer to him as he draped an outstretched arm over the back of the sofa, her right hand reaching over and covering his right one. She studied his hand, finding it large, well-formed and well-groomed; and she knew his hands were no strangers to hard work, because his palms and fingertips were covered with thick calluses. They were large, strong hands that could probably bring a smaller man to his knees with one blow; large, strong hands that were gentle and masterful when they explored her body in the elevator.

  Closing her eyes, she relived the drugging feel of his mouth on hers. In those few seconds Matthew Sterling made her recall the passion she hadn’t experienced in years; an all-consuming passion she maintained before she’d become pregnant.

  Her desire for her husband had waned and then diminished entirely with the physical and hormonal changes in her body, but returned several months after Christopher’s birth. By that time it was too late—their roles were reversed. Alejandro Delgado no longer desired his wife.

  Matt covered the delicate hand caressing his, a half smile curving his generous mouth. The fingers of his left hand trailed along the side of her neck, and as Eve raised her chin to stare up at him he winked at her. A slow smile parted her lush lips. Leaning over, he placed a light kiss under her ear, increasing the pressure until she trembled.

  “Matt,” she gasped, her warm breath searing his exposed throat.

  The sound of her husky entreaty shattered his entrancement. He didn’t know what it was about this woman that made him lower his guard and become a little too reckless for the mission they were about to embark upon.

  Pulling back slowly, he stared at her, his gaze traveling over her face and searching the depths of her eyes. Her eyes reminded him of a well deep enough to drown in.

  The strange sensual longing he’d felt the moment he saw Eve Blackwell for the first time was replaced by the need to protect her as he recalled the telephone conversation he’d had earlier that evening in his hotel suite.

  Eve was unaware that she was to become involved in an even more complicated plot than the first plan her uncle outlined to him. Harry’s telephone call revealed that Alejandro Delgado was now heavily involved in drug smuggling and money laundering. The former Mexican diplomat, who had been a staunch ally of the United States, now headed their FBI’s Most Wanted List.

  Harry verified that Delgado had orchestrated the Metropolitan Museum of Art thefts, selling the priceless tapestries to private collectors. Delgado had also arranged for the money from the illegal art sales to be used for arms to fight a socialist war in Central America.

  The bureau had gotten word to Delgado that Mateo Arroyo was interested in doing business with him. The time for their meeting was to be set up by a third party who was on the payroll of the U.S. Department of Justice.

  Matt’s amended directive was to rescue Christopher Delgado, convince Alejandro Delgado that Mateo Arroyo was interested in a joint venture for the purpose of smuggling drugs out of Mexico, and identify who was organizing the Costa Rican rebels.

  Lines of tension ringed Matt’s mouth when he thought of drug smugglers, the people who sold death.

  They were a different breed from those who stole and sold priceless works of art, or those who were in the business of stealing and selling black market weapons. Drug traffickers were immoral and ruthless, and spared no one who wandere
d into their path. And that included innocent women or children.

  The bounty on his ears was the result of his rescuing a DEA agent whose cover had been blown after the agent gathered enough information on a Colombian army colonel who’d alerted heads of several drug cartels of scheduled raids by the military and local police.

  Matt had given Harry his word: he would interrogate Alejandro Delgado, find Christopher Delgado, and make arrangements for the child and his mother to return safely to the States.

  Then he would get his own affairs in order. He would finalize the sale of El Moro, leaving Mexico and Mateo Arroyo behind him. In New Mexico he would be known as Matthew Sterling, marry, father a couple of children, build a horse farm, and breed champions to rival the three-year-olds who raced at Churchill Downs on the first Saturday in May. His father bred champion bulls, and he intended to breed a Kentucky Derby winner.

  Eve’s velvet-black eyes, so large and trusting, caressed his face, and his tension eased as he lowered his head for the second time. He registered her warm breath seconds before he captured it. His thumb moved under her chin, making her his willing captive as he tasted the sweet, moist, lushness of her erotic mouth.

  Eve’s skin prickled from the heat of his touch. She melted against the massive warmth and strength of his embrace. She was an actress in a role, and she intended to give a winning performance. Matthew Sterling wanted a loving and passionate wife and he was going to get one. She would never give him a reason to doubt her ability to play the part she had been given.

  Her hands moved up his hard chest to his face, and she cradled his cleanshaven cheeks between her palms.

  “I hope you aren’t going to have a long engagement, Mateo,” intoned a masculine voice, filled with laughter.

  Eve and Matt pulled apart abruptly. They met the amused smiles of Alma and her husband. Carlos Navarro, tall, thin, and serenely elegant, with a head of wavy, snow-white hair, cradled his much younger pregnant wife at his side.

  Eve’s gaze was downcast as she held on to the hand Matt extended; he stood up, pulling her to her feet. Her embarrassment was short-lived when Carlos released Alma, grasped her free hand and placed a light kiss on the knuckles.

  “Welcome to Mexico and to the family,” he said softly in lightly accented English.

  She was charmed by the man, whose dark eyes burned like blazing coal in a weathered face the color of golden, aged tobacco.

  Carlos extended both arms to Matt. “Congratulación, primo.”

  Matt slapped the older man on the back, causing Carlos to wince slightly. “Gracias.”

  Alma looped an arm through her husband’s. “When are you getting married?” she asked her cousin.

  “In a month,” Matt answered. “And Carlos, I’d like you to do the officiating.”

  Alma’s gaze widened. “You’re not getting married in Texas?”

  Matt shook his head. “It’s going to be a couple of months before I get back to Texas, and I wanted a commitment from Eve before she changed her mind.”

  Eve, curving an arm around Matt’s waist inside his jacket, smiled. “He’s right. He’s lucky I agreed to a month. If it were up to me I’d marry him tonight.”

  “As a federal magistrate I can get a special license for you,” Carlos offered solemnly.

  “That’s all right,” Eve protested, smiling up at Matt. “We can wait a month.”

  Carlos inclined his noble white head. “If that’s the case, then I’ll be more than willing to marry you.”

  “Carlos, we’re forgetting our manners,” Alma scolded in a soft whisper.

  “Of course, Niña.” He waved his hand. “Let’s sit out on the loggia and open a bottle of prized sherry to toast this very special occasion.”

  It has begun, Eve thought as she followed Matt out to the loggia. It was so simple that it frightened her. Matt had fooled his cousin, and she wondered how many others they would deceive before the curtain came down on their staged performances.

  Chapter 5

  Matt stood behind a seated Eve, sipping a glass of smooth Spanish sherry, his left hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He felt the warmth of her flesh through the fabric of her dress and the delicate bones of her collarbone as he savored the hypnotic fragrance of her perfume.

  Una mariposa, he thought. Eve Blackwell was a fragile, velvet brown-and-black butterfly.

  He wondered if he would have been as attracted to her under another set of circumstances, if Harry Blackwell had not forced them into a liaison. The notion of being attracted to Eve summoned thoughts about women from his past.

  For one thing, she was taller and slimmer than the others; she was also less submissive. He had known her for less than three hours and he already knew Eve Blackwell would challenge him over and over, despite her promise to follow his orders.

  A wry smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he stared at Alma and her husband. His American cousin had found happiness with a man old enough to be her father, and in another three months Alma would make Carlos a father for the very first time.

  His fingers curved around the slender column of Eve’s neck, causing her to shift slightly and stare up at him. There was enough light in the loggia to note her questioning glance.

  “Carlos, Alma, I’d like to impose on your hospitality,” Matt began in Spanish before he remembered Eve was not fluent in the language.

  “What is it you want?” Alma questioned in English.

  “Can Eve stay with you and Carlos instead of her living at the—”

  “Of course,” Alma interrupted. “There’s no need to ask, now that Eve is going to be family.” She made an attractive moue. “Being in love has changed you, primo,” she teased.

  “Wait until your wife’s belly swells with child,” Carlos said, gathering Alma closer to his side. “Then you’ll become a…cómo se dice marshmallow en Español?”

  “Marshmallow!” Matt and Alma said in unison, laughing.

  “Sí,” Carlos stated solemnly. “That is what I have become. A marshmallow.”

  Alma dropped an arm over Carlos’s shoulder. “A marshmallow I love beyond description,” she admitted openly.

  Carlos cradled Alma’s face between his hands, kissing her mouth in a tender gesture. “I love you too, Niña. But I must get back to my papers before I go to bed.” He rose slowly to his feet, extending a hand to Matt. “Mateo, Eve, please excuse me.” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to Eve’s forehead. “Buenas noches.”

  She smiled up at him. “Good night, Carlos.”

  Alma stared at her husband’s retreating figure before picking up a crystal decanter filled with sherry. She noted Eve’s glass. She hadn’t drunk her wine. “Matthew?”

  “No thank you,” he replied, declining another glass. He had to be sober for the drive back to the hotel as well as clearheaded, once he replayed the tape of Harry’s latest call. Every call that came in through his private line was recorded, and erased within hours. He memorized everything he needed to know or do, eliminating the risk that someone would uncover his double life.

  Alma refilled her own glass with cranberry juice, then settled back on a wicker loveseat. Her alert gaze missed nothing. She noted the surreptitious glances Eve and Matthew exchanged and she also noted the possessiveness of his touch. Each time his hands grazed a part of Eve’s body they said mine.

  “Alma, I’d like you to help Eve with her Spanish,” Matt said, breaking the comfortable silence.

  “I’d love to,” she agreed.

  Eve gave Alma a warm smile. “Did your mother teach you Spanish?”

  “No,” Alma replied. “Matthew’s mother taught me. I spent more time at Matthew’s house than I did at my own. Becoming bilingual paid off, because I decided to major in Spanish once I entered college. I taught at a junior high school in Lubbock for eight years before applying for a position to tutor the children of wealthy Americans and Europeans, who either lived or vacationed in Mexico. I moved here permanently six years ago, and now call it h
ome.”

  “How long does it take to become fluent?” Eve queried.

  Alma took a sip of her juice. “It all depends how much you truly want to learn. It always helps if you fully immerse yourself in the language. In other words, think in Spanish rather than in English. The words may come haltingly at first, but after a month you’ll find yourself doing it unconsciously.”

  Matt squeezed Eve’s shoulder. “Don’t concern yourself too much, Preciosa. Alma is the best.” Leaning over, he placed his wineglass on a wrought iron table. “I’m going to get your luggage from the car, then I’ll be on my way.”

  Eve and Alma rose simultaneously, smiling at each other, and Eve knew she had found a friend in Alma Navarro. Living with Carlos and Alma would help soothe the month’s wait before she and Matt married. Her confidence spiraled upward as her smile widened.

  One more month, an inner voice crooned. One more month and she and Chris would be reunited.

  Matt returned with Eve’s luggage and followed her and Alma into the house and up the curving staircase to the second story. The bedroom and adjoining bathroom selected for Eve were spacious and filled with furnishings reflecting the country’s Spanish and Indian influences. Shuttered windows opened out to vistas boasting mountains and valleys.

  He walked over to the windows, drawing the shutters and concealing the nighttime sky. Turning, he met Eve’s steady gaze and smiled. Her expression was serene and trusting. She wore the same expression the photographer had captured in the black and white photo her uncle had sent him.

  Alma watched the silent exchange between her cousin and his future wife, slowly backing out of the room. It was apparent they wanted to be alone. “I’ll see you in the morning, Eve. Matthew, you before you leave.”