by KT Bryan
And immediately wished he hadn’t.
Within seconds the faint scent of shampoo wafted over him and without warning, he remembered feeling the silky soft strands running through his fingers when he asked her to marry him. Her smile lighting up his soul when she flung herself into his arms, hugging his neck, saying yes.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and frowned.
If he looked out of the corner of his eye, he could see the outline of her breasts under her snug green T-shirt. He let his gaze slide down her long, slender, fatigue-clad legs. It wasn’t hard to picture them wrapped around his waist as she pulled him into her, over and over, night after night. Year after year.
Until finally they’d made a baby.
He should have been there for her. No wonder she hated him. He’d betrayed her so many times…
God, he couldn’t do this.
He clenched and unclenched his jaw and his mouth went dry. He closed his eyes and tried thinking of something else, anything that wouldn’t shred his heart more than it already was.
Don’t even go there. Not now. You can’t undo what you said. Love her all you want, but get her the hell out of your life.
After what seemed like hours, it was finally their turn. He stepped up to the counter, bought two tickets to Guadalajara, flashed his government ID, filled out some paperwork regarding the weapons he had stowed in his duffel bag, then had to fill out even more paperwork because of the other contents, and they finally boarded.
As the plane was getting ready to taxi, Sara fastened her seatbelt and asked, “Why Guadalajara?”
“Two reasons. First, Jake’s down there. I’m hoping he’ll have some intel on Sanchez.” Dillon was also hoping Jake could help him decode the thumb drive. “Second, the place where we’re going isn’t on the government’s list of safe houses.”
As Sara settled back in her seat, she nodded, then turned her head to look at him. “As angry and hurt as I am, as much as I want to hate and blame you, I still don’t understand how things went so wrong between us. We were really happy for a long time. I mean, weren’t we?”
“Of course we were.”
“But now it’s all messed up.”
“It is.”
“Can we fix it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you ever marry me?”
“I had to.” Her arm was lying on top of the armrest and he traced his fingers from her elbow to her wrist and back again. He knew she was miserable, angry, scared, but she didn’t jerk away this time and he wondered if she was too numb to care. “The first time I saw you I thought you were a pain in the ass. Then I got to know you and I couldn’t not marry you.”
He’d just gotten home from a covert op in the Middle East. Somehow a few details of the mission got leaked and the press was in a frenzy. At the time, Sara had been working on her master’s degree, an up-and-coming hotshot reporter determined to get a top story.
She’d thumped him in the chest with her microphone at the press conference that day at the Hyatt. She’d said something, but he wasn’t listening. All he could see were big, earnest brown eyes and a mouth fantasies were made of. He smiled at her, turned on the charm, she glared and repeated her question. She’d said, “Will you please move aside, sir, you’re blocking my way and I need to get to Commander Caldwell.”
He’d been pretty straggly looking. Hadn’t shaved in over a month. His hair was too long. He wasn’t in uniform. She’d tried pushing past him, but he’d folded his arms across his chest, stood his ground and said, “I’m Commander Caldwell.” She thunked him again, annoyed, looked over his shoulder at all the uniforms in the front of the hotel conference room and said, “Right, and I’m Barbara Walters. Now please move.” She’d had the regally cool tone only a preppy southern belle bred in Atlanta with an Ivy League education could pull off.
He’d been toast.
So he’d said, “Nice to meet you, Miss Walters,” shook her hand and raced up to his room. Took the fastest shower in history, shaved and put on his dress whites. Fifteen minutes later he was back in the conference room, name tag shining. He’d gotten mobbed and she was lost in the crowd.
When he finally found her again, he asked her out to dinner and gave her an exclusive. “You had me on our first date.”
“Yes. There was that. You sent my career into orbit.” There was an almost-smile in her eyes that made his chest hurt.
“I’d never met anyone who could tuck away seven candy bars in one night before.”
“You should’ve seen me when I was pregnant.” Her smile faltered, then faded, and she looked out the window. The brief, lighthearted moment fizzled into sadness.
She looked so horrified by her own words that he wanted to cup her face and say them for her. Yes, he should have seen her when she was pregnant. Yes, he should have been there. Yes, he’d missed it all. Every precious minute. Dammit. “I would have loved to.”
She clasped her hands in her lap and turned back to him. “What happened to us?”
Nothing. Everything. His job. Sanchez. Choices. Death.
“Let it go, Sara.”
“You’re saying once this is over, once we’ve had time to heal and forgive, that there’s absolutely no hope for us? We have a child now.”
His jaw tightened into rock. “I’ll expect you to let me see her. And I’ll support her, of course.”
“That’s it? See her? Support her?”
He shrugged indifference this time because he didn’t think he could squeeze out even one word past the constriction in his throat.
She rested her head against the back of the seat. “I see.”
Tears formed in her eyes and he wasn’t sure if they were from sadness or fury. Not that it really mattered, they’d both made their point loud and clear.
He felt sick.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, wishing…
Wondering…
What did their baby…Ellie…what did she look like? Blue eyes or brown? Was she bold and sassy or a little bit shy? Was she chubby and pink and--
The pain came fast and unexpected, and he lurched into the aisle. Sweat beaded his forehead and upper lip.
As he pushed into the bathroom he gulped in huge breaths of air.
If it was the last thing he did, he was going to get Sara safe and then he was going to find and kill Rafael Sanchez before the murdering bastard robbed him yet again.
<><><>
After a series of minor delays, it was noon before they landed in Guadalajara.
A blast of noise hit Sara broadside as she stepped from the quiet jetway into the busy airline terminal. Hordes of excited tourists and other travelers were getting off planes, milling around gates, searching for friends and relatives, and it seemed like all those eager voices were raised at the top of their lungs.
To a casual observer, everyone looked normal and happy, but Sara couldn’t help eyeing each person who passed with suspicion. She didn’t think anyone would be bold enough to shoot them in the middle of a crowded airport, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t slip in behind her and slide a knife into her back. Or Dillon’s.
The crowd, the noise, the way Dillon had shut her down so completely, combined with the fact that Sanchez had someone she didn’t know, and wouldn’t recognize, trying to kill them, all added to her growing tension.
The sooner they were out of here, away from this mass of humanity, and tucked somewhere safe, the better she’d feel. At least on one level.
After plenty of red tape, Dillon claimed his duffel bags, and she practically had to run down the concourse to keep up with him.
They passed through customs in a whirlwind. Dillon flashed his badge, showed his passport, said several things in Spanish and then they were gone. Customs barely spared her a second look.
Dillon dodged and wove through the crowds, his eyes alert, never once slowing down as he made his way through the terminal and outside to the waiting taxis.
He’d pushed, pulled and prodded her the entire way and by the third time he’d growled at her to hurry up in the space of five minutes, she’d had enough.
Rain splattered down against the outside overhang. Worry, combined with tension and betrayal, misery and fatigue, suddenly caught up with her and she came to a screeching halt. “Stop! Just...stop!” God, she was pissed. “No wonder I stayed gone! Do you have any idea what I went through? What I’m still going through? Holy crap, you’re an unfeeling asshole!”
<><><>
Dillon’s eyes narrowed to steely blue slits. His heart was nearly in tatters, his nerves were stretched tighter than piano wire and his control was ready to snap. He was in fighting form, on his way to a perilous jungle, possibly a deadly meeting with a drug lord, and had more than one innocent person depending on him. If anything happened to Sara or his child, his conscience would never handle the guilt. Three lives were in his hands and she was acting like there was some kind of damned protocol involved.
To make matters worse, though he knew he should be concentrating on nothing but keeping her safe and taking out Sanchez, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, them, their baby, their past, the time they’d lost…
This was not the time for distractions, but God help them both, he was wholly distracted and it infuriated him.
“Unfeeling asshole?” He grabbed Sara’s shoulders and pulled her against his chest. She gasped. Pupils dilated.
He lowered his mouth to hers. This kiss wasn’t sweet and gentle. It was punishing and angry and filled with brutal intensity. Heat and lust and love swamped him, and he lowered his hand to her butt, pulling her in close, molding her hips to his. He moved his erection against her, making sure she felt it.
She struggled slightly, and with a low moan, he thrust her away.
“That is why I’m growling. That is why I’m trying my damnedest to ignore you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t keep you safe while I feel this way. So just back the hell off.”
At her dazed, blank look, he exploded, “For crying out loud, three lives are at stake!”
Then, because he felt like shit for yelling, for practically pawing her, he toned down his anger. “Look, I’m trying my level best to keep you safe, so cut me some slack. Please. Let’s just try to be civil to each other. It…she’s my baby too.”
When a taxi pulled up to the curb, he stowed the bags in the trunk, they both got in, and he gave the driver directions in Spanish. Then he leaned back and tried to relax.
When he noticed the confusion and sadness on Sara’s face, for a brief second he felt sorry. She usually covered hurt feelings with sarcasm, and it didn’t take long for her to revert to standard.
“Where to now, Dr. Jekyll? Or is it Hyde?”
So much for civil. “Somewhere safe.”
In the front of the taxi the radio was on and something in Spanish about a special announcement caught his ear and he leaned forward.
“Continuing today’s top story...U.S. Drug Enforcement Agent John Rodriguez was murdered yesterday in a San Diego hospital during a bizarre undercover investigation. The man believed responsible for his murder is Commander Dillon Caldwell of the U.S. Special Forces--”
Sara gasped.
Dillon went still.
“--The suspect is still at large and believed to have entered Mexico at the Tijuana border. The charges against him are treason, conspiracy, and murder. Do not approach him. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous.”
The radio announcer started to give Dillon’s description and Dillon casually reached forward over the seat and switched stations. He offered a smile to the driver, leaned back and warned Sara with his eyes to keep quiet.
He’d killed a DEA agent? Obviously a very crooked DEA agent, but still, that put him in some deep shit. Really deep shit. Treason, conspiracy, and murder deep.
Holy crap, how the hell was he going to get out of this one?
Before they got too far out of town, Dillon took out his cell phone, turned it off and quickly removed the SIM card. He slipped the flat square into his shirt pocket and put his cellphone back in his fatigues. He’d destroy both once he got to Jake’s. Satellite triangulation and GPS systems were going in the toilet.
The driver wove in and out of heavy traffic before they finally left the city and drove past the town. The safe house was located in a rural little suburb and surrounded by dense foliage on all sides. After the cabbie pulled up to a gravel driveway and stopped, Dillon paid him and got the duffel bags out of the trunk.
Thunder wracked the air as Sara stumbled out into the rain right behind him. Grabbing the lighter bag, she looked at the sky, looked at him, then together they made a dash for it. They were both soaked before they’d gone even ten feet.
Dillon dumped the bags on the porch and turned to Sara, his voice grim, “As it turns out, we may not be very welcome, here.”
A low masculine voice came from the side, “Major understatement, asshole. Don’t you know you’re wanted for murder, among a few other felonious things?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Journal Entry
Took a chopper deep into the jungle of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta mountains today. Landed in La Ciudad Perdida--The Lost City. Ha. Lost would be a needle in a haystack. This is complete isolation. Entire place is damn near swallowed whole by the jungle, but once you’ve arrived, once you see it, it takes your breath.
A thousand shades of green shimmer and blend into mountain and valley. The air is raw and wild, thick and ripe with life, the tangy smell of plants, the sweetness of flowers, the lack of humanity.
Out of the river rise over a thousand stone steps, slick and nearly smothered by moss, and they go up, up, up straight to the mist-shrouded peak. And yes, even though we landed high, I made the trek down, just so I could say I made the trek up.
At any rate, Sanchez had a meet but I wasn’t invited to the party. I’ll admit, that still grates. It would’ve been excellent intel if I’d gotten a name or a face.
But I couldn’t and I didn’t, so instead I played spotter and spy.
Spotter, for Sanchez. Spy for the U.S. You can bet your ass I took mental notes.
Happy to say, no one bothered us, not the guerillas, the paramilitaries, or even the Colombian government. I’m sure this has more to do with the SBC’s reputation plus the fact that some of the Sanchez money has seeped into those wallets than any kind of actual good will.
The cocaine labs in this area are about as low-tech as they come. Bare cement, plastic tarps for cover, muddy splats for gasoline storage. Easy to figure why. Vast and rugged terrain. Crazy dense jungle. Nothing and no one coming or going. So farmers plant coca and hope that maybe they’ll have money to eat, eke out a living, even an illegal one, to help ease the poverty. I think they’re too busy trying to stay alive to even consider the end results, the addicts, crime, or kids on dope.
Maybe I’m wrong. Either way, I won’t judge. Not here. Not when I have a belly full of food and shoes on my feet.
Really wish, though, I’d have seen who met with Sanchez.
Sanchez I’ll judge. No question. ~~ D.C.
<><><>
The voice came from their left and Dillon whirled in that direction, his gun leading the way. “I’m getting a little tired of being called an asshole.”
Jake had his gun trained squarely at Dillon’s chest.
Stumbling back off the porch, Sara yelled over the thunder, “Jake! Dillon’s innocent!”
The men advanced on each other and circled like two boxers in a ring. Dillon shot Sara a cautioning glance before turning back to Jake. “Actually, I’m guilty. But the killing was justified.”
Jake shrugged. “That’s not what the news says.”
“The news is wrong.”
“How do I know? Heard you went dark. Maybe you’ve changed.”
“Maybe I haven’t.”
“Prove it.”
They kept circling each other, neither willing to co
ncede.
“Sanchez set me up.”
“Why?”
“I have something he wants.” Dillon knew this confrontation had to do with honor and trust, and since there wasn’t another man on the planet he trusted more than Jake, he surrendered. “Look, man, I’m putting my weapon away.” He lowered his gun and put it back in his holster.
Hell, he wasn’t going to shoot Jake and Jake wasn’t going to shoot him. Not in this lifetime. “Besides, would I be here if I was actually guilty?” He ran his hand through his wet hair. “I need to use your computer. I have exactly,” he flipped the Velcro cover off his watch and looked at the luminous dial, “thirty-three hours left to decode and copy a flash drive, then figure a way to find, and hopefully thwart, Sanchez.” Before he kills all I have left. He turned toward Sara. “Sara, make sure you scratch Jake off our Christmas list.”
Jake did a double take. “Sara? But-- I thought-- What the hell?”
“I understand the stutter,” Dillon said, “but I’ll have to explain later. What she needs right now is a little of your hospitality for a while. And to dry off.”
Jake’s confusion didn’t quite clear, but he let it go and gave Sara a slow grin, then took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I’m so glad you’re not dead.”
And just like that, Jake shoved his gun into the waistband of his jeans and clapped Dillon on the shoulder. A slow smile, full of even white teeth, broke across Jake’s good-looking face. “Decode a drive, huh? Well, all right, then. Why didn’t you say so? Let’s go.” Jake shook his head and a roguish sparkle lit his eyes when he said, “Hell, man, I knew you weren’t guilty, but I couldn’t very well pass up a perfectly good opportunity to point a gun at you.”
Dillon laughed and smacked him upside the head. “You’re lucky I didn’t take you seriously, or that might have been the last gun you ever pointed.”
