by Dee Davis
And still he thrust, her muscles tightening around him, holding him inside her, until she could no longer tell where he ended and she began, in a kaleidoscope of emotion and sensation that seemed beyond endurance. And yet she wanted it—needed it—more than anything she could possibly have imagined.
His hands tightened hard against her hips, and then the world exploded, combusting into feelings so intense she felt as though she might be ripped apart. Wave after wave washed through her, pleasure and pain so intricately bound that her body shook with the impact.
Then she felt his arms close around her, heard the sweet whisper of her name as he kissed her face, and she let go, allowing herself to soar, to fly, and in that moment she felt invincible. As if she’d never fall.
But deep in her heart, she knew there would be a price to pay—for only fools dared to defy gravity.
CHAPTER 19
The first pink fingers of dawn were stretching across the sky. Madeline sat at the end of the bed watching Drake sleep. She knew she should go. Knew that it was better to make a clean break. But still she stayed, watching him breathe. She so seldom trusted anyone. It seemed odd that she felt so comfortable with a man she’d known only a few days. Maybe it was because in some ways he reminded her of herself. Guarded. Cautious. Not the sort to suffer fools lightly.
And yet, he had a confidence she’d never known. Hers was strictly bravado. But Drake was the real thing. A man’s man with a heart. A rarity for certain. And as unobtainable as the elusive gold at the end of a rainbow.
At least as far as she was concerned.
It was the captive falling for the jailer, and that was always a strategic mistake. He’d said it himself, she was just an asset. And when it came time to turn her over to the authorities in Washington, there’d be no hesitation. Mission first, last, and always.
He might regret the fact, but he’d never shirk his duty. His honor was his life. It was part of what she admired about him. What had drawn her to him, made her open up, share herself. But now, the time had come to take care of herself. It was a cold, cruel world. And she knew better than to believe in happy endings. Instead, she’d take the memory and store it away with the others. Jenny’s laughter. Andrés’s smile. Drake’s eyes. His hands. His lips…
She shook her head, rising to her feet and turning her back. No last lingering look. It was simply too tempting to crawl back into bed—to pretend that tomorrow would bring more of the same. But it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. Drake’s bosses didn’t care about her. She was simply a means to an end. And Ortiz had already proven his determination to find and eliminate her.
Her only option was to disappear.
She slipped out of the bedroom, angry at herself for her tears. Good things happened to people who deserved them, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think that included her. You reaped what you sowed. It was as simple as that.
The living room was still shadowed, and she crept into the other room, retrieving one of the guns, the sat phone, and Drake’s wallet—still fat with cash. It wasn’t as if he needed it, she justified. His friends were coming. But still she felt a tug of guilt, and after tossing a couple of bills on the table, she grabbed a torn slip of paper and scribbled the word “sorry.” It wasn’t enough. But anything more and she’d be blubbering like a baby.
And for all she knew, he’d be laughing at her anyway.
A one-night stand. Probably the norm for a man like him. Any woman would be all too happy to grace his bed. And yet, even as she had the thought she decided it did him an injustice. Drake was more than that. Or at least she wanted him to be. One thing about riding off into the sunset—or sunrise, as the case might be—she got to leave with all of her fantasies intact.
They’d carry her a long way.
Shouldering her bag, she slipped out the front door, her throat tightening as her gaze caught on the remnants of last night’s meal. It had been a perfect evening, one she’d never forget. But morning had come, bringing with it the harsh cold light of reality. So, with a determination borne of years of practice, she walked away from the hacienda without so much as a backward glance.
The market was just beginning to see signs of life, vendors arranging wares, calling out morning greetings to each other. She slipped by them, ignoring their curious stares, making her way through the little village to the harbor.
The port, like the rest of the town, was run-down, but here there was also a hint of malice, a wash of something less than savory. She squared her shoulders, asking a passing man for directions to the harbor master. His leer sent concern lancing through her, and she closed her hand on the gun in her pocket.
But she’d been stared at before. And with a haughty look she thanked him and headed for the building the stranger had indicated. The office was little more than a palm-frond shack, and she fought against trepidation as she approached the door. Inside, at first, she thought the room was empty, but then a wizened little man rose from behind the counter. His dark eyes were speculative as he watched her approach, and she swallowed convulsively, for the first time questioning the wisdom of her decision.
It had all been so much easier knowing that Drake had her back.
Still, she’d handled herself in far more dangerous situations. And she had the advantage of a gun. Bolstering her courage and calling on every ounce of femininity she possessed, she lifted her hands and gave him a smile. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I’m afraid I need your help.”
“The office is closed,” he said, eyes narrowing as he continued to study her. His Spanish was difficult to follow, his sentences laced with Chocoan dialect. Words from the ancient language blended into the modern-day Spanish. But she was determined to persevere.
“I don’t mean to intrude so early in the day. It’s just that I’ve missed my boat,” she improvised with a smile. “I’m traveling with friends, but they weren’t interested in coming to Puerto Remo. I wanted to see the cathedral.” She tipped her head toward the massive structure perched on the rocks above them. “Anyway, I’m supposed to be meeting them in Esmeraldas this morning. In Ecuador. And I’m hoping that you might know of someone going in that direction?”
“I have no knowledge of the boat you say you missed,” he said, his expression hardening.
“It was a yacht. You can’t have missed it. American. A lovely couple. They offered me a ride from Buenaventura.” She slipped a folded wad of money into her hand. “We anchored just beyond the harbor.” She waved toward the sea, in the process displaying the money, praying that he would buy the ruse or at least let his greed override his doubt. “Anyway, they must have assumed I’d decided to stay on. And now they’re gone. So I’m hoping that you can help me find another way out.” She opened her hands, shrugging as if in dismay, the money again openly displayed. Then she dropped her hands to the counter, waiting to see if he’d take the bait.
“It is not wise for you to travel alone.” He frowned, his eyes dropping to her hands.
“I’ll be fine,” she soothed. “I’m used to being on my own.” There was too much truth in the statement, and she winced, her thoughts winging back to Drake and the night they’d spent together. “Please,” she said, pulling her thoughts to the present. “I need your help.”
The man studied her for a moment, then took the money with a shrug. “There is a trawler leaving in a few hours. I believe it is headed for the port you seek. You’ll find it tied off of the third quay. It is called Princesa. The captain’s name is Valdez.”
“Thank you,” she said with a nod as she walked from the office. The wharf outside was quiet, the rising sun hidden now behind clouds, the wind picking up, whistling eerily through the masts of the anchored boats, the tethered rigging clanking in counterrhythm.
She glanced down at her watch, surprised to find that she’d managed a lot in a very short time. Now all that remained was to find the Princesa and convince its captain to let her on board. She fingered Drake’s wallet, confident of her success, knowing that in thi
s part of the world money could guarantee one almost anything.
Still, she had to keep moving. She had no doubt that once Drake realized she was gone, he’d try to find her. She was his package, after all. Chattel to be traded for information. It was a crass way to put it, but it did the trick, reminding her that last night hadn’t been real. Passion wasn’t the same as love. And she wasn’t about to let one night of amazing sex trick her into believing something different.
The path along the waterfront was only partially paved with shells and pebbles, making it difficult going in places where the rains had washed the paving away and turned the ground to mud. She picked her way carefully, ignoring the occasional catcall from men working on the piers.
The boats, for the most part, were small ones, meant for fishing or hauling local goods up and down the coast. Since it was still early, there was little activity. All the better for her purposes, but she remained wary as she passed into the shadow of a warehouse sitting adjacent to a long wooden jetty, a burst of wind sending dirt and pebbles skittering across the ground.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, she cast a look behind her, and satisfied that she was not being followed, sped up her pace, less mindful now of the mud beneath her feet. The sooner she found the Princesa, the sooner she’d be out of this cursed place.
A sign at the far side of the warehouse pointed toward the third quay, and she sighed with relief as she spied the trawler, its empty hull riding high in the water, its nets rigged and ready for the day’s run.
A dark man with a heavy beard was working on the deck, his attention on the rope he was coiling. She turned onto the pier, making her way past abandoned barrels and crates to the gangway leading to the Princesa.
“Hello,” she called. “I’m looking for Mr. Valdez?”
“You’ve found him,” the man said, his scowl less than inviting. Again, she had a moment’s doubt. But the gun in her pocket brought clarity.
“I’m hoping you can give me a lift? The harbor master said that you were headed for Esmeraldas. I’m supposed to meet my friends there, but I missed my boat.”
“This is a working vessel,” he said, shading his eyes with his hand. Thankfully, his Spanish was easier to follow, his accent less guttural than that of the harbor-master.
“I’d be more than happy to pay,” she offered. “I’ll give you a thousand. Half now. And half when we reach Esmeraldas.” The idea was a bit ludicrous, since once she was on the boat, she’d be at his mercy, more or less, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that.
“Two thousand,” the man said.
“I’m sorry, but a thousand is all I’ve got,” she lied, wishing she’d thought to separate the money, hiding some of it. “But I promise not to be a bother.” She gave him her most beguiling smile.
“All right, then.” He nodded his acceptance. “I’ll take a thousand.”
“When do we leave?” she asked, moving toward the gangplank.
“As soon as I finish with the rigging,” he said. “Half an hour, maybe less. You can go below if you like. Until we’re out of port.” He lifted an eyebrow, his gaze knowing. “And I’ll take the first half of the money now.”
“Fine,” she said, reaching into her bag for the wallet as she stepped onto the gangway, losing her footing on the slippery metal, her bag flying into the mud as she fell to her knees. “Damn it to hell,” she muttered, as Valdez stood watching, making no effort to help. Swearing again, she pulled herself back to her feet, leaning down to rescue her bag, eyes searching for the wallet.
It had tumbled off the gangway into a puddle of water, flipping open, some of its contents scattered across the pier. She bent to retrieve some money and a plastic sheath that had fallen out of one of the wallet’s compartments. After safely stowing the currency, she turned the plastic sleeve over, wiping it clean, her heart stuttering to a stop as she stared down at the photograph encased inside.
“Are you coming?” Valdez asked, his tone impatient.
She lifted her head, her mind whirling. She needed to go. Now. This was her best chance. If she went back, Drake would see to it that she never had another opportunity to escape. But if she boarded the boat, she’d be betraying him in the worst possible way.
Indecision whirled inside her, baser instincts warring with common decency.
“So make up your mind,” the man said, his expression fading back into a scowl. “Coming or going? I haven’t got all day.”
She looked down at the photo again, her hands trembling. It shouldn’t be a debate. Self-preservation should always win the day, even over something as monumental as this. But she could see his face. Hear the pain in his voice. And she knew suddenly that there was no choice. She had to go back.
She had to tell Drake.
Drake stood in his bedroom staring down at Madeline’s scrawled message. “Sorry,” he read. “What the hell does that mean?” Was she sorry about running out on him? Sorry about last night? Damn the woman. He should have known better than to trust her.
For all he knew the whole thing had been a setup. Lure him in and make him believe in her, then wham, she’s gone—just like that. And even if he put aside his personal feelings—which, considering the circumstances, was probably the wiser thing to do—there was still the matter of the mission. He was responsible for delivering her to Langley. And without a second thought he’d surrendered to his desire and as a result let her slip right through his fingers.
He grabbed his gun and the two hundreds she’d left him and headed into the living room, determined to run her to ground. She couldn’t have been gone that long. The sun was barely over the horizon. And they’d been up until the wee hours—he closed his eyes, cursing his own stupidity.
Damn, but she was good. Played him like a fucking violin.
He leaned down to pick up his pack, the scattered plates and cups reminding him of their foray onto the counter. How stupid could a man be? Using sex was the oldest trick in the book, and he’d fallen for it without even a backward glance.
Pulling an extra clip from the bag, he stuck it in his pocket and turned for the door, just as the screen opened and Madeline walked in, her face blanched of all color.
“What the hell are you doing back here?” he asked, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms.
“I have something I need to tell you,” she said, her voice coming on a whispered gasp as she struggled for air.
Instantly his senses went on high alert. “What’s happened? Is it Ortiz? Di Silva?” He moved to the door, drawing the gun, his gaze sweeping across the courtyard.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing like that.”
“Then what the hell is it?” He hadn’t meant to sound so angry, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “I got your note. So I know you didn’t just step out for breakfast. You were running. Again. So tell me, Madeline,” he taunted, “why the hell did you bother coming back? Did you need more money? Or maybe you wanted more of me? Is that it? A quickie before you hit the road?”
She winced, but held her ground, her breath coming more easily now. “I was leaving. I found a boat to take me to Ecuador. In fact, I’d be gone now except that I found something—and if I’m right, then it’s a big deal. And I couldn’t go. Not without telling you first what I found.” She held out the photograph.
“So what? You’re telling me that you had an attack of conscience over a picture of my brother?” He stared down at the photo, at Tucker’s crooked grin. They’d been fishing in Colorado, the trip a gift from their dad. It had been the three of them for a week on the Rio Grande.
The picture had been taken high in the mountains after a three-hour hike into a box canyon fabled as the home of enormous trout. They’d fished away the morning catching absolutely nothing and finally, exhausted, they’d stopped for lunch.
In the picture, Tucker was holding an eggshell, his eyes crinkled with laughter. Drake smiled at the memory. They’d brought hard-boiled eggs for their lunch. But someho
w when Drake had gone to retrieve them, he’d picked up the fresh ones instead, so they’d started the long trek home with both their stomachs and their creels empty.
And their father had laughed so hard, Drake thought he’d split a gut. And then he’d made them scrambled eggs for supper. It was a precious memory.
“So it is your brother in the picture?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she contemplated something.
“Yes. Of course it is. But I still don’t understand why that would cause you to do a complete about-face.”
“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?” she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger.
“Hey, I’m not the one who snuck out of here without even saying good-bye.”
“You said you got my note.” At least she had the decency to look uncomfortable.
“Right. ‘Sorry.’ What the hell was that supposed to mean?”
“That I’m sorry. For a lot of things. Most principally ducking out on you like that. But I had to do what I thought was best. And if I let you take me back to Washington, there’s no telling what would happen to me. So I found a fisherman who agreed to take me to Ecuador. He had a trawler. And I was all set to go. Only then I dropped the wallet.”
“My wallet.”
“Yes. Yours. And the photograph fell out. And as soon as I saw it, I knew I had to come back. I owed you that much.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, I do.” The words were quiet, and some of his anger dissipated at her tone. “Look, I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. There’s no questioning that fact. And you said you were close with your brother.”
“So you brought back the photograph?”
“No. I recognized it.”
“What?” He frowned, trying to make sense of her words.
“I’ve seen the man in this picture.” She waved at the photo in his hand. “Your brother. I know him. Or at least I knew him,” she amended. “Three years ago.”
“That’s impossible. Tucker died five years ago.”
