by T C Archer
Jesse crawled back down to Cole, where she felt along the limb and stretched out. He caught her other hand as she settled facing him. His grip lingered for a moment before he released her. She studied him. His face remained hidden in shadows. He had been quiet while she followed him up the tree, but he might as well have been repeating over and over those words he’d said as he started up the tree: “We’ve got to discuss how we’re going to get back so we can make sure Amanda’s all right.”
Surprise, surprise. Aside from the comment he made the night after they went to Judge Menendez’s, tonight was the first reference to Amanda. But Jesse now realized he’d known all along Amanda was her priority.
Jesse shifted onto her back. “With Perez dead, Lanton needs me dead. The way to ensure that is through my sister. I have to get to Amanda before he does. So you see why I have to reach that village tonight. I’d rather you went with me. I don’t like the looks of your leg.” She paused. “You’ve been MIA for over a day. Think your men are looking for you?”
“Count on it.”
“They might have already reported Perez’s death to Lanton.”
“This isn’t a Green Team mission,” Cole said. “I’m team leader, and this mission is personal. They’ll try to find me first.”
Jesse closed her eyes in relief.
“If I don’t show they’ll eventually go to Lanton,” he went on. “But we’ll get to them beforehand. Don’t worry about the team. They’ll follow my lead.”
Something in the way he said follow my lead gave her pause. He was still holding back. No. She was doing it again. Dammit. What had happened to her? Trust had never come easily. In this business, suspicion was a requirement. But she had learned to depend upon team members. With everything she and Cole had been through, why didn’t she trust him? What more did he have to do to prove himself—die? Or was her lack of trust a way of keeping him at a distance? She was already wondering what they would do after this was over. Would she drop out of sight while he went back to Green Team?
“Cole,” she began quietly.
A murmur of voices wafted on the night breeze. Jesse tensed. Cole pressed a warning hand to her arm. She instinctively reached for his shirt and found her fingers buried in the luxurious hair of his chest.
Couldn’t have planned it better if I’d tried.
A day late and a dollar short.
Cole’s hand covered the hand resting on his chest. She tensed, her attention on the sounds around her, waiting for another burst of speech in order to pinpoint the location of the voices. Two seconds passed and the click of what Jesse recognized as a radio squelch kicking in was followed by a faint voice. Who the hell was wandering around in the jungle with a radio? Not Perez’s men. The only people she could think of were—
Cole abruptly leaned close and whispered, “Stay here.”
He started to pull away, but Jesse seized his lapel and pulled him back. “I know U.S. made equipment when I hear it,” she whispered. “Who are they?”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Jesse tensed when Cole brought his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I’m hoping, they’re Caruthers and Fletcher.”
He’s been expecting them.
She tightened her grip on his jacket as much out of uncertainty of what to do as the desire to throttle him.
“Trust me,” he ordered, and disengaged her hand from his shirt.
He slipped down through the foliage and Jesse repressed an urge to climb from the tree after him.
So much for monkey-sex.
Right now, she’d settle for dishing out a monkey beating. He was holding out on her—had been from the start. Jesse strained to discern the path of his descent, but he reached the ground and she lost him when he melted into the jungle. With careful and silent deliberation, she rose and steadied herself against the trunk. The village lay eight clicks north. The mission was over, a failure. Her best option was to get Amanda out of Houghton House. So why was she waiting for Cole?
Only natural jungle night sounds gently chattered around her as she climbed down, pausing at each branch to listen. She lowered to the ground and stood by the trunk, patting her pockets, wondering if she had anything Cole might need. Maybe she should leave a note? She laughed inwardly at the ridiculous thought. Her reluctance to take off surprised her. This was Cole she was talking about. Injured or not, he could take care of himself. A footfall crunched undergrowth a few meters to her right. She whirled. A red lensed flashlight flicked on then off.
“Jess,” Cole whispered. “It’s me.”
She discerned his outline nearly close enough to touch.
“Caruthers and Fletcher are with me.” Cole caught her arm. “I’ve filled them in on you and Lanton.”
Jesse glanced in the direction of the village. Cole released her, then turned on the red flashlight and pointed it at the ground. Another red light flicked on directly ahead, and the outlines of two men materialized, wearing night-camouflage, ops-vest and stocking caps. One stood an inch or so taller than her five-ten, and was built like a tri-athlete, slim, with smooth, easy movements.
The other she recognized from the cantina: six-six, early thirties, held the flashlight in one massive paw. As they approached, Jesse noticed that, without his disguise, the big guy had no beer-belly or beard. He looked like a linebacker for the New York Giants. This was the guy who had tripped her outside the cantina. No wonder it had felt like a ton of bricks had fallen on her.
“Jesse Evans,” Cole said, “Charlie—Crush—Caruthers and Sam Fletcher.”
Jesse brought her gaze to rest on Crush.
He nodded in understanding. “Sorry about the tackle outside the cantina, ma’am. Just doing my job.”
His had a North Jersey accent and, despite the obvious implication that he had relished doing his job, she couldn’t help feeling she’d met the boy next door. He was probably even a Giant’s fan.
Jesse nodded. “I should have been watching my back.” And she would have been if Cole hadn’t screwed up her insides with his damn kisses.
A twinge of embarrassment fluttered her stomach. She was acting like a schoolgirl mooning over a first kiss. The flutter turned sour. She refocused on Caruthers and Fletcher. “How did you boys find us?”
“We saw you kick ass back at the compound,” Fletcher said. “We owe you big time for getting Cole out of that hellhole.” He had a San Fernando accent, and spoke with a chuckle in his voice.
Despite his warmth, a chill settled in Jesse’s gut. The truck ride from the sub base had lasted four hours. The prison could have been anywhere in a two-hundred kilometer radius. “How did you know where they had us?”
“We had a friendly talk with one of Perez’s men,” Crush replied. “He gave us the location of the prison. We weren’t sure you and Cole were there until we saw you arrive.”
“That’s when we figured bonus, two for one,” Fletcher added.
“Stow it,” Crush ordered, casting a sideway glance at Fletcher that Jesse couldn’t interpret in the dim light.
Did Fletcher mean her and Cole, or her and Perez? “Two?”
Cole grasped her arm, more intimate than cautionary. Caruthers’ gaze snapped to the action. Jesse barely registered the quiver in her belly before pulling free and leveling her gaze on Caruthers.
He gave another nod of understanding. “You went inside with Perez and one guard, next thing we know you’re in the doorway, gun blazing, with Cole on your heels.”
Jesse startled, thrown by a tone that asked her to confirm she had come through for Cole after all.
“We sprung our own trap before you disappeared into the jungle,” Caruthers said. “We kept the guards busy while you and Cole got away.”
“Luckily, you left one hell of a trail,” Fletcher said.
Jesse swung her gaze onto him, dazzled by the big grin that revealed even teeth in the glow of the red light. That explained why they’d so easily escaped.
“Don’t worry about the guards,” he added. “Even P
erez couldn’t round up the survivors.”
“Perez is dead,” Cole said.
Jesse frowned, surprised by the hard note in his voice, then blinked when Fletcher exclaimed with a boyish, “Good job!”
A panther growled uncomfortably close.
“I say we get out of here,” he said. “We have a Jeep near the prison.”
Jesse shivered at the thought of going anywhere near the prison.
“Jesse and I have to get out of the country fast,” Cole said. “This isn’t over.”
She stared at him. The way he said ‘Jesse and I’ reminded her of his assertion she wouldn’t be able to leave him behind.
She glanced up into the Plumeria. Only fifteen minutes ago, she’d been wishing for some simple monkey snuggling.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Jesse sat in the passenger seat of Cole’s Silverado as he drove along Highway 9 twenty miles outside Galveston, Texas. A bone-white rail fence flicked by her open window. Beyond the fence, green pasture dotted with chestnut quarter horses and sandy Appaloosas rolled past. Up ahead, a sprawling ranch house the color of buttercups sat two hundred yards off the road. Hard to believe only twelve hours ago they had been stranded in the Columbian jungle.
At least she could breathe a little easier. Amanda was all right. According to Harris, she hadn’t seemed to notice Jesse hadn’t visited in two months. Maybe her older sister was forgetting even more easily than Jesse had imagined. That, she decided, was for the best. Once she got Amanda to safety, she would stay away until she proved Lanton’s guilt.
No sign of him or OIA agents at Houghton house. A fact that wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. Jesse hid her sister’s whereabouts to safeguard against enemy attacks. It hadn’t occurred to her the enemy would be in her own camp. Cole hadn’t mentioned Amanda again, but his comment about making sure she was all right indicated he knew her location.
Jesse cast a covert glance at him. His right hand lightly gripped the wheel; the left, with the broken index and middle fingers, rested on the windowsill. His forearm, half exposed by a rolled up, light blue sleeve, mesmerized her. If not for Caruthers and Fletcher, she might have ended up in those arms last night.
Jesse shifted her gaze to the ranch house that drew near. Caruthers and Fletcher were in Nicaragua following her—or the woman Lanton would be made to think was her: Ernesta. Tom would be waiting for them at the ranch. She should have been relieved. If ever she needed him, it was now. But knowing he’d be in the same room with her and Cole for the next two days redlined her anxiety level.
The truck slowed and turned onto a packed gravel drive lined with hundred year-old oaks leading to the yellow house. Two barns, a long, narrow stable, paddock, and two sheds large enough to enclose a two-bedroom house in her hometown of Morristown, New Jersey, came into view beyond the house.
She breathed deeply of the balmy air blowing across her face, then grimaced when she got a whiff of manure. “God, Cole, you are a Texan,” she said over the crunch of gravel.
He ripped a wide grin. Even the facial bruises and remainder of the swelling over his right eye didn’t mar his good looks. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “My family has been here since the homesteaders. Fought in the Spanish-American war. Two even died at the Alamo.”
Jesse blew out a breath. When Cole reported his Uncle Tyler had a place outside Galveston they could use while Tyler was away, she figured they’d hit upon some good luck at finding a safe house so close to the Mexican border. But this place was so big she wondered how they could remain inconspicuous.
“Are all your family’s homes like this?” she asked.
Cole chuckled. “No. Some are larger.”
As they neared the ranch, the driveway curved into a wide circular turnaround. Jesse raised a brow at sight of a three-tiered fountain in the center of the circle. A lone Toyota 4-Runner stood in the drive alongside a full length, wraparound porch.
“Must be Tom’s rental,” Cole said as he pulled alongside the Toyota and killed the engine.
Jesse exited the truck and paused to study the massive house. White trim, porch posts, railing, and real wood shutters completed the idyllic picture. She turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees and surveyed the flat terrain that met cloudless blue skies in the distant horizon. A hint of alfalfa and clover wafted past on a light breeze. Nothing broke the silence.
“Where are the hands?” she asked.
Cole nodded toward the outbuildings. “A couple men are tending stock. The rest are taking time off. I’ve left strict orders to steer clear of the house while we’re here.”
The porch floorboards creaked and Jesse turned to see The Professor stroll around the far corner of the porch. He sidestepped the porch swing, his concentration on a bug sniffer he held. Affection rippled through her. She couldn’t help being glad to see him. She needed him. Not to mention, being alone with Cole was a worse idea than facing them together.
Tom looked up and jerked to a halt. He smiled and tugged one of the ear buds from his ear. “It’s good to see you.” He turned his gaze onto Cole. “I must say, Cole, this place is magnificent.” The Professor pulled the other ear bud loose and wrapped the cable around the sniffer. “I made a point of arriving early to sweep for bugs. So far, the place is clean.”
Cole nodded and climbed the two steps to the porch. His boots clumped on the thick oaken treads. Jesse followed to the double front door and eyed the windows that flanked the entry. Through sheer curtains, she saw no evidence of movement in the foyer or in the shadows beyond.
Cole opened the doors and stepped aside. Jesse entered an air-conditioned foyer and halted on a dark patterned Persian carpet, stunned by the wide staircase in front of her. The white balusters and sweeping circular design looked like something from Gone With the Wind. Jesse ran her gaze up the railing and along the fine trim woodwork, life-size paintings of southern gentleman and ladies, and carved plaster ceiling.
Tom brushed past her, working the scanner again, and disappeared into the nearest of two rooms on the left. A chandelier hung overhead and, to her right, a mirror-backed bench seat with hat pegs rested against the wall. Through an open door next to the bench, she caught sight of a massive fireplace big enough to crawl into.
Cole closed the front doors, then crossed to the parlor on the right and motioned her inside. Jesse stepped up beside him and surveyed the Queen-Ann love seat opposite a full sized sofa, the floor-to-ceiling draperies, and fine wood inlayed harpsichord. Maroon wallpaper sported embossed roses in velvet and satin. He started forward and she followed at a slow pace. Whatever seat he chose, she would choose the other. Tom had known her too long to miss any reaction she may not be able to hide.
Cole turned toward the wet bar that sat against the right wall. “You want a drink?”
“Scotch.” Jesse winced inwardly. Her answer sounded like a croak. What had gotten into her? She had been in mansions, well-appointed embassies, even a castle. Opulent settings didn’t intimidate her. Yeah, but none of those settings had contained Cole Smith. Even Emma Peel had her…her what, John Steed?
Jesse lowered herself onto the loveseat as she studied Cole’s back, the play of muscle in his arm as he reached for the scotch bottle, the tug of his shirt across his shoulders. How would that muscle tighten beneath her fingers as he strained while thrusting inside her? Even Emma might have had a hard time resisting such a temptation.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Jesse looked up when Tom entered, wrapping the ear-bud cord around his sniffer. “The house looks clean,” he said.
“Drink?” Cole rose from where he’d planted himself on the arm of the loveseat beside her.
“Later.”
Cole sank back onto the loveseat arm and Jesse willed her heartbeat to slow as Tom sat on the eight-foot sofa opposite Jesse. He set his sniffer on the teak coffee table between them and split a glance between her and Cole.
“You two look like hell.”
Jesse scowled. “Thanks a
lot.” She set her drink on the coffee table next to an issue of Southern Living magazine. “Any news on Perez’s death?”
Tom shook his head. “I checked all the way up to level seven at OIA. Nothing there or in the media.”
He hadn’t uncovered the truth about Maria. Maybe his contacts weren’t as good as they used to be. Or maybe Lanton was one crafty son-of-a-bitch. “Greed is a predictable vice,” she said. “The cartels are keeping quiet. I wonder if they’ll find Perez’s money.”
Tom leaned forward, his expression eager. “Jesse, you’ve never told me what you have that has Green Leader running scared.”
She paused, surprised by the change in subject. “You said Perez murdered Maria Hamilton. Perez said he never had her.”
Tom looked startled. “The reports said she was dead. That’s what—” He broke off, and Jesse finished with, “Lanton said.”
Tom whistled. “What do you know? Green Leader sucker punched me.” He gave an appreciative nod. “If someone is planting misinformation, I’ll find out who.”
“We know the why,” Jesse said.
Tom’s gaze intensified. “I’m all ears.”
Jesse related Perez’s story, and Tom whistled again. “Green Leader was using his own men to assassinate Perez? I wouldn’t have believed it if anyone else told me.”
“Truth is, I didn’t have enough on Lanton to put into a thimble,” Jesse went on. “His membership in Submissions.”
Tom’s brows shot up. “The BDSM club? You never mentioned that.”
“That was a more recent discovery I was focused on the two missions that went bad. Three years ago in Madrid, the only way the gunrunners could have been waiting for you is if they were tipped off.”
Tom nodded. “You never said anything about a second mission.”
“Hong Kong. I was on lone recon. A shipment of Chinese Silkworm missiles were outbound to Iran. I was there to find out what ship and their route so we could quietly intercept them in international waters. I tracked the shipment to a warehouse, reported by satellite phone, and went in. Fifteen minutes later, a gang of armed men showed up led by a Chinese Secret Service type. Fortunately, the men were inexperienced mercenaries. The leader, however, nearly killed me hand-to-hand.” Jesse paused. “Someone tipped them I was there—just like with you in Madrid.”
