Dangerous to Hold (16 page)

“No,” she whispered against his mouth, “but I might have. In fact, if you hadn't forced it, I probably would've done exactly what I'm going to do now.”

Jake's stomach muscles jumped as her seeking fingers slid through the thick hair at his groin and closed around his shaft.

“Now you just close your eyes again,” Sarah murmured in between tiny, wet kisses, “and let me give you something else to think about besides being whacked with an umbrella.”

She definitely did that. Within moments, she had him rigid and aching and straining against her hold. Her mouth teased and nipped at him with the same erotic impact as her hands. As much as he ached to roll her over into the thick green carpet, Jake held back, giving her the time she wanted, needed. Every muscle quivered with the effort. When his low,
strangled growl gave evidence that he couldn't restrain himself any longer, she took him into her body, her hips straddling his and her back arching as she met his slow, driving thrusts with a strength that stunned him.

Jake saw his hands, dark against the pale skin of her breasts. He heard her breathless, panting cries as her passion deepened. He felt her moist heat surround him, clench him. When she braced her hands on his shoulders and brought her mouth to his, Jake drank in her dark, sweet taste.

Sarah was right, Jake thought—while he could still think at all. Whatever happened tomorrow, they'd have this. They'd always have this.

 

Slowly, reluctantly, they rejoined the universe they'd left behind for a moment out of time. Jake brought Sarah up into his arms for a last touch of his lips against hers, then turned away to reach for their clothes.

She clutched at his shoulders, achingly reluctant to allow even a breath of space between their sweat-slicked bodies.

“Jack, I…I want you to know that everything you heard or read about me was true.”

He stopped her with a brush of his thumb over the soft skin of her lips. “We both have things in our past that are best forgotten.”

She took his hand in both of hers, needing to tell him what was in her heart. “I was stupid and self-centered and uncaring who I hurt, before. I…I thought I was in love. But now…now I'm just beginning to understand what the word means.”

His thumb shaped her lower lip. “When we get out of here, Sarah Josepha, we're going to take a long, slow, cool shower in the biggest, most decadent hotel room money can buy. We're going to make wild, sweet love on a bed with clean sheets. And then we're going to do some serious talking about the future.”

 

Not five minutes later, the future reached out to grab them by the throat.

They'd collected the children and Eleanora and were only a few hundred meters from the camp when the sharp crack of a gunshot set the parrots overhead squawking. The dense undergrowth shielded the camp from view, but there was no mistaking the source of the sound.

“Get down!” Jake ordered instantly. Eleanora dropped like a sack of ballast, tugging Teresa down with her. Sarah grabbed Eduard's good arm and pulled him down with her and Ricci. Tucking the toddler under the shelter of her body, she wrapped a protective arm across Eduard's thin shoulders.

Jake strained to hear above the noise of the birds. No other sound reached him from camp. He straightened slowly, rapidly assessing the possibilities. One of the men could've shot a viper. Or amused himself by taking a potshot at one of the monkeys that occasionally darted into camp to snatch at shiny objects in the debris. Or an argument between a couple of the rebels could've taken a personal, ugly twist. It had happened before.

He turned and crouched beside Sarah. “I don't think it's anything to panic over. I'm going in. Stay here until I signal for you.”

He pulled the palm-size pistol from his boot. She hesitated, swallowing hard, then reached out a shaky hand and took it.

“It's ready to fire,” Jake warned softly. “If I'm not back in five minutes, take the children back to the pool. I'll call in what help I can and try to hold off the others as long as possible.”

“Jack, I—” She broke off, unable to articulate her thoughts. Her eyes expressed them for her.

“Me too,” Jake answered, smiling. Ruffling Eduard's hair, he rose and moved down the trail with the silent, swift tread of a hunter.

Che met him at the edge of the clearing, his pistol drawn and a cold, flat rage in his eyes. A half-dozen men were strung out behind him, their expressions nervous. Jake caught the stoop-shouldered Xavier's frowning look. Clearly the leader's unexpected return had shaken the camp.

For several tense moments, they faced each other. Jake's finger curled around the trigger.

At last the rebel leader broke the crackling tension. “I was just coming to look for you.”

Jake let his eyes drift to the leader's drawn gun. “Did you think I'd gone somewhere? Without getting paid?”

Che straightened slowly, contempt replacing some of the rage in his eyes. “That was what Enrique said, when he tried to justify letting you go into the jungle with only the women.”

“You still don't trust me?” Jake asked mockingly.

“I don't trust anyone who's not dedicated to the revolution,” the rebel said flatly. “Nor do I tolerate those who disregard my orders.”

Jake knew then what had caused the single pistol shot. He wouldn't have to worry about Pig-face any longer.

Che uncocked his weapon and slid it into its holster. “Where is the woman?”

Jake lowered the barrel of his own weapon. “Where I left her.”

The other man eyed him for a long moment. “You've taken your responsibility for her welfare most seriously, gringo.”

“You put it on my neck, remember?”

“Call her in. We're abandoning this camp. We leave immediately.”

Jake's stomach clenched. “Why?”

“The
patrón
has sources in the city. They tell him people, unknown people, have been asking questions. Too many questions. He is not nervous, you understand, but cautious. He's bringing in the shipment we've been waiting for tonight….”

Tonight, not tomorrow! Beads of sweat collected in the hollow between Jake's shoulder blades.

“After tonight, we will have what we need to bring this decadent government to its knees.” The intense fanaticism that characterized the leader vibrated in his voice. “After tonight, we will not need this camp. We will take the revolution out of these hills and into the city.”

And take the heat off the
patrón
's little operation, Jake thought in gut-twisting disgust.

“Call in the woman,” Che said impatiently.

Jake slung his weapon over his shoulder. “Why not let her go?” he suggested casually. “She and the children will only slow us on the march. She has served her purpose here.”

“I would as soon put a bullet in her head. The church she serves is nothing but a tool of the corrupt government that suppresses our people. But the
patrón
has said to bring her.”

“Bring her where?”

“You have no need to know our destination, only that your job with us ends tonight.”

It was going to end, all right. One way or another.

“Come, collect the woman and your gear. You will take the point. I have need of a man who's good with his eyes and his weapon out in front.”

In other words, Jake thought grimly, Che intended to put the gringo where he could watch him every minute. With Xavier dogging his footsteps, Jake went to collect Sarah and the others, his mind racing with possible options.

“O
MEGA control, this is Chameleon.”

Maggie tucked the tiny transceiver between her shoulder and her ear and leaned against the rest room wall. While she waited for Cowboy to respond, she glanced around the dingy room.

As unisex bathrooms went, this one contained all the essentials. A grimy, once-white stool with an old-fashioned overhead flush unit. A urinal hanging crookedly on one wall. A rusted faucet set over an equally rusted sink. A sliver of mirror nailed above the tap. Maggie caught sight of herself in the mirror and grimaced. She fit right in with the rest of the clientele in this raunchy café, but she was ready to wipe off the half pound of green eye shadow that weighted her lids, slip out the back door to retrieve her discreetly concealed habit and make her way back to the relative quiet of the convent. Even the raucous chapter house bell was melodious compared to the disco music booming off the walls of the Café El Caribe.

“This is Cowboy, Chameleon. What's happening? We
thought you'd— What's that noise?” His voice sharpened. “Are you under assault?”

“Not me, just my ears,” Maggie responded quickly. “I'm at the local night spot.”

“Let me guess,” Cowboy drawled. “You're soliciting contributions from the patrons for the sisters' welfare fund?”

Maggie glanced down at the skintight glowing-pink tube of slinky fabric that hugged her from well below her collarbone to well above her knees. “Let's just say I'm soliciting…information. Heard anything from Jaguar in the last few hours?”

“No, nothing.”

She nibbled on her well-glossed lower lip. Everything was set for tomorrow. She really didn't need Jake's confirmation. Still, Maggie would like to talk to him one last time before going in.

“Did you pick up anything interesting at that end?” Cowboy asked.

“Very. I've been sharing a table for the last half hour with a runner.”

“One of the big guys?”

“No, just a mule. A small-time carrier trying to earn enough for a stake for herself in Hollywood.”

“Aren't they all?”

Maggie frowned, thinking of the young wives and mothers she'd talked to yesterday. They were simply trying to feed their families.

“No, not all the ones down here, anyway. But this one is definitely in it for the thrills, as well as the money. She makes a run to the States every month or so, ferrying about ten kilos each time. She's also a personal friend—a
very
personal friend—of the man the folks around here call the
patrón.
”

Cowboy's low whistle was audible even over the boom of disco. “The same
patrón
who's funding the arms for Jaguar's little band?”

“Right the first time. She mentioned that she paid him a visit a couple of nights ago. Bragged about a chopper flying
her in. She also let drop that our friend Che was visiting at the same time.”

Maggie hesitated, still not sure of the import of her next tidbit of information. “She said that Che mentioned a nun his band had taken, and that the
patrón
was very interested in her.”

“Interested how?”

“I'm not sure. I'm going to follow this up, though. I have this funny feeling…”

Cowboy groaned. “You and your feelings.”

“Look, I have to go. I've tied up this rest room long enough. Tell the chief—”

She broke off as the door handle rattled. “Gotta go, Cowboy. Talk at you later.”

Flipping the tiny, flat transceiver shut, Maggie hitched up her short skirt and clipped it to the garter belt she'd filched at the same time as the stockings and the high spiked heels. She shimmied her hips to smooth the tight fabric down over them and grinned, remembering the ridiculous ease with which she'd acquired her new wardrobe.

She'd made the rounds of the tawdry shops this afternoon with the young novice to hand out pamphlets describing a free clinic the sisters were offering next week. While the earnest young novice explained the various treatments, Maggie had collected her present outfit, bit by bit. She'd tucked the items under her robe and left notes where the shopkeepers could find them directing them to present a bill to the U.S. consulate. Maggie grinned, imagining the expression on some State Department rep's face when he had to issue a voucher for a black lace garter belt and net stockings.

The door handle rattled once more.

“Just a minute,” she called, taking a quick peek in the mirror. She poked her fingers a few times in the mass of hair she'd pulled to one side and teased mercilessly, fluffing it even more. She applied another layer of scarlet lipstick and dusted more green on her lids. Satisfied that even Adam
would have had to look twice to recognize her under her layers of paint, Maggie opened the door.

Waves of pulsing music hit her with hurricane force. She stopped on the threshold, wincing, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the flashing lights that cut through an otherwise murky darkness. She saw with disgust that the woman she'd been subtly pumping had left the club.

“It's all yours,” she shouted to the figure lounging beside the door. She started to step forward, but found her way blocked by an arm planted across the door jamb.

Maggie glanced down at the white-sleeved arm. Arching one brow, she followed its line to a solid, broad-shouldered body. The shoulders strained against a tailored white linen sports coat. Maggie noted the gold medallion gleaming at the open neck of the shirt. A square, faintly shadowed chin. A luxuriant black mustache. Gleaming brown eyes.

It was only after the tall, dark-haired figure stepped out of the shadows that Maggie saw how the collection of individual features all added up to the most handsome man she'd ever seen. No, not handsome. This guy was drop-dead gorgeous. She managed to keep her mouth from sagging—barely. He was Omar Sharif and Julio Iglesias and Emilio Estevez all rolled into one.

He was also, she discovered, smiling at her in a way that raised the hairs on her arms.

“You want something, my friend?” she asked coolly

The dark mustache lifted, showing white, even teeth. “Perhaps.”

His deliberate move forward crowded Maggie's space too much for her liking. She took a quick couple of steps backward, deciding that she needed some distance between her and this hunk.

He stepped into the dingy rest room and closed the door, cutting the noise down from mind-bending to merely ear-splitting. Leaning his shoulders back against the door, he folded his arms over his chest. Maggie saw the flash of a gold Rolex on his wrist.

She didn't make the mistake of thinking this was some wealthy aristocrat out cruising Cartoza's only night spot. Until he showed his hand, however, she would play her role. She gave him a slow half smile. “So, my friend, what is it you want?”

His dark eyes lingered on her mouth for a moment, then traced a slow, casual path down her body. Maggie willed herself not to stiffen, not to react in any way. In his own good time, he brought his gaze back to her face.

“Maybe I wish a few moments of your company.”

She flicked a quick glance around the dingy bathroom. The small disparaging smile on her face said she didn't think much of his choice of a trysting place. Maggie used the few seconds to catalog possible escape routes. There weren't any. The rest room had no window. No other door. No crack in the graffiti-covered plaster walls.

“Or maybe I just want to know why you ask so many questions,” he said lazily. He jerked his chin toward the outer room. “Our little friend out there says you have an interest in the interior.”

Maggie shrugged. “I was just making small talk.”

“A particular interest.”

She took her lower lip between her teeth, hesitating. “All right, I admit I am interested. I'm new here, you understand. Just down from Mexico. I have need of funds.”

When he didn't answer, she pouted and turned to survey herself in the piece of mirror. Running one finger along the line of her darkened brow, Maggie watched him in the cracked glass.

“I understand there is money to be made,” she said to his reflection. “Much money. You will tell your
patrón
I am interested, yes?”

He smiled and levered his shoulders off the door.

“Perhaps you can tell him yourself. You will come with me, I think.”

At that moment, Maggie would've given everything she possessed to be primary agent on this mission. If it was her
operation, she could've followed this promising lead and walked out of the Café El Caribe with this man she suspected was one of the
patrón
's lieutenants. But she was Jaguar's backup. She was here, as Adam had so succinctly pointed out, to work Sarah Chandler's extraction.

She sighed with real regret. “No, I think not.”

He had quick reflexes, Maggie had to give him that. He blocked her first blow with an upflung arm. That gave her just the opening she needed for a swift, sharp jab to the solar plexus. He bent over in an involuntary reaction, his breath rushing out in a startled grunt. Maggie finished him with a chop to the back of the neck. He crumpled to the cement floor without a sound.

She stared down at his sprawled figure, regretting the waste of such magnificent malehood. Too bad the men she met in this job were either first class weirdoes or all-around scumbags. She dropped to one knee and quickly, expertly searched him.

The lethal little Benelli she found in a holster tucked under his arm didn't surprise her, but the small leather case she extracted from a hidden pocket did. When she flipped it open, Maggie's eyes narrowed.

 

He came awake with a little jerk of one leg. Maggie leaned her shoulders comfortably against the wall and watched with interest as his muscular thigh bunched, then drew up, until his knee was bent and an expensive alligator boot was planted firmly on the floor. He propped himself up on one elbow and shook his head. He must have caught sight of her orange-and-pink-striped shoes out of one corner of his eye. His head tilted, studying the shoe for a moment. Then he rose to his feet with an athletic grace and dusted off the seat of his linen slacks.

Maggie had had plenty of opportunity to study him while he lay sprawled on the less-than-clean cement floor. She discovered, however, that a handsome, unconscious man, and one whose eyes held a reluctant gleam of admiration for a
worthy adversary, were two different creatures altogether. She held the Benelli easily in her left hand, hoping she wouldn't have to use it, and flipped open the leather case with the other.

“So, Colonel, do you care to tell me why the chief of security for Cartoza was going to take me to the one called the
patrón
?”

His mustache lifted. “I wasn't. I was going to…shall we say, convince you to take
me
to
him.
”

“What makes you think I know his location?”

“My men listened via a remote device the whole time the little songbird poured her heart out to you. Unfortunately, the noise levels drowned out all but a few words. Those were enough, however, for me to pay a little visit to my favorite night spot to check out the latest arrival.”

“You come here often? The chief of security?”

“Often enough.” He saw the skepticism in her eyes and shrugged. “This is a small country. Everyone knows who I am. I don't hide from the men who seek to destroy our government. It is better to let them see me, and know that they are watched.”

He was either incredibly brave or had reasons not to worry about the political assassinations that regularly rocked this part of the world. Maggie's face remained bland, but the Benelli never wavered.

“You're Chameleon, I take it.” His eyes flickered down her miniskirted length once more. “I understood you were good, but I didn't realize how good. Or how attractive.”

He wasn't exactly dog food himself, Maggie thought with an inner smile.

“You're wise not to trust me,” he continued smoothly. “Check with your headquarters. They will verify what I say, who I am.”

“I know who you are,” she admitted at last. “Luis Barbedo Esteban. Educated here and at Oxford. Colonel, Cartozan army. Former instructor in counterterrorist tactics at the Inter-American Defense College in Washington. Appointed by the president as chief of security two years ago.”

“You don't seem particularly impressed,” he commented, his white teeth gleaming.

“Oh, I am. I'm also impressed by your off-duty uniform. You appear to have expensive tastes, Colonel. Or was that watch you're wearing a gift from a grateful citizen?”

“Actually, it was a gift from the president. Yours, not mine.”

Maggie notched a brow.

“For a slight service I rendered him some years ago,” Esteban said with a shrug. “He was a private citizen at the time.”

“That was you? You're the one who swam two miles out to the boat where he was being held hostage? You took the terrorists out, single-handed?”

The incident had occurred long before Maggie was recruited by OMEGA, but a few of the older heads still cited it as a textbook example of surprise and brains triumphing over armed brawn.

The colonel grinned. “Your president managed to assist quite ably with one or two.”

Well, hell! Adam had stated in no uncertain terms during the mission prebrief that Colonel Esteban was to be trusted, but he'd left out a couple of rather pertinent details about the man. Maggie's mouth twisted at the thought of what her boss would say when he learned that she'd dropped the colonel and held him at gun point in a sleazy little nightclub.

She lowered the Benelli, thumbing the safety before she handed it to him. “I hope the men who'll be with me on the extraction team tomorrow night will have the same skill as you and my president.”

“Perhaps I will find it necessary to accompany the team myself,” Esteban murmured, holstering his weapon.