Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Navy SEAL Newlywed\The Guardian\Security Breach (3 page)

His fingers tingled where they touched hers, but Rip schooled his expression, determined to give no indication that Tracie had any effect on him.

As soon as she was on her feet, she let go of his hand.

Not to be deterred, and using their married status as an excuse, he rested his hand at the small of her back. A slight tremor shook her body. Inside the lobby of the hotel, Rip adopted his role. “We'd like a room for the night.”

“Just a moment, sir.” The hotel manager's fingers flew across the keyboard. “We have one suite left on the seventh floor.”

“Perfect,” Tracie smiled. “We'll take it.”

Rip grinned at the manager. “She can't wait to get me alone.” He held up her left hand, displaying the diamond ring and wedding band on her finger. Then he held up his left hand, displaying a matching wedding band. “Newlyweds.”

The manager smiled and handed them two key cards. “Congratulations.”

“Let's wait to get the luggage until we've seen the room,” Tracie said, with a flirty bat of her eyelashes.

Though Rip knew it was all part of the act, it didn't stop his pulse from leaping and his blood from thrumming hot through his veins. They stepped into the elevator. Before the door closed, Rip pulled Tracie into his arms and kissed her soundly.

The elevator doors slid shut and Tracie pushed him away, straightening her dress unnecessarily, her hands shaking. “We don't want to look overeager.”

“Don't you think newlyweds are anxious to get to their hotel room?”

Tracie shrugged. “I wouldn't know, never having been a newlywed.” Her words were tight and it was as if a shutter descended over her green eyes.

“Well, I guess that answers one question.”

“Oh, yeah? What's that?”

He smiled, liking that he'd shaken her with his kiss. “You've never been married. So you're not married now.”

Turning her back to him, she said, “What does it matter?”

“I would think it would matter a little since we just kissed.”

“All part of our cover. It didn't mean anything.”

“If you were married, wouldn't you hope that your husband would be a little jealous of the man kissing his wife?”

“I would hope he'd understand it's part of the job. Not that I'm getting married anytime soon.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not convinced marriage is all that great.”

Having been a SEAL for seven years, Rip had much the same perspective, though he'd never voiced his opinion on the institution. Tracie made him reconsider his own stand on matrimony. “I think marriage is okay for some.”

Tracie's lips twisted as she glanced up at him. “But not you?”

He countered with raised brows. “Or you?”

“Marriage is hard enough when the two parties involved live under the same roof all year long. My jobs in the FBI and now on Hank's team have kept me moving. I don't have the time or the inclination to set down roots.”

The door opened on the seventh floor. Rip took the lead, turning toward the stairwell instead of the room the hotel manager had assigned them. Tracie was right behind him.

He hurried down the stairs checking for security cameras. He'd seen one in the hallway on the seventh floor, but not in the stairwell. One floor down, he opened the door.

Movement captured his attention. Two men were entering the stairwell at the opposite end of the long corridor. The last one through looked over his shoulder at Rip and Tracie before shoving the guy in front of him the rest of the way through the door and crowding in behind him.

“Damn.” Tracie ducked past Rip and ran for room 627. The doorjamb was splintered and the door stood ajar. Tracie pulled a pistol from her purse and shouldered her way inside, gun pointed.

Rip dragged the HK .40 from the holster beneath his shirt and rushed in after Tracie.

“Franks is dead.” Tracie turned toward him. “Whoever did it got away.”

“The two in the stairwell.” Rip ran back to the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, jumping over the railing as the staircase made a turn. He landed and repeated the process until he hit the ground floor where he burst through the doorway. As dark sedan rushed by, one of its windows lowered and the barrel of a pistol jutted out.

Rip threw himself to the ground as the sharp report of gunfire blasted the air. He rolled beneath a truck and out the other side, jumping to his feet. Another shot shattered the truck's passenger window.

Hunkered low with the body of the truck between him and the fleeing vehicle, Rip sucked in a breath and dared to poke his head over the top of the hood, praying he'd have enough time to get a fix on the license plate of the sedan. Already, it was too far away and getting farther.

Rip ran across the grass, cut through a stand of trees and made it to the street as the getaway vehicle turned onto the main road.

He hammered his pistol's grip into the driver's side window, cracking the glass.

The driver cursed, and the vehicle slowed for a second. Tires squealing, it leaped across the crowded roadway, and three other vehicles crashed into each other as the drivers slammed on their brakes.

With the pileup blocking Rip, the killers got away.

Farther away from Tracie and the scene of the crime than he felt comfortable with, Rip jogged back to the hotel, and raced up the six flights of stairs.

Tracie was still in room 627 with the dead DEA supervisor.

Rip nudged the door open with his foot, breathing hard, his shirt torn and dirty.

“What happened?” Tracie asked.

“They got away.” Rip kicked the door closed behind him, careful not to touch anything. “Have you called the police?”

She shook her head and held up gloved hands. “No. And I've been careful not to leave prints on anything. We can't blow our cover. There's still a lot of work to do.”

“What about the surveillance video for this floor?”

“I'll get Hank to work on that. Right now, we need to find any information that Greer might have left for us.” She slapped a pair of latex gloves in his hands.

Rip pulled on the gloves and glanced around the hotel room. Drawers littered the floor, a small suitcase lay upside down beside the drawers, clothes were strewn around the room as if someone had gone through them in a hurry. Pillows had been tossed off the bed and the mattress lay at an awkward angle, the sheets in a rumpled heap beside the dead man.

“The room's been tossed. If there was anything to be found, don't you think the killers would have gotten to it first?” Rip asked.

He glanced at the door. Not only had the killers splintered the frame, the chain lock had been ripped out of the door itself.

“The chain on the door was torn off. The agent knew someone might try to get to him.” Tracie checked the closet, the empty room safe and behind the dresser. “Nothing.”

Rip found a set of keys beneath the corner of the bed. “Think he might have left something in his vehicle?”

“We can check, but we better make it quick. It won't be long before someone sees the broken door and discovers the body. We don't want to be around when the police get here.”

Rip nodded. They couldn't afford to be tied up answering questions for the police. Their fake documents would only hold up until authorities tracked down their real identities. “Did Hank have the access to erase our fingerprints from the FBI and military databases?”

“As far as I know, he removed us from all grids.”

A sense of loss washed over Rip. His identity had been erased from the military system. He'd always been proud of his connection with the SEALs. Having been removed from the system made him feel even more disconnected than his fake death.

Rip squared his shoulders. He didn't have time to grieve his own death. Palming the car keys, he jerked his head toward the door. “Let's go.”

Chapter Three

Leading the way, Rip took the staircase down to the ground level.

Tracie followed more slowly in her high heels, listening for others entering the stairwell or raising the alarm about a killing in the hotel.

So far, nothing had gone according to plan, which was right on par for the life of an FBI agent, or a Covert Cowboys, Inc. operative for that matter. Rarely did she have complete control over what happened, but she'd rather be in the position of giving the orders than taking them. She frowned at Rip's back.

The massive breadth of Rip's shoulders gave her a modicum of confidence. At least he was capable of defending himself and possibly her, if hand-to-hand combat became necessary.

Outside in the parking lot, Rip hit the unlock button on the key fob. A nondescript gray economy car's lights blinked and the vehicle let out a mechanical beep.

Thankfully, the car was parked at the side of the building, not in clear view of the lobby or the hotel manager, and hopefully out of range of security cameras.

Without wasting time, Rip dove into the car and thoroughly searched the interior before he gave up and popped the lock on the trunk. It was empty.

“Check under the mat where the spare tire and tools are located,” Tracie suggested.

His hand already skimming over the edges of the trunk lining, Rip found the tab to pull it upward. Beneath the felt-covered liner was a large envelope tucked next to the spare.

A siren sounded in the distance. Tracie's pulse leaped. “Grab it and let's get out of here. We don't know if that siren is headed this way.”

Rip grabbed the packet, dropped the car keys on the ground nearby and peeled off the gloves, tucking them into his pocket.

Rip put his arm around Tracie, tucking the package between them as they made their way toward the limousine the driver had parked in the far corner of the hotel parking lot.

With Rip so close, Tracie had a hard time concentrating and she stumbled.

Rip's hand on her arm steadied her. “You all right?”

“I'm fine,” she said. “Which is more than I can say for Franks.” Before Rip could reach for the back door, the driver hopped out and opened the door for Tracie. Rip helped her into her seat, leaning across to slide the package onto the seat beside her. In the process, he stole a kiss.

Startled by the feel of his lips on hers, Tracie froze, her mouth tingling, her hands pressed to her chest to still her furiously beating heart.

When Rip rounded to the other side of the vehicle and slid in beside her, his jaw tight.

“Was the kiss necessary?” she whispered.

“It was part of our cover,” he said, his lips twitching in the corners.

“Well, warn me next time,” Tracie muttered.

“Sorry, I thought you'd want me to act like the lovesick bridegroom.”

He had a point. He also had her trembling, and that just wouldn't do.

He winked at her and glanced at the driver. “For now, just get us away from the hotel.”

The driver nodded and shifted gears, setting the limo into motion.

Rip pressed a button and the privacy window between the driver and the passengers slid upward.

As soon as they were back on the main road and Tracie was certain they weren't being followed, she opened the packet and peered inside.

“What's in it?” Rip cast a quick glance her way.

“Photos and some printouts from the internet.” Tracie thumbed through the contents.

“Photos of?” Rip queried.

“People. They appear to be Latino.” She handed one to him. The image was at an odd angle, as if whoever had taken it hadn't been focusing on the subject. “This is marked as Juan Villarreal.”

Rip's eyes narrowed and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Villarreal was the leader of the terrorist camp we raided in order to free the DEA agent. He's the one in charge of the group using the US-supplied weapons. The photos are probably more of those taken by Greer while he was embedded. I'm surprised they made it all the way to his boss in the States. I had the feeling the flash drive he gave me before he died was all the evidence he managed to get out. Find anything else?”

“More photos and a hand-drawn map.” Tracie pulled the map out of the packet and unfolded it in her lap.

Rip leaned over the map. “Looks like the layout of the camp before we raided. I don't think it will do much good now.”

“Maybe not, but the photos might help.” Tracie gathered the information and slid it back into the packet. “We need to get this information to Hank and let him run it through his computers.”

“And how will we do that?” Rip asked.

“Back at the airport. Everything we need is on the airplane.”

Rip studied the controls on the armrest and hit the one marked mic. “Driver, take us back to the airport.”

“Yes, Mr. Gideon,” the chauffeur responded.

Tracie shot a brief text message to Hank telling him what had happened and to clear the hotel's video feeds of their images.

They arrived at the hangar within minutes and entered the big space where the airplane sat waiting for them.

An attendant hurried over to them, “We've topped off the fuel and checked all fluid levels. As soon as the chauffeur indicated you were on your way back to the airport, the pilot conducted all preflight inspections and is ready to file a flight plan.”

As they approached the aircraft, the steps were lowered. Tracie climbed aboard first, followed by Rip. The flight attendant secured the door behind them. Tracie led the way to the middle of the plane where she flipped one of the tabletops open, revealing a computer screen. She tapped several keys, and in moments she had Hank's face up on the screen. “Hank, we're back on board the
Freedom Flight
.”

“Glad you're safely aboard. Brandon wiped the security video of any images including you and Schafer.”

“Good. I'm not certain how soon the body will be discovered. Your help with the security footage should give us some time to get out of Atlanta. We found some data in the DEA boss's vehicle. I'm scanning it now.”

She raised another part of the table, revealing a computer scanner, and fed the documents they'd found in the DEA agent's vehicle into the machine.

Hank's attention shifted to something beside his monitor. “Got them. I'll have Brandon double check the identities of the men in the photos. But I can't move on nailing the suppliers of the weapons until we have some serial numbers.”

Rip frowned and leaned close to Tracie so that he could see and be seen by Hank. “The only way to get serial numbers is to go back to Honduras and get them off the guns.”

Hank nodded. “Afraid so.”

Rip's gaze captured Tracie's and then returned to Hank. “She can't come with me. It's too dangerous.”

Hank's brows rose. “Miss Kosart's a trained professional. She knows the risks.”

“Look, frogman, I can speak for myself.” Tracie shoved him aside. “I'm on board. So we're headed to Honduras as planned?”

Hank smiled. “You can opt out, if you feel it's too dangerous for your liking?”

“I've been in worse situations,” she said, her lips thinning.

“Exactly. You might not want to go to that extreme again. The men in that terrorist camp are pure evil and have little regard for women.”

“Hank's right,” Rip confirmed. “It's not a good place for a woman.”

“Or a man.” Tracie crossed her arms. “If we don't go in for the additional information, how will we stop whoever it is selling American weapons to terrorists?”

Rip opened his mouth to say something, but the stubborn set of Tracie's chin made him realize he wouldn't get her to change her mind. Instead, he turned to Hank. “I won't be able to focus on the mission if I'm worried my partner can't keep up or will be captured and tortured.”

“She's your partner. We can't activate your SEAL unit and send them in again. They've been in once and that got one of your men killed. Someone is dirty on the Fed side. Until we find that person, we can't count on the secrecy of the operation if we involve your unit or any other government agency.”

“I trust my brothers.”

“So did Gosling.” Hank stared straight into Rip's eyes. “Tracie can handle it.”

“Yeah,” Tracie said, her ire up. “I don't need you or any other man telling me what is too dangerous for me. We go in together or, if you think it's too dangerous, I'll go alone.”

Tracie stared at Rip, holding his gaze, daring him to try to override her decision.

Finally, Rip shrugged. “It's your funeral.”

“That plan is not in my books.” Tracie aimed for confident, when inside she wasn't quite as certain. The kidnapping in Mexico had shaken her more than she cared to admit.

“Then you're deluding yourself. You're headed right into trouble.”

Her chin tilted upward. “That's my choice.”

The flight attendant appeared. “If you would fasten your seat belts, we can get underway.”

Rip frowned into the screen. “How do you propose the two of us sneak into the terrorist camp?”

“I've got that covered. You will be the guests of a friend of mine.” Hank grinned. “You're honeymooners, I'm sure they have tourists wander off the beaten path on occasion. And Rip you will be especially prone to wandering off. Your cover is a wealthy entrepreneur looking for potential investment property.”

“On my honeymoon?”

“My contact has the story spreading already. You're notorious for your arrogance and disregard for anyone but yourself.”

Rip snorted. “I'm an entrepreneur in a violent, nearly lawless country?”

Tracie's brows rose. “Are you afraid?”

He met her stare with his own, his lips firmly set into a straight line. “Not for me. If you recall, I've been there. I know what the terrorists are capable of.”

“Then you'll be the best guide to get us back in there.” Tracie nodded at Hank. “We're good to go.”

Hank tipped his head. “Glad to see you two agreeing. Your flight plan has been filed. Brandon tells me you're number three in line to take off. My contact, Hector DeVita, will greet you on his private landing strip. I'm sending two of my best bodyguards from CCI to provide some backup. They should arrive soon after you.”

“Only two?” Rip's lips thinned. “Honduras is overrun with rebels, terrorists and guerillas, and you're sending only two of your best bodyguards for us?”

Hank smile. “DeVita will augment with several men of his own. He's in the security business, providing bodyguards and human shields to the wealthier members of Honduras's population. The plane you're on is fully equipped with an arsenal of weapons you might familiarize yourself with.”

Tracie harrumphed. “Some honeymoon.”

“Nothing but the best for my baby,” Rip winked at her.

“Good luck, you two. Make use of the satellite phone if things get tough. I'll answer at any hour.”

When the call ended, Rip stared across at Tracie. “I felt better going in under the cover of dark with my SEAL team.”

“What? You're not up for a frontal assault in full daylight with only a girl as your sidekick?” She leaned back in her chair. “No guts, no glory.”

The giant hangar door opened to let in the afternoon glare. The plane taxied out into the sunshine. Within minutes, they were in the air, winging their way to Honduras.

Tracie closed her eyes. “You might as well get some rest. Once we hit the ground in Honduras, we'll need all our faculties to pull off this information-gathering honeymoon.”

Once they had serial numbers or even a manifest, they might have a chance of tracing the weapons back to those in the United States who had sold them. Nothing like barreling into a potentially hostile situation pretending to be a newlywed couple to get your adrenaline pumping.

Knowing they were headed into a hotbed of danger in the steamy Central American jungles of Honduras didn't stop a chill from slipping across Tracie's skin.

Whatever happened, she refused to be taken captive ever again. If the terrorists wanted her, they'd have to kill her before she'd surrender.

* * *

R
IP
REMAINED
AWAKE
, studying all the information they had on the case. He reviewed every photograph to glean as much insight as possible from the details in the images they'd obtained from Franks...everything from the faces to the crates of weapons.

After the botched retrieval of the DEA agent by SBT-22, the terrorist camp had probably moved to another location, taking advantage of the jungle's canopy for concealment from satellite photography. Finding them would be a challenge.

Beside him, Tracie had leaned back in the contoured seat with her eyes closed, the steady rise and fall of her chest letting Rip know she'd fallen asleep.

His attention shifted from the computer to the sleeping woman beside him.

Her long, soft brown hair fanned out around her shoulders, and her dark brown lashes made shadowy crescents against her cheeks. Apparently, she was caught in a not-so-pleasant dream. She shivered again and whimpered.

Her eyelids twitched, her eyes beneath them darting back and forth. Her fingers clenched the armrests and a tremor shook her body. Rip motioned to the flight attendant to bring a blanket. He took it from her and laid it across Tracie his hand finding hers.

She let go of the armrest, fingers curling around his, squeezing so tightly she nearly cut off his circulation.

“Tracie,” Rip whispered. “Wake up.”

Her head turned from side to side and she whimpered again.

“Tracie, wake up.” Rip made his entreaty more forceful. He didn't like seeing her in such distress. What kind of dream was it to make her so upset?

When she still didn't wake, he leaned forward and captured her face between his palms. “Tracie, it's okay. You're just dreaming.”