Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Navy SEAL Newlywed\The Guardian\Security Breach (4 page)

The CCI agent's eyes blinked open, the startling green of them piercing Rip through the heart with the anguish reflected in them. She stared around at the interior of the plane. “What...where?” She shook her head and her gaze locked with Rip's.

He stroked his thumbs across her cheek. “Remember me? I'm your husband.” He winked and pressed a kiss to her forehead, liking the sound of the word on his lips. What would it be like to be Tracie's husband? “You were having a bad dream.” He leaned back, letting go of her face.

Tracie touched her fingers to the place he'd kissed and frowned. “Oh, it's you.” Dragging in a shaky breath, she let it go slowly and sat up. “I'm sorry. For a moment I forgot where I was.”

“I take it you weren't in such a good place in your dream.” He tucked the blanket in around her sides.

Sitting up, Tracie adjusted her seat to an upright position and pulled the blanket up to her chin, her body trembling. “It was only a dream. How long have we been flying?”

“Two and a half hours.”

“That long?” She pushed her hair back from her face and slipped an elastic band around the thick hank, securing it in a ponytail at her nape. “I must have needed the sleep. What about you? Did you rest?”

“I can rest when we solve this case, and I can return to the land of the living.”

Tracie's lips twisted. “I know this must be difficult for you to play dead and alive at the same time. Hopefully, we'll get in, get out and the terrorists will be none the wiser.”

Rip snorted. “That's what we planned when we went in to get Greer out.” He glanced out the window into the clear blue sky. “That's not quite how it worked.” Gosling's wife had been devastated when she'd gotten the news of his death. She'd almost lost the baby.

Tracie laid her hand on his arm. “We'll do the best we can. You should get some rest.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “What were you dreaming about when I woke you?”

A long moment of silence stretched between them.

Rip opened one eye.

Tracie stared straight ahead, her face pale and drawn. Finally, she spoke. “I was dreaming about Mexico.”

Closing his eye again, he allowed his lips to quirk upward in a wry grin. “I take it you weren't dreaming about a vacation to Cozumel?”

“Not hardly.”

Rip opened his eyes.

Tracie had turned her head away and stared out the window. Her back stiff.

“Dreaming about being held hostage by members of a drug cartel?”

She nodded.

Rip slid his hand over hers and gently squeezed her fingers. “I'm sorry.”

Tracie turned to stare at where their hands touched. “It happens.”

“Yeah, but it's not something you get over that easy. I'd bet you have PTSD.”

She shrugged. “What do you do? Give up?” She shook her head. “Not my style.” Her hand slipped from beneath his.

Rip's grip tightened before she got away. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“Thanks, but I did enough talking to the FBI shrink.” She tugged again and he let go of her hand. “I want to get on with my life, not dwell in the past.”

“I get it.”

“Perhaps we should look at the weapons Hank sent for our use,” Tracie suggested.

The flight attendant cleared her throat. “Mr. Derringer also provided additional clothing, if you'd like to change.” She opened a small closet with an arrangement of clothing hung on hangers that included several nice dresses in light colors typical of warm climates, a man's light gray suit and a white linen suit next to it.

“Oh, please,” Tracie said. “Wear the white one. It reeks of spoiled, rich playboy.”

“I thought I was going for wealthy entrepreneur.”

“True, but that white, with your dark hair, will make more of a first impression. Very sexy.”

Rip's brows rose and his lips curved upward. “You noticed?”

Tracie shrugged. “I'm an agent. It's my job to notice things.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fine.” Tracie frowned. “Wear the gray one. I don't care.” She disappeared around a curtain at the rear of the plane with one of the dresses.

Though he tried not to, he couldn't help watching Tracie's bare feet beneath the curtain. The red dress pooled on the floor and she stepped out of it, then light yellow filmy fabric puddled on the floor of the plane and Tracie's feet stepped into the middle of it.

Something about her bare feet had Rip's blood singing through his veins at Mach 5. He had the urge to yank the curtain back and feast his eyes on her naked body.

A slow chuckle built in his chest and he nearly laughed out loud at what he expected her reaction would be if he followed his urge. He rubbed his cheek where he guessed she'd slap it. But, damn, it would be worth it. The woman had his insides tied in knots.

Tracie emerged, wearing a beautiful dress that hugged her breasts, emphasizing the ripe, rounded fullness while drawing attention to the narrowness of her tiny waist. The skirt flared out and fell to midthigh. Long legs stretched from what seemed like her chin to her slender feet encased in nude, strappy stilettos. She was pulling her hair up into a sleek French twist, her arms raised, head tucked low.

For a moment, Rip could only stand and stare. When she finally glanced up, she caught him gawking.

Snapping his mouth shut, he took the white suit off the hanger and stepped behind the curtain, coming out when he had the white trousers on, a black button-up shirt, open halfway down his chest and the jacket hooked on his finger and slung over one shoulder.

Tracie stood beside the closet, arms crossed over her chest, a cocky look on her face. When she caught sight of him, her mouth opened as if to say something and closed again without uttering a word. She swallowed hard, the muscles in her throat working. “I—” Her voice came out in a tight squeak. After clearing her throat, she finally managed, “I was right. Damned sexy.” Then she turned on her stilettos and marched back into the cabin.

Rip chuckled. If he wasn't mistaken, the woman had been tongue-tied by him in a white suit. Who'd have thought a man in a white suit would have that much of an effect on a woman. He'd have to ask Hank where he'd gotten this one. It would be worth it to invest in something that inspiring. Especially if Tracie thought it made him look sexy.

He returned to the cabin with a wide, satisfied grin on his face.

* * *

F
OR
THE
NEXT
thirty minutes, Rip and Tracie poured over the racks of rifles, grenade launchers, pistols and explosives with which Hank had seen fit to equip the small armory on the airplane.

Rip tucked a HK .40 caliber pistol in his boot, then he grabbed a nine-millimeter Glock in a shoulder holster and slung it over his shoulders.

The flight attendant stepped up behind him and offered to hold the white linen jacket that went with the tailored white trousers, while he slipped his arms into the sleeves.

Though the sleeves were long, the entire outfit was surprisingly comfortable and cool. Used to heavy battle-dress uniforms, bullet-proof vests and helmets, Rip felt somewhat naked and exposed in the suit.

“Smile. You're supposed to be on your honeymoon without a care in the world.” Tracie adjusted the collar of his shirt beneath the jacket and patted his chest. “You look more like a kid in his itchy, Sunday best.”

Rip fidgeted. “I'd rather go in with my M4 on automatic.”

“Well, we can't. We're honeymooners and guests of Hector, so act like you're in love.” Tracie's eyes widened and a smile curled her lips. “Unless you've never been in love.” Her brows climbed up her forehead. “You haven't, have you?”

He shook his head. “Haven't had the time. I was a little preoccupied with SEAL training straight out of Navy basic and saving the world one bad guy at a time for the past seven years.”

She smiled at him. “Let me guess...it's a tough job, but—”

“—someone has to do it.” With one arm, he captured her around the waist and clamped her body against his, his other hand reaching up to cup her face in his palm. “Is this better,
mi amore
?” He bent to claim her lips with his. At first he did it to prove a point, but when her body pressed to his, it triggered a response he wasn't prepared for.

Her arms slid around his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest, he couldn't break the kiss to save his life.

Not until a discreet cough sounded nearby.

Her cheeks flushed, the flight attendant gave him a weak smile. “Sorry, but Hank's on the satellite phone. He wants to talk to you two before we land.”

Tracie stepped away and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Tell him we'll bring him up on the computer.” She took a seat at the monitor and clicked the keyboard, bringing up a video feed of Hank.

“Tracie, Rip.” Hank nodded. “We have a little information on the man called Carmelo Delgado we thought you should know. He's a coffee plantation owner. Though they don't have photos to back it up, the Feds think Delgado is a key player with the rebels. His plantation has never been targeted and he keeps a heavy contingent of gunmen employed to protect his interests. Locals say that he is well-known in Honduras for his ruthless disregard for the law and life and for the way he treats women. Or should I say beats women?”

“Sounds like a nice guy,” Tracie said, her voice flat.

“Be careful around him,” Hank said. “He's dangerous and he could be one of the rebel leaders.”

“We'll keep that in mind. Did you find anything else?”

“I don't know if it means anything, but there is a photo of Senator Craine in San Pedro Sula this year. He's been in several of the Central American countries negotiating trade agreements between the different countries and the US.”

“So?” Rip stared at the screen, studying Hank Derringer's face. He didn't look like a billionaire. He looked like a rancher with his weathered skin, shock of white hair and a blue chambray shirt he might wear out to the barn to muck stalls.

“Brandon found a photo of Craine and Delgado at a trade meeting, shaking hands.”

“Flight attendant, prepare for landing,” the captain said over the intercom.

“We're about to land,” Tracie told Hank.

“We're still searching for more clues. If we find anything else, I'll call you on the satellite phone.” Hank rang off.

Rip took his seat across the aisle and buckled his seat belt, his mind not on the information Hank had imparted but on the kiss that had left his head spinning and his pulse hammering. She was such a distraction, he was afraid he'd lose focus when he needed it most.

Turning his back on Tracie, Rip leaned toward the window, staring down at what appeared to be a jungle rushing up at them, when in fact they were plummeting toward the treetops.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins spiked at the speed of their descent. He peered closer as the Citation X circled, dropping toward the canopy, slowing as it approached the ground.

A wide slash opened up in the green carpet below, revealing an expansive field with a magnificent hacienda sprawled across a hilltop, its stucco walls painted a pale terracotta and accented with creamy white trim. The place had a dark terra-cotta tiled roof and richly dark wooden doors. A sparkling pool provided a splash of blue with palm trees lining the tiled deck.

To the north of the house stretched a long, level green field of grass with several wind socks along its length. It appeared to be more of a fancy playing field than a beautifully manicured and level landing field.

The Citation kissed the turf, the pilot reversing the thrust to come to a swift stop on the grass-covered landing strip. From all appearances they'd landed in a tropical paradise.

The peace and tranquility of the lush setting was short-lived. As they taxied to a halt, several topless Jeeps, with machine guns mounted on them, exploded out of the tree line headed straight for the Citation.

The pilot's voice sounded over the plane's intercom, “Relax, our host assures us the approaching vehicles are his men coming to greet us and ensure our safety.”

Rip frowned, patting the Glock in his shoulder holster. “They don't look like the welcoming committee.”

Tracie bit her bottom lip. “I hope they're on our side. I'd hate to take live fire from one of those guns.” She peered out her window, her brows furrowed.

Even if they'd wanted to, they couldn't take off again and leave. Not with Hector's men surrounding their plane with weapons pointed at them. Now that they were in Honduras, they were Hector's guests, like it or not.

Perhaps a little danger was just what Rip needed to wipe away the aftereffects of that kiss. One thing was certain, it had left an indelible impression on his lips and his libido. Pretending to be a lusty, loving honeymooner wouldn't be such a burden to bear. Turning off the act at the end of this charade would be an entirely different story.

Chapter Four

Tracie's heartbeat rattled in her chest and the hum of blood banging against her eardrums seemed louder than the plane's engine. What bothered her most was that it had nothing to do with the fear of landing on a short runway in the jungle or the fact that they were surrounded by big, mean-looking men armed with weapons that could cut them down in seconds.

No, her elevated heart rate had more to do with the one man who'd dared to bend her to his will in a soul-defining kiss that she would not soon erase from her memory.

Holy hell.

With her back to him, she pressed her fingertips to her pulsing lips. More than anything, she wanted to ask the pilot to take her back to Texas where she could tell Hank that she wasn't the right person for the job. He could get someone else who would be more professional when playing the part of a happily married woman. Someone who could separate truth from fiction, keep them distanced and remain sane throughout the mission.

Oh, her body had the lusty, newlywed part down. The disconnect came when she reminded herself that this was all a ruse and that when this job was over, there would be nothing else between her and the SEAL. After their mission, the man, with his burly muscles and blue eyes she could fall right into would go back about his business of saving the masses from fates worse than death, and protecting the country's freedom.

She would return to Texas and her next assignment with Covert Cowboys, Inc. Her and Rip's paths would never cross again. What would be the point of a relationship with such a man? Not that there was anything happening between them. They were both playing their parts, nothing more.

Oy.
Then why was her heart still pounding?

The flight attendant lowered the steps into place and Rip headed for the doorway.

Tracie's gaze followed him as he made his way down the steps, his swagger so sexy it made her belly tighten.

She left her seat and followed, sucking in a deep breath before stepping into the doorway and smiling down at him, slammed with the heat and humidity of the Honduran jungle. She could do this, she thought, reminding herself again that it was just an act.

Rip stood at the bottom of the steps and held out his hand, the white of his smile rivaling the brilliant sunshine. “Come on, sweetheart. Our host is waiting. The sooner we meet with him, the sooner we can start our honeymoon.” He winked. “You did bring that sexy teddy you got at the bridal shower, didn't you?”

Her heart stopped in her chest as she stared down at the elegantly handsome SEAL dressed in the white linen suit. God, he looked like a million dollars and the man of every woman's dreams with his darkly tanned skin and megawatt grin.

Squaring her shoulders, she forced a broad smile and took his hand, descending with deliberate slowness to give the appearance of a woman tempting her new husband with a sexy turn of her ankle, ready to enjoy every minute of her honeymoon. “I did, darling. It's on top in my suitcase. As soon as we can get to our room, I'll give you a private viewing of me in it.”

Before her stilettos touched the ground, he swept her into his arms and bent her over in a sexy and deeply satisfying kiss that stirred her in a thousand different ways all at once.

When he let her up, she batted at his chest. “Oh, baby, save it for the bedroom.”

“Why save it, there's much more where that came from, and besides, I can't keep my hands off you.” His fingers slid along her spine, down over her bottom and squeezed, pressing her pelvis to his thick thigh.

Tracie leaned up to nip his earlobe. “What are you doing?” She hissed through a broad, fake smile.

“Playing my part, sweetheart. Playing my part.” He bent, captured her beneath the knees and swung her around, her filmy skirt floating out around them. “Where's Senor DeVita?” he asked the nearest guard.

“You are to come with me.” A scary man with heavy brows and a wicked-looking AK-47 Soviet-made rifle jerked his head toward a Jeep similar to those surrounding the plane. The leader didn't wait for Rip or Tracie—he strode to the vehicle and climbed into the front seat.

Rip carried Tracie across the grass and settled her into the backseat. A man stood between the front seat and backseat holding on to the machine gun, his gaze skimming across Tracie's shapely legs.

Tucking her dress around her, Tracie covered as much as she could, then slid the edges of the material beneath her to hold the dress down.

Rip climbed in on the other side of the Jeep. Before he was completely settled, the driver gunned the accelerator, sending the SUV into a tight one-eighty and headed back into the solid wall of jungle. A road appeared in front of them, winding through trees to an imposing gate and an even more imposing concrete fence topped with concertina wire.

A chill rippled along Tracie's spine. The fence and gate looked more like the kind you'd see at a prison compound than at a wealthy man's hacienda in the tropics.

Once they cleared the gate, the trees thinned and opened onto a wide knoll that must have been a good ten acres of manicured lawns. Gracefully designed landscape surrounded the sprawling hacienda with a tall concrete and stucco wall rising up to provide yet another imposing barrier around the owner's home. At least this one didn't sport concertina wire.

As they neared, huge, ornate, steel double doors opened. The Jeep entered the circular driveway and came to an abrupt halt in front of a wide set of elegant stairs, leading up to the glass and wrought-iron entrance.

A man stood at the top of the stairs, dressed similarly to Rip in a white linen suit, white leather shoes and a smoky gray shirt beneath the jacket. A thick gold chain shone through the V of his shirt's neckline, reflecting sunlight off the links.

His hair was full, dark and smoothed back from his forehead, falling to brush the tops of his shoulders. He wore a goatee and his eyes were shiny black. When he smiled, his white teeth shone in stark contrast against his bronze-toned skin.

The Jeep driver shifted into Park, jumped from his seat and circled around to Tracie's side. The man who'd greeted them at the plane climbed out of the Jeep and spoke to the man on the steps in swift Spanish to which the man replied sharply.

Rip took Tracie's arm in a firm grasp and helped her from the Jeep and then addressed the man on the steps. “You must be Hector DeVita.”

Their original welcoming committee and chauffeur backed away from their boss, settled in the vehicle and drove away, leaving Tracie and Rip alone to face their host.

Only they weren't alone. Tracie counted no fewer than four men bearing assault rifles—two positioned at the corners of the front of the hacienda, and two a couple steps behind Hector. All four men were dressed in black trousers and black T-shirts, and they wore sunglasses that hid their eyes.

“
Si
, I am Hector DeVita.” The man in white spread his arms wide. “Senor and Senora Gideon, welcome,
por favor
.
Mi casa es su casa.
” He stepped sideways and waved them up the stairs and past him into the shadow of the entrance. “Hank has told me so much about you. I understand congratulations are in order.”

Tracie adjusted inwardly to the use of their fake married name, while smiling politely at Hector. “That's nice since he's told us so little about you. I hope we can rectify that misfortune.”

“Certainly,” he said. “
Por favor
, step inside. The day is
muy caliente
, and I think a cool drink is much needed.”

A servant dressed in a powder-blue guayabera shirt and dark pants opened and held the door.

Tracie stepped inside onto a gleaming white marbled foyer with impossibly high ceilings that created a sense of elegant spaciousness. A sweeping staircase with mahogany railing curved to the right to a second level.

“Your home is lovely,” Tracie said.

Hector gave a slight bow. “
Gracias
,
Senora Gideon.”

“Please, call me Phyllis.”

Hector took Tracie's hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her skin. “Phyllis, you are
muy bonita
.” He clutched her fingers longer than she liked.

Rip held out his hand to Hector, forcing the man to acknowledge him and release his hold on Tracie. “Nice to meet you, Senor DeVita. You can call me Chuck.”

“Chuck.” Hector shook Rip's hand and let go. He turned to the interior of the luxurious hacienda and waved a hand toward the staircase. “My servant will show you to your room. Once you have had time for a short siesta, I would be pleased if you would join me for dinner. We get so few visitors here. At that time we can discuss your visit and security needs while you honeymoon in Honduras.”

Chuck nodded. “I look forward to dinner.” He hooked an arm around Tracie's waist. “But for now, I'd like that siesta. I haven't had two minutes alone with my new wife since the wedding.”

Hector's brows rose. “A beautiful woman is not someone to be ignored. If I had such a lovely wife, I would not waste my honeymoon on business.”

“Phyllis is not only gorgeous—she's an astute businesswoman and she's as eager as I am to begin our search for additional investment property and businesses.” He winked at her.

Though she knew his playful look was all for show, the sparkle in his blue eyes and the way he smiled at her made Tracie's stomach flutter and heat rise up her neck to bloom in her cheeks. “But of course. I love the challenge of finding a diamond in the rough and turning it into something of value. It gives me a thrill every time.”

“Were you my wife, I would find other ways to excite you,
mi amore
,” Hector said.

Rip's eyes narrowed and his smile slipped as his arm tightened around Tracie. “Make no mistake, I know how to please my wife in
every
way.”

“Trust me, I didn't marry him just for his brain.” Tracie laid a hand on his chest and stared up into his eyes, channeling every sexy move she'd seen in the movies. “He knows me,” she whispered and leaned up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I am a bit tired from the flight.” She looked around, ending the conversation that was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute.

“Of course.” Hector snapped his fingers and a young woman in a powder-blue dress with a white Peter Pan collar hurried forward. She executed a little curtsy and said,
“Por favor, sigueme.”
With a hand motion for them to follow her, she led the way up the stairs and down a long, wide hallway. Arched windows looked out over the glimmering pool surrounded by palm trees and bright splashes of blooming bougainvillea bushes.

If the entire compound were not surrounded by a high concrete fence, with security guards positioned at each corner and several in between, it could easily be mistaken for paradise. Knowing what lay beyond the walls and hidden in the jungles, or even roaming the streets of the cities, Rip knew Honduras was a country in desperate times. The government had little control over the rebels, the military often siding or collaborating with them in order to stay alive.

They walked in silence to the room Hector had assigned them. The servant opened the door and stepped inside, switching on lights. Calling the space a room was an understatement.

The bedroom alone had more square footage than Rip's entire apartment back in Mississippi. Through an arched doorway was a sitting room with a chaise longue, a desk and a leather executive chair.

The maid spoke in halting English, “
El banjo
—the bathroom is here.” She led the way through another arched doorway into a bathroom in stark black and white, the counters solid slabs of white granite, specked with flashes of silver and black.

A huge walk-in shower could have fit six people and sported no fewer than four showerheads. The fixtures were polished, gleaming and sparkling clean. Fluffy white towels lay on the counter and near a tub big enough for two people. Lit candles flickered all around, adding to the sunlight shining through a glass brick wall.

“If you need anything,
por favor
, just ask.” The maid backed out of the bathroom.

Rip and Tracie followed her to the door of the bedroom, closing it softly behind the maid.

“Wow,” Rip said.

Tracie spun and placed a finger over his lips, then stood on her toes to kiss him, pulling his head down so that she could nibble his ear and whisper, “The entire room could be bugged or monitored by video.” Louder, she added, “Kiss me.”

Rip obliged, gathering her into his arms. While he kissed her, he closed his eyes halfway, glancing around the bedroom from beneath his eyelids. A trained SEAL, he was used to sneaking into villages, or towns, carrying a healthy array of weapons and explosives. Sometimes he searched for surveillance devices on the exteriors of buildings, but for the most part, finding them hidden in a room was a whole new skill to add to his arsenal.

He ran one hand down her back and cupped her bottom, his other hand pushing the hair off her neck, his mouth following his hand, tasting her skin up to her ear where he nipped her earlobe. “You're the expert. What do we look for?” he breathed into her ear.

She winked at him and then turned her back. “Unzip me, please.” Tracie pulled her hair aside allowing him access to the zipper.

His heart leaped and he stared down at her. While he would love to get naked with the beautiful former FBI agent, what had made her come around to the idea so quickly? Especially considering the added probability of their movements being recorded.

She spun around, smiled and whispered between her teeth, “Just do it.” Giving him her back again, she waited, holding her hair up.

While he obliged, his knuckles skimming across the silky, soft skin of her lower back, Rip tried to keep his mind off the scent of her shampoo, the curve of her shoulders and the flare of her hips.

Forcing his mind away from what he was finding inside Tracie's dress, he stared around the room, checking corners, wall sconces and the chandelier hanging at the center of the room. His breath hitched. At the same time he skimmed the soft, rounded curve of her bottom beneath her dress, he caught sight of a small black device attached to the wrought-iron chandelier.