Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Navy SEAL Newlywed\The Guardian\Security Breach (9 page)

“Too close.” Tracie leaned into Rip's embrace for a moment, willing her pulse to slow to normal. Then she glanced up at him. “That truck driver didn't even slow down.”

“No, he didn't. For a moment there, I thought he'd hit you.” His hand shook where it rested on her waist. “I admit I've never been more scared.”

She stared up at him. “You? Scared?”

“Hey, just because I'm a S— man...doesn't mean I can't get scared.” He hugged her hard, then bent to kiss her. A sharp, high-pitched beep made Tracy look around.

A man on a vintage motorcycle passed on the street, grinning.

Her cheeks heating, Tracie realized they were the center of attention with the two SEALs in the front seat of the Jeep, Hector's men in the vehicle behind and the citizens of Colinas Rocosa gathering around them.

A woman walked by and patted Tracie on the back saying something in rapid Spanish she couldn't quite translate.

“What did she say?” Tracie asked.

“Something about young love and having babies of your own.”

Her face heating even more, Tracie forced a snort. “Like that's going to happen. Not in my line of work.” Her voice was low enough only Rip could hear her.

“It can happen,” Rip reassured her.

“Not today.” Stepping out of Rip's embrace, Tracie couldn't help the feeling of loss that washed over her. She'd just have to get over it. Their days together were numbered and babies with Rip were completely out of the question.

Then why did a dark-haired, blue-eyed little girl emerge in her mind, holding hands with her and Rip and swinging between them?

Tracie climbed back into the Jeep and tucked her own skirts around her before Rip had the chance. Her thoughts were unsettling. She liked working for Hank and wouldn't want to give up what she did to go all domestic.

Still...that little boy had felt good and somehow right in her arms.

What was she thinking? Her life didn't have room for a husband and children.

But if it did...Rip was the kind of man she'd want to marry. Too bad her job pretty much ensured she would die single.

Chapter Nine

The trip to the plantation went without a hitch. Too easy. Rip's every nerve was on alert.

As they turned onto the gravel road leading to the main house, a man with an automatic weapon stepped out of the shadows of the overhanging trees into the middle of the road aiming the weapon at the driver.

Ah, there it was. The threat.

To Rip, it was almost a relief to finally see the enemy.

The man shouted in Spanish for them to stop.

Julio immediately applied the brakes, jamming his foot on the pedal so hard, Rip and Tracie were thrown forward.

The Jeep behind them slid to a stop mere inches from their bumper and the men aboard leaped to the ground, aiming their guns at the man in the middle of the road.

Rip got out of the Jeep, smiling and holding his hands in the air. “Let's not get crazy here.”

Carlos translated to the man in the middle of the road.

He answered back, talking so fast, Rip couldn't understand him.

Five more men emerged from the shadows, all bearing arms.

Rip's chest tightened, but he held his ground. “Tell them that we are here to see the owner of the plantation, that we mean no harm.”

Carlos translated.

The guard in charge snarled and jerked his head toward Hector's men.

“He wants your men to put down their weapons.”

“Tell him they will when he confirms he works for the plantation owner.” Rip gritted his teeth.

Before he could stop her, Tracie stepped out of the vehicle and came around to his side. He wished like hell she'd stayed put in the vehicle.

Instead, she stood beside him in her yellow sundress and curled her arm through his, looking like a ray of sunshine, all soft and feminine, with nerves of steel hidden beneath that pretty dress. “What seems to be the problem, sweetheart?”

Reminding himself that he wasn't armed for combat and others' lives depended on him keeping a cool head, Rip patted her hand. “Nothing but a little misunderstanding.”

Carlos spoke in Spanish to the head guard again.

The man pulled a walkie-talkie from a case on his belt and barked into it.

A moment later a voice crackled from the device.

Carlos turned to Rip. “Delgado just gave the go-ahead to let us through as long as we leave Hector's men and all our weapons behind.”

“Okay, then.” Rip nodded to Carlos.

Carlos and Julio tossed their weapons on the ground and held their hands in the air while the guards patted them down. Then Carlos gave instructions to Hector's men.

They didn't look happy about being left out of the action, but they backed away, still holding their weapons at the ready.

Rip smiled at the plantation gate guards. “Then we're good?”

The guards stepped back, forming a line on either side of the road with the man in charge climbing aboard a dusty old forty-horsepower motorcycle the likes of which hadn't been built since the end of World War II.

It belched smoke and kicked up dust that streamed through the open doors and windows of the Jeeps, forcing Julio to hang back to let the dust settle before they followed.

The road curved through a hedge of encroaching jungle. On one side of the lane, in the rare gaps between trees, vines and underbrush, Rip could see the coffee orchards spread out over the hills and valleys, lush and green. On the opposite side of the road, the jungle seemed impenetrable and free of the coffee trees that produced the heavenly brew.

The next curve revealed a wide opening in the jungle where a traditional plantation-style house rose up from the surrounding orchard and jungle, the base a dull gray stone with a multitude of arched passages. The stark white of the upper story lay in bright contrast to the surrounding deep green vegetation.

The guard on the motorcycle in front of them parked the vehicle and ducked through one of the arches.

Julio brought the Jeep to a smooth stop. Rip was first out.

The guard emerged again with another man dressed in jeans, a white button-up shirt, black vest and a cowboy hat. On his hips rode a gun holster just like those seen in the Old West. If Rip wasn't mistaken, the gun in the holster was a vintage Colt single-action US Army revolver with a pearl handle, in mint condition. His face was that of the scarred man in the photos Morris Franks had stashed in his car.

“Nice gun you've got there.” Rip held out his hand. “Name's Chuck Gideon. This is my wife, Phyllis. We stopped by to talk to the owner of
le Plantación de Ángel
.”

The man rested his hand on the pearl grip and in heavily accented English responded. “I, Carmelo Delgado, am the owner of
le Plantación de Ángel
. What do you want?”

Rip curled his arm around Tracie's waist and smiled. “My wife fancies owning a coffee plantation, and she fell in love with the name of this one. Have you considered selling?”

The man's heavy brows V'd toward the bridge of his nose. “No.” He turned to go back into the house.

Rip stepped forward. “Surely there is a price we could agree on. Phyllis has her heart set on growing her own coffee.”

Delgado shot his riposte over his shoulder. “Then buy another farm. This one is not for sale.”

When the man started toward the house, Rip stepped in front of him, blocking his return to the cooler interior.

No sooner had Rip moved, than half a dozen armed men stepped out of the shadows on the other sides of the arches. Each carried a M4A1 rifle, exactly like the ones used by the US Army. Rip used a specially modified version. The ones pointing at him now were pristine and new.

Rip raised his hands. “Hey, hey. No need to get punchy. I'm a businessman not much into playing with guns. I prefer to concentrate my efforts on making money.” He addressed Delgado. “Could we talk?” Glancing sideways at the men with the guns, he added, “In private. I might have a deal you'll be interested in.”

The man glared down his nose at Rip. “I do not think so.”

Rip's smile slipped and his brows descended, all joviality wiped from his expression as he examined the guns the men carried. “I take it you like the weapons your men carry.” He nodded toward the closest one. “What would you say if I told you that I could get them for you at a cheaper price?”

Tracie stiffened next to him, but her expression remained the same. The woman could probably play a mean hand of poker.

Delgado's eyes narrowed and he stared from Rip to Tracie and back to Rip. “I'd say for you to get the hell off my land.”

Rip shrugged. “Have it your way. If you want to keep buying guns at a higher price, that's your business. We will be on our way.” Rip turned toward the Jeep.

Tracie turned with him.

The hired guns blocked their exit.

Rip's muscles bunched, prepared to fight his way out if necessary.

The plantation owner jerked his head and gave an order in Spanish.

The guards stepped back, giving Rip and Tracie an open path to escape.

Delgado sliced the air with his hand. “Now go. You are not welcome here.”

“Your loss,” Rip said. “You could have sold the plantation and purchased some damned fine weapons at a steal of a price. Come on, sweetheart, at least we can enjoy the festival tonight.” Rip shook his head, hooked Tracie's elbow in his hand and guided her to the backseat of the Jeep.

Once they were all in, Julio spun the vehicle around and headed back the way they'd entered.

When they were out of earshot, Tracie leaned close to Rip and demanded, “What in the hell was that all about?”

Rip leaned back in his seat, a grin spreading across his lips. “I think we hit the jackpot.”

“Meaning?” she shot back.

“Meaning, I went to the plantation hoping to look around the land for hideouts, thinking maybe the guerilla group is camping out on the grounds. Instead, I think we found some of them.”

Tracie nodded. “I get that. They carried the guns from the DEA agent's photographs. But why did you tell them we had guns to sell?”

“The offer to purchase the plantation wasn't enough. The temptation of cheaper weapons? Now that got his attention. And I was beginning to think he wasn't going to let us leave so easily.”

* * *

T
RACIE
INHALED
DEEPLY
and let it out. “Wow. We've gone from being just a couple on our honeymoon looking for a coffee plantation, to international arms dealers. It's insanely dangerous.” She gave a shaky smile. “But what the hell. I'm in.”

Rip clapped his hands together. “We have a festival to go to, and I'll bet money that, one, Delgado has something to do with the guerillas since he has access to the weapons we're looking for. And two, he'll have us tailed. All we have to do is identify his men at the festival, plant tracking devices on one or two of them and see where they lead.” He grinned. “You ready for a late-night adventure?”

Her heartbeat kicked up when he smiled at her like that, and adrenaline ran through her veins, making her wish they were already following the tracking devices to the guerrilla's hidden location deep in the jungle. “I'm ready.”

As they passed the entrance to the plantation, they picked up Hector's vehicle full of mercenaries.

Tracie hadn't liked the mean look in Delgado's eyes. Several times, she'd glanced back over her shoulder, trying to look past Hector's men to the road beyond. A couple of times the road straightened long enough she thought she saw another vehicle kicking up dust.

Within twenty minutes, they were back in Colinas Rocosa, driving slowly through the busy streets.

“Are we stopping here?” Carlos asked.

“No,” Rip responded. “We'll come back later this evening. We can go back to Hector's and enjoy the pool during the hottest part of the day.”

Tracie touched his arm. “We can't go back to Hector's. Carmelo's men could be following us.”

Rip grinned. “We'll take care of that.” He leaned forward. “Julio, when we get to the outskirts of Colinas Rocosa pull over.”

“Aye, aye!” Julio said and pulled over a moment later.

“Carlos,” Rip said. “Could you please explain to Hector's men that they can return to his place? We no longer require their services.”

Carlo's brows rose. “If you're sure we can handle it just the four of us.”

“Julio assures me he's an expert driver. I'm counting on that to throw Carmelo's men off our trail before we head back to Hector's.”

“Muy bueno.”
When the other Jeep slid to a stop behind them, Carlos met the leader of the group and spoke softly in Spanish. The man nodded and barked an order to the driver. The Jeep left them, headed back to Hector's.

Carlos climbed back into their vehicle. “I told them to take a roundabout route back. But they should get there before us.”

“Good, now let's lose our tail.” Rip patted Julio's shoulder. “Go.”

Tracie glanced back toward the little town and spotted a truck filled with what looked like Delgado's men moving slowly toward them.

Julio slammed his foot on the accelerator. Dust and gravel spewed out behind them as they shot forward.

Tracie held on to the armrest, her hair flying around her face. A rush of excitement filled her as Julio sped away from Delgado's men.

The road twisted and turned through the hills and Tracie lost sight of the truck for a second. The next turn she spotted it. They were falling behind, but not by enough to lose them.

Ahead the road T-junctioned.

Julio turned to the right, stirring up a lot of dust and then spun around and rolled more slowly back the opposite direction.

Tracie swiveled in her seat to see the road behind her. They'd lost time turning around and going back the other direction.

A curve in the road meant the jungle blocked her view of the intersection.

Abruptly, the Jeep left the road and plowed into the underbrush. Giant trees shaded the spot where they'd entered the jungle, hopefully hiding their entry point.

Julio shut off the engine and jumped out of the Jeep, followed by Carlos and Rip. Together, they pushed and shoved brush and vines over the branches broken by their plunge into the woods. When they were satisfied with their efforts, they stood still.

Dressed in heels, Tracie remained where she was, listening as the sounds of nature resumed, disturbed only by the rumbling of tires on gravel and the heavy roar of a truck's engine.

Rip crossed to Tracie and whispered, “They turned right at the intersection.”

She nodded, afraid to speak too loud, even though the men in the truck probably couldn't hear them.

The truck's engine sounds faded the farther away they moved from the team hidden in the vegetation.

“Sounds like they're gone,” Tracie said.

Rip held up a hand. “We need to be certain.”

Carlos closed the distance between them. “I'm going on recon.”

Rip nodded.

Slipping into the jungle, Carlos hunched low, moving so quietly Tracie couldn't hear his footsteps. A moment later he disappeared.

Tracie leaned close to Rip and whispered into his ear, “How long should we wait to be certain?”

Rip's lips hovered next to her temple. “Until Carlos returns.” His breath stirred the loose tendrils of hair around her ear, sending ripples of awareness across her skin. A thin sheen of sweat built up across her upper lip that had nothing to do with the heat and humidity of the jungle.

Just when Tracie had relaxed and thought they were in the clear, the sound of an engine approaching made her stiffen. “Delgado's men or someone else?” she said, speaking quietly.

The engine noise grew louder and then seemed to hold steady for a moment. Shouts pierced the air. Too far away to make out what was being said, Tracie sent up a silent prayer that Carlos was all right and hadn't been discovered.