Mercenary's Woman (14 page)

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MERCENARY'S WOMAN

knowing from the way he spoke of it that he
hadn't gotten
over her. But now, she had drug dealers threatening to kill
Jessica and Stevie as well as herself. She
wondered how
in the world she'd ended up in
such a nightmare.

It didn't help when Eb phoned again and told her that
the phone number she'd been given was that of a
stolen
cell phone, untraceable until
it was answered, and it rang
and
rang unnoticed now. There would be no time to run a
trace precisely at midnight. It was the most
disheartening
news Sally had received in a long time.

Chapter Seven

Eb was disturbed by the message he'd
intercepted from
Lopez. He knew, even better than Sally did, that it wasn't
an idle threat. The
drug lord, like his minions, was merciless. He'd had countless enemies
neutralized, and he
wouldn't hesitate because Jessica was a woman. Just the
month before his arrest, he'd had the
leader of a drug-
dealing gang disposed of
for cheating him. It was chilling
even
for a professional soldier to know what depths a hu
man being could sink
to in the name of greed.

He and Dallas started
planning for the certainty of an
attack. The Johnson homeplace was isolated,
but it had
plenty of cover where men could hide. Eb intended having
people in place long
before Lopez's hired goons could find
a safe passage to the house to carry out the
madman's
orders.
Anything else would be impossible, since he knew
Jessica would never sacrifice her
informant's life, even to
save herself and her family.

"I think we can safely assume that these men aren't

106

MERCENARY'S WOMAN

DIANA PALMER

107

professionals," Dallas said quietly. "Their way
will be to
wade in shooting."

Eb's pale eyes
narrowed. "I wouldn't bet the lives of
two women and a child on that," he replied.
"Lopez
knows I'm here, and that I have trained professionals
working for me. He
also knows that I'm why Jessica talked
Sally into moving back here in the first
place. He's ruth
less, but he isn't stupid. When he comes after Jessica, he'll
send the best people
he's got."

"Point
taken," Dallas said heavily. "I suppose it was
wishful
thinking." He glanced worriedly at Eb. "We could
bring all three of
them over here."

"Sure we could.
But it would only postpone the inevi
table. Lopez doesn't quit. He'll look on it
as a setback and find another way to get to them. Besides, they can't stay
here indefinitely.
Sally has a job and Stevie has to go to
school."

Dallas stared into
the distance, quiet and thoughtful.
"Stevie doesn't like me," he
murmured. "He told his
mother he was learning karate so that he could work me
over." He shot
a half-amused glance in Eb's direction.
"Spunky kid."

"Yes, he
is," Eb agreed, "Pity he has to grow up with
out a father. And before you fly at
me," he interrupted
Dallas's exclamation,
"I know Jessica didn't tell you
whose
child he was. But you know now."

"I know,"
Dallas muttered irritably, "for all the good
it does me. She won't even discuss it. The
minute I walk
in the door, she clams up and
stays that way until I leave. I
can
barely get her to say hello and goodbye!"

"Then she cries
herself to sleep at night because you
hate her."

The blond man's dark
eyes widened.
"What?"

"That's why
Stevie wants to deck you," Eb said simply.
"He's very protective of his
mother."

Dallas seemed to calm
down a little. "Imagine that,"
he mused. "Well, well. So she isn't
quite as disinterested
as she pretends." He stuck his hands into his
pockets and
leaned back against the wall. "No chance she'll turn in
the guy who ratted on
Lopez, I gather?"

"Not one in a
million." He studied the other man for a
moment. "You're really
worried."

"Of course I am. I've seen the
aftermath of Lopez's
vendettas,"
Dallas said curtly. "What worries me most is
that if someone's willing to trade his life or his
freedom
to get you, he can. No
protection is adequate against a
determined killer."

"Then ours will
make history," Eb promised him.
"Let's go over to Cy Parks's place. I
want to see if he's
got a way to contact that guy in Mexico who used to work
as a mercenary with Dutch
Van Meer and Diego Laremos
back in the eighties. He went on to do work infiltrating
drug cartels."

"J.D. Brettman
led that mercenary group," Dallas recalled, grinning. "He's a
superior court judge in Chicago
these days. Imagine that!"

"I heard that Van Meer lives with his
wife and kids in
the northwestern Rocky
Mountains on a ranch. What about
Laremos?"
Eb asked.

"He and his
family live in the Yucatan. He's given up
soldiering, too." He shook his head.
"Those guys were
younger
than us when they started and they made for
tunes."

"It was a
different game back then. Times have
changed. So have the rules. We'd never get
away with
some
of the stunts those guys pulled." Eb felt in his pocket
for his truck keys.
"All of us met them, but Cy and Diego

108
                            
MERCENARY'S WOMAN

Laremos got to know each other well
several years back
when Cy was doing a little job down around Cancun for
a wealthy yachtsman.
He may know the professional sol
dier who helped a friend of Laremos's escape
some nasty
pothunters and a kidnapper."

"Do I know this
friend?" Dallas wanted to know as
they headed out the door.

"You probably know
of him
—Canton Rourke."

"Good Lord, Mr. Software?"
Dallas exclaimed. "The
guy who lost
everything and then regrouped and now has
a corporation in the Fortune 500?"

"That's him." Eb nodded.
"Turns out the new Mrs.
Rourke's
parents are university professors who devote
summers to Mayan digs in the Yucatan. It's a long story,
but
this Mexican agent does a little freelance work. He'd
be an asset in this sort of operation."

"He might even have some contacts we could use?"

"That's
so," Eb got in and started the truck. He glanced
at Dallas.
"Besides that, he's done undercover work on
narcotics smuggling for the Mexican
government and lived
to tell
about it. That proves how good he is. A lot of undercover people get
killed."

"He'd be just
what we need, if we can get him. I don't
imagine the DEA is going to tell us who
their undercover
guy is, or what he finds out."

"Exactly. That's
where I hope Cy's going to come in.
He doesn't like any of the old associations
very much any
more, but
considering the danger Lopez poses, he might
be
willing to help us."

"Pity about his arm,"

Eb shot him a wry
glance. "Yes, but it's a lucky break
it wasn't the arm he uses."

They drove over to
Cy Parks's ranch, and found him watching his young foreman, Harley, doctoring a
sick bull

DIANA
PALMER

yearling in the barn. He was lounging
against one of the
posts that
supported the imposing structure, his hat low
over
his eyes, his arms folded over a broad chest, one
booted foot resting on a rail of the gate that
enclosed the
stall where his man was busy.

He turned as Eb and
Dallas strode down the neat
chipped
bark covered floor to join him.

"You two out
sightseeing?" Cy drawled without smil
ing, his green eyes narrowed and curious.

"Not today. We need a name."

"Whose?"

"The guy who
worked with your friend Diego Laremos
out near Chichen Itza. I think he might be
just what we need to infiltrate Lopez's cartel."

Cy's eyebrows lifted.
"Rodrigo? You must be out of your mind!" he said at once.

"Why?"

"Good God,"
Cy burst out, "Diego says that he's such
a renegade, nobody will hire him
anymore, not even for
black ops!"

"What did he
do?" Dallas asked, aware that the young
man in the stall had perked up and
was suddenly listening
unashamedly,

"For a start, he
crashed a Huey out in the Yucatan last
year," Cy said. "That didn't
endear him to a certain gov
ernment agency which was running him. Then he blew up an
entire boatload of powder cocaine off Cozumel that the authorities were trying
to confiscate—millions' worth. In between he wrecked a few hired cars in
various chases, hijacked a plane, and broke into a government field office.
He walked off with a
couple of classified files and several
thousand dollars' worth of high-tech
listening devices that
you can't even buy unless you're in law enforcement. After
that, he went berserk in a bar down in Panama and put

MERCENARY'S
WOMAN

two men in the hospital, just before
he absconded with a
suitcase full of unlaundered drug money that belonged to
Manuel
Lopez..."

"Are we talking
about the same Rodrigo that the feds
used to call 'Mr. Cool'?" Eb asked with
evident surprise.

"That isn't what
they call him these days," Cy said
flatly. "Mr. Liability would be more like
it."

"He was with
Laremos and Van Meer in Africa back
in the early eighties," Eb recalled.
"They left, but he
signed on with another outfit and kept going."

"That's when he
started working freelance for the
feds," Cy continued. "At least,
that's what Diego said,"
he
added for Harley's benefit. He didn't want his young employee to know about his
past.

"Anybody know
why Rodrigo went bananas in Pan
ama?" Dallas asked.

Cy shrugged.
"There are a lot of rumors—but nothing
concrete." He studied the other two with pursed lips.
"If
you want him for undercover work
to indict Lopez, he'd
probably pay
you to hire him on. He hates Lopez."

Eb glanced past Cy at
Harley, whose mouth was hanging open.

"Don't mind
him," Cy told his companions with a
mocking smile. "He's a mercenary, too," he added dryly.

Harley scrambled to
his feet. "Can't I hire on?" he
burst out. "Listen, I know those
names—Van Meer and
Brettman
and Laremos. They were legends!"

"Put the top
back on the medicine before you spill it,"
Cy told the young man calmly. "As
for the other, that's
up to Eb. It's his party."

Harley fumbled the
lid back on the bottle. "Mr. Scott?" he asked, pleading.

"I guess we
could find you something to do," Eb said,
amused. Then the smile faded, and his
whole look was

DIANA PALMER
                                     
111

threatening. "But this is strictly on the QT. You breathe
one word of it locally and you're out on your ear.
Got
that?"

Harley nodded eagerly. "Sure!"

"And you'll
work for him only after you do your chores
here," Cy said firmly. "I run
cattle, not commandos."

"Yes, sir!"

Cy exchanged a
complicated glance with Eb. "I've got
the last number I had for Rodrigo in my
office. I'll go get
it."

He left the other
three men in the barn. Harley was
almost dancing with excitement.

"I'll be an asset, sir, honestly,"
he told Eb. "I can shoot
anything that
has bullets, and use a knife, and I know a
little martial arts...!"

Eb chuckled. "Son, we don't need an
assassin. We're
collecting
intelligence."

The boy's face fell. "Oh."

"Running gun
battles aren't a big part of the business,"
Dallas said without cracking a smile.
"You shoot anybody
these days, even a criminal, and you could find yourself
behind bars."

Harley looked
shocked. "But...but I read about it all
the time; those exciting battles in
Africa..."

"Exciting?" Eb's eyes were steady and quiet.

"Why, sure!" Harley's eyes lit
up. "You know, testing your courage under fire."

The boy's eyes were
gleaming with excitement, and Eb knew then for certain that he'd never seen
anyone shot. Probably the closest he'd come to it was listening to an
instructor—probably
a retired mercenary—talking about
combat.

Harley noticed his
employer coming out of the house and he grimaced. "I hope Mr. Parks meant
what he said.