Authors: Cristin Harber
“It is
never
safe enough for you.”
“It is. I follow the rules. I watch my back.”
“You have a window perch and binoculars. What rules are you ignoring or which do you not know?”
Busted. She bit her lip. “I’m not leaving Honduras or any job because you have a problem with it.”
“Go home, Sophia.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek. It was careful yet cold, and then he left. The door quietly clicked shut, separating her from the man who could make her cry for the first time since her pity-party wedding night.
“You’re such a jerk.” Wiping away a rogue tear, she grabbed her binoculars in spite of him and went back to staring outside for no other reason than she needed to focus on anything but how he made her feel: special.
CHAPTER NINE
Brock’s arms were crossed over his chest. As he leaned against the wall, tense and terse, his posture spoke before Javier’s team leader took the opportunity to growl in displeasure. “Brazil.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get your shit together.” Brock’s jaw cracked, whether from the grinding of molars or just holding back his sheer force of nature under the excuse of acting like a boss.
“It’s together,” Javier lied and took a seat next to Grayson. The makeshift war-room table should focus him on the business at hand. He took a deep breath, letting the world apart from his Delta brothers slip away.
“Then don’t be late to my meetings, Brazil.”
At least, Javier was
trying
to let it go. He grunted an agreement and wished that Luke had been part of this job. That guy would get where his head was at. They were made of the same fabric, expending energy and adrenaline the same way: women, ink, and street fights. All of those extracurricular activities drove their team leader to the edge of sanity—which was maybe why Brock was acting like king of the pricks today—but they worked for Javier and Luke, and Brock let them have their escape.
Javier cracked his knuckles, swallowing the tinge of adrenaline-laden saliva that came with thinking about a fight. His pulse picked up, and he took a breath and popped another knuckle, trying to forget about everything—
everything
. Had he really left Sophia crying upstairs? What kind of man—
“Javier?” Brock’s attention bore into him. “Do we need to speak in private?”
He should be in this room, listening to his team leader, not worrying over a few crushed feelings when a girl needed to hear the truth. “No.”
Brock held his gaze, assessing the lack of truth of Javier’s answer, then shook his head and turned back to the whiteboard. They’d arrived the day before with two mission objectives: make their presence known—which they’d done in a big way on the outskirts of Tegucigalpa—and help the local government maintain the semiregular peace that they seemed to enjoy with their number-one trade partner, the United States. All while collecting intel.
The mission was half peacekeeping and half intelligence seeking. One hundred percent, nothing was ever as it seemed. The local police lacked a unified, dependable structure. There was a clear concern about cartel infiltration in the ranks of law enforcement. Delta did a few training sessions, a couple upgrades of local law-enforcement weaponry. They also kept their ears to the ground about PC traffickers who were moving people and product.
That was the high point of this job: PC intel. Not Sophia. But could it be both?
That was not an option. He shook his head, slowing it into a stretch when Brock turned around to ask Grayson about an ammo count. Javier forced his body to relax, focusing on Grayson’s report, Brock’s whiteboard mapped with arrows that pointed to thermal imaging. This wasn’t a danger zone like one of the ones they’d worked a thousand times before. It wasn’t great, but really…
“Javier?” Brock’s brow was up. “Got your head in the game?”
Shit. Grayson and Ryder had eyes on him too.
“Absolutely.”
Not.
He was distracted and needing to clear Sophia from his concerns. But even as he stared at the whiteboard, his mind was still upstairs with the sweet girl he’d hurt on purpose to try to scare home.
***
So what if she had a perch and binoculars? They were perfect for peering at four armed men who were heading out of the embassy’s secure gate and for watching Javier leave after they’d had a fight. She wondered if he’d be back. Wasn’t there a rule—never fight with a military man and then let him go off to work? And
he
was worried about
her
in her safe suite surrounded by twelve-inch-thick walls, sirens, a protective guard, practice drills, panic rooms, and first-aid kits that rivaled some hospitals. The place was impenetrable.
God, her stomach turned, though
—for them
—despite the fact that she went out that very same gate without so much as a gun. They had high assault power attached to every limb. Maybe Javier had a point.
She put the binoculars down, and her mind went to Whispering Willow. What was Hana working on that day? Did Delta’s arrival have an impact on her?
Sophia slid to her desk and opened her notebook. The area was controlled by gangs and cartels, by criminals and the corrupt. The country had more kidnappings and ransom extortions than anywhere else in South America. Sophia was a prize, an ambassador’s daughter worth a hefty ransom. The identity of her parents was kept quiet enough that some of her security was even unaware of it. They could never be too trusting. But despite those concerns, along with the rampant highway assaults and carjackings, she felt safe.
Hana’s husband commanded respect. He gave orders and monopolized law enforcement and other local politicos, never suspecting that his obedient wife was smart enough and evolved enough to think not just in terms of her community but on a global scale. Hana knew her husband’s criminal efforts in connection with the PC cartel and knew that women and children were in danger because of the
work
the cartel did.
Hana was a martyr without having died—yet. And Sophia would do everything she could to make sure Hana stayed alive while relaying back to the US any information that would slow the trafficking of women and children.
This
was the type of work she needed to do. It was her calling.
The cell phone buzzed on her desk.
Hana.
A surge of excitement pulsed in her blood. “Hello?”
“Sophia.”
Thankfulness that her friend was okay surged through her. “Can you meet today? We have activity here. I didn’t know if maybe you—”
“Your presence was very much known.”
Yeah, I bet.
Delta had clamored into the embassy with the purpose of announcing their presence. “Meet you at the cafe? On the corner of Av. República de Mexico and Calle República de Ecuador?”
“Perfect.”
Hana wasn’t what Sophia had expected. They were the same age. Both were city girls, and though most Americans would consider Honduras a third-world country, Tegucigalpa was a thriving capital city. Hana was also wealthy. With her family and marriage, she had access to money and power.
Time spent with Hana actually meant enjoying sake at sushi bars, pizza from American takeout places, upscale cuisine, and the Honduran nightlife.
The most important part of all the socializing was Hana’s husband, Marco. He believed that his wife’s relationship was a status symbol for
himself
. Everything about Marco Ferrera was about him. Never in a million years could he fathom she wanted to leave or that Hana would pass along secrets.
Actually, he expected the
reverse
to be true. Marco bragged about Hana’s relationship to Sophia and, in some of his more illicit circles, used it as bait and currency. Their friendship meant access to power and prestige for him. It was his connection to America, Honduras’s largest legal trading partner.
“And Sophia?”
“Yes?”
“The cables? Those, you’re sure, are okay?”
“Completely classified.” Sophia used the cable system to forward every bit of information she obtained to the Pentagon. They’d given Hana a port access, also, where she could snap and scan documents—even if she had no idea what they were for—and her cables would be reviewed and action taken if that was appropriate. There were many things Hana didn’t have to converse about. That made her covert activities safer.
But Sophia didn’t always know what had been relayed back to the US, and maybe that was why Delta had arrived. Pressing the phone to her ear and picking the binoculars up from the corner of her desk, Sophia went to her window perch, wondering where Delta had gone, what Hana had known, and where the invisible lines of information crossed.
CHAPTER TEN
Congestion marred what would otherwise have been a relaxing stroll down Calle República de Ecuador. Sophia could only relax so much, never knowing where danger lurked. More often than not, she had a security detail with her, but not on her Hana meets. Discretion was best and made her more comfortable. The lack of safety protocols probably gave Marco a better feeling about what he thought his wife and the US aid worker might discuss.
The pizza place on the corner called to her. It wasn’t quite American or Italian, but it worked for her cheesy-calorie fix. Hana’s chauffeured sedan appeared across the street and pulled in front of where Sophia had her heart set. Thank God for pizza.
Not stopping to greet Hana on the street, Sophia pushed through the red door and let the warm scent of dough and cheese wash over her. The hostess smiled and escorted her to the table that was now known as her favorite. It had a view of the front door and the hallway leading to the kitchen and bathrooms. One sweeping glance could cast a visual gaze over every occupant of the restaurant.
“
Hola.
” Hana smiled as Sophia stood, exchanging a kiss on the cheek, before they both fell back into their chairs. Just a couple of girls ready to gossip and eat, who wanted to talk about fashion and whatever else well-off young criminal wives discussed with their inner circle.
After colas and pizza were ordered, Sophia relaxed but noticed Hana’s posture was upright, her lips pressed into an uncomfortable smile. Something was off. “What’s up?”
“I’m worried,” Hana said.
“I could tell.”
“We should go on a vacation together. Have girl time.”
“I’ll never get cleared for that.”
Hana bit her lip. “I know.”
“So, tell me something fun.”
“Like?” Hana asked.
Like Javier was the one-night stand who wouldn’t quit, and Sophia couldn’t help but think about him. And she was worried that Delta’s arrival had something to do with Marco’s connections. Though none of that was fun. Just the Javier part.
Their colas arrived.
“I need a distraction, and you have a twinkle in your eye,
mi amiga
.”
Sophia grumbled in good fun. “Or I have a headache.”
“Handsome, burly American patriots have taken residence at your embassy, and you’re primed for interesting nights in the near future.”
Gah. “I could only wish.”
“So there
is
someone.”
Janny would say yes. “Perhaps.”
“Part of this armed contingent that is making the streets buzz?”
“Eh.” Sophia pulled her lip back, waffling her head. “Maybe.”
Hana’s beam broadened. “Please. Do tell.”
“Nothing to say.”
“I’m a sad, old married lady. Give me something to live vicariously through.”
“Oh, BS!” Sophia laughed. Hana wasn’t old and was nowhere near sad. Maybe one could say she was trapped, or put in a position where the world she knew and the one she wanted were at odds. “A friend of my brother’s is in town.”
“Oh, nice. And?”
“We…
spent time
before.” She studied her soda glass as though it were more interesting than the South American in her mind and tried to think of the best way to explain the one-night stand on her wedding night without sounding like the queen of the slut puppies. “I was in a vulnerable place. Think he was too. So we leaned on each other—”
“Figuratively? Literally?” Hana laughed as the pizza arrived. “All of the above?”
They doled out slices while Sophia’s cheeks flamed. “Maybe.”
“
Nice.
”
Trying and failing to hide her blush and silly-girl grin behind a large piece of cheese pizza, Sophia shrugged and chewed, content to plead the fifth.
“If I ever get to”—she mouthed
America
—“we could go on a double date.”
“Okay.” Sophia put the pizza down. “First, we’re going to make that happen.” Because for the amount of danger Hana had put herself in, she’d earned a setup and new identity in the States. “And second, ready to date so soon?”
Hana held her hand out. To anyone taking a glance, they were both admiring the rock on her hand. “I was promised to Marco before I could walk. I was part of a business negotiation. Now, I won’t say he’s hard on the eyes.”