Enemy Mine (17 page)

“Sure. I know just the place. It’s a family-owned restaurant, La Troucha, that serves the best Peruvian food.” He looked at his watch. “How about I come knocking at your door in about two hours?”

“Great,” Kathy stated, relieved he seemed enthused over her unexpected invitation.

“I’ll show myself out,” he said, and left.

Standing there alone, Kathy gazed around the suite. Automatically, she looked for cameras. There didn’t seem to be any. And then her heart pounded. What if the place was bugged? Had her question been recorded?
Mac had said it wasn’t. But could she believe him? Perspiration flooded her. Hands damp, she nervously wiped them against her jeans. If her question was recorded the tape would be taken to Garcia immediately. And what then? Her nerves jangled, Kathy turned and went to find the bathroom. Once more she’d proved that she wasn’t undercover material.

I
T WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT
. The restaurant, La Troucha, was filled with happy revelers from all over Cuzco. Husky sounding pan flutes, a melodic, lively accordion and deep kettle-type drums hammered out soul-stirring Incan music. As Kathy had discovered, this restaurant was a local hangout and not a tourist spot. She could see why it was Mac’s favorite restaurant. The warmth of the Quero family who owned the place was infectious.

Mac had escorted her to the quieter outdoor area of the single-story restaurant. The carefully manicured terrace garden had a fountain, and tiny lights on the brick path allowed visitors to walk on the flat stones without tripping. The night was cool and Kathy had a lavender alpaca shawl over her fuschia dress. These two garments had been her only purchase for herself.

Over the ensuing hours and after consuming part of a bottle of burgundy wine, much of Kathy’s trepidation dissolved. The drinks had soothed her screaming nerves and anesthetized her worry over her faux pas. And Mac was a charming dinner companion. He had showered, shaved and changed his clothes. Dressed in an open collared white cotton shirt, a blue blazer and tan chinos, he
looked to Kathy like a suntanned Hollywood star. Maybe it was the wine, because she had had a few glasses. Maybe too many. Their meal was flavorful—freshly caught trout with lime juice, along with some of the most delicious Peruvian potatoes she’d ever encountered.

“This is like a dream,” Kathy said, glancing at the large three-tiered fountain. The fountain was the center of the private garden. The water fell with a musical splash, and she looked up at the night sky. In the jungle she couldn’t see the stars most of the time due to the high humidity, but Cuzco, which was much drier, was a natural observatory at this altitude. The sky was clear, the stars twinkling boldly and so close she felt as if she could reach out and touch them.

“Yeah, there’s a mystical quality to Peru,” Mac murmured, standing behind her. Kathy was more than pretty tonight. She was beautiful. Those thick blond locks lay around her shoulders and glinted like Incan gold in the soft lights of the restaurant. The perfume she wore enticed him.

Her jewelry was simple but elegant. White pearls in her earlobes and a single strand around her throat showed off the elegant length of her neck. She stood with the soft, fuzzy lavender shawl curved around her proud shoulders, her hands holding the ends together over her heart.

To hell with it.

For once, Mac was going to break protocol. Kathy Lincoln had been the perfect companion tonight. She’d danced with laughter and delight to the inspiring Incan music after dinner. Her body had moved against Mac’s
when the slow tunes were played. She had melted against his frame with a boldness that caught him by surprise in the most delicious of ways.

Mac took a huge risk. He settled his hand on her shoulder and gently turned Kathy toward him. Her face lifted toward his, her eyes wide and vulnerable looking. Blue smoke. Their color reminded him of the sinuous, magical wisps of clouds that silently moved over the jungle at the villa. She was like that, Mac realized as he settled his other hand on her shoulder and brought Kathy against him. Her hands remained between her breasts, softly touching his chest. Would she push away? Scold him for not keeping his distance? Mac didn’t care and was willing to take the chance. His heart was beating powerfully, short-circuiting his normal mindset of not getting involved. Maybe it was the high altitude making him loco. Maybe it was her. Or a combination. Right now, he didn’t care.

“You’re magical, you know that?” Mac said in a low voice. He lightly grazed Kathy’s hair, the strands soft against his palm as he followed them down to her shoulder. If she pulled away, if she said no, he would stop. But she didn’t.

Emboldened, Mac said, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”

An arc of pleasure shot through Kathy. Her brain screamed for her to resist. But her heart…oh, her damnable heart wasn’t listening at all! Was she doing this to seal Mac’s lips so he wouldn’t repeat what she had said earlier? Kathy had found out through some manipulation of conversation earlier that Garcia did not have
the penthouse bugged. So Mac was the only person who could take her words back to Garcia and undo everything she’d been working to set up for the last four months. But did she want to kiss him as a trade-off for his silence? Or did she want to kiss him out of her own desire?

Unsure, Kathy slid her hands beneath the front of Mac’s blazer. She felt him tense and take a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes turned stormy and narrowed upon her. He was going to kiss her, and that was okay with her heart.

“You’ve been magic for me, too,” Kathy whispered, her voice off-key and husky. As Mac settled his hands upon her face, framing it and easing her mouth toward his, Kathy closed her eyes.

For one moment out of this dangerous dance she was playing, Kathy wanted to forget it all. Just forget for just a few moments…

With the first brush of his lips against hers, Kathy drew in a sharp breath. His mouth was masterful, beguiling and coaxing as he caressed her parting lips. Oh! His ability to kiss was so much more than Kathy had hoped for. Her fingers dug convulsively into his shirt as he moved his mouth more boldly against hers. He was taking it one step at a time, leaving her hungry and craving more. Much more! His hands tightened as he angled her head slightly to take advantage of her opening lips. The moment his tongue moved across hers, a silvery heat threaded from her breasts to her needy core.

Groaning, Mac felt Kathy sway against him, as if finally surrendering to him. Tensing, he took her full
weight and felt her long fingers sliding provocatively across his chest, his neck and then around his shoulders. Mouth hungry and bold, he met her surprising onslaught. For just a minute or two he wanted to forget the life-and-death game he played.

Her mouth tasted of sweet chocolate as he moved his tongue slowly, worshiping each corner. Mac felt her smile against him. He smiled in return. Her arms tightening behind his neck, her body moving softly and teasingly against his, were nearly his undoing. Her lips were soft, pliable, pleasing. She was bold, too, and it fueled a fire that nearly set him aflame. Through a haze of pleasure, Mac again wondered about her being a nanny. Her fiery passion, her wantonness surprised him.

Reluctantly, he ended the kiss. As their lips slowly drew apart, wet and heated, he opened his eyes and drowned in her blue gaze. They were both breathing hard and he could feel her heart skittering wildly against his chest. He savored the sensuous strength of her body. Tunneling his fingers through her hair, he watched as her lashes fluttered and her eyes closed.
I have to stop. I have to stop….
But God help him, he didn’t want to.

Groaning, Mac whispered near her ear, “You’re like the clouds around these jungle mountains, bright angel. You’re here and not here. Holding you is like holding one of those soft, moving clouds between my hands. You’re part mystery, part something I can’t put into words….” Mac forced himself to ease his fingers from her hair. Seeing the disappointment in her smoky eyes, he gave her an apologetic smile.

The huskily spoken words spilled through Kathy like
a cascade. Her body screamed to be satiated. How long had it been since a man so inspired her like this?
A long time. Not since Curt…
She was thirsty for Mac Coulter. Was her attraction based upon emerging from a year’s worth of grief over losing Curt? Just hormones on the rampage because she’d had no sex during that period? Or was it something more?

As Kathy gazed with confusion into his hooded, stormy eyes, she found herself spiraling helplessly into a cauldron of need for him alone. The rueful smile on those perfect male lips sent a keen ache through her. No, her attraction to Mac didn’t stem from that long tunnel of grief. It was him. And that scared the hell out of her.

Wordlessly, she eased her hands from around his shoulders. Mac was strong and capable. And yet surprisingly gentle. Unlike a lot of men, he hadn’t hurt her or gotten selfish with her. Instead, he’d courted her with that life-altering kiss. Mac knew how to pleasure a woman, no doubt. Her lips were still tingling in the wake of his masterful onslaught. All she could do was stare up at him, lost in the heated lightning reflected in his eyes.

Knees weakening, Kathy didn’t know what to do. No other man had ever made her feel this way. Not even Curt. The night air was cool. Mac made her feel warm and safe. But nothing was safe in her world. Nothing was to be trusted. And yet Kathy had capitulated and kissed him. She’d wanted this as much as Mac, she discovered. It simply couldn’t be. Not now. Not when she was so close to springing her trap to send Garcia’s world into hell.

“M
ORGAN
,
DO WE HAVE
a mission going down in Peru that I don’t know about?” Major Mike Houston sauntered into Morgan Trayhern’s office on a Friday morning, cup of steaming black coffee in hand.

“What?” Morgan lifted his head. He had been looking over two new missions that Mike and his team had sent for his approval. “Peru?”

“Yeah, look at this. Jenny just handed it to me. A top secret fax to us.”

Scowling, Morgan took the paper. “It’s from the ATF.”

“Yeah. We don’t work with them,” Mike said, leaning against his desk and sipping his coffee. “At least, not that I know of.”

Snorting, Morgan took a bite of a Krispy Kreme doughnut, his morning ritual. “We have no ties to them. This is the head of the ATF, asking us if we have an agent in place down in Peru.”

“Yeah. Apparently they’ve got a mole there sending this inquiry back through his handler.”

Morgan read the fax and his scowl deepened. “A female operative?”

“We work in teams of two, a man and woman. So it can’t be one of ours.”

“Right.” Something bothered Morgan. Setting the fax down, he murmured, “I think I’ll have Jenny get this ATF guy on a secure phone line. I want to know more.”

Raising his brows, Mike asked, “Got a hunch?”

“Yeah…maybe,” Morgan barked, reaching for the red phone on his desk. It was a secure satellite line that could put him in touch with any government around the world.

“Would you let me know what you find out?” Mike said over his shoulder. “I’m kind of curious, too.”

Morgan nodded and asked Jenny Wright, his assistant, to make a connection to Mort Houseman’s office. Mort was the head honcho of ATF and the man who’d sent him the fax.

“Mort speaking.”

“Mort, this is Morgan Trayhern from Perseus. How are you this morning?”

“Fine, Mr. Trayhern. You got my fax, I see?”

“Yes. Whoever this operative is, it’s not one of our people. I’m usually privy to such operations and this one has caught me off guard. With a Q clearance, I thought I had all of them in my sights.”

Chuckling, Mort said, “This is ATF territory, Mr. Trayhern. I’m familiar with Perseus, but you work more with the FBI, DEA and CIA, as I understand it.”

“That’s correct, although we do many interagency missions, with anyone who needs our assistance or assets.”

“Oh…I see.”

Morgan smiled wryly. “We met briefly at a closed senate hearing about a year ago, but there was a lot going down at that time and you may not recall me.” Morgan remembered that Mort Houseman possessed a
bean-counter personality. And he looked like it, too—tall, thin, balding, with spectacles and a pallid complexion. He also zealously controlled the ATF to the exclusion of everyone else. Of course, after 9/11, he was forced to begin sharing information, but in Morgan’s opinion, the man hedged his bets, just as he was doing now.

“That’s possible,” Mort said. “Well, look, if this operative isn’t one of yours, I’ll go to some of the other agencies and find out who inserted her down there.”

A thin thread of alarm slithered through Morgan’s gut. “Do you have a name? A description from your agent?” He held his breath. Houseman could refuse to say anything. Morgan heard a rustling of papers over the line.

“Just a moment…yes, here it is. Our agent says she’s a Canadian-American woman by the name of Katherine Lincoln. She’s working as a nanny for Carlos Garcia, at his villa near Agua Caliente.”

That rang no bells for Morgan. Still, his gut niggled him. Something was out of place here. What was it? Racking his brain, he finally asked, “Is there a physical description of her?”

“Yes, but Mr. Trayhern, I think I’ve given you quite enough information, especially since you know it isn’t one of your field agents.”

Bastard.
Morgan nodded and kept his voice smooth. “I understand, Mort. Well, listen, I appreciate what you did give me. If I can ever help you out, let me know.”
That will be a cold day in hell.

After getting off the phone, Morgan sat there thinking. Katherine Lincoln. Kathy Trayhern. Canadian-
American? Over the last few months, he had grown increasingly worried about Kathy. She’d gone undercover to South America. That was all the information she’d given him, and he’d been stonewalled by the Pentagon on her mission a couple of months ago. He still hadn’t heard anything from her. These types of operations could take up to a year to complete, but he didn’t like the idea of his oldest daughter undercover for such a long time.

Laura had nightmares from time to time about Kathy being in danger. Morgan would get up, hold his wife and reassure her. He didn’t admit he was worried, too. Oh, Kathy was capable, there was no question. But it was his daughter, dammit, and he didn’t like being shut out of a mission that involved her.

Something had to be done. But what? Drumming his fingers on his desk for a moment, he finally decided what to do. He picked up the secure phone and asked Jenny to get Major Maya Stevenson of the Black Jaguar Squadron on the line. Her black ops was situated fifty miles from Agua Caliente, hidden in a massive cave complex.

Yes, Maya might know something. And she might be willing to cough up his daughter’s whereabouts. Morgan had helped refinance Maya’s all-woman Apache combat helicopter squadron, which had gone down there to halt cocaine shipments out of Peru. Within four years, they had stopped sixty percent of the drug flights from leaving the country. They never shot them down, just intimidated the hell out of them, when necessary throwing rockets or cannon fire across the nose of the drug runner, who got the message and turned back.

Morgan waited impatiently. He knew Maya had a full squadron of Apaches and they plied that territory twenty-four hours a day. Frequently she would send him information on drugs being moved by land, by truck or by ship, and he would pass the info to the DEA and FBI or CIA.

No question, the drug trade in Peru was being seriously hurt by the women who flew those helicopters. Despite their brilliant success, the U.S. Army had been planning to pull the plug on Major Stevenson’s brainchild, until Morgan pumped life-sustaining money and support into it.

He was glad for his contribution, because now more than ever the legendary Black Jaguar Squadron was riding roughshod over the drug network, even creating incredible pressure on the biggest drug lord of them all, Carlos Garcia, the son of the man who had kidnapped his family. It gave Morgan particular satisfaction to be putting the screws to the son, even if the father was dead.

If Garcia couldn’t get his drugs out of Peru, other drug lords would encroach on his markets and topple him. This placed Garcia in a dangerous position, and Morgan knew the pressure on the bastard had to be tremendous—thanks to Maya Stevenson and her group of gung ho women pilots.

The phone rang.

“Maya?”

“Hi, Morgan. What’s up?”

He smiled. He liked the no-nonsense Brazilian-American woman. She had been one of the first females to graduate from Fort Rucker and fly the powerful Apache combat helicopter.

“I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

Laughing, he said, “I just got an interesting fax and then followed it up with a phone call to the ATF back in D.C. Mort Houseman, the head honcho, was asking if we had a woman operative undercover at Garcia’s villa near Agua Caliente.”

“Okay…”

“He gave me her name and nationality. I asked for more info and he refused me. He can, of course. It’s his undercover black ops.”

“Where do we fit into this?”

“Well, I know your pilots frequently take photos of drug carriers, on foot hiking through the jungle, in trucks, on bicycles or whatever. You send that info to me and I pass it on to others. I was just wondering if in the last four months you’ve taken any photos of a woman at Carlos Garcia’s villa near Agua Caliente.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Let me get my executive officer, Lieutenant Dallas Klein, on this, Morgan. She looks through all the photos, sorts them out and sends them on.”

“Maybe some of your combat pilots took photos near his villa? Those are the ones I’m interested in. I want to try and identify this woman if possible.”

“Okay, let me get on it. We’ve got an archive of all photos taken on our flights. I’ll have Dallas cull the last four months’ worth and send them to you via secure computer line. You can look through them yourself. Most will be irrelevant—a lot of hikers trek through the jungle around Machu Picchu.”

“That’s okay. Just send what you’ve got my way.”

“F
IND OUT ANYTHING
concrete?” Mike asked as his boss walked into his office. Morgan seemed deep in thought, his hand clasping his chin.

“Not yet.” Morgan elaborated on his conversations with Mort Houseman and Maya Stevenson.

Mike sat back in his chair. “So this mole is Canadian? You know, this might be a Canadian-backed ops. Have you thought of calling your friends up north and finding out?”

“Doing that right now.”

“Why are you pursuing this so intently?”

Morgan sighed. “I’m worried about Kathy. She said her undercover op was in South America.”

“That’s what I thought.” Mike nodded, understanding. Morgan didn’t like being shut out of an ops and he’d had the door slammed in his face on this one by the Pentagon. Usually, the feds were more than willing to share intelligence because Perseus was so heavily involved with them in mutual operations around the world. Not on this one, and Mike couldn’t figure out why.

Jenny Wright came into Mike’s office. “Morgan, no one among the bureaus in Canada have such an agent or operation with Garcia.”

“Hmm,” Morgan muttered.

“Jenny, have you contacted the DEA yet?” Mike asked.

Morgan turned. “That’s our next step. Check it out and let us know, Jenny?”

The blonde smiled. “Of course.” She turned and went back out to her cubicle, which sat between their offices.

“Well,” Mike said, “if we come up empty-handed with the DEA, that makes this really interesting. You
know the CIA doesn’t have anyone down there. We have all their need-to-know mission info.”

“Right.” Morgan scratched his head and looked around. “And if the DEA is out of this loop on Garcia—”

“Then who is the mystery woman? Apparently the ATF agent fingered her.”

Morgan shrugged and said, “Agents in the field are paranoid by nature. This woman is working as a nanny, a babysitter for Garcia’s daughter, and that’s all she may be. The agent could be knee-jerking and hyping the situation. He could be wrong about her.”

Nodding, Mike said, “Yeah, that’s possible, too.”

“Well, I’ve got work yelling at me, and other stuff in motion,” Morgan said with a twisted smile. “If I put this together, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Brightens up my normally dull days,” Mike chuckled, lifting his hand in farewell. His days were anything but dull. Mike loved being the head of mission planning, which was his forte.

It was near quitting time, 1700, when Morgan started receiving the first of many black-and-white JPEGs from the Black Jaguar Squadron headquarters. He called his wife and told her he would be late for dinner. Something was driving Morgan to find out this woman’s identity. When his gut sounded an alarm, he’d learned decades ago not to ignore it, but to follow it to the very end.

“T
HIS WOMAN IS NOT ONE
of our ATF agents,” Rosalia Fuentes told Mac Coulter. It was early afternoon and they sat sipping coffee in a restaurant in the wealthy
Mira Flores district of Lima. Dressed in a light tan linen suit, Rosalia blended in with the usual clientele. She had been Mac’s handler since he’d come to Peru.

“They’re
sure?
”

Rosalia nodded and moved her sable-framed glasses up on her nose. “Completely. One hundred percent sure.” She kept her voice down. They sat in the back of the restaurant, near a wall and the kitchen so they could watch the traffic. It was siesta and this was one of the few restaurants to remain open during this time of day. Outside, the sun was shining brightly, and making the petunias and marigolds in the window boxes a splash of rainbow colors.

“And they checked with all the other agencies?” Mac asked, stirring his espresso.

“Sí, compadre.”
Rosalia daintily took a bite of her pastry, then set it back on her plate.

“How about Canadian agencies?”

“There is nothing, my friend.”

“So, she’s either not an agent and I’m crazy and paranoid, or she’s a freelancer.”

“
Sí,
any of the above,” Rosalia said, smiling over her own white china cup.

“I’ll tell you this, if she’s an agent, she’s a bad one. That slip at the penthouse sent off warning bells in me.” He looked at the young Peruvian woman, a marketing expert for a major advertising company in Lima. “The way she looked at me with those eyes of hers when she asked if I knew who I was working for. She knows Garcia is a drug lord. I’d stake my life on it.”

“
Sí,
but many know Garcia for what he is. It isn’t a big secret.”

Mac nodded. “Yeah, I know that, too. Still, it’s little things, maybe not what she says, but what she does…”

“Give me an example,
amigo?
”

“She’s insinuated herself with Garcia’s lover, Therese. She’s a Mac geek, and you know how many problems there are with computers out in that jungle. There is always a bad connection out of Agua Caliente, phone lines going down…. They can’t get a satellite feed in, either. Kathy Lincoln works in Therese’s office almost every day on that computer, the same one I’ve been trying to access.”

“The one that has all the names and files we need?”

“Yes.” Mac sighed. “I mean, why would a nanny volunteer as a part-time secretary to Therese unless she had an ulterior motive?”

“Perhaps she is just bored? Taking care of a child all the time isn’t exactly intellectually stimulating,” Rosalia said sourly.

Mac shrugged and looked out the window at the world passing by. Four days ago he’d kissed Kathy and
his
world had gone on tilt. It was still tilted. And he didn’t like his response to her or the fact that his traitorous heart refused to give her up even if she might be an agent.