Hidden Agenda (11 page)

E
ve stepped out of the car, staring out at the blue-gray haze rising above the dense jungle in the distance. A few dark clouds hovered overhead, signaling the approach of another tropical downpour.

Turning, she glanced up the hill, steep and unpaved, where Matt had disappeared. He claimed there was a house at its summit. She moaned, noting the soft black earth seeping into her impractical footwear. How was she to pretend elegance in the jungle?

She and Matt had spent two nights in Oaxaca. Torrential rains had flooded the southern region, forcing them to seek an additional night’s refuge in the converted convent.

Matt inched his way down the path and to Eve, where she leaned against the bumper of his car. The two-day delay in Oaxaca did little to improve his dis
position. He was falling more in love with Eve and that created a problem for him. Her presence reminded him of what he had become, and how he had come to abhor what he did for a living.

He moved closer, studying her delicate profile. The tropical dampness had curled her hair tightly against her scalp, and droplets of moisture dotted her velvety, dark brown forehead. His gaze moved down to the soft curve of her breasts under a cotton blouse.

“What do you think of it?” he asked.

Eve crossed her arms over her chest. Her obsidian gaze followed a large bird as it settled on the upper branches of a tree, its wings outstretched in majestic, colorful splendor. “It’s beautiful, but it frightens me, Matt,” she admitted. Turning, she noted his strange expression.

“What frightens you?” The tenderness in his eyes vanished quickly, replaced by wariness.

“The jungle, this mountain, and the house not visible from the road below. I thought the house would be closer to the water, not up here where it resembles some sort of hideout.” Eve missed the tension tightening Matt’s mouth and the wild, animal-like glow of the gold in his eyes as she noticed the mud on her leather sandals.

“My friend had his reasons for building a house up here,” he answered in a strained tone.

Her head came up quickly. “Does he also kill people for a living?”

The fire in Matt’s eyes glowed like an inferno. He wanted to shake Eve until she was breathless. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks instead. “You seem to have a problem with your memory, Señora Arroyo. I’ve told you everything I feel you
should know about me, and that means
everything
. I don’t like to repeat—”

“You’ve made your point, Mateo,” Eve snapped, cutting him off.

“I don’t think I have!” he shouted.

“I told you before not to yell at me!”

Matt’s lower lip curved downward as he glared at her from his superior height. “I have very little patience with stubborn, mule-headed women who refuse to follow orders. How the hell do you expect to raise a child properly when you’re still a child yourself?”

“If I don’t know what I’m being drawn into, I won’t live to raise my son.” She slammed her fist against the hood of the car, her body shaking with rage. “I didn’t want to come here. I don’t want to be with you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “You asked me if I was afraid of you, and I told you I didn’t know. Well, the truth is,
I am
. You’re a human killing machine, a weapon. Your existence is filled with death, and that makes me susceptible. I grew up without my mother. I don’t want the same for my son.”

Matt reached out, capturing her shoulders, and stared down at the tears in her eyes. Her fear was real. It wasn’t for herself, but for her child. He knew he should never have brought her with him. He should’ve put her on the first plane back to the States and left Harry Blackwell with the responsibility of getting the boy back. She was afraid of him and probably hated him. She saw him as a messenger of death.

“Do you want your son?” She nodded, her face wet with tears. He pulled her to his chest. “Can you let go of your fear and hatred long enough for me to try to find your child?”

He didn’t know what else to say to comfort Eve as she cried silently, her body trembling uncontrollably. Matt had never played comforter before.

“Eve, Eve,” he crooned softly.

She wound her arms around his waist, immersing herself in his strength and warmth. She’d weakened. As much as she tried, she couldn’t shake off the feeling of danger. It swept over her as she lay in bed trying to fall asleep at night, and in the early hours when she waited for the sun to rise. Whenever she was alone, it attacked. She was embarking on a journey of death, and she didn’t know whether it was for herself or for Matt. Or for both of them.

“I don’t want you to fear me, Darling. Not now, not ever,” he whispered against her ear. His lips caressed her soft, fragrant hair, then moved over her closed eyelids, his tongue tasting the salty tears on her cheeks. A rush of air from her parted lips mingled with his. Her breathing was slower, even. “That’s it, Baby. Everything is going to be okay.”

Eve swallowed her fear and threw herself into settling into the house. Matt had carried the luggage up to the second-story bedrooms while she inspected the structure designed with spaces instead of rooms.

The Spanish-style house was created with a sense of openness. A spacious entry was filled with towering cacti, and provided a pivotal stage for viewing a living and dining area situated several steps below the raised kitchen before a curving stairway led to the upper level and the private bedrooms. The kitchen was equipped with a large, walk-in freezer, stocked with packaged and labeled meat, poultry, fish, fruits, and vegetables.

Stucco and brick walls kept the coolness in and the heat at bay. The dark brown, leather-covered furniture and earth tones of rust and tan on the first floor were predominant throughout most of the masculine dwelling.

The second-story loft contained two large bedrooms and a bathroom with a dressing suite. There, everything was either black or white. Large blocks of white tile were repeated throughout the bedrooms and bath. A black marble vanity, sunken tub and shower stall, and frosted glass walls overlooking the ocean made her feel like a libertine in a tiled temple.

She grimaced when she spotted the muddy footprints she was leaving on the pristine floor. A roll of thunder shook the heavens and the surrounding jungle, and she flinched, wrapping her arms around her body.

“Eve?” Matt’s voice echoed from one of the bedrooms.

Slipping out of her shoes, Eve left them in a corner of the bathroom and made her way to the bedroom nearest the staircase. Piles of clothing covered the bed as Matt searched through a stack of T-shirts. He had changed into a pair of jeans.

His back was to her and she gaped at the dark, sun-browned skin over his broad back. She had twice shared a bed with him and not once had she seen his bare back. A long, pale, jagged scar ran from his right kidney up to his left shoulder. The unscarred right shoulder blade was tattooed with the design of a bird in flight, rising from fiery flames. Closing her eyes, she bit down hard on her lower lip at the same time Matt turned around.

“What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

His hoarse whisper prompted Eve to open her eyes.
She wiped her moist palms down the sides of her slacks, nodding. He thought the impending storm had frightened her. “Your back,” she mumbled weakly.

Matt’s mouth curved into a wide grin. “Oh, that,” he replied glibly. “My father had a bull that wouldn’t allow anyone to ride him. I bet some of the men who worked for my father I could.”

“Did you?” Her gaze was fixed on his chest covered with thick, curling black hair. The masculine beauty she’d only had glimpses of over the past two days was blatantly displayed, and for the first time she noticed several medals suspended on a thick gold chain that was nearly hidden in the furred darkness. He hadn’t worn them before.

“I managed to stay on for a record time of ten seconds before he threw me and ripped open my back. His horns just missed my kidney. He was the best damned stud bull we owned, but my mother threatened to shoot him if my father didn’t sell him.”

Eve had to smile. “Did he?”

“Damn right,” he drawled. “A dead bull isn’t worth a dime. And knowing my mother, Clayton Sterling had it on the market before the end of the week.” Turning back to the pile of clothes, Matt picked up a black T-shirt.

“When did you get the tattoo?”

Matt pulled the T-shirt over his head, tucking the hem into the waistband of his jeans. “I had it done on a lark,” he explained noncommittally. What he didn’t tell her was that it was a constant reminder of his brush with death in El Salvador.

Eve cocked her head at an angle. “It’s a phoenix, isn’t it?”

His gaze met hers. “Yes, Eve, it’s a phoenix. I’m going out,” he continued smoothly. “Will it frighten you to be here by yourself if it begins raining?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be okay.”

Matt smiled. “Good. I should return within a few hours. I’ll put my clothes away later.”

“What would you like for dinner?” Eve asked. She registered his amused expression. “I managed to get an A in Home Economics.”

Matt walked over to her and cradled her face between his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of her eyebrows. “Surprise me,” he whispered, leaning over and brushing his lips against hers.

Eve curved her fingers around his strong wrists, unable to tear her gaze from his bold features. “Be careful, Matt.”

“I will be more than careful,
Preciosa
, because I want to come back to my beautiful wife.”

Eve heard the words, felt his warmth and then his loss as he released her. She stared at the doorway, long after Matt disappeared through it, and listened for the car’s engine. The rumbling sound of thunder drowned out everything, and soon the only sound she heard was the staccato tapping of the driving sheets of rain against the windows.

She went into her own bedroom and began unpacking.
How convenient
, she thought. How orderly everything was that had been set up for them. An unoccupied, furnished house hidden away on the top of a mountain, with a freezer stocked with food.

Who were these invisible people Matt worked for? How far did his network reach? Would this mission be added to his list of successful and completed, or would
he fail? She whispered a prayer that he would succeed. To fail meant there would be more than one loser. Counting herself, there would also be her son.

Matt whistled to himself as he maneuvered the Range Rover down the rain-soaked mountain. He silently thanked Horst for leaving the rugged four-wheel drive vehicle. He knew Horst preferred driving back to Mexico City to piloting his Cessna.

Horst Van Holt complained bitterly whenever he had to put his aircraft down on the narrow strip of land beyond the house. The rising fog always made his descent and landing difficult, but each time Matt had flown with him he was amazed by his ability to bring the plane in for a smooth, bump-free landing.

The flat stretch of land had been the reason Horst built the house high up on the mountain instead of near the beach. Like Matt, Horst valued his privacy, and living in Puerto Angel allowed him to mingle comfortably among the natives who knew him as a wealthy European who preferred Mexico to his native Holland.

Matt liked Puerto Angel. It was even more laid-back than its nearest neighbor Puerto Escondido. It remained unchanged, unlike Acapulco and Puerto Vallarta, and he never tired of returning to enjoy the unhurried solitude it offered.

He slowed the Range Rover, parking in a narrow alley next to a small grocery store. Sprinting from the car, he jumped several puddles and landed heavily on the wooden boards under a faded awning.

“Took you long enough to get here,” came a muffled voice from under a battered straw hat.

Matt glanced down at the extended legs and feet of
the man slouched in a rickety chair. “Couldn’t be helped. The rain held us up in Oaxaca City.”

“Us?”

Matt leaned against a post, doubting whether it could support his full weight. “My wife—”

“Wife?” The man jumped up and knocked over his chair in a loud clatter. He stared up at Matt, shock and surprise on his face.

“
Sí
, Jorge,” Matt replied, smiling.

“Where is she?”

Matt laid an arm over Jorge Martín’s shoulder. “She’s up at the house. You’ll get to meet her later. Right now you and I have to discuss a few things. Business my wife knows nothing about,” he added with a firmness Jorge had no difficulty interpreting.

Jorge put a sign on the door indicating he was closed and led Matt inside. “I haven’t made more than twenty pesos all day. It’s a good thing I don’t depend on these people for my livelihood or I would starve to death, and so would my wife and children.” He chuckled.

Matt followed Jorge through a sparsely stocked store to a back room. He waited until Jorge turned on a small lamp, illuminating the dark space. “How many children do you have now?”

“Two,” Jorge announced in a proud voice. He removed two bottles of beer from a freezer, handing one to Matt.

Matt straddled a low stool and took a deep swallow of the cold beer. He shook his head in amazement. “Damn, man, give the woman a break. Two children in three years of marriage.”

Jorge shrugged his shoulders. “She likes babies and
I like making them.” He winked at Matt, then put the bottle of Carta Blanca to his lips, not stopping until it was empty. “Good beer, a good woman, and strong children. What else could a man want?”

Matt ran a forefinger down the moist bottle. “How about seeing this job finished so you can go back to Texas?”

Jorge Martín ran a hand over his face and through coal black hair. Large, equally black eyes stared blankly into space. “I want to go home so much that I sometimes think I’m going to lose my mind. Every time Lilian has another baby I freak out.”

Matt knew the man was under a great deal of pressure when he began slipping into English. His amber-green eyes searched the chiseled features of his friend. “It’s almost over, Jorge,” he said in English. “I’m here to wrap it all up.”

Jorge blinked several times, his mouth working furiously before he was able to speak. “Nate’s using you?”