Authors: Lindsay McKenna
The night was warm and humid, and the stars had long since disappeared under approaching clouds. Pepper remembered the chance of a hurricane building south of the
Windward Islands
. She wondered if it would rain. The air seemed heavy, almost pregnant with moisture. Rain would be something they hadn't counted on, but it was a natural defense for any intruder, hiding noise and wiping out scents and footprints. Pepper almost wished it would start raining now.
Jim glanced over at Pepper. She was still and
alert
, her eyes intent on the fence line. His heart felt as if it were on fire with the need to talk at length with her. Their kiss had rocked his world—his soul. How badly he wanted to impart that to her, but he'd watched her retreat within herself. And he knew why: Captain John Freedman. Though he'd tried to initiate some talk, he had been cut off when some locals had come by, fishing lines in hand, heading for a nearby creek to catch some fish.
Jim had been frustrated, as the rest of their day had been devoted to getting to Garcia's fortress without detection, then to timing the guards' movements. Using long-range binoculars, they'd sat for hours marking down the times and memorizing them. In a way, he was glad they'd had a chance to acquaint themselves with the way Garcia's world ebbed and flowed. It would definitely work to their advantage.
Jim's mind swung to Laura, then back to dwell momentarily on his kiss with Pepper. He'd seen the desire in her wonderful blue eyes—and the tears. Why tears? That had eaten at him nonstop all day. He swore to himself that once they were safe, he would corral Pepper on that very subject, and they would have a long, in-depth talk, whether she liked it or not. Did she think he was one of those men who took and ran?
he
wondered with disgust, then caught himself. After all, wasn't he? Right now he wasn't at all sure of what might exist between him and Laura.
Scowling at his own confusion, he looked down at the dials of his watch. It was 0200.
Time to spread the pheromone.
Pepper had volunteered to do it. He would stay, watch and, if necessary, speak to her in a low tone through the headset to alert her of any unanticipated guard activity. So far, everything on the plantation seemed to occur in twenty-minute increments, and Pepper would use that time gap to spread the pheromones away from the area where they wanted to climb the fence. Jim wondered how his arm would handle the physical demands to come. At least Pepper had done a good job of binding the wound tightly so it wouldn't break open and start bleeding.
Jim gave Pepper a hand signal. She
nodded,
her mouth a tight line as she slowly rose and straightened. With her camouflage utilities and greasepaint, she blended perfectly into the surrounding jungle. The pheromones, Jim knew, were in unbreakable vials in the cartridge belt around her waist.
At the last second, as Pepper carefully stepped by Jim, she felt his hand grip hers. Halting, she stared down at him, shocked by his action. His hand was strong, grasping hers almost painfully. She met his burning, narrowed gaze and swallowed convulsively. She couldn't deny the look in his eyes or the expression on his face. Verbal communication was out at this point, except in dire emergency. But everything about Jim's expression said, "Be careful." Pepper nodded and tried to smile, but didn't succeed. Instantly, he released her hand, a satisfied look replacing his searching one.
Her heart pounding hard, Pepper made her way down the easy slope. Though shaken by Jim's unexpected touch, she tried to shove the feeling aside and concentrate on each step she took. Luckily, the brush and trees had been cleared away from the fence, so it was easy to move along it once she arrived at the bottom of the slope. Digging into her cartridge pouch, as quietly as she could, she took out the first container. Moving quickly, avoiding a few small branches, she began spreading the pheromone, placing a drop here and a drop there in an unmistakable path. She knew she had twenty minutes to cover the fence line up to its northernmost point.
Trying to control her ragged breathing, her eyes riveted on each place she set her boots, Pepper continued distributing the scent. Soon she knew she was out of sight of Jim, but somehow she could feel his presence as surely as if he was at her side. It was an incredible feeling, one that gave her confidence to rival her fear, though she knew that one misstep could bring the guards' fire. She could die here.
Jim waited anxiously, his only contact with Pepper the sound of her soft breathing via the headset. He had worried that she might break a branch and cause a snapping sound, but she didn't. An incredible sense of relief overwhelmed him when he saw her move like a shadow back to his position. Sweat glistened on her brow. The humidity was near saturation, and rain was imminent.
Reaching out, Jim gripped Pepper's arm and offered a tight, swift smile to convey his relief, and his pride in her efforts. She reached out, briefly touching his shoulder in acknowledgment, then moved to his side, waiting.
The guard appeared, right on time. Pepper watched with fascination as the Doberman with him picked up the scent of the pheromone. Instantly the big black-and-brown male lunged sharply against his leash—in the direction of the pheromone. Pepper felt like a statue, watching with her eyes, controlling her breathing, not moving a muscle. The guard and his dog headed north. Pepper could see the quizzical look on the guard's face but was relieved to observe he was willing to let the dog follow the scent.
Five minutes passed, and Jim gave the hand signal to move out. The fence was their next challenge, but with Jim at her side, Pepper felt a bizarre sense of confidence. They moved slowly, deliberately, their eyes and ears keyed. A breeze startled the palms, which began to clack noisily. The unexpected sound made Pepper's pulse jump, and she touched her chest in reaction. Jim moved ahead, a mere shadow in the night. She admired his stealth as he approached the fence. But would he be able to scale it with his injured arm?
Despite the fence's imposing height, Pepper saw Jim grab the solid iron bars and hoist himself upward. He groaned softly and stopped. Pepper moved into position beneath his feet, bending over so her back became a platform. When his boots made contact, she grabbed a bar to steady herself. She heard Jim choke back a sharp sound as he made a final lunge, pushing hard against her back. She glanced up to see that he'd made it up and over the fence. Getting down would be easier than hoisting himself up.
As Jim eased himself to the ground, Pepper could see the pain in every line of his face. Her gaze automatically went to his arm, covered by the torn sleeve of his utilities. Had the wound opened? If it had, the bleeding could begin again, and the scent of blood might alert one of the dogs. As she worried, Jim gave her the hand signal to scale the fence.
Pepper found the iron barrier fairly easy to climb, so she concentrated on remaining noiseless.
Jim's hands wrapped firmly around her waist as she slid down on his side of the fence.
But as soon as her feet touched the ground, he eased his hands away, and she felt bereft. Did he realize just how much she needed his touch? Pepper glanced up at his shadowed face and found care and anxiety in his eyes.
For her?
She doubted it, knowing how he felt about Laura, who could soon be within reach.
Pepper and Jim remained close together as they headed into the heavy jungle cover, making their way along the quarter-mile route to the plantation. Luckily, although street lamps lined the white gravel road leading to the house, few lights were placed elsewhere. Jim thought Garcia's arrogance might have given him an exaggerated sense of safety, so that he hadn't lighted up his house.
Lucky for them.
Jim's every sense was excruciatingly heightened as he led Pepper through the maze of brush and trees toward the house. The breeze began again, rattling the hundreds of swaying palms growing among the rubber trees. He tensed as he spotted a guard moving slowly past the front of the plantation. Feeling Pepper's light touch on his shoulder, he glanced to his left and saw her glistening features and the fear in her eyes. He understood that fear. They had exactly half an hour to slip inside that house, locate Laura and get her out.
So many questions reeled through Jim's mind. What if Garcia had forced Laura to sleep with him? Then the drug lord would have to be disabled. A blinding, hot anger rose in Jim, and he knew without a doubt he could happily take out the bastard with a shot to the head, if he'd touched Laura.
A sharp, cracking sound emanated from the right. Jim froze, his hand automatically going to his Beretta. The wind had risen, gusting sharply, and the smell of rain surrounded them. He watched as the guard halted, turned and looked in their direction. A limb of a rubber tree fell with a
thunk
no more than a hundred feet from their position. Jim's heart rate skyrocketed, but he didn't move a muscle. The guard started toward them.
Pepper's eyes rounded as she saw the guard move. Oh, no! Luckily, the wind was still in their favor, so the dog with him wouldn't scent them. A second strong gust of wind made another branch crack and give way—on the other side of the house. The guard stopped and looked in that direction. With a shrug, he pulled his guard dog back and continued his normal path around the house.
Pepper closed her eyes, pressing her hand against her heart, which felt like a drum threatening to beat right out of her chest. She felt Jim relax and glanced at him. He was wiping sweat from his upper lip, his eyes remaining narrowed and watchful. She felt suddenly shaky and realized it was the aftermath of an adrenaline surge. Locking her knees, she stood very still, concentrating on not making a sound.
They moved closer. The southern entrance to the plantation was supposed to lead to the kitchen. They moved to that side of the house, protected by the darkness, and moved swiftly toward the door. The information they had from the CIA mole laundress had indicated that the kitchen entrance was the only one with no laser beams or warning device attached to it, because of heavy traffic in and out that door during the day and into the evening.
Let it still be so, Pepper prayed. She saw Jim reach out, his gloved hand almost caressing the brass knob. Tensing, she waited. Her breath jammed. Her eyes narrowed. Jim slowly twisted the knob. The door opened! Pepper expelled her breath in a relieved sigh.
Miraculously, she found herself inside the darkened kitchen with Jim, who shut the door as quietly as he'd opened it. Looking around, she realized the room was set up like a restaurant kitchen, with huge pots and pans hanging over commercial appliances. Everything was stainless steel, clean and glinting dully in the pale moonlight. Trying to steady her breathing, Pepper followed Jim across the tiled expanse.
So far, so good.
Their plan was to take the kitchen stairs to the second floor sleeping area. But were guards stationed inside the house? They didn't know. Pepper watched as Jim drew his Beretta and held it ready in his left hand. Their weapons had muzzle suppressors and silencers, so if they did have to fire, there'd be less chance of detection.
She drew her own weapon, locked and loaded it, and held it ready in an upraised position in her right hand. The door leading out of the kitchen revealed a sliver of dimly lighted, carpeted hallway. Seeing no one, Jim pushed on the door. It squeaked. Pepper froze. Jim eased it open just enough for them to slip through. Watching the hall, the silence in the house deafening, Pepper moved toward the stairs.
Luckily, they were carpeted, too, but the two of them climbed slowly, listening for telltale creaks. At the top, they faced another door. This time Pepper took out a small can of oil and applied it to the hinges. As she stuffed the container back into her web gear, Jim nodded his agreement. He got down on one knee and slowly eased the door open. The expanse of carpeted hall, lined with valuable paintings, was blessedly empty.
In his mind, Jim visualized the blueprint of the second floor. As he moved soundlessly through the doorway, pressing his back against the opposite wall, his gun held ready, he knew that the second door was the one they'd tagged as most likely to be Laura's room. What if it wasn't? What if—He savagely stopped
himself.
First things first.
Try the second door, the prison room.
Pepper joined him, and they inched toward the door. Once there, Jim tried the knob. It was locked. Sweat poured down his body. Outside, he heard the wind rising and the first pings of rain on the roof tiles. Good, it would provide excellent cover—
if
they could find Laura and escape. His breathing was chaotic as he bent down and, ignoring the pain in his arm, jimmied the lock. He heard a distinct click and froze. The sound might waken whoever was inside. He prayed it was Laura.
Pepper swallowed hard against a dry throat. Raising her weapon, she watched Jim straighten. His gloved hand moved to the knob. He twisted it. The door opened! Her heart rate skyrocketing, she kept her focus on the door. Would it creak? Awaken the person inside? Give their position away? Her hands tightened around the butt of her weapon.