The fight left Willow as she saw the torment in his gaze.
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything…but you were there…” she said with a bitter
twist of her lips, “…in Cambodia…I
know the others were there too, but you’re the one I remember the most. You
were the one who stormed that room and found me. You saw what they did to me,”
she whispered, dropping her head to his chest in a desperate attempt to avoid
his intense gaze.
Del
froze as he looked
down at her dark hair against his chest. Seeing Willow—usually so strong and together, coming
undone before his eyes, he was almost afraid to bring the whole ordeal up again
but he needed to hear it. “Look at me,” he demanded gently, tipping her head back
so he could look into her eyes. He was shocked to discover they were brimming
with tears. “Explain,” he pleaded, needing to discover once and for all where
this unexplained antagonism towards him came from.
“In the helicopter. You were looking at me like…”
“Like what?”
Jesus,
what
did I do to her?
He remembered the trip home, he’d felt sorry
for her…could that be what she’d misread?
She was right; he had been
the first one to storm that room where she’d been kept to rescue her. The sight
that greeted him, a woman beaten and tortured, had shocked him but it hadn’t
been until they were safe on the chopper that he’d had an opportunity to really
look at her and his gut had clenched at the sight before him. He saw a beautiful
woman who’d been mistreated and abused and the thought made him want to find
Trèago
, with a bloodlust and burning rage that shook him.
“All I remember thinking was how it must have taken real guts to survive, what
you had.”
She dropped her gaze. “It’s not important,
forget it. I don’t want to talk about it any more.”
He’d hoped uncovering her reason behind her attitude
would help clear things up between them but this just made things even more
complicated. “Maybe we
should
talk
about it,” he said with a frown.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” she snapped and pushed
against him, moving away.
“Willow…”
“We just rub each other the wrong way.”
His darkening features made her change the
subject. She wasn’t going to explore this warped attachment she seemed to have
with him. Ostrich or no ostrich, she was sticking her head way down deep in the
sand. “Something’s going on, and it involves
Trèago
.
I can’t leave until I find out what it is.”
She watched as Del rubbed his face and swore. He had
frustration written all over him and she wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was
considering kidnapping her to get her home. And she knew he wasn’t going to let
their earlier exchange fade away—he wanted to know what was wrong between them.
Willow
glanced at the bedside
clock and sighed. “I’ve got to make a phone call.” She crossed to the
television and switched it on. “Here, watch this for a while.” She tossed him
the remote then sat down to locate Terry’s phone number in her files.
With a soft curse, Del flicked through the channels to the news
and turned the volume down low. It was obvious he was more interested in
watching her.
He probably wouldn’t put it
past
me to make a run for it
.
Dragging the phone toward her, Willow started
dialling
the number when she froze. Del
noticed her startled reaction and was on his feet in an instant. “What?” he demanded
urgently.
She turned her shocked eyes towards him then
back to the television across the room. She grabbed the remote from his hands
and jammed her finger on the volume button. Del’s frown deepened as he switched his gaze
to the TV and listened to the report.
Willow
stared at the picture
of Terry Sinclair behind the newsreader’s head and sat heavily on the bed. The
story was in Spanish but she managed to get the general idea. The image of a
burnt-out car in a driveway explained why Terry hadn’t arrived at work…he was
dead.
Del
squatted down in front
of her so he was level with her. “What is it?”
“I was supposed to meet with him this morning,”
she said. It didn’t seem possible.
“That guy, on the news?” Del questioned her.
Willow
nodded. “He didn’t
turn up.”
“This is
not
good. We’re going home now,” he said, pulling her to her feet and opening the
wardrobe to drag out her suitcase.
“It could be a coincidence,” she said quietly,
still too numb to move from the bed.
“Yeah, right. Start packing or I’ll pack for
you.” When she didn’t move he started grabbing her stuff.
Finally, it sank in as to what he was doing and
Willow jumped up, grabbing her clothing from his hands angrily. “Would you stop
it!”
“Look, if
Trèago’s
had anything to do with that car bomb, then they know you’re here. They’re
coming—we don’t have time to argue.”
“Just wait.” She paced the floor as she tried
to think rationally. “Terry had something to give me on
Trèago
;
he wanted me to have the proof that linked him with a big drug syndicate down
here. I need to find it.”
“No way, Sheldon.”
“Listen to me,” she argued urgently, “when I
saw him yesterday, he locked something away in his desk. The more I think about
it, the more I’m certain it was something my being there made him nervous
about. If I can get into Terry’s office, I might be able to find out what it
was. I know it has something to do with
Trèago
pulling strings from prison. Without the proof, no one’s going to believe me.”
“Is that all?” he scoffed. “For a minute, I
thought you wanted to do something
really
stupid,” he tossed back at her dryly, staring at her with his arms folded
across his wide chest.
“You don’t have to hang around, but I’m not
leaving until I find out what Terry knew,” she said, pacing as she formulated
her plan.
Rubbing his face roughly with his hands once
more, he swore a long steady stream of profanities and wondered why he’d been
stupid enough to volunteer for this job. “In case you haven’t noticed,
Sheldon—we’re in an unstable country at the moment, one that’s not going to
look upon two tourists committing break and enter lightly. Do you have any idea
how long they would lock us up in prison for?”
“We’ll have to be careful then, won’t we?”
“What makes you think I’m going to go along
with this hare-brained scheme?” he asked, eying her skeptically.
She shrugged with a brief smile. “Because it’s
the only way I’m going to go home with you, willingly. So we’ll wait until it’s
dark, then we’ll sneak down into the office and break in,” she said simply,
looking at him for confirmation.
“Oh yeah, that’s a brilliant plan.” He nodded
his head sarcastically.
“Well, you’re the expert, you figure it out.”
She
plonked
down on the bed and waited expectantly.
“You can’t just walk in there. You have to know
what kind of security they have, when the guards patrol—work out an escape
route…it’s not something you can do by
tonight,
”
he told her gravely.
“How long
will
it take?”
“How the hell should I know? This isn’t exactly
my field of expertise,” he muttered.
“Well, your field’s closer than mine.”
He walked over to the window and looked out,
thinking.
Willow
remained on the bed
watching his rear profile. He stood with his arms braced on the windowsill—his
jeans fitting with faithful accuracy over his lower body. She couldn’t help but
appreciate his rear-end. He was powerfully built, a tightly-wound spring. His
demanding training kept him in prime, athletic condition. He had the muscles of
someone who was used to living rough and taking on the elements, not the precise
sculptured muscular physique of a man who worked out in a sterile gym. Taking a
deep breath and forcing her thoughts away from his body and back to the
daunting task before them, Willow
tapped her foot as she waited for him to answer.
“Are you sure you want to go through with
this?” he asked quietly, without turning away from the window.
“I have to.”
“
I’ll
do
it,” he said, turning to face her, his expression grim. “I can get in and out
faster than you—I’ll go by myself.”
“No way.” She shook her head. “You don’t even
know what you’re looking for—besides I’m not letting you take a chance like
that alone.”
“Careful—you almost sound like you care.”
“I don’t want you being thrown in jail on my conscience,”
she muttered.
“Likewise.”
“This was my idea. I admit I need your help but
I’m not going to sit back and let you do all this alone.” She got to her feet
and crossed to the bench that held a jug. As she went about making coffee, she
found her hands were shaking as she tried to rip open the small packets of coffee.
She tried to focus, but when she couldn’t see past the blur of tears, she threw
the packet at the wall with a growl of frustration.
Del
bent to retrieve the
coffee sachet by her feet,
tossing it back
on the table before taking her cold hands in his own. “It’s just shock,” he
said, watching her face carefully.
Through the blur of tears as they beaded on her
lower lashes, she looked into Del’s
steady gaze and felt his calm
demeanour
grounding her
threatening panic. “I only saw him last night,” she whispered.
Del
’s gaze narrowed, and
his jaw tightened. “I don’t like you being involved in this.”
She shook her head. “He wanted me to do an
exposé on what he’d found—he was trying to help.”
“I don’t care what he was trying to do; he’s
involved you in something that’s bigger than anyone could have imagined—put
your life in danger,” he ground out.
“I’m doing this story,” she said, her voice
stronger as shock slowly released its grip on her. “I gave my word.” As she
turned away to reach for the coffee sachets, Del beat her to it, ripping them easily
before handing them over. Her mind scrambled, as she tried to figure out what
she’d need to look for once they were inside Terry’s office. She wondered how
much time they’d have once they got in.
Del
accepted the cup she
offered him, his large, rough fingers brushing her own slender ones. The
contact surprised them both and he nearly spilled the drink.
She crossed the room to sit at the small table
near the window. Giving a small sigh, she closed her eyes—enjoying the strong,
bitter taste of the coffee on her tongue, a strange thought crossed her mind
that this could be the last chance she may have to enjoy such a simple
pleasure. If they were caught and thrown in a Colombian prison, coffee would
become a distant memory.
“Of course, the other benefit of one person
going in, is if something goes wrong there would be someone left to get help
from the consulate,” Del pointed out.
“I’m going.”
“Right.” Del
drained his cup. “Guess that’s that then. I’m going down to this office, to
have a look around. You stay here and wait for, me. Do
not
let anyone into this room and don’t leave it, understand?”
“Why can’t I go with you?”
“Because you’ve already been there today, it’s
going to look suspicious if you’re seen poking around down there again. I won’t
be long,” he promised.
Sitting his cup on the table, he headed for the
door. “Don’t leave this room,” he warned again and shot her a warning glare.
“Yes, sir,” she said and gave a snappy salute,
muttering under her breath as he disappeared out the door.
It was a long, drawn-out wait.
It was also a long time to dwell on the events
of the day she’d had little opportunity to ponder earlier. An image of Terry’s
burnt-out car flashed through her mind. Was it really
Trèago
behind the explosion? Was it her fault Terry had been killed? Had she
unwillingly led
Trèago
to Terry? If so—what had Terry
known that was such a threat to him? Her head ached with so many unanswered
questions and not enough answers.
Chapter 7
She decided to bury herself in work, and so
took out her computer. Usually it worked, but all she could think about was
Terry. A horrible, sick feeling lurked inside her, and she found herself
staring at her screen, sightlessly.
Del
came back, making her
jump as he unlocked the door.
“So?” she asked nervously.
“The company didn’t spare any expense when it
came to security—it’s high-tech enough to be a worry.”
“But can you get us in there?” she prodded.
“I don’t know.” He sighed, rubbing his head
through his sort-cropped hair, perturbed. “Maybe,” he finally admitted.