But the gentle rhythm he set resembled lovemaking more than sex. It summoned memories of a simpler time—a time filled with
pleasure and excitement, anticipation and optimism. Tears seeped between her tightly closed eyelids, sliding into her hair.
He kissed her, and the sweet surge and retreat of his body combined with his tender kisses was just too much.
“Just fuck me,” she ordered hoarsely, tearing her lips from his. Sinking her nails into the sleek muscles of his buttocks,
she urged him faster, deeper before his tenderness undermined something she’d worked so hard to build.
His body stiffened in surprise. At the same time, his thumb encountered the moisture at her temple and he stopped moving.
“Why the tears, Luce?” he demanded with puzzlement.
“I’m just frustrated,” she insisted. Her body was drawn as tight as a bow. She just needed release from this internal crisis,
and she’d be fine. “Please.” She rocked against him, making demands he was forced to answer.
He complied all too thoroughly, grinding his hips into hers the way she needed him to. Within seconds, Lucy shattered again,
as intensely as the first time. With a groan against her neck, Gus buried himself deep inside her and followed suit.
For a long minute, neither of them moved. Lucy, whose uncharacteristic tears had dried, hoped he wouldn’t bring them up again.
She turned her face aside, feigning drowsiness as he raised his head to regard her in the darkness.
“I assume you’ve got a handle on birth control?” he asked on a neutral note as he pulled out.
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, searching for her panties. The Depo shot covered her for three months at a time.
As she settled back upon the mat, he gathered her against him, tucking the blanket carefully around her shoulders. They lay
back to front, absolutely quiet, their bodies sated for the time being.
Lucy could sense that Gus’s thoughts were churning. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her any more questions.
A good case officer had to be tough, vigilant, hardedged. Relationships were for one of two purposes only—to appease her basic
appetites or to obtain information. There should never be emotional overtones.
So, maybe she hadn’t had sex with Gus. Maybe she’d made love to him.
No! She couldn’t do that. Times had changed. Al Qaeda had attacked the United States on American soil. Now battles were being
waged in every corner of the world. Caught in the midst of it, a key player, Lucy held the line.
She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, to be soft, to listen to the yearnings of her heart. She had a job to do.
She couldn’t afford to fall in love again.
G
US SCRUBBED A HAND
over his four-day beard and sighed. He’d broken the map’s code. At least, he
believed
he’d broken the code, but only the JIC could confirm that by looking at a geodetic map, and the guys at the JIC might not
have even considered that the camps’ names were encrypted.
He had to get in touch with them. If they directed the Predator to the right coordinates, the spy plane would be able to pick
up heat signatures, get a feel for the rebel population, maybe snatch up some radio communications. He needed to talk to his
teammates, but the only place the phone got coverage was right here in camp.
Placing a discreet call in the bungalow was out of the question. By day, the female rebels raised the bamboo blinds and beat
the mats and blankets to chase out the vermin before sweeping the floor.
There had to be someplace
else
in this camp that offered a modicum of privacy so he could make a quick call.
Sweeping his gaze over the clearing, he was distracted by the sight of Lucy chumming up to the female rebels at the fire pit.
Just the sight of her tightened his gut and sent a wave of warmth to his groin.
She had been just as amazingly responsive as he remembered. He suddenly wasn’t as upset about having her for a partner as
he used to be. The experience had been close to perfect, even better than he’d imagined, except when Lucy had shed those private
tears. For some reason, though, those tears gave him hope. Maybe she’d been remembering how rare and precious their relationship
once was. Or was that him projecting his hopes onto her, setting himself up for a fall?
Catching himself off-task, he turned his thoughts back to finding a private place from which to call the JIC.
His gaze settled thoughtfully on the dreaded shed.
Well, why not? he asked himself. Sure, it was ostensibly filled with hornets, which in equatorial regions carried stingers
with twice the venom as in North America. There were probably vampire bats in there, too, and maybe the roof would screw up
his signal, but with the shed set off to one side of the camp, he’d have all the privacy he needed for a lengthy conversation.
It couldn’t be any worse than Hell Week at SEAL/BUDs training, he reasoned. Or the mock torture they’d put him through at
the Farm.
With a deep breath, he pushed off the bungalow deck, resolved to do whatever it took to get thrown into the shed.
Lucy was going to be pissed at him for not consulting with her first. He hadn’t exactly modeled the concept of teamwork lately,
but then again, one of his jobs on La Montaña was to keep Lucy alive and out of trouble, not drag her down with him.
Crossing the camp, he ignored her curious regard as he passed through the muddy clearing toward the orange tree that edged
the training field. One of the rebels had left his AK-47 propped against it in lieu of carrying it on his back during drills.
Either Buitre hadn’t noticed yet, or he didn’t care.
Arriving at the tree, Gus paused to listen to the deputy’s instructions on burying a landmine. Buitre was down on his hands
and knees placing a dud in the wet soil, showing the younger rebels how to cover it up. If the FARC were disintegrating, as
intelligence suggested, then this level of training wouldn’t be necessary, would it? Gus wondered.
Picking up the abandoned rifle, he turned it over with the air of a man who’d never held a gun before. From the corner of
his eye, he noted Lucy’s tension as she watched him from the fire pit. He’d better move fast before she thought to interfere.
Hearing a rustling overhead, he looked up, making eye contact with a howler monkey. “I’d move if I were you,” he advised.
With a final glance at Buitre, who’d noticed him at last, Gus pointed the weapon up into the branches and fired, missing the
monkey by a mile.
“
Crack-crack!
” Bullets splintered branches overhead, raining down splinters and leaves.
“
¡Estúpido!
” roared Buitre, drawing his handgun as he stormed toward Gus, wild-eyed, his face flushed. “Drop the weapon!”
Feigning startled surprise, Gus dropped the assault rifle instantly. Lucy and Fournier were racing toward him nearly as fast
as Buitre, but the deputy got to him first. Pulling back his fist, he plowed it into Gus’s jaw with a swing Gus could’ve sidestepped,
only he didn’t.
Ouch, that actually hurt.
Clamping a hand to his swelling lip, he put on a face of wounded innocence. But it wasn’t over yet. Buitre spun him around,
shoved him against the tree trunk, and thrust the barrel of his handgun between his ribs. “You idiot!” he seethed. “What do
you mean firing a weapon at my soldiers?”
“Sorry,” Gus rushed to apologize. “I was pretending to shoot the monkey and the gun went off.”
“He wasn’t even aiming at your soldiers,” Lucy jumped in, defending him. “Put your gun away,” she ordered. “It was an accident.”
“Accident?” Buitre rounded on her. “There is no allowance in this camp for accidents. He could have killed one of my soldiers
with his carelessness. He must be punished.”
“
Comandante,
” said Fournier, addressing the deputy by a title calculated to inspire dignity. “Please, excuse Gustavo. He knows nothing
of weapons. His sight is poor. I’m sure he meant no harm.”
“You are sure?” Buitre repeated. “I am not. I have watched these two.” He nodded at Gus and Lucy accusingly. “They are not
like the others.”
His accusation struck Fournier dumb. The negotiator swung a troubled look between them.
“You’re paranoid,” Lucy accused Buitre. She seemed hell-bent on getting punished along with Gus.
“Let it go, Luna,” Gus advised, sending her a meaningful look. “I made a mistake. I’ll take the punishment. Just stay out
of it.”
“Stay out of it?” she repeated, displaying classic Spanish temper. “You’re my husband. You want me to stay out of it?”
He could practically hear her saying,
What happened to teamwork, buddy?
Fournier placed a settling hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “I am sure when Commander Marquez arrives, he’ll resolve the matter at
once.”
Buitre very deliberately released the safety on his shotgun, causing all three of them to fall silent. “You,” he said to Lucy,
who had stepped protectively between him and Gus, “step away from him.”
Fournier took a cautionary step back, pulling her with him.
“And you,” the deputy growled at Gus, “will have time in the shed to reflect on your stupidity. Now walk.”
Gus marched obediently forward. With Buitre’s gun gouging his right shoulder blade, he managed to look over his left shoulder
and catch Lucy’s eye, sending her a subtle wink.
Her expression did not alter one iota, save for a faint thinning of her lips. But he knew by her sudden silence that she’d
gotten the message.
He was going to sacrifice his body for the cause.
Fucking hornets had stingers the size of hypodermic needles.
With a shout of agony, Gus slapped the insects stabbing at the back of his neck and focused his efforts on keeping the intermittent
signal. As long as he stood below the hole in the tin roof, straddling a puddle of fetid water, the signal was strong enough.
Holding down number seven, he speed-dialed the JIC, keeping his fingers crossed.
The familiar voice of the platoon medic, Vinny DeInnocentis, came from what seemed a great distance. “This is Fred,” he said
in his strong Philadelphia accent. “Who’s this?”
“This is Ethel,” corroborated Gus. The pass phrase had been Vinny’s idea. “Did you get the images I uploaded last night?”
he inquired, getting straight to the point, afraid he’d lose his signal.
“Roger, sir,” said Vinny, abruptly professional. “We’ve been lookin’ at ’em all day.”
“I think the place names are encrypted, and I think I know how,” Gus advised, keeping an ear pricked for any sounds outside
of the shed, hoping nobody was eaves-dropping. “The GPS on this sat phone puts me at three degrees, five minutes, and 31.9
seconds latitude, right? Convert those numbers to letters and you get C for the first letter, E for the second. See a camp
that starts with those letters? It’s
Cecaot-Jicobo.
”
“Gus, this is Luther,” rumbled the lieutenant, either taking over the call or putting him on speaker phone. “We copy you loud
and clear and will play with the rest of the numbers and see if we can’t break the code. I’m thinking the O in
Cecaot
is a decimal.”
“Agreed,” said Gus.
“So we may have positions on four camps. Any word yet on where the hostages are located?”
“Not yet,” Gus confirmed. “We’re awaiting proof of life for Howitz. Barnes appears to be living, but there’s a question about
Howitz’s health. I’m trying to get the rebels to let us speak to them via shortwave radio.”
“Excellent call. We’ll alert the Predator.”
“Ow! Shit!” Gus smashed a hornet against the side of his head. “Little bastard.” He brushed it off and felt for the stinger,
lodged somewhere in his hair.
“You all right, Gus?” Luther sounded bemused. “Where are you?”
“In a torture chamber, but I’ll live. Listen, I need to keep this brief. You have the names. Try and break the code.”
“Will do, Gus. How’s the missus?”
The simple reference to Lucy sent a pleasant shiver up Gus’s spine, beating back his sharp discomfort. “Still alive and kicking,”
he retorted shortly. Which was how he intended her to stay.
“Roger that,” said the OIC. “Call when you can. If we break the code, we’ll leave you a message.”
“Thank you, sir. Over and out.”
With the call complete, Gus put the phone back in his boot, then hunted for a place to stand where he wouldn’t draw so much
attention from the hornets. Moving to the far corner, he ran into a giant spiderweb and stepped back, nearly stepping on a
rat that scurried under his heel. Jerking the collar of his jacket up to protect his neck and eyeing the vampire bats dangling
unperturbed under the eaves, he waited for however long it would take to be released.
“L
UNA, WAIT
,” F
OURNIER COMMANDED
, grabbing the back of Lucy’s jacket as she made to push off the bungalow platform.
A shout had just come from the jungle, preceding Marquez and the Argentine, who’d finally made an appearance, hours later
than expected. Lucy had been sitting on the narrow deck, sweating under a muggy sun, tormented by flesh-seeking flies. She
wanted to be the first to speak to Marquez on Gus’s behalf.
Gus was her partner. She couldn’t tell how he was faring in the shed, but that didn’t prevent her from imagining the very
worst. Helpless to protect him, she simmered with agitation, swearing to herself that she would deck him when they found themselves
alone. He had to be calling the JIC. He could’ve cleared that with her first, before putting his life on the line.
Teamwork, my ass.
He didn’t know the meaning of the word!
She, on the other hand, was doing a very credible job playing Gustavo’s distraught wife. Since Buitre might have aroused Fournier’s
latent suspicions with his assertion that she and Gus were different, she even forced herself to shed a few tears for Gus.
Fournier didn’t need to know they were tears of frustration.
Gus had gone too far this time. What if those hornets in the shed were deadly? What if a few too many stings led to toxicity?
He could actually die in there trying to make a stupid phone call, and what would she do then, huh? Had he thought of that?