Wolfsbane (39 page)

Carrie eased into the woman’s personal space, speaking softly, holding her face and comforting her.

“Remember, Mrs. Mercado,” Matt began, hating himself for reminding her, for pushing her. But the truth hovered on the aged lips. “For Chesa.”

Carrie eased a glass of water and straw toward her.

Mrs. Mercado took a sip and slumped back. Her arthritic hand curled around the little girl’s body at her side. “For Bay … ni. Tal … say.”

“Yes.”

“The bombs they come.” She shuddered. “Everyone die. But not me. Not Chesa.” Her watery brown eyes drifted to the ceiling. “Bayani try to save us, but the bomb blew him backward. Fire like a wall held me and Chesa back. The outsiders picked up Bayani and carried him to helicopter and they leave.” Her chin trembled. “Chesa and I go hide from the Higanti and Muslim, scared they kill us. We wait for a long time for Bayani to come back.” Sniffles overtook her as they morphed into outright sobs. “We not see him again.”

“Mrs. Mercado?” Matt began slowly, hoping he wasn’t pushing too far. He’d tried to allow the elderly woman to take this at her own pace, but her focus in telling the story was for her daughter, for her people.

Matt needed more specific information. His purpose was clearing Canyon Metcalfe. Finding the
truth
. “Who is Bayani, Mrs. Mercado? Can you tell us?”

“I tell you.” She smoothed the dark hair of the three-year-old cuddled against her side.

Matt waited, then realized she meant she’d
already
told him. “I … I don’t understand.”

The woman blinked. “He soldier who come, who fight and teach our sons to fight.”

“Yes, but—” How did he ask this without confusing her? “Do you know his Christian name?”

She shook her head. “He no tell his name. Awa give him name when they first come.”

“Did this Bayani order the strike on Tres Kruces, Mrs. Mercado?” Major Hartwicke asked softly but firmly.

It might seem insensitive. But time—and apparently Mrs. Mercado’s life—was short.

Silence hung in the gap, deafening and rank.

More tears. Her eyes squeezed closed. Then all the tightness in her face vanished. She went limp. Her pulse flatlined.

CHAPTER 24

T
his way, sir.”

Olin Lambert fell into step behind the Latina who escorted him across the marble foyer. With a practiced gaze, he did a split-second recon on what lay before him. Four possibilities: to the right, a dimly lit hall that seemed to dead end into another hall. The same on the left. Directly ahead and down two steps provided the last set of options: a sweeping staircase that stretched to an upper level, guarded by marble sentries lining a hall that disappeared into darkness. Somewhere up there, light spilled from a lone source.

But it was the last path that the woman took. Down three steps onto a tiled inner terrace complete with a fountain, plants, and brightly colored tiled benches. A teasing mist coiled around him as they maneuvered around the fountain and flanked left, under the stairs. Carpet now quieted his steps.

Somewhere in the maze of lavish excess Danielle languished.

His heart thumped at the thought.

“Here you are, sir.” She placed a delicate hand on the gold swirl handle and pressed down. With a click the door swung inward.

A cacophony of voices swarmed them.

“Gracias,”
Olin said as he entered the room and took in those gathered. Politicians, dignitaries, prime ministers, secretaries, but no senator seeking veep.

“General Lambert?” A man in a slick suit moved toward him. “What a surprise!”

“Minister Ochoa, forgive me. My trip was unplanned but …” He glanced around the room. Had he missed Senator Roark? “As I’m sure
you know, our government is anxious to see these talks go well. Colombia has long argued over your borders and claimed you’re encroaching. These talks will prove what we already know—you’re innocent, of course.”

“Indeed.” Ochoa turned back to the others. “Would you—?”

“Forgive me.” Lambert pressed a hand against his lower side and whispered, “I haven’t had a minute’s break since getting off that jet. Do you know where I can …?”

Ochoa laughed. “Of course. Down the hall, directly past the fountain. You can’t miss it.” He started away then stopped. “Oh, and be sure not to deviate. Bruzon has a pretty rough welcome committee.”

“Understood.” All too well, in fact. Bruzon had things to hide, and if the society here realized that, he’d never get his agenda past them.

But Olin didn’t care. He was here for one purpose—to find Danielle.

Swiftly he made his way back to the foyer. Bruzon wasn’t stupid enough to stow Danielle here in the house. So the most likely place … not out front. The driver had come up from the south to the house. Olin had seen nothing but open fields till the high wall barricaded the house from the rest of the world.

As he drifted into the open foyer, a form moved from a shadowy alcove.

Olin pushed himself in the direction of the bathroom, hustling when a shout erupted behind him. In the bathroom, he locked the door and slumped against the wall. Panting, he prayed he didn’t die of a heart attack. There was a reason the team called him Old Man—he was too old for field tactics. One reason he should’ve left this little venture to Nightshade.

But he couldn’t risk Danielle’s safety. She’d been missing a week already. He had to find her; he owed it to Jacqueline. He’d never forgive himself if he failed.

A few seconds later, he flushed the toilet. Washing his hands, he formulated his plan. With the guard out there, he’d have to play it cool. Figure a way to search the house without arousing attention or suspicion. Opening the door, he feigned surprise as a guard appeared before him. “Oh!”

“You should be in the meeting!”

“Manuel, be kind to our guests,” a woman spoke from the side.

The guard flinched, then gave a curt bow and tucked himself into the shadows.

Olin met a pair of incredibly beautiful eyes, the soft yellow glow of the hall lights caressing her face. “Thank you. I didn’t realize it was
against the rules to relieve myself.”

Her face remained stony.
“Perdón.”
She stared at him. Hard. “They are used to my husband’s barked orders. We do not entertain here often enough. Come, we should return you to the meeting before you are missed.”

As they walked back to the foyer, he noticed she’d slowed. Not a lot, but enough to seem to delay their course. “And how do you like my home, General?”

“It rivals the palaces of the most notable.”

Her chin rose a notch, but the expression in her gaze seemed to speak disgust instead of pride. “Have you seen the pool?”

The guard, who’d remained with them, jerked forward.
“Se van a permanecer en la biblioteca.”

“¡Silencio!”
The woman could kill with that expression. But then her face softened. “Come, it’s my favorite part of the house.”

So Bruzon wanted everyone to stay in the library. Since it would be foolish for the man to have anything illegal at this home while the delegates were here, the only conclusion filling Olin’s mind was that he had Danielle on the grounds. And … it would make sense, wouldn’t it? If this woman, the lady of the house, wanted Danielle found.

Olin’s pulse sped. What if this woman knew why he was here?

“There.” She nodded as they navigated around a cluster of brown leather sofas and a fire pit. As they moved, reflections from the lit pool danced on the ceiling of the room and over the walls. “Is it not beautiful?”

Indeed. Olympic size. Surrounded by a lush garden of flowers and shrubs, meticulously manicured. A gazebo anchored the right corner.

“The waterfall is my favorite aspect.”

Olin’s attention shifted to the far left.

“Would you believe there’s a hidden path behind there?”

His breath caught in his throat. Though he felt her gaze on him, he did not meet it for fear of giving himself away. Thrilling at the idea that behind there … a hidden path. To what? Was that where Bruzon had hidden Danielle?

Two forms emerged from the cascading waters.

A quick, quiet intake of breath. “We should return,” the woman said.

Though he felt her tug at his arm, Olin could not tear his gaze away. Molars clamped, he worked to temper the fury bubbling up his spine. Bruzon strode toward the covered patio, laughing, talking … with none other than Senator Roark.

“Hurry!”

Olin threw a glance over his shoulder, surprised to find the woman a dozen feet away and motioning to him frantically. With one more look at the three men heading his way, he pulled away from the doors. Six large strides carried him to the woman’s side.

“Catalina!”

The booming voice froze her. She gasped.

“What are you doing—?”

“Lambert!” Michael Roark stormed across the living room. “What are
you
doing here?”

Had it been Bruzon who yelled at him, the reaction might’ve been different. But it was Roark. His old nemesis. And the man demanded respect that was not earned.

Olin slowly turned. “Michael.” He smoothed his jacket, which bore the medals of years of service and combat. “Nice to see you again.” A nod to the host. “General Bruzon, thank you for the warm welcome. This young lady—”

“She is my
wife.”

Which meant her little excursion with Olin might cost the woman her life. Unless … “You should be proud of her, General. She found me admiring your artwork in here and insisted I return to the meeting.”

The hesitation seemed to buy points with the burly leader. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Had the man held her hostage the way he’d done with Danielle? Were the children a product of that captivity?

Michael spun. “What are you doing here? You have no business here. This is politician’s work, not war. This is my job.”

“Then why aren’t you doing it?” Olin would brook no argument. “I spoke with the president directly. You’ve filed no report since your arrival here a week ago.”

“I am not his puppet. When my report is ready—”

“Your disregard for executive orders puts your loyalty in question.” Olin let his gaze drift to the pool. “Among other things.”

“What does that mean?”

“We are in the home of the very man suspected of kidnapping and raping Danielle.” Olin rolled around to face the man and inched closer. “And you’re cavorting and laughing with him, taking a tour of the grounds. Hmm …” He stroked his chin. “Wonder what you found behind that wall and hidden passage.”

Michael grabbed Olin’s jacket and yanked him forward. “I’m not
afraid of you anymore, Olin. I don’t answer to you, and I don’t care what you think.” With a slight shove, he released him, his lip curled.

“Understand, Michael,” Olin said as he started away. “If I find you knew what Bruzon did to Danielle—or if I find out”—
Careful. Don’t tip your hand
—“I will personally—”

“You don’t have what it takes, you washed-up four-star.”

Oh. If only the man knew. Olin’s glare morphed into a sneer. And he walked away.

Naval Base, Cuba

Early morning air embraced Max as he hustled across the air base that had come alive with the sirens and searchlights. He jogged toward Colonel Hamer. “What’s going on?”

The sirens droned.

“Your men, that’s what happened.” Hamer shot daggers from his eyes as he stomped toward a building. “You hear that C-130 powering up? That’s your personal escort back to the States.”

“Whoa, hang on a minute—”

“No, son. I’m afraid not.” Hamer pushed through a door and stomped down steel-grate steps. Through another door, Max hustling to keep up. “Your men are loose cannons, and I can’t risk an international incident. Now, my men here will walk you to that plane.” He sneered. “Or carry you.” Arms folded over a toned chest, the colonel dared them to challenge him. “Your call.”

“Look,” Max said. “We need to get this back under control.” Man, did they ever. This was like trying to drink from a fire hydrant. Any more bad news and they’d drown.

“Oh, we’re getting it under control all right.” The older man’s eyes twinkled as he motioned behind Max.