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Expecting Trouble
Delores Fossen
Expecting Trouble
Delores Fossen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uca6f2723-9eb0-5698-bbcd-6c00711a688c)
Title Page (#u51dab53c-3d65-5ed1-a4b8-0f3002b610eb)
About the author (#u2294fc6b-558e-560e-a279-ba45d9c695d9)
Dedication (#u8b216973-b4d1-5f86-a260-26176f5a44cb)
Prologue (#ulink_e9182ad9-5d45-5eee-adde-0f82e62f7d91)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.
To Tom, thanks for all the support.
Prologue (#ulink_6a71784c-1256-5404-94a2-5f74fd6f55f5)
A deafening blast shook the rickety hotel and stopped Jenna cold.
With her heart in her throat, Jenna raced to the window and looked down at the street below. Or rather what was left of the street, a gaping hole. Someone had set shops on fire. Black coils of smoke rose, smearing the late afternoon sky.
“Ohmygod,” Jenna mumbled.
There was no chance a taxi could get to her now to take her to the airport. And worse were rebel soldiers, at least a dozen of them dressed in dark green uniforms. She’d heard about them on the news and knew they had caused havoc in Monte de Leon. That’s why by now she’d hoped to be out of the hotel, and the small South American country. She hadn’t succeeded because she’d been waiting on a taxi for eight hours.
One of the soldiers looked up at her and took aim with his scoped rifle. Choking back a scream, Jenna dropped to the floor just as the bullet slammed through the window.
She scurried across the threadbare rug and into the bathroom. It smelled of mold, rust and other odors she didn’t want to identify, and Jenna wasn’t surprised to see roaches race across the cracked tile. It was a far cry from the nearby Tolivar estate where she’d spent the past two days. Of course, there’d been insects of a different kind there.
Paul Tolivar.
Staying close to the wall, Jenna pulled off one of her red heels so she could use it as a weapon and climbed into the bathtub to wait for whatever was about to happen.
She didn’t have to wait long.
There was a scraping noise just outside the window. She pulled in her breath and waited. Praying. She hadn’t even made it to the please-get-me-out-of-this part when she heard a crash of glass and the thud of someone landing on the floor.
“I’m Special Agent Cal Rico,” a man called out. “U.S. International Security Agency. I’m here to rescue you.”
A rescue? Or maybe this was a trick by one of the rebels to draw her out. Jenna heard him take a step closer, and that single step caused her pulse to pound in her ears.
“I know you’re here,” he continued, his voice calm. “I pinpointed you with thermal equipment.”
The first thing she saw was her visitor’s handgun. It was lethal-looking. As was his face. Lean, strong. He had an equally strong jaw. Olive skin that hinted at either Hispanic or Italian DNA. Mahogany-brown hair and sizzling steel-blue eyes that were narrowed and focused.
He was over six feet tall and wore all black, with various weapons and equipment strapped onto his chest, waist and thighs. He looked like the answer to her unfinished prayer.
Or a P.S. to her nightmare.
“We need to move now,” he insisted.
Jenna didn’t question that, but she still wasn’t sure what she intended to do. Yes, she was afraid, but she wasn’t stupid. “Can I trust you?”
Amusement leapt through his eyes. His reaction was brief, lasting barely a second before he nodded. And that was apparently all the reassurance he intended to give her. He latched on to her arm and hauled her from the tub. He allowed her just enough time to put back on her shoe before he maneuvered her out of the bathroom and toward the door to her hotel room.
“Extraction in progress, Hollywood,” he whispered into a black thumb-size communicator on the collar of his shirt. “ETA for rendezvous is six minutes.”
Six minutes. Not long at all. Jenna latched on to that info like a lifeline. If this lethal-looking James Bond could deliver what he promised, she’d be safe soon. Of course, with all those rebel soldiers outside, that was a big if.
Cal Rico paused at the door, listening, and eased it open. After a split-second glance down the hall, he got them out of the room and down a flight of stairs that took them to the back entrance on the bottom floor. Again, he looked out, but he must not have liked what he saw. He put his finger to his lips, telling her to stay quiet.
Outside, Jenna could still hear the battery of gunfire and the footsteps of the rebels. They seemed to be moving right past the hotel. She was in the middle of a battle zone.
How much her life had changed in two days. This should have been a weekend trip to Paul’s Monte de Leon estate. A prelude to taking their relationship from friendship to something more. Instead, it’d become a terrifying ordeal she might not survive.
Jenna tried not to let fear take hold of her, but adrenaline was screaming for her to run. To do something. Anything. It was a powerful, overwhelming sensation. Fight or flight. Even if either of those options could get her killed.
Cal Rico touched his fingers to her lips. “Your teeth are chattering,” he mouthed.
No surprise there. She didn’t have a lot of coping mechanisms for dealing with this level of stress. Who did? Well, other than the guy next to her.
“Try doing some math,” he whispered. “Or recite the Gettysburg Address. It’ll help keep you calm.”
Jenna didn’t quite buy that. Still, she tried.
He moved back slightly. But not before she caught his scent. Sweat mixed with deodorant soap and the faint smell of the leather from his combat boots. It was far more pleasant than it should have been.
Stunned and annoyed with her reaction, Jenna cursed herself. Here she was, close to dying, only hours out of a really bad relationship, and her body was already reminding her that Agent Cal Rico smelled pleasant. Heaven help her. She was obviously a candidate for therapy.
“I’ll do everything within my power to get you out of here,” he whispered. “That’s a promise.”
Jenna stared at him, trying to figure out if he was lying. No sign of that. Just pure undiluted confidence. And much to her surprise, she believed him. It was probably a reaction to the testosterone fantasy he was weaving around her. But she latched on to his promise.
“All clear,” he said before they started to move again. They hurried out the door and into the alley that divided the hotel from another building. Cal never even paused. He broke into a run and made sure she kept up with him. He made a beeline for a deserted cantina. They ducked inside, and he pulled her to the floor.
“We’re at the rendezvous point,” he said into his communicator. “How soon before you can pick up Ms. Laniere?” A few seconds passed before he relayed to her, “A half hour.”
That was an eternity with the battle raging only yards away. “We’ll be safe here?” Jenna tried not to make it sound like a question.
“Safe enough, considering.”
“How did you even know I was in that hotel?”
Cal shifted his position so he could keep watch out the window. “Intel report.”
“There was an intelligence report about me?” But she didn’t wait for him to answer. “Who are you? Not your name. I got that. But why are you here?”
He shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “I’m a special agent with International Security Agency—the ISA. I’ve been monitoring you since you arrived in Monte de Leon.”
Still not understanding, she shook her head. “Why?”
“Because of your boyfriend, Paul Tolivar. He is bad news. A criminal under investigation.”
Judas Priest. This was about Paul. Who else?
“My ex-boyfriend,” she corrected. “And I wish I’d known he was bad news before I flew down here.”
Maybe it was because she was staring craters into him, but Agent Rico finally looked at her. Their gazes met. And held.
“I don’t suppose someone could have told me he was under investigation?” she demanded.
He was about to shrug again, but she held tight to his shoulder. “We couldn’t risk telling you because you might have told Paul.”
Special Agent Rico might have added more, if there hadn’t been an earsplitting explosion just up the street. It sent an angry spray of dirt and glass right at them. He reacted fast. He shoved her to the floor, and covered her body with his. Protecting her.
They waited. He was on top of her, with his rock-solid abs right against her stomach and one of his legs wedged between hers. Other parts of them were aligned as well.
His chest against her breasts. Squishing them.
The man was solid everywhere. Probably not an ounce of body fat. She’d never really considered that an asset, but she did now. Maybe all that strength would get them out of this alive.
Since they might be there for a while, and since Jenna wanted to get her mind off the gunfire, she forced herself to concentrate on something else.
“I believe Paul might be doing something illegal. He uses cash, never credit cards, and he always steps away from me whenever someone calls him on his cell. I know that’s not really proof of any wrongdoing.”
In fact, the only proof she had was that Paul was a jerk. When she refused to marry him, he’d slapped her and stormed out. Jenna hadn’t waited around to see if he’d return with an apology. She hadn’t even waited when Paul’s driver had refused to take her into town. She’d walked the two miles, leaving everything but her purse behind.
Agent Rico smirked. “Tolivar was under investigation for at least a dozen felonies. The Justice Department thought you could be a witness for their case against him.”
“Me?” She’d said that far louder than she intended. Then she whispered, “But I don’t know anything.” Oh, mercy. She hadn’t thought things would be that bad. “What did Paul want with me? Not a green card. He’s already a U.S. citizen.”
Cal nodded. “The Justice Department believes he wanted your accounting firm so he could use it to launder money.”
“Wait, he can’t have my accounting firm. According to the terms of my father’s will, I’m not allowed to sell or donate even a portion of the firm to anyone that isn’t family.”
He had no quick response, and his hesitation had her head racing with all sorts of bad ideas.
“We believe Paul Tolivar planned to marry you one way or another this evening,” Cal said. “He had a phony marriage license created, in case you turned down his proposal. Intel indicates that after the marriage, he planned to keep you under lock and key so he could control your business and your money.”
A sickening feeling of betrayal came first. Then anger. Not just at Paul, but at herself for believing him and not questioning his motives. Still, something didn’t add up. “If Paul planned to keep me captive, then why didn’t he come after me when I left his estate?”
“He had someone follow you. I doubt he intended to let you leave the country. He contacted the only taxi service in town and told them to stall you.”
So she’d been waiting for a taxi that would never have shown up. And it was probably just a matter of time before Paul came after her.
“I slept with him,” Jenna mumbled. Groaned. She pushed her fists against the sides of her head. “You must think I’m the most gullible woman in the world.”
“No. I think you’re an heiress who was conned.”
Yes. Paul had given her the full-court press after she’d met him at a fund-raiser. Phone calls. Roses. Yellow roses, her favorite. And more. “He told me he was dying of a brain tumor.”
Rico shook his head. “No brain tumor.”
It took Jenna a moment to get her teeth unclenched. “The SOB. I want him arrested. I want—”
