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If this attack had been arranged by the underfunded Tiquanna rebels, he didn’t expect sophisticated weaponry. They’d wear bulletproof vests but not body armor. How many of them were there in the house? He’d seen flashes from at least two weapons.
He heard more gunfire at the front of the house. The longer he waited for the gunmen to make their move, the greater the risk that somebody was going to get shot. Nick had to take the fight to the rebels.
Ignoring the chronic ache from a sprained ankle that hadn’t healed correctly, he vaulted the chain link fence and approached the kitchen door. The interior of the house was dark. There were shouts from inside and more gunfire.
From the street at the front of the house, he heard a police siren and winced. He could have handled the situation with two other marines. Now he’d be dealing with cops, Texas Rangers and backup from the CIA...and Sidney. He couldn’t help being proud of her. She’d learned to shoot and had been planning to take on the whole country of Tiquanna to engineer his rescue. He regretted every minute he’d been away from her and every lie he’d ever told her.
Red and blue cop lights flashed like fireworks through the branches of the trees, lighting up the neighborhood. There were shouts and more chaotic gunfire. The situation was slipping out of control. If he hoped to take these guys alive, he needed to rein it in.
A young, fresh-faced Texas Ranger with a handgun appeared at the back gate.
“Don’t shoot,” Nick said. “I’m on your side.”
“Put down your gun.”
Nick couldn’t blame the kid. If they’d traded places, he would have done the same. Another Ranger joined the first. Now there were two of them, yelling at him to disarm himself.
“Stand down.” The order was barked with the authority of a marine. Lieutenant Butler had joined the Rangers. “He’s on our side, boys.”
There was an explosion at the front of the house. It sounded like a grenade, but Nick guessed it was a flash-bang device that made a lot of noise and fired off thick smoke to drive the gunmen from the house.
The kitchen door flung open and two men wearing balaclavas rushed through. Nick was caught between the Rangers and the masked men. He pivoted and aimed at the rebels.
Bracing himself, he shouted, “Drop your guns.” He repeated the command in Spanish. For a moment, it looked as if they might obey. Then three other armed cops came around from the front and opened fire. Nick dropped to the ground.
When the smoke cleared, the two masked men were sprawled facedown on the concrete patio. Two of the Rangers had also been shot. Their cries and moans struck a familiar chord in Nick’s memory. The stink of blood and gunpowder dragged him back in time to other battles, other attacks. Adrenaline pumped up his senses. He staggered to his feet.
He didn’t seem to be injured. By some miracle, he had been spared. Stumbling, he approached one of the downed rebels and yanked the mask from his face. He’d been shot in the head, but enough of his features remained for Nick to identify him. His name was Rico.
Agent Phillips dashed into view. “I don’t want you to worry, Nick. She’s going to be all right.”
Sidney. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
* * *
SIDNEY WASN’T HAPPY about the blatantly obvious police presence in front of her house. Most of her neighbors were still strangers, and this wasn’t how she wanted to be introduced. Still, making a bad first impression might be the least of her worries. Number one was, of course, that she and Nick had been targeted, which validated Special Agent Hawthorne’s insistence on safe houses. Number two, Sidney had been injured. She sat on the rear step bumper of one of the two ambulances with a bandage wrapped around her upper left arm.
A bullet had grazed her. Though the EMT told her she needed stitches, he also assured her that the wound wasn’t serious. She clenched her jaw, telling herself that it didn’t hurt even though the straight slash across her biceps stung like hellfire. The EMT had given her something for the pain, but it hadn’t kicked in yet. If only the bleeding would stop... Her bandage was already soaked through. Nick was going to be upset.
When she saw him plowing through the mob of law enforcement officers like a running back crashing toward the goalposts, she stood and adjusted the black POLICE windbreaker draped over her shoulders so he couldn’t see the bandage.
His thick black hair—though neatly trimmed—stuck out in spikes. The lines in his face seemed to be etched more deeply, and he looked much older than his thirty years. This was a part of her fiancé that she didn’t know. She’d never seen him in action. The battle-tested marine who had experienced the devastation of war and who risked his life on a daily basis was a good, brave, admirable man. She wanted to be closer to him, but he kept his warrior spirit hidden.
As he approached, she could tell that he intended to embrace her, which was really going to hurt her arm. She held up a hand, bringing him to a halt.
“This wasn’t my fault,” she said. “Phillips wouldn’t give me a weapon, and I was trying to obey orders and go back to the vehicle, but others kept arriving and—”
“Were you wounded?”
“It’s nothing serious.” She turned away from him, hoping to hide the bandage. “A couple of stitches and I’ll be good as new.”
Gently, he removed the windbreaker. When he saw the bandage, he inhaled a sharp gasp. “You need medical attention.”
“Several other people have been wounded. The EMTs have their hands full.”
“You’re pale, Sidney. Have you lost a lot of blood?”
“I don’t think so.” But she did feel a bit dizzy and unsure on her feet. “I took a pill.”
“You could be going into shock.” He wrapped the windbreaker around her again and held her against his chest in such a way that her left arm was untouched. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so damn sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I never should have left you alone.”
Agent Victoria Hawthorne, wearing her own black windbreaker with CIA stenciled across the back, charged toward them. “Get in the back of the ambulance, both of you.”
Glaring at her, Nick gestured toward the battlefield on their front lawn. “How the hell did this happen?”
“A misjudgment,” she snapped. “Do what I say. I need to get you both out of here.”
“Where are we going?”
Angrily, she gestured to the back of the ambulance. “Let’s move. We’ll talk on the way.”
After Sidney refused to lie on the gurney, Hawthorne shoved it out of the way and they sat on plastic-cushioned seats with minimal seat belts. Wall space and drawers held an array of medical equipment, including oxygen tanks, defibrillators and stethoscopes. She reached for a blanket to cover her bare legs and settled back on the seat as they pulled away with the siren blaring.
Hawthorne barked into her cell phone, snapping out instructions to her staff. Sidney figured that if anyone should be offering an apology, it was the thin, angry senior agent. She was the one who gave the okay for Sidney to go home without having her house checked out first.
Her skeletal hand, holding the phone, dropped to her lap. She spoke loudly so they could hear her over the siren. “The only way this operation could be arranged so quickly was with prior knowledge. We have a leak, a mole.”
“At the CIA,” Nick said.
“I don’t know. Several other agencies are involved in this operation, including Marine Intelligence.” With a disgusted snort, she shook her head. “I never should have allowed you to come to the house with your fiancée.”
“Thank God you made that misjudgment.” His voice was cold, hard and angry. Sidney had never heard him speak so harshly. “If I hadn’t been along, she would have walked into this ambush by herself, defenseless and vulnerable.”
Hawthorne pinched her lips together. “Not necessarily.”
“They would have taken Sidney hostage, used her to get what they wanted.”
The ambulance careened around a corner, and she was thrown against his shoulder. Her wound still ached, but she appreciated the warmth of the blanket over her knees and the jacket around her shoulders. A comfortable heat spread through her, and she felt her eyelids begin to droop. Though she had plenty to say to Hawthorne, it was a struggle to merely stay alert.
“There’s been a change in plans,” Hawthorne said. “We’ll swap vehicles shortly, and you will be taken to the safe house.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Sidney,” he said.
“Understood.” She gave a terse nod. “For now, you’ll be staying together.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_7ffde4a9-4c79-5578-a80d-3e144532cffd)
Propped up against several pillows, Sidney wakened slowly, cautiously. She peered through heavy-lidded eyes at a dimly lit bedroom with pine furniture. Where am I? Her legs stretched out straight in front of her on a king-size bed with a dark blue comforter. Not my bed.
Wiggling her butt to get comfortable, she winced at the sharp pain from her left arm. I was wounded.
Her memory began to kick in. She heard the echo of an ambulance siren. She remembered being moved into the backseat of a car, looking out the window. And there had been horses and open fields and moonlight. And Nick, she’d been with Nick.
“Not possible,” she whispered. Her throat was dry and scratchy. Her tongue felt swollen. She couldn’t have been with Nick because he was in Tiquanna.
Carefully, she turned on her side so her arm wouldn’t rub against anything. Nick wasn’t here, and she had to accept that fact. All the denial in the world wouldn’t make a difference. She closed her eyes. If the only way she could see him was in her dreams, she wanted to sleep forever.
In her mind, she sorted through her memories as though picking from a jewelry box to choose the shiniest bauble. She selected the day they’d met at the mountain cabin that her friend and colleague, Marissa Hughes, and her new husband had purchased in the mountains outside Deckers in Colorado.
A year and a half ago, it was the summer solstice, June 21, when magic was in the air and young maidens performed candle rituals to see the faces of the men who would be their lovers. Though Sidney didn’t believe in all that mystical stuff, her heart leaped when she was introduced to Nick Corelli, and she went all gooey inside when she gazed into his golden eyes. He shook her hand; the connection between them was palpable. They were meant to be together.
Eight other people had been staying at Marissa’s cabin over the weekend. Sidney could recite all their names and could report on what they were wearing and what they had for lunch, but her attention focused on Nick. They paired up, and she found herself talking more to him than she did with others. She was positively chatty, which was very unlike her. She tended to be quiet and reserved and a little bit shy. An only child, she grew up mostly in the company of her parents, who were both scientists. Sidney had learned from an early age to amuse herself.
Nick invaded her quiet world with his gentle baritone, his laughter and his intelligence. Of course, she appreciated his physically imposing presence. No red-blooded female could ignore those muscular shoulders and tree-trunk thighs. His torso was lean and well-built and begging to be stroked. But she was also attracted to his mind.
Not only did he listen to her, but he actually seemed to care about what she was saying. Her engineering work was too technical to discuss with people who weren’t in the field, and she’d expanded her interests into studies of the lands her firm chose for development, learning the history of the people who lived there and the geological development of these unique places.
During that first afternoon when she and Nick were getting to know each other, the group went tubing. In big rubber inner tubes, they bobbed along a stretch of the North Fork of the South Platte River. The summer sun baked her bare arms and legs while the sparkling, cool water refreshed her senses.
Such a shiny, perfect memory! This brilliant day was meant to be treasured forever.
Lying in the grass beside the river, she and Nick talked about the rock formations and glacial shifts and volcanic activity. Her memory replayed parts of their conversation. She could accurately recall every word, but his nearness distracted her. For long, blissful moments, her overactive brain shut down as she admired this tall man with his easygoing charm. His life experiences intrigued her. Being in the military, he’d seen much of the world.
That night, the group had built a campfire to celebrate the solstice—a night for lovers. At midnight, she and Nick had kissed for the first time.
That kiss, that perfect kiss.
She jolted awake and struggled to sit up on the unfamiliar bed. Her memory filled in the events of what had happened to her in the past few hours.
She’d been at the CIA office, and Nick was there. He was safe. But he was different. And when they kissed, it wasn’t the same. A decent enough kiss, that was for sure, but it wasn’t earth-shattering. She had to know why. She had to save the precious connection with the man she loved.
Throwing off the comforter, she swung her legs off the side of the bed. Sitting up, she was overcome by vertigo and had to lie back down.
They were at a safe house, a ranch outside Austin, being protected by the CIA. Shortly after they arrived, she had been seen by a doctor who stitched up the wound on her arm and gave her meds for the pain. No doubt, the sedatives were making her woozy.
But she couldn’t relax, not while Nick was back and she was unable to comprehend what was happening. She had to regain control.
Struggling, she forced herself to sit up again and waited until the room stopped spinning. Though the curtains were drawn, enough moonlight spilled around the edges of the window that she could see a dresser with a mirror, an overstuffed chair and a bedside table. A digital clock showed the time: 2:37. On a typical Friday night, her shift at the saloon would have ended. She’d be off work and on her way home. Would those intruders have been waiting for her?
If Nick hadn’t been there to shove her out of the way, she would have walked into a blast of gunfire. Or not. If she’d been alone, they wouldn’t have needed guns to subdue her. She could have been taken hostage.
Leaning forward, she balanced on the soles of her bare feet. Her toes were cold. As soon as she shed the comforter, she shivered. All she was wearing was an oversize T-shirt that hung halfway to her knees. The white bandage on her upper arm gleamed in the moonlight.
She practiced taking one step forward and one step back, not wanting to be far away from the bed in case her knees buckled. As she straightened her shoulders, pain from her wound radiated across the upper half of her body. Fighting it, she clenched her jaw.
Her mouth was parched. She reached for a half-full water glass on the bedside table and wetted her lips. The liquid revived her. She drank it all, set down the glass and cleared her throat. Better, she felt better.
Calling out for help was one option, but she didn’t want to be seen as helpless. As an engineer, she worked mostly with men, and she knew they tended to see women as the weaker gender, easily pacified and disregarded. Not this time. Maybe she wasn’t as fierce as a lioness, but she meant to be taken seriously.
At the lower edge of her bedroom door, she saw an outline of light. Outside this room, other people were awake and probably making plans. She would join them and become part of the team.
Easier said than done. Obviously, she had to change clothes. Stumbling into a cabal of intelligence agents in her oversize T-shirt and bare feet wouldn’t gain her any respect. She shuffled to the closet and opened the door. The total darkness inside the closet dissipated when she flipped a light switch at the edge of the door frame. Smart move, Sidney. Turning on the bedroom lights should have been step number one.
With the overhead light on, she searched for something to wear. After fumbling around, she managed to get dressed in a flannel shirt, baggy sweatpants and moccasins that were a couple of sizes too big. Not exactly what she’d choose to confront the precisely groomed Agent Victoria Hawthorne, but this makeshift outfit would have to do.
She opened the bedroom door. To her left was a long hallway with rooms on one side and a carved, wooden balustrade on the other. Below her, on the first floor, was a vast, open room with a two-story moss rock fireplace. Standing at the banister, she looked down into a living room and a dining area where several people sat around a table.
Nick was there.
Her fingers tightened on the polished wood of the banister rail as she looked down at the back of his head. He still wore the trousers from his gray suit but had shed the jacket. His white shirt was rolled up to his elbows, displaying powerful forearms and wrists.
The muscular lieutenant from Marine Intelligence sat beside Nick. Across the table was Agent Phillips. He sat with his elbows on the tabletop and his chin propped on his fist. The poor guy looked exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. Agent Hawthorne sat at the head of the table, of course.
From this angle, Sidney viewed Hawthorne in profile. Not a hair in her sleek brunette bun was out of place. On the table in front of her were folders and electronic equipment. Her tone was calm, and Sidney strained to hear what she was saying. It sounded like a recap of tonight’s incidents.
At one point, Hawthorne reached over and patted Nick’s arm. Her slender white fingers contrasted with his olive skin and the soft black hair on his forearm. The mere fact that another woman was touching him gave Sidney a pang of jealousy, and she was glad when he jerked away from her.
“In conclusion,” Hawthorne said, “I assure you gentlemen that we will uncover the source of this information leak. I will need full cooperation from each of your services.”
The marine officer shook his head. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll take care of it.”
“I prefer conducting my own interrogations.”
“Not going to happen, ma’am. I have to protect the identities of my undercover operatives.”
“We’ll see,” she said. “None of us like to think we have a traitor, but how else would information about Nick be made available?”
“What’s done is done,” Nick said. “I’m more concerned about what happens next.”
“We proceed as planned,” Hawthorne said. “Three days from now, on Monday, we transfer you into the hotel where Hurtado and the others are staying. You will have private talks and interviews with the oil companies, politicians and investors. At the banquet, you will praise the little dictator. Then, you’re done.”
“Seems like a lot of fuss for public relations,” he said with some bitterness. “Tell me again why this is useful.”
Sidney wanted to know the answer to that question, too. It might be better for her to stay out of sight and listen while they talked. She ducked behind the carved, polished wooden spokes holding up the banister rail.
“How many times do I have to say this?” Hawthorne abruptly rose from her chair and pressed her hand across her forehead as though physically holding back a migraine. “It’s in the best interest of the US to keep Hurtado in power, and the Tiquanna rebels are garnering sympathy. It’s your job to make Tomas Hurtado look like a hero.”
“So the oil development firms will choose to do business with him,” Nick concluded her speech.
“It’s no big deal,” she snapped. “All you have to do is put on your uniform, flash your charming smile and tell everyone about being rescued by Hurtado.”
Those were stories Sidney wanted to hear. While Nick was gone, she’d imagined him suffering a horrible fate and then tried to convince herself that he was off at a picnic in the Tiquanna jungle. After he told her the real version, she might be able to let go of the tears she’d wept and the pain she’d imagined.
She sat cross-legged on the floor and peered down from the balcony. They wouldn’t see her unless they were really looking, but she had a clear view of the table. Her simple surveillance was kind of ironic, considering they were spies.
