The Spy Who Loved Him Page 11

  She leaned forward, twisting a little to get at the soap on the underside of his chin. The movement dragged down the drawstring neckline of her blouse and flattened her breast against his bare, muscled shoulder.

  A queer little quiver began in her chest where his shoulder pressed so intimately. Her soapy fingers slowed their stroke, loving the feel of smooth tendons and supple skin. Loving the sight of Carlos's face tipped to the sun, eyes closed, his black lashes fanned against his cheeks.

  Absorbed in her task and the rugged symmetry of his face, she almost missed his sudden stiffening. But she couldn't miss the way the dark eyes so close to hers flew open, then narrowed to slits. He jerked his head away from the blade, startling her. His gaze locked on the front of her borrowed blouse.

  "What is that?"

  Confused by the sudden fury in his voice, she shook her head. "What's what?"

  His jaw tight, he wrapped a fist around the small pendant that had slipped outside her drawstring neckline. Holding her tethered by the seemingly delicate gold chain, he lifted his hand. The flat disk lay on his palm.

  "This."

  Her stomach sinking, Margarita identified the source of that funny little quiver in her chest a few moments ago. The damned locket had begun vibrating again.

  Chapter 10

  Carlos's fist closed around the pendant. Tethered like a goat at the end of a rope, Margarita needed only one glimpse of the fury in his eyes to know she'd just run out of maneuvering room.

  "Tell me," he snarled. "The truth this time, dammit."

  Still she hesitated. She'd lived her secret life for so long, reported only to her contact at SPEAR all these years. Yet the shadowy head of their agency had always stressed that he'd recruited his agents for their ability to think on their feet as much as for their loyalty and discretion. There was only one absolutely unbreakable rule in SPEAR. If agents ever find themselves with their backs to the wall, they should toss all rules out the window.

  Margarita's back was definitely to a wall, this one in the shape of a very angry, very dangerous deputy defense minister. His black eyes lethal, Carlos used the locket to drag her even closer. The chain cut into the skin at the back of her neck. She could almost feel the heat of his fury leap from his skin to hers.

  "Tell me!"

  "I work for a top-secret agency called SPEAR."

  He cursed. The single, viciously descriptive noun left no doubt in her mind what he thought of the secret organization.

  "I have for almost three years now."

  His nostrils flared. Anger vibrated deep in his chest as he slowly, so slowly, unclenched his fist. "And this?"

  "It's a signaling device, to let me know when headquarters wants me to contact them."

  Disbelief slashed across his face. "All this time? You've been in contact with this SPEAR all this time?"

  "No! The locket only receives signals, it doesn't send them."

  He didn't believe her. She saw the doubt darken his eyes, replaced an instant later by flat distrust. As though she was one of the enemy. Someone whose every word had to be measured against the facts. Racked with guilt and hating herself for it, Margarita wrenched the gold pendant out of his hand.

  "The thing's been vibrating off and on all morning. I thought at first it was some kind of coded message, but I'm damned if I can figure it out."

  He didn't respond. His gaze was shuttered. Without moving so much as a muscle, he'd withdrawn from her. Intellectually. Emotionally. Physically.

  Dismay pulled at Margarita. She knew in that instant she'd destroyed more than his trust by withholding the truth. She'd shattered as well the intense bond they'd forged these past few days.

  "I couldn't tell you, Carlos. Not while there was a chance I could still maintain my cover."

  "Of course not," he said with a cool dispassion that cut through her like a machete. "Someone who plays the kind of games you do can't afford to trust anyone."

  Anger piled on top of her guilt and put a snap in her spine. "I've told you before, what I'm doing isn't a game."

  Her flash of heat strained the iron hold he'd slapped on his emotions. For a moment, she thought he'd lash out at her again, prayed that he would. Anything would be better than this cold, deliberate withdrawal.

  "All right. You've told me what it isn't. Why don't you tell me exactly what it is."

  Pulling in a long breath, Margarita fed him the bare facts. How she was recruited while finishing her master's at Penn State. How she'd received the same training as the other agents but specialized in intelligence gathering instead of field operations, with a particular focus on the Latin American drug trade. How her position at the Ministry of Economics had dovetailed perfectly with the work she did for SPEAR.

  His mouth curved in a sardonic twist. "And I, fool that I was, believed it was my kisses that set you trembling in my arms. I see now it was just delight at the information you were extracting with every breathless sigh."

  "Oh, for—" With some effort, she bit down on her too-ready temper. "I never tried to draw information from you, Carlos. Just the opposite, in fact. Where do you think that tip came from? The one that led to the big bust last week?"

  "That was you?"

  "Yes."

  Torn between guilt and a determined pride in the work she did for SPEAR, Margarita waited for him to process that bit of information. He didn't speak for several moments. When he did, he sounded sharp and hard, like a man who'd decided to make the best of a situation he didn't like but had to deal with.

  "Start at the beginning. I want every detail. Who is this man who has been trying to kill you? How did he end up in Madrileño? Why did the captain of the guard think he knew you? What's SPEAR's interest in him?"

  The questions came at her like bullets from an Uzi. Raking back her hair, Margarita supplied the scanty details as she knew them.

  "We started picking up vibes about seven months ago that someone had declared a sort of personal vendetta against SPEAR. Only recently did we even have a name to attach to the rumors."

  "And that is?"

  "Simon. No one knows his background or where he came from, only that he's got connections to a host of illegal and underground groups, ranging from white supremacists to Middle Eastern terrorists."

  "Not to mention Latin American drug lords." Carlos glared at her, his jaw tightening. "And SPEAR sent you to interrogate this thug? I hope I don't meet the man who issued that insane order any time in the near future."

  Her eyes flashed a warning. "I can hold my own against the Simons of the world…as I think I've proven these past few days."

  "You proved a number of things," he agreed with a biting undertone. "Not the least of which is the blind stupidity of a man who thought he was in love."

  Thought he was in love? The implication hit Margarita like the backhanded slap Simon had delivered in the cave.

  "Carlos…"

  "Finish what you have to say."

  "There isn't much else," she replied stiffly. "I couldn't get anything out of Simon about his background or motivation. Only that he wears his scars like a flag and intends for Jonah to see them soon.

  "Who's Jonah?"

  Silently cursing her slip, Margarita was forced to peel back another layer of the onion. "He heads SPEAR. I know even less about him than Simon, but I trust him with my life."

  "At least there is someone you trust," Carlos said in a carefully neutral tone that cut even worse than his anger. Pushing to his feet, he scooped up his shirt and dragged it on.

  Margarita rose, as well, fumbling for an answer. There wasn't one.

  "Is there anything else you want to tell me?" he asked coldly.

  Yes! That she was sorry she'd had to mislead him for so long. That these days in the jungle had ripped away so many layers of doubt…and added so many of confusion. That she couldn't imagine spending her days…or nights…with anyone but him. Pride and the stubborn knowledge that she'd only done what Carlos himself would do in the same circumstances
kept her silent.

  "We'd better get back to the village so you can get changed and gather your things."

  He slapped on his belt, hooked the buckle and turned away. Frowning, Margarita fell in beside him.

  "Are we leaving?"

  "You are. Alejandro's son-in-law is going to take you downriver in his dugout. There's some white water south of here, but nothing Eliado can't handle."

  "You've got it all scoped out, have you?"

  "That's right."

  "Just what will you to be doing while Eliado and I shoot the rapids?"

  "Alejandro and I are going back and pick up the trail at the pit fire we found this morning. I'm not leaving the jungle until I find out what happened to my men."

  She dug in her heels. He kept going for another few paces, then turned with an expression that warned her he was in no mood for an argument from anyone, least of all from her.

  Tough! As lacerated as she was by the knowledge that she'd lost Carlos's trust, she refused to abrogate either her responsibilities or her mission to hunt Simon down.

  "I'm going with you and Alejandro."

  "The matter's not open to negotiation."

  "I'm not negotiating. I'm telling you flatly that I'm going with you."

  "The hell you are."

  "You brought your men into the jungle to rescue me. Whatever happened to them is as much my concern as yours. Besides," she added nastily, "you need me. We both know which of us is the better shot."

  He strolled to her, menace in every line of his taut body. "You know, there was a moment this morning when I seriously considered tying you to the bed and getting the truth out of you any way I could. Now that I know, the idea holds even more attraction."

  "Why don't you hang onto that thought until we get back to San Rico?" she asked, putting everything she had into the sultry suggestion. "Sounds like fun to me."

  His jaw dropped. A look of comical astonishment slackened his features and broke the tension clawing at Margarita's chest.

  "Why are you so surprised? I've entertained a few fantasies about you, too. As the women of the village so correctly surmised, you're much a man, Carlos. Very much a man."

  She brushed past him, giddy with relief and satisfaction at having gotten in the last word. She had a long way to go before she regained his confidence and trust. She knew that. But the heat that leaped into his eyes gave her a huge shot of hope that she might just pull it off. All she'd need was a little persistence, a little ingenuity…and a few hours alone with Carlos under a mosquito net.

  She wouldn't get them tonight, she thought ruefully. Not with Alejandro accompanying them on the search for Carlos's men. But afterward. When this was over. Back in San Rico, at her apartment. Or his office.

  On his desk.

  Under it.

  Anywhere she could get him alone.

  Shaking her head, she forced the erotic images to the back of her mind. She needed to focus, to prepare herself mentally for the trek into the jungle.

  * * *

  As it turned out, she and Carlos never made it into the jungle. They almost didn't make it back to the village.

  They had just stepped out of the dense growth ringing the pool into the muddy field when a burst of gunfire blazed from the far side of the gorge. Bullets splatted into the earth. Muck spouted like miniature geysers all around them.

  "Get down!"

  Enforcing his shouted command with a shove, Carlos sent her sprawling toward a nearby tree stump. Margarita landed facedown in the mud for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. He dropped almost on top of her.

  The air whooshed out of her lungs. With his weight pinning her down, she couldn't draw in so much as a gasp. Thankfully, he rolled off her a moment later and wrestled the Beretta out of its holster.

  The automatic cracked right beside her ear, temporarily silencing the shooter on the far side of the gorge. Over the ringing in her ears, Margarita heard someone scream a vile oath, answering shouts, the screech of monkeys and parrots taking flight. Cordite stung her nostrils, burned her eyes.

  For a minute, two, she sprawled beside Carlos, straining to sort through the sounds, trying to see through the undergrowth on the other side of the gorge. She caught a rustle of ferns, saw a strangler vine sway. Her heart stopped. The shooters were heading south along the rim of the gorge. Toward the crude little trolley!

  The realization hit Margarita at the same instant it did Carlos. Cursing, he speared a glance down the gorge. The hemp cable strung across the river sagged lazily in the sun.

  Margarita didn't have to tell him what someone like Simon would do to Alejandro and his family if they got in his way. She saw the brutal awareness in the look he turned on her.

  "We've got to cut the ropes."

  "Give me the gun." She rolled into a crouch behind the stump. "I'll provide protective fire."

  He hesitated for only a second. They were equals now. On the same team. For the moment, anyway. He handed over the automatic without a word, then dug in his vest for the spare clips.

  "Stay as low as you can," she instructed tersely. "Use the tree stumps for cover."

  To her utter astonishment, his lips twitched. "Yes, ma'am."

  That tiny half-smile exploded the last of Margarita's doubts. At that moment, on her knees in the mud, with the jungle behind them and a murderous band of drug runners ahead, she knew with absolute certainty that she loved this man. What in the world she'd do about it was another matter, however.

  And now certainly wasn't the time to tell him about her little epiphany. Carlos needed every ounce of concentration he could muster for his sprint across the field.

  "Ready?"

  He nodded, his thigh muscles bunching. Margarita two-fisted the Beretta, propped her wrists on the tree stump and reminded herself that the automatic had drawn up and to the right just a hair when she'd taken down the javelina.

  "Go!"

  Zigzagging wildly, Carlos made it halfway across the field before bullets ripped though the air again. It took everything she had to keep her sights on the red flashes and not on Carlos. Her heart hammering, she squeezed off a single shot.

  An agonized scream tore across the gorge. The machine gun skipped, stuttered, was silenced. Knowing she had only moments, perhaps seconds, until one of the other men snatched the weapon and resumed fire, Margarita took off after Carlos.

  She caught up with him on the run. Or thought she did. Only after they'd gained the shelter of the village did she realize he'd danced a jig in the field, deliberately exposing himself to draw the hostile fire until he could shield her body with his.

  Before she could protest such idiocy, Alejandro came running toward them, his gray mustachios flying. His gnarled hands clutched the oldest, rustiest shotgun Margarita had ever seen. Behind him raced his sons, sons-in-law and grandsons, all armed with machetes.

  "Is it the drug runners?" Alejandro panted.

  "Yes."

  "Dios! Those pigs will regret the day they fired on our village."

  Carlos stilled their bravado with a dash of cold reality. "They're armed with at least one semiautomatic. We can count on rifles and handguns, as well."

  "Do we know how many come?"

  His dark eyes whipped to Margarita. "One less than started out this morning, thanks to the sharpshooter among us."

  The men treated her to a round of admiring glances.

  "We have to take down the cable before they cross the river," Carlos told them. "I'm sorry."

  Alejandro waived an airy hand. "It is of no matter. We will weave another to replace it, just as we do each time it falls."

  "Each time it falls?" Margarita gaped at him. "Last night you said it took you back and forth across the river daily."

  "And so it does. When it doesn't fall."

  "Well, this time we'll aid its fall," Carlos said decisively. "Margarita and Alejandro will cover me while I hack it down. The rest of you, take your women and children into the jungle."

&nbs
p; Just in case.

  He didn't say it, but the unspoken understanding passed among the men. They knew as well as Carlos that the chances of one Beretta and an ancient shotgun holding off a band of drug dealers armed with the latest weapons were slim to almost nonexistent.

  Gulping, Margarita swept a glance down the dirt track that constituted the village's only street. The tree anchoring the cable stood alone at the bottom of a sloping field. Carlos would have no shield, no protection except the tree itself and the meager cover Margarita and Alejandro could provide.

  "Maybe we should all go into the jungle," she heard herself say. "Escape and evasion is always a viable option when—"

  She stopped abruptly, her lips tightening as the locket quivered against her breast again. Stilled. Quivered again. For pity's sake! Did SPEAR think she had nothing better to do than sit around and try to interpret these signals?

  "We let no one drive us from our homes, poor as they are," Alejandro said fiercely. "I will stand beside you and fight."

  Carlos drew out his machete, the steel singing on leather. "With luck, it won't come to that. Get the women and children out of the village. Quickly. Time runs against us."

  * * *

  In fact, Margarita saw several anxious moments later, time had run out.

  She crouched behind one of the pilings that supported the house nearest the cable, her heart in her throat as she watched Carlos take a swing at the woven hemp stretched across the gorge. Bean-stalk thin Alejandro sheltered behind another piling.

  The machete's first whack still reverberated on the heavy air when at least a dozen armed men emerged from the undergrowth across the gorge, guns blazing. Carlos twisted violently and plastered a shoulder to the stout tree trunk. With the murderous fire slicing the air around him, he couldn't move, much less swing the machete. Grimacing in desperate concentration, he angled the blade over his head and sawed awkwardly at the cable.