The Spy Who Loved Him Page 14

  "As I've already told you, I'm happy with the job I have at the Ministry of Defense. And as for your work with SPEAR…"

  His gaze dropped to the locket resting between her breasts. He hated the damned thing, hated the thought that its silent signal could pull Margarita into danger at any second. Yet she'd proved herself more than capable of handling whatever situation she landed in.

  "I saw a side of you this week that stunned me. And aroused me," he admitted wryly. "You're incredible, Margarita."

  She was too intelligent not to recognize the dilemma that put him in. Understanding shimmered in her amethyst eyes. "You admire that part of me but can't quite get comfortable with it."

  "I won't lie to you. My skin crawls whenever I think of you putting yourself in the line of fire. And I don't particularly like the idea that you and Waters might disappear together for weeks at a time."

  "There's nothing between Marcus and me," she interjected quickly. "We're just friends."

  Carlos opened his mouth, snapped it shut. He wasn't about to let the SPEAR agent get between him and Margarita. But neither would he rub salt in the other man's wounds by revealing his feelings for her.

  Besides, Carlos had his own feelings to worry about right now, not the least of which was how the hell he was going to clamp down on his almost overwhelming need to shelter and protect the woman he loved from the Simons of the world.

  "I can live with what you do for SPEAR. I don't like it, but I can live with it."

  "Jonah kept me working a desk until this situation came up," she said slowly. "I had hoped for more field assignments, but…"

  She was trying to find a way. Trying to reconcile her needs with his. Carlos recognized that even as he fought the urge to encourage her to stay firmly anchored to her desk.

  "We'll work it out," he promised fiercely.

  Chapter 13

  "You and Carlos will work it out."

  Sighing at her mother's confident prediction, Margarita poured herself another glass of iced coffee laced with sinfully rich cream, leaned back in her chair and tipped her face to the sunshine flooding her parents' flower-filled patio.

  Maria de las Fuentes had been issuing variations on the same theme for the past week. As had Margarita's father, brothers, uncles, cousins and assorted friends. Everyone seemed to think the fact that Carlos had moved into Margarita's condo a week ago meant they should start shopping for wedding presents.

  Everyone except Anna. Beautiful, sulky Anna glared at Margarita from across the table.

  "You're going to ruin his chances for that Senate seat by living openly with him," her cousin said with a waspish snap. "This is Madrileño, not the States."

  "Anna!"

  The younger woman's mouth set stubbornly at her aunt's mild rebuke. "Margarita doesn't appreciate him. She never has. I'd make him a far better wife than she would."

  "Too bad he doesn't want you," her cousin returned sweetly.

  Anna's face heated. "I could make him want me."

  "I don't suggest you try," Margarita drawled.

  Her flush deepening, the younger woman shoved back her chair. "You can't have it both ways, cousin. Either you love him and want to join your life to his, or you don't."

  That stung. Trust Anna to know just where to stick the barb in. Margarita said nothing as her cousin took leave of her aunt and flounced out.

  "Don't let her bother you," Maria advised calmly. "This is a new century. Even in Madrileño, no one will hold the fact that you and Carlos are sleeping together against him if he decides to run for the Senate. Although it would look better if you two were married when the campaign kicks off, of course."

  "Of course."

  Unperturbed by the sardonic reply, Maria shifted to another tack. "When does this bounty hunter of yours go back to the States?"

  "He's not my bounty hunter."

  The innocent lift of the mother's brows didn't fool the daughter for a second. Maria disapproved of the hours Margarita had spent in Marcus's company during the past week, helping with the man-hunt still underway.

  It was a massive effort. Marcus and Carlos had teamed together to coordinate the search. Margarita had taken leave from her job to help, as well. She'd been so busy, she'd hardly drawn a full breath for days. Unfortunately, most of the leads they'd followed had led nowhere.

  She could blame no one but herself for that. Word had spread like jungle fever about the road and footbridge she'd promised the villagers who'd helped take down the drug runners. The state-run television studio had run a news story on it, along with the composite sketch of Simon drawn from details Margarita had provided. Now, every head-man in Madrileño schemed to find a way to bring the same munificence to his village. Dozens of reports of the disfigured norte americano who'd accompanied the drug runners had surfaced in the past week. So far, none of the reports had produced results.

  "Marcus will probably go back to the States soon," she said in answer to her mother's question. "Unless something turns up at this fishing village we're driving out to this afternoon."

  That produced another lift of brows. "Carlos doesn't object to the hours you spend with this man?"

  "No."

  Far from objecting, Carlos had demonstrated a surprising forbearance. Margarita might have chalked it up to his vow not to interfere with her work for SPEAR if she hadn't begun to suspect the two men had formed a private alliance, one designed exclusively for her protection. They made sure she was never alone. During the day, she worked with Marcus in the command center he'd set up in Carlos's study or interpreted for him when they drove or choppered out to chase down rumors. Her nights…

  Sweet heaven above, her nights! She didn't dare think about the wild hours in Carlos's arms with her mother sitting across the table.

  She should have known Maria wouldn't miss the flush that heated her cheeks. "Carlos is a good man," she said quietly. "One I would be proud to see in the Senate or as my daughter's husband."

  Margarita dodged the second issue to answer the first. "I don't think he wants to run for the Senate. He says he's content at the Ministry of Defense."

  "Your uncle still hopes to convince him. He needs someone strong to carry that seat."

  "Someone with ties to our family, you mean."

  "That, too."

  Idly, the two women contemplated a hummingbird milking nectar from the hibiscus flowers that climbed over the patio wall. The tiny bird hovered at the mouth of a massive bloom, its wings beating iridescent green against the orangey red. Fascinated by the aerodynamics of its stationary midair position, Margarita reached for her iced coffee.

  "You know," her mother mused, "if Carlos doesn't run for the vacant seat, perhaps you should."

  The coffee went down the wrong pipe. Gasping, Margarita choked out a demand to know if Maria was serious.

  "Completely. You're smart. Well educated. You come from a family dedicated to public service. What's more, you've proven your abilities at the Ministry of Economics."

  "But…"

  "With Carlos as defense minister and you as a senator, the two of you could shape Madrileño's future long after your father and uncle retire."

  She gaped at her mother. Her conservative, contented mother, who'd happily tended to every domestic detail for decades while her husband went about the serious business of men.

  "Don't look so stunned, niña." Maria's face softened into the smile that had won Eduard's heart so many years ago and kept her children totally devoted to her. "Do you think I expect my daughter to make the same choices I made? You must follow your heart wherever it leads you."

  Margarita still hadn't recovered from that astounding piece of advice when her mother dropped another minor bombshell.

  "I hope, though, your heart would lead you to give the same service to your country you've given to this so-secret organization you've become involved with."

  "Wh—What organization?"

  "I don't know the name of it and don't wish to," Maria said primly. "
Just think about what I've said."

  * * *

  Margarita thought about it all during the drive to the fishing village fifteen miles south of San Rico. Not even the hairpin turns and sheer hundred-foot drops edging the winding mountain road distracted her.

  They certainly distracted Marcus, however. Hunched over the wheel of Carlos's sleek little BMW, he muttered a curse at every switchback turn, interspersed with low whistles at the spectacular views.

  "Would you look at that!"

  Margarita dragged her thoughts from her astounding conversation with her mother. When she saw the scene that had captured his stunned gaze, a smile poked through the emotions punching at her from all sides.

  Madrileño at its most beautiful lay below them. Jungle-covered mountains cascaded to the edge of the sparkling turquoise sea, fringed by a sugar-sand beach. Beside the row of boats dragged up on shore, fishing nets dried on poles. Their colorful glass buoys winked merrily in the afternoon sun. Tucked beneath the palm fronds was a jumble of thatch-roofed huts.

  The idyllic tranquillity of the scene viewed from the high, winding road gradually dissolved into the wrenching reality of poverty. At a sharp bend, Marcus turned off the road and inched the BMW down a side spur that was little more than a sandy track mixed with shell. Any resemblance to a road disappeared completely a hundred or so yards from the village.

  "Our last hurricane probably washed it away," Margarita guessed.

  "Which could be why they decided to report this supposed contact with Simon. Maybe they figure to get a new road out of the deal from the softhearted President's niece."

  "Maybe."

  Knowing from experience she'd sink up to her ankles in the soft sand, Margarita unstrapped her sandals and tucked them in her straw tote. Her button-front sleeveless dress in a cool beige cotton flapped at her knees as she forged a path through the dunes.

  Marcus trudged beside her, his boots churning up sand and shells. He'd appropriated a few dress shirts from Carlos along with the BMW, but today he'd opted for one he'd picked up at the outdoor market in San Rico. The Panama-style shirt hung loose and comfortable over khaki chinos. With wrap-around yellow-mirrored sunglasses and blond hair poking from under a ball cap worn back to front, he looked more like a grad school dropout on a cheap vacation than a secret agent on a mission.

  "Whew!" He wrinkled his nose. "Guess they had a good day with the nets."

  The stink of fish entrails baking in the sun was their first warning that the dwellings that had looked so picturesque from the road were considerably less charming up close. As she plowed through the sand, Margarita saw that the thatch roofs had grayed with age and no doubt housed huge populations of beetles and geckos. Rusted barrels on stilts provided reservoirs for drinking water. Dogs lazed in the sun, and hairy little pigs rooted in the trash under the houses.

  At least electricity had reached the village. A single line straggled through the palms to one of the huts topped, incongruously, by a tilting TV antenna. The rousing beat of a Latin dance number pulsed through wooden shutters propped up with a stick to catch the breeze.

  With their approach, a chorus of barks and howls joined the music and brought the villagers from their varied pursuits. A few fishermen weathered by sea and sun to a leathery brown dropped the nets they'd been mending and sauntered over. They were joined by a scattering of women and children too young or too old for the mandatory schooling Margarita's uncle had instituted even in these remote villages.

  The inhabitants greeted Margarita and Marcus with the friendly gregariousness of most Madrileñans. When she introduced herself, excitement rippled through the small group.

  "You're the niece of el Presidente," one of the fishermen exclaimed, aiming a quick glance at his companions. "The one who builds the footbridge."

  "Yes, I am," she admitted, ignoring her fellow agent's I-told-you-so grin. "We were told you've seen the man we're looking for, an American with a scarred face and one good eye."

  Half a dozen heads bobbed. A young woman with a baby on her hip answered for them all. "Yes, yes. He came down from the mountains late at night. Him and one other."

  "When?"

  "Two nights ago."

  "They paid Ramon to take them in his boat," a grizzled fisherman volunteered.

  "Take them where?"

  "To another boat." He gestured vaguely toward the sea. "It was waiting for them."

  Marcus met Margarita's eyes. They'd need something more specific than "another boat" to make the drive down to this isolated village worthwhile.

  "Which of you is Ramon?" he asked, reserving judgment but clearly wanting to be convinced.

  "My husband hasn't come in yet," the young woman replied, hitching the baby higher on her hip. "He should be back soon. Paulo says the sea bass have stopped running."

  Courteously, she offered them the shade of her house and orangeade or beer to quench their thirst.

  Marcus accepted a beer for both of them and declined the invitation to wait inside. "Perhaps someone could show us where this man and his companion emerged from the jungle."

  No one seemed to know the exact spot.

  "It was late," one of the fishermen explained. "We didn't see them until the dogs started barking. But I think, perhaps…there."

  Following the line of his outstretched arm, Marcus nodded. "Thanks. We'll check it out."

  Margarita accompanied him along the wave-washed beach, warm beer in hand. "You don't really think we'll find anything to mark a trail after two days of tropical rainstorms, do you?"

  "Nope."

  "Then why are we going through this pointless exercise?"

  She couldn't see his eyes behind the mirrored sunglasses, but his grin took on a wicked tilt.

  "What if I tell you I just wanted to kill time by taking a stroll along a beautiful beach with an even more beautiful woman?"

  "I'd say the sun has probably gotten to you."

  "What? You think just because I've seen you with beetle juice dribbling down your chin, I can't get past that unsavory image to the delicate flower underneath?"

  "Yeah, right."

  The delicate flower snorted and plowed ahead, only to be brought up short by the hand Marcus wrapped around her bare arm.

  "What if I tell you I was thinking of more than a stroll along the beach?"

  Sun-bleached blond brows waggled above the glasses in a lecherous leer, surprising a sputter of laughter from Margarita. "I'd say the sun had definitely gotten to you."

  "You would, huh?"

  The cocky smirk was all Marcus. So was the teasing banter. Yet Margarita caught just a hint of something different in his rich baritone, something she'd never heard before.

  "How are things going with you and Caballero?"

  The question came out of the blue, startling her. Was there something in the air today? First her mother. Now Marcus.

  "They're going," she answered vaguely.

  Marcus digested that in silence for a moment. "Did he tell you what we talked about the first night he showed up at your apartment?"

  She dredged through her memory, but all she could remember was Carlos stepping into the shower, his curt admission that Simon had escaped their net…and the incredible moments of slippery, slithery passion that followed.

  "No."

  Long silence followed. Marcus stared at her from behind the screen of those damned glasses.

  "Margarita, I—"

  "Hola!"

  The shout spun Marcus around. Margarita sidestepped and saw a squat youngster of four or five charging down the beach.

  "Ramon, Señorita! He's coming!"

  Squinting, she searched the undulating waves. "There, that must be Ramon's boat. Let's go."

  * * *

  They arrived in San Rico an hour later, jubilation pulsing in their veins. Ramon, bless his keen fisherman's recall, had remembered the registry number of the boat he'd taken Simon and his companion to.

  Tires squealing on the cobblestones, Marcus w
heeled onto the street that led past San Rico's main square. When the elaborate stone facade of the Ministry of Defense came into view, Margarita screeched a command.

  "Stop here! We can go up to Carlos's office and use his secure phone. It's closer."

  "Good thinking."

  Whipping into a no-parking zone, Marcus shoved the BMW into park and yanked the keys from the ignition. He followed a few steps behind Margarita as she dashed through the corridors and up the stairs to the second floor. As deputy minister of defense, Carlos occupied a corner suite of offices that looked over the square. She'd visited him on several occasions. Enough to confidently wave aside the efficient administrative assistant who jumped to her feet when Margarita and Marcus hurried past.

  "Is he in?"

  "Yes, but he's got someone with him in his office."

  "That's all right. I don't think he'll mind the interruption. Not with the news we've got for him."

  "Señorita de las Fuentes! Let me ring him."

  The secretary reached for the phone at the same time Margarita twisted the brass knob. She pushed the heavy oak-paneled door open and stumbled to a halt.

  Carlos had someone with him in his office, all right, and she was wrapped around him like sticky flypaper.

  Chapter 14

  Margarita needed only one glance at Carlos's exasperated expression to tell her exactly what had happened.

  Anna, sweet, viperish little Anna, had taken advantage of her cousin's long drive to the fishing village to follow through on her threat. She'd obviously tried very hard to make Carlos want her.

  Fury surged hot and fast through Margarita's veins. Stalking across the sun-drenched office, she hissed a warning. "You'd better have your hands off him by the time I reach you."

  Her cousin's tear-drenched eyes rounded to saucers. With a little squeal, she untangled her arms and darted behind Carlos's broad back. Satisfied that Anna had gotten the message, Margarita planted both hands on her hips and tipped him a narrow-eyed glare.

  "I know we said we'd work something out between us. Just so you know, that something isn't going to include cuddling my twit of a cousin every time she runs to you to sob out her problems."