Scrubbing a hand over the stubble coating his jaw, Tate turned to Nick. “Air traffic’s still being monitored by the San Marquez military, right?”
Nick nodded. “Ever since the ULF started running drugs using the relief foundation planes. If you don’t have government clearance to land on the island, they’ll shoot you right outta the sky.”
“We could fly commercial,” Eva pointed out.
Tate rolled his eyes. “Sure, sweetheart, why don’t you go ahead and do that. I’ll take the route that doesn’t leave a trail, and we’ll rendezvous later.”
“No need to be snarky about it.”
“We’ll fly to Colombia,” he decided, ignoring her muttered reply. “Hire a boat from Tumaco. Bribe someone at the port to look the other way.”
Eva looked dismayed. “But the harbor is in the east. It’ll be easier if we come in from the western mountains—that’s where Hector is. Otherwise we’ll have to trek through the jungle for days.”
Tate once again ignored her. “Get in touch with Hastings,” he told Sebastian. “Tell him we might need his cabin, depending on which route we take to the west.”
“Who’s Hastings?” Eva asked, her tone distrustful.
“An ally,” Tate said vaguely.
He didn’t elaborate, and wouldn’t have even if she’d pushed. These days, allies were hard to come by, and Ben Hastings was too valuable an asset to lose. An expat living in San Marquez, Hastings was former military with a list of connections longer than the Nile. Tate had first met the man in basic training, and they’d kept in touch in the fifteen years since. Other than Stone and Prescott, Ben Hastings was the only other person in the world Tate trusted implicitly.
As his brain snapped into business mode, he barked out some more orders. “Prescott, grab Eva’s gear from the Jeep. She and the kid can bunk in one of the cells tonight.”
“She is standing right here,” Eva announced. “And what the hell do you mean, one of the cells?”
“That’s what we call the rooms in this place,” Nick explained with a twinkle in his eyes. “Either that, or closets. They’re all so small, which is why we usually just crash in this room.” He swept his arm around the enormous chamber before ambling off to do what Tate ordered.
Sebastian drifted off, too, a satellite phone pressed to his ear. Once both men were gone, Eva turned to Tate. Her blue eyes flickered uneasily in the glow of the candles.
He couldn’t help but notice that she looked annoyingly beautiful in candlelight, and he had to force his gaze away from all that smooth, honey-colored skin, the incredibly vivid eyes, the lush, sensual mouth.
Heat promptly flooded his groin, making him stifle a curse. Crap. He seriously needed to get a grip on this attraction. Lust had a way of fogging a man’s brain, and foggy brains led to mistakes. He couldn’t afford to make a single mistake around this woman.
“Is this fort really habitable?” she demanded, those big eyes narrowing as she examined her surroundings. “I don’t know if I feel comfortable leaving Rafe here. What if the ceiling collapses or something?”
“We assessed the structural integrity before making this our base. The place is solid.”
Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “What about food? And, um, washroom facilities? And—”
Tate cut in. “We’ve got an outhouse, plenty of wild game in the mountain, a clean well, freshwater spring half a mile from here, and the town isn’t far away if my men need more supplies.”
“He’ll have a blast,” came Nick’s reassuring voice. The younger man reappeared in the doorway, lugging Eva’s two big suitcases, which raised a cloud of dust as he dropped them on the stone floor. “Seb and I will treat your son to a real wilderness adventure.”
“What about security?” she asked in a sharp tone. “We just drove right up to the door, and a secret knock isn’t much of a safety precaution.”
“There are cameras and motion sensors all over the place,” Tate said with a shrug.
She looked surprised. “Really?”
He gestured to the laptops scattered on the tables. “We’ll see or hear anyone coming from a mile away. The tunnels provide half a dozen escape routes. Oh, and the whole mountain is rigged to explode. Anyone tries anything, Nick or Seb push a button and kaboom.”
“Rafe will be safe here,” Nick said gently.
To Tate’s irritation, moisture welled up in Eva’s eyes as her gaze drifted to her child. “I’ve never been away from him for more than a few hours.”
Before Tate could make a quick escape—dealing with female tears were not his strong suit—Eva recovered from her emotional moment in an impressive display of self-control. “I guess I should get some sleep, then. You said you wanted to leave at dawn?”
He gave a brisk nod. “Oh-dark-hundred hours. That’s the only way I operate.”
Her lips twitched. “Fine. Wake me up when it’s time to go. Now can someone show me and my son to our cell?”
* * *
A few hours later, a gruff voice jolted Eva awake. Her eyelids snapped open to find Tate’s aggravated face staring down at her.
“We’ve got to move,” he ordered.
She blinked a few times, oriented herself, then relaxed when she registered the heat of her son’s body, snuggled close to her side. Careful not to wake Rafe, she slid out from beneath the scratchy wool blanket Nick Prescott had given her and stumbled to her feet.
The men hadn’t been kidding about the size of the room. It couldn’t have been more than eight by ten feet, with a dusty floor and oppressive stone walls that lent the space a claustrophobic feel. A tiny square window allowed a patch of moonlight inside; that silver light had been shining directly on her and Rafe, yet somehow she’d still managed to fall into surprisingly deep slumber.
“Now?” she said, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
Tate nodded. Shadows obscured his face, but that little shard of moonlight made his dark green eyes glitter like gems and emphasized the strong line of his jaw.
Her heart did an involuntary flip, and she hated herself for it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d responded to a man on such a primal, sexual level. The dark, heady scent of him stirred her senses, and his long, lean body brought prickles of feminine awareness to her skin.
This man was far too attractive for his own good.
And ruthless. Oh, yes, there was no doubt in her mind that he had a ruthless streak a mile long running through that warrior body of his. He wanted Hector dead, and he’d use anyone and anything at his disposal to make that happen. Including her.
But she’d known that going in. It was why she’d chosen Tate in the first place—that kind of single-minded determination was exactly what she needed if she wanted to get rid of her monster.
“Say goodbye to your kid,” Tate said gruffly.
Her heart promptly sank to the pit of her stomach, and then she looked at her son and a jolt of panic blasted through her. Oh, God. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave Rafe.
As her hands began to shake, she sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. No, it had to be done. She couldn’t bring a toddler on a mission to kill his father, for God’s sake. Rafe would be safer here, guarded by Tate’s men.
Men you don’t even know.
Her anxiety doubled.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she blurted out.
At the shrill sound of her voice, Rafe stirred on the sleeping bag.
She quickly lowered her voice and shot Tate a miserable look. “I don’t trust you,” she whispered. “I don’t trust your men. How can... I... God, I can’t leave him with strangers.”
A muscle jumped in Tate’s strong jaw. After a beat, he planted his hand on her arm. “Come into the hall.”
The rusty iron door creaked as he pushed it open and led her into the corridor, which was lit by a single candle in a candelabra hanging on the wall.
“We both seem to be having trust issues,” Tate said in a tone ting
ed with equal parts humor and aggravation. “I won’t apologize for not trusting you, and I don’t expect an apology from you, either. But your kid? He’s an innocent. You understand what that means?”
She furrowed her brows.
“It means that my men and I don’t use innocents as leverage, or pawns, or to further our agendas,” he said roughly. “This world is a messed-up place, sweetheart. Bad people, bad situations. We’ve gotta preserve whatever innocence we have left, so trust me when I tell you that Prescott and Stone will protect him with their lives.”
She certainly hadn’t expected that from Tate, and some of the tightness in her throat eased. “Really?”
He nodded.
A wry smile played over her lips. “So I should trust you when it comes to my son, but not about anything else?”
“Pretty much.” He tipped his head, a mocking glimmer entering his eyes. “Just like I won’t trust anything but your desire to see Cruz dead.”
“So that much you believe.”
“Yes.” He donned a contemplative look. “You want the man out of your life, but don’t think for a second I bought the story you told me.”
She worked hard to keep her face expressionless. He was absolutely right—she’d lied through her teeth about who Hector was to her and Rafe. But she didn’t regret her decision to keep the truth from Tate. No way would he have agreed to help her if he knew she’d once been Hector’s lover.
“You don’t believe my story, yet you’re still coming to San Marquez with me,” she pointed out.
“Indeed I am.”
She fixed him with a contemplative look of her own. “You’ll take the risk that I’m playing you, all for a shot at Hector. Why is that, Tate? What did he do to you?”
A laugh escaped his lips, low and harsh. “Nice try, sweetheart. Now say goodbye to your kid. Come to the main room when you’re done.”
Eva watched as his tall, powerful body disappeared into the shadows. She wished she could figure him out. Rough, calculating, charming, indifferent, sensual—barely a day of knowing him and he’d shown her so many sides of himself she had no idea who he truly was.
He’s the man who’s going to set you free, that’s all you need to know.
Wrenching her gaze off Tate, she walked back into the tiny room and knelt down beside her son. Hot emotion flooded her chest as she watched him sleep. When she noticed the way his bottom lip stuck out a little, she smiled and blinked back tears, wishing she didn’t have to leave him.
It was funny how apprehensive she’d been about having Rafe. She’d been twenty-two years old and trying to find a way to escape the tyrant she’d foolishly gotten involved with, only to discover she was pregnant with the tyrant’s child. She’d always wanted children, but not then, and certainly not with Hector.
Yet the moment she’d seen Rafe’s sweet face, the moment she’d held that tiny infant in her arms, she’d fallen head over heels in love with her son—and she’d vowed to protect him at all costs. Theirs hadn’t been an easy life so far—six moves in three years was exhausting—but Rafe was such a resilient child, well-adjusted, intelligent and with such a sweet disposition.
“Mommy has to go away for a few days,” she whispered, gently stroking his silky hair.
She decided it was probably best not to wake him. It’d only upset and confuse him.
Then again, wasn’t that precisely how he would react when he awoke to find her gone?
Guilt seized her insides. It was a good thing she’d already introduced him to Nick and Sebastian—Rafe would have been terrified to wake up and find himself with someone he didn’t recognize.
“I promise you, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she went on, her throat so tight it hurt. “I’m going to make sure that monster doesn’t come anywhere near you. He’ll never hurt us again, baby.”
Blinking away the tears that welled up in her eyes, she planted a soft kiss on Rafe’s forehead, breathing in his sweet, little-boy scent. It took all her willpower to force her legs to carry her out of the room.
Her heart throbbed with guilt and pain as she walked down the dark corridor in the direction of the main chamber. Angry voices wafted from the open doorway, and she instinctively ducked to the side, not feeling the slightest bit bad about eavesdropping. The more insight she had about these men, the better prepared she’d be.
“I won’t stay behind.”
She immediately recognized the gravelly voice as belonging to Sebastian.
“I’m giving you an order, Seb.” Tate, sounding extremely irritated. “I need you here with Nick.”
“You need me watching your six.”
“Don’t push this. You’re not coming, Sergeant. That’s an order.” Tate paused. “I know you’re out there, Eva. Get in here.”
Eva’s cheeks heated as she entered the room. “Wow. Do you have superhearing or something?”
“No, you’re just very loud.” Tate stalked toward her, stopping to swipe a pile of clothes from a nearby chair. “Change into these,” he ordered, shoving the items into her hands.
She glanced down, and a frown marred her mouth. Jeans, T-shirt, socks, panties, bra and hiking boots—all belonging to her.
“Did you go through my suitcases?” she demanded.
Unfazed by the outraged expression on her face, he shrugged and reached for the black backpack sitting on the floor. “Yeah. I also took the liberty of packing you a bag. We only take what we can carry on our backs.”
Although she was inwardly stewing over his presumptuous—and, frankly, nosy—behavior, she choked down her annoyance and stepped back into the hall to change her clothes. When she reentered the room a few minutes later, she headed for one of the tables and scrounged up a pen and scrap of paper. She scribbled down a few details before handing the paper to Nick Prescott, who raised his brows.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“The address and phone number for my parents in New York.” She swallowed. “If anything happens to me...if for some reason I don’t come back...take Rafe to them, all right?”
Nick’s brown eyes softened. “All right.”
“And if you can, read to him before bedtime—his storybooks are in my suitcase. And don’t give him too much sugar, he turns into a little terror if you do. Um, what else? He hates bath time. He can sleep through anything. He doesn’t like to be yelled at, so quietly telling him he did something wrong is more effective than yelling. Um, he—”
“Any allergies or medical conditions we should be aware of?” Nick interrupted.
She shook her head.
He grinned. “Then that’s all we need to know. Your son will be in good hands.”
With an impatient breath, Tate strode across the room and picked up a nylon backpack, same style and color as the one he’d given her. He slid one strap over his shoulder, then bent down to retrieve a navy blue duffel bag from the floor.
“Eva and I’ll take the Jeep,” he told his men. “I’ll stash it at the airfield. That leaves you the Rover and dirt bikes—you good with that?”
Sebastian still looked angry as hell, nodding stiffly to Tate’s question. “We’ll be fine.”
Tate’s gaze shifted to Eva. “You ready?”
She let out a shaky breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
* * *
Sebastian waited ten minutes after the captain left with Eva Dolce before springing to action. He stripped off his ratty jeans and threadbare T-shirt and replaced them with cargo pants and a muscle shirt made of lightweight, breathable fabric. Combat boots went on next, and then he shoved a handgun in his waistband and started putting together a go bag. Rifle, pistols, extra clips, grenades. Canteen, MREs, power bars, flashlight, poncho... He tossed in anything he might need for a potential trek, jungle or mountainous.
The entire time, Nick watched from the door. “Why am I not surprised that everything the captain said went in one ear and out the other?”
Sebastian ignored him. He swept his gaze over a table piled
with enough weapons and gadgets to launch an assault on a small country, all courtesy of a black ops community that hadn’t turned its backs on them even when their own government had.
“You actually think you can follow them without the captain making the tail?” Nick sounded highly amused.
He zipped up his bag and shot the other man an irritated look. “You saying I don’t know how to be invisible?”
“No, I’m saying Tate’s got superhuman senses. If you tail him, he’ll know.”
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”
Nick ran a hand through his brown hair, suddenly looking very, very tired. “Maybe she can be trusted.”
Sebastian snorted. “And maybe the Easter Bunny comes over for Sunday brunch every year.”
“She might really lead him to Cruz.”
“Or right into an ambush.” He zipped up his bag. “Either way, I’ll be around to make sure the captain walks out of this alive.”
He slung the strap of the duffel over his shoulder and approached Prescott, extending a hand. He and the lieutenant might not always get along—fine, they argued like cats and dogs—but Sebastian had nothing but the utmost respect for Nick Prescott. They’d become brothers the moment they joined Captain Tate’s command, and that bond had been tested and become stronger after years of death and bloodshed.
With six of their brothers already under six feet of dirt, Sebastian was even more determined to protect the two that remained. That meant Nick and Tate—no matter what his damn orders were.
“Contact me on the sat phone if you need me,” he said gruffly, still holding out his hand.
After a moment, resignation settled in Nick’s amber-colored eyes. He leaned in for the handshake. “Don’t do anything reckless.”
“Same goes for you.” His lips twitched. “You just stay here and hold the fort. Literally.”
Nick snickered. “I’ll do that.” His expression promptly sobered. “Be careful, Seb. I’m not in the mood to attend another funeral.”
“Don’t worry, Nicky. Nobody’s dying.”
Except for Eva Dolce, if she made even one wrong move toward the captain.
But Sebastian kept that thought to himself.