Fearless (19 page)

His eyebrows arched. “Any particular reason for that?”

“Yes.” She got up and retrieved her purse and coat from the hat rack. “We said goodbye in the middle of an argument we didn’t get to finish. He’s not winning by default.”

She walked out the door, leaving a silently amused Marquez to follow.

G
LORY WAS FASCINATED
by the immediate agreement she got from Cy Parks, Eb Scott, and several of their colleagues when she talked to them about rescuing Rodrigo.

“He was with us in Africa,” Cy said simply.

“And in the Middle East with Dutch, Archer and Laremos to protect a friend of ours who heads one of the sheikdoms near the Persian Gulf.”

“Colby Lane would go in a heartbeat,” Cy added. “Rodrigo saved his life.”

“Not with his wife pregnant, he won’t,” Eb mused with a smile. “He’s very protective of her.”

“We’ve got enough people to pull it off, already,” Cy remarked. “Including one very competent federal agent.”

“Who?” Glory asked.

“Sorry, that’s ‘need to know,’” Eb said. “Just take my word for it that he’s one man no kidnapper wants to tangle with.”

Cy smiled down at Glory. “We’ll take it from here,” he said.

“I want to go with you,” she protested.

He shook his head. “This is an operation for people who train constantly. You want Rodrigo alive. If you go along, and we have to watch out for you, the distraction could cost him his life.”

She sighed. “Okay. I won’t interfere.” Her green eyes were wide and sad. “We said our goodbyes before he left, and they weren’t happy ones. For the record, my stepbrother contacted you and asked you to go get Rodrigo. It’s better if he never knows I was involved at all.”

Cy frowned. “You were married.”

Her eyes slid away. “It was an impulse that he regretted.” Her tone grew cold. “He needs a woman who can share the life he leads, not one who’d hold him back and make him more bitter than he already is. He’s got someone in Houston, anyway. She’s young, and very pretty. I was never in the running.”

Cy looked as if he wanted to argue the point, but he saw that it would do no good. “It’s your call.”

“Jason said to call him,” she added. “He’ll make arrangements for whatever sort of equipment you need.” She hesitated. “You aren’t going?” she worried. “You have a young son…”

He grinned. “I’d never get out of the house alive,” he agreed. “No, this is a job for younger men. He—” he indicated Eb Scott “—has a compound full of young hotheads in his counterterrorism training unit who live for the adrenaline rush of danger. Our fed will take a team of them in to rescue Rodrigo.”

“They’ll have to cross into Mexico,” she began worriedly.

“Stop being a lawyer,” Eb told her amusedly. “As it happens, Rodrigo is related to some important people in the Mexican government. I’m sure I can get permission from them, and they will offer to help in the form of a military unit. Fuentes’s brother is in more trouble than he could imagine.”

“Tell them to slug him once for me, will you?” she added. “I’ve had enough of the Fuentes bunch to last me a lifetime.”

“I’ll make your wishes known,” he promised.

She stood at the door, looking suddenly vulnerable. “Someone will let me know…what happens?”

“Yes,” Cy said at once.

She nodded. “Thanks,” she added huskily.

Cy smiled gently. “You’re welcome.”

I
T WAS PURE HELL
, going through the motions at work without having a clue what was going on down in Mexico. She knew Cy’s reputation, and Eb’s. She suspected that Marquez knew more about the operation than he let slip. She couldn’t get him to talk. She tried to call Kilraven and get him to pump Eb for information, but he was off duty and when she called his home, he wasn’t there, either. It was frustrating, to say the least.

She could still hear Rodrigo’s furious voice, cursing both her and Kilraven. She didn’t understand why. She’d thought at first that it might be jealousy, but she was having second thoughts. He’d made it obvious that he wanted no part of her. He’d called her a cripple that day he was talking to Sarina, and she over-heard him. He’d said he was ashamed to have his friends see her. Words had such power, she thought sadly. They wounded the very soul. He’d denied later that he meant what he’d said, but only after he knew about the baby she’d lost. Probably his changed attitude came from guilt. Or pity. He’d said that it was no substitute for love, and he was right. She didn’t want him to pretend affection that he couldn’t feel. It was better if he never knew her part in his rescue, if Eb’s men were able to get to him in time. Considering that Fuentes’s brother blamed him for the drug lord’s death, it was a very real possibility that Rodrigo would be killed long before they made ransom demands.

But if they did make demands, she considered, who would they ask to pay it? The answer was so blatant she was amazed that she hadn’t thought of it. She phoned Alexander Cobb at the Houston DEA office on her lunch hour and asked him if he’d had a ransom call about Rodrigo.

“Yes,” he said, stunned. “How did you know?”

“I can’t say,” she replied.

“We won’t pay it, you know,” he added apologetically. “It isn’t our policy to give in to blackmail, for any reason. These criminals have kidnapped at least two federal agents in the past few months. They killed one and gave the other back in unspeakable condition.”

“Federal agents?” she asked, aghast.

“They have a number of former cops and paramilitary leaders in their ranks,” Cobb replied, “including one bunch called the Zetas who were in the military before they changed sides. They have pipelines into every agency that deals with drug trafficking. They try bribes first, and if those don’t work, they kill to set examples. Three journalists have died for investigative reporting about the drug networks and the drug lords. One of our informers was found in the middle of a highway, dead, with a note on him saying that all potential infiltrators would be given the same treatment. You can’t imagine how much we’d like to get our hands on these guys,” he added.

“Yes, I can,” she replied. “I really can.”

“I suppose you do, since you prosecute drug cases.”

“About Rodrigo…”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted. He sighed. “If there was anything I could do, believe me, I’d do it. But agency policy has my hands tied.”

She felt hollow inside. Rules were rules. “I understand. Thanks anyway.”

There was a pause. “The infiltrator they killed was Rodrigo’s cousin,” he said.

Cold chills ran down her spine. The man had helped Rodrigo shut down two other drug dealers. If they knew he was an informer, he’d probably told them, under torture, how to get to Rodrigo. But it also meant he wouldn’t have any help, and it lessened his chances of survival.

“It just gets worse and worse,” she said, thinking aloud.

“Some days, nothing goes right,” he murmured. “For what it’s worth, we do have people outside the agency negotiating. Fuentes’s brother has another brother in custody in Mexico. There’s a possibility that he might trade Rodrigo for the brother’s release.”

A faint hope began to glow inside her. “At last, a little hope,” she said.

“A little is all we get. But don’t give up on him,” he added, and there was a smile in his tone. “A lot of people have underestimated Rodrigo, at great cost.”

“I’ve heard about some of his exploits,” she said.

“The tip of the iceberg,” he replied. “He’s the stuff of legends. There isn’t a more dangerous man in government service. He’s come back from certain-death assignments half a dozen times. Don’t give up on him.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “Not ever. Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.”

E
VERY TIME HER PHONE
rang, she jumped, always hoping it was news of Rodrigo. She couldn’t concentrate on her work. She only wanted to know that he was alive, somewhere in the world. She could go on with her own life then. She’d long since given up any hope of sharing it with a man.

And then, a few days after the ordeal began, the phone rang and it was Cy Parks.

“Is he alive?” was all she could manage.

“Yes,” he replied. “They worked a trade for him—Fuentes’s brother.”

She could have said it was a bad move, that it doubled the manpower of the surviving drug lords, but she didn’t have the heart to. “He’s…all right, then?” she persisted.

“Only a few bruises to show for the episode,” Cy replied. “And he’s mad at everybody for letting one of the Fuentes brothers out of prison. He said it to all of us, and he said it to everybody in the Mexican government that he could get to. All that, in about five languages, too.” Cy chuckled. “That man has a wonderful vocabulary when he loses his temper.”

“He’s back in Houston?”

“Yes,” he said. “Colby and Sarina Lane and their daughter picked him up at the airport. To his credit, he did stop cursing in any language except Danish in front of the child.”

She had to suppress a laugh. That was like him. “Thanks, Cy,” she said quietly. “And please thank the men who went in. I know what they risked. It was grand of them.”

“I’ll tell them you said so.”

“You didn’t tell him…?”

“About your part in the rescue? No. I think it was a mistake, for the record, but it’s your life.”

“I’m in your debt,” she said, and meant it.

“We like him, too, Glory,” he replied. “Take care.”

“You, too.”

She sat down on her sofa and stared at the opposite wall while tears of joy flowed silently down her cheeks. He was okay; he didn’t die. They didn’t cut him up and throw him out on a highway somewhere down in Mexico. She was so grateful that she couldn’t even manage a coherent prayer. It was late and she was worn-out from the combination of a drawn-out murder trial and the mental anguish of the past few days. She pulled on an old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and went to bed.

The buzzer rang. She thought she was dreaming. She glanced at the clock, blind without her contacts in, and made out fuzzy numbers. It was three in the morning. Nobody would be ringing her apartment doorbell at that hour. She pulled the pillow over her head and went back to sleep.

She felt something touch her hair. It was more than a touch. It was a caress. She was dreaming. She smiled. She smelled spicy cologne and soap. Rodrigo was always fastidious. He was alive. Funny, how she remembered these things about him so vividly that he seemed to be right in the room with her. She murmured that aloud.

A deep chuckle sounded nearby.

She rolled over toward it, snuggling close to what felt like a strong forearm. It was warm and a little hairy.

“Sleepyhead.”

She went still. That didn’t sound like a voice in a dream. She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. He was a little fuzzy, and she couldn’t make out details. But that was Rodrigo, sitting on the edge of her bed. He was wearing a suit.

“How…?” she exclaimed.

“How did I get in?” he mused. “You forget what I used to do for a living. I have some stealth skills left.”

The bedside lamp was on. He looked tired, but the hard lines in his face had softened. There were some bruises on his jaw and a cut or two. But he was as handsome and sensual as ever. She loved looking at him.

“I pictured you in a gown, like the one you were wearing at the farm, the night I came to you,” he murmured huskily.

Her heart jumped. “I rarely wear pretty things,” she said.

“You do in court,” he said. “I thought you were the most elegant woman I’d ever seen.”

Her eyes grew sad. “Someone told you.”

An eyebrow arched. “Told me what?”

“That I sent Eb Scott’s men after you.”

His eyes grew radiant. “You did? Even after what I’d said to you at Jason’s party?”

“Damn,” she muttered. She’d given herself away. “Well, if you didn’t know that, why are you here?” she demanded.

“You shouldn’t have been crying on Kilraven’s shoulder after the party,” he said in a conversational tone. “He can’t keep a secret.”

She felt betrayed by her best male friend. “I thought he hated you.”

He shrugged. “He probably does, in his way, but I couldn’t return the compliment after he threw down on three of Fuentes’s best men and sent one of them straight to hell at the business end of an automatic pistol.”

She sat up, pushing back her disheveled hair. She stared into his dark eyes. “Kilraven went to rescue you?” she exclaimed.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he replied. “But he works for the government, too. He’s handy in hostage situations. He used to work with Garon Grier on one of the FBI’s hostage rescue teams.”

“So that’s why I couldn’t get in touch with him.”

He nodded. “He likes you,” he replied. His dark eyes kindled. “Of course, I was grateful to him for the help. But I did tell him that if he ever touched you again, I’d hang him out to dry.”

She was confused. She didn’t know how to answer that. “Listen,” she said gently, “you’re physically fit and intelligent and rich. You can run rings around men ten years your junior. I…” She drew in a breath. “I’m never going to be able to do strenuous things. I’m in bad health. I won’t miraculously find a cure. Chances are good that I won’t be able to bear a child.” Her eyes pleaded with his. “It would be best if you went back to Houston and married Conchita, or someone like her—someone young and strong and healthy.”

He looked as if her words had been rocks, and every one had hit a tender spot. “I’ll never be able to convince you that I didn’t mean those things you heard me say to Sarina, will I?” he asked quietly. “I’ve been alone for a long time. I’ve done dangerous work, and enjoyed the risks. I’ve managed to stay out of deep relationships. Yes, I wanted Sarina and Bernadette, but that wasn’t meant to be. I had to get over the pain of losing her. And then I faced the pain of losing you, of being rejected a second time. I ran, not only figuratively, but by denying I could ever feel anything for you.” He laughed coldly. “You’ll never know how I felt when Coltrain told me you’d lost the baby. I’d humiliated you, tossed you out of my life, attacked you for coming to Houston to see me. The guilt was terrible. You could have died. Losing the child hurt. Losing you was…” He stopped and averted his eyes. “I got drunk. I wrecked a bar. I didn’t go that far even when I knew Sarina was going back to Colby Lane with Bernadette. They actually took me off in handcuffs.” He chuckled. “The judge said that next time, he’d give me public service and have me work at city beautification with a sign around my neck telling people not to feed me alcohol.”