Last Spy Standing (8 page)

He moved in the direction of the most noise. Men were drinking around a bonfire in front of the barracks. He saw no sign of Megan, and wasn’t pleased that it was the first thing he noticed. He spotted a bottle of tequila being passed around, grabbed an empty bowl from the ground, and wiped it out with his shirt. Then when the bottle came his way, he sloshed some alcohol into the bowl before passing it on.

Only then did he see Umberto, setting up a line of pebbles, on top of a partially collapsed stone wall. Mitch counted a dozen before Umberto finished and stood aside. Several men lined up fifty feet or so from the wall. Then the shooting contest began.

Mitch glanced toward the shed, ready to return, but two shadows atop the ruins of the old Jesuit mission caught his eye. Juarez’s makeshift home leaned against the stone wall, the top of which was used as a lookout. Juarez and Megan were watching the contest from there.

Mitch turned his back to them. Then, without meaning to, he ended up walking toward the lined-up men.

The pudgy bald one at the head of the line hit nine stones out of the twelve. Not bad, considering the darkness of the night and the dancing flames, both of which made judging distances difficult. Umberto put the stones back while the next contestant stepped into position. That one got ten rocks. He moved on after a couple of his buddies slapped him on the back.

Others took their turn. Most of the men were in the same range: nine hits, ten, eleven—clearly people who lived and died by their guns.

“Paolo will hate missing this,” one of them called out. “Too bad he’s late.”

They had no idea just how late. As in,
arrival time: never,
Mitch thought, as he moved to the head of the line. He hesitated. Drawing attention to himself might not be the best idea right now. Still, he couldn’t walk away now without drawing even more attention than if he simply took his turn.

He set the bowl at his feet, with half a mind to drink that tequila himself later. Sweat rolled down his temples. The bonfire was too close, the flames licking higher and higher. On the upside, the smoke kept the bugs away. He took off his shirt and mopped his forehead with it, not wanting sweat in his eyes. Then he tossed the shirt next to the bowl. Okay.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
With each successful shot, the men cheered around him, toasting him.
Nine.
A cheer rose again. He looked at the remaining three stones, knowing he should miss.

But then “You go, Mitch!” came from behind him. Megan was cheering for him.

He took out the last three stones with three clean shots in rapid succession, regretting it the second he’d done it. What was he, stupid? Now he was showing off for her?

He should never have kissed her, dammit.

Not that he could truly regret that. Those lips… Her body… Her taste… He swallowed a groan.

Maybe keeping him tied up in knots of lust was part of her master plan. Sneaky as the woman was, he wouldn’t put it past her.

He glanced toward the wall, caught Juarez saluting him with a glass of something. He nodded in acknowledgment. Then he grabbed the bowl and his shirt and went back to Zak before he could make another stupid mistake.

He didn’t need Juarez’s attention. He’d be better off flying under the radar so he could get out before anyone had a chance to figure out anything. That was supposed to be his current modus operandi.

Give nobody reason to think too deeply about him. As for himself: think only of the escape. Except his mind was full of questions about whether Megan had been invited up to Juarez’s quarters to share more than a good vantage point to watch the target practice. Whether she’d been invited up there to share Juarez’s bed.

She was trying to save her brother. He couldn’t condemn her. He didn’t really care one way or the other, he told himself.

Except, he did.

Damn it all. Damn
her,
in particular. He’d been thinking… What the hell had he been thinking? Probably whatever she’d wanted him to think.

He was perfectly capable of taking the kid out of the jungle. And yet here he still was.

Megan was the reason, there was no getting around that. First she’d manipulated him, tangling him up in a net of lust. Then she’d probably sleep with Juarez so the man would take her the rest of the way to her goal. The thought ripped at his gut, even as cold fury spread through him, looking for outlet.

At last he reached the shed, and he smashed his fist against the wall, ignoring the splinters that stabbed under his skin.

A frightened moan came from inside.

Mitch pushed the door in, doing his best to banish Megan from his thoughts. “It’s me. I brought you something to drink.”

M
EGAN
SNUCK
THROUGH
the sleeping camp. Zak was back, and other things had gone well for Juarez during her absence, which meant he was happy, which meant the men were happy, which meant they’d drunk even more than usual.

Images of Mitch at the bonfire target practice filled her head—his naked torso glistening in the dancing flames, the way the muscles bunched in his back each time he’d pulled the trigger. She wouldn’t have been a woman if she didn’t feel anything, if she wasn’t the least attracted.

But that was absolutely not the reason why she was sneaking to him in the middle of the night. She had information to share with him.

The night was cool and the bugs were gone until morning, which was a relief. She rounded the barracks and nearly slammed head-on into a dark bulk.

“Chica.”
Umberto steadied her. “All is well?”

She nodded, looking for an excuse for why she wasn’t in her bed, but before she could come up with a semi-logical explanation, Umberto said, “You’re going to him.”

She didn’t say anything. Better to be taken for a fool in lust than a traitor.

“Be careful. I don’t like the eyes on that one. That one has secrets.”

More than Umberto realized. “We’ve all done things we don’t like to talk about.” She shrugged. “I can take care of myself.”

“That you can. I taught you well.”

He had. She’d learned twice as much about jungle survival from Umberto than from her CIA training. And she had come to like the old guy. He was a murderer like the rest of them. And yet, considering that this was the life he’d been born into, the only one he knew, part of her couldn’t blame him. His father had been a bandit, his mother a camp woman, both dead before his first birthday, he’d once told her.

“You’re tougher than most men I know,” Umberto admitted, then patted her shoulder. “Be careful anyway.” He turned and disappeared inside the barracks, before she could have responded.

She moved on, not bothering with stealth after that. Their conversation had drawn the night guard who was walking up the path.

“Que pasa?”

This time, she was ready with her explanation. “Checking on the kid. I worked too hard bringing him in to let him run off again.”

“No worries there. I’m on duty.” The guard puffed his chest out.

“
Pero tu es aqui, mi amigo,
thinking about grabbing a bottle from the barracks, while he’s all the way over there.” She gestured with her head in the direction of the shack and smiled, keeping the mood light.

The guard shrugged, not looking the least bit concerned. “Your gringo is watching him.”

She moved past the man. “I’ll do a quick check, all the same.”

She strode through the night, toward the small storage building that housed Mitch and the attached shack that imprisoned Zak. She checked on the boy first. He seemed to be sleeping.

She looked up and sighed as the heavens liquefied for the third time that day. Rain drummed on the corrugated metal roof—small, slow drops at first. Then the rainfall picked up, drowning out the jungle sounds that surrounded them.

She went around to Mitch’s side, but hesitated. The place had been used for storing weapons before a shipment of them had gone out a month or so ago. She’d managed to stick a tracker on one of the crates. Hopefully the home office didn’t have much trouble following it.

She stepped closer to the closed door that was made of a mixture of old boards and bamboo, with plenty of gaps between. Inside, a hammock hung in the corner. It was attached to a hook in the ceiling with a mosquito net draping it. Since no lines from the generators ran all the way out here, an oil lamp on the floor did its best to fill the space with flickering light.

Mitch kneeled in front of a bowl of water on the floor, stripped to the waist, washing up. His physique was more than impressive, more than enough to remind her that she hadn’t been with a man in a very long time. Not for lack of opportunity. Plenty had propositioned her here, but they weren’t the kind of men she was interested in. Even if she found one among them who wasn’t a conscienceless murderer, the moment she’d given in, she would have become so-and-so’s woman, and lost all respect and status in the camp. Juarez would never take her seriously then. Which would torpedo her mission. The only thing she should be focused on, night and day.

Yet, she couldn’t deny that at the moment she was pretty distracted.

Drops of water ran down Mitch’s back, wetting his skin and hair. He looked like some ancient, immortal warrior king.

She swallowed a sudden rush of desire and stepped back, suddenly she was dizzy with need. Better walk away. They could always talk in the morning.

“Come in,” he said without turning around.

She stayed still. Okay, so he knew someone was out there. But maybe he didn’t know it was her.

“I can smell your perfume.”

Shampoo.
One of her few small luxuries here. Juarez had summoned her earlier and she’d cleaned up first. Not for him. For herself. She’d been beyond grungy after their trek through the jungle. She wanted to wash the grime off, to feel semi-human again.

She hesitated another long second in front of the closed door, unsure of herself all of a sudden. The attraction that drew her to Mitch was a serious threat to her mission. She didn’t like it. She wished they’d met anywhere but here, on any mission but this one.

She found maintaining a professional relationship with him challenging, but since when had she run away from a challenge? She could probably go in there and have a professional conversation without swooning into his arms.

Damn, that was no good.

She drew a deep breath and tried again. She was in control.

“Hey.” She pulled the door open and stepped inside, meaning to leave it open behind her, but it closed by itself on its crooked hinges.

They were alone, enclosed in the intimacy of the small cabin.

Chapter Seven

The air inside was thick with humidity and something else…tension. It infected her immediately, set her on edge, tingled along her skin. The tenuous hold she’d had on remaining calm and collected slipped away.

Mitch shook the water out of his hair and stood. Dark fire burned in his eyes as he gazed at her. His eyes didn’t miss a single inch.

She swallowed hard. Maybe coming to him tonight wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had.

“I know this is not what you wanted.” That was an understatement. He probably rued the day he’d ever met her. “I had no choice but to bring Zak back. My brother…Billy is…” She didn’t know how to convince him. Or even if that was possible.

She tried anyway. “When I was nine and we were at my grandparents’ farm for the summer, traipsing all over the countryside, I fell into an old well. Billy, Andy and I were playing explorer.”

They used to do that a lot. They played explorer, soldier and policeman. She’d had her dolls, but being outside with her eight brothers had always seemed more exciting than combing some boring doll’s hair.

“The sun was setting,” she went on. “Andy ran for help. Billy climbed down after me, because he knew that even though I would never let on, I was a little scared of spiders. He fell halfway down the well and broke his ankle. I was fine.” She shook his head at the memory. “He was five, but such a little hero already.”

Mitch watched her, his gaze intent and focused.

“If things were the other way around… Even if I was in the darkest burrow of hell, on the most godforsaken spot on earth, he would come after me.”

Seconds ticked by. She had no idea what he thought, what he felt. Awareness grew between them until the tension became unbearable.

It didn’t look like she was going to convince him of anything. And if she stayed much longer, she might be the one who caved.
Just give him the news, and get out,
she told herself.

“We’re leaving for Don Pedro’s place at first light,” she said quickly. “The trip’s been moved up.”

“Juarez told you that?” He stalked closer, his shoulders stiff, his gaze never moving from her face for a second. His presence and masculine energy filled the small space.

She nodded. “I got the sense that he was nervous. Toward the end of our conversation, he took a call. I left, but waited outside the door.” She prattled on. “From what I could make out, some of the other bosses are coming to the meeting, and he thinks one of them might make a move against Don Pedro. He thinks it’s Cristobal.” She had no reason to share that information with Mitch. His presence here had nothing to do with the local crime lords, but she didn’t seem to be able to stop talking.

“I see you prettied yourself up for him.” He stood within arm’s reach, his voice cold—a contrast to all the heat in his gaze.

“I spent the last couple of days in the jungle. I was due for a bath.”

He stalked closer still, inhaled the air around her.

Blood drummed in her ears, drowning out the rain.

“So he’s taking you with him. Congratulations.” His voice took on an edge of sarcasm. “How convenient.”

She had no idea what he was talking about. She tried to step away from him, but he grabbed her shoulder to hold her in place. He wasn’t rough, but firm.

“Have you?” His voice was a coarse whisper as he searched her eyes. The lamplight behind him cast long shadows that obscured his face.

The heat of his palm burned through her thin shirt and sent shivers of awareness down her spine. “Have I what?”

“Been to his bed?” The words came out slowly, as if he was speaking with effort.

Anger rose inside her, and she shoved him. But she might as well have shoved a Kapok tree. “Go to hell.”

His eyes glinted dangerously. Instead of letting her go, he moved closer. Then crushed her lips under his.

His kiss was punishing, but her body responded anyway, denied need bubbling to the surface. Then he pulled back, and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Sorry. I—”

“Shut up.” She moved forward and pushed her lips back against his.

He took things from there. A myriad of sensations spread through her. Her mind melted as images of Mitch flashed through what little of her brain was still working: the way he’d rushed from that bathroom at the guesthouse, naked, ready to defend her; his wide shoulders hovering above her as he’d torn Paolo off her; the way he’d looked by the bonfire, the quintessential alpha male, winning the shooting contest.

He mastered her mouth the way he mastered everything else. Hesitation wasn’t part of the man, in this situation or in any other. His kiss wasn’t anything like the unwanted advances of the other men in camp. They’d left her cold and annoyed. She’d left them with a black eye, or worse.

Now desire hit her like a sudden jungle storm and had her drenched in need. Mitch’s body, pressed so tightly against her, felt like pure, primal power. It was overwhelming, but being overwhelmed by pleasure didn’t seem an altogether bad thing.

“Megan.” His voice, raw with desire, got under her skin, coursed through her veins and turned up the heat.

She opened her mouth to him and he deepened the kiss with a low groan that rumbled up his chest and fed straight into her. His lips and tongue possessed hers, conquering her until she was limp, then gently caressing her until she felt her body might fly apart with need.

She couldn’t remember the last time, any time, when she’d let her defenses down so completely, had trusted her partner so fully, without reservations. Where had those gone? She’d had plenty of them when they’d first met.

She liked the guy, liked his intelligent chestnut eyes. He was quick and sometimes funny. He was competent. He had principles that ruled his actions. She felt safe with him, which was ridiculous. They weren’t more than temporary partners, their goals still mutually exclusive.

They needed to talk about that. Once her brain got back to work. For now, she let him kiss her to his heart’s content and hers.

But soon things went beyond that. She
needed
him to kiss her.

Then she needed to kiss him back.

Then she needed to touch him. That was his fault. He shouldn’t have been half-naked.

His skin was warm and wet, and her palms glided over his impressive muscles. The nerve endings in her fingertips were singing an ode to joy from the contact.

His hands moved to the underside of her knees and lifted her up in one sure motion, pushing her back against the wall, and wrapping her legs around his waist. His need was unmistakable and gratifying.

She lost her breath when his hardness pressed against her core. A slow ache began somewhere inside her. Her hands caressed his wide shoulders, then moved up to dig into his wiry hair.

Nothing had felt this good in a long time. He didn’t try to dominate her, but she knew neither would he yield. They shared some sort of a connection that was undeniable. Maybe because he was the only person in a hundred-mile radius who knew the truth about her, the only one she might be able to trust.

Her breath hitched when he carried her away from the wall and tumbled her into the hammock, which swung precariously in response. A surprised squeak escaped her lips.

“Is this going to work?” She looked up once she tore her lips from his. Could those hooks hold both of them? “I don’t think—”

“Watch me.” He slipped in adroitly next to her.

The material stretched to accommodate him. For about a second, she was conscious of their perilous position, but then his hand snuck under her tank top. And once his long fingers began massaging their way up her rib cage, she wouldn’t have noticed if they crashed to the ground and the roof caved in after them.

She had no idea how he divested her of her light shirt so quickly or how he peeled her out of that tank top, but he did. Then he shifted her so she lay on top of him, her breasts pressing against his bare chest. She’d given up wearing bras a few months back and now was glad for it. The tight straps and the underwire were a nuisance in this heat and humidity. And now…

Now she’d found another advantage.

He gave a sound of primal satisfaction when her nipples rubbed against his chest.

Pleasure zigzagged through her in response. Wow. Double wow. Nobody had ever made her feel like this. Not Vincent, for sure. So unfair that she would have this with someone she shouldn’t be anywhere near, someone she might never see again after this night.

But maybe it was better that way. Her circuits were melting, her fuses blowing. Mitch was simply too overwhelming. She’d never have full control of her life with a man like him in it.

He caught her lower lip between his teeth and nipped, then trailed kisses down her neck. Then he pushed her higher, until the soft, wet heat of his mouth could envelop her nipple.

Sure, she’d missed a man’s hands on her body. But right now she felt as if it had been Mitch’s hands, specifically, that she’d missed all along. A crazy thought.

Her back arched. Her brain stopped functioning.

More heat built inside her with every tug of his lips, with every touch. Her hands explored his hard chest, the rippled muscles of his abdomen. He was built as perfectly as a man could be built. She hesitated at his belt buckle.

His hands slid down to cup her bottom and press her more tightly against him. He rocked under her. She held on to his hip, trying not to moan too loudly. No sense in alerting the night guard or waking Zak up. Thank God, the rain provided them with some cover.

“Don’t think. Feel.” His raspy whisper skittered along her nerve endings.

When his mouth switched to the other nipple, she felt the tug between her legs. He moved under her with just the right rhythm. Pressure built. She was going to heaven, but couldn’t reach it. Not yet.

He shifted them carefully, pinning her underneath him, and pulled down her cargo pants so his clever fingers could reach the spot where she ached the most. He kissed her deeply and thoroughly as his fingers found a breath-stealing rhythm.

Now.
She went for his belt buckle, and fumbled. Her muscles weren’t exactly obeying her every command. They were quivering.

Then she couldn’t move at all. Those quivering muscles contracted suddenly, held at the edge of the precipice, then tumbled over it as pleasure pulsed through her body in towering waves.

She clung to Mitch’s hard body, breathing in hoarse gasps, moaning his name.

Long minutes passed before the ripples quieted. She was beyond sated. Dazed. So it made no sense that she would want more of him, but she did. Deep inside her.

She shifted to wrap her legs around his slim hips. “Take off your pants.” Her voice was a breathless whisper she barely recognized.

“We don’t have protection.” His words came out in a strangled tone.

She blinked. How could she forget that? She’d never forgotten that before, not ever.

“Then let me.” She moved to slip her hand under his waistband.

At the same time, they heard Zak groaning on the other side of the wall.

Mitch moved to the side, pulled her next to him and gathered her in his arms. “You’re heading out in a couple of hours for a long trek. Rest.”

“But—”

“We’ll add it to your tab.” He smiled at her in the semidarkness. “Someday, somewhere, I’m going to show up in your life and collect.”

Suddenly that seemed like a wonderful idea. She kept her hand on his abdomen and rested her head on his shoulder. Idiotically happy, she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, her body still buzzing with pleasure.

When she fell asleep, her dreams were all about him. Erotic, every single one of them.

Waking in his arms was incredibly nice after all those lonely mornings. And she’d been lonely here, despite all the people in camp. She hadn’t made any true connections. For someone who grew up in a family with nine kids, the isolation was pretty difficult to bear. Not that she wouldn’t endure much more to save her brother.

Thinking of Billy woke her up the rest of the way, and she felt guilty for indulging in a night of pleasure when her brother was suffering in Don Pedro’s dungeons somewhere.

Outside, she heard the team getting ready for the trip. Jeeps were being loaded, four-wheelers roared.

“Time for me to go,” she whispered. She needed to refocus, needed distance.

Mitch stirred and pressed against her, his body in the same hard state it’d been when they’d fallen asleep. Maybe he’d been bitten by a banana spider after all.

That reminded her of Zak wanting to see one. Which reminded her of the rest of the news she hadn’t had a chance to tell Mitch.

His warm hand moved up to cup her breast. She placed her own hand on top to still him. If he began to touch her again, they’d never get out of the hammock.

“The guy Zak shot wasn’t just Juarez’s brother-in-law,” she gasped—she was having difficulty breathing as his fingers brushed against her nipple.

Mitch withdrew his hand silently and listened.

“Enrique was also Don Pedro’s half brother.” It was much easier to talk this way, even if she did miss his touch. “Juarez is under orders to deliver Zak to the Don. The kid is coming with us.”