Once a Marine (24 page)

“Is Jack home?”

Kelly shook her head. “No, there’s a performance tonight. He’ll be real late. Why?”

“Because it’s over between me and Rafi, and I’d probably take it out on Jack. He’s a man. They’re all guilty! Every damn one of them! I hate all men!” She threw her purse across the room.

Kelly’s lips formed a perfect circle, and her eyes grew big. “Uh-oh, you and Rafi had a fight. What—”

BD put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She paced in a nervous, angry circle. “What do you have to drink around here?”

Kelly took her hand. “I don’t know, but I’ll find something. Come with me.” She pulled BD into the kitchen, nudged her into a chair, and then opened and closed cupboard doors.

“Ah, here it is.” Kelly held up a bottle of red wine. “Jack was saving this, but I’m sure he doesn’t remember.” She reached for a couple of juice glasses and a corkscrew. “We’ll get plastered on some good stuff.”

They drank the excellent ruby-hued Petit Verdot, talked, and held hands across the table. BD told Kelly everything, starting with Shari’s abrupt-about face on the London deal, and the fact she had a flight out in the morning to New York and on to Britain.

Kelly clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle when BD told her about Rafi’s snarky dress up and Barbie doll comments.

BD knew Kelly was hiding her mirth, but forgave her. It sounded funny now. She poured the last of the wine into their glasses. “That’s not the worst part. I told him about the times I took Plan B. I knew he’d find out eventually. Rafi’s a Catholic—life begins at conception. He’ll never want to see me again.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

BD took a good-size swallow and smirked. “This from a guy who thinks with his nuts, flies airplanes, shoves people around, and carries a gun. “I hate him.”

Kelly pressed her lips together and shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t…but I do. Anyway, it’s all up to him now. He knows the truth.” She stood and picked up her empty glass and the bottle.

Kelly reached out. “Here, give me the bottle. I’m going to hide it in the bottom of the recycle barrel out in back. I don’t need Jack giving me the third degree. He
is
a man after all. And you know how men are.”

BD sighed. Her welcome glow was equal parts wine and Kelly. “You’re the world’s best sister-in-law.”

“You’re still in love with Rafi, you know.”

She choked back a sob. “It can never work out. We’re oil and water.”

Kelly brushed BD’s cheek. “But, you still love him.”

“Madly…totally…completely. What am I to do?”

* * *

Enzo stood at British Airways check-in counter at Kennedy Airport. BD spotted him fidgeting and checking his watch. Her large suitcase sat on the floor next to him. She hoped he’d packed the right things she’d need for several days in London.

“Enzo!” She waved across the crowded hall.

He returned her smile with a wide grin and opened his arms to greet her. “
Cara mia
. How glad I am to see you.”

She hugged him. “I’m glad to see you too. You always make me smile.” She stood back. “Let’s check this bag and get my boarding pass. We can have a cup of coffee and catch up.”

At one of the fast food vendors, they spotted a small table and set down their take-out coffee. BD wrestled her flight bag as far under her chair as possible so she wouldn’t trip somebody carrying a tray of food.

Enzo reached for her hand. “You have a broken heart. I can see it in your eyes.” He tilted his head to the side and squeezed her fingers. “Is true, no?”

BD sighed deeply. “Is it that obvious? I was hoping it was all the wine I drank with Kelly last night that made me look such a wreck.”

Enzo nodded, his blue eyes crestfallen. “Love is often terrible to bear. I have been in love many times. I feel your pain, my friend.”

“Oh, Enzo, you’re going to make me cry. I’ve only been in love twice, but it was a big bust both times. Let’s talk about business instead. OK?”

He grinned. “OK. You’re still the boss. For that I am grateful.”

She brought him up to date on the events leading to the trip she was about to make.

He expressed his unhappiness with Shari. “She is hard to work for. I put out a couple of inquiries for jobs in Italy, but I’ll stay at Haven as long as
you
need me to be here.”

“You don’t know how much that means to me. But you have to put yourself first if a great opportunity opens up elsewhere.”

He was happy that she would be returning to New York to stay for a few weeks. “I’ll make sure all your favorite foods and drinks are stocked in the cupboards and refrigerator when you return. I’ll cook more of Mama’s recipes for you.”

Wouldn’t it be great if she fell in love with Enzo? He was charming, funny, sexy—and he could cook. Too bad he was more like a girlfriend or a little brother.

He walked her to the security gate and stood watching until she navigated the long bank line and cleared inspection. BD waved one last time as she headed down the corridor to her boarding gate.

* * *

Not only had his girl walked out on him, she’d made him get rid of his comfortable bed. Rafi flopped and rolled all night on the new mattress. The first thing he did when he woke in the morning was check his watch to see if she’d left town yet. She had.

Was it any wonder he was still single all these years? Women were one big mystery. Unfit to live with, impossible to please. You had to censor every damn word coming out of your mouth to make sure you didn’t send them into a tailspin. Then if you did, you had to spend the rest of your life in purgatory atoning for your accidental sins. Dammit!

BD was a different sort of fiasco. He loved her, but he could never stay with a woman who’d done what she did. It disgusted him.

Showered and shaved, he left for the hangar, grabbing coffee and donuts on the way. First thing, he called Silverstone for further details of his assignment. Yes, he’d broken his promise about doing the dangerous stuff, but this was in the works before they talked about it.

The black ops team members would meet in Puerto Vallarta day after tomorrow. Most of the guys he’d be working with on this mission, he knew, but there were a couple he didn’t.

He wished Joe were going on this one. Joe knew how to run an operation, and Joe always had his back. But he’d promised Jill he was finished with the high-risk stuff, and Rafi respected his decision. Rafi promised BD, too, but that promise didn’t matter anymore. It was over.

He and Joe were finishing up the manifest on a shipment of vaccines heading for Afghanistan. “When do you expect to be back from Mexico?”

“Ten days, give or take.” Rafi studied the boxes as they were loaded. “Is Jill OK with this? How did she let you get away with going back to that Middle East shithole?”

Joe turned a few boxes so they could read the lot numbers. “She knows we’ll land the plane, gas up, and turn around the same day. I’m not leaving Kabul airport. We’ll grab a night’s sleep in Turkey. She’s OK this time.”

“Carlos Arguello is running the PV operation.”

“The guy from Justice?”

“Yeah, you remember. He was with us in Laredo last year.” Rafi signed the manifest. “That’s it. All present and accounted for.”

He shook hands with Joe and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re good to go, buddy. Watch your ass.”

Chapter Seventeen

The operatives arrived in PV separately and checked into one of the beachfront resort hotels catering to the single party crowd. It was good cover. They had a couple of days to meet casually, compare notes, and discuss strategy. Their weapons and equipment had been shipped ahead and securely stored nearby.

On arrival in PV each man packaged up all personal effects and concealed them among typical souvenir and tourist items to be sent home. Passports, driver’s licenses, photos, anything that would identify them would be shipped home to an anonymous Silverstone drop box. Individually, they dropped their packages in Puerto Vallarta FedEx, UPS, and DHL pickup boxes located inside various hotel and bank lobbies.

Rafi knew Carlos Arguello as a former Marine who now worked for the Justice Department special task force on drug interdiction. Rafi remembered him from a job they did in Laredo last year. They nabbed a Mexican drug lord and several other punks who’d been on a killing spree in Nuevo Laredo, across the border. They knocked the gang operating from Monterrey out of business for some time.

The War on Drugs was political bullshit. It got more expensive every year, with fewer results and more deaths. Rafi kept his opinion to himself because the money was great, and it was satisfying to take down stone killers. This particular job was handed over to Silverstone so the US government could maintain total deniability. Cooperation from the Mexican government was next to impossible. The cops in the geographic area of the mission were as bad as the criminals.

The beach in PV was hot, sunny, and breezy, the beer cold, and half-naked women sashayed everywhere. Rafi reclined under a palapa staring at the flat ocean horizon. Carlos ogled the girls from his sand chair next to Rafi.

Carlos bumped Rafi’s arm. “Hey, Cruz, that foxy blonde over there has been giving you come-hither smiles for the last half hour.” They spoke in Spanish, masquerading as Mexicans.

Rafi glanced through his aviator shades without moving his head. “Yeah, I see her. I think she likes my bad dragon tattoo.”

Carlos laughed. “She likes more than that, pal. Why don’t you go over and talk to her? You’re footloose and single. I’d be tempted, but if it ever got back to Ana Maria, I’d be cut off for the rest of my life. Figuratively and literally.”

Rafi took another glance. “Nah. Not my type.” Bravo Delta was his type. Had been his type.

“Not your type? What’s wrong with her? She’d be on her back for you faster than shit through a goose.”

“Her tits are too big.” Rafi took a swallow of beer, lowered his shades, and winked at the woman.

Carlos inhaled beer, choking until Rafi pounded him on the back.

The blonde meandered over. “Is everything all right?” Her voice was like velvet sliding across bare skin.

Rafi stood. “I think Carlos is OK, but I’m going to the bar to get him some ice water. Why don’t you sit here for a couple of minutes? I’ll be right back.”

She flashed a great big smile. “I’m so glad you speak English. I’ll stay with him till you return. My name is Charlene.” She extended a long-fingered, slim hand.

He grasped her hand, leaned close to Carlos, and said, in Spanish, “She’s all yours.” He smiled at Charlene. “Carlos doesn’t speak English.”

Rafi walked in the direction of the bar. Glancing back he saw them staring and smiling at each other, not speaking. He chuckled at the trick he’d just played. He had no doubt Carlos would find a way to make him pay for it later.

In his room he showered and then flopped on a patio chair with a copy of
Aviation Week
. Why had he had zero desire to get the blonde in his bed?

Late that evening when the bar and music crowd heated up, the Silverstone men left the hotel at staggered intervals to meet in an empty warehouse about a mile down the road. Some walked, some bicycled. Few people were on the dark streets. Rafi slipped down the narrow alley and into the side door of the corrugated building without being noticed.

Inside the air was stale and sweltering. A/C on an empty warehouse would attract curiosity seekers. He unbuttoned his tropical shirt, letting it flap loose. He ran a hand around his waist, making sure the small weapon was secure in his waistband. Fists were no match against guns. He wanted an even playing field.

The warehouse was empty except for a couple of battered farm trucks. At the back of the cavernous interior a dim light was visible under a door. He headed straight for it. Tapping a prearranged pattern on the glass, he waited for someone to open for him.

Carlos slid the door back. “Lightfoot, you sneaky son-of-a-bitch, get in here. You’re the last one.”

“How did you and Charlene get along this afternoon?”

“The only thing that saved you from a good ass-kicking, was she thought I couldn’t speak English. We sat there and stared at each other until she finally got up and left. She was mad as hell too.”

Rafi shrugged. “Not a nice thing to do to a lady. I’ll apologize if I see her tomorrow.”

Carlos shook his head. “We’re pulling out early. Their convoy is on the move. Our local contacts are keeping an eye out. We’ll catch up to them before they get to the hideout. We’ll follow them right into the belly of the beast.”

He acknowledged a question from another man. “My instructions are to take Quintana alive, if at all possible. Between you and me, we know that’s a tall order. He’s a monster, personally responsible for hundreds of murders. If he’s cornered, he’ll likely go down fighting. No way does he want to face indictment in a US or Mexican criminal court.”

Carlos gathered the men around a map-covered table. He indicated several key features, pausing at each one, to verify that each man knew his specific task. Rafi had done a similar operation two years ago in Juarez, across the border from El Paso. The goal of tomorrow’s mission, unofficially called Wildfire, was to establish rapid dominance, paralyze the bad guys to a confused state of helplessness, and ultimately make them feel powerless to resist.

When the briefing was concluded the men left one or two at a time to return to the hotel. They’d catch a few hours of sleep and reassemble in the warehouse by four in the morning.

Rafi’s last thought as he drifted off was of Bravo Delta storming out of his apartment. No way in hell did he want her back complicating his life.

* * *

Their two rusty farm trucks bounced and rattled down the rutted dirt track. Carlos and his men dressed as peons on their way to the fields. Spanish only was spoken from the moment they left the warehouse. Rafi inventoried the weapons and equipment concealed beneath his shirt. This instinctive memory exercise had saved his life more than once.