Operation Summer Storm (5 page)

“It’s an island in the Philippines, owned by a business associate; it’s where we run our base from.”

“Why does it have a Mexican name then?”

With a long suffering sigh, he turned his sharp gaze back to her face wearily, “He liked Mexico, so he named his island something that made him feel like he was still there…anything else you need to know? Water temperature? Seven day forecast? Travel time?” he muttered sarcastically.

“Actually yes, I would like to know how long it’s going to take to get there,” she smiled sweetly but really wanted to snap his head off for being such a bad-tempered jerk this early in the morning.

“It’ll take about fifteen hours travel time, all up.”

“Are you serious? What are we doing—swimming there?”

“We fly to Manila, and from there we take a boat to the island,” she didn’t catch everything he muttered beneath his breath—but had a fair idea it involved something anatomically impossible and not very polite. “…if we ever get going. Now can you hurry the hell up?”

* * * *

The indispensable Pete drove them back to the motel, pulling up across the street. As Summer reached for the door handle , a large hand closed over hers in a steely grip. She froze, her gaze snapping toward Tate as he leaned across her, staring intently out the window.

“Pete, drive—now,” he ordered in a clipped tone and Pete immediately pulled back into the heavy tourist traffic without hesitation.

The smell of his soap, mixed with a warm, tangy scent that was all his own, floated around her. The side of her breast burnt where his arm lightly brushed against her as he’d leaned over to stop her opening the door.

Turning his head, he searched the street behind them as they drove away—a dark frown on his face doing nothing to reassure her.

“Who do you think they were,” Tupper asked, his eyes on the front passenger side mirror where he sat.

“My bet would be Tréago,” Tate said quietly.

“What?” Summer breathed anxiously. She swiveled her head back to search the now almost vanished view of her motel but couldn’t see what had alerted the men to trouble. “What about my stuff?” she asked.

“You’ve got your passport and purse. Everything else can be replaced.”

“No I don’t. I wasn’t given the opportunity to get them before I thrown in the boot of your car last night,” she pointed out bitterly.

Tupper bent down and held up her black tote from down by his feet.

Summer reached over and snatched it from his hand with an annoyed growl. “How do you know I have my passport in there?”

“We looked,” Tate, told her in an offhand manner that only further added to her outrage.

“You searched through my things?” she gasped, turning her eyes on the faces in the car, accusingly.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Tupper said catching her gaze, “I don’t get paid enough to go stickin’ my hand inside a woman’s handbag.”

“Where to Boss?” Pete asked, his eyes on Tate in the mirror.

“Airport. We can’t afford to hang around here much longer,” he said and sat back, seemingly reassured they were—for the moment—out of immediate danger.

“Did you see Tréago, back there?” she asked nervously minutes after the silent trip to the airport had been decided.

Tate gave a snort, “Tréago doesn’t do his own dirty work. He sends his paid henchmen for that.”

“Why were they there?”

“They were probably waiting for you.”

A sliver of fear raced through her at the thought of confronting someone sent to do her harm. Suddenly, she knew she’d made the right choice; on her own she was as clueless as a lamb thrown in with a pack of wolves. No matter how frustrating the man was, she was grateful she had him on her side…as least as long as she had what they wanted, she was on their side…

The airport was just as daunting and busy as she remembered. At the check-in counter, Tate stepped up beside her and threw a heavy arm across her shoulders. Feeling her stiffen, he whispered in her ear softly, “We’re on our honeymoon. Make it look real, or we’re going to be spending an uncomfortable few hours in an interview room, with some men who don’t have a sense of humor.”

Summer’s gaze fleeted around the terminal, and noticed the severe-looking officials, as they watched passengers moving about intently. The Indonesians were not a tolerant people when it came to their views on crime and punishment. Drug traffickers were often sentenced to lifetimes in prisons. Prisons, that made the rest of the developed world’s prisons look like resorts. Some even got the death sentence.

They moved forward when it was their turn and Summer lifted her face to his when he smiled down at her, and for a moment, her heart fluttered and she almost believed the look of sizzling desire she saw in those sexy, hooded eyes.

“Get your passport out,” he murmured in that same sleepy bedroom voice and she had to forcibly drag her gaze from his in order to reach into her handbag and locate her documents.

As she slid her passport across the desk to the impeccably made up woman behind the counter, her attention flickered toward the passport Tate handed over and noticed he used his Eugene persona. It suddenly hit her with all the subtlety of a bus—the reality these men lived with each day. They’d been forced to give up everything—not only their careers, their friends and family, but the very essence she took for granted—their identities. Tate Maddox and the other three men, for all accounts and purposes, really did die out in that desert on that fateful night a year and a half ago.

Summer and Tate collected their tickets and moved toward their gate. With still a few minutes before the flight boarded, they sat down in the departure lounge to wait. At first the rest of the team were nowhere to be seen but after carefully scanning the room, Summer spotted Tupper, listening to his i-pod, on one side of the waiting area and Maloney, reading a paper on the other. There was no sign of Del.

“Why all the subterfuge?” she asked, turning her head to ask quietly and became distracted, as her gaze fell on the smooth expanse of his tanned neck, a mere few inches from her lips.

She watched as his gaze scanned the terminal carefully, constantly on guard. “A group traveling together draws more attention than a couple on their honeymoon,” he said.

“So, when I’m not here, which one usually plays the bride? Maloney, Tup, or Del?” she asked with a straight face.

He dropped his gaze on hers and for an instant she saw something flicker in the depths that could have been reluctant amusement, but which rapidly turned into something dark and primitive and sent a pool of warmth into every region south of her neck.

“That’s our flight,” he murmured, his mouth hovering above her lips.

“Our flight?” she whispered back, preoccupied.

“Our flight,” he said louder, moving back and pulling her up beside him.

Doh!
Shaking herself mentally, she forced her brain to re-engage and followed his lead. As soon as they were seated he released her hand and tried to make himself comfortable in the cramped, economy seats. It was obvious that his long legs were not made to fit into such a cramped position.

Summer stared out the window and watched Bali disappear beneath them, a strange feeling descending upon her, somewhere between relief and anxiety. Finally, they were on the first leg of their journey. She rolled her head back to look at Tate and saw that his eyes were closed, his head tipped back, resting on the back of his chair.

“Stop thinking and get some sleep, Sheldon...while you can,” he said, without opening his eyes.

The man was unnerving, the way he seemed to be able to sense everything happening around him…and too damn sexy for his own good.

Chapter Four

The flight landed in Manila’s international airport just after lunchtime. The noise and bustle of an international airport was the same the world over apparently; it greeted them as they made their way out towards the baggage claim, where Tate collected his large duffle bag before heading outside to catch a taxi.

“Where are the others?” she asked as they climbed into the back of the taxi.

“They’re in the taxi, three back. We’ll meet them, at the marina.”

They pulled out into traffic, heading away from the airport. After a few minutes, Tate signaled the driver to pull over in front of a cheap variety store.

“What are we doing here?” Summer asked. It didn’t look like the kind of place Tate would normally chose to spend time in.

“You’ve got ten minutes to buy yourself some clothes. Three changes—no more. Think you handle that?”

She shot him a dark look as she climbed out of the taxi, but refused to comment. Inside she grabbed T-shirts, shorts and underwear, without sparing a thought for colors or style. She made it out in nine minutes, forty-two seconds. Passing the plastic bags into the back seat Summer shot Tate a smug grin as she saw him double check his watch.

There was still a long way to go today and she wondered how she was going to survive if she wasn’t expected to speak for the entire time. In the last almost six hours, she’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences with the man—something she wouldn’t have thought humanly possible before today. Who didn’t exchange chitchat to pass the boredom of a long journey? It wasn’t natural, Maybe she should have invested in a deck of cards along with her clothing...because the next leg of the trip was going to be excruciating if she were forced to sit and watch him sleep anymore.

They stopped in front of a small marina. While Tate paid for the taxi, she shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare and watched as fishing boats bobbing serenely in the cool inviting water. Once the other men arrived, they made their way towards one of the boats, the men calling out a friendly greeting to an old fisherman who waved them on board, his equally ancient looking boat.

Gingerly she followed the men down narrow stairs, which led into a small salon. A booth-style table sat in one corner and bunk beds lined the wall on the other side. Del and Tupper, immediately stretched out on the bunks while Summer looked about feeling somewhat lost. Maloney stopped beside her and indicated she should squeeze into the corner booth, following her in. The noise of the engine rumbled as they started to move out to sea.

Tate unrolled a large detailed map across the top of the table in front of her and she watched as he and Maloney went over it in detail.

“How are we going to find where they’re keeping them?” Summer asked after watching them measure and mark various routes across the paper.

Tate didn’t bother to look up at her question, “We already know where the camp is.”

Summer blinked in astonishment, “How?”

He gave a small sigh and stopped jotting down notes. “It’s what we’re trained to do—gather intelligence, work out a plan,” he informed her in that condescending tone she hated.

“So you were already making plans to rescue Willow, even though we hadn’t even met? But…how did you get all this organized in just two days?”

Tate bowed his head and she caught a slight movement of his lips as though he may be counting to ten—either that or praying for strength—it was hard to tell which. Though from what she already knew of Tate Maddox he didn’t seem the praying kind. Lifting his head he pinned her with a steady gaze.

“We always make a preliminary check of details on a job before we decide to do it. It didn’t mean we were going to commit to it—before you decided to blackmail us, of course.”

Summer winced. “Just making sure you’re using my money effectively,” she said, straightening her shoulders and facing him with a bravado she was far from feeling.

“Don’t worry; we’ll let you know when we need more cash and you’d better be able to pay up when the time comes. Before you ask—don
’
t ask any more questions—I’m not your damn tour guide. Just let us do our job and keep out of our way.”

Summer bit her lip, unable to silence the one question she needed to voice as her gaze dropped to the map. “Do you know if my sister is all right?”

“We don’t have any word on the hostages.” He paused as if weighing the words, his dark gaze holding hers. “We’ll know more when we get there.”

She searched the hard planes of his chiseled face for a clue that he might be lying to her before sitting back against the hard seat, allowing the men to continue with their plans. It was impossible to read anything in that expression of his, but she took comfort in the fact that even though she’d forced him to do this, he wouldn’t waste his time on a lost cause if he knew something had already happened to Willow.

The chugging of the boat engine down below droned on endlessly. Getting to her feet, Summer excused herself and went up on deck to escape the confines of the salon. Leaning over the rail, she watched the water parting as the bow of the boat sliced through it steadily. The strong tang of the salt water filled her senses and a fine spray of water covered her face. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back and felt the sun warming her face, restoring the energy travel had sapped.

“You look like you’re about to stand up on the rail and do the whole ‘
Titanic
’ thing,” Tate commented dryly, making her jump. She hadn’t even heard him come up beside her.