“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Eva asked the next morning.
Tate’s green-eyed gaze swept over the piece of paper he’d spread out on the boulder near the cave. The rain had ceased right after dawn, almost as quickly as it had started, and Eva was still having trouble adjusting to the blinding sunlight beating down on her head. Although some parts of the area were still wet and muddy, most of the earth had dried up, leaving streaks of brown clay on the soles of their boots.
She and Tate had eaten breakfast outside, both of them needing the fresh air after being cooped up in the cave for forty-eight hours, and now Tate was all business as he examined the drawing she’d made of Hector’s bunker. She’d included every detail she could remember, which Tate seemed to appreciate, but she still had no idea how the two of them would manage to sneak in and out without being shot on sight.
“Ben and I came up with something before, but...” Tate drifted off, his expression strained.
Knowing how difficult it was for him to talk about his friend, she reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “What did you come up with?”
“He would provide a distraction while I went in from the tunnel over here.” He pointed to the exit she’d labeled on her map, the one located in the foothills that the bunker’s tunnel led out to.
“Okay. What kind of distraction?”
“A full-on assault. Rig the area over here—” he pointed again “—with explosives, and take out the entrance with an RPG.”
Her eyebrows flew north. “A rocket launcher? You’ve got one of those?”
Tate’s mouth quirked. “That was one of the supplies Ben went to get.”
“Oh. Okay. So what was supposed to happen after he took out the entrance?”
“The camp would be in chaos. All the guards would be drawn to the explosion. They’d try to make sense of the commotion, Cruz would most likely send a team out to investigate. Ben would’ve strategically detonated explosives and lured any rebels away from the camp, while I went in from the foothills, took out Hector and snuck back out.”
“Wow. All right. Well.” She pursed her lips. “Why can’t I be the one in charge of the distraction? I’m sure I could handle a rocket launcher without screwing it up too badly. It’s just point and shoot, right?”
His expression hardened. “No way.”
“I can do it,” she insisted. “I’ll hide out in the trees over here—” she jammed a finger at the map “—and when you give me the go-ahead, I’ll take out the entrance. And I can work a remote detonator. When the rebels come out to investigate, I’ll make them all go boom.”
He didn’t look the slightest bit amused by her attempt at humor. “No. Way.”
His tone invited absolutely no argument, and it elicited a burst of irritation.
“I won’t screw it up,” she muttered. “And I take direction really well. All you have to do is tell me how to—” She stopped abruptly as it dawned on her. “It’s not that you think I can’t handle it, is it? You don’t trust me to do it. You think I’ll screw you over or something.”
Pain squeezed her throat, but really, why did that surprise her? Tate had made it clear from day one that he didn’t trust her, and their sleeping together didn’t change that. Heck, that was another thing he’d made clear—sex and trust were one hundred percent mutually exclusive.
Yet his lack of faith brought a dull ache to her heart. She might have lied to him about her relationship with Hector, but she hadn’t lied about anything else. Her life story, her love for her son, her thoughts and fears and hopes. There had been nothing false about any of that, and it troubled her how willingly she’d confided in Tate about those things.
She wasn’t supposed to let another man in. After her disastrous and reckless involvement with Hector, she’d promised herself to be warier around men. Not to give her trust so easily, and yet here she was, putting all her faith in another soldier. Another ruthless alpha male who didn’t care about her at all.
“Forget it,” she mumbled when he didn’t respond. She averted her eyes, pretending to study the map. “If you don’t trust me to be part of this mission, then fine. We’ll do it your way.”
Her peripheral vision caught a flash of movement, and she jumped when Tate’s rough hand gripped her jaw. His touch was surprisingly tender, his gaze even more so as he forced eye contact.
“That’s not it,” he said gruffly.
She swallowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I won’t let you play Rambo and blow things up, and that’s not because I think you’re going to screw me over.” A strangled breath flew out of his mouth. “It’s because it’s too damn dangerous and I refuse to let you get hurt.”
Astonishment rippled through her. “What?”
“Once things go to hell, all those rebels will be running out to find the source of the chaos. They’ll be pissed off and trigger-happy and gunning for the person who had the nerve to blow up their lair.”
His hand dropped from her chin and curled into a fist that he slammed on the dirt. “You’re not dying on my watch, Eva. I refuse to let you die. You understand?”
Her shock only deepened. “Why?”
“Why what?” He sounded—and looked—embarrassed.
“Why don’t you want me to die, Tate?” She softened her tone. “Yesterday you told me you liked me, but I think you were saying that more for my sake than anything. You’ve made it clear from the beginning that you don’t particularly care about my wellbeing, so what’s changed? Why do you suddenly care whether I live or die?”
His silence dragged on and on, and she’d just given up on ever receiving an answer when he cleared his throat and offered an awkward shrug. “Your kid. I want you to live so your kid can grow up with his mother.”
Before she could question—or challenge—that statement, Tate stood up. “I’m gonna grab some water and then we can talk this through some more. Want anything from the cave?”
She shook her head, then watched him stride off, feeling incredibly perturbed.
I want you to live so your kid can grow up with his mother.
She had to wonder, was that really it?
Or was it possible that maybe, just maybe, Tate was actually starting to care about her?
* * *
It took twelve hours to reach their destination, but Tate didn’t feel the slightest bit winded. If anything, he was riddled with adrenaline, fraught with tension and champing at the bit. Hector Cruz was less than a mile away. One measly mile. For the first time in eight months, the man who’d murdered his brother was within his grasp.
Although he preferred to travel at night, impatience and eagerness had overruled his need for caution, and so he and Eva had navigated the mountainous terrain while the sun beat down on their heads, leaving them hot and sweaty. They’d discussed their options during the trek, but Tate hadn’t come up with a workable plan of action yet.
Eva insisted that she should be in charge of causing a distraction, but he was loath to put her in the line of fire like that. Ben would’ve easily been able to disappear in the woods and evade the men who would no doubt be dispatched to comb the mountainside. But Eva? She was no soldier, and he’d be damned if someone else died under his watch.
Right, that’s why you’re so concerned.
The nagging voice brought a frown to his lips. He’d been battling those same doubts all frickin’ morning, and he’d yet to make a single lick of sense about the strange emotions swirling through his chest. He didn’t want Eva to die. That much he knew, but...but why the hell should he care if she did?
Because they were sleeping together?
Because her kid would be orphaned?
Because he’d be losing something...worthwhile if she wasn’t in his life?
Ridiculous. All those options were utterly ridiculous, and only increased his annoyance. He’d be just fine if Eva was no longer warming his bed. He didn’t care about her kid. And he certainly didn’t need or want her in his life.
“The sun will set soon,” she remarked, coming up beside him. “What’s our plan, Tate?”
Other women would probably look exhausted and disheveled after a twelve-hour hike, yet Eva seemed downright cheery. Her eyes flickered with determination, and she held her shoulders high, despite the fact that a backpack had been weighing those shoulders down all day long.
“When it gets dark, I’ll go on ahead and do some recon,” he replied.
Her eyes narrowed. “Alone?”
“Yes, alone.” He arched a brow. “Will I get an argument from you?”
“No, but...” Her teeth nibbled on her bottom lip. “But what if something happens? What if the guards spot you?”
“They won’t.” Confidence lined his tone. “I’m black ops, sweetheart. I’m invisible.”
“Somehow that doesn’t reassure me.”
Sighing, he moved closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be fine. I was trained for this kind of thing, Eva. And I work better alone, so you’re going to stay here like I ordered and let me do my thing, okay?”
“Okay,” she said in a grudging tone.
He dipped his head, brushed his lips over hers and forced himself not to question this need to reassure her. The two days in the cave had created an intimacy between them that made him unbelievably uncomfortable, yet at the same time, he found himself almost soothed by it.
Oh, brother. He was in deep trouble.
Stepping backward, he headed over to their gear and unzipped Ben’s duffel. Along with the aluminum case containing the RPG-7, there were also a handful of grenades, trip wires and enough C4 to blow up a small country. He was pleased to discover that Ben had even done most of the prep work—the explosives just needed to be rigged and armed, and then Tate could detonate them remotely if need be. As far as strategies went, this one was flimsy at best, but without Ben, there weren’t many other options.
Tate gathered up the supplies he needed and stowed them in his pack, then grabbed his rifle and glanced over at Eva. Overhead, the sky had darkened, the sun steadily dipping toward the horizon line.
“Stay out of sight,” he told her, gesturing to the crude blind he’d constructed for her in a cluster of dense shrubbery.
Her expression was resigned. “I will.” Then she bent down, picked up her backpack and dutifully ducked into the hiding spot he’d fashioned.
Fighting the stupid urge to yank her out of the tree and kiss her goodbye, Tate dragged the heavy duffel into the brush and covered it with fallen branches and dead leaves. A moment later, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and took off walking.
It was the first time he’d been alone in days, and he welcomed the respite, the silence. He moved through the wilderness without making a sound, and this time, he made an effort to cover his tracks. He hadn’t bothered in the jungle or on the way here, because, frankly, he didn’t give a damn if anyone knew where he was going. Let the hunters follow him—as long as he killed Will’s murderer before they caught up to him, he’d die happy.
Yet he couldn’t seem to maintain that careless indifference any longer. He might not care whether he lived or died, but he sure as hell cared if Eva did. For some reason, protecting her had become a priority for him, and if that meant covering his tracks so that his enemies didn’t stumble across her, then so be it.
Tate’s instincts began to hum as he maneuvered the foothills that made up the base of the small mountain range spanning San Marquez’s western coast. The sun had set completely by then, shrouding the entire area in darkness. Since he couldn’t afford to make a single wrong move, he stopped only to remove his night-vision goggles from his pack. He slipped them on, and his surroundings immediately came alive again.
He kept walking. The trees thinned as rocky slopes and craggy hills appeared, making it all the more important to stay invisible. The enemy was close. He felt it with a bone-deep certainty, and the conviction was validated when he finally laid eyes on the prize he’d been seeking for months.
Hello, Cruz.
Eva hadn’t lied. At first glance, one would think they were looking at a wall of solid rock surrounded by heavy shrubbery. In the distance, the jagged peaks of the mountains seemed to glow thanks to his goggles, but they weren’t the only things glowing. In the daylight, the copper-colored door built right into the rock formation up ahead would probably be mistaken for dirt and rock, but the night-vision goggles picked up on the inconsistency, making that particular feature glint like the metal it was.
Like Eva had said, the entrance was guarded, but there weren’t as many men as Tate had expected. He counted ten. Two at the door, four stationed higher in the hills, armed with rifles and binoculars. Four more walking the perimeter.
All were rebels, which was clear thanks to the unkempt brown uniforms and the potluck collection of weaponry—AKs, M-16s, handguns, a shotgun or two. The ULF rebels were organized for the most part, but when it came to supplies, they took what they could get. Rumor had it Cruz had deals in place with several major arms dealers, but it also wasn’t uncommon for the rebels to raid military camps or villages to steal weapons.
Since he needed to get a sense of the perimeter guards’ movements before he did anything, he hunkered down behind a couple of boulders and spent the next two hours watching and learning.
It turned out the guards didn’t travel far. They simply circled the compound every ten minutes in teams of two, following the same path each time. Every now and then, they’d light up a cigarette and stop to chat near the half-dozen Jeeps and pickup trucks littering the base of the slope.
Cruz’s hideout was no maximum-security prison. More like the place you sent perpetrators of tax fraud or petty crime, but then again, that made total sense. Cruz wouldn’t want to advertise his presence, and making this particular camp seem unimportant was a nice touch. Anyone who caught wind of this place would never dream to think that the leader of the ULF was hiding here, out in the open with barely any protection.
It took Tate no time at all to set up a few strategically placed explosives, and then he was heading back the way he came, putting distance between himself and the rebels who’d been oblivious to his presence.
He was halfway back to Eva when his body started humming again. His back stiffened and the hairs on his nape stood on end. His rifle snapped up instinctively as he slid behind a gnarled tree trunk, where he stayed out of sight. Waiting. Listening.
Nothing sounded out of place. Just the night noises of the creatures that inhabited these woodlands.
So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that he was being watched?
One minute passed. Two. Five. Ten. By the time the fifteen-minute mark crept up, Tate was wondering if his intuition was on the fritz or something. Whatever danger he’d sensed was gone. If the threat had even existed in the first place.
Reluctant, he stepped out and continued making his way back to camp, but the hairs on the back of his neck tingled the entire damn time.
* * *
“That is a terrible idea!” Eva hissed a few hours later, after Tate divulged the details of his plan.
The moonlight cast a glow over his handsome face, emphasizing the determined line of his mouth. “It’s the best one I’ve got,” he said in a low voice.
She shook her head, unable to fathom how he could sit there so calmly after outlining the flimsiest, most suicidal plan she’d ever heard in her life.
To make matters worse, he’d completely misled her. The two of them were ducked behind a cluster of thick shrubs about twenty yards from the rusted metal hatch that was barely visible through the brush. That hatch led to the tunnel, which in turn led to Hector’s bunker, and by bringing her here, Tate had made her believe he needed her help with this mission.
Apparently that wasn’t at all the case.
“I’m going in alone.” His tone was firm, his expression inflexible. “I already told you that a dozen times before.”
“But that was when Ben had your back. Now you’re on your own.” She frowned. “What happened to the rocket launcher plan? The big distraction?”
“That was when Ben had my back,” he mimicked. “With Ben watching the front and me here in the rear, there would have been no chance of Cruz getting away, but now, Cruz could flee the bunker while I’m blowing the main entrance to smithereens, and I won’t be here to stop him.”
“I could watch this exit while you blow things up,” she offered.
“No.”
“Fine, then let me blow things up.”
“No.”
Frustration spiraled through her. “Stop saying no to everything. This plan of yours sucks. You’re just going to waltz through that hatch without trying to distract any of the guards standing right on the other side of that hill? And then you’re going to shoot your way to Hector, kill him and shoot your way back out?” An amazed laugh popped out of her mouth. “You’re nuts, you know that?”
He merely shrugged.
“And let’s not forget about my part in all this. What’s my part again?” She faked an epiphany. “Oh, right, nothing.”
Tate ignored the sarcasm. “Same deal as before, Eva. Get yourself to the coordinates I gave you. Take the sat phone, and if I’m not there at the arranged time, call Gomez and he’ll come pick you up.”
She scowled. “Just like that, huh? What happened to what you said about the government shooting unauthorized aircraft out of the sky?”
“Gomez won’t be flying you off the island, just taking you to the coast. You can make your way to Tumaco from there, and then Gomez will rendezvous with you in Cali and bring you back to Mexico. Back to your kid.”
The thought of seeing Rafe brought a rush of longing to her chest, but the fear and concern already swimming there overpowered the new addition. No matter how much she wanted to be reunited with her son, she couldn’t let Tate undertake this crusade alone. Walking into Hector’s hideout like he owned the place? With no contingency plans in place? No backup? No guaranteed way out?
The stubborn fool was going to get himself killed, damn it.
Her gaze drifted toward the unguarded hatch in the distance. Tate had said there were nearly a dozen rebels on the other side of the rocks, but back here, the hills were dark and deserted at four in the morning.
She understood his point about not wanting to risk Hector escaping, which was a real possibility if Tate was forced to take out the front entrance and then rush all the way over here. By then, Hector could already be halfway down the mountain in one of those off-road vehicles Tate had seen.
“I’m coming with you,” she announced.
“No.”
She lifted her brows in defiance. “Say no all you want. It won’t change a damn thing.”
Reaching around, she pulled her gun from the waistband of her jeans, ignoring the way Tate’s green eyes smoldered with menace. In the darkness, with his angry expression and thick beard, he looked deadlier than usual, but Eva wasn’t about to let him push her around.
Somehow during the past week, she’d come to care about this man, and she refused to let him die, especially not when she was the one who’d dragged him to San Marquez in the first place.
“Eva...” His voice thickened with annoyance.
“Tate,” she replied, her voice calm.
“You’re not coming.”
“Like hell I’m not.”
“Eva.”
Now she rolled her eyes. “Quit saying my name. And quit arguing with me. I’m going into that tunnel with you, whether you like it or not.”
He let out an exasperated breath. “I won’t let you.”
“You don’t have a choice.” She removed the magazine of her gun and checked to make sure she had a full clip, then shoved it back in and cocked the weapon. “I’m coming.”
“Why, damn it?”
Because I’m in love with you and I don’t want you to die!
The thoughts whizzed to the forefront of her mind so fast that her brain nearly shorted out. Shock slammed into her, but she scrambled to maintain her composure, to remain expressionless.
God. It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t have fallen in love with Tate.
Right?
As her throat became dry and tight, she gulped a few times, searching for an excuse, an excuse Tate would believe. Because no way could she tell him the truth. He wouldn’t be comfortable with the idea that she wanted to help him because she cared, and as that notion settled in, she realized the best answer she could give him was the one that catered to his natural cynicism.
“Because I want to see Hector’s dead body with my own eyes,” she said with a shrug.
A deep crease dug in his forehead. “I see.”
“I thought you would. Trust, remember? You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you. How am I supposed to know you’ll actually kill Hector?”
“Oh, I’ll kill him,” Tate declared, a fierce look entering his eyes.
“Well, forgive me if I can’t take you at your word. I’m coming with you, Tate.”
His head tilted pensively as he appraised her. “To make sure that I actually kill Cruz.”
“Yes.”
For a moment, she thought he’d continue to argue, but apparently her appeal to his cynical side had worked.
It was pretty damn sad that he couldn’t accept worry or affection as a reason for her to offer backup on a mission, but fear of betrayal? He had no problem buying that.
Even sadder? That she might actually be in love with a man who, given the choice, would probably prefer her distrust to her love.
* * *
Tate was acutely aware of Eva as the two of them moved through the shadows toward the unmanned hatch. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and cart her back to safety, but after days of traveling with the woman, he knew she wouldn’t take too kindly to being pushed around. She’d made up her mind about coming along, and nothing he said or did would change that.
I want to see Hector’s dead body with my own eyes.
Her words continued to float through his head, bringing a multitude of emotions he couldn’t quite get a handle on. On one hand, he absolutely understood her need to ensure that Cruz truly met his demise. He wouldn’t be satisfied with secondhand confirmation, either—oh, no, he’d need to see that bastard’s head on a spike before he believed Cruz was dead.
On the other hand...well, he supposed it shouldn’t bother him that Eva had so little faith in his ability—and his promise—to follow through and kill Hector.
But it did bother him. It bothered him a helluva lot.
It shouldn’t, though, seeing as he didn’t trust her, either.
Yes, you do.
He nearly froze in his tracks. Had to force himself to keep moving, even as that alarming revelation continued to flash through his head like a strobe light. Was it true? Did he trust Eva?
Christ, did he care for Eva?
Stricken, he forcibly banished each and every disturbing thought from his mind. Now was not the time to ponder any of it. Maybe after he killed Cruz. Or after he managed to get him and Eva out of this alive. Maybe then he’d let himself think about the answers to those terrifying questions.
“Stay behind me.” His voice was barely a whisper as they came upon the entrance of the tunnel.
Raising his rifle, he reached for one of the rusted handles on the two halves that made up the metal hatch. The opening was low to the ground and on an angle, which meant Tate would be looking down at whoever happened to be behind those doors.
“Ready?” he murmured.
As Eva offered a soft assent, he said a quick prayer, then yanked open the door. Despite the thick layer of rust on it, the hatch didn’t make a single sound as it opened. No creak or groan or croak. Someone must have been oiling the hinges regularly, a fact that Tate was incredibly grateful for at the moment.
When they didn’t encounter a single guard behind that door, however, his gratitude transformed into suspicion. He stared at the three concrete steps leading to the gaping opening, then glanced at Eva. “You said there should be a guard here.”
She looked confused. “There was the last time I was here.”
Frowning, he carefully descended the steps and entered the tunnel. The overhead lights flickered incessantly, humming like insects in the musty-smelling space and bringing a throb to his temples.
He turned at the sound of Eva’s quiet footsteps and raised his finger to his lips to signal her silence. She nodded slightly, falling behind him once more as they made their way down the narrow tunnel. It was only fifty yards or so before the tunnel ended in front of a metal ladder built into the wall.
Tate glanced up and spotted yet another hatch at the top of the ladder. Eva had mentioned there’d be guards up there, too, but considering they hadn’t encountered a single man in the tunnel, he was beginning to question everything she’d told him.
Sure enough, they didn’t run into any trouble once they slid through the second hatch. This one led to a small room with cinder-block walls and no furniture, and as he crept to the door, rifle in hand, Tate’s uneasiness continued to grow, until his gut was damn near overflowing with it.
Nothing about this seemed right.
Battling his rising apprehension, he slowly pushed on the door handle and peered out into the corridor. Empty. Why wasn’t he surprised?
He replaced his rifle with his pistol, which was affixed with a silencer, then gestured for Eva to follow him. He’d memorized her drawing, and knew exactly where to go, provided her intel was solid.
The bunker was deceptively larger than it seemed from the outside, and Tate felt far too exposed as he and Eva moved deeper into the enemy’s domain. The lack of security continued to unnerve him—not only the absence of guards, but he didn’t see a single camera mounted on any of the walls, either. Maybe Cruz didn’t deem it necessary. Maybe Cruz was so arrogant that he believed himself to be untouchable.
Wouldn’t surprise him. He’d witnessed that same arrogance eight months ago when Cruz had nonchalantly murdered Will. The rebel had considered himself untouchable then, too.
On the other hand, maybe the lack of precaution had nothing to do with arrogance, Tate decided as he noted the bad lighting and poor ventilation, the cracked cinder-block walls and dirty cement floor. The ULF wasn’t as well funded as other “freedom” groups, and he doubted Cruz had specifically built this bunker for the purpose of having a secret hideout. The rebel leader had probably just stumbled upon this lair and knew a good thing when he saw one.
“Hector’s quarters are this way.” Eva’s voice was barely over a whisper.
Tate still wished she’d agreed to stay behind, but it was too late to second-guess his decision to let her come. He just hoped this all didn’t blow up in his face.
After rounding another corner, they descended a set of low stairs and crept down another hallway, this one narrower than the others. They took a left, then a right—and suddenly found themselves face-to-face with the startled eyes of a dark-skinned guard.
Odd as it was, the notion that they weren’t alone brought a blast of relief to Tate’s gut. He’d been starting to think this damn bunker was abandoned, and he was happy for some proof that it wasn’t.
Still, that didn’t mean he enjoyed the killing the man.
He had no other choice, though. He pulled the trigger and shot the guard between the eyes, then darted forward to catch the limp body before it toppled to the floor. The suppressor screwed to the barrel of his pistol ensured that the kill had been soundless, and nobody came running to the guard’s rescue.
As he lowered the dead man’s weight to the floor, his peripheral vision caught Eva flinching.
Without remorse, he offered a dry look and murmured, “You have something to say?”
She slowly shook her head, but her cheeks were pale.
Tate got to his feet and stared at the wooden door the dead man had been guarding, then glanced at Eva in an unspoken question.
When she nodded, he gestured for her to move behind him. She did, all the while holding her gun in a two-handed pose, her breathing soft and steady.
Taking a steadying breath of his own, he tucked his pistol in his belt and raised his rifle instead.
You ready for me, Cruz?
The notion that his brother’s murderer was right behind that door flooded his mouth with saliva. As bloodlust ripped into him, he aimed at the doorknob, pulled the trigger and let the bullets spray. The deafening sound of gunfire reverberated in the corridor, making his ears ring and Eva yelp.
Adrenaline burned a path through his veins, giving him a boost of energy as he kicked open the bullet-ridden door and bounded into the room that lay behind it.
A yellow glow filled a room that turned out to be half a bedroom, half a library. But it wasn’t the abundance of books stacked on every available inch of the small space that triggered Tate’s bewilderment. Nor was it the futon across the room, or the laptop blinking on a round metal table, or the wine bottles sitting on the floor.
No, what had him gaping in disbelief was the man on the ratty beige couch that spanned one cinder-block wall. Hector Cruz. Sitting there with a semiautomatic Ruger resting on his knee as if he had no care in the world. In fact, he looked downright bored as his gaze collided with Tate’s.
“Hello again,” Cruz said with a pleasant smile.
White-hot rage funneled through his body and lodged in his throat like a piece of spoiled food. The son of a bitch looked the same as he remembered: curly black hair, mocking eyes, unkempt goatee. Only his attire was different—he didn’t wear a brown uniform, but a pair of black cargo pants and a threadbare gray tank top that revealed the tattoos covering both his biceps.
Bad call.
Tate couldn’t get the taunt out of his head. It repeated in his mind like a continuous loop, until all he could hear were those two teasing words and all he could see was the blood gushing from Will’s throat as—
Sucking in a breath, Tate blinked once. Twice. And then he pointed his rifle at Cruz and finally found his voice. “Anything you want to say before I kill you?”
Cruz’s smile widened. “I suppose a thank-you would be in order.”
He faltered. “What?”
“Thank you.” The rebel leader shrugged. “For bringing my woman back.” He craned his neck, peering past Tate’s shoulders. “Where is she, by the way? Eva, are you out there in the corridor?”
His jaw stiffened. He opened his mouth to tell Cruz to shut up, but the rebel kept talking—and his next words made Tate’s blood run cold.
“Eva, mi amor, did you bring our son?”