“What are you going to do, Tate? Shoot me?” Eva’s blue eyes were heavy with resignation.
Tate clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. Damn it. Goddamn it. This entire op had turned into one giant, screwed-up mess. The ambush, Eva getting shot, finding out her frickin’ uncle was a frickin’ general.
He knew without a shred of doubt that Eva’s uncle had used her to lure Tate out of hiding. The only question was, why?
He had no beef with the San Marquez government, no connection to this godforsaken country aside from one botched mission that went down eight months ago. He’d been back to San Marquez a few times since, talking to rebels, asking around about Cruz, but that was no reason for the military to target him. If anything, the government ought to be happy he was here—they wanted the leader of the ULF dead as much as Tate did.
Really, giving Tate free rein to kill Cruz was probably this country’s best course of action.
So why try to kill him just now? It made no sense. Unless...
“Well, are you going to shoot or what?” came Eva’s flat voice.
His gun was still aimed at her heart, but after a second, he lowered the weapon and let out a savage expletive. Frustration punched him like a pair of fists. Nothing made sense. Absolutely nothing made sense.
In front of him, Eva’s scowl faded, her expression taking on a sympathetic light. “Talk to me, Tate,” she said softly. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He scrubbed a hand over the thick stubble darkening his jaw, unable to put a single thought into words. He walked over to his pack and grabbed the canteen, then took a long swig of water.
Eva’s sigh hung in the late afternoon air. “My uncle couldn’t have sent that unit after us. Well, technically he could have, but I don’t think he did.”
He raised his eyebrows in challenge. “Yeah, and why not?”
“Because I could have been killed, too. He knew that if you showed up in San Marquez, I would be traveling with you. Miguel would never put me in harm’s way.”
“You weren’t,” Tate said darkly. “Not a single one of those soldiers pointed their weapons at the tree where you were hiding, or made an attempt to go after you.”
“Uh, hello?” She gestured to her bandaged arm. “I was shot.”
“By accident,” he replied with confidence. “I think you got hit by a stray bullet.”
She huffed out a breath. “So what are you saying? That my uncle did send that unit and ordered them not to hurt me, but to kill you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He took another sip of water, then reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, hoping to ward off an oncoming headache.
None of this made sense. If Eva’s uncle, the general, had indeed dispatched the attack squad, then that could mean two things—either someone in San Marquez also wanted Tate dead, or the U.S. had enlisted San Marquez’s help in tracking Tate down.
“The government here hates the ULF,” he spoke up thoughtfully.
Eva looked confused. “Yes. They do. Hector has been on the most-wanted list for years now.” She tilted her head. “Where are you going with this?”
“Your uncle, I assume he knows what happened to your kid’s father?”
For a second, she looked even more confused, but then she gave a quick nod. “Right. Yes, Miguel knows about Rafe’s dad.”
“And he knows you want Cruz dead?”
Another nod, and then she offered a triumphant look. “See, that’s another reason why Miguel couldn’t have ordered that ambush. He knew I was going to you for help in getting rid of Hector, and Miguel hates the ULF as much as everyone else. He wouldn’t have tried to stop us from killing Hector, which means he couldn’t have tried to kill you just now.”
Tate didn’t share her conviction. “Are you sure old Uncle Miguel isn’t playing you, sweetheart? That he’s not on Cruz’s take?”
Her blue eyes flickered with indignation. “No way. Miguel can’t be bought.”
Again, he didn’t feel much conviction about that, but he dropped the subject. Truth was, he didn’t care if Eva’s uncle was in cahoots with Cruz. He was more concerned about the notion that San Marquez was in cahoots with the Americans, and the ramifications of that.
“Damn it,” he mumbled, so frustrated he felt like tearing his own hair out. “What the hell happened on that mission?”
He suddenly wished that Sebastian or Nick were here so they could talk this out, but they weren’t, and his only sounding board was a woman he didn’t trust.
At the thought of Seb and Nick, he muttered another curse, realizing it was now imperative he check in to make sure they hadn’t had to deal with an ambush of their own.
Bending down, he rummaged through his pack until he found the satellite phone.
Eva immediately dashed to his side. “Are you calling Nick?” she demanded.
He nodded, dialing.
“I want to talk to my son.”
Ignoring the request, he listened to the dial tone, growing uneasy the longer he waited. When Nick finally picked up with a quick “Prescott,” Tate experienced a burst of relief.
“It’s me,” he said brusquely. “Checking in.”
Nick sounded as relieved as Tate felt. “Is it done?”
“Not even close. Still making our way there. We hit a snag a while ago.”
“What kind of snag?”
“The easily taken-care-of kind. Just wanted to make sure everything is all right on the home front.”
“Everything’s good here, Captain. Don’t worry about us. Rafe is having a blast.”
“And let me guess, Stone dumped all the babysitting duties on you.”
“Something like that,” Nick said in a rueful tone.
He chuckled before going somber. “Stay alert, Prescott. If you catch even a whiff of trouble, get yourselves and the kid outta there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now put the kid on the line. Eva wants to talk to him.”
As a shuffling sound came over the extension, Tate handed the phone to Eva, who grabbed it as if it were a winning lottery ticket. She lifted the phone to her ear, and a moment later, absolute joy flooded her eyes.
“Hey, little man,” she said, her voice softer and warmer than Tate had ever heard it. “Are you having fun?”
Keeping his ear on the one-sided conversation, he began gathering up the supplies he’d used to tend to Eva’s arm and shoving them back in the first aid kit.
“Mommy misses you, too....I know, baby, I know....You did?” Her tone grew incredibly amused. “Well, that’s amazing! Maybe if you ask Nick very, very nicely, he’ll take you again tomorrow.”
Zipping up their packs, Tate stood up and headed over to Eva. He handed her the backpack, then made a gesture for her to wrap up the call.
“I’ve got to go now, little man.” Her voice wobbled a little. “I’ll be home soon, okay? And when I come back, I’ll take you out for ice cream and then—” Now that voice downright cracked. “And then we’ll go to New York to see your grandparents....Uh-huh....Yep....I promise. Love you, baby.”
A moment later, she hung up and handed him the sat phone. He didn’t miss the moisture that sparkled in her eyes and clung to her long, sooty eyelashes.
“The kid’s doing good?” he said gruffly.
She reached up to wipe her eyes. “He sounds like he’s having a lot of fun. Nick took him on a hike this morning, and apparently last night they ate hot dogs.” A fresh batch of tears welled up. “I miss him.”
Uncomfortable, he slid his arms into the straps of his backpack, then made sure all his weapons were secure. “We should go,” he said.
Surprise flickered across her face. “You mean you want to go on?”
“As opposed to what?” he cracked. “Turn back, thus making these past few days a total waste?”
Without waiting for a response, he shifted his rifle to his other arm and found a more comfortable grip on the machete handle. Then he headed toward the trees.
“You can trust me, you know.”
Soft and even, Eva’s voice rang with confidence.
Slowly, Tate turned to face her. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
“You can,” she insisted.
Tightening the straps of her pack, she strode toward him, and he couldn’t help but notice the way her firm breasts swayed beneath that tight white tank top. Her long-sleeved shirt was tied around her waist, and when he caught sight of the bloodstained sleeve, he bit back another string of obscenities, knowing he was reaching the end of his rope.
He had no frickin’ idea what to make of this woman. An hour ago, he’d dug a bullet out of her flesh, then stitched her up while she’d been conscious, and now here she was, standing in front of him with her shoulders set high and her eyes glittering with conviction. He didn’t doubt she was in pain—he could see it in her eyes, in the way she’d flinched when she’d slid her arm through the backpack strap. Yet she refused to give up or slow down, and that impressed the hell out of him.
“When I tracked you down, I knew you were hiding from something,” Eva went on, “but I promise you, I had no idea what it was. I don’t know why people want you dead, I don’t know if my uncle used me to lure you out of hiding—but I highly doubt that—and I don’t know who’s working with who.”
He rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you don’t know much of anything.”
“At the moment, no.” Steel hardened her blue eyes, making them glint like cobalt. “But I’ll find out.”
He arched a brow. “Oh, really.”
“I’m making you a promise right now, Tate. See this through with me, kill Hector for me, and in return, I’ll do everything in my power to figure out why you’re being hunted.”
Doubt washed over him. “What, you think you’ll hack into some magical spec-ops system and find a file labeled Why We Want to Kill Tate?”
She scowled at him. “Obviously it won’t be that easy. And I can’t promise that I’ll be able to find the truth all wrapped up in a tidy little bow, but I will try.”
Her assurances didn’t do much to appease him. Eva might have tracked him to Mexico, but that didn’t mean she was a miracle worker.
“So what do you say?” she asked. “Can we agree to trust each other, at least until we see this through? Like, ‘no more pointing guns at me’ kind of trust?”
An unwitting smile tugged at his mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Swiveling on his heel, he started to set out once more, only for Eva’s voice to stop him again.
“And, Tate?”
He half turned. “Yeah?”
“That kiss...” Her cheeks turned pink. “I’m not sure why you kissed me, but I don’t want to play games.”
Games? He decided not to mention that kissing her had been the furthest thing from a game. He hadn’t been trying to unnerve her, hadn’t been manipulating her, hadn’t been doing a damn thing but satisfying the craving that been plaguing him from the moment they’d met.
“So.” She cleared her throat. “It can’t happen again. I don’t want it to. Okay?”
He swept his gaze over her tousled black hair, rumpled clothing and bandaged arm, and decided that he’d never seen a sexier sight.
But she was right.
That one kiss had distracted him to the point where he’d nearly allowed a military unit to blow his head off. No matter how much he craved Eva, it was time to drag his head out of the gutter. Focus on revenge rather than sex.
And keep his hands—and lips—to himself.
* * *
Twenty-four hours later, Eva exhaled with relief as she and Tate finally put the jungle behind them.
The little community they stumbled into was a welcome sight. A small marketplace took residence in the center of the village, and the smell of cooking meat and rich coffee wafted through the air. Everywhere she looked, she saw people milling around, talking, laughing, haggling.
A group of tanned, dark-haired women stood by a booth offering brightly colored scarves, holding plump, toothless-grinning babies in their arms. The sight evoked a pang of longing. Hearing Rafe’s voice yesterday had been pure torture. She’d wanted so badly to abandon this mission and go home to her son, and it had taken all her willpower to refrain from doing that.
Rafe would never be safe as long as Hector lived. She simply had to remind herself of that every time she missed him.
Lifting the tin cup to her lips, Eva swallowed her coffee, enjoying the way the rich flavor teased her taste buds. Coffee was one of San Marquez’s main exports; it was in high demand, in fact, which didn’t surprise her one bit. The coffee here was to die for.
She would’ve liked to spend a few more hours in the village to rest, wash up, call her son again. But Tate wasn’t having it. For the past twenty minutes, he’d been in deep conversation with one of the male villagers who owned the rusted pickup truck Tate had been eyeballing ever since they’d arrived.
Ten minutes later, when he strode over with a set of keys in his hand, she didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Given his penchant for pushing people around, it wasn’t at all surprising that he’d persuaded the driver to part with the truck. With his big, hard body and that intense glare he’d perfected, you felt compelled to give the man anything he wanted.
Anything?
The inner taunt made her frown. It also brought a jolt of heat straight to her core.
No, darn it. She had to quit thinking about that kiss. How firm his lips had been, the seductive swirl of his tongue, the strength of his arms as he’d lifted her up and rubbed his lower body all over her aching core.
A groan lodged in her throat. God, this was not the time to be lusting over a man. Especially one as ruthless and enigmatic as Robert Tate.
“Let’s go,” Mr. Ruthless and Enigmatic ordered. “I want to make it to Valero before nightfall.”
Taking one last swig of coffee, she rose from the splintered wooden bench and followed Tate toward the pickup truck parked on the dirt several yards away.
“Why Valero?” she asked, wrinkling her forehead as she pictured the rustic mountain town. She’d spent some time in that area when she’d worked with the relief foundation, and she remembered all the towns around there being rather isolated.
“The associate I mentioned, Hastings, has a cabin there.”
“So?”
“So we’ll bunk there until I figure out the best way to infiltrate Cruz’s camp. I won’t go into this half-cocked.”
Of course he wouldn’t. Sliding into the passenger seat of the truck, she resigned herself to the possibility that it could still be days before they closed in on Hector. Tate would probably plan this attack to the last detail.
He turned the key in the ignition, and the truck’s engine chugged to life. Since her seat belt was broken, Eva ended up bouncing and sliding in the front seat as Tate sped down the bumpy dirt road leading out of the village. Both the windows were rolled down, and the air was cooler here near the mountains. Still humid, but not as suffocating, and the breeze that met her face when she peered out the window was quite refreshing.
Tate expertly shifted gears as the manual transmission truck traveled along the two-lane road that eventually turned from dirt to gravel. “How’s the arm?” he asked, shooting her a sidelong look.
She gingerly touched the bandage covering her upper arm, a tad impressed that she’d completely forgotten all about her bullet wound. She’d been diligently changing the dressing, shooting herself up with antibiotics and popping Tylenol every few hours to alleviate the pain, and the dull throb was nothing more than background noise now. She felt the pain only when Tate reminded her of it.
“It’s fine,” she replied. Then she grinned. “I’ve never been shot before. Now I’ll have a cool story to tell Rafe.” She paused. “When he turns eighteen, maybe.”
Tate chuckled.
The husky sound made her heart skip a beat, a reaction for which she quickly berated herself. “I assume you’ve been shot before,” she said wryly.
He shrugged. “A few times.”
Shifting her gaze, she focused on his chiseled profile. “What made you decide to enlist in the army?”
“It was my ticket out.”
She didn’t have to ask out of what. “What about your brother?” she said carefully. “He was, what? Five years younger than you?”
The air in the pickup cab grew cold, something she hadn’t thought possible in this sweltering South American climate. From the way Tate’s stubble-covered jaw went tighter than a drum, he clearly didn’t appreciate the mention of his younger brother.
“Yes,” he said stiffly.
“So he would have been thirteen when you enlisted.” She frowned. “Did you leave him behind?”
His head swiveled, and the look of revulsion on his handsome face caught her off guard. “You honestly think I’d leave my kid brother in the clutches of our abusive bastard of a father?”
Eva faltered. “I don’t know what to think. I have no idea what you’re capable of, Tate.”
And yet she didn’t believe he’d do that to his brother, which he confirmed with his next words. “He came with me when I left Boston,” Tate muttered. “We had an aunt in North Carolina, and I convinced her to let Will stay with her while I went through basic training.”
“That was nice of her.”
He snorted. “Sure, Auntie Carol was a real saint. That arrangement cost me every penny I had.”
Sorrow thickened her throat. “Your aunt demanded you pay her to take care of her own nephew?”
“Yep.”
“What happened when Will came of age?”
“He enlisted, too.” Tate’s voice went hoarse. “When I was asked to head up a spec-op unit, I requested that Will be assigned to my team.”
“So the two of you stayed close over the years.”
“He’s—was—the only person I’ve ever been close to.”
She choked down a lump of sadness. “I’m sorry for your loss, Tate.”
He offered another one of those careless shrugs, which she was beginning to see right through. “S’all good, sweetheart. I’ve made my peace with it.”
An incredulous laugh slipped out. “No, you haven’t. You’re currently risking your neck just to exact revenge on the man who killed your brother.”
He laughed right back. “Talk about the pot and kettle. You’re here for revenge, too.”
“Maybe,” she agreed, “but I’m not pretending to be at peace with what I’ve lost.”
“My brother’s dead, Eva. I have made peace with that.”
“Okay.” She tilted her head. “What happens after you avenge Will? You go back to hiding?”
“Yes. At least until I figure out why I’m a wanted man.”
The reminder had her biting her lip in thought. “I still don’t get it,” she murmured, her brain kicking up a gear. “You must have seen something during that mission. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Nothing makes sense,” he grumbled. “And I didn’t see a damn thing.”
“Tell me again what happened.”
He released a sigh, his green eyes focusing on the road ahead. The brown peaks of the mountains loomed in the horizon, making a seriously pretty picture against the cloudless blue sky and shining yellow sun. But there was nothing pretty about any of this. What awaited them in those mountains was ugly. Very, very ugly.
“Tate?” she prompted when he still didn’t answer.
“I already told you,” he said in a tone overloaded with frustration. “When we infiltrated the camp, the doctor was dead and—”
“How did he die?”
“Bullet between the eyes, courtesy of Cruz’s rifle.”
She flinched. “Okay. And the villagers?”
“The rebels burned the bodies.” His jaw set in a grim line. “Hopefully they all got bullets between their eyes, too. I’d hate to think that son of a bitch burned them alive.”
Queasiness churned in her belly. Banishing the horrifying images Tate had brought to mind, she gulped down the acid lining her throat and said, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would Hector kill the doctor and burn the villagers?”
“Who knows. Maybe he knew the U.S. would never negotiate with him and decided to cut his losses. Or maybe someone alerted him that a military force was closing in on him, so again, he decided to cut his losses. Trust me, I plan on asking Cruz the very same questions before I slit his throat.”
A chill skidded up her spine. God, that cold, blunt statement terrified her, and as much as she hated doing it, she couldn’t help but compare Tate to the very man he was itching to kill. Hector had no qualms about slitting throats, either, and just like Tate, he considered it his duty to exact revenge on his enemies.
The sad truth caused a sense of weariness to wash over her. Men were ruthless creatures. Honor, loyalty, vengeance, justice—sometimes she wondered if the male sex just used those concepts as excuses to be violent, tried to give some legitimacy to their primal desire to kill and destroy.
“And afterward?” she said quietly. “After you kill Hector and confront the people who want you dead, what will you do then?”
“Disappear.”
“And live the rest of your life alone?”
“Yes.”
“That’s very sad, Tate.”
He went quiet for a beat before letting out a husky laugh. “Don’t waste your sympathy on me, Eva. I want to be alone. I prefer it. Hell, if it weren’t for Will, I would have waved goodbye to the world a long time ago.”
She gasped. “You mean, killed yourself?”
He laughed again, sounding far more amused this time. “Of course not. I definitely would’ve left civilization behind, though. Built a cabin in the woods or a shack on the beach, and lived the rest of my life in peace and quiet. On second thought, I still might do that.”
“That’s...sad,” she said again.
“You know what they say, one man’s hell is another man’s heaven.”
* * *
The cabin was actually cozier than Eva expected it to be. Made of weathered logs, the A-frame structure was nestled in the trees, almost entirely hidden from view, and a good ten miles outside of Valero, the little town where Tate had stashed their pickup truck. They’d trekked it to the cabin on foot, reaching it just as the sun set and the air grew considerably cooler.
Eva sighed in relief as she followed Tate toward the front door. The past four days had been nonstop walking, and though she was in good shape, she looked forward to the rest. Tate had said the cabin even had indoor plumbing, and she could not wait to take a shower.
“Stay out here,” he ordered, swiftly bringing his rifle up as he approached the door.
Although she was dying to immerse herself in some semblance of civilization, she patiently waited for Tate to assess the interior of the cabin. A few minutes later, she heard a soft whistle, then his gruff voice saying, “We’re good, sweetheart. Come in.”
Sweetheart. She didn’t know why, but her heart did a dumb little flip whenever the endearment left that man’s lips.
Make that mocking endearment, she had to amend. But still, even knowing that those two syllables were most likely a taunt didn’t squash the desire that hearing them inspired.
As they entered the small main room, Eva dropped her backpack on the hardwood floor and glanced around. Her gaze encountered sparse furnishings, bare walls and no personal touches—the place looked uninhabited, which apparently wasn’t the case since Tate said his former army buddy had been living here for years.
“Where is this Hastings?” she asked warily, continuing to inspect her surroundings. A minuscule kitchen took up the other side of the room, and she deduced that the narrow corridor behind her led to the bedrooms.
“Picking up some supplies for us,” Tate replied.
Right. She remembered something of that nature being discussed when Tate contacted his buddy via the sat phone. Nevertheless, she didn’t particularly trust Tate’s mysterious colleague. All she knew was that he was a former Green Beret turned expatriate who now lived in a cabin in the middle of the wilderness. Needless to say, she wasn’t sure how comfortable she felt about any of this.
Tate must have sensed her hesitation. “Relax. Ben is a good guy. He can be trusted.”
“I’ll decide that for myself, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He shot her a crooked grin. “The jury’s still out on how much we trust each other, so what’s one more untrustworthy companion?”
“I’m really starting to hate that word,” she grumbled. “Trust.”
“Deadliest word in the English language,” he said with a shrug.
Tate leaned his rifle against the back of the ratty polyester couch, then slid his pistol from his waistband, and he made such a sexy, imposing sight that Eva couldn’t tear her gaze off him. Everything about him excited her—the muscular body, clad in cargo pants and a snug white T-shirt streaked with dirt. The thick beard growth covering his strong jaw, lending him a lethal air. The ease with which he held his weapon, the soundless way he moved despite the heavy boots on his feet.
The dark, seductive smile he flashed when he caught her eyeing him...
“Oh, sweetheart, if you keep looking at me like that, I will kiss you again. You know that, right?”
Heat danced through her body, bringing a flush to her cheeks and an ache to her core. “We already agreed that wasn’t going to happen,” she reminded him.
He set his pistol on the uneven table next to the sofa, his eyes downright predatory as he made his way toward her. “We agreed to no such thing,” he said, that hot gaze glued to her mouth.
Eva’s pulse raced. “I told you I didn’t want it.”
“You lied,” he countered.
She gulped. Hard.
Tate’s gaze continued to eat her up as if she were a juicy steak he couldn’t wait to dig his teeth into. “I have no idea what to do with you, Eva,” he said after a moment.
His voice came out rough and rueful, and the odd glimmer of apprehension she saw in his gorgeous green eyes was absolutely puzzling.
“What do you mean?” Her voice came out as a squeak, which was super annoying.
“I mean... Ah, hell, I don’t know what I mean.” His massive chest heaved as he released a breath. “All I know is that I’m going to kiss you again.”
Her words came out squeaky again. “I don’t want that.”
“Liar.”
And then he called her bluff and slanted his mouth over hers in a deep, unapologetic kiss.
Yep, she’d lied. She did want this. She wanted it desperately, and as his sensual mouth coaxed and teased and kissed her into oblivion, she realized she’d never, ever wanted to kiss anyone more than she wanted to kiss Tate.
His spicy, intoxicating scent enveloped her senses, and the persistent strokes of his tongue unleashed a rush of pleasure that heated every erogenous zone in her body. With one strong hand, Tate yanked at the elastic band holding her ponytail and let her hair loose, tangling his fingers in her long tresses and angling her head so he could kiss her deeper, harder, more possessively.
He slid one hand to her throat, swept his thumb over the pulse point there, then chuckled.
“Your heart’s beating fast,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling her lips. Both his hands traveled down to her chest. “And your nipples are hard.”
Eva gasped as he squeezed her breasts. When he toyed with her nipples over her shirt and bra, she nearly passed out from the wild pleasure that rocketed through her.
“So who’s playing games now?” he rasped. “You want this as badly as I do. At least have the guts to admit it.”
He was right.
She wanted him.
She craved him. Like heroin. Or something equally addictive.
“Fine,” she choked out. “I want this. I want you. God, I want—”
Click.
She froze midsentence, as the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked echoed in the room.
Battling the tingle of fear, she shifted her gaze to the door and found herself staring down the barrel of the gun.