Everything happened so fast Eva had no time to react. One minute she and Tate were talking in the living room, the next, Ben was flying through the door with a hard expression and tense demands.
“Get your pack,” Tate barked at her when he noticed she was still rooted in place.
Snapping out of her bewilderment, she sprinted toward the bedroom where she’d left her backpack. She jammed yesterday’s clothes into the bag and grabbed the handgun she’d left on the pile of books by the table beneath the window. She idled only long enough to pull her hair into a tight ponytail and shove the gun in her waistband, then hurried back to the main room, where she found Ben zipping up a duffel and Tate shoving a clip into his rifle.
“Who exactly is on their way here?” she demanded when neither man so much as glanced her way.
Tate checked his extra magazines before shoving them in his pack. “Military. They were asking about us around town.”
She swore. “How did they know we were here?”
Slinging his rifle over one shoulder, and the strap of his backpack over the other, Tate shot her a hard look. “Someone must have tipped them off.”
The implication hit her hard. “You think it was me?”
“You were on the computer all morning...” He let the remark hang.
Indignation ripped through her. “Yeah, helping you! I didn’t tell anyone where we were, Tate.”
Even though they’d already determined that sex had nothing to do with trust, his lack of faith in her was still upsetting. And yet it wasn’t surprising in the slightest.
What did surprise her were his next words.
“I believe you.”
“You do?” she said warily.
He shrugged. “You’ve got nothing to gain by tipping off the military. Not when we’re this close to getting Cruz.”
It wasn’t a declaration of trust, but she’d take it. “So then how did they find us?” she asked again.
“It’s not improbable that they tracked us down. The unit in the jungle was tracking us for a while before they attacked—they must have reported our general movements to whoever they were checking in with, and you’ve got to assume reinforcements were dispatched after that unit went AWOL.”
“So someone else picked up our trail?” she said, feeling queasy as she followed Tate to the door. “And tracked us here?”
“I wasn’t making much of an effort to cover our tracks. Besides, it’s common sense we’d end up here. Valero is the first town you hit once you reach the end of the river.”
“And I’m the only American living in these parts,” Ben added in a grim voice. “If Tate was turning to anyone for help, it’d be me, and these men know that.”
All talk ended, leaving Eva to panic in silence as she followed the men out the door. Outside, Tate shouldered the duffel bag Ben had brought back from town, the contents of which had yet to be divulged to her.
Ben tossed Tate a set of keys before stepping up to bestow his buddy with one of those macho-man side hugs. “ATV’s stashed beyond those trees. You remember the coordinates I gave you?”
Tate nodded. “We’ll see you there in two hours.”
Eva swiveled her head to Ben. “You’re not coming with us?”
“We’ll rendezvous later. I’ve gotta deal with the soldiers.”
She felt even queasier. “Deal with them how?”
The big African-American smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the morning sunlight. “I’m not gonna off them, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Don’t worry, baby-cakes, I’ll just send them on their merry way—and far away from you and Robert.”
Relief trickled through her. “Okay.” On impulse, she bounded over to Ben and threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “Be safe, okay?”
Surprise and unease flickered in his brown eyes, but after a moment of stiffness, he returned the embrace. “You, too, Eva.”
Five minutes later, she and Tate were on an ATV, bouncing through the woods and putting miles behind them and Ben’s cabin.
Though not as noisy and treacherous as the jungle, the mountainous terrain offered its fair share of obstacles. Thick brush, rotting logs and grand trees limited their path options, and the bugs were as plentiful and relentless as in the jungle, slapping Eva’s face and hissing by her ears as Tate kept a solid foot on the gas and sped them to safety.
Each bump in the trail sent a throb of pain to her bandaged arm, and she readjusted her grip around Tate’s waist, pressing her face between his shoulder blades and holding on tight. As they cut a path through the brush, the duffel bag he’d strapped to the back of the ATV kept jostling her knee. She wondered what was in it. Something important obviously, seeing as it had taken Ben all night to “procure” it.
At the thought of Ben, another tremor of panic skittered up her spine. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” She shouted over the wind so Tate could hear her.
He didn’t respond, but she felt his back stiffen against her breasts. He would probably never say it out loud, but she knew he hadn’t liked leaving his friend behind to deal with the impending arrival of those soldiers.
She didn’t doubt that Ben Hastings could handle himself—look at the guy, for Pete’s sake—but she also couldn’t help but remember the way that last military unit had pounced on them in the jungle. No hesitation, no attempt at civilized talk; those soldiers had been sent to kill Tate, and most likely her, too. What if the men who arrived to question Ben were of that same mentality?
She said a quick prayer for Ben’s safety, knowing there was no point in worrying. At least not until they reached those coordinates. The two men must have arranged the meeting place when she’d been gathering her gear.
Nearly an hour later, Tate finally slowed the ATV, and Eva lifted her head to examine their surroundings. They were still amid the forested landscape, sheltered by a canopy of green, but the path was nearly impassable now. They’d been deeper inland before, but now they hugged the edge of the mountain, traveling alongside a steep, rocky slope where the foliage was sparser. Soon the ATV wouldn’t be able to fit on any trail, and she wasn’t surprised when Tate killed the ignition and told her to hop off.
“What’ll we do with the ATV?” she asked as he unloaded their packs and Ben’s duffel. “We can’t just leave it on the side of the mountain.”
“We won’t.” He swept his gaze around, squinting in the bright sun. After a moment, he cursed, dug his aviator sunglasses from his backpack and shoved them on the bridge of his nose. “Okay, check the GPS while I stash the ATV.”
He rattled off the coordinates, which Eva had to memorize quickly because he only recited them once, and then he was gone, reversing the vehicle the way they’d come and disappearing into the brush.
She rummaged in Tate’s pack until she found the portable GPS device she’d seen him use when they’d been in the jungle. She typed in the longitude and latitude he’d given her, and a moment later, the location appeared in the form of a red dot on the small digital screen. The green dot was their current location, and she gave a pleased nod at how close the two dots were to one another.
“We’re two miles away,” she told Tate when he reemerged from the brush ten minutes later.
He took the GPS, studied the display and offered a nod of his own. “Good. Let’s book it, then. Won’t take long to get there.”
Eva fell in line behind him, not voicing a single protest about the two-mile walk. It was blistering hot out, but she wasn’t going to complain about that, either, not when they were so close to Hector she could practically taste the freedom.
With the rugged terrain, it took them twenty-five minutes at a steady walk to reach the coordinates. At first sight, there was nothing special about the area, just a bunch of boulders and grass, hilly slopes marked by thorny shrubs and colorful wildflowers, but Tate seemed pleased with what he saw.
It wasn’t until he pointed it out that Eva discerned the mouth of the cave hidden on a rocky incline ten yards away.
Taking out his pistol, Tate took a step toward the slope, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Wait here. Let me check it out.”
She nodded, busying herself by sipping from her canteen while Tate ascended the hill to investigate. A few moments later, he let out a sharp whistle, which she took as her cue to join him.
Pebbles and twigs crunched beneath her hiking boots as she climbed up to the cave. Tate appeared at the top of the hill and extended his hand to help her up, and the moment their fingers touched, warmth seeped into her hand and spread in every direction.
Her heart skipped a beat when his mossy-green eyes landed on her mouth. She knew he was contemplating kissing her, and she nearly opened her mouth to blurt out the words do it. But at the last second, she bit back the demand. A good thing, too, because Tate’s gaze abruptly shifted and his hand dropped from hers.
Message received.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t disappointed, though. In fact, disappointment had pretty much been her mood of the day, ever since she’d woken up to find Tate sneaking out of the room without so much as a good-morning kiss.
But what had she really expected? That one night of sex would lead to something long lasting? That they now shared a deep, meaningful connection? Of course it wouldn’t, and of course they didn’t. They’d given in to their carnal urges, enjoyed each other’s bodies, and now it was business as usual: two people with a common goal, zero mutual trust and no future.
The cave’s entrance was only four feet high or so, and Tate had to duck in order to walk inside. Eva trailed after him, cautious as she stepped into the shadows. Rays of sunlight sliced into the mouth of the cave, casting a weak glow over the rocky walls and dirt floor.
Fortunately, it didn’t look as though they were sharing the space with any other living creatures, though the musky scent of dung in the air increased her wariness.
“Mountain lion,” Tate supplied. “But the droppings are old. Ditto on the tracks, so you don’t need to worry about any surprise visitors. We won’t be here long, anyway.”
The reminder made her glance at her watch, which showed that an hour and a half had passed since they’d left the cabin. Ben would be here soon, and then they’d need to be on the move again. And fast, depending on what happened with those soldiers back there.
“Are you hungry?” Tate asked, bending down to unzip his pack.
“Not really.” They’d split a loaf of bread and a brick of soft Brie for breakfast, and though several hours had passed since, the excitement of the past couple hours had stolen any appetite she might have had.
Tate pulled out a package of beef jerky, tore off a strip and popped it in his mouth. He slid down the cave wall and sat on the ground, stretching his long muscular legs in front of him.
After a beat, she sat on the wall across from him and searched his face through the shadows. “Ben will be okay, right?” she said, trying to ignore the wave of anxiety that refused to subside.
His expression revealed nothing, but he sounded confident as he replied, “Ben can take care of himself.”
“But what do you think the soldiers will do to him?”
“They’ll ask a bunch of questions, maybe hurl out some threats.” Tate shrugged. “They want me, not Ben, and once they confirm that I’m not at the cabin, they’ll move on.”
A cloud of annoyance and frustration swirled through her. “Doesn’t it drive you crazy, not knowing why people are after you?”
“Yep.”
“Can’t you just...I don’t know, call your former commander and demand an explanation?”
“You think I didn’t already do that?” he answered dryly. “Once the third member of my unit was found dead—a mugging gone awry, of course—I put two and two together and started to see the pattern. I called my former CO with my concerns, which he brushed off.”
“So you think he’s in on it?”
“He’s gotta be. I contacted him again after Berk died—Stephen Berkowski, a damn good soldier, the fifth and final one to die. My CO told me to quit asking questions and accused me of being paranoid. A few days later, someone nearly blew my head off on the street. So yeah, I think Commander Hahn is absolutely aware of what’s happening and why.”
Eva frowned, feeling angry on Tate’s behalf. “Have you considered kidnapping this Hahn and torturing him until he tells you what the heck is going on?”
Tate laughed. “I’d considered it, yes, but Nick and Seb talked me out of it.”
At the mention of Tate’s men, a pang of longing tugged at her heart, and the image of her little boy’s blue eyes and mischievous grin flashed across her brain.
“When can we call Nick again?” she asked. “I haven’t spoken to my son in two days.”
“Nick would’ve contacted us if anything was wrong.”
“I know that, but I still want to hear Rafe’s voice and tell him that his mother loves him.” Her lips tightened. “Is that too much to ask?”
Tate arched his brows. “I didn’t force you to leave your son behind, Eva. Going after Cruz was your idea, remember?”
Her shoulder sagged. “I know. I’m sorry. I just miss my son, that’s all.” Before she could stop them, tears pricked her eyes. “He’s all I have, Tate. For the past three years, he’s been the only constant in my life. I can’t see my parents, my family, my friends.” A laugh popped out. “I’m twenty-five years old, and my only friend and confidant is a three-year-old boy. How sad is that?”
“You’re still young,” he said roughly. “You’ve got a lot of time, Eva. Once you get Cruz off your back, you can start over. You’ll have your family and friends back in your life, and you’ll make new friends, fall in love, you know, all that stuff normal people do.”
His last comment brought a smile to her lips. “Let me guess, you don’t consider yourself one of those normal people, do you?”
“Me? Normal?” He shot her a self-deprecating grin. “Baby, I’m thirty-four years old, on the run from my own government, living in a fortress in Mexico and trekking across this godforsaken country to murder a man. Tell me, is that normal?”
Despite the dismal facts he’d recited, she had to giggle. “Definitely not.”
They both fell silent after that and Eva used the time to mull over everything Tate had said, coming to the conclusion that it probably was for the best if they didn’t sleep together again. His life was even more complicated than hers, and he was right—nothing was normal about his situation.
But for her, normalcy was almost within her grasp. Once Hector was gone, Rafe would be safe. She would be safe. And the two of them could start over, just like Tate said.
The longer the silence dragged on, the sleepier Eva became. The darkness of the cave made her eyelids droop and her limbs loosen, and she must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, someone was shaking her shoulders.
Blinking in disorientation, her eyes focused to find Tate bending over her, a grave look on his handsome face.
“Did I fall asleep?” she mumbled, sitting up straighter and rubbing her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, and I don’t know.” His voice sounded grim. “I’m heading back to the cabin.”
His announcement snapped her into a state of full alertness. “What? Why?”
“Because Ben still hasn’t shown up. It’s an hour past the time we were supposed to meet.”
“Maybe he’s just late,” she said feebly.
“Maybe.” Tate rose to his full height, and his head was inches from bumping the ceiling. “I want you to stay here while I find out what the holdup is.”
She hopped to her feet, panicked. “You’re leaving me?”
“Only for an hour or two. I’m going to do some recon on the cabin and see what’s up.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“No.” His tone brooked no argument. “You’re staying here. You’ll only slow me down.”
Indignation hardened her jaw. “Have I slowed you down so far?”
He ignored the question. “You’re not coming.” He abruptly turned away from her and grabbed his rifle. “I’m leaving the packs and duffel here. If you get hungry, there’s a ton of MREs in my pack. Beef teriyaki or veggie bean-and-rice burritos—take your pick. But don’t start a fire.”
Eva knew there was no protesting or changing his mind. He was a man on a mission—his broad shoulders set high, his jaw tight, green eyes gleaming with fortitude. Yet beneath the commanding demeanor, she sensed something else. Desperation? Fear? She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew without a doubt that Tate was not as calm and composed as he was acting.
He was worried about his friend, and frankly, as she glanced at her watch and noted the time, she was getting pretty worried, too. She hadn’t known Ben for very long, but she liked the man, and he wouldn’t even be involved in any of this in the first place if it weren’t for her.
As she watched Tate go, she bit her lip and prayed that Ben was all right.
Because if he wasn’t, she knew Tate would hold her responsible for it.
Hell, she’d hold herself responsible.
* * *
Death was in the air.
Tate couldn’t explain it, but the moment he neared the woods behind the cabin, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach like a cement block and he knew he was too late.
Maybe it was the silence—the forest was too damn quiet for his liking—or it could be the coppery scent in the breeze, though he suspected he wasn’t actually smelling blood.
Just anticipating it.
Keeping a solid grip on his rifle, he positioned himself at the edge of the rocky slope that would provide him with a better view of the cabin. The rear of the structure looked innocuous. No soldiers, no Ben, no sign of foul play, yet Tate’s instincts continued to buzz, persistent and ominous.
Moving soundlessly, he crept through the trees and headed for the front of the cabin. His breathing was steady, his pulse regular—neither of those vitals changed, not even when the gruesome sight assaulted his vision.
But a part of him died. Right there, on the spot.
“Goddamn it, Ben,” he mumbled, as hot agony streaked up his throat to choke him.
Ben’s body was sprawled on the bottom steps of the porch, one lifeless arm flung out, stiff fingers still wrapped around a 9 mm that he probably hadn’t even had a chance to use. Blood from the bullet hole in Ben’s forehead continued to drip onto the dirt, forming a crimson puddle that made Tate see red. Literally and figuratively.
But he wasn’t surprised. Oh, no. There had only been one possible explanation for Ben being a no-show at the rendezvous point. But hell, those soldiers hadn’t even given him a chance. They must have stalked up to the cabin and shot him point-blank. Had they even asked him about Tate’s whereabouts before they blew his brains out?
A fire of rage scorched a path through his veins. His gaze stayed glued to his friend’s dead body. Damn it. God-frickin-damn it. He’d known Ben since they were eighteen years old, for Chrissake. Other than Will, Ben was the only person Tate had trusted implicitly and without question, and now he was gone. All because Tate had involved him in this foolish quest to kill Hector Cruz.
He wanted to go to his friend. Give him a proper burial, touch his hand, try to express how much Ben had meant to him all these years. But he couldn’t. His gut told him the soldiers who’d killed Ben were long gone, but from his vantage point, he couldn’t get a good look at the cabin’s windows. For all he knew, those bastards were lying in wait inside, hoping Tate would walk right into an ambush like some kind of novice.
Ben will understand.
Right. Ben would understand that his only friend had no choice but to leave his dead body lying there to rot in the sun.
Fury skyrocketed through him.
“No,” he said through clenched teeth. “No frickin’ way.”
He couldn’t just leave his buddy there, couldn’t let him become food for scavengers. If an ambush awaited him, then so be it. He refused to disrespect Ben, not after everything the man had done for him.
Raising his rifle, Tate emerged from the brush, hyperaware that he was out in the open and that any amateur with a sniper rifle could pick him off. To his relief, no bullets plowed him down as he made his way toward his friend’s body.
He was ten yards away when he noticed another pool of blood on the dirt, and a wave of satisfaction swelled in his gut. Ben had managed to fire a shot before he’d died. The size of the puddle hinted that the recipient of Ben’s bullet had lost a decent amount of blood. Good.
Tire tracks also streaked the dirt, which told him that the soldiers had come and gone in a military-issued jeep. It was a reassuring sign—perhaps nobody was waiting for him in the cabin after all.
When he neared his fallen comrade, he found himself unable to keep it together. His pulse suddenly went off-kilter, his throat tightened to the point of suffocation, and it felt as if someone was pinching his chest with rusty pliers.
Ben’s dark brown eyes were open. Expressionless, and yet Tate could swear his friend was glaring at him in accusation.
The only way to get through the next ten minutes was to shut down. Mentally. Emotionally. Moving on autopilot, he carefully dragged Ben’s massive body around the side of the cabin, toward the edge of the woods where the dirt wasn’t as compact.
He didn’t breathe, barely blinked, just located the shovel from the tin shed behind the house and dug a grave for his friend as if it were something he did every day. The whole process took an hour. One hour for four feet of earth to dislodge from the ground, for Ben’s body to slide into that hole, for that dirt to cover it, for Tate to construct a cross from two branches.
One last thing before he could walk away. He dug a hand in his pocket and fished out the silver chain he’d removed from Ben’s beefy neck. Dog tags, remnants of Ben’s army days.
Looping the tags around the makeshift cross, Tate stared at the grave for several long moments before finally wrenching his gaze away.
His friend was dead. Another casualty of the war he’d found himself fighting. A war he didn’t even know why he was fighting.
But he knew one thing, and that was that Ben Hastings was not going to die in vain.
The San Marquez military was clearly in cahoots with the United States in tracking Tate and his men down, but a bunch of soldier grunts weren’t calling the shots. Someone with more clout, someone of importance, was giving the orders. That someone had ordered the unit in the jungle to shoot first and ask questions later, and now they’d done the same thing again with Ben.
Well, Tate was going to track that someone down, and when he did, maybe he’d take a page out of these bastards’ book and do the exact same thing.
Don’t ask questions.
Just shoot to kill.