Chapter Eighty-Nine

Four Months Later

Colombia, South America

“Santi. Dame otro trago.” Waiting for his third drink, Rory brooded at the bar of a dinky place somewhere in southern Colombia.

Due to a trail they’d picked up at Harlem’s Bar in California, he was now in this hellhole checking out yet another obscure sighting of Tamara Ormond, AKA Christina del Valle and a whole bunch of other aliases.

She was a damn ghost.

Fucking child-soldiers!

He’d been back on the job for eight weeks now and had visited places he’d just as soon forget. This being one of them. He had no idea what Tamara Ormond was doing in this part of the world, but she was actively erasing any and all traces of herself. And she did it damn well. She had vanished again.

It was frustrating as hell.

He stared into his empty glass. Upon arrival, he had hoped that the vile stuff would do what four months hadn’t managed to achieve—forget Nina.

It wasn’t working. Random details of his weeks with her kept churning through his mind, no matter what he did. The memories had actually become stronger during his long recuperation at the naval hospital in Key West. There was just no stopping them.

The thing that bothered him most was that he remembered nothing of the days she had spent by his hospital bedside. She’d stubbornly stayed until the doctors could assure her that he was going to pull through…or so the admiral had told him.

Nurses who had come and gone during those long weeks had all been more than happy to tell him about the scene she had made when he was first brought in. Apparently, she had threatened the doctors with bodily harm unless they saved his life.

If she hadn’t deserted him afterward, the thought would have made him smile.

What definitely didn’t make him smile was the fact that Creed’s body had never been recovered in the aftermath of the explosion.

The possibility that Jonathan Creed was still out there should have made the admiral immediately stash her somewhere safe. But she had insisted on staying with him at the hospital until his grandparents arrived.

Insanity! Sweet, but insanity nonetheless. She should never have risked herself like that. Not for him. He had fought too hard to keep her alive.

But that was past. Now she was someplace safe…far away from him.

He sighed.

Throughout weeks of painful physical therapy, his grandmother had fussed incessantly, and his grandfather had been stoic in his steadfast support. Leo had been there, as well, first at the hospital and then at his grandparents’ place after he was discharged. They’d spent a couple of weekends fishing and talking before Rory went back to work.

Leo had known from the start that Rory had fallen hard for Nina. His friend had waited all of three minutes on their first fishing trip before asking what he was going to do about it.

The question had taken him by surprise that day, and he’d brushed it off, but it had returned again and again through the course of the weeks that followed.

Four whole months had gone by…without a single word from her. The only reassurance he had was what Creighton had told him. She was doing well in the company of Morgan and Cade, at an undisclosed location.

Rory missed her.

A lot.

Each and every one of her personalities had sneaked up and claimed a piece of his heart. And those few nights holding her close… God. Thinking about that was actual torture. There were times when he wished he hadn’t been so damn stubborn and just given in to the temptation of making love to her. The thought of what might have been kept him up at night and deprived him of sleep, but in the end, he knew that he had done the right thing. She had been far too fragile for them to complicate matters by adding sex to the mix.

All the wondering made him sloppy at his job, however. Something he couldn’t afford when his life was constantly on the line.

Now, with all the months past, he had finally come to a decision.

He’d had enough. He wanted her back.

As soon as he returned to the States he was going to find her. He’d tell her how he felt. Beg her to give him a chance. To roll the dice and see what would come of a relationship between them.

Shaking off the miserable thoughts once again, he glanced around. Here in this small town in the Colombian mountains, a foreigner shouldn’t ever stop watching his back. It didn’t help that Rory didn’t blend in. Even slouched on a bar stool, he was still a head taller than the locals. In fact, he was about as inconspicuous as a wildfire in a cornfield.

But that was okay. Lots of Americans came here to disappear.

At the moment, he was waiting for his guide, sent to him by Admiral Creighton. The latest sighting of Tamara Ormond involved trekking into the jungle. Something no sane man would do on his own.

He checked his watch. The damn guide was late.

With his already damp sleeve, he swiped at his perspiring forehead. The air was oppressing, humid, and annoyed him to no end. What the hell was he doing here, anyway? He had better things to do. Tamara Ormond’s trail was getting colder by the second.

Where the hell was his guide?

He tossed a wad of pesos on the bar and emptied his glass in a single gulp.

“Having a party all alone, gringo?” drawled a heavily accented female voice.

A warmly tanned, satiny arm appeared in his peripheral vision. It was miraculously devoid of the abundant perspiration that was making his thin cotton clothes stick to his body.

Damn locals. He was really starting to dislike this place.

Though the woman’s husky voice was friendly enough, he refused to look at her. He was well beyond feeling hospitable to the town’s plentiful hookers who’d been swarming around him from the moment he arrived. He ignored her and glanced at his watch again.

“Not in a friendly mood, no?” the woman asked, undaunted by his lack of response. She settled on a stool beside him and tossed some money on the counter, ordering beers and tequilas for them both. “I cannot blame you. I am watching you for a while, and I think the gringo is waiting for someone special. I am right, sí?”

“Lady—” he began, pinching the spot between his bleary eyes.

She ignored the interruption. “I think you are looking for a guide, no? You are lucky. I am guide. I know this country like the back of my hand—like you gringos say.” She laughed softly.

Something made him look at the woman sitting beside him.

His jaw dropped.

And he lost his breath.

Modestly voluptuous and long-legged, her trim hourglass figure had curves that were all woman. A wild tumble of curly black hair fell down to brush her bare shoulders. An olive-green top hugged her breasts, leaving a lot of skin exposed. Loose-fitting camouflage cargo pants hung low on her hips, allowing a peek of her belly button. Heavy army boots, scuffed but fairly new, were poised on the rung of her barstool.

She was every man’s fantasy.

The smile she gave him was all gentleness. “You look surprised. Were you expecting someone else, querido?”

Clearing his throat of the lump that had formed during his inspection of her delectable form, he replied huskily, “I was expecting my guide, N.J. Cruz.”

“Right. Nina Josephina Cruz. A pleasure to meet you.”