Accidental Commando
“Emily, get down from there!”
She turned her head and saw Tyler striding through the open door to her room. She returned her gaze to the window. “I can’t see him. I don’t know how he could have gotten away so fast.”
“Now!” he said, clamping his hands on her hips. He lifted her off the window seat and swung her to the floor.
“You’ve got no reason to yell at me! I stayed put this time,” Emily said.
“You were making yourself a target.”
“I was trying to get a picture of him.”
“Your story’s not worth your life,” Tyler said.
“It wasn’t for my story. Having a photo of
el Gato
would help your mission.”
“Dammit, Emily. You’ve got to be more careful.”
The worry on his face was unmistakable. She understood how he felt—they’d been through this before. She put her palm on his cheek. “Tyler…”
He steadied her face between his hands and kissed her.
It knocked her breathless.
Dear Reader,
Ever since I wrote EYE OF THE BEHOLDER for my first
Eagle Squadron
series, I’ve been eager to return to the island paradise of Rocama that I created for the book. The tiny country has prospered during the years since Eagle Squadron destroyed the drug cartel that had corrupted the government. Tourism has become a major industry. Thus, when I began plotting ACCIDENTAL COMMANDO, Rocama seemed like the perfect spot to send my heroine on her honeymoon, especially since she was going without a groom. What better place for a jilted bride to heal her heart?
Of course, Emily Wright fought me every step of the way. She didn’t believe her heart needed to heal. She was through with men, finished with love. All she wanted was peace and quiet. She definitely didn’t want to get mixed up with a team of Delta Force commandos who needed her help to stop an assassin. So she fought Sergeant Tyler Matheson every step of the way, too.
Like Emily, Tyler wasn’t looking for romance, he only wanted to complete his mission. He certainly didn’t want to choose between his duty and a stubborn, troublesome woman….
I love giving characters what they
think
they don’t want!
Happy reading,
Ingrid
INGRID WEAVER
Accidental Commando
Books by Ingrid Weaver
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
True Blue
#570
True Lies
#660
On the Way to a Wedding…
#761
Engaging Sam
#875
What the Baby Knew
#939
Cinderella’s Secret Agent
#1076
Fugitive Hearts
#1101
Under the King’s Command
#1184
*
Eye of the Beholder
#1204
*
Seven Days to Forever
#1216
*
Aim for the Heart
#1258
In Destiny’s Shadow
#1329
†
The Angel and the Outlaw
#1352
†
Loving the Lone Wolf
#1369
†
Romancing the Renegade
#1389
**
Her Baby’s Bodyguard
#1604
**
Accidental Commando
#1614
Silhouette Special Edition
The Wolf and the Woman’s Touch
#1056
Silhouette Books
Family Secrets
“The Insider”
INGRID WEAVER
Ingrid Weaver propped an old manual typewriter on her children’s playroom table to write her first novel. Twenty-six books later there’s a computer in place of the typewriter and a RITA
®
Award on the corner of her grown-up-sized desk, but the joy she found in creating her first story hasn’t changed. “I write because life is full of possibilities,” Ingrid says, “and the best ones are those that we make.” Ingrid lives on a farm in southern Ontario, where she gardens in the summer and knits in the winter. You can visit Ingrid’s Web site at www.ingridweaver.com.
To Mark,
who still makes life an adventure.
Contents
Chapter 1
S
ergeant First Class Tyler Matheson lifted the scope away from his eye, ran his thumb around the rubber eyepiece collar to dry off the sweat, then flattened himself against the courthouse roof to sight on the plaza below. The sun wasn’t yet up and already the day was promising to be a steam bath. The locals had started setting up their market stalls before first light, and now the cobblestones were getting clogged with everything from wheelbarrows of bananas to crates of live chickens. Stray dogs nosed among the carts while seagulls, drawn from the harbor by the promise of scraps, fluttered and swooped over the crowd. Picking out a lone assassin in that melee would be a challenge.
Jack Norton’s voice came through Tyler’s headset. Jack was positioned near the gates of the governor’s palace on the far side of the plaza. “Someone’s on the scaffold. You see him, junior?”
Tyler moved his rifle toward his left. A column of steel pipes and wooden planks rose above the corner of the courthouse where the facade was being repaired. An ambitious restoration project was underway throughout Rocama City’s historic Old Quarter, which included the colonial-era structures around this plaza in the heart of the district. It was meant to benefit the island nation’s budding tourist industry. It didn’t do much good for security. It was tough to lock down a site when there were so many uncontrolled vantage points.
Yet Eagle Squadron had been ordered to keep this mission low-key. There would be no change of routine, no road closures, no security zones or aerial surveillance. The Rocaman president’s keenly loyal palace guards were their only backup. The real purpose of the American envoy’s visit had to remain a secret until the official announcement could be made.
Tyler used his elbows to drag himself closer to the edge of the roof and centered the scope’s crosshairs on the figure who was climbing the scaffold. The man wore a hard hat and a tool belt, so he could be a workman wanting to get an early start on the day. Tyler’s hunter’s instincts told him otherwise. The man’s body language didn’t jive with that of a guy getting paid by the hour. And he was moving too carefully, as if he were carrying more than what was visible. “That’s our shooter,” he said into his transmitter.
“Maybe.” It was Duncan Colbert’s voice. Judging by the volume of the squawking in the background, he was near the chicken crates. “The scaffold provides good line of sight for the entrance to the palace, but it leaves the shooter exposed.”
“Doesn’t matter. No one’s looking up,” Jack said. “There’s too much action down here.”
“He could be heading for your roof, junior,” Duncan said. “It’s the only flat one around.”
“Or he could be checking out the brickwork before the rest of his crew comes in— Damn!” Jack said. “Did you see that jump?”
Tyler lifted his head. The man had disappeared from his scope. That was because he had leaped to the low roof of the adjacent building, the Royal Rocaman Hotel.
Tyler pushed to his feet, looped the strap of his rifle across his chest and sprinted to the far edge of the courthouse roof. He bypassed the scaffold and jumped, relying on his momentum to carry him directly to the hotel. He hit the tiles hard and grabbed the ridge along the peak to regain his balance just as his quarry slid down the slope of the roof and over the edge. Tyler listened for an impact or alarm from the ground, but there was none. He inched forward. “Where’d he go?”
“He landed on a balcony,” Jack said. “Top floor of the hotel. Huh, just like a cat.”
“The palm trees are blocking my view,” Duncan said. “I’m going to change position.”
“He’s about three yards ahead of you, junior,” Jack said. “I can’t see his face.”
Tyler moved forward three yards, then turned and slid headfirst down the tiles on his stomach until he caught the edge of the roof in his hands. He looked over.
A stocky man was beside a cluster of wrought iron furniture less than twelve feet below him. He’d discarded the hard hat and the tool belt and was kneeling on the floor, his dark head bent over his lap as he assembled a sniper’s rifle.
Adrenaline punched Tyler’s gut, just as it always did when he closed in on his quarry at the end of a hunt. Though no photographs of him existed, this had to be El Gato, the assassin Eagle Squadron had been ordered to stop. Intelligence hadn’t expected him to strike so soon, since the American envoy he was targeting would be in Rocama City for more than a week if the talks went as scheduled, but the team had wanted to cover all its bases. Could it really be this easy? Tyler anchored one hand on the edge of the roof, tensing his muscles so he could flip himself over.
A seagull screeched, wheeling past his face. Tyler took his attention off El Gato for a split second. When he looked back, the man had his weapon in his hand and was jumping to the neighboring balcony.
Well, that’s what he got for thinking this might have been easy. Tyler swung down from the roof, eyed the gap to the next balcony and followed.
The chilled champagne had come with the room. So had the platter of chocolate-dipped strawberries and the miniature pitcher of cream. It had all been meant to stimulate the appetite, not satisfy it. Evidently the hotel management assumed that a couple on their honeymoon would be able to come up with all kinds of creative ways to partake of the goodies.
But Emily hadn’t been feeling very creative last night. She’d just wanted to get drunk. She’d done a bang-up job of it, too. No half measures for Emily Wright, no indeed, because as she’d discovered, magnums of champagne weren’t meant to be consumed by one person.
Just like honeymoon suites weren’t designed for single occupancy.
She groaned and dropped her forehead against the shower stall. The impact with the tiles started another turn on the Tilt-A-Whirl that had set itself up inside her skull. She groped for the faucets to turn off the water. Somehow, they twisted the wrong way, cutting off the hot and opening up the cold.
She cursed, jumped backward and promptly lost her footing. She grabbed the faucets to keep from falling and managed to shut the cold. Meanwhile, the carnival ride picked up speed, morphing into a combination Ferris wheel and merry-go-round.
Emily pressed her fingers to her mouth and fought to keep down the contents of her stomach as she staggered out of the shower. She winced when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Even soaking wet, her hair was starting to corkscrew. And she’d known she shouldn’t have eaten the strawberries. The rash she got whenever she indulged was already mottling her chest and neck. But she’d wanted the chocolate, and besides, no one was here to see the rash. No one would see the black teddy she’d bought for her wedding night, or the red garter belt, either.
“Enough,” she muttered, scowling at her reflection. “Pity party’s over. Today is the first day of the rest of—”
Her voice broke before she could finish the trite phrase. Yet it was true. Her life stretched out in front of her, as full of possibilities—and as daunting—as a blank page. The only thing for certain was that Christopher wouldn’t be part of it.
Fine. Good. So there was no reason to waste any more time mooning over what might have been, or the dreams that wouldn’t come true. She was going to enjoy herself. She really was. She had paid for a full ten days before she had to return to reality.
