Accidental Commando (15 page)

Or maybe she got that impression because something about his eyes reminded her of Christopher. She unconsciously inched closer to Tyler’s side.

“We have many art treasures in Rocama that date back to our colonial days,” Kenyon said. “Have you had the opportunity to visit our national museum?”

“Not yet,” she replied. “I’m afraid work must come first.”

“Of course, of course. But certainly you could spare the time to view the pieces that are on display in the palace. There are many priceless works that adorn the walls. I am confident a woman of your beauty would appreciate our collection.”

“That’s very kind of you, Señor Kenyon.”

“I would be happy to give you a personal tour. And your friend, too,” he added.

“Maybe later,” Tyler said.

“Please,” he said, extending one of the glasses toward her. “I see you have no champagne.”

She pressed her lips together as she looked at the drink. The mere sight of the bubbles was enough to remind her how she’d felt after the last time she’d touched the stuff. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said, “but maybe my friend would like it.”

Kenyon’s smile dimmed a few watts. “Of course.
Señor?
”

Tyler put his hand on Emily’s back. He didn’t touch any of the dress this time, only skin. She jerked at the contact. He used her motion to start her forward. “Sorry, but we have to go,” he said.

“Nice meeting you, Señor Kenyon,” Emily said over her shoulder.

“The pleasure is mine.” He lifted the glass in a toast as they moved away. “Enjoy the evening and your stay in Rocama.”

Emily could feel Tyler’s tension through his hand. She glanced at him once they were out of earshot. “Well, he seems like a friendly man.”

“He didn’t ask your name.”

“He likely didn’t have time since you rushed us out of there.”

“I think he knew who you are.”

She took another look over her shoulder. Kenyon had given his extra champagne glass to a busty young blonde in a black dress. Judging by the smiles they were exchanging, she had probably been his intended target in the first place. “He was being polite. He seemed pretty harmless, unless you think he spiked that champagne.”

“Unlikely, but we can’t rule anything out. Kenyon’s demeanor was too intent. That’s what caught my attention first. When he was talking to you, his posture didn’t match his words. He came on like he was flirting, but his body language was all wrong. That’s why I wanted to get you away.”

“Ah, you thought he acted suspiciously. Well, that’s good. For a second there I was worried you might be getting all macho and possessive. Caveman stuff. Growling and thumping your chest just because some other guy came up to talk to me.”

“And you wouldn’t like that?”

“It’s a real conversation killer at parties.”

“Emily—”

“I know, I know. This isn’t a party, and we’re not a couple. I don’t need another reminder.”

He rubbed his thumb along the groove of her spine.

She felt the caress all the way to her toes. She twitched her shoulders to mask her shudder, then had to grab for her evening bag as the strap slipped down her arm. “What are you doing?”

“Maintaining our cover,” he said, hitching the strap back into place for her. His fingers trailed down her arm until he settled his hand at the back of her waist. His hand was low enough to touch only fabric this time. It was also low enough for his little finger to rest on the upper curve of her buttocks.

She bumped his hip with hers. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re so dedicated to your duty.”

“Uh-huh.” He steered her toward a less busy area near one of the mirrored walls and stopped beside a potted palm. Not to continue the caress but to switch on his radio transmitter.

Emily listened as Tyler gave a terse report of the encounter with Santiago Kenyon. It sounded as if he were speaking with Chief Esposito, who had remained at their field headquarters to oversee the communications. She didn’t agree with Tyler’s concern over Kenyon, so she chalked it up to typical Eagle Squadron thoroughness and continued to survey the room as she waited.

For the first time that evening she was able to spot Jack as he glided through the crowd with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. He passed near the envoy, who had moved away from the president and was speaking with a woman Emily recognized as another cabinet minister. Redinger stood a few paces behind them, looking aloof and dashing in a James Bond kind of way. Emily shifted her gaze to the group around the refreshment table just as Duncan arrived there with a fresh bowl of shrimp.

Although they were subtle about it, Emily could see that several women were giving Duncan the once-over. As she’d guessed, even females who belonged to the cream of society weren’t immune to the proximity of one of these commandos. When Duncan leaned forward in order to set the bowl down, one woman bumped into another one because she couldn’t keep her gaze off his butt.

Tyler finished his radio conversation and lifted his eyebrows in question. “What’s the smile for?”

She shook her head, deciding not to explain. Duncan seemed oblivious to the effect he was having. Tyler likely wouldn’t notice it, either. “I was thinking that the shrimp looks good,” she said.

“There’s no reason you can’t have something to eat.”

“No, thanks. I don’t want to risk spilling food on this outfit. Unless you figure the major would spring for the dry cleaning…” She tilted her head, focusing more closely on the woman who’d been bumped. She didn’t seem to be paying attention to the other woman’s apology, or to the sauce that had dribbled down her yellow skirt when her plate had tipped during the collision. A greasy red stain was already spreading over what appeared to be silk. She ignored Duncan, as well, despite the fact that he was leaning over again to reach past the ice sculpture for an empty platter.

“What is it?” Tyler asked.

“You said Kenyon’s body language wasn’t right.” She grasped his hand and tugged him forward. “I think I know what you mean. Let’s do another circuit around the table.”

“What’s going on, Emily?”

“I want to get a closer look at the woman in the yellow dress.”

“Did you say woman?”

“Yes. She’s plump, has white hair and is a few inches taller than El Gato, but the hair could be a wig and she’s wearing heels. It’s just a gut feeling, but I don’t think she’s really a woman.”

Tyler pulled her to an abrupt halt and relayed what she’d said into his radio. By that time, Duncan was already several yards away. He swung around and propped the empty platter he was carrying beside a round wooden table that held an elaborate flower arrangement. He casually slid one hand into the pocket of his white jacket.

The woman in yellow moved to the other side of the refreshment table, her motions nimble in spite of her surplus weight. She set down her plate and lifted one hand to pat her hair in a purely feminine gesture. Emily could now see her face. It was round, the right shape, and her lips were full, like El Gato’s, but her heavy makeup made it difficult to assess her features objectively. It would also cover any possible scar. The lenses of her tortoiseshell glasses glinted in the light from the chandelier, hiding her eyes. Her eyebrows were thicker than average for a woman’s, yet not definitive enough to indicate she was a man.

Duncan’s lips were moving as he watched the woman. Emily guessed he was asking for a positive identification, but it was impossible for her to know for sure at this distance. “I need to get closer, Tyler.”

“No. I won’t risk your safety.”

Emily wrung her hands. If she was wrong, she would be deeply hurting an innocent woman’s feelings. She could force Eagle Squadron to blow their cover for nothing. She glanced toward the envoy and saw that Redinger had placed himself in front of her. Jack and Kurt were approaching them from the far side of the room. The palace guards who had been standing on either side of the entrance were converging on President Gorrell. Evidently the warning had been broadcast over their radios, too.

“Don’t overthink this, Emily,” Tyler said, squeezing her fingers. “You were right before.”

“Yes, but—”

“Trust your instincts. What are they telling you?”

Emily regarded the woman’s hands. Her nails appeared to be bare of polish. Considering how dark her lipstick was, the fact that she’d neglected her nails was odd. She wore no rings, and her knuckles were large. An image of El Gato’s fist flashed through Emily’s mind, and her heart knew the right answer. “Yes,” she said. “It’s him.”

Tyler repeated what she’d said. Duncan moved forward. The woman must have been alert for his approach. Without hesitation, she caught the edge of the table and flipped it on its side.

The shrimp bowl went flying, along with trays of fruit, cheese and elaborate canapés. Plates and cutlery crashed to the floor. The ice sculpture tipped and broke apart, spraying water and chunks of ice. While the other guests stood paralyzed in disbelief, the woman in yellow whipped up her skirt and pulled out a machine gun that had been strapped to her leg.

His leg. Beneath the dress, he wore the dark blue pants of a policeman’s uniform.

Emily had no time to draw a breath before she was lying facedown with Tyler flattened over her back. Gunfire erupted. Not just single shots but long, clacking bursts. One of the massive chandeliers crashed to the floor. People screamed. The marble beneath her cheek shook with panicked footsteps. Bullets screeched as they ricocheted around her, sending marble dust and slivers of crystal whistling through the air. She cried out as something stung her arm.

“Everyone get down!” Duncan yelled. He followed with a command in Spanish, but Emily didn’t think anyone heard him over the screams and the gunfire. More people were running. One woman was screaming more loudly than the rest. She hadn’t run fast enough. El Gato had his arm around her throat and was using her as a shield. The muzzle of his machine gun flashed like a Fourth of July sparkler gone mad as he swept the room.

Tyler slid one arm beneath Emily’s waist, straddled her thighs and crawled backward, dragging her with him as far as the potted palm they’d stopped beside earlier. Bullets pinged from the wide, brass planter, knocking loose a shower of dirt and leaves, but the pot was too thick for the rounds to penetrate.

“Curl into a tuck,” Tyler said, getting to his knees behind her. “Stay as close to the pot as you can and keep your head down.”

She sat up, pulled her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to make herself as small as possible. From the shelter of the brass planter, she could see that Duncan had upended the flower table and was crouched behind it. Gonzales was standing behind a pillar. Both had their weapons drawn and trained on El Gato. People who hadn’t managed to flee were on the floor. Some were writhing in pain, some were motionless. Crimson glistened on white shirts and jeweled gowns. More crimson streaked the floor and began to gather in pools on the marble.

She trembled. These people could be bleeding to death while she watched.
Oh, God!

Gonzales shouted in Spanish. Whether it had been a challenge or an order to surrender, El Gato responded by riddling the pillar he stood behind with another burst of gunfire.

“Is the envoy secure, Major?” Tyler asked.

Emily twisted her neck to look across the room. She couldn’t see Redinger or Jack anymore, and Helen was nowhere in sight. Neither was the president.

“My bet is he’s wearing Kevlar under that dress or he would be down by now,” Tyler continued. He spoke with the same measured control she’d heard him use before. “A body shot isn’t going to stop him. Duncan?” He paused. “Gonzo?”

El Gato’s wig and glasses had come off. His dark hair fell across his forehead. The close-set, reptilian eyes narrowed as he flicked his gaze around the room. He called what sounded like a demand and shoved the muzzle of his gun against the breast of the woman he held. Smoke drifted from the hot barrel. His hostage’s screams turned from fear to pain.

Emily sobbed. Everything was happening so fast. This was a nightmare that kept getting worse.

“See if you can get his attention, Duncan,” Tyler said. He brought his arms around Emily, pressed close to her back and steadied his gun on the edge of the planter in front of her.

Duncan hung on to the pedestal of the table he was using for shelter and rolled it across the floor a few feet, scrambling to stay behind it.

El Gato swung his gun away from the woman to fire at Duncan. A stream of bullets shredded the wooden tabletop.

Tyler rested his chin on Emily’s shoulder to sight down his gun barrel and squeezed off three shots.

Three holes appeared in the center of El Gato’s forehead. His eyes rolled back. He crumpled to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

The woman who had been his shield staggered aside. Gonzales reached her just as she collapsed in a faint. He caught her beneath the arms and pulled her clear while Duncan kicked the gun away from the fallen assassin.

Emily’s ears were ringing from Tyler’s shots. She tried to speak, but her voice came out as a croak. She ordered herself to move, to stand, but her body was trembling too badly for her to uncurl from her tuck.

Tyler spun her on her bottom to face him. He cupped her chin to look into her eyes. “Emily, are you okay?” His voice sounded distant, as if he were shouting down a tunnel. He ran his hands over her ankles and up her calves, but stopped short when he reached her elbows. He peeled off his jacket and pulled his shirt from his pants. Then he took a knife from his boot and used it to rip a wide strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt.

The distress on his face knocked her out of her daze. Only then did she feel the blood that ran down her arm.

Chapter 8

“O
ur lady will be fine, junior.” Jack snapped on a pair of surgical gloves, then swabbed Emily’s right arm with disinfectant. “Stop hovering. You’re making me nervous.”

“She needs a real doctor,” Tyler said.

Unperturbed, Jack took a syringe from the tackle box that he used for a med kit. “Then she’ll have to wait in line. Best guess, that would mean at least a few hours.”