Accidental Commando (20 page)

“Done.” The major resumed reading. “‘Item two: one designer evening dress. Item three: one pair of gold leather heels.’”

“Those articles were damaged beyond repair, so I expect to be fully reimbursed. I’ve listed the original cost.”

He cocked one eyebrow as he looked at the amount, then continued. “You state here that item four is an estimate for future medical bills.”

“I’ll need to see a doctor to take the stitches out of my arm. Since I’m unemployed, I have no medical insurance.”

Jack stepped to her right and touched his fingertips to the outline of the bandage on her upper arm. “You should let me check this before you go.”

She refused to consider the suggestion, even though she’d found fresh blood seeping from the stitches after Tyler had left. The wound had reopened, so it was almost certain that she’d have a scar. Still, the one she’d have on her arm was nothing compared to the one she’d have in her heart.

She lifted her chin. She wouldn’t let herself wallow. She’d done enough of that after Christopher. She really had to get on with her life. Yes, indeed. She should be used to the routine by now. She didn’t need a man. She didn’t need love, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to trust her feelings when it came to either one again. “My role in your mission is complete, Sergeant Norton, so my welfare is no longer your concern.”

“I’ll see that you’re reimbursed for any treatment you need,” Redinger said. He slipped his pen back into his pocket and offered her a business card. “Send the bills to me.”

She stuffed the card into her purse. “As you can see, item five is my return airfare. I’ve included that because my entire holiday was monopolized by your mission, so I shouldn’t be expected to pay for the trip myself. I doubt if you soldiers do.”

“No, we don’t. We use military transport.”

“Then we’re agreed?” He nodded.

“The final item is the bill for my time. I used the salary I was making at my previous job as a base rate and calculated overtime at the standard time-and-a-half for evenings and for the weekend I worked. I believe the amount is fair.”

Redinger folded the paper. “Yes, it’s fair,” he said. “You functioned as part of the team on this job and you should be compensated. Was there anything else?”

His easy acquiescence threw her for a moment. Part of her had been hoping for a fight. “Yes. There’s the matter of a possible reward.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“El Gato was an international assassin, known to Interpol as well as countless other law enforcement agencies. It’s reasonable to assume someone was offering a reward for his capture. Since I was instrumental in identifying him, I believe I deserve a portion of any funds that might be available.”

“If there was any reward,” the major said, “the palace guards would be collecting it.”

“And why is that?”

“They’re being given the credit for stopping his shooting spree. Officially, we were never at the reception.”

She blinked. She’d thought she would be getting over it by now, but it continued to get harder to keep her eyes from filling. The men had erased more than her pictures. They were rewriting everything that had taken place, as if last night had never happened.

But she should want to forget last night. “Of course. How naive of me.”

“The palace sent out a press release with the official version an hour ago,” Redinger said.

A press release. It was the final insult. While she’d worked for a week on the real story, she’d been scooped by a piece of fiction. Her temper snapped. She fisted her hands on her hips and glared from one man to the other. “Well, well. It seems that Eagle Squadron doesn’t have the only skilled liars around here.”

“Miss Wright—”

“I’m impressed that you both managed to shave this morning. But then, with enough practice I suppose you don’t have any trouble facing yourselves in the mirror. Step aside, please.”

Jack shifted closer and put his hand on her left shoulder. “Emily, I’m sorry. Once you calm down, you’ll see that—”

“I’m going to speak to Ms. Haggerty. We have an interview.”

Neither one of them moved.

Emily grasped the handle of her suitcase, wheeled it over the toes of Jack’s shoes and knocked on the door. “Don’t worry. The envoy will be perfectly safe with me. She is, after all, a woman.”

Tyler spread a cloth over the plank he’d propped on a pair of paint cans, opened the ammo box and counted out enough shells to fill his spare magazines. One by one, he cleaned them off before he inserted them, his fingers moving nimbly through the task he’d done countless times before. He’d already disassembled and thoroughly cleaned his pistol, as well as the submachine gun he’d be bringing along on the convoy. Normally, it helped focus his mind.

Not today. He slipped the full magazines into his pockets and secured the box. With the right weapon, he could hit a moving target at a thousand yards with no problem. He had defused every kind of bomb except a nuclear one. He knew more about munitions than any other man on the team.

Yet when it came to Emily, he’d handled her feelings with all the finesse of a drunk wielding a pellet rifle.

He glanced at the notebook that lay on his duffel bag, then reached to pick it up. His thumb rubbed along the groove that bisected the front cover. The crease had happened when Emily had dropped it on the stairs the first time they’d kissed. The lower right corner was filled with her cross-hatched doodling, one of her habits when she was bored. The center was marred by raised dots from the raindrops that had hit it this morning. It was a testament to the past nine days in more than words.

He should have destroyed this notebook as soon as he’d brought it upstairs. Those had been the major’s orders. But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to let go of it yet. There was too much of Emily in these pages.

Tyler opened the notebook to the section toward the back that she’d marked with a dog-eared fold. Her handwriting was full of sharp angles and big loops, too full of energy to be contained within the lines. It slanted forward, reflecting the same headlong courage Emily displayed in the rest of her behavior. At places, she’d pressed her pen hard enough that he could feel the outline of the letters through the paper. He could hear her voice as soon as he read the first paragraph of her unfinished article.

My Week with Our Secret Warriors
by Emily Wright

The Caribbean island nation of Rocama may seem like a tropical paradise, yet beneath the beauty an unseen battle for dominance is being waged between the Juarez drug cartel and the democratically elected government of Norberto Gorrell. America has sent their best, a team of Delta Force commandos known as Eagle Squadron, to help ensure the country remains in the hands of the people. Though these dedicated soldiers are willing to put their lives on the line, they expect no recognition….

She had crossed out a few lines after that. Tyler could tell by the number of strokes she’d used that she’d been dissatisfied with the way the words had gone. He flipped backward to her notes. She’d organized pages for each member of the team, jotting down points that they’d given her during their interviews, along with her own comments. Many of her observations had impressed him with their accuracy. He regarded her bullet-point summary.

Viktor Gonzales, known as Gonzo—Cuban father, Danish mother. Gung-ho attitude, rule-follower.

Jack Norton—medic, newly engaged but still edgy.

Rule-bender.

Mitchell Redinger—widower with ring. Career army.

By-the-book hard ass.

Tyler smiled at her terse description of the major. He could picture the tight set of her mouth as she wrote the words. Emily might have been fast-talked by Redinger initially, but she hadn’t been intimidated by him. Not much daunted her. She would have been a force to contend with if she’d ever decided to pursue a military career. He turned to another page.

Kurt Lang—mechanical genius. Prefers machines to most people.

Duncan Colbert—overachiever. Very intelligent, likes to analyze.

Tyler Matheson—strong family ties. Sensitive, compassionate, controlled. Impressive sense of duty.

Honorable. Off-the-scale gorgeous…

His smiled faded. His entry in her notebook took up several pages and was by far the largest. Emily had jotted down every scrap of background information he’d given her, much of which he’d forgotten he’d said. She had written those words before he’d told her the truth. If she had the chance now, she would likely cross out most of it. Her pen wouldn’t only leave grooves, it would go through the paper.

It gave him no satisfaction to see that she liked the way he looked. She’d never pretended that she didn’t. She’d have to be attracted to him in order to want to have sex.

Was that really all it had been for her?

He’d known her for just over a week, yet he felt as if he’d known her for years. He realized much of that was due to her emotional state when they had met. She’d needed someone to confide in, and he’d had plenty of experience listening. Naturally, they’d grown closer. Their near-constant physical proximity had accelerated the process.

He’d always known he would end up hurting her. It had given him an extra urgency to make the most of the time they did have. It was why he hadn’t been able to deny himself the chance to make love to her, even though he’d known there would be a reckoning.

Damn, he was a selfish bastard. He’d realized Emily had an issue with trust, and as he’d guessed, the team’s deception had made it worse. What would have happened if he’d gone against the major’s orders and told her the truth earlier? For starters, she wouldn’t have felt used and betrayed. She might have realized that he wasn’t anything like Christopher. They might have had a chance to let their relationship develop naturally and see where it went…

Or she might have walked out on the mission and straight into a bullet from El Gato.

Tyler exhaled hard, then swore and closed Emily’s notebook. Should he have done anything differently? That was another one of those questions with no right answer.

The sitting room of the envoy’s suite reminded Emily of the one she’d seen on the ground floor when she’d first been brought to the palace. It had the same lush plants, the same peach and dark wood color scheme, only it had a tall window like the one in her room instead of terrace doors. A gust of wind rattled the panes. Emily suppressed a shiver. “The rain’s not letting up,” she said. “I hope the weather doesn’t delay your flight.”

“It’s the meeting beforehand that I’m more concerned with. I hope no one begs off because of the storm.” Helen picked up the silver coffeepot from the low table in front of the couch where they were sitting and gestured toward Emily’s cup. “More coffee, dear?”

Emily covered the top of her cup with her hand. “Oh, no thank you. I’ve already had more caffeine than I should.”

“I noticed that you appeared tense when you arrived. If there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m an excellent listener.” She poured an extra inch of coffee in her own cup and set the pot on the tray with their empty lunch dishes. “It’s one of the requirements for my job.”

Emily smiled, which was something she’d doubted she could have done two hours ago. She was far less tense now than she’d been earlier. Focusing on her work had been what she’d needed. The envoy had answered all her questions about the future American base in Rocama with patience and candor. She’d also shared some fascinating stories of her years in the diplomatic corps, as well as her childhood as an army brat. It was everything Emily could have hoped for and more. “I’d much rather talk about you.”

“We’ve been doing that for the past two hours, and quite frankly, I’ve run out.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been monopolizing your time.” Emily capped her pen and set it on top of the notepaper she’d borrowed from Helen. She’d tried to keep her writing as small as possible, but she’d filled both sides of nearly every page. “It was very kind of you to have me join you for lunch when you must have dozens of details still to take care of.”

Helen tapped her knee before she could stand. “Don’t concern yourself. My work here is almost done, and I can’t recall an interview I’ve enjoyed more. You’re refreshingly direct. I could tell by your questions that you’re meticulous about accuracy.”