Accidental Commando (7 page)

He dropped his hand. “If you’d rather join us later…”

“Not on your life. A deal’s a deal. I plan to take advantage of every minute.”

The minutes seemed like hours. The first day of Emily’s embedding with Eagle Squadron dragged into the second. Little changed other than the hall they were positioned in. She chaffed at the lack of activity, but it didn’t appear to bother Tyler. When he was on duty he appeared as calm as a living statue. About as talkative, too. Currently, they were outside the conference room while the envoy attended yet another meeting. This one included a group of sober-faced men and women who made up the president’s cabinet. The carved wood doors were too thick for the sound of voices to penetrate, so Emily couldn’t guess at the topic.

Whatever it was, both President Gorrell and Helen Haggerty appeared to be deep in discussion, their gray heads angled toward each other, whenever they were together. Neither spared her more than a glance when they passed by, so Emily had stopped fretting about what to wear a day ago. She redid her ponytail, tugged at the cuffs of the cardigan she was using to make her sundress more respectable and looked around.

Vic Gonzales was teamed up with Tyler today. He stood at the bend in the corridor, and though he seemed relaxed at first glance, he’d been as alert as Tyler whenever there had been a sign of movement. He had an expressive mouth and sparkling dark eyes that made him appear to be on the verge of a smile—he’d have to be good-humored to accept the nickname “Gonzo”—yet he’d been as reserved around Emily as the rest of the men. They had the neutral, don’t-give-away-anything expressions of on-duty cops or football players on a Sunday in December. They were wearing their game faces.

The only exception had been the bald man who had been in charge of the monitoring equipment upstairs, Chief Esposito. He reminded her of her uncle Wade, not chatty but approachable. He’d inputted her description of El Gato into a computer program that he’d said he’d obtained from Homeland Security. Emily realized that by sharing her knowledge so early she had weakened her bargaining position. She hadn’t really considered withholding it, though. She wasn’t going to play games with an innocent woman’s life. Thanks to the help of Duncan Colbert, who had some kind of connection with Army Intelligence, they’d managed to construct a good likeness of the assassin. It had been printed out and distributed to the entire team as well as to President Gorrell’s elite palace guards.

Those guards were as no-nonsense as the American soldiers. Rather than suits, they wore tan uniforms that were belted at the waist with dark leather. They appeared to do regular patrols throughout the palace, as she’d noticed the same pair of men walk past the conference room three times this afternoon. And she was certain it was the same men, since she’d made sure to scrutinize them each time.

Tyler nodded and mumbled something she couldn’t catch. A glance at Sergeant Gonzales made her realize they were talking over their radios again. She sighed and leaned her back against the wall. Her shoulder brushed the frame of a painting, knocking it askew. She straightened it, moved a few more inches to her right and tried again. She wished she could pass the time by snapping a few pictures, but the president’s guards had forbidden her to take photographs in the private wing of the palace. “Is it always this boring?”

“Boring is good,” Tyler said. “When things get exciting there’s usually a problem.”

“It seems we were in a big rush to get here and all we end up doing is holding up the wallpaper.”

“It’s the army way.”

“Huh. ‘They also serve—’”

“‘Who only stand and wait,’” he finished.

She blinked. A cowboy who knew his Milton? “Let me guess. Your sisters made you read poetry.”

“Something like that.”

“By the way, where’s that big gun of yours today?”

“I left my rifle upstairs.”

She leaned sideways to study him. There were no obvious bulges under his jacket. Nothing that couldn’t be accounted for, anyway. “You’ve got to be carrying a weapon someplace.”

“We always come prepared for the job.”

“You don’t want to get specific, do you?”

“It wouldn’t be relevant to your story.”

“How would you know? A lot of readers would like to learn—”
What you’ve got hidden under your clothes.
She tamped down the thought. “They’d like to know exactly what a soldier does on an undercover mission,” she finished. “Major Redinger said you’d cooperate with me, remember?” He grunted.

“And that reminds me, you haven’t yet told me what kind of soldiers you are. Only the major wears a uniform. Are you from the Special Forces?” When he didn’t reply, she tried again. “You might as well tell me, because I’m going to keep asking until you do.”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Okay, that’s what I thought. You’re commandos, right?”

“We’re just soldiers, ma’am.”

She glanced at the closed doors again. “Come to think of it, I remember reading something about the envoy’s father when he was in the Gulf. General Haggerty used to move around with a group of Special Forces guys for bodyguards. He didn’t really need them. He just thought they looked cool in their black outfits. He was able to make a great entrance whenever he walked into a room surrounded by his personal ninjas. I think they were from Delta Force.” She focused on Tyler again. “Like you, right?”

“I was in grammar school during the first Gulf War.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Didn’t I?”

“
Are
you from Delta Force?”

He hesitated, as he frequently did before he replied. Clearly he was weighing everything he told her concerning the mission. “Only Hollywood uses that name. The men you’ve met belong to Eagle Squadron. We’re from Operational Detachment Delta.”

She pursed her lips in a silent whistle. The Hollywood name was fine with her. This was better than she could have hoped. How many reporters got the opportunity to be embedded with Delta Force commandos? They were notoriously secretive. This story would be hot. Almost as hot as these commandos.

But that particular fact definitely wasn’t relevant to her story, she told herself. It made no difference if each of the men she had met happened to be incredibly handsome in their own, individual ways. Vic Gonzales had his brooding, Latin good looks. Jack Norton had a lean and hungry predator aura. Kurt Lang reminded her of Wolverine without the hardware and bad hair, and Duncan Colbert could have posed for a book cover as a buccaneer. Of course, none of them came close to Tyler with regards to sheer, physical magnetism.

Tyler was looking at her mouth, which made her realize her lips were still puckered. She pressed them flat and took out the spiral notebook she’d borrowed from Chief Esposito.

“I have a question you haven’t answered yet,” Tyler said. “Why did you call El Gato the milkman?”

“Oh, that. He looked a lot like Ralph, the man who drove the milk truck to my parents’ farm.”

“Where’s their farm?”

“Near Packenham Junction.” She held up her palm. “And before you start with the jokes, yes, it’s a hick town in Wisconsin whose main industry is cheese.”

“Why would I joke about that?”

“Everyone else does. The name is corny enough to belong in a 1960s sitcom.”

He shook his head. “Not if you come from Miller’s Hole.”

“Miller’s…?”

“Hole. Wyoming. Named after Cyrus Miller’s watering hole.”

“Wyoming? Then I guess you came by that cowboy boot habit of yours honestly.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Occupational hazard.”

“Touché.”

“My family runs beef cattle, not dairy,” he continued. “But the town’s probably a lot like Packenham Junction.”

“Back home, no one locks their doors.”

“Sounds familiar. And does everyone know everyone else’s business?”

“You bet. Who needs text-messaging when there’s Dimitri’s Pizzeria?”

“The main hangout in Miller’s Hole is just called The Hole.”

“Is it as bad as it sounds?”

“Good enough for us cowboys.”

She smiled. “Packenham only has two gas stations.”

“We’ve got three, but they take turns closing on weekends.”

“Our cops take Mondays off.”

“Our sheriff runs the bowling alley and video store.”

“And every kid’s ambition is to live somewhere else when they grow up,” she finished.

He nodded. “That sums it up.”

“Is that why you joined the army? Because you wanted to leave Miller’s Hole?”

“Essentially. Is that why you wore the scuzzball’s ring? To leave Packenham Junction?”

Emily’s first impulse was to deny it, but then she forced herself to consider the idea. Christopher had been raised in New York City, which had been one reason she’d found him so attractive. He’d been different from the men she’d known all her life. He’d seemed more polished and worldly. She’d liked the fact that he hadn’t gone to the same schools that she had. That had meant he wouldn’t be familiar with the child she’d once been and so he wouldn’t have had any preconceived expectations of who she should be now. He hadn’t had a web of relatives nearby waiting to see him fail, either.

Oh, she knew her family meant well. They wanted her to be happy. They thought they knew what was best for her, yet how could they when all they focused on were her faults? They hadn’t realized they were humiliating her by trying to match her up with someone’s neighbor’s cousin at every family gathering. They wouldn’t understand that the more they told her something wouldn’t work, the more she felt driven to prove them wrong. She was certain all the “I told you sos” that were waiting for her back in Packenham Junction would be said in the spirit of constructive advice.

Tyler was right. She’d been eager to shake off the ties of her hometown and had believed she could do that with Christopher.

And now she was adrift. No new husband, no job and no money. That’s what she got for believing in dreams and for trusting a man. For one crazy year she’d lowered her guard and had convinced herself she was in love. But as everyone back in Packenham Junction knew, tough, sharp-tongued Emily Wright would never have fitted into a fairy tale. Not as the heroine, anyway.

Tyler touched her arm. “Sorry. It’s not my business.”

She swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat. She wasn’t going to wallow. She’d done enough of that already. She had to get on with her life. This was already the third day of the rest of it. Now that Tyler seemed willing to talk to her, she shouldn’t waste this opportunity to get some background information for her story. She busied herself with turning to a fresh page in her notebook. “I thought I was the one asking the questions.”

He withdrew his hand and did a slow scan of the empty corridor. “Go ahead.”

“You were saying that you enlisted to get away from Miller’s Hole. Tell me about it.”

“I was training for the Olympics when a couple of army recruiters approached me,” he replied.

She was impressed. He definitely looked as if he could be an athlete. “What sport?”

“Biathlon. Cross-country skiing combined with target shooting.”

“That’s a Nordic sport, isn’t it?”

“My maternal grandfather was Swedish. He got me on skis before I was put on a horse.”

“Were you any good at it?”

“Not good enough to medal. I was better with a rifle than I was with skis.”

“Ah, and that’s why the recruiters wanted you?”

“Apparently.”

“Do you like being in the army?”

“It beats mucking out barns.”

“What do you like the most about the missions you do?”

He hesitated. “The variety. The challenge. We never know where we’ll go next.”

“Don’t you miss your family and the ranch?”

“I do miss my family, but my father and brothers-in-law manage the ranch fine without me.”

“What about your mother and sisters? Don’t they have a say in the ranch? Or are the men in your family the type who think that women can’t manage anything more than a recipe book?”

He muffled a snort.

Emily regarded him more closely. “What’s so funny?”

“My mother’s the one who taught me how to shoot. And the only things my sisters
don’t
read are recipe books.”

They sounded like interesting people. Even without meeting them, she was sure she would like them. “Are all your sisters married?”

He nodded. His lips softened into one of his almost-smiles. “The youngest one just last year.”

“What about you?” she asked. “Is there a special woman in your life? Haven’t you ever wanted to settle down and—”

She never got the chance to finish her question. She wasn’t sure why she’d started to ask it, because she’d already strayed a long way from her topic. Her words ended in a gasp as Tyler caught her by the elbows and half lifted, half dragged her to an alcove on the other side of the corridor from the conference room door. “Stay here,” he ordered.

“Why? What’s going on?”

He pressed her back to the wall and released her as quickly as he’d grabbed her. An instant later, he was gripping a heavy-looking black pistol that he’d taken from somewhere beneath his suit coat. “Gonzo?”

Sergeant Gonzales was hurrying toward them, a similar gun in his hand. The guards who had patrolled the corridor were approaching from the opposite direction. Gonzales spoke rapidly in Spanish to them as they moved to flank the door.

“The room is secure, Major,” Tyler said.

“Gorrell’s men are sending the canine teams over here to do another sweep,” Gonzales said. “They also want to initiate an evacuation.”

“Negative. That might be what El Gato wants,” Tyler said. “It’s in the other wing, and it sounds like a small charge. Let me see what I can do first.”

Emily hugged her notebook to her chest as the men continued to speak over their radios. She could feel her heart pounding against the cardboard cover. “Did you say charge? Are you talking about a
bomb?
”

Tyler pointed at Gonzales, then cocked his thumb at Emily. “Watch her, Gonzo. If I give the word to move out, make sure she goes.”

“No problem.”

“Wait! Sergeant Matheson, I demand to know what’s going on.”