Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 (5 page)

Conversation was stilted as each course was consumed, and the next set before them. Montero had coerced the chef from a top-rate hotel in Spain into service, and the food was superb.

Kyle enjoyed every bite.

"None for me, thanks," Delanie told the waiter as he approached with dessert. She bunched her napkin on the table. "I'll leave you gentlemen to your dessert. I'm going to change now." Sinuously she uncurled her body from her chair. "If that's okay with you?" She stood behind Montero and ran her fingers lightly over his immaculate black hair.

He reached up and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. The diamond in his pinkie ring glinted tiny rainbows on her cheek.

"Go,
mi dulce
." Montero smiled indulgently, releasing her hand to pluck a cigar from the humidor a servant placed beside him. "But don't be too late." Snipping the end off the fine Cuban, he caressed it between finger and thumb. "I will not wait up for you." He motioned a servant to offer the Montecristos to his guests. Kyle almost expected Delanie to take one on her way out.

"I'll jog fast," she assured Ramon. She left the dining room without a backward glance.

Delanie's taut ass in that tight red dress made Kyle grateful he was sitting down. He dragged his gaze away.

Kensington ignored her to concentrate on his cigar selection.

Montero watched Kyle, not his departing girlfriend. He smiled. "Not intelligent, but enthusiastic."

"When's she leaving?" Kyle asked coldly, waving away servant and humidor. He walked a fine line with this. If he pushed too hard, Montero would off her without compunction. Kyle wanted her gone. Not dead.

Montero blinked into the flame a servant held to his cigar. "Delanie? Why would she leave?"

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"You know I don't do business with women around," Kyle said. "And particularly not
that
one. I don't trust her."

"She is my gift to you." Ramon Montero's obsidian eyes lost their glitter. "If you don't like or trust her, do whatever you want with her."

Kyle laughed dryly. "Meaning she's my problem now." Picking up the brandy snifter, he warmed it in his palm.

"She's too self-absorbed to have any useful knowledge of our business. I'll pay her off, and take her into San Cristobal when I go back. Get her out of our hair."

"I prefer she remain here, old friend."

Shit. "Do you?" Kyle glanced at Montero. "Why?"

His host frowned. "I just do."

Crap, shit, and damn, Kyle thought as he leaned back in his chair with studied casualness. This was not good. Not good at all.
Her sweet ass better be outta here before Montero acts out whatever's in his
whacked-out mind
.

"If you insist,
amigo
. A not altogether unpleasant task, I suppose. For a short while. Don't forget though, my attention span with the weaker sex is almost as short as yours."

Montero preened. Kyle wondered which of them would win the Oscar after their performance this week and toasted Montero with the glass.

It might be hard on his body parts, but at least this way he could keep a close watch on her until he flew her out tomorrow.

A cloud of pale cigar smoke drifted about Montero's head, as he, too, picked up his snifter and swirled the amber liquid meditatively. "The reason I so enjoy your company is precisely because of your, shall we say—" he savored the bouquet of the Bas-Armagnac, not taking his eyes off Kyle's face "—creativity, in the face of adversity." He paused to roll the brandy on his palate before setting the glass down and smiling across the table.

"Which is, after all, the reason
precisamente
for wanting you to join me on this new venture. Not so?"

Yeah. Creativity in the face of adversity was another one of his talents, Kyle thought hours later, standing alone on the dark patio. He leaned his shoulder against one of the fluted Doric columns supporting the latticed roof over the pool.

Everyone had gone to bed. Behind him, the hacienda was dark. Outside lighting would attract insects and animals. Although a barely discernible chain-link fence ringed the circumference of the clearing to keep out both two- and four-footed game, insects and small animals were always a problem.

There'd been a moon when he'd come outside. Now, no stars pierced the thick cloud cover in the black
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canopy of the sky. The air felt hot and oppressive.

The four men had gone to see his brand-new, top-of-the-line lab after dinner. It'd been a small trek through the jungle, and within eyesight of the drug lab.

The chickens, for use in hosting the virus, were happily pecking at their feed in a newly constructed coop. The building was air-conditioned, freshly painted, and damn it,
perfect
.

Kyle had taken his time inspecting every Bunsen burner, every petri dish, ever, last little detail before admitting his satisfaction.

Hell, what was not to like? The best of the best as decreed by himself. The
good
he could do with a lab like that and Montero's kind of funding—

Too bad in five days it would be rubble.

He glanced impatiently at the face of his watch.

Delanie had
gone jogging
for God's sake.

In his peripheral vision, Kyle detected a slight movement a less observant person would have missed. A blacker-than-black shadow moved slowly, silhouetted by the trees encroaching on the perimeter of the clearing.

His night vision was excellent—something that had saved his ass a time or two. The shadow was just a soldier. He had long since marked the guards patrolling the perimeter of the compound and knew their schedules and individual habits inside out. He also knew the range and timing of the various cameras positioned around this section of the patio. There was one directed at him now, where he stood painted by shadows.

No one could approach him without his being aware of it, and checking his watch every five seconds, like the irate father of a past curfew teenager, wasn't going to make the time go any faster.

Aside from Ramon Montero's efficient soldiers, the compound bristled with the latest in security systems.

Cameras, an electrified fence, a radar grid, and three thousand acres of unexplored jungle should be a big deterrent. If not, the two strategically placed SAMs would. The surface-to-air missiles utilized lasers and an infrared homing device, enabling them to differentiate between friendly and hostile aircraft. They were top-of-the-line U.S. issue. So new, so revolutionary, only a handful of people knew of their existence.

Several fly-over reconnaissances in the last few weeks had shown him where everything and everybody was. Infrared had pinpointed the size and location of the compound's buildings and the accompanying number of personnel.

There was only one way in and out—by chopper. Which for the moment was just the way Kyle wanted it. Except for the immediate problem of his little thorn in the side.

Little fool. She was ass-deep in alligators.

Tomorrow when he got back from a quick trip to the port of San Cristobal he would have achieved two things.

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One pickup.

One delivery.

Although Montero hadn't seemed concerned by Delanie's long absence after dinner, Kyle
was
. She'd been gone for hours. He couldn't put her on the damn plane Stateside if he couldn't find her. Where in hell would she have trotted off to in the pitch dangerous darkness of the midnight jungle?

A soft breeze drifted across the patio, combing ripples in the dark water of the swimming pool and rustling the foliage of distant trees.

He heard her first. Her breathing came harsh and erratic, over the hard, rapid slap of running shoes on brick as she raced across the patio out of darkness, arms and legs pumping.

His raking gaze saw everything. Scraggly ponytail bouncing on top of her head, sweat sheeting her skin, the darkness of her eyes and the length of her long legs in skintight black leggings.

Fear came off her in palpable waves.

Kyle had his SIG P210 in his hand before he'd taken step one as he scanned the darkness behind her.

She was alone. As she came closer he could smell her perfume, mingled with a good dose of healthy sweat. He had an immediate hard-on.

Flicking the safety on his gun, he tucked it out of sight. Before she could pass, he wrapped his large hand around her upper arm, jerking her to a standstill in midflight. Her scream would have woken the inhabitants of the San Cristobal cemetery, a hundred sixty miles away, if he hadn't palmed her mouth with his other hand.

She struggled for a second, then froze in his hold. Tendrils of hair stuck to her damp cheeks. Her eyes flashed sparks in his general direction. She couldn't see him nearly as clearly as he saw her.

He had a feeling that was going to be a defining problem for them.

In his family, hell in his
profession
, women were to be loved and cherished. Protected. Respected.

Yet here he was. About to violate every damn code ingrained in him.

So, what the hell was he going to have to do? Which would scare her more? The cynical bad guy, or the ex-lover who'd never forgotten the taste and texture of her lush mouth?

The sweet softness of her succulent lips moved like a caress against his palm. Her eyes strained to see who held her.

Resigned, Kyle murmured softly. "Ssh, it's m—"

Delanie bit down on his hand.

Hard.

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«^»

Delanie tasted blood. "Bstrdth!" She'd known who it was the moment Kyle had put his hands on her.

With a muttered expletive Kyle jerked his hand from between her teeth. "Bitch," he said mildly.

"Bastard!" she shot back, this time more clearly. Served him right. He'd scared the bejesus out of her, coming out of the dark like that.

Blood pounded in her ears. The timbre of his voice brought back memories of things better forgotten; the gentleness of those hands on her sensitized flesh, his scent as it had lingered on her skin when he'd made love to her. Way back in the mists of time.

She hadn't forgotten.

She'd never forget.

And she
never
repeated a mistake.

Life was crammed with just too damn much to repeat lessons she'd already learned. She
had
to keep her focus.

Especially now.

She swallowed, drawing back mentally. "Let go."

The pressure of his fingers lightened. Infinitesimally. He slid his hand down her upper arm to lightly circle her wrist. There was the subtle threat of both pain and pleasure in his grasp and she jerked her arm away, glaring up at his ghostly presence. She licked her lips. He might be invisible, but no ghost tasted salty and musky.

"What… are you doing… out… here?" she panted, hoping her heartbeat would stop threatening to choke her.

"Waiting to see if you'd come back alive, or if we'd have to retrieve your decimated bones from the jungle tomorrow."

His low, perfectly pitched whisper showed he wasn't a happy camper. Which was just fine and dandy with her.

"Gee. I didn't know you cared." Bending forward, she braced her hands on her knees and dropped her head, dragging great gulps of sultry night air into her burning lungs.

"I'm taking you into San Cristobal tomorrow."

"Nope." She felt the heat of his eyes on the top of her head, but made no move to unfold herself. The tendons behind her knees screamed for mercy. She bounced them into submission, her fingertips brushing her toes.

"It wasn't an offer," he stated flatly. She heard him shift his feet on the brick, and a shower of
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sweet-smelling flowers drifted from the lattice above him at his movement.

"In case you didn't recognize it—" she straightened and peered in his general direction, barely able to make out his denser shadow from the darkness "—that
was
a refusal." She felt rather than heard his snarl.

"What the hell are you up to?" He paused a beat. "Whatever Montero is paying you, I'll pay a hell of a lot more for you to disappear."

"Give it up. I'm not for sale, and I'm not leaving. This has nothing to do with money. And nothing whatsoever to do with you."

"What's he holding over you?"

"Not a thing," she snapped. "Ramon Montero has something I want. When I have it, I'll be happy to trot off into the sunset. Until then, leave me the hell alone."

"Tell me what it is," he drawled, suddenly, suspiciously affable. "
I'll
give it to you."

She didn't trust him any farther than she could spit. "You're not in a position to do so."

"Then you'll have to do without it." Now his tone was uncompromising.

Damn him for making her feel even more vulnerable and scared. Very carefully she slid her hand under her shirt and down the back of her leggings where the narrow Tampax box had been digging uncomfortably into her damp skin. She pulled it out. "Don't make me use this."

There was a moment of silence and then he gave a bark of laughter. "What are you going to do? Shove a tampon up my ass?"

Her cheeks flamed with fury. She didn't bother to ask how the hell
he
could see what she was holding, when she couldn't even see it herself. She mangled the flap of the sweat-dampened box with fingers made clumsy by impatience. White cylinders dropped like pickup sticks around her feet. Her fingers touched the metal barrel of the gun. She pulled it out, dropping the box and the rest of its contents on the ground. She pointed the business end of the little .38 Colt directly where she hoped Kyle's chest was.

Right at his black, octagonal heart.

"Get out of my way and stay the hell out of my sight. I don't care what business you have with Ramon, just stay away from me."