Dangerous Desires (24 page)

“Thank you,” she said with a nod as she walked from the office. The wharf outside was quiet, the rising sun hidden now behind clouds, the wind picking up, whistling eerily through the masts of the anchored boats, the tethered rigging clanking in counterrhythm.

She glanced down at her watch, surprised to find that she’d managed a lot in a very short time. Now all that remained was to find the
Princesa
and convince its captain to let her on board. She fingered Drake’s wallet, confident of her success, knowing that in this part of the world money could guarantee one almost anything.

Still, she had to keep moving. She had no doubt that once Drake realized she was gone, he’d try to find her. She was his package, after all. Chattel to be traded for
information. It was a crass way to put it, but it did the trick, reminding her that last night hadn’t been real. Passion wasn’t the same as love. And she wasn’t about to let one night of amazing sex trick her into believing something different.

The path along the waterfront was only partially paved with shells and pebbles, making it difficult going in places where the rains had washed the paving away and turned the ground to mud. She picked her way carefully, ignoring the occasional catcall from men working on the piers.

The boats, for the most part, were small ones, meant for fishing or hauling local goods up and down the coast. Since it was still early, there was little activity. All the better for her purposes, but she remained wary as she passed into the shadow of a warehouse sitting adjacent to a long wooden jetty, a burst of wind sending dirt and pebbles skittering across the ground.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, she cast a look behind her, and satisfied that she was not being followed, sped up her pace, less mindful now of the mud beneath her feet. The sooner she found the
Princesa,
the sooner she’d be out of this cursed place.

A sign at the far side of the warehouse pointed toward the third quay, and she sighed with relief as she spied the trawler, its empty hull riding high in the water, its nets rigged and ready for the day’s run.

A dark man with a heavy beard was working on the deck, his attention on the rope he was coiling. She turned onto the pier, making her way past abandoned barrels and crates to the gangway leading to the
Princesa
.

“Hello,” she called. “I’m looking for Mr. Valdez?”

“You’ve found him,” the man said, his scowl less than inviting. Again, she had a moment’s doubt. But the gun in her pocket brought clarity.

“I’m hoping you can give me a lift? The harbor master said that you were headed for Esmeraldas. I’m supposed to meet my friends there, but I missed my boat.”

“This is a working vessel,” he said, shading his eyes with his hand. Thankfully, his Spanish was easier to follow, his accent less guttural than that of the harbor-master.

“I’d be more than happy to pay,” she offered. “I’ll give you a thousand. Half now. And half when we reach Esmeraldas.” The idea was a bit ludicrous, since once she was on the boat, she’d be at his mercy, more or less, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that.

“Two thousand,” the man said.

“I’m sorry, but a thousand is all I’ve got,” she lied, wishing she’d thought to separate the money, hiding some of it. “But I promise not to be a bother.” She gave him her most beguiling smile.

“All right, then.” He nodded his acceptance. “I’ll take a thousand.”

“When do we leave?” she asked, moving toward the gangplank.

“As soon as I finish with the rigging,” he said. “Half an hour, maybe less. You can go below if you like. Until we’re out of port.” He lifted an eyebrow, his gaze knowing. “And I’ll take the first half of the money now.”

“Fine,” she said, reaching into her bag for the wallet as she stepped onto the gangway, losing her footing on the slippery metal, her bag flying into the mud as she fell to her knees. “Damn it to hell,” she muttered, as Valdez
stood watching, making no effort to help. Swearing again, she pulled herself back to her feet, leaning down to rescue her bag, eyes searching for the wallet.

It had tumbled off the gangway into a puddle of water, flipping open, some of its contents scattered across the pier. She bent to retrieve some money and a plastic sheath that had fallen out of one of the wallet’s compartments. After safely stowing the currency, she turned the plastic sleeve over, wiping it clean, her heart stuttering to a stop as she stared down at the photograph encased inside.

“Are you coming?” Valdez asked, his tone impatient.

She lifted her head, her mind whirling. She needed to go. Now. This was her best chance. If she went back, Drake would see to it that she never had another opportunity to escape. But if she boarded the boat, she’d be betraying him in the worst possible way.

Indecision whirled inside her, baser instincts warring with common decency.

“So make up your mind,” the man said, his expression fading back into a scowl. “Coming or going? I haven’t got all day.”

She looked down at the photo again, her hands trembling. It shouldn’t be a debate. Self-preservation should always win the day, even over something as monumental as this. But she could see his face. Hear the pain in his voice. And she knew suddenly that there was no choice. She had to go back.

She had to tell Drake.

Drake stood in his bedroom staring down at Madeline’s scrawled message. “Sorry,” he read. “What the hell does that mean?” Was she sorry about running out on
him? Sorry about last night? Damn the woman. He should have known better than to trust her.

For all he knew the whole thing had been a setup. Lure him in and make him believe in her, then wham, she’s gone—just like that. And even if he put aside his personal feelings—which, considering the circumstances, was probably the wiser thing to do—there was still the matter of the mission. He was responsible for delivering her to Langley. And without a second thought he’d surrendered to his desire and as a result let her slip right through his fingers.

He grabbed his gun and the two hundreds she’d left him and headed into the living room, determined to run her to ground. She couldn’t have been gone that long. The sun was barely over the horizon. And they’d been up until the wee hours—he closed his eyes, cursing his own stupidity.

Damn, but she was good. Played him like a fucking violin.

He leaned down to pick up his pack, the scattered plates and cups reminding him of their foray onto the counter. How stupid could a man be? Using sex was the oldest trick in the book, and he’d fallen for it without even a backward glance.

Pulling an extra clip from the bag, he stuck it in his pocket and turned for the door, just as the screen opened and Madeline walked in, her face blanched of all color.

“What the hell are you doing back here?” he asked, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms.

“I have something I need to tell you,” she said, her voice coming on a whispered gasp as she struggled for air.

Instantly his senses went on high alert. “What’s hap
pened? Is it Ortiz? Di Silva?” He moved to the door, drawing the gun, his gaze sweeping across the courtyard.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what the hell is it?” He hadn’t meant to sound so angry, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “I got your note. So I know you didn’t just step out for breakfast. You were running. Again. So tell me, Madeline,” he taunted, “why the hell did you bother coming back? Did you need more money? Or maybe you wanted more of me? Is that it? A quickie before you hit the road?”

She winced, but held her ground, her breath coming more easily now. “I
was
leaving. I found a boat to take me to Ecuador. In fact, I’d be gone now except that I found something—and if I’m right, then it’s a big deal. And I couldn’t go. Not without telling you first what I found.” She held out the photograph.

“So what? You’re telling me that you had an attack of conscience over a picture of my brother?” He stared down at the photo, at Tucker’s crooked grin. They’d been fishing in Colorado, the trip a gift from their dad. It had been the three of them for a week on the Rio Grande.

The picture had been taken high in the mountains after a three-hour hike into a box canyon fabled as the home of enormous trout. They’d fished away the morning catching absolutely nothing and finally, exhausted, they’d stopped for lunch.

In the picture, Tucker was holding an eggshell, his eyes crinkled with laughter. Drake smiled at the memory. They’d brought hard-boiled eggs for their lunch. But somehow when Drake had gone to retrieve them, he’d picked up the fresh ones instead, so they’d started the long trek home with both their stomachs and their creels empty.

And their father had laughed so hard, Drake thought he’d split a gut. And then he’d made them scrambled eggs for supper. It was a precious memory.

“So it is your brother in the picture?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she contemplated something.

“Yes. Of course it is. But I still don’t understand why that would cause you to do a complete about-face.”

“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?” she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Hey, I’m not the one who snuck out of here without even saying good-bye.”

“You said you got my note.” At least she had the decency to look uncomfortable.

“Right. ‘Sorry.’ What the hell was that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m sorry. For a lot of things. Most principally ducking out on you like that. But I had to do what I thought was best. And if I let you take me back to Washington, there’s no telling what would happen to me. So I found a fisherman who agreed to take me to Ecuador. He had a trawler. And I was all set to go. Only then I dropped the wallet.”

“My wallet.”

“Yes. Yours. And the photograph fell out. And as soon as I saw it, I knew I had to come back. I owed you that much.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I do.” The words were quiet, and some of his anger dissipated at her tone. “Look, I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. There’s no questioning that fact. And you said you were close with your brother.”

“So you brought back the photograph?”

“No. I recognized it.”

“What?” He frowned, trying to make sense of her words.

“I’ve seen the man in this picture.” She waved at the photo in his hand. “Your brother. I know him. Or at least I knew him,” she amended. “Three years ago.”

“That’s impossible. Tucker died five years ago.”

“That’s just the point, Drake. He wasn’t dead when I last saw him. He was very much alive.” She paused, her gaze locking with his. “In San Mateo. Drake, your brother is my friend Andrés.”

T
hat’s insane,” Drake said. “I don’t know what you think you’re seeing in this picture, but it’s not your friend Andrés. I told you my brother died five years ago in Nevada when his plane went down.”

“That’s impossible.” She shook her head, hands on her hips. “Your brother was standing in the exercise yard talking to me three years ago. Very much alive. He’s the reason I’m here with you now. If he hadn’t helped me, I’d never have gotten Washington’s attention.”

“Madeline, you’re not making any sense.” He frowned, still fighting against the idea that Tucker was alive, even as hope began to blossom.

“Look, I can prove it, ” she said, fumbling through the plastic envelope she carried in her bag. “Andrés gave me this.” She held out what appeared to be a playing card.

“The Queen of Hearts?” he asked. “This is your proof?”

“Yes. He gave it to me the last time I saw him. Made me swear that I’d use it if I had the chance.”

“Use it to do what exactly?”

“Get out. He meant prison at the time, but then Ortiz came and I had to help Jenny. So I kept the card. And when I found out my sister was dead, I took Andrés’s advice. I went to the Embassy. And I showed Robertson the card. Don’t you see? That’s why you were called in to rescue me.”

“Because you gave him a playing card?” He frowned, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?”

“Well, does it make sense that I would come back here, risking your anger and my freedom on a whim? I’m telling you that Andrés and your brother are one and the same. Believe it or don’t. I just thought you had the right to know.”

“Considering everything you’ve done, why the hell should I believe you?” The words came out of their own accord and she flinched again, this time pain cresting in her eyes.

“Because whatever’s happened in the meantime,” she said, her chin lifting, “there was something between us last night. Something good. And because I loved my sister as much as you loved your brother, and I couldn’t stand the idea that you would go on thinking he died in Nevada. And because I owe it to Andrés to let his brother know that he might be alive.”

“You just said ‘might,’ ” he spat out. “I thought you were sure.”

“I’m certain that your brother was my friend,” she said, dropping her eyes to look at the photo in his hands. “But when he gave me the card, I asked why he didn’t use it himself. And he told me that it was too late. That he
was marked for death. And I know that they killed people there. I’d hear them shooting sometimes late at night.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she remembered her friend. “So I can’t tell you if he’s still alive. But he was when I saw him last. That much I’ll swear to.”

“Three years ago.” None of this made any sense. It had to be a con. Another game she was playing. But he’d be damned if he could see what she stood to gain.

“Look, I know this is hard to swallow. Especially coming from me. Now. Right after I ran out on you. But don’t you see? That’s what makes it plausible. Why the hell would I come back here if I didn’t honestly believe what I was telling you?”

“If you thought it would get you something you want, I believe you’d say anything.”

“But I don’t want anything from you. If I had, I would have stayed. I’d have used what happened between us last night. I didn’t need to invent a story about your brother. Besides, you’re missing the point. If your brother was in San Mateo three years ago, then he couldn’t have been killed in the desert. Which means that the government lied to you.”