Dangerous Desires (6 page)

“I’m guessing the way we got in is out of the question?” Drake asked, as Nash fired on the advancing group of guards.

“They’ve got the exits covered,” Avery said. “Hannah
says they’ve got people on both the front and side gates. We’d never get past them.”

“So we’re trapped.”

“I might know a way,” Madeline said as she dropped down beside Drake.

“Welcome to the party, Ms. Reynard.” Avery’s smile was grim.

“Madeline,” she corrected. “I think we’re well past formality.”

“So what’s your idea?” Drake asked, cutting through the social niceties.

“There’s a gate at the back of the property. It’s an old service entrance. For gardeners and such. No one uses it anymore. It’s mainly overgrown with weeds. I found it by accident when I was walking once. Last time I was there, it still opened.”

“And that would be?” Drake asked.

“Around two months ago. Before di Silva’s men started watching my every move.”

“Hannah,” Avery said into his mic, “can you verify the gate’s location?”

“It’s not on any of the plans I have. But they’re recent and if the gate’s not in regular use it might not show up.”

“You’re sure about this?” Drake asked Madeline.

“I told you it was overgrown. I don’t even think di Silva knows it’s there. It’s really old.”

“Look, we haven’t got time to debate,” Avery said. “Di Silva’s forces are almost here. We need to move now. You two head out and we’ll follow.”

“Roger that,” Drake said, pulling Madeline to her feet. “You ready?”

She nodded as they shifted away from the trees, moving across the manicured lawn, past a swimming pool, toward the deep shadows at the back of the property. Behind them Drake could hear gunfire as Avery and Nash worked to hold their attackers at bay, buying time for them to find and open the gate.

“So where is it?” he asked as they reached the safety of the overhanging trees, stopping in front of the back wall.

“Over here,” she said, disappearing beneath the heavy undergrowth that covered this part of the wall. He ducked under the vines, the vegetation blocking out all sound, the sudden silence almost deafening. “This is it.” She pulled back a few remaining leaves to reveal a small gate, its rusted metal rivets and splintering wood irrefutable evidence of its disuse.

Drake pressed the latch and pushed against the gate, but it refused to yield as the gunfire drew nearer. “It’s not opening.”

“It’s probably swollen from the humidity. We’ve had rain for the last three days. Try harder. I know it’ll open.”

Drake slammed his shoulder into the gate. “They’re bound to figure out what we’re up to,” he said, more to himself than to Madeline, as he shoved against the wood. “Even if they don’t know about the gate, if I don’t get this open, we’re going to be in deep shit.”

He pushed again and this time the gate swung open. Something on the other side shifted, and he raised his gun.

“Hold on,” came a whispered response. “It’s Tyler.” She stepped out of the shadows, holding an M-60.

“As usual, perfect timing.” Drake grinned at his friend.

“Hannah finally found a plan that showed the gate.
And it seemed like you guys could use a little reinforcement.” Tyler shrugged. “Truck’s over there.”

“Take Madeline and get ready to roll,” he said. “I’ll cover Nash and Avery.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said, handing over the machine gun and heading for the truck parked in the shadows, Madeline on her heels.

Drake stepped back through the gate just as Nash and Avery burst through the undergrowth, backs turned as they continued to fire at the oncoming forces. After positioning the M-60, he fired, satisfied to see two of di Silva’s men go down. Under Drake’s covering shots, Nash and Avery pushed forward until they reached the gate.

“Tyler’s just outside with the truck,” he said, as Nash took out another of di Silva’s henchmen.

“And the package?” Avery asked.

“Safely stowed.”

“Then I say we get the hell out of here.” Nash grinned.

“You guys go first,” Drake instructed. “I’ll hold them off until you signal you’re safe.”

Avery nodded as he and Nash moved through the gate. Drake turned and opened fire on the still advancing group of men. There were ten, maybe twelve left. He ducked as a bullet passed a little too close for comfort and then fired, leaving three more men down.

“We’re secure,” Avery’s voice crackled in his ear. “Move your ass.”

Not needing further encouragement, Drake fired one last time and dove through the gate, rolling to his feet as the truck pulled up next to him. He threw the gun in the back and grasped Avery’s hand as the big man hoisted
him up into the tarp-covered truck bed just as a jeep roared around the corner, guns blazing.

“We’ve got company,” Avery said into his mic.

“Copy that,” Tyler said. “I can see them in the rearview mirror.” She gunned the engine and Nash fired out the window.

Drake retrieved his gun and waved an arm in Madeline’s direction as she made a move to join him at the open end of the truck bed. “Stay down.”

She nodded, dropping to her knees, lowering her head protectively.

Drake and Avery opened fire, their bullets, combined with Nash’s, forcing the jeep to drop back just out of range, while still keeping pace with the truck. “How much farther to the rendezvous point?” Drake asked.

“A couple of minutes,” Avery said.

“You still think it’ll work as planned? I mean, we weren’t counting on this kind of a response from di Silva.”

“We weren’t counting on a response at all. It was supposed to be a simple in and out,” Avery observed. “But we figured for the contingency anyway.”

“I’m pushing it as fast as I can,” Tyler replied over the com. “We should be there in less than a minute. And if Jason’s on point, the plane should be waiting.” The jeep moved closer and Drake fired another round, forcing it back again. “Sharp turn,” Tyler called as she jerked the truck to the right onto a rutted road leading to a clearing and a weathered-looking landing strip.

As promised, the small Cessna was sitting at the end of the runway, engines running. As they approached the plane, Tyler hit the brakes and the truck skidded to a stop, fishtailing so that the back end was facing the plane, the
body of the truck blocking the oncoming jeep’s view of the plane’s open hatch.

Madeline moved toward the plane, her obvious intent to get herself on board, but Drake stopped her.

“What? Aren’t we getting on the plane?” Madeline asked.

“No,” Avery said. “It’s only meant as a diversion.”

“I don’t understand,” Madeline said, securing her bag over her shoulder.

“Just stay with me,” Drake said, as he helped her down. “We’re going under the plane to that dump over there.” He pointed to a tumble of old barrels and crates that littered the far side of the runway.

Madeline frowned, but followed behind him as he ducked beneath the humming fuselage. Behind him he could hear the jeep as its driver gunned the engine as it neared the runway. When they reached the abandoned cargo, Drake pulled her down into what appeared to be the open end of a crate. But once through the opening a small ladder led down into a dark cement-lined hole.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, her body tensing.

“Plan B.” Drake said as Tyler and Nash moved into the bunker, Avery on the ladder above, disguising the entrance with additional pieces of discarded wood and metal. The small amount of light that had filtered through the opening vanished, swallowed by inky blackness as Avery closed a metal hatch.

Madeline reached out to grasp Drake’s arm, her fingers cold, her nails digging into his skin. “I can’t see.”

Drake flipped on a flashlight, the beam seeming overly bright after the blackout. Above them, the roar of the
plane’s engines crested as the aircraft started its taxi down the runway.

The squeal of the jeep’s brakes was followed by a volley of gunfire overhead, and then another, the shooters obviously trying to bring down the plane, but the engine sounds crescendoed as the little Cessna took to the sky.

“I don’t understand,” Madeline whispered, frustration cresting in her eyes as the engine noise began to fade and the gunfire stopped. “I thought the whole idea was to get me the hell out of Dodge.”

“The whole idea was to liberate you and then destroy di Silva’s weapons stash,” Drake said, his gaze locking with hers. “Which means we’re only halfway there.”

Di Silva Coffee, Bogotá, Colombia

S
o you’re telling me that she’s gone?” Hector Ortiz slammed a fist down on his desk as he listened to the man on the other end of the telephone. In his anger it was hard to hold on to his Spanish, but now wasn’t the time for a slip. “How can that be possible?”

“There was some kind of commando attack. I don’t know who. But they were definitely American.” Caesar Vega had recently been assigned to head security at Casa de Orquídea. Clearly, however, he hadn’t been up to the task.

“How many men did we lose?”

“Eleven so far. But three others are seriously wounded.”

“Jesus, Vega, how many of them were there?”

The other man paused, silence stretching across the phone lines. “Three. Maybe four. At the end it was hard to tell.”

“And you saw them board the plane?”

“I saw it fly away,” the man confirmed. “Heading northwest.”

“I didn’t ask you about the fucking plane,” Ortiz breathed, his voice almost a whisper. “I asked you about Madeline and the bastards who took her. Did you see them get on the plane?”

“No. It all happened too fast. But there was no one left behind. We did a thorough search.”

Ortiz closed his eyes, clenching a fist. “Was it the landing strip to the west of the compound?”

“Yes. The abandoned one near the Cunida plantation.”

“There’s a bunker there. The resistance used it during the rebellion as a place to hide contraband. Did you search the bunker?”

“No. We didn’t know it existed. But surely if we didn’t know, then—”

“A stupid supposition. The Americans work with whatever side favors their politics. And for many years that meant siding with the guerillas.” He released a slow breath, pushing aside his memories. “Anyway, the point is that it’s possible they’re still in-country.”

“But why would they want to linger?” Vega asked. “They’ve already achieved their objective. They have Señorita Reynard. Surely there’s nothing to be gained by staying in the country.”

“You underestimate them. Madeline is a valuable asset, there is no question. But if they could find the weapons cache that would be icing on the proverbial cake. No?”

“I do not know what you mean by ‘icing.’ But if they do find the stash…” he trailed off, and Ortiz swallowed a sigh. If the Americans found the weapons, then everything he’d worked so hard to achieve would be at risk.

“Shall I call Señor di Silva?” Vega asked, sounding understandably nervous.

“No. I’ll deal with di Silva.” The last thing Ortiz needed was for his boss to try to take charge. The man had been no more than a figurehead for years now. Di Silva had no idea how much of his business had been shifted to the arms trade, or the exact nature of the partnerships Ortiz had orchestrated in his name. He’d made allies of many powerful men—men who would become dangerous enemies if they thought they’d been betrayed.

Damn bitch. He wasn’t about to let her bring him down.

“It’s better if we handle this ourselves,” he told Vega, pushing away his anger. “I want you to take as many men as you can round up and head for the cache.”

“If I find the
gringos
, what do you want me to do?” Vega asked.

“Kill them,” Ortiz said, his voice without inflection, even though his mind was racing with possibilities. “Except for Madeline. Bring her to me. It’ll be my pleasure to show her exactly what we do to traitors.”

Drake paused at the top of a steep incline, leaning down to give Madeline a hand as she climbed over the last of the rocky escarpment. They’d made good time through the jungle, so far with no sign of di Silva or his men, but Madeline wasn’t foolish enough to drop her guard.

The sky was beginning to lighten, which helped with visibility, but it also made them more vulnerable, particularly now that they were so close. For the last twenty minutes or so, they’d been following the path of a rushing stream cutting its way through the mountainous terrain.

“How much farther?” Drake asked, as the rest of the team made their way over the tumble of stones. She’d sketched out the rudimentary path for them in the bunker, but with every second moving danger closer, they’d headed out as soon as they were certain that di Silva’s men had left the airstrip, leaving the details for later.

“We’re almost there,” Madeline answered, her breathing labored from the climb. The jungle was dense and the humidity made walking feel like swimming in quicksand. “It’s just beyond that rise.” She pointed to an outcropping of rock almost completely engulfed in the undergrowth. “The water cuts through the rocks up ahead. It forms a sort of natural gateway to the clearing hiding the ruins.”

“What ruins?” Drake asked, a frown cutting across his face. His eyes were icy blue, his granite chin dark with stubble. Like the rest of the team, his clothes were dark. Black T-shirt with a flak jacket and camouflage pants. He had an edge that was hard to ignore. As if he’d crossed the line one too many times. Maybe it was all in her head, but there was something about him that called to her.

A kindred spirit.

And yet, even as she had the thought, she knew better. He and his friends might have rescued her from Casa de Orquídea, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe they truly gave a damn about what happened to her. She was merely a means to an end. And the feeling was mutual.

“I asked you a question,” Drake said, his impatience pulling her thoughts back to the here and now.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “You asked about the ruins. I can’t tell you anything specifically. But they’re old. Like Machu Picchu in Peru. This area is littered with places like that. But what makes these particular ruins
perfect for the cache is the location itself. The clearing is completely protected. It’s surrounded by cliffs on three sides, and a huge dropoff in the back. The only entrance is the opening where the stream cuts through.”