Hot Mercy (Affairs of State Book 2) (36 page)

He took a tentative bite. “Tasteless.” Sebastian sighed. “The addition of a few jalapenos and ancho chiles would much improve it.” He poked at the chicken with his fork.

Mercy ran her fingers through Sebastian’s dark hair on the side that hadn’t been shaved. She loved the thick texture, the blue-black sheen of the smooth strands. She loved a lot about him. If he had died that day in Kiev, she never would have forgiven herself.
Never
. He had been by her side in Mexico, had taken up her fight even at the cost of delaying his own country's mission. He had taken away the sting of her broken marriage and made her feel loved again. And now he had helped her bring her mother home. Who knew how much longer it would have been before Interpol found Talia—if they ever would have.

All of these gifts and more, Sebastian Hidalgo had bestowed upon her, risking his own life in the process.

Mercy stopped her fingertips at the edge of the bandages taped to Sebastian’s head. Although the bullets had been removed, he hadn’t fully recovered his hearing in the left ear. There had been talk of another specialist operating as soon as possible, in hopes of avoiding permanent deafness.

“Mercy O’Brien?” a gravelly voice came from the doorway.

She snapped around to see a man in a dark suit, built like a boxer, feet planted wide in the only doorway into the room. The bottom fell out of her stomach. Why hadn’t the Marine at the door stopped him?

They hadn’t been allowed her to bring a weapon into the hospital. She’d thought it didn’t matter. That they were safe. That they were beyond the far-reaching tentacles of the Tambovs.

“And you are?” she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking.

The man studied her for a moment longer, then eyes as sharp as flint chips shifted to take in the figure in the hospital bed.

Oh, God, not again…

Sebastian must have shared her fear. His hand slipped out of hers, edging toward the call button at the head of his bed. Not that it would do any good if the intruder pulled out a gun and started firing.

“Don’t be alarmed, sir,” their visitor said. “I’m one of the good guys.” He turned back to Mercy, opened his jacket and gestured toward the inside pocket. “May I, Ms. O’Brien? I promise, it’s harmless.”

She nodded her head, already starting to wonder if she knew him from somewhere. She just couldn’t remember.

He pulled out his wallet and offered her a familiar card. “I need to speak with you, in private. Would you step outside of the room with me, please? For just a moment.”

She felt Sebastian’s body go rigid on the bed where she still sat. “It’s all right,” she told him, patting his hand. “Really. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Mercy walked in silence through the door and to the end of the corridor, the stranger close behind her. She thought about the printing on the card: Red Sands Consulting, Agent Cal Woodruff. She said, “I’m in deep shit with Geddes, aren’t I?”

Woodruff stepped closer and slanted her a look. “You did go AWOL on a mission. Some people might consider that an act of desertion, since your job was related to national security.”

The hallway walls rippled in her vision. She clenched her fists at her sides. “Am I about to be arrested because I refused to let my mother die in a foreign country?”

He looked away, silent—a granite statue. Then, almost reluctantly, “Arrested? No. I don’t think so.” He shot a wary glance up and then down the corridor. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen the old man quite so furious. Your partners in the islands were left hanging. The operation was compromised.”

Mercy swallowed. “Then they didn’t find the opals? And the Chameleon agents haven't been captured?”

He shook his head. “Your team is still down there. But the way Geddes is talking, it’s a bust.” He stared down at his feet and waited for a nurse to pass by them before continuing. “He wants you to report in for debriefing.”

Mercy swore under her breath. She’d failed. Worse yet, the team had failed because of her.

But if she had to do it all over again, she would have made the same decision. Absolutely. Family came first. And she had succeeded at one important task that was, in her mind, worth any sacrifice. She'd brought her mother home, alive. It was just that she’d hoped Margaret and Glen could wrap up the mission without her. And yes, at the time she’d decided it also would be fine if Geddes decided she was so unreliable that he'd never again come to her for help.

She turned to gaze back down the corridor, toward the sunny rooms filled with flowers she’d bought for the two most important people in her world.

“Screw the debriefing,” she said.

“Beg pardon, ma’am?” Woodruff stared at her.

She faced him, tightening her fists until they ached, her body rigid. “Tell Geddes I’m going back to finish the job.”

Woodruff’s stony brow actually creased like real human flesh. “I don’t see how that’s possible, ma’am. Your legend may be broken. If the wrong people have found out why you were there, you’ll be risking your life by trying to link up with the Australians again.”

Mercy looked away from his wide-eyed incredulity.
Wouldn’t be the first time
.

                                          40

Mercy stood at the foot of her mother’s bed, beside the surgeon who had stopped the final trickle of internal bleeding and patched together brutalized organs. He was a neat, wiry man with kind eyes and small, delicate hands. In a corduroy sports jacket and khaki slacks, he looked more like a college lit professor.

"How soon will she be fully recovered?" Mercy asked.

He watched his patient sleep for another minute. “She lost a great deal of blood. Without medical attention or proper nourishment, I imagine she was surviving on fumes by the time you got her to Kiev.”

Which wasn't an answer but seemed as much reassurance as he was likely to give.
Time will tell
.

Mercy cleared her throat. “Thank you for taking such good care of her and for recommending the specialist for Sebastian.” She hesitated, her gaze drifting back to her mother’s face, peaceful in slumber. The terrible bruising was less ghastly now, morphing from deep purple and scarlet to shades of green and yellow. She hadn’t realized bruises could linger for so long. But then again, Talia’s body hadn’t been in any condition to aid in the healing.

“Has she opened up to you about what happened to her over there?” the surgeon asked.

“No.” Mercy had to swallow twice before she could get out another word. “I asked her if she wanted to talk about it. With me, or with a therapist. My mother insists that the men who took her off the tour bus beat her, nothing more. As if that’s not bad enough, right?”

“But you don’t believe that?”

“No,” Mercy said. “I don’t.” She turned to the man, her heart breaking. “I know what a psychiatrist would say. That she needs to deal with what happened over there. She needs to face her nightmares. But I’m not about to pressure her to revisit that—” She shook her head. Why say anything more? They both knew what they were talking about. Rape. More than likely multiple abuses. Again she silently thanked the old couple for spiriting Talia away from her captors. They might not have known how to get her the medical help she needed, but they did what they could to protect her. Even to jeopardizing their own lives.

Mercy began again. “I may have to go away for a while. Mark Templeton will stay with her.”

“And if we need to reach you?”

“You can’t. I’ll check in when and if I can.”

He nodded his understanding. The staff at the hospital was accustomed to treating high-level political and military personnel. They grasped the need-to-know dictum of Federal security agencies like the CIA, NSA and FBI.

“And your other patient?” he asked.

She sucked in a breath for courage. In a way, leaving Sebastian was even harder. He would try to stop her. She couldn’t let him.

She said, “I’d appreciate it if you said nothing to him about my leaving until after I’ve gone.”

That night Mercy sat beside Sebastian, as she’d promised she would, until he came out from under the anesthesia following his most recent surgery.

“Come closer,
querida,
” he whispered. “You’re blurry. Let me see your beautiful eyes.”

She bent down, kissed him lightly on the cheek, clasped her fingers between his on the crisp white sheets. “I never had a chance to tell you how grateful I am for what you did,” she said. “Saving my mother’s life and bringing us out of that nightmare."

“My pleasure,” he murmured drowsily. “Maria came to see me before the surgery.”

Mercy was surprised. Although she’d called his daughter and told Maria where they were—and only a very little about what had actually happened to them—she hadn’t realized that Maria had left school to come and see her father. “I’m sorry I missed her. How is she?”

“Angry. At both of us. That’s why she didn’t stay to see you. I never told her I was going to the Virgin Islands to find you. It’s not the first time I’ve kept my plans from her. I need to protect her.”

“I know,” Mercy murmured, smiling. 

“She thinks I have a death wish.”

“Do you?”

“No, of course not.” Reaching up with a shaky hand, he brushed his knuckles along her jaw and down her throat. “I want to be around to make love to you again…and again.”

She had to look away to blink back tears.

“Promise me something,” he was saying.

She focused on the blue sky beyond the tall window overlooking the woods and thought about Mexican sunsets and Rancho Hidalgo in the exquisite valley of the gods. A valley where Sebastian’s family had clung to life through uncounted generations. Where his proud ancestors had sacrificed everything to survive against invading armies and the cruelty of nature. And now he and his government waged a war against drug dealers and arms smugglers who slaughtered their own people with abandon. He was the bravest man she’d ever known. How could she be any less dedicated to justice than he?

“Did you hear me?” he said.

“What?”

“Promise me that you won’t involve yourself further with this clandestine political nonsense. You have your mother safely back now. Your government has nothing more to hold over you.” His voice wavered. “And I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” she said. Their eyes met, locked, and she thought:
He knows. Oh, God, he knows.

And so she did the only thing she could. She kissed him on the mouth, told him she loved him, and said nothing more.

The 747 touched down on the island of St. Thomas just as the setting tropical sun turned sky and water to orange fire. Mercy clicked on her cell phone—five messages. She ignored them. Minutes later, she checked her home voice mail as she dashed across the blazing hot tarmac toward the terminal.

“I don’t know where you are, Mercy, so I’m calling your home number.” Mark Templeton’s voice sent her heart rocketing into her throat. Had Talia relapsed? Or Sebastian? “Your mom is doing fine. Not to worry. Sebastian was physically okay when I last saw him, but—”

Crap! Is he coming after me?

The message continued. “—the man’s super pissed that you took off without telling him. He checked himself out of rehab and flew back to Mexico.”

Sadly, she’d rather expected that reaction. They saw life so differently but she understood his anger. He’d wanted to keep her safe, to protect her. When she wouldn’t let him, he’d given up and walked away. Maybe he’d decided she’d chosen the exciting life of a spy over him.
Ridiculous!
But if it wasn’t for the adrenalin rush, why was she taking chances again?

Because I need to go where I can do the most good.
It was as simple as that.

                                          41

Mercy spotted Margaret and Glen sitting at Tickles’ dockside bar. A rainbow of paper lanterns hung from wires strung between wooden posts, brightening the night. Sleek power boats and elegant yachts ranged along the wooden pier, bobbing gently in the wake of a passing cigar boat. As its guttural roar retreated, Mercy came up behind her partner and watched as Margaret’s eyes widened. Mercy sat down on the vacant stool beside Glen before he noticed her.

“Do you serve sea turtle soup here?” she asked when the bartender approached.

Glen’s torso visibly stiffened.

The bartender looked at her strangely, shook his head. “It’s illegal, miss. Endangered species and all. Here you go.” He shoved a menu across the bar at her.

Glen turned to glare at her. “I don’t fucking believe it. You got one hell of a nerve.” He stood up from his stool, hostility oozing from every pore, snatched up his glass and walked away at a boozy tilt to sit at a high-top table. She watched him for a moment, sulking over his drink.

Mercy blew out a breath.
That went well.
She had prepared herself for his anger, but the show of bitterness and disgust stung nonetheless.