In Bed with the Enemy (11 page)

A man dressed in peasant clothes walked toward her. Short and wirily built, he wore loose, dingy white pants and an equally dingy shirt. Whipping his dirty white hat from his head in a gallant gesture, he revealed a cap of shaggy, jet-black hair.

“Would the
señorita
need assistance with her bag?” he asked, his accent thick and heavy.

Elise smiled and shook her head as she continued to look for the contact she'd been told would meet her. “I'm fine, thank you.”

“Does the
señorita
need a guide?” he asked. “Jorge is
excelente.
Only twenty American dollars to see a red butterfly.”

“No.”

“Red butterfly is rare in Mezcaya.”

“Thank you for the offer, but no,” she said more firmly.

“The flight of the red butterfly is
muy hermoso,
” he added.

She was beginning to get annoyed by the man's insistence. “I said no.”

Leaning close, he lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Look, Campbell, you want to shoot me a break here?” he asked without a trace of an accent. “I've just given you the code words three times.”

Elise blinked. She'd been so intent on finding her contact that she'd completely ignored what the man had been saying. “I'm so sorry.”

She couldn't have felt more foolish. But when she started to speak again, a slight shake of his head warned her to be careful of what she said. Some undercover operative she'd turned out to be.

“No, thank you, Jorge. I'm not interested in the flight of a red butterfly. I'm on a buying trip for an exclusive import boutique and I'll need a guide to some of the local villages. Would you know where the villagers might be interested in selling some of their handmade baskets and pottery?”

“Sí, señorita,”
he said, grinning and slipping back into the heavy accent. “Jorge Cortez knows many such villages.”

Relieved that she hadn't blown either one of their covers, Elise nodded. “Then you're hired as my guide and interpreter, Jorge.”

Cortez grinned and reached for the carry-on bag sitting at her feet. “Follow me,
señorita.
Jorge will take you to Tierra del Loro, the land of the parrot.”

Two hours later, Elise held on for dear life as Jorge steered his ancient Jeep around yet another pothole in the road leading up the mountain. They were going deeper into the jungle than she'd anticipated and she was beginning to wonder what she'd gotten herself into. But as they rounded a bend in the winding road, Jorge pulled the Jeep to an abrupt stop in a clearing filled with huts.

Her breath caught and adrenaline surged through her veins. Parked in the middle of the tiny village up ahead, several men had gathered around a semi. A small stack of cardboard produce boxes sat to one side of a trailer with Mercado Trucking painted along the side. The men were pulling heavy wooden gun crates out of the back.

Her attention focused on the scene in front of her, it took a moment for her to realize that the long barrel of an M16 rifle was pointed at her nose. Her gaze followed the barrel all the way past the butt end to the scowling peasant holding it against his shoulder. He definitely didn't look happy to see her.

 

When Cole walked by the second warehouse on his way to the building with the new chain and padlock,
he immediately realized something was different. The door had been closed when he was here yesterday and the scrub brush in front of it was undisturbed. Today, it stood wide open and the brush in front had been trampled.

Taking his flashlight from his pocket, he switched it on and cautiously entered the building. As he surveyed the interior, the hair on the back of his neck tingled. The dirt floor had two gouges in the surface from the door to the middle of the big open area, as if someone had been dragged inside, heels down. The dust had also been disturbed off to one side—the definite signs of a scuffle.

He quickly unhooked the snap on his holster, ready to draw his weapon as he scanned the interior of the building. When he noticed a small spot on the floor several yards away, a cold, hard chill wracked his body. Walking over, he pulled a latex glove from his hip pocket, then knelt down on one knee beside the darkened area. He touched it, then shined the light on the dust and sticky residue coating the tips of the rubber glove.

His heart thudded against his ribs so hard it felt as if it might jump from his chest. The substance on the latex was red. Bloodred.

Careful not to disturb the area where the obvious struggle had taken place, Cole retraced his steps and went back outside. His chest felt as if it might burst from being unable to draw a breath as he pulled off the glove and reached for the cell phone hooked to his belt.

Had the hit man abducted Elise from the inn this
morning? Had he brought her out here to the warehouses? If so, had he…

Cole's mind wouldn't allow him to finish the thought as he punched in the sheriff's number. “Wainwright, call the crime lab and get a mobile unit out to the warehouses at the west end of town,” he said when the man answered.

“What's up, Yardley?”

“We may have had a—” Cole had to swallow the bile rising in his throat before he could say the word “—homicide.”

“Is there a body?” Wainwright asked. “Do we need the county coroner?”

“I'm…not sure yet,” Cole said, fighting to keep his voice even. “I'm getting ready to search the area now.”

C
ole looked in the mirror above the bathroom sink, hardly recognizing the man staring back at him. He reached up to scratch the three-day growth of beard covering his cheeks. If hell had a face, it had to be the one staring back at him.

His eyes were so bloodshot from lack of sleep, he looked as if he'd been out on a week-long bender, and the dark circles smudging the skin below made him appear to have two black eyes. He took a deep breath as he barely resisted the urge to bury his fist in the face gazing back at him.

He despised the man in the mirror. It was his fault Elise was missing. If he'd been more protective, more vigilant, she wouldn't have disappeared three days ago. She'd be right here, right now, in his arms where she belonged. Emotion rose up in his throat—the feel
ings so strong they threatened to choke the life out of him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he clenched his teeth against the pain filling his chest. Why hadn't he told Elise how he felt about her? Why had he been such a coward?

He'd had more opportunities than he cared to count to tell her that he loved her, that she was the most important person in his life and that he wanted her with him always. But he'd put it off. He'd convinced himself that it was too soon, that it would only complicate things between them. But the truth was, he'd only been lying to himself. He loved Elise with all of his heart and soul, and he'd give everything he had for just one more day, one more hour, to hold her, to tell her how much he loved her.

Cole forced himself to open his eyes and take first one breath, then another. Walking into the bedroom, he sank down on the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands. Was this the way his father had felt when he'd lost Cole's mother? Had Gunny gone through this kind of hell?

If his father had felt even half of what Cole felt now, it was no wonder that Gunny refused to marry again. Cole knew for certain no other woman could ever take Elise's place in his life, his heart, his soul. And the rest of his existence was going to be a living hell without her.

When the phone on the nightstand rang, he jumped, then stared at it for several long seconds. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what news the caller had to tell him. The crime lab was still working on the DNA tests to see whose blood had been found in the ware
house. If it turned out to be Elise's, Cole didn't want to hear the words that would mean his last scrap of hope was gone.

It rang twice more before he finally took a deep breath and picked up the receiver. “What?”

“Yardley?” It was Justin Wainwright.

“Yeah.”

“You sound like hell.”

“That's probably because that's the way I feel,” Cole answered cryptically. “What do you want, Wainwright?”

“I've got a little news you might be interested in,” the sheriff said.

“Did you find Elise?” Cole asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Not yet.” Wainwright hastened to add, “But hang in there, Yardley. That's not to say she won't turn up safe and sound.”

Cole didn't believe it any more than Wainwright did. The contracted hit on someone getting close to solving the gun-smuggling case, and Elise's disappearance, were too coincidental.

He closed his eyes in an effort to stave off the devastating emotions that threatened to swamp him. “So what did you want to tell me?” he finally managed to ask.

“The preliminary lab report—”

“What about it?” Cole interrupted. “Does it rule out the blood at the warehouse as being Elise's?”

“No.”

His heart sinking, Cole didn't care what the damn report had to say. “I'm not interested then.”

“I'm going to tell you anyway,” Wainwright said
stubbornly. “The forensics team found more traces of blood a few feet from where the scuffle took place. The preliminary findings are that they don't match.”

“All that tells me is that someone fought back,” Cole said tiredly. He'd expect no less from Elise. She was trained to take evasive action, to defend herself if at all possible.

“Right. Due to the signs of a scuffle, we already knew that much,” Wainwright agreed. “But what we just discovered is that someone fired a nine-millimeter inside that warehouse.”

“Did you find the slug?” Cole asked.

“Not yet.”

“What did you find?” Cole prompted when Wainwright paused.

“We found a bullet casing inside the warehouse and several more outside along the gravel driveway.”

“Sounds like someone was trying to run,” Cole said, unwilling to get his hopes up. If Elise was safe, why wasn't she here at the inn in his arms, in his bed?

“That's what we figure,” the sheriff said.

“Is that it?”

“It's all we have so far.” Wainwright's heavy sigh filtered across the phone line. “Are you going to be all right, Yardley?”

Hell, no!
Nothing would ever be right again. Not without Elise by his side.

“Yeah, I'll make it,” Cole lied.

 

Lowering himself onto the swing, Cole propped his forearms on his knees and loosely clasped his hands. He had no idea why he'd walked out into the inn's
garden, other than he had nowhere else to go. Wainwright had banned him from the crime scene yesterday after he'd driven the forensics team half-nuts, prodding them not to miss this or to look for that. And after the sheriff's call this morning to tell him about the team finding spent shell casings in, and around, the warehouse, Cole had felt as if the walls of his room upstairs were closing in on him.

But this had been a huge mistake, he decided as he looked around the gazebo. It brought back too many memories of the woman he loved. And the woman he might never hold again.

His chest tightened and he had to close his eyes to keep the flood of emotion from drowning him. He took one deep breath, then another. How was he ever going to survive without her?

“Cole, what are you doing out here?”

The sound of the soft, feminine voice caused his heart to slam into his ribs and made it impossible for him to drag air into his lungs. Glancing up, he couldn't believe what he was seeing, but he didn't dare blink for fear the vision of Elise walking toward him would vanish.

“E-Elise?” he croaked. He tried to rise from the swing, but his knees wouldn't support him.

Was she real? Or did he want to see her so badly, to know that the love of his life was alive, his mind had finally snapped?

“Darling, what's wrong?” she asked, hurrying up the steps of the gazebo. “You look awfully pale. Are you all right?”

Grabbing her by the arms, Cole pulled her onto his lap and held her to him. The feel of her soft body
pressed to his, her hand gently stroking the hair at the back of his head, assured him that she wasn't a dream he'd conjured up—that she was very real and in his arms once again. A shudder ran through him and he sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward.

He leaned back to search her beautiful face. A small patch of gauze taped above her eyebrow and a bruise on her chin were the only marks indicating the ordeal she must have gone through.

“Dear God, Elise, I thought you were dead,” he whispered hoarsely.

She cupped his cheeks with her hands, then smiling, shook her head. “I'm so sorry you were worried. I might have been, if not for Jorge and his quick thinking. But how did you know?”

“Jorge? Did he help you get away?” Cole asked, pressing his lips to the bandage on her forehead.

“He was solely responsible for our getting away,” she said, nodding. “I found out that I don't think well with a gun shoved under my nose.”

Cole didn't know who Jorge was, but he fully intended to find the man and personally thank him for helping Elise escape. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. It's all my fault.”

“Why would you say that?” she asked, looking puzzled. “You had nothing to do with it.”

“I knew about the hit men…but I failed to tell you,” he said, forcing himself to draw in a ragged breath. “I thought I could keep you safe that way. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Hit men? Here in Mission Creek?”

As her words slowly registered, he nodded. “You weren't abducted?”

“Good heavens, no.” She frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“When I found the blood at the warehouse—” Cole stopped short. “If you weren't being held by the hit men, then where the hell have you been for the past three days?”

“In Mezcaya. Didn't Mrs. Carter give you the—”

Cole suddenly set her on the swing beside him and stood up. “You're telling me you went to that godforsaken place by yourself? A place where life is measured in terms of who has the biggest automatic weapon, and how well they know how to use it?”

“Yes, but I—”

“And I was stuck back here, thinking you had been hurt or killed?” he interrupted.

“I didn't know about—”

“Do you have any idea what could have happened? How dangerous it was to go to a country that's being run by a terrorist group as ruthless as El Jefé?”

Elise watched Cole pace back and forth in front of her. She'd never seen him more furious than he was at that moment. “If you'll stop firing questions at me right and left, and let me explain, I think you'll understand what happened.”

“Explain?” he shouted. “How can you explain not telling me you were going?”

Her own anger rose like the mercury of a thermometer plunged into boiling water. “It's very simple, actually,” she said, forcing herself to remain calm. “I knew you'd go caveman, just like you're doing now. But I did try to tell you.”

“When?” He shook his head. “I don't remember
you mentioning anything about a trip into Mission Creek, let alone a trip out of the country.”

“I tried to tell you right here in the gazebo, but you had other plans that night.”

“You could have told me later,” he said, his tone becoming a little more reasonable.

“You left before I woke up the next morning,” she reminded him.

He blew out a frustrated breath. “But didn't you think about the hell I'd go through not knowing where you were, or that you were all right?”

She rose from the swing to stand toe-to-toe with him. He wasn't going to hold that over her head. Not when he'd failed to disclose the information he had about a hit man in Mission Creek. “You didn't bother to tell me there was a professional killer walking the streets.”

“That's different,” he said stubbornly.

“Oh, really? I don't think so, Caveman.” She poked his chest with her index finger. “You purposely withheld that little bit of information from me. Besides, I left
you
a letter explaining where I'd be, and why.”

“Letter?” He shook his head. “I turned your room and mine upside down, looking for something that might tell me what had happened to you. If it had been there, I'd have found it.”

“You mean Mrs. Carter didn't give the letter to you?” Elise asked, beginning to understand why he was so angry. “She assured me that she'd give it to you the minute you walked in the door for lunch last Friday.”

“Mrs. Carter was called away on a family emer
gency before I arrived that day,” he said, suddenly looking tired. He lowered himself onto the swing. “She's been in Houston all weekend.”

Some of Elise's anger evaporated. “Well, that explains why you didn't know where I was.” She sat down beside him. “But that still doesn't excuse your not telling me about the hit man.”

“Our informant told us there was a hit ordered on someone getting close to solving the gun-smuggling case,” he said. He rubbed his face with both hands, as if trying to wipe away the last few days, then caught her gaze with his. “I was afraid something might happen to you.”

As she scanned his handsome features, it suddenly occurred to her why Cole looked so haggard, and why he'd been so angry. But she wanted to hear him say the words. “Why, Cole? Why were you frightened that the hit man was hired to kill me?”

He closed his eyes for several long seconds. When he opened them, her breath caught at the emotion she saw burning in their hazel depths. “Because I love you, Elise. I think I've loved you from the minute I walked into that El Paso field office two years ago. I was just too stubborn and arrogant to realize it until I thought I'd lost you.”

“Oh, darling, I love you, too.” Tears filled her eyes. “I kept telling myself you were too macho, too much of a caveman for me to even tolerate you. But the truth was, I fell in love with you at the same moment.”

Groaning, he pulled her into his arms. “If they gave out medals for denial, I think we'd probably tie for first place, sweetheart.”

“I think you're right,” she said, putting her arms around his neck.

They sat for several long minutes, content to just hold each other.

“Would you like to hear about my trip to Mezcaya?” she asked, breaking the silence. She wasn't sure how he'd react, but she didn't feel there should be any more secrets between them. Not personally. Not professionally.

She felt every muscle in his body tense. “Yeah, I think you'd better explain about Jorge and that gun being shoved under your nose.” He kissed the top of her head. “I'm going to have to decide whether to thank the man for saving you, or kick his ass for getting you into the situation in the first place.”

Elise explained about Jorge Cortez being her contact in Mezcaya and about their trip to Tierra del Loro. “It's not an actual place, but more of an area where El Jefé has a stronghold over several small villages.”

“And this joker took you into that hotbed?” Cole decided he'd better not ever meet up with Cortez. If he did, Cortez was a dead man.

“In all fairness to Jorge, he had no way of knowing that a shipment of guns were being unloaded in the first village we visited,” she said quickly.