Spy Hard (4 page)

Her baby kicked. She pressed her hand against the spot, loving the feel of that connection. Part of her couldn’t wait to see her son, part of her panicked at the thought that in a month, he would be born and she would become a mother.

She wasn’t ready.

She’d planned on growing up before the baby came. She’d wanted and needed to change. She needed to become a strong and independent woman, because that was the sort of mother she wanted to be. She had planned on doing a lot of work on herself before they got to this stage.

Then Pedro had trapped her and derailed her plans. Nothing was going to happen now as she’d planned it. She thought of the pretty nursery she’d been working on in her apartment back in Rio. The crib. That was where she’d planned to raise her baby, not here.

She pushed to her feet and waddled over to the armoire, bent—not without some difficulty—and fished out the backpack she’d come here with. The bag was on the smallish side, but she wasn’t going on a long trip. And she couldn’t carry too much extra weight anyway. She was carrying enough already.

She put the bag on the bed and closed her eyes for a second. God, she really
was
going to do this.

She’d been in denial these past few months. She hadn’t believed Pedro was really going to hold her here. She’d thought he would come to his senses, reach deep and find some last, forgotten shred of decency.

He hadn’t. She’d made a mistake to think that because he was Julio’s brother, the two men would be similar in some basic way. But Pedro wasn’t bound by any sense of honor. Pedro did what he wanted, took what he wanted.

She knew that now, but it was almost too late.

She packed some clothes—a pair of lightweight maternity pants and a long-sleeved shirt—most of the fruit from the fruit bowl on the table, her box of prenatal vitamins and the antimalaria pills she’d been taking faithfully.

She could hear Pedro talking to someone at the top of the landing. She listened for the voices, trying to gauge whether they were coming closer. Locked door or not, if he knocked, she would have to let him in. Otherwise, he’d just kick the door in. He’d done that before.

She hurried.

Jase.
She tasted the name on her lips. He was the one. He was going to save her.

Trouble was coming. She’d caught the sense of increased tension, caught bits and pieces of talk here and there, saw the hustle and bustle outside. She wanted to be gone by the time the fighting began. Or before her sinister brother-in-law completely lost his patience with her.

Jase seemed to be different than the average thug around camp. That he was part American had to count for something. And while he looked just as hard-edged and dangerous as the others, he didn’t have that sense of depravity about him that defined the rest of Pedro’s men.

Plus, he was attracted to her on some level. That had been apparent in his graphite-gray eyes before he shuttered them. She’d stifled the answering twinge of awareness. Well, of course, she would notice those eyes and that body. Those hard muscles— Were something she was
not
going to think about. She refused to be attracted to anyone who would work for a man like her brother-in-law.

She’d sworn off men, anyway, especially the alpha male type. Her father had controlled her long enough. Julio had seemed nice, but had quickly turned all macho, head of the house, you’ll-do-as-told, after the wedding. And Don Pedro…

She shuddered when she thought of what her life would become if she couldn’t get away from here.

She put a few extra items into the bag, then looked into the rustic mirror on the wall. “If you don’t want others to control your life, then don’t let them,” she said the words out loud, voicing the resolution she’d come to while she’d tossed and turned through all those sleepless nights in the jungle’s humid heat.

There was only one solution:
she
had to take control.

She
had to get herself out of here. And she would, using Jase somehow to achieve her goal. He was the key to her escape. And she would do whatever it took to get away from here. She’d been praying for a rescuer for too long—a police raid, or drug bust, anything. But nobody was coming. She had to accept at last that saving herself would be up to her. She fisted her hands. She
would
get away from this cursed place. And once she did, no man was ever going to control her life again.

“Some years from now, we’re going to meet a nice, mellow guy who loves kids,” she promised her baby. “Maybe a low-key music teacher,” she added. She liked music.

But first she would have to deal with Jase.

She stashed the backpack under her bed. Step one, completed.

Now on to step two. Somehow, she had to trick Jase into helping her. She couldn’t blackmail or threaten him into it. She had a feeling he wouldn’t find her overly threatening. That left bribery. In exchange for his assistance, she would give him something he wanted. And since she had no money, the only avenue left to her was seduction.

The thought of what that might entail filled her with mixed emotions. But she drew a deep breath and strengthened her resolve. She placed a hand on her abdomen. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to get us out of here.” She would go to any length to save her baby.

*

T
HE MEN SPENT
the morning preparing for battle. No teams had left the camp on their scheduled transport trips. Runners were sent to the teams who were out with orders to return to the camp posthaste. The downstairs of the main house brimmed with the Don’s closest men. Everyone expected the fighting to begin by the following morning.

Cristobal’s men were still some hours away, and they wouldn’t want to fight as soon as they got here. They would want to map the terrain first, get a good night’s sleep.

Jase had been turned away at the door when he’d gone up to the hacienda to discuss taking over Paulo’s position in packing. Roberto had other priorities right now. He was focused on strengthening the camp’s defenses and didn’t have time for ambitious foot soldiers.

So Jase dropped that plan and had gone back an hour later, pretending to be looking for Lucas. He’d gotten turned away once again. By noon, he was still no closer to planting the bug, and his nerves hummed with frustration.

He hated the waiting part of undercover ops. Of course, 90 percent of undercover ops consisted of waiting. He’d made progress over the past couple of months, had gained important information, but he wanted to have that damn bug planted already.

He walked by the main house every chance he got. On his fifth pass, he spotted Melanie on the balcony once again. He would have been lying if he said he didn’t feel a little thrill when her eyes settled on him.

“You,” she said in a bossy tone. “Come right up. I need you to help me move something.”

Exactly the break he needed. He stifled a grin and put on an expression of mindless obedience. “
Sí, señora.
Right away.”

Having heard the exchange, the man at the door let him through at last. Half a dozen men stood around the table in the large room he walked into, a combination foyer-slash-living-room area that had been converted into a war room.

The men glanced up at his entrance, but nobody questioned him. They trusted the guard at the door not to let in anyone who didn’t have any business being in there. They were all busy drawing up battle plans and arguing with each other.

Jase headed straight for the stairs.

That did draw attention.

“Hey,” Roberto called after him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He hunched his shoulders, put his head down, making himself into the very picture of subservience. “The
señora
wants me to move some furniture.”

Roberto rolled his eyes, probably thinking how it was just like a woman to be interior decorating with an impending battle looming over their heads. Which was exactly what Jase was thinking, so he shot an I-know-what-you-mean look back at the man and shook his head slightly.

Roberto waved him on with a disgusted gesture and returned to his battle planning.

No need to hurry now. Jase noted every door, every hallway, every man. He planned on getting a good look around upstairs as well, but as he reached the top of the stairs, he found the woman waiting for him in her open doorway.

She wore white this time, a linen dress designed for the climate and to accommodate her motherly curves.

“In here.” She gestured with impatience. “I need this couch moved out of the sun. I want it in the far corner.” She drew into the middle of the room.

He followed her. Did she know that a battle was coming? Did she trust Don Pedro so blindly that she didn’t realize how much danger she was in? Cristobal would be no pushover. He’d all but obliterated the Don’s previous headquarters. The man was playing to win.

“I just want to be more comfortable,” she was saying.

Silk pillows, fans, a sprawling bed with mosquito netting, books and stacks of magazines filled the large space. The Don had clearly settled her in for a long stay. She could have run a small convenience store out of her room.

He tried not to think of the stark contrast between the barracks and her room, between what she had at her disposal and what Mochi had, sleeping on the floor next to the stove in the kitchen. She was the boss’s pampered girlfriend. She lived in a different world from the rest of them. That bothered him, but he didn’t let it show.

He grabbed the end of the couch and dragged the damned thing to where she pointed. Took him about three seconds. But she didn’t look pleased. She looked disappointed.

“Wrong spot?”

She shook her head, looking at him with something akin to panic. Which made him wonder just what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. Then the next second, her whole demeanor changed, as if she’d just thought of something.

“Thank you.” Her full lips stretched into a smile. “Would you like a glass of cold tea?”

Definitely. Especially if she kept smiling at him like that. But that quick change in her demeanor made him uneasy. “I better get going.”

“It’s just—” She looked away. “It’d be great to talk to another American. I get lonely up here.”

The bossy attitude she’d displayed on the balcony was gone. Maybe she only used that tone around the men to assure their respect and to make sure they wouldn’t perceive her as weak. But she seemed to be letting her guard down around him. Whatever the reason, her vulnerability grabbed him as nothing else could have, and somewhat mollified him. She did look lonely, and desperate, suddenly, in some way.

“I can’t imagine Don Pedro would neglect a woman as beautiful as you are,” he told her in a light tone, still feeling that more was going on here than what was being said.

But instead of lightening the mood, his words made her frown.

“I’m not his…” She actually blushed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he saw a woman do that. Certainly didn’t expect it from a drug lord’s live-in girlfriend. Interesting.

“I was married to his brother,” she told him.

Huh. And the plot thickens.

He’d damn near memorized the Don’s file while preparing for this op. The man had a brother, Julio, in Brazil, who’d been killed a few months back in a car accident. Jase didn’t remember any mention of a wife.

Did her existence and presence here change anything? Was this something he could use to his advantage? More specifically: was she a threat to his mission or an opportunity?

“Do you like it here?” he asked noncommittally. Better tread softly until he figured her out.

The abject misery that crossed her face couldn’t be faked. Her slim shoulders sagged. “I wish I could go home.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Don Pedro prefers to keep me safe, close to him.”

Now that was a carefully worded sentence if he’d ever heard one. Could or could not mean that the Don was holding her against her will.

He didn’t have to think long to find a reason why that might happen. Since the Don’s family had been ravaged in years of drug wars, her child would be the man’s closest living family. In a patriarchal society, that meant everything. The Don would take the relation more than seriously.

“You’ve known him long?” Jase asked her, still not fully understanding why she would ever come to a jungle camp like this in the first place, especially in her condition.

She sank onto the couch, graceful despite the extra weight she carried. “I met Julio, my husband, in Rio. He saved me one night when my car broke down in a bad neighborhood. We were married before I knew it. Then three weeks later he was killed in a car accident.”

“What were you doing in Rio?”

“Finishing my master’s on sustainable high-density housing in developing nations.”

The slum recovery projects. He’d heard of those. Building them gave people jobs, then when the buildings were done, it got them off the streets. “Don Pedro was there?” That he couldn’t picture for anything, not unless he’d been recruiting runners for his drug trade, but at his level in the organization, he wouldn’t do that personally.

She shook her head. “When Julio died, I called the number he had for his family. Don Pedro asked me to bring Julio’s ashes to Bogota for a family funeral. That’s when I met Pedro. I was a guest at the family mansion in the city for a while. Then he brought me here.” She winced. “I didn’t exactly understand what this place was. He told me we were going to his house in the country.”

The tone of her voice said she hadn’t been given much choice about coming. So maybe she
was
being held here against her will. He didn’t like the way that thought brought out his protective instincts.

As far as he knew, Julio had been a two-bit restaurant owner in Rio. He’d gone there in his early twenties to get away from the family business. Meeting the Don must have been a pretty big shock for his widow, if he hadn’t told her anything about his brother—which seemed to be the case.

He watched her with renewed interest, trying to figure out whether she was the snooty
señora
who’d ordered him around just minutes ago, or a woman out of her depth, in serious trouble.