Soldier Under Siege Page 11

  “Why would your uncle know my name?” Tate demanded, his voice colder than an Arctic ice cap.

  She swallowed. The menace rolling off his big body sent a shiver up her spine. “Because he knows pretty much everything that goes on in his country.” She licked her dry lips. “He’s a general with the San Marquez army.”

  If the jungle weren’t so damn loud, the silence that followed would have been of the hear-a-pin-drop variety.

  A combative gleam ignited Tate’s eyes, along with a dose of ire and a splash of betrayal. And then, before she could blink, he whipped up his gun and aimed it directly at her chest.

  Chapter 9

  “What are you going to do, Tate? Shoot me?” Eva’s blue eyes were heavy with resignation.

  Tate clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. Damn it. Goddamn it. This entire op had turned into one giant, screwed-up mess. The ambush, Eva getting shot, finding out her frickin’ uncle was a frickin’ general.

  He knew without a shred of doubt that Eva’s uncle had used her to lure Tate out of hiding. The only question was, why?

  He had no beef with the San Marquez government, no connection to this godforsaken country aside from one botched mission that went down eight months ago. He’d been back to San Marquez a few times since, talking to rebels, asking around about Cruz, but that was no reason for the military to target him. If anything, the government ought to be happy he was here—they wanted the leader of the ULF dead as much as Tate did.

  Really, giving Tate free rein to kill Cruz was probably this country’s best course of action.

  So why try to kill him just now? It made no sense. Unless...

  “Well, are you going to shoot or what?” came Eva’s flat voice.

  His gun was still aimed at her heart, but after a second, he lowered the weapon and let out a savage expletive. Frustration punched him like a pair of fists. Nothing made sense. Absolutely nothing made sense.

  In front of him, Eva’s scowl faded, her expression taking on a sympathetic light. “Talk to me, Tate,” she said softly. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  He scrubbed a hand over the thick stubble darkening his jaw, unable to put a single thought into words. He walked over to his pack and grabbed the canteen, then took a long swig of water.

  Eva’s sigh hung in the late afternoon air. “My uncle couldn’t have sent that unit after us. Well, technically he could have, but I don’t think he did.”

  He raised his eyebrows in challenge. “Yeah, and why not?”

  “Because I could have been killed, too. He knew that if you showed up in San Marquez, I would be traveling with you. Miguel would never put me in harm’s way.”

  “You weren’t,” Tate said darkly. “Not a single one of those soldiers pointed their weapons at the tree where you were hiding, or made an attempt to go after you.”

  “Uh, hello?” She gestured to her bandaged arm. “I was shot.”

  “By accident,” he replied with confidence. “I think you got hit by a stray bullet.”

  She huffed out a breath. “So what are you saying? That my uncle did send that unit and ordered them not to hurt me, but to kill you?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He took another sip of water, then reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, hoping to ward off an oncoming headache.

  None of this made sense. If Eva’s uncle, the general, had indeed dispatched the attack squad, then that could mean two things—either someone in San Marquez also wanted Tate dead, or the U.S. had enlisted San Marquez’s help in tracking Tate down.

  “The government here hates the ULF,” he spoke up thoughtfully.

  Eva looked confused. “Yes. They do. Hector has been on the most-wanted list for years now.” She tilted her head. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Your uncle, I assume he knows what happened to your kid’s father?”

  For a second, she looked even more confused, but then she gave a quick nod. “Right. Yes, Miguel knows about Rafe’s dad.”

  “And he knows you want Cruz dead?”

  Another nod, and then she offered a triumphant look. “See, that’s another reason why Miguel couldn’t have ordered that ambush. He knew I was going to you for help in getting rid of Hector, and Miguel hates the ULF as much as everyone else. He wouldn’t have tried to stop us from killing Hector, which means he couldn’t have tried to kill you just now.”

  Tate didn’t share her conviction. “Are you sure old Uncle Miguel isn’t playing you, sweetheart? That he’s not on Cruz’s take?”

  Her blue eyes flickered with indignation. “No way. Miguel can’t be bought.”

  Again, he didn’t feel much conviction about that, but he dropped the subject. Truth was, he didn’t care if Eva’s uncle was in cahoots with Cruz. He was more concerned about the notion that San Marquez was in cahoots with the Americans, and the ramifications of that.

  “Damn it,” he mumbled, so frustrated he felt like tearing his own hair out. “What the hell happened on that mission?”

  He suddenly wished that Sebastian or Nick were here so they could talk this out, but they weren’t, and his only sounding board was a woman he didn’t trust.

  At the thought of Seb and Nick, he muttered another curse, realizing it was now imperative he check in to make sure they hadn’t had to deal with an ambush of their own.

  Bending down, he rummaged through his pack until he found the satellite phone.

  Eva immediately dashed to his side. “Are you calling Nick?” she demanded.

  He nodded, dialing.

  “I want to talk to my son.”

  Ignoring the request, he listened to the dial tone, growing uneasy the longer he waited. When Nick finally picked up with a quick “Prescott,” Tate experienced a burst of relief.

  “It’s me,” he said brusquely. “Checking in.”

  Nick sounded as relieved as Tate felt. “Is it done?”

  “Not even close. Still making our way there. We hit a snag a while ago.”

  “What kind of snag?”

  “The easily taken-care-of kind. Just wanted to make sure everything is all right on the home front.”

  “Everything’s good here, Captain. Don’t worry about us. Rafe is having a blast.”

  “And let me guess, Stone dumped all the babysitting duties on you.”

  “Something like that,” Nick said in a rueful tone.

  He chuckled before going somber. “Stay alert, Prescott. If you catch even a whiff of trouble, get yourselves and the kid outta there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now put the kid on the line. Eva wants to talk to him.”

  As a shuffling sound came over the extension, Tate handed the phone to Eva, who grabbed it as if it were a winning lottery ticket. She lifted the phone to her ear, and a moment later, absolute joy flooded her eyes.

  “Hey, little man,” she said, her voice softer and warmer than Tate had ever heard it. “Are you having fun?”

  Keeping his ear on the one-sided conversation, he began gathering up the supplies he’d used to tend to Eva’s arm and shoving them back in the first aid kit.

  “Mommy misses you, too....I know, baby, I know....You did?” Her tone grew incredibly amused. “Well, that’s amazing! Maybe if you ask Nick very, very nicely, he’ll take you again tomorrow.”

  Zipping up their packs, Tate stood up and headed over to Eva. He handed her the backpack, then made a gesture for her to wrap up the call.

  “I’ve got to go now, little man.” Her voice wobbled a little. “I’ll be home soon, okay? And when I come back, I’ll take you out for ice cream and then—” Now that voice downright cracked. “And then we’ll go to New York to see your grandparents....Uh-huh....Yep....I promise. Love you, baby.”

  A moment later, she hung up and handed him the sat phone. He didn’t miss the moisture that sparkled in her eyes and clung to her long, sooty eyelashes.

  “The kid’s doing good?” he said gruffly.

  She reached up to wipe her
eyes. “He sounds like he’s having a lot of fun. Nick took him on a hike this morning, and apparently last night they ate hot dogs.” A fresh batch of tears welled up. “I miss him.”

  Uncomfortable, he slid his arms into the straps of his backpack, then made sure all his weapons were secure. “We should go,” he said.

  Surprise flickered across her face. “You mean you want to go on?”

  “As opposed to what?” he cracked. “Turn back, thus making these past few days a total waste?”

  Without waiting for a response, he shifted his rifle to his other arm and found a more comfortable grip on the machete handle. Then he headed toward the trees.

  “You can trust me, you know.”

  Soft and even, Eva’s voice rang with confidence.

  Slowly, Tate turned to face her. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

  “You can,” she insisted.

  Tightening the straps of her pack, she strode toward him, and he couldn’t help but notice the way her firm breasts swayed beneath that tight white tank top. Her long-sleeved shirt was tied around her waist, and when he caught sight of the bloodstained sleeve, he bit back another string of obscenities, knowing he was reaching the end of his rope.

  He had no frickin’ idea what to make of this woman. An hour ago, he’d dug a bullet out of her flesh, then stitched her up while she’d been conscious, and now here she was, standing in front of him with her shoulders set high and her eyes glittering with conviction. He didn’t doubt she was in pain—he could see it in her eyes, in the way she’d flinched when she’d slid her arm through the backpack strap. Yet she refused to give up or slow down, and that impressed the hell out of him.

  “When I tracked you down, I knew you were hiding from something,” Eva went on, “but I promise you, I had no idea what it was. I don’t know why people want you dead, I don’t know if my uncle used me to lure you out of hiding—but I highly doubt that—and I don’t know who’s working with who.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you don’t know much of anything.”

  “At the moment, no.” Steel hardened her blue eyes, making them glint like cobalt. “But I’ll find out.”

  He arched a brow. “Oh, really.”

  “I’m making you a promise right now, Tate. See this through with me, kill Hector for me, and in return, I’ll do everything in my power to figure out why you’re being hunted.”

  Doubt washed over him. “What, you think you’ll hack into some magical spec-ops system and find a file labeled Why We Want to Kill Tate?”

  She scowled at him. “Obviously it won’t be that easy. And I can’t promise that I’ll be able to find the truth all wrapped up in a tidy little bow, but I will try.”

  Her assurances didn’t do much to appease him. Eva might have tracked him to Mexico, but that didn’t mean she was a miracle worker.

  “So what do you say?” she asked. “Can we agree to trust each other, at least until we see this through? Like, ‘no more pointing guns at me’ kind of trust?”

  An unwitting smile tugged at his mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Swiveling on his heel, he started to set out once more, only for Eva’s voice to stop him again.

  “And, Tate?”

  He half turned. “Yeah?”

  “That kiss...” Her cheeks turned pink. “I’m not sure why you kissed me, but I don’t want to play games.”

  Games? He decided not to mention that kissing her had been the furthest thing from a game. He hadn’t been trying to unnerve her, hadn’t been manipulating her, hadn’t been doing a damn thing but satisfying the craving that been plaguing him from the moment they’d met.

  “So.” She cleared her throat. “It can’t happen again. I don’t want it to. Okay?”

  He swept his gaze over her tousled black hair, rumpled clothing and bandaged arm, and decided that he’d never seen a sexier sight.

  But she was right.

  That one kiss had distracted him to the point where he’d nearly allowed a military unit to blow his head off. No matter how much he craved Eva, it was time to drag his head out of the gutter. Focus on revenge rather than sex.

  And keep his hands—and lips—to himself.

  * * *

  Twenty-four hours later, Eva exhaled with relief as she and Tate finally put the jungle behind them.

  The little community they stumbled into was a welcome sight. A small marketplace took residence in the center of the village, and the smell of cooking meat and rich coffee wafted through the air. Everywhere she looked, she saw people milling around, talking, laughing, haggling.

  A group of tanned, dark-haired women stood by a booth offering brightly colored scarves, holding plump, toothless-grinning babies in their arms. The sight evoked a pang of longing. Hearing Rafe’s voice yesterday had been pure torture. She’d wanted so badly to abandon this mission and go home to her son, and it had taken all her willpower to refrain from doing that.

  Rafe would never be safe as long as Hector lived. She simply had to remind herself of that every time she missed him.

  Lifting the tin cup to her lips, Eva swallowed her coffee, enjoying the way the rich flavor teased her taste buds. Coffee was one of San Marquez’s main exports; it was in high demand, in fact, which didn’t surprise her one bit. The coffee here was to die for.

  She would’ve liked to spend a few more hours in the village to rest, wash up, call her son again. But Tate wasn’t having it. For the past twenty minutes, he’d been in deep conversation with one of the male villagers who owned the rusted pickup truck Tate had been eyeballing ever since they’d arrived.

  Ten minutes later, when he strode over with a set of keys in his hand, she didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Given his penchant for pushing people around, it wasn’t at all surprising that he’d persuaded the driver to part with the truck. With his big, hard body and that intense glare he’d perfected, you felt compelled to give the man anything he wanted.

  Anything?

  The inner taunt made her frown. It also brought a jolt of heat straight to her core.

  No, darn it. She had to quit thinking about that kiss. How firm his lips had been, the seductive swirl of his tongue, the strength of his arms as he’d lifted her up and rubbed his lower body all over her aching core.

  A groan lodged in her throat. God, this was not the time to be lusting over a man. Especially one as ruthless and enigmatic as Robert Tate.

  “Let’s go,” Mr. Ruthless and Enigmatic ordered. “I want to make it to Valero before nightfall.”

  Taking one last swig of coffee, she rose from the splintered wooden bench and followed Tate toward the pickup truck parked on the dirt several yards away.

  “Why Valero?” she asked, wrinkling her forehead as she pictured the rustic mountain town. She’d spent some time in that area when she’d worked with the relief foundation, and she remembered all the towns around there being rather isolated.

  “The associate I mentioned, Hastings, has a cabin there.”

  “So?”

  “So we’ll bunk there until I figure out the best way to infiltrate Cruz’s camp. I won’t go into this half-cocked.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. Sliding into the passenger seat of the truck, she resigned herself to the possibility that it could still be days before they closed in on Hector. Tate would probably plan this attack to the last detail.

  He turned the key in the ignition, and the truck’s engine chugged to life. Since her seat belt was broken, Eva ended up bouncing and sliding in the front seat as Tate sped down the bumpy dirt road leading out of the village. Both the windows were rolled down, and the air was cooler here near the mountains. Still humid, but not as suffocating, and the breeze that met her face when she peered out the window was quite refreshing.

  Tate expertly shifted gears as the manual transmission truck traveled along the two-lane road that eventually turned from dirt to gravel. “How’s the arm?” he asked, shooting her a sidelong look.

  She gingerly touched th
e bandage covering her upper arm, a tad impressed that she’d completely forgotten all about her bullet wound. She’d been diligently changing the dressing, shooting herself up with antibiotics and popping Tylenol every few hours to alleviate the pain, and the dull throb was nothing more than background noise now. She felt the pain only when Tate reminded her of it.

  “It’s fine,” she replied. Then she grinned. “I’ve never been shot before. Now I’ll have a cool story to tell Rafe.” She paused. “When he turns eighteen, maybe.”

  Tate chuckled.

  The husky sound made her heart skip a beat, a reaction for which she quickly berated herself. “I assume you’ve been shot before,” she said wryly.

  He shrugged. “A few times.”

  Shifting her gaze, she focused on his chiseled profile. “What made you decide to enlist in the army?”

  “It was my ticket out.”

  She didn’t have to ask out of what. “What about your brother?” she said carefully. “He was, what? Five years younger than you?”

  The air in the pickup cab grew cold, something she hadn’t thought possible in this sweltering South American climate. From the way Tate’s stubble-covered jaw went tighter than a drum, he clearly didn’t appreciate the mention of his younger brother.

  “Yes,” he said stiffly.

  “So he would have been thirteen when you enlisted.” She frowned. “Did you leave him behind?”

  His head swiveled, and the look of revulsion on his handsome face caught her off guard. “You honestly think I’d leave my kid brother in the clutches of our abusive bastard of a father?”

  Eva faltered. “I don’t know what to think. I have no idea what you’re capable of, Tate.”

  And yet she didn’t believe he’d do that to his brother, which he confirmed with his next words. “He came with me when I left Boston,” Tate muttered. “We had an aunt in North Carolina, and I convinced her to let Will stay with her while I went through basic training.”

  “That was nice of her.”

  He snorted. “Sure, Auntie Carol was a real saint. That arrangement cost me every penny I had.”