A Dangerous Engagement

Candace Irvin

Published by Silhouette Books

America's Publisher of Contemporary Romance

For my aunt Pat, who reads it all and still encourages me.

And for Diane, woman of great strength and courage.

UNITED STATES MILITARY

TOP SECRET MISSIONS

Navy Lieutenant Anna Shale:

Penetrate the inner workings of infamous Panamanian drug lord Luis Ortiz…her very own cousin. Anna's connection to Luis makes her the perfect candidate for the job. Be sure not to let the sexy undercover Delta Force major get in the way of her work…or her future.

Delta Force Army Major Tom Wild:

The ideal man to bring down Luis Ortiz. Also out for justice since his fellow soldier was killed at the hands of Luis. The Delta Force major is dangerous, but he's on our side. Warn him against getting too close to Anna Shale…no matter how impossible resistance might be.

Dear Reader,

This is a month full of greats: great authors, great miniseries…great books. Start off with award-winning Marie Ferrarella's Racing Against Time, the first in a new miniseries called CAVANAUGH JUSTICE. This family fights for what's right—and their reward is lasting love.

The miniseries excitement continues with the second of Carla Cassidy's CHEROKEE CORNERS trilogy. Dead Certain brings the hero and heroine together to solve a terrible crime, but it keeps them together with love. Candace Irvin's latest features A Dangerous Engagement, and it's also the first SISTERS IN ARMS title, introducing a group of military women bonded through friendship and destined to find men worthy of their hearts.

Of course, you won't want to miss our stand-alone books, either. Marilyn Tracy's A Warrior's Vow is built around a suspenseful search for a missing child, and it's there, in the rugged Southwest, that her hero and heroine find each other. Cindy Dees has an irresistible Special Forces officer for a hero in Line of Fire—and he takes aim right at the heroine's heart. Finally, welcome new author Loreth Anne White, who came to us via our eHarlequin.com Web site. Melting the Ice is her first book—and we're all eagerly awaiting her next.

Enjoy—and come back next month for more exciting romantic reading, only from Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Books by Candace Irvin

Silhouette Intimate Moments

For His Eyes Only #936

In Close Quarters #1078

*Crossing the Line #1179

The Impossible Alliance #1214

*A Dangerous Engagement #1252

CANDACE IRVIN

As the daughter of a librarian and a sailor, it's no wonder Candace says her two greatest loves are reading and the sea. After spending several exciting years as a U.S. naval officer sailing around the world, she decided it was time to put down roots and give her other love a chance. To her delight, she soon learned that writing romance was as much fun as reading it. A finalist for both the coveted RITA® Award and the Holt Medallion, as well as a two-time Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award nominee, Candace believes her luckiest moment was the day she married her own dashing hero, a former U.S. Army combat engineer with dimples to die for. The two now reside in the South, happily raising three future heroes and one adorable heroine—who won't be allowed to date until she's forty, at least.

Candace loves to hear from readers. You can e-mail her at candace@candaceirvin.com or snail-mail her c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, thanks to the following for bailing me out of my ignorance: Captain Norton A. Newcomb, U.S. Army Ret., Special Operations Intelligence Special Agent Dennis P. Leahy, ATF Ret.; LTC, U.S. Army Ret., Special Forces Ms. Helene Phillips Beharry, RN

I'd also like to thank my editor, Allison Lyons, for not fainting when I pitched this one. As always, a special thanks to my awesome critique partner, CJ Chase, for putting up with me.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Prologue

There is no road of flowers leading to glory.

—Jean de La Fontaine

Her past had finally come back to haunt her.

She'd always known it would. She just hadn't thought it would happen quite like this. Anna reread the final, damning assessment in her cousin's psychological evaluation and closed the file. The claustrophobia returned even before she dumped the folder beside the others splayed out on the conference table, but this time, the noose tightened with a vengeance. Desperate to loosen it, she shot to her feet, kicking her chair away as she strode across the room. She stopped short at the potted palm and spun around. Unfortunately, the stifling claustrophobia was still there…and so were the files. To anyone else, the drab brown folder to the far left of that mug of coffee would have seemed innocuous enough.

But it wasn't.

For one thing, it was too fat. For another, it had her name, rank and serial number stenciled along the tab. Still uncomfortable with the intimate details she'd just read about her cousin's childhood, a childhood painfully entwined with her own, Anna shifted her gaze to the final folder. To the red one. The one marked Top Secret. The only one she'd yet to open.

Dammit, why Luis? And why now?

But she knew why, didn't she? Just as she knew that despite the outwardly cozy trappings of plush carpet, tropical plants and sleek high-backed leather chairs, this was no ordinary executive conference room. And that was no ordinary mirror. Anna glanced over the mahogany table, straight into the gilded frame on the opposite wall.

He was watching her.

Oh, she couldn't see him. The only thing she saw from here was the crisp set of Navy khakis she'd donned that morning. But she'd bet her soon-to-be tarnished lieutenant bars that Special Agent Foster was less than ten inches away from the opposite side of that one-way mirror, studying her every move, her every expression. She could feel it. By now every agent stationed at the San Diego branch of the Naval Criminal Investigation Service had probably joined Foster. Each of them waiting. Trying to determine where her true loyalties lay. And what her decision was going to be.

What made Foster believe she could just show up in Panama after all these years unannounced? So she'd shared a shack with Luis until she was fourteen. Surely Foster didn't believe that meant Luis would automatically throw open his arms and accept her as the long lost-cousin she was? Except…Luis would accept her. Anna stared at the folder containing the psychological evaluation she'd finished reading minutes before. She didn't need some Navy shrink to tell her the Ortizes lived and died by their familial loyalties and misplaced sense of honor. The events of her own childhood had proven that. What she didn't have was proof that Luis was the heinous villain Foster and his NCIS commander had made him out to be.

So open the damned file and find out.

Anna marshaled her nerves and forced herself to cross the room. Chills rippled down her spine as her fingers brushed the telltale block letters that were the stock and trade of every other naval intelligence officer who'd come before her—Top Secret. Dammit, she could do this. She did it all the time. Except it had never hit quite so close to home before, had it? She shoved the thought aside. But as she picked up the folder, a dozen five-by-seven color photographs spilled out. Stark, crisp color.

Anna closed her eyes instinctively, but it was too late. She'd already seen the pictures. She'd already seen the blood. In addition to the standard surveillance shots, Foster had provided a photo for each of Luis Ortiz's victims. Those Foster claimed to know about, anyway. There was no mistaking how the poor souls had died. Each one had had their throat slit. Right down to the last man, woman…and child.

Oh God, could Luis really be to blame?

Anna shoved the memories aside and picked up the photos one by one. Swallowing the bile that threatened to swamp her, she opened the cover of the folder and carefully stacked the photos within. When she finished, she closed the folder and raised her chin. Only then did she turn and face the one-way mirror and the NCIS agent behind it, staring squarely into her Panamanian features for the first time since she'd been left in this room with nothing more than three files, a cup of rapidly cooling coffee and that single damning question. Was she willing to put her naval commission on the line—and perhaps her very life—in order to discover the truth?

She nodded firmly. "I am."

But for all her bravado, she had to wonder. What would happen when she came face-to-face with her cousin again for the first time in fifteen years? Even if Foster was right and Luis had grown into a monster, he was still family. Other than her father, the only real family she had left. Unlike her father, Luis had once risked everything for her, including his own life. If it came right down to it, would she be strong enough to betray that…and him?

Chapter 1

Three months later

Luis was late.

Tom Wild fought the urge to pace the hacienda's foyer with all the patience of a Cobra aerial gunship forced into a holding pattern five miles inside enemy radar range. It had taken his Delta Force team two precious weeks to set up this cover, not to mention calling in one hell of a marker. And now, when he should have been a handshake away from the most important assignment of his career, he'd been abandoned, barely inside the front door of this mausoleum, cooling his heels for damned near half an hour. If Luis Ortiz didn't show up in the next sixty seconds, he was out of here.

Hell, he should probably leave now. Luis was supposed to be ripe for the picking. Desperate, in fact. Half an hour late didn't look desperate to him.

Maybe their information was wrong.

The stream of curses that had been simmering in his blood for the past thirty minutes finally vented as the sixty-second deadline came and went—with no Luis. The devil with it. Tom spun around and headed across the bloodred tiles that led to the front door. He'd wait the allotted time and then contact his local handler. It was time for them to regroup. But the moment he reached out for the wrought-iron handle, he caught the unmistakable scuff of footsteps. About time.

He lowered his hand and took a moment to lock the distant but respectful smile Luis had responded to so well in place before he turned around. It wasn't Luis. It was the man's housemaid. Again. Son of a—

"I'm so sorry, señor. I thought you had already been shown inside. If you please, follow me." Before Tom could argue, the woman turned, leaving him with a choice view of her backside encased in the drab green Luis seemed to favor on his house servants. The woman's sensible shoes scuffed along the tiles until she reached a set of double doors and what appeared to be the entrance to yet another foyer.

Tom ground down what was left of his patience and took off after her. He'd wait five minutes more for Luis, not a second over. He'd been dancing this tango with the Panamanian bastard for four bloody days. The references he'd constructed for this job were impeccable. Not to mention he'd personally forced the Feds to plead down a Class A felony on a Class B thug back in the States to ensure it. He'd had to. He needed an in with Luis's organization. And he needed it now.

Having come too far to turn back, Tom stepped through the double doors, discreetly casing the new room as he entered. This one was larger—hell, cavernous. Twin stone staircases flanked both sides of what was essentially an inner courtyard with a glass roof. The staircases stretched up to connect the opposite ends of a balcony lined with arches. The verdigris fountain centered below the balcony dwarfed him. It also explained the steady stream of bubbling water he'd heard these past thirty minutes.

Tom scanned the stucco wall beyond the mermaid and her trio of gurgling fish and frowned. From almost the moment he met Luis, he'd known the man suffered from a terminal case of self-worship, in addition to delusions of dictatorship—or at least, political office. That god-awful marble bust confirmed it. Tom was still frowning when the maid reached the base of the staircase on his right and halted abruptly. He turned toward her, uncertain if the woman intended for him to follow or remain here. A moment later, he caught the scuff of another shoe. Like the maid's, this one came from behind. But this time, it was further away and up high. Luis?

No, this tread was more a whisper. A woman's step. He was certain as the whisper grew into a series of soft taps.

Heels. Luis's latest bed warmer, he'd wager.

Tom turned again, but the stone mermaid and her trio of fish obscured his view. He stepped around the fountain only to find the side of the stone staircase equally unyielding.

Her shoes came into view first. Off-white, with a modest two-inch heel, they were the most tasteful things he'd spotted in the hacienda yet. By the time the mystery woman's calves came into view, he'd grudgingly nudged his assessment of Luis's taste up a couple of notches. This mermaid was not made of stone. She sported a perfectly matched set of tanned, slender legs, too, with nary a fishnet in sight. The sheen on those limbs came from one hundred percent silken flesh. The matching off-white linen sheath covering the woman's thighs and hips came next and then the rest. Even as his body reacted to the generous nips and swells beneath that sleeveless dress, his mind pulled the threads of memory. Recent memory. The second they knotted into place, so did her face.

Christ, no. Not here. Not now.

The woman was in profile. Maybe it wasn't—

The dread locked in as she lifted her hand from the stone banister to push a swath of gleaming dark brown hair past her shoulders as she continued down the stairs, offering him a lingering, damning view of the same slender neck and gently curving jaw he'd committed to memory from various photographs two short weeks ago. It was her, all right.

Anna Ortiz Shale. The United States Navy's newest traitor. What the hell was Luis up to? According to the dates on the woman's airline tickets, he should have had another full week to secure his infiltration of Luis's network before she returned to Panama. Why hadn't he been warned?

She reached the bottom of the staircase, rendering the burning question moot. He masked his shock along with his fury as she turned to scan the room. A split second later, he was staring into that dark, steady gaze.

He forced himself to breathe. He was Army. She was Navy. They'd never run into each other on a joint op. The likelihood of her recognizing him now was extremely remote. And yet…that stare. For a moment, he swore she could see into his soul. Then, just like that, it was over. Whatever had happened, whatever she'd thought she'd seen, she'd shaken it off. She stepped off the staircase and crossed the courtyard, her heel clicking quietly across the flagstones until she reached the fountain. Until she reached him.

She stretched out her hand and smiled. "Anna Shale. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Wild. I'm afraid I fell asleep after my flight this afternoon and just now woke."

It was a lie. He wasn't surprised. After all, she'd been living one for over half her life. He wasn't even surprised the lie had slipped so easily off what he already knew to be an extremely glib tongue. But he was disappointed, because she obviously expected him to swallow it. Yes, her eyes were red. But her pupils were also dilated. Not to mention unfocused. And then there was her poise. While the effect was still regal this close up, it was also overdone. As if it took all her concentration just to hold herself steady.

Sleeping, his ass. The woman was on something.

Pills, booze, shooting up—he couldn't be sure which.

It didn't matter. He didn't even care if Luis had sent her in here with the authority to hire him on the spot. He'd be damned if he was going to strike a deal on something this important while the woman was as high as a kite.

He'd be lucky if she remembered it—or him.

Tom stared at the woman's hand, still extended, before meeting her too carefully schooled gaze. "It's nice to have met you, Ms. Shale. Tell Luis I couldn't stay. I'll see myself out." He didn't bother waiting for the shock exploding in her eyes to settle before he spun around. He was halfway across the courtyard before she caught up with him, her heels clipping frantically at his right as she grabbed at the sleeve of his suit. A suit he'd wasted on a no-show.

And a stoned by-blow.

"Wait! You can't just leave—"

He swung around, taking full advantage of his height. Even in heels, the top of her head barely reached his chin. He had to hand it to the woman though—she held her ground.

Her bravado probably came from the drugs.

"Lady, I can. And I am."

"But Luis—"

"Screw Luis. Not only did your cousin have the gall to send a woman to do a man's job—after I was kept waiting for half a bloody hour—but the woman he sent is flying higher than the flag hanging from that pole out front. Your cousin needs a fuse man? He can find someone else. I've withdrawn my offer." Tom turned back to the double doors.

"But…you can't."

The hell he couldn't. And she had to know it. He kept walking.

"Mr. Wild, please."

He wasn't sure why, but he stopped. Maybe it was the huskiness in her voice. Maybe it was the distinct thread of panic. Did she need the buzz to keep from remembering what she'd done? Was she hooked on the stuff? Or did she just need it while she was here, living under her cousin's roof, drowning in the rancid muck of her cousin's life? Dammit, why did he even care? The woman had betrayed her nation. She'd murdered Manuel. Perhaps not personally. That, he couldn't be sure of. But he would find out. Eventually. It just wouldn't be today.

He took another step.

"Please."

Against his better judgment, he stopped—and turned.

She was less than ten inches away. Close enough to touch. Close enough for him to see the flecks of gold in her dark brown eyes. Close enough for him to feel the full brunt of that heady mix of sultry sex and regal cool. Close enough for him to taste the shadow of fear. He had to hand it to her. She was good. If he didn't know better, he'd swear it was real. It certainly looked real. But it wasn't. And neither was she.

Manny was right. Those wide eyes, thick lashes and pouting lips made a man want to dive right in. If he drowned, so what? What better way to go, than to go clinging to those silk tresses, slipping into that smooth, honeyed flesh. Only the scar to the right of her lips marred it. As stunning as she was, it would have been easy to miss. Thin and no more than an inch in length, it was a shade lighter than her complexion. But it caused the otherwise smooth skin at her mouth to pucker slightly. He was grateful. When he looked into this face in the coming weeks, that scar would remind him of why he was really in Panama. And what he'd come to do.

He crossed his arms. "Well?"

She blinked. Again, innocence incarnate.

She was either exceptionally good or exceptionally high. At the moment, it didn't matter which. After all the details that had gone into setting up this cover, he'd have sworn on his Delta patch it was solid. But those thirty minutes he'd spent cooling his heels in the foyer proved it wasn't. Anna's untimely appearance confirmed it. He'd either done or said something during the past few days that had raised Luis's suspicions, or this was another one of Loony Louie's games. Either way, it was time to force the bastard's hand.

Luis was supposed to be desperate? Then he could do the crawling for a change. "Lady, I don't have all day. If you have something to say that'll stop me from walking out of here and climbing aboard the next plane out of Panama, you'd better spill it now. But before you do, you should know that I already know who you are and what you used to do. I also know you sold out, whether or not the charges stuck. You're no better than me, honey. In fact, I'd say you're worse."

Her spine stiffened. Obviously he'd struck a nerve.

Good. It was time to strike another. "I'm betting Luis flew you home early so you could give him your professional assessment of me and my skills. Why not do us both a favor and cut to the chase. Do I have the job or not?"

Her gaze narrowed at the condescension dripping from his voice. The regal tilt to her chin returned, too. "You're not the only one who's inquired, you know."

He smiled. "But I am the best."

Her gaze was focused now and sharpening by the second. Whatever she was on was wearing off. She crossed one smooth, bare arm over the other, locking both down as her chin cocked another notch. "So you say. Yes, your references check out. But they could be faked. The last man's were. How can Luis be sure you know how to light a match, let alone rig a bomb? How can I?"

If she hadn't mentioned Manny, he might have let it go.

But she had. And he couldn't.

He closed in, ignoring the irony of her innocent floral scent as he plowed his hands into the dark cloud of her hair. He shoved the silk weight past her shoulders, his thumb timing the pulse throbbing in her throat as he leaned down to pour his promise directly into her ear. "You want proof of my skills? Lady, you just give the word. I'll light your fuse like it's never been lit before. And then I'll set you on fire." He felt more than heard her strangled gasp.

He allowed himself the satisfaction of a grim smile at the ripple of shock that followed. Her hair swirled into place as he straightened and stepped away.

"As for your cousin, you tell Luis he has twenty-four hours to make up his mind. If he wants a demonstration of my professional skills, fine. I'll blow up all three locks on the goddamned Canal if he wants, but then I get paid." With that, he spun on his heel and headed for the front door.

This time, he didn't stop.

* * *

She was doomed.

The second the double doors snapped shut, Anna slumped against the wall of the courtyard. It was either that or fall flat on her face. Even with the back of her head braced against the whitewashed stucco, she could still feel her brain spinning around inside her skull…or was that outside it? At the moment, she couldn't be sure. The only thing she was sure of was that she'd blown it. Royally.

Tom Wild was right about one thing. Luis had ordered her home early from her so-called vacation visiting her college sorority sister. An entire week early. She'd deliberately spent the first four days alternately grieving and then climbing the walls and shuttered windows of Samantha's guest room just in case Luis came down with yet another case of sudden paranoia. He hadn't. What he'd contracted was worse.

Complete trust. And she'd just broken it.

Luis was not going to be pleased. If she'd learned anything about her cousin and his activities these past three months, it was that to keep Luis happy was to stay alive. Agent Foster might have turned out to be a bastard and a half, but he'd also hit the nail on the head three months ago.

Luis was a monster.

Anna stiffened against the wall.

But maybe, just maybe, there was a way to salvage her career and her life. She vaguely recalled Luis telling her he'd be back by ten. Of course, that had been before the champagne he'd forced her to drink had kicked in, mixing with the Percocet Dr. Matthews had slipped into her hand as she'd staggered into a waiting cab ten hours earlier and twenty-five hundred miles away. God only knows what time Luis would really be home, much less what time it was now.

Anna raised her wrist and carefully focused on the tiny slivers of gold that ticked off the hours on her watch, relieved with the seventy-minute reprieve she'd been granted. Given the way her eyes were beginning to respond, she just might be able to skim the dossier her cousin had compiled on the man she'd just met. A man she'd been so woozy while meeting, she even couldn't recall his face. All she remembered were steel-blue eyes and a voice filled with gravel and barely restrained, almost seething, anger.

Sex. Just like that, she could feel it again. Feel him.

She might not be able to pick Tom Wild out in a lineup to save her soul, but she would never forget the wave of pure erotic fury that had poured over her when she'd challenged the man's skills. Or had that just been another hallucination? If the dull throb beneath her right breast wasn't already beginning to increase in pace and intensity, she might have chalked up the entire day to her drug-induced imagination. As it was, the more the fog in her head dissipated, the sharper the ache in her chest became.

Maybe she could rig a cool compress while she studied the references Tom had provided her cousin?

It was worth a shot. It beat taking another one of those blasted tablets. No matter how bad the pain got, it wasn't worth losing her life over. If she didn't have an answer for Luis when he returned, it could very well come to that.

Unlike his prospective employee, Luis knew her far too well to ever assume she was simply high on drugs, let alone addicted. A passing comment from Tom was all it would take to rouse her cousin's trademark paranoia. Luis would crawl into her life and examine it like he hadn't in months. Despite Agent Foster's assurances, she knew darn well it wouldn't take long for Luis to discover she hadn't been lying on a massage table earlier this morning—but on an operating one.

Even if she could concoct an explanation, Luis wouldn't wait for it. She'd be dead before she could open her mouth.

Like Manny.

Anna shoved the image from her mind and straightened against the wall. There was only one thing she could do. She had to talk to Tom Wild before her cousin did. Somehow, she'd have to convince the man to keep his mouth shut, even as she figured out how to get him to open it far enough for her to satisfy Luis's lingering questions. Unfortunately, she couldn't risk contacting Foster so soon after arriving back in Panama. There was no time to e-mail Samantha, either. Even if her sorority sister got the message immediately, it would take time for Sam to run a check on Tom with the level of detail she'd need. That left the dossier in her room.

That settled it. She'd start with a shower to clear her head. Then she'd grab the dossier and a cab. Luis had penned the name of the hotel where Tom was staying on the cover. Maybe she could find something inside the folder on the drive over. Something Luis and his investigator had overlooked. Something she could use to hold over Mr. Wild's arrogant head.

Anna pushed off the solid strength of wall and headed across the courtyard, determined to make up for lost time. Thankfully, her grip on equilibrium had improved since the last time she'd made the trek. But it still wasn't a hundred percent. Opting to improve her odds of making it up the stairs and into the privacy of her room, she kicked off her left heel, and then her right before leaning down to scoop them up.

Unfortunately, another hand reached the shoes first.

Her heart slammed into her throat, her reprieve and makeshift plans evaporating as she recognized its owner.

Luis.

What the devil was she supposed to do now?

Chapter 2

Anna stared at her cousin, no longer startled by his sudden appearance at the base of the stairs, but still stunned, nonetheless. There was a satisfaction, a burning intensity in Luis's gaze she'd seen only once before. Three weeks ago to be exact, during Manny's final seconds. For her, a lifetime. She was almost afraid to ask. "What happened?"

Luis's wide grin upheld her fears. "Not here. Come, join me in the study."

Somehow she managed not to flinch as he cupped her elbow with his left hand, her heels still dangling from his right as he guided her away from the staircase, escorting her past that hideous fountain to the devil's lair located beyond. He dropped her shoes just inside the doorway before crossing the dark gold carpet. No matter how many weeks passed or how many layers of new carpet Luis installed, she'd never understand how he could just walk into this room as if nothing had happened, much less expect her to do the same.

But he had…and he did.

He rounded the massive walnut desk in the center and gestured to the matching armchairs flanking it. "Sit, sit."

Conscious of that ever-watchful stare, she stepped off the cold flagstones of the inner courtyard and crossed the threshold, all the while careful to keep her head held high, her hands hanging loosely at her side. Relaxed.

They were not covered in blood.

And neither was she.

She reached the chairs and chose the one on the right. Despite Luis's assertions to the contrary, she swore she could still make out the damp stains that had marred the tooled black leather covering the chair to her left. She forced herself to focus on the front of the intricately carved desk as she sat. God, she hated this room. This man. It took everything she possessed just to sit there and look at him. The physical similarities only made it worse. As children they'd often been mistaken for siblings. Luis's lifelong struggle with his insidious childhood illness had even lent him a slenderness that added to the resemblance. What better reminder of that age-old admonishment there but for the grace of God go I?

No. Try as Luis might, she would never be seduced over to the dark side. Not willingly. She'd made that decision at fourteen. She thought Luis had done the same. She now knew she was wrong. Nonetheless, she did as he'd ordered, feigning an ease she didn't feel as she slid deeper into the chair. The encrypted cell phone at the rear of the desk trilled as she tucked her legs to the side and smoothed the hem of her dress, ratcheting up her apprehension a thousandfold.

Especially when her cousin answered.

"Luis." He lowered himself into his captain's chair and laughed. A reprieve. Whomever the caller was, it wasn't Tom Wild. That laugh, as well as the subsequent inquiry into his caller's marriage and family life, pointed to someone Luis trusted. She didn't need to read the dossier abandoned on her dresser to know she could number those on one hand. Look what had been required of her. If it took murder to breach the outer sanctum of her cousin's trust, God only knows what price he'd require for entrance to the inner one.

After she'd signed aboard, Agent Foster had provided damning evidence that Luis had murdered his way into partnership and then outright ownership of one of Panama's leading import-export firms. Within months of José Martineta's unexpected death, rumors reached U.S. ATF agents that goods arriving in Panama City from American ports were leaving for Chechnya, Russia, Ukraine and Uzbekistan with Colombian high-end cocaine secreted among them. Less than a year later, agents believed that Martineta Imports—now Ortiz Imports—had graduated from cocaine distribution to illegal arms trafficking. The hefty stash of 7.62 mm ammunition she'd located in the tunnel beneath this very room had sealed Luis's guilt.

Murder and Russian AK-47 assault rifles.

If only that was the extent of her cousin's agenda. But it wasn't. Moments before Manny Morales died, Manny had claimed otherwise. Luis's sudden and intense interest in Tom Wild's purported demolitions expertise confirmed it.

Luis leaned forward, his excitement increasing as his caller appeared to turn their conversation to business. "Yes, yes. It's done, then?" He frowned. "When does the shipment arrive?" Another pause, then a firm nod. "You do that. And don't forget to keep me informed." He returned the receiver to its cradle and smiled across the desk. "Tell me, cousin. Have you good news for me as well?"

Here it came. How in the world was she supposed to confess that not only didn't she have good news, she had no news? Heck, she barely remembered meeting the man. But…Luis didn't have to know that, did he?

Why not? She could still pull it off. All she had to do was lie. She'd gotten pretty good at it these past three months. She'd just give him a vague but favorable impression of Tom and then tell him she'd placed a few inquiries and was still waiting for the information to get back to her. Half of it was even true. Luis would never know which.

"Anna?"

She tore her gaze from the phone and lifted her hand, massaging her temple as she feigned a headache. Given the way her chest was throbbing, her frown wasn't a stretch. "I'm sorry, Luis. I've had a migraine since you left. It must have been the champagne. It's getting better, but Juanita had to wake me several times." She refused to give in to the guilt as Luis sprang from his chair and rounded the heavy desk.

"Forgive me. I should have listened when you told me it made you ill. But I thought, one glass…obviously, I was wrong. I apologize for insisting."

She clamped down on the revulsion in her stomach as he kneeled at her feet to cup her shoulders and rub lightly.

"Shall I call a doctor?"

"No. I mean, I don't think a doctor will be necessary. I feel fine now. But I should warn you. I may have offended your Mr. Wild. I don't think he received the message that he was to meet with me instead of you. When you add on the fact that I made him wait while I tried to clear my head…"

"No matter. I will offer an explanation on your behalf when we meet again."

Not if she could help it.

She squelched another flinch as Luis patted her cheek. The gesture usually infuriated her. All these months and he still hadn't figured out she wasn't his little cousin anymore. This time, however, she let it slide. Better to take the protection the misconception afforded her. It just might help her get out of his lair alive. He finally straightened.

Her heart hammered against the wall of her chest, overtaking the ache in her breast as Luis removed the jacket to his olive suit. He folded the heavy silk, then laid it carefully over the blotter on his desk. The polished gold of his precious vice-presidential fountain pen gleamed in his shirt pocket as he turned back, taunting her as he rested his thighs against the desk. That goddamned pen. If the Lord had been truly just, that pristine pocket would have been stained by now, saturated, and not with ink.

With Manny's blood.

Her stomach lurched at the memory. Her heart pounded harder. Whether Luis left the pen there on purpose, the effect was the same. The sight drew her to the gravity of the moment, underscoring the inescapable precariousness of life—right now, hers. Illness might engender Luis's sympathy, but it wouldn't excuse her from failing to carry out his instructions.

"So, what are your findings?"

Anna tore her gaze from the pen and forced herself to recall the basics Luis had related in conversation when he'd picked her up from the airstrip. While he'd sent the dossier to New Mexico along with his private plane, she'd been too busy sleeping off her anesthesia-induced fog to peruse it.

She swallowed firmly. "The man is definitely an explosives expert." Or so he claimed. "My sources haven't had a chance to return my calls yet, but I did sense he was telling the truth about his U.S. Special Forces experience." At least, she prayed he was. "I think you're right. Mr. Wild is in it for the money. His desire for cash appears to have replaced whatever patriotic loyalties he once held."

"Then, unlike Manny, you don't believe something is 'off' with this man?"

She fought the almost violent urge to check her hands at the bald reminder. It took several moments, but she won. She shook her head. "No. I think this one's okay."

"Excellent!"

Startled, she watched as Luis practically vaulted up from the edge of his desk and grabbed her hands. Moments later, the shock gave way to dread as the satisfaction she'd noticed in his gaze out in the courtyard reignited before her very eyes. Right then, she knew. "This has something to do with the mysterious venture you've been planning, doesn't it?"

His grin confirmed it. "It does, cousin. It does." He patted her cheek again. "But don't you worry your beautiful head. All I need you to do is to keep a careful eye on Señor Wild for me. A very careful eye. In fact…" The strange fire finally faded from Luis's eyes. But what took its place blasted an arctic chill straight through her bones. "I think, perhaps, it would be wise for you to get to know Señor Wild better. The man is handsome, no?"

How the devil would she know? As "the man" had so succinctly put it, she'd been flying as high as that blasted Panamanian flag out front when she'd met him. But she couldn't admit to that, now could she? Besides, there was no way Luis was implying…but he was. She could see it in his eyes.

Good God, first Foster—and now Luis. Dammit, she'd proven her loyalty, with her silence over Manny's murder—with the local police—and Luis's guilt. Twice. What more did she have to do?

Her shock must have shown because Luis tipped her chin and stared into her eyes. "Think about it, my dear. I need this man. And soon. There is no one I trust to do this more than you. Get to know Señor Wild. Allow him to court you. What man would not desire a woman such as you? Stay close to him and report your findings to me. Do this, and you need never worry about returning to America again. You will live like a queen here in Panama with me, in your true home. I swear it."

She sat there in stunned silence, desperately trying to quell the nausea as Luis's vile proposition roiled through her gut. This really was happening. Her cousin had finally decided to pimp her. And he expected her to go along.

* * *

What a waste.

Tom leaned back in his chair to hook his boots up onto the edge of the bed in his hotel room, balancing his shot glass on one thigh as he stared blindly past his jeans. In his mind, Manuel Morales stared back. Of course, the Manuel he'd known had been a few years younger than the one who'd been murdered in this very city. That man had also been so damned full of life. They'd met the first day of Ranger School. The cocky soldier had driven Tom and the rest of their qualifying class stark, raving nuts. A jokester the entire two and a half months, Manny had made those days of living hell almost bearable. What he wouldn't give for one of those sorry-assed cracks behind the cadre's backs now. What a goddamned waste.

Tom sighed as he studied the shot of Scotch gleaming up at him. He raised the glass in a silent toast and tipped the whole of it into his mouth, welcoming the slow burn as the whiskey slid down his throat before spreading out into his gut. "Sorry, buddy. I swore I wouldn't fail you."

Christ, he hated the one-man jobs. Working without his team was bad enough, but this time he couldn't risk slipping back into that mausoleum to even the score. Anna Ortiz Shale. Tom had known before going in she was a looker. He'd also known she was a traitor, possibly even a murderer. Too bad he hadn't been warned she was a cold one to boot.

A stoned, cold one. That changed everything.

There were several solid reasons as to why he'd been approved for this assignment, the most important being that, unlike Manny, Tom hadn't traded in the adrenaline rush and his commission for a badge with the After The Fact crowd. Hell, even after Luis had slit the first undercover ATF agent's throat earlier in the year, ATF still hadn't suspected a mole. Mainly because Luis's remaining partner at Martineta Imports as well as a local politician's wife and child had been murdered at the same time. So ATF had sent in a second agent—Manny. Tom's former Special Forces buddy had been making serious progress on the AK-47 shipments, as well as the original undercover agent's murder until Manny, too, had been slaughtered. Even if Anna wasn't responsible for Manny's death, she was covering for Luis. Now he knew why.

It was ironic. The Joint Special Operations Command had agreed to send him in mainly because, as Delta Force, the chances were remote that not even Anna with her Naval Intelligence background, much less a potential ATF mole, would be able to identify him as currently active duty—and not the Army Special Forces turned soldier of fortune his carefully edited, but still official, personnel file now portrayed.

His features hadn't hurt either. That he wasn't of Hispanic descent had actually helped him get his foot in the door with Luis. Word on the street was that Looney Louie had outdone himself after he'd taken out Manny. Convinced he'd been targeted by his own government, Luis no longer wanted a local boy as his demolitions man. Instead, he wanted a blue-eyed, blond-haired Norte Americano who was strictly in it for profit. Other than green eyes and light brown hair, Tom fit the bill. His revised features should have stood him in good stead with Anna, too. A quick look into the woman's dating history had revealed a potential preference for blue eyes and short blond hair. A box of Miss Clairol For Men, a set of tinted contacts, and he was ready to use all of the above to his advantage.

Until he discovered Anna's preference for another kind of buzz. He'd learned a long time ago he couldn't compete with that one. He swung his boots off the bed, thumping the empty shot glass beside the bottle of Scotch as the memories bit in. He knocked the resulting doubts back and poured out another shot just to spite them, then carefully lined up the glass beside the open bottle as the red LED numbers on the clock radio flashed over. Eleven p.m. on the dot. Based on results of his groundwork these past weeks, the gauntlet he'd tossed at Anna's heels earlier this evening should have done the trick by now. But only if she'd been sober enough to retrieve it.

Evidently, she wasn't.

Tom shoved the unexpected disappointment aside and bypassed the shot glass, retrieving his encrypted cell phone from the nightstand instead. It was time to adjust his strategy. But first he'd have to find out what Anna Shale's drug of choice was and who was supplying it. Tom punched out a local number. He might not be able to get to the bottom of Ms. Shale's drug habit in time to use it against her, but he knew someone who could.

* * *

He wasn't in.

Anna lowered her knuckles and stared at the hotel room door, torn between disappointment and relief. Or was that nausea? It was definitely back. But this time, the nausea had nothing to do with the anesthesia or the Percocet and its champagne chaser. It had to do with her cousin. Because of Luis she'd gone from decorated naval officer to the scourge of the Fleet in the span of three months. Why not tack on a stint as street strumpet at the end? If things kept going the way they were, she might be able to land a job cleaning bathrooms in this place when it was all over. If she could still look herself in the mirror, that is.

Mirror. The mere word yanked her all the way back to San Diego. Back to the NCIS interrogation room where it had all started. How far are you willing to go for your country? She was standing here, wasn't she? A father in Arizona who refused to take her calls, much less allow her past the front door. Not a single friend that she was allowed to speak to, save one. A pariah to total strangers. Manny's murder. The electronic bug she'd had surgically implanted in her breast just yesterday because of that murder.

Wasn't that far enough?

Blast it to hell. She rapped her knuckles on the door, harder this time. Again, nothing. It was late. From the dossier she'd just finished skimming, Tom Wild didn't seem the type to turn in early. Despite his ultimatum, he could be out cruising the strips. He might have even written the job off. There were bars and clubs that stayed open till dawn in Panama City. He could be drowning his disappointment in any one of them. Except the desk clerk had sworn he was in his room.

She raised her hand again, determined to try one last time. But before her knuckles could connect with the door, it swung open. Her hand hung in midair as her jaw dropped in shock. Tom Wild was not out partying. Nor had he been sleeping. But he was naked. Well, except for the towel.

Mesmerized, she stared at it. Or rather, at what little there was of it. Not that it seemed to matter. There was more than enough of him to make up for it. So much in fact, that his body filled the doorway.

"I was in the shower."

That would explain the spray of droplets still glistening across his shoulders, dripping over the sculpted planes of his chest to join with the rivulets sliding down what appeared to be a very taut stomach. The rivulets came to an abrupt halt at his waist, soaking into the edges of the white towel he'd hooked together with one hand at his right hip. Jesús dulce. How could she have met this man, let alone carried on a conversation with him hours earlier and not have remembered him? That settled it. She was tossing out the rest of those pills the second the pain in her breast ebbed. If they could dull her mind this much, they were dangerous.

His hand shifted, causing the towel to dip past his navel. "Well?"

She tore her gaze from the mesmerizing pucker and teasing wisps of hair swirling beneath to stare into his eyes. Blue. At least she'd remembered that correctly. The dossier had included a grainy black-and-white photo that appeared to have been faxed. It had not done him justice. The water had turned the man's short, dark-blond hair brown. Not to mention his full lips were still flushed from the heat of his shower. To make matters worse, his strong cheeks and square jaw were covered in a rasping, morning-after stubble that made her palms itch just looking at it. It was as if she'd somehow stepped up to a smorgasbord of everything she found sexy in a man. She closed her hands against the embarrassing ache in her palms and frowned.

This was not good. Those eyes were not good.

She'd just have to ignore them, that's all. Difficult to do while actually staring into them, true, but she could manage. She'd just have to concentrate. After all, she'd managed to live under her cousin's roof for three excruciating months now. It would help to remember that this man, however gorgeous he might be, was just like Luis. No real loyalties beyond himself. No conscience.

All she had to do was say what she'd come to say and leave. She'd worry about the rest later.

Determined to do just that, she drew a deep breath and opened her mouth…but he was gone. Tom had already spun around on his bare feet and strode back into the room, the towel riding low and flapping against a set of extremely impressive, perfectly tanned thighs as he walked. Another inch and she'd be staring at what was undoubtedly an equally impressive, rock-hard a—

"You coming?"

So this was his game, was it? Get to the woman to get to her cousin? She was actually disappointed. She killed the twinge and entered the room, just to spite him, snapping the door shut behind her as he reached the side of the bed. He turned quickly at the sound, the barest of smiles teasing at his lips that she'd followed.

She ignored it.

It was harder to ignore his hands. He tugged the towel tight and tucked one end snugly over the other at his hip. At least, she hoped it was snug. She held her breath as he crossed his arms over his still-glistening chest, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed the towel held.

"I gather I didn't get the job."

Instead of answering, she arched a brow. Curious to see where he'd take this, and how far.

"You're here. Your cousin isn't."

Ah. "Luis had a dinner engagement."

This time, his brow shot up. "At midnight?"

It wasn't midnight for another twenty minutes. She shrugged anyway. "I imagine dessert ran over."

"I imagine she did."

His chuckle startled her. It rumbled through his chest, deep and low. Uncomfortable with the way the sound rasped into her stomach, she shifted her gaze from that too-blue stare and the teasing twinkle to the bathroom beyond. The door was closed. Odd. For a man who'd been in such a hurry that he'd barely had time to grab a towel, it was very odd. Did he have a woman in there? What if he did? It was none of her business.

She yanked her stare away once again, this time shifting it down. It settled on an opened bottle of Scotch sitting atop one of the cherry nightstands flanking his still-made bed. At least one drink was missing, another waiting in the glass. One glass. So, no woman. Just a man. A nearly naked man.

"Need one?"

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

His mouth tightened. The motion was so slight she almost missed it.

The booze.

For some reason, it stung. "No, I don't need one. And for your information, I'm not high either."

Now. Though unspoken, the accusation hung between them. Those piercing blue eyes searched her gaze for a good fifteen seconds. She wasn't worried. With the bulk of the anesthesia gone from her body, the second round of pills had taken the edge off the throb in her chest and still left her able to function. Amazing how quickly it came back. Evidently Tom was satisfied with what he found—or rather, what he didn't—because the frown eased from his lips. But she could still feel his disapproval. Why she even felt like explaining herself to some ex-Army thug for hire, she didn't know. These past three months had definitely gotten to her. The man standing damn near buck-naked in front of her, trying to intimidate her, was no better than her cousin. Perhaps worse. Best she remember that.

She forced a shrug. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me, honey."

Her spine stiffened instinctively at the lingering disbelief in his tone. Her resolve followed. "Thank you, but no. And I'm not your honey. However, as we've already established, it is late. I apologize for the hour, but I needed time to review your file."

His brow lifted again.

She ignored it again. She'd be damned if she was discussing her cousin with this man. To do so would risk her life, as well as his. She'd learned that the hard way. "I presume from your disappointment upon my arrival that you're still interested in the job?"

"Disappointment?" He had the nerve to smile. "Honey, I'm never disappointed when I find a gorgeous woman knocking down my door in the middle of the night, anxious to see me."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Wild." Nor would the implication that she was the one chasing him. It was past time to establish just who was taking orders from whom. "Are you interested in the job or not?"

His jaw tightened. "I'm interested."

"Why?"

Something flickered deep within his eyes. It left just as quickly. "Let's just say I need the money."

She didn't bother casing what was one of Panama City's more spacious and luxurious hotel suites. She already knew Luis was picking up the tab. Her cousin had flown him here as well. This man had come that highly recommended.

"You could have stayed in the Army."

He shook his head. "They can't afford to pay me what your cousin can."

True enough. Like herself, Luis had dragged himself up from the gutter. Was that Tom Wild's problem? Was he as obsessed as Luis was with never going without again? She shoved the question aside and selected another. "What if you're not up to it?"

He blinked.

For a second, she could have sworn she'd thrown him. She pressed it. "You don't even know what the job is yet."

He recovered quickly. "Do you?"

No. But that was none of his business. Neither was the fact that if she did know, she wouldn't need to be here. The fact was, she was here. She was in the hotel room of a man who'd been backed up against the wall as far as he was willing to go. She could see that in his eyes as well. And he was practically naked. Dry now, but still naked.

She jerked her gaze from the man's magnetic chest and fused it to his steady stare. "It's yours."

"Just like that?"

"Yes. But there are a couple conditions." She forced herself to ignore the straining towel as he refolded his arms across his chest. That tuck at his hips had to be slipping.

"Conditions?"

She nodded. "I haven't had a chance to review your file thoroughly. Naturally, I reserve the right to withdraw my initial approval. You must know that should I do so, my cousin would quite possibly order your immediate…termination."

His stare smoldered at the veiled threat, but he nodded.

Thank heavens. She'd need the edge for what she was about to add. "I would also like you to forget about my initial distraction at my cousin's house earlier this evening."

"Distraction? Is that what you call—"

"Yes." She held his gaze. "Agreed?"

Dark blue smelted to steel. "Agreed."

"Congratulations, Mr. Wild. Consider yourself on the payroll. Luis will, of course, continue to pick up your tab here at the Bristol." She glanced about the room, snapping her gaze back to his when she spotted the towel's now precarious tuck in the free-standing mirror. That scrap of terry was about to go. "I'll also see to it that his accountant provides you with a retainer. Cash. You can pick it up tomorrow. You're scheduled to meet with Luis at seven o'clock sharp and you'll dine together after." She dropped her gaze briefly, very briefly. "Formal attire. Until then, good night."

Anxious to call the visit a wrap before that taunting towel unwrapped, she turned to leave. Unfortunately, Tom followed her to the door. She grabbed the knob, only to have his much larger hand close over hers before she could wrench it open. He stepped close, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, seeping into hers. She cursed her decision to pull her hair up into its usual twist as his breath fanned the side of her face and down her neck, shooting ripples of unwelcome desire beneath the collar of her dress. There was no doubt in her mind. The rush of pure eroticism she'd felt earlier this evening had not been a hallucination.

It had been real. And it had come from him.

A second later, she heard the towel plop softly onto the floor. She slammed her eyes shut. What Luis had suggested was vile enough. But to then respond this way to this man? What kind of a woman was she? Everyone has a price, chiquita. She purged the insidious whisper from her mind. Dammit, her aunt was wrong.

"Ms. Shale?"

Against her will, her lids jerked open.

"You forgot something."

"I—I did?" Whatever it was, she was not turning around to retrieve it. Not with that towel lying on the floor between them. She focused on the sun-bleached hairs sprinkled across the man's muscular forearm.

"You did."

She licked her lips. "What's that?"

"My conditions. You asked for my silence regarding your earlier…distraction. I gave it. But you haven't yet agreed to my conditions in return."

Great. According to that dossier, she couldn't afford conditions from a man with Tom Wild's reputation. But if she refused outright, she'd be forced to stay here and argue, possibly even turn around. Definitely out of the question. There was only one alternative left. She'd hear him out and do precisely what she'd been doing for the past three months. Lie.

"Fine." She winced as it tumbled out much too early.

His soft chuckle washed down her cheek and neck. "Don't you even want to know what my conditions are?"

Plural? As in, more than one?

"What I meant was, I'm sure they're fine." Good recovery, Shale. She felt his nod, and then she felt the tips of his fingers as they brushed the side of her neck; moments later they were loosening the tortoiseshell clasp that held her French twist in place and were slipping beneath. The next thing she knew, her hair was tumbling down her back. He slipped his arm around her waist and tucked the clasp into her hand.

"Wear it down when I'm around."

Of all the—

"Fine. Is that all, Mr. Wild?"

He combed the hair from her neck slowly, sensuously. Possessively. "No. But why be hasty? I'm sure we'll be running into each other a lot in the near future. I believe I'll hold on to my second condition, save it for a while." His lips grazed her hair. Seconds later, his soft rumble filled her ear. "Unless you'd like to stay and discuss the possibilities with me over…dessert?"

She opened her mouth. To her horror, nothing came out. Somehow she managed to shake her head.

Relief seared through her as she felt his shrug. "Fine by me. I can wait. Hell, it's usually better that way. But know this, Ms. Shale. Whatever condition I end up deciding on, I won't take no for an answer. You owe me, honey, and I intend to collect." A second later, the door popped open. Before she could blink, he sealed a brief, scorching kiss into the curve of her neck and nudged her through the doorway. She stood there, stunned, as the door snicked shut behind her. When she finally managed to rouse herself from her stupor, she did the only sensible thing she could think of.

She fled.

Chapter 3

Would the real Anna Shale please stand up?

Tom stared at his door as it snapped shut, stunned by the uncanny range of the performance he'd just witnessed. He'd never seen a woman go from calm, cool poise and ironclad self-possession to not-quite-carefully-masked desperation that smoothly and that believably in his entire career. In his entire life. Stoned, Anna Shale was good. Sober, she was a veritable acting savant. For a moment there, he'd actually forgotten where he was. Who she really was. What she'd done.

He no longer wondered how Luis had managed to get the drop on Manny. He knew. Two brief meetings with the woman and he'd found himself questioning the combined conclusions of the top three intelligence analysts at the Special Operations Command. Worse, he'd questioned his own instincts. By the time those heady brown eyes had darkened with panic, he'd been completely sucked in. He'd honestly wanted to protect her. Until he'd remembered the rest.

It had been impossible to miss. Her pupils might not have been fully dilated in his room just now, but they were sluggish. Anna might not have been as high as she'd been earlier this evening, but she was still on something. And the hit was fresh. Despite his hopes, her afternoon binge hadn't been a one-time event. The knowledge should have strengthened his resolve, but it didn't. Even now, he still couldn't quite kill this inexplicable urge to head out after the woman and draw her in close, to ease the terror that radiated off her before he'd agreed to keep her tawdry secret from her cousin. Not only had he wanted to protect her from the man, he'd wanted to protect her from himself. That chilled him to the bone.

Worse, for a moment there, he'd actually been turned on. By a murderer and a traitor. Who was he kidding? Not only had he been turned on; he still was. Uncomfortable with the fallout from his own acting, Tom leaned down and grabbed the towel at his feet, jerking it about his waist as he stood.

Just in time, too.

He caught the muted knock again, but he didn't open the door. It hadn't been but a minute, maybe two. Barely enough time for the woman to reach the elevators at the end of the hall, much less her cousin's ocean-side lair outside the city.

Had she changed her mind about "dessert"?

Doubtful. Not given that downright skittish reaction of hers when he'd decided to take advantage of her condition and demand one of his own—namely, her hair. It drove him nuts to see it up. And not for the reason she thought.

He should have dealt with it.

He clenched his fingers as he worked to purge the ghostly sensation from the tips. He failed. He could still feel the thick, heavy silk. It had taken a disturbing amount of control to keep from plowing his fingers in deep as the length spilled down her neck. Releasing that clasp himself had been a mistake. And then he'd compounded it. He'd caved in to the impulse to touch her again…with his lips. Fire flashed through his groin at the memory of the one-sided kiss that had followed. He tightened his grip on the ends of the towel and stomped out the flames. Whether he was ready or not, it was time. He'd forced the woman to wait long enough.

Tom swung the door wide. The sight that greeted him doused any lingering heat. Instantly.

"Nice towel."

For a moment, Tom wasn't sure if he should be pissed—or relieved. He settled on the latter as he glared up six foot five inches of hulking half Hispanic, half Samoan muscle attached to the ugliest mug he'd ever had the misfortune to work with. "Shut up and get in."

Juju wisely and silently complied. Why not? The man's smart-ass smirk said it all as he ambled across the room and lowered his bulk down to the edge of the bed as if he owned the place. Not bloody likely. The bar Juju maintained thirteen blocks away might not sink into the dive range, but it was nowhere near the class of this joint. Tom snapped the door shut and threw the security bolt, allowing his glower to deepen as he leaned against the frame.

"Well?"

Juju's answering grin was painfully white and twice as annoying against the backdrop of his swarthy, overgrown jaw. He cocked his dark head toward the door. "That photo you e-mailed doesn't do her justice. You don't get the full effect with that one till you see her in person."

Tom sighed. "That wasn't what I was looking for."

Juju shrugged as he pulled a box of his namesake out of the pocket of his neon-blue Hawaiian shirt. He popped several of the gummy candies into his mouth as he shrugged. "Don't have much more to tell you, amigo. She had a bodyguard loitering at the elevator. Thought about following, but I figured you'd rather I banged on your door instead of playing bloodhound." The man opened his trap wide and tossed another couple Jujubes into the mix. "But if you've got the overwhelming urge to sniff after her, I can always head back to the club."

Tom scowled at the taunt, because it hit its mark. Juju must have seen his face as he'd nudged Anna from the room. Tom waited until he popped another namesake. "You ever gonna learn how to close your mouth and chew at the same time?"

"My, my, someone's in a foul mood tonight." He gave a lone candy undue consideration. "Dessert not go your way?"

God dammit, he'd been eavesdropping, too. "Screw y—"

"Yeah, yeah. Save it for someone you love." That blasted grin surpassed Cheshire proportions as Juju tossed the candy home. "Or at least, someone you like."

Tom turned his back on one of the few men he truly trusted to protect it and headed for the bathroom—and his shorts. By the time he'd donned them and returned to the room, Juju had finished the box. Not a good sign. He frowned down at the man he'd shared a room with during their plebe year at West Point. "What?"

"You okay on this one, Wild Man?"

Damn. "Did I say I wasn't?"

That pitch-black stare sharpened and held his hostage.

Tom finally sighed. "I'm fine." Like hell he was. The unexpected complications on this stank. In light of the info he'd requested from Juju the hour before, they both knew it.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Nope." He wanted to talk about her.

Juju displayed his enduring wisdom once more as he leaned back on the bed, bracing his elbows on the bedspread as he shrugged. "Like I said, not much to tell." Disgust pinched his buddy's frown in deep. "We can't even prove her cousin's smuggling coke for the Colombians, much less get a fix on which group he's dealing with on the illegal arms. The Russian mob, the Chechens, the Serbs, Al-Qaeda, Shining Path—your guess is as good as ours. Collective gut instinct is on the Chechens, but without hard evidence, who knows? Ol' Louie's bought off too many politicians and Canal bureaucrats for anyone to be sure. All I can tell you is Luis doesn't indulge in his product or anyone else's. A cursory check says the cousin doesn't indulge either, much less that she's hooked."

"Your source is wrong."

For a moment, Tom swore he was going to argue. He didn't care. Juju might be undercover DEA now, but they both knew Tom knew a thing or two about addicts himself. His buddy finally backed down, flattening the empty box of jujubes. "Sure would help to know which angle you're coming from on this. Might narrow my focus."

Tom didn't bother responding. He couldn't afford to.

SOCOM's brass would pop the pin in their collective grenade when they discovered he'd brought Juju in this far. All he'd dared do was pose a brief inquiry regarding a former, disgraced U.S. Navy lieutenant and her drug use. It was up to Juju to decide what information he could and couldn't offer.

Juju sighed. "Like I said, I'm not done poking. I might have more tomorrow. As agreed, I put the word out among the help that you're an old Army buddy. Stop by the club around six or so. We'll grab something to eat before things heat up."

Tom shook off his frustration. "Can't. I've got a meeting with Loony Louie tomorrow, followed by dinner. Late okay?"

Juju shrugged. "Fine by me." His grin returned. "Better for you anyway. With Shrove Tuesday and Lent breathing down the city's neck, the college girls will be in full force by the time you show—lock, stock and chemically primed to head back to this posh suite and celebrate Carnaval."

Tom laughed. Juju knew he hadn't celebrated with a woman that young in years, and he'd never celebrated with one while she was primed. "I'll pass."

The grin faded as Juju folded his flattened box over. "Figured you might." He tucked the cardboard square into his shirt pocket as he stood. "Bring Anna, then. If she's in as deep as you suspect, the white powder activity might shake something loose. If only in the ladies' room."

"I doubt it." A woman that terrified her cousin would find out about her habit would never use in a public place. Not unless she was truly in over her head. That, he hadn't sensed. Yet.

Juju stepped up to the nightstand and snagged the shot glass with the second shot of Scotch Tom had poured hours before still inside it. "You gonna finish this, Wild Man?"

He never did. But again, his old West Point Beast barrack's roommate knew that. And again, his buddy had no such qualms. Tom waited patiently as Juju lifted the glass, briefly saluting him before he downed the Scotch in a single swallow.

"Smooth, very smooth. No surprise there." Juju lifted the bottle, shaking his head as he retrieved the cap and screwed it in place. "How a man can be such a fine judge of whiskey and such a sorry waste of a nickname is beyond me."

Tom let the slam slide as Juju tucked the bottle under his left arm and headed for the door. "I'll let you know when I have something. Until then, you might want to give the woman the benefit of the doubt."

Tom stiffened.

Unfortunately, Juju held up a hand before he could open his trap. "I know, amigo. You do know what you're looking for. I also know what I saw in the woman's face, in her eyes, when you opened the door and kicked her out."

"Then how can you doubt me?"

"Because I also saw her after you closed it."

* * *

It's about time you checked in.

Anna winced as the reprimand spilled out across the pocket computer's microscopic three-by-six-inch screen, mainly because she deserved it. She'd meant to e-mail her sorority sister the night before, right after she'd returned from Tom Wild's hotel room and a meeting which, except for her body's humiliating response to those dangerous lips, had gone better than she'd hoped. Unfortunately, her rushed surgery and interrupted recovery had caught up with the absolute relief of escaping Tom's room with her cover intact. By the time her taxi returned to the hacienda, she was too out of it to remember the keystroke sequence Sam had rattled off during her postsurgery fog. Heck, it had taken her three tries to get the hidden, real-time communications link to connect upon waking this morning.

Anna glanced up at the full-blown rays of sun streaming in through the French doors and second-story balcony beyond.

Make that afternoon.

She turned back to the antique desk Luis had given her at Christmas and forced herself to ignore the piercing throb in her chest as she dragged the microcomputer closer. Samantha was still waiting. From the way her friend had pounced on her tentative hello, Sam had been waiting for her to sign on, too. Odd. She could have left e-mail. In fact, she should have. Instead, the woman had opted for vigilance and instant messaging shortly before a major inspection was scheduled to commence half a continent away at one of the U.S. military's most secure nuclear weapons labs. An inspection during which Sam was scheduled to serve as lead scientist.

Fear fisted Anna's stomach. She crowded her fingertips over the keys and tapped out a response. What happened?

Eve called.

The cursor throbbed in the silence, transforming the tiny period into an exclamation mark. At least in Anna's gut.

Eve Paris.

Eve and Carrie Bishop had rounded out the camouflaged leg of the Sisters-in-Arms military sorority she, Sam and Marine-Corps-to-the-bone Meg Gallagher had formed at the University of Texas. Not only were Eve and Carrie Army, they both flew choppers. The two had reconnected six weeks before in San Sebastián. Three days later, Eve had been piloting a Black Hawk during a routine mission that had turned out to be anything but. By the time Eve's chopper crashed on the wrong side of the San Sebastián border—inside the jungles of neighboring communist Córdoba—Eve was severely injured and Carrie was dead. If it hadn't been for Eve's sole surviving passenger, Eve wouldn't have made it out alive. A week ago, Anna and Sam had learned the accident investigation panel that'd been convened to determine guilt wasn't leaning in Eve's favor.

Suddenly Anna knew the verdict was in. And what it was.

They stripped Eve's wings, didn't they?

Yes.

Something in the pause that followed told her there was more. She'd known Sam too long and too well not to pick up on the vibes, even through wireless cyberspace channeled down into a three-by-six-inch LED screen. Anna crowded her fingertips over the keys and forced them to tap. And? This time, there was no immediate response. Just that blinking cursor. She stabbed the keys. Dammit, you promised not to do this. Whatever it is, I can handle it.

Anna could sense Sam weighing whatever it was she didn't want to say. She couldn't blame her. Yes, she'd been pretty messed up when she'd shown up on Sam's doorstep two weeks before. Who wouldn't be? She'd watched her cousin stab a man in the neck and chest—thirteen times. No matter what Sam had said, and no matter how much of an ass Foster had turned out to be, deep down she knew he was right. It was her fault. If she'd spoken up when Manny had found that goddamned bug—

You'd be dead, too, and you know it.

Anna flinched as the letters spilled out across the screen, as the truth behind them bit. Evidently her sorority sister could read her moods through cyberspace too. It didn't matter. They didn't have time for another makeshift shrink session. Not with this static silence hovering between them. And then, Anna knew. Oh, God. Eve's going back, isn't she?

Please, Lord, let her be wrong.

Yes.

"No!" Anna winced as the denial shot past her lips. She glanced over her shoulder, instinctively checking the lock to her bedroom. Luis had to have been up for hours by now. She was surprised he hadn't already made his way to her room, rapped on her door and gently but insistently demanded to know why she'd missed her morning jog. Anna swung her gaze back to the computer, determined to speed things up. Despite Luis's newfound trust, she knew he still carried the key to her room in his pocket. If the door opened before she signed off and Luis discovered the wireless communications link and unique encryption package Sam had created in the micro PC, that trust would vanish in a heartbeat.

And if Agent Foster discovered the link?

She refused to even entertain his reaction.

At the moment, however, Luis, Foster—hell, even Tom Wild—were the least of her worries. Six weeks of civil war had forced the communist government of Córdoba to crack down against her democratic rebels and their purported CIA supporters. Less than twenty-four hours back in Panama and she'd already heard the reports. The Córdoban government soldiers now had standing orders to shoot Americans on sight—and they were following them. Sam, you've got to stop her.

Believe me, I tried. She's still going.

Dammit, give me her number. I'll call her myself!

Samantha didn't respond. She hadn't expected her to. They both knew it wouldn't help. Once Eve Paris made up her mind, it was made up. Nor could she fault Eve. Look what she'd gotten mixed up in to salvage her own career. Despite the Percocet she'd swallowed upon waking, her chest began to throb. She ignored it and crowded her fingers over the keys. I'll get her in. I'll go through Luis. The U.S. Army will never know. If they were lucky, neither would the Córdobans.

Are you sure?

Yes. She'd also have to keep Foster out of the loop. With Luis's help, it would be possible. It had to be. She wouldn't put it past the NCIS bastard to use Eve to keep her in line.

That, she couldn't allow. She wouldn't.

With Carrie dead, there were three people left in the world she could truly count on. Three Sisters who'd believe her side of the story, but only when she was finally able to come clean. Showing up on Samantha's doorstep unannounced had proven that. It was Sam who'd helped her pull her head together after she'd fled Panama following Manny's murder. Sam, who'd contacted her cousin and smoothed over her sudden departure. Sam, who'd then contacted Foster and then laid her own Air Force career on the line when she'd threatened to expose Foster's methods unless he took Anna back on their terms. Sam had been there for her. And now, another one of their Sisters needed her. Yeah, she was sure. It was the only thing she was sure of.

Anna waited through the cyber silence. Through the palpable worry. And, eventually, Sam's resignation.

Okay. I'm sending you something now.

She clicked the message open the moment it registered and quickly scanned the list of automatic weapons and survival gear. Several components were seriously high-tech. Obtaining one in particular would be difficult, but not impossible. Still…she dropped her fingers to the dwarf keys and tapped out her confusion. Eve's asking for two of everything.

I know. The SF captain who crashed with her is determined to accompany her back to the wreckage. His name's Rick Bishop. Maybe he knows this Tom Wild. If so, you could—

No.

Samantha Hall might be one of the Air Force's more brilliant rocket scientists, but she was also insulated in that antiseptic lab. At least to the roiling mind-set of the military masses. Anna might not be on the operator end of the cloak-and-dagger business, she didn't have to be. She'd briefed enough Navy SEALs and Force Recon Marines to know Rick Bishop and his kind would protect each other to the death, even if the operator they were protecting had left the fold. As tempting as it would be to question Captain Bishop once he was in her debt, it would be fruitless. The Special Operations community protected or, when necessary, eliminated its own.

That, in and of itself, made her wonder about Tom.

Something about the man didn't add up. For one thing, he was almost too confident, too self-assured. Too angry.

She could still hear the utter disgust in his voice when he'd discovered she'd taken something. It didn't make sense. Since when did a thug of her cousin's ilk care if a woman abused anything? She'd gotten the distinct impression the man had expected more from her because she'd been an officer. But why should that matter to a man cashing in on his own military expertise? Hell, all Tom Wild cared about was selling himself to the highest bidder. Or did he?

She focused on the screen as Sam's response spilled across. You think this guy could be Manny's replacement?

Anna frowned. Frankly, she'd hoped Sam would have the answer. The first thing she'd done after crawling aboard Luis's private plane was phone Sam on the tarmac and read off the name printed on the dossier waiting for her. Then she'd hung up and passed out. Anna shoved her hair from her face, before dragging her fingers back to the keys. I don't know. What about you? Were you able to find anything after I left?

No. All I was able to do was confirm that Tom was SF. He did a couple years enlisted, then got his commission. Got out about two years ago.

Great.

What about you? Have you met him yet?

Yes.

How'd it go?

Dangerously. Against her will, her gaze slipped to the reading table and chair beside the French doors. Sunlight streaming in glinted off the tortoiseshell clasp she'd dumped on the table the night before, taunting her. Just like that, she could feel the man's fingers tugging the clasp from her hair, slowly combing the weight from her shoulders. A split second later, she felt his breath bathing her skin, smelled his damp, seductive scent as he'd leaned down to sear his lips into her neck. Lips Tom Wild would soon believe he had the right to place elsewhere if he so chose. Luis would make sure of it.

Anna? Are you okay?

Damn. How long had Sam been waiting? She drew her finger to the stunted keys and tapped quickly. I'm fine. Just tired.

Shoot, hon. I'm sorry. I was so freaked by Eve's call, I didn't even ask how you were doing.

Don't worry about it. I understand—and like I said, I'm just tired. In fact, I just got up.

How's the pain?

The question mark throbbed in the silence. They both knew what Sam was really asking. Had she succumbed to her old weakness? A weakness that would have surely turned into a serious addiction years before had it not been for the woman on the other side of this wireless link. Anna shoved her fingers back to the keys and forced them to type smoothly. The Percocet's working. That's all.

You sure?

Anna closed her eyes. She knew how much it had cost Sam to ask. As much as it hurt to know Sam had felt she had to. By the time she located the dregs of her pride and forced her lids up, the rest was waiting.

I'm sorry, hon. By the time I realized what Dr. Matthews had given you, it was too late. Want me to contact him? Maybe he can prescribe something else—

No.

Even if the surgeon could change her prescription, there was no way she could fill it. Not without Luis finding out. As it was, the vial's label had been made out to someone else, just in case. For a thug so paranoid about betrayal that he kept his insulin in a safe, a blank label on her pills would have aroused almost as much suspicion as her own name. Maybe more.

I'm okay, Sam. Really. She changed the subject before her friend could argue. What I do need you to do is dig deeper. I may need something on Mr. Wild to keep him in line—and soon. Call Foster. Tell him about this communications link if you have to. Just get me something I can use.

The remote control Sam had negotiated for her personal, subjective, use was still inside the hidden compartment in her purse. She hadn't even looked at, much less tampered with the settings—meaning the passive receiver Foster had had implanted inside her breast was live and in concert. The bug would remain so, too, unless she used the remote to turn it off. Until then, everything she said—more importantly, everything Luis said—would be monitored 24/7 by Agent Foster and his NCIS cronies. Foster had to have pulled up Tom Wild's military record by now and gone over it with a microscope. She might as well benefit from the man's snooping for a change.

I don't trust Foster.

Yeah, well. Neither did she. Her sigh filled her bedroom suite as she stabbed the keys. We've been through this.

The cursor flashed amid the silence. When are you going to tell me what that bastard has on you?

Nausea roiled through her. She'd give anything to pretend it was due to the effects of Percocet on an empty stomach. But it wasn't. Anna sucked in her breath as she forced her fingers to move. Sam, please. They'd been through this, too.

Anna willed her friend to honor her last remaining shred of privacy as the cursor continued to flash.

Okay. I'll call the jerk. I'll even be polite. For you.

Her relief bled out. Thank you.

Just remember, I'm here if you need me. I—

Nothing.

Sam?

Thirty-five excruciatingly silent seconds passed. And then, Damn. I've been paged. Gotta run, hon.

The inspection. She'd forgotten all about it. Okay. I should go too. I'll give Luis the list of supplies Eve sent and make the rest of the arrangements myself. But Luis is going to expect my help in return—with Mr. Wild.

Understood. E-mail you when I know more. Bye.

A second later, the wireless connection severed. Anna pushed the miniature laptop to the rear of the desk and massaged the cramps from her fingers as she stood. If only she could rid herself of the ache in her chest as easily. She stared down at the bottle of Percocet beside the computer.

She'd lied to Sam. The pills weren't cutting it. Worse, if she hadn't feared Luis would be banging down her door any moment, eager to grill her about her plans for seducing his newest employee, she might have given in to temptation and upped her waking dose. Unfortunately, that same new employee would be arriving for his meeting with Luis in less than six hours. She turned her back on the whispering pills and headed for her ridiculously burgeoning closet instead. As seductive as the promise of surcease was, she wasn't about to fall victim to it again.

She couldn't.

Once she handed over Eve's list and struck her bargain with Luis, she was going to need all her wits about her—lest she find herself toppling down from the tightrope strung between her cousin's fickle switchblade…and Tom Wild's bed.

* * *

Even when Luis was early, he was late.

Tom abandoned his pretense of patience and rose from one of the leather chairs facing Luis's desk. Luis continued to converse in Spanish with whomever he'd been discussing Panama's pending tariff's legislation for the past twenty minutes as Tom paced across the dark gold carpet. He stopped just shy of the study's entrance, in front of a display cabinet containing his host's collection of hand-painted Kama Sutra miniatures. While the paintings ranged from mildly erotic to outright lewd, several of the depictions were also impossible. Especially the one on the upper left.

Waste of a nickname or not, he'd been around enough to know that pose would require the skills of a contortionist.

Tom shook his head, turning back to Luis and his status symbol of a desk in time to catch his host's grin. He shook his head as Luis waved him toward the crystal decanters resting atop the polished buffet to his left. He'd already accepted enough coffee to float a battleship. If Luis didn't get off that phone soon, he'd be forced to seek out the man's housekeeper for directions to the nearest commode. A mausoleum like this was bound to have a dozen at least. Tom strolled across the plush carpet instead, toward the array of wooden file cabinets lined up along the far wall. Like the rest of the furniture in his host's private office, the file cabinets were dark, heavy, and fanatically dust-free.

They were also locked.

He dismissed them easily. He sincerely doubted a man who'd managed to evade Juju and his DEA cronies for as long as Luis had, kept anything incriminating inside them. No, it was the room's second collection of gilt-framed artwork that fascinated Tom—namely the succession of antique maps and modern lithographs mounted along the wall above. He wasn't sure what Luis saw in the various reproductions of Panama's cultural and political landmarks, but he knew what he saw.

Targets.

"Can you really do it?"

Tom stiffened as Anna's husky murmur rasped through him. How the hell had the woman managed to sneak up on him? When he turned and spotted her bare, pink-tipped toes—and the abandoned heels lying just inside the door—he knew. She'd slipped them off on purpose. The strategy had worked, too. He'd had his ears tuned so intently to the monotonous drone of tariff discussions that he'd missed her silent tread. Why was she even here? According to Luis, Anna had lain down for a nap before dinner. Right. The woman might have retired to her room for the afternoon, but he doubted she'd sunk into the arms of Morpheus. More like morphine.

Unfortunately, the study was too dim this far from Luis's desk and floor lamps for him to get a clear view of her pupils. With her hair swept up and another of those simple, elegant sheaths—this one burnished bronze—encasing her curves, the woman appeared to have it together. But then, she'd been just as cool and poised in his hotel room the night before.

He'd have to lure her closer. He nudged his brow up as her cousin droned on in the background. "Can I do what?"

Her feet whispered across the remaining yard of carpet until she'd reached his side. She stood so close, the hem of her dress skimmed the trousers of his suit. He ignored the heat radiating off her flesh, as well as that damned deceptively innocent scent, as she nodded to the map in front of them. It was a 1902 black-and-white lithograph of the originally proposed Panama City to Colón channel and the alternate San Blas route.

Ah. "The Canal locks?"

She nodded. "Before you left yesterday, you claimed you could blow them up. Can you?"

"Yup." He felt her stiffen as she swung her gaze to his. Unfortunately, she turned back to the print before he could assess her pupils. He decided to elaborate. "I'd need help."

She kept her attention fused to the print. "How much help?"

A lot. More than her cousin had at his disposal. The Canal might make one hell of a sweet target on a map, but he hadn't been serious when he'd offered to level it. It would take five times the number of goons employed by Ortiz Imports, legal and illegal rackets combined, to accomplish the task. Tom snagged the woman's elbow and guided her to the right, stopping in front of a watercolor-enhanced sketch of the Canal Zone. It was dated 1916, two years after the passage opened. He released her arm, stretching his hand over the file cabinets so he could tap the locks at Miraflores, Pedro Miguel and Gatún in succession. "Have you seen them up close?"

She nodded. "Miraflores."

Made sense. Those were closest to the city. Like Luis, Anna had been raised in the squatter slums of Curundú. It was a miracle she'd crawled out long enough to visit anything before she'd escaped to her long-lost father's house in the States at fourteen. Tom traced his fingers down, hitting all three locks as he made his way to the Pacific. "Then you know the locks are huge." The steel gates themselves weighed between 390 and 700 tons apiece. "I'd need a platoon of Army Sappers to rig the demolitions at Miraflores alone. Another two platoons of men to provide security during the job."

"Luis has men."

He laughed at that. "Trained ex-Army infantrymen, honey. Not armed thugs."

Her gaze finally snapped to his. Unfortunately, the room was still too dim, her irises too deep brown for him to gauge her pupils. Her vibes were definitely constricted. Cool.

"Ex-Army, armed thug. What's the difference?"

He shrugged. "You tell me."

She didn't respond. Not that he'd expected her to.

He snagged her arm, exorcising that soft floral scent from his lungs and his gut as he nudged her further to the right. He stopped in front of a modern color photograph of the Bridge of the Americas at sunset. He caught her sharp intake.

"You could take that down?"

He nodded. "I'd still need a squad or more of Sappers, depending on how many sections your cousin wanted dropped. Personally, I think he's better off going with a simple bomb. With Carnaval and a hundred-thousand-plus revelers on the horizon, he could have me plant it inside a dance club or just about anywhere along Via España before the parades and get the same political bang for his buck so to speak. Wouldn't reap as much in property damage, but the human toll would be richer."

He felt her arm tense beneath his hand. Odd. Her gaze lifted, met his. Held it. He still couldn't make out the depths clearly enough.

"Does it bother you, Mr. Wild?"

A lot of things bothered him. Not the least of which was playing poker with this particular woman. He met her phony innocence and raised it. "Does what bother me? Throwing my lot in with your cousin or the killing?"

"Both."

He shrugged, turned the card back on her and called her on it. "Does it bother you?"

She didn't back down, but neither did she display her hand. Silence settled in between them, punctuated by the woman's soft, carefully measured breaths amid her cousin's drone. Juju was right. There was something going on with Anna Shale, and he was beginning to think it didn't have anything to do with the drugs. But what did it concern?

He was about to open his mouth, risk showing just enough of his own hand to draw her out, when Luis ended his call.

"Anna, Señor Wild, sorry to keep you both waiting."

Tom swallowed his curse and dropped his hand, stepping away from the woman as they turned. Luis had already risen from his leather throne and skirted his desk. A moment later, the man's hands came out to draw his cousin into his arms as he brushed his lips across each of her cheeks in turn.

"I trust all went well, prima?"

What went well? And for whom? Unfortunately, newly employed stooges of Luis Ortiz did not ask for clarification.

Not if they wanted to remain employed.

Tom studied the woman as she covered her cousin's hands with hers and squeezed. "Yes. Thank you, Luis." Whatever had happened, she appeared genuinely and deeply grateful.

"Nonsense. I was happy to assist." Luis extricated his hands and patted the woman's cheek as if she were a child to whom he'd granted a boon and not a traitor who'd caused the death of three Panamanian border agents and a U.S. Army soldier three months before. Granted, she might not have known she was signing the men's death warrants when she'd passed on classified information regarding a major Panamanian border search to a Colombian drug cartel—it didn't matter. The end result had been the same. And his rage still burned.

Tom forced himself to conceal it as Luis faced him. "Again, allow me to apologize for my distraction, Señor Wild. As you've probably surmised, that was a call I simply had to take. My suppliers in Taiwan have become increasingly concerned with my government's pending tariff legislation. Fortunately, all has been appeased…for now. However, we are now in danger of losing our dinner reservations. Anna has made them for the hotel next to yours. I'm told the food is excellent, and all you need do after is walk home. If we leave now, we should make it." He gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

Tom waited for Anna to precede them, pausing along with Luis as she reached the door to the study and stopped to retrieve her heels. The moment he followed her out into the hacienda's inner courtyard, the phone on his host's desk rang—again. Beneath the brighter lights of the courtyard, there was no mistaking Luis's frown or the frustration in his sigh. "Un momento, por favor."

Tom nodded as the man shot a pointed take care of him look to his cousin before heading back inside the study to his desk and still-shrilling phone. By the time Luis greeted his latest caller and settled into his throne, Tom knew that, like the last, this call would take longer than a mere moment.

He turned to Anna and the massive verdigris fountain towering behind her as he settled in for yet another delay. The irony of the scene didn't escape him. Two sirens, one of flesh and one of stone, both reputed to have used their beauty and their wiles to lure men to their deaths. Despite his feelings, he stepped away from the study door to assist the woman's balance as she leaned down to slip on one of her heels. He dropped his hand as she stiffened before moving neatly out of range. The trio of fish gurgled in the silence as she leaned against the edge of the fountain, pointedly choosing cold stone over him.

The message was clear. She didn't need or want his touch.

Fine with him—until he spotted the lingering distaste pinching her frown as she faced him. The woman honestly believed she was better than him. God help him, that ticked him off. So did that damned hair.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he was deep into her personal space. So deep, that even with her heels now donned, she was forced to strain her neck to maintain eye contact. He caught his first clear look at her pupils—and that infuriated him even more. He leaned closer, whittling the remaining air between them down to a fraction of an inch. He scraped his voice even lower as his lips found her ear. "You don't follow orders well, lady."

He smiled as she flinched.

She recovered quickly. And much, much too coolly. She shifted her head until she was staring directly into his eyes. "True. But I'm not in the military anymore, am I?"

Wrong thing to say. The taunt ratcheted up his anger. Before she could argue, much less step back, he hooked his fingers into the upswept twist that reminded him too blessed much of the woman's official Navy photograph and the respected, decorated officer she'd once been before she'd thrown it all away for drugs, greed and a warped sense of loyalty. A swift twist of his own and his hand was gone, her black clasp as well. Satisfaction seared into him along with her gasp as her hair tumbled down about her face and past her shoulders. The moment he straightened, he knew it was a mistake—and not because of that thick silk or that insidiously heady fragrance. It was her neck.

This close, he had a clear shot down past the modestly scooped collar of her dress, all the way to her bra. But it wasn't the dusky swells or even the trailing edge of black lace that had captured his attention. It was the gold necklace—the gold charm—dangling between. A scorpion. The very symbol thugs closest and absolutely loyal to her cousin were known to have tattooed on the back of their right shoulder. And hers carried a damning, telltale ruby dripping from its stinger. The moment the pulse at the base of her neck began to throb, she knew he'd seen it.

He couldn't have stopped himself if he'd wanted to.

And he didn't.

He took his time, savoring the pace of that now screaming pulse as he slid the tip of his index finger beneath the collar of her dress. Until he was scraping the tender flesh between the valley of her breasts below. Only then did he hook that glistening chain and twist it none too gently about his finger as he dragged the trophy forth. He leaned low and returned his lips to her ear, already knowing the answer to the question he was driven to ask.

"So…who did you have to kill to get this?"

Chapter 4

He knew. Or rather, he thought he knew.

Either way, Tom Wild had had her investigated. And he'd gotten a lot farther than either she or Samantha had gotten with him. But then he'd known about her for a week at least. Anna closed her eyes, for once blessing the man's infuriatingly intimate proximity along with those stupid, noisy fish as she gathered the frayed ends of her nerves and stitched them together. By the time Tom pulled away, she'd anchored them firmly in place. She nudged a smile born more of relief than humor to the fore as she stepped back sharply. Tom was forced to release the necklace Luis had strung about her neck himself three hours before. For exactly the reason this man assumed.

Manny.

"Congratulations, Mr. Wild. You've done your homework."

For a split second, she swore she caught the flash of pure, naked fury in that steel-blue gaze, but then it was gone. Completely masked. She was left wondering if it had been a figment of her imagination. Just like her entire life. Barely twenty-four hours back in Panama, under her cousin's roof, and she was already sick of it. As if on cue, her chest throbbed. The pills in the purse she'd left in the entrance hall whispered. She ignored both. But not that gaze.

It'd narrowed again. Dangerously. "Well?"

She allowed her confusion to show. "Well, what?"

"My homework. As you've said, I did it. Do you plan on grading it?"

She waited a beat. Then two. "No."

This time, the fury remained concealed—if it had been there at all—as he stepped forward. Two paces later, he froze. Like her, he must have heard her cousin's approach. Though still out of sight, Luis was nearing the door in his study. A moment later, Luis crossed the threshold, still speaking with one of his political cronies as he stopped just inside the courtyard. To think, she'd been saved by Luis. Again. Fortunately, he wouldn't know about this debt, couldn't add it to the one she'd racked up this morning on Eve's behalf.

Gracias a Dios.

But when her cousin's stare met hers, she realized God had failed her. The approval in Luis's grin confirmed it. Her hair. Luis assumed she was already putting his plan into motion; he thought she'd been coming on to Tom. The ex-Army jerk-for-hire compounded the impression deliberately as he stepped forward and tucked the clasp he'd pulled from her hair into her hand. Luis chuckled and excused himself to his caller, covering the end of the phone with his hand. "Anna, this will take a while. Well into our reservations, perhaps longer. Since you two seem to have hit it off, go without me."

No!

Fortunately, Tom objected for her. "What about our meeting?"

Luis's grin flashed wider. "We can reschedule."

She had the distinct impression Tom wanted to argue. She prayed he'd act on it. He didn't. He simply shrugged. "Fine by me." He turned to her and held out his arm. "Shall we?"

Once again, she was saved by the bell. Literally.

All three of them turned toward the entrance as the housekeeper's muffled footsteps closed in on the hacienda's main door. She could feel the curiosity radiating off Tom as they waited for Juanita to greet their unseen caller. It increased as her cousin brought the phone to his ear and informed his crony the delay would take another moment.

Tom glanced down at her. "Was anyone else supposed to join us for dinner?"

Not that she was aware of. But then, when did Luis bother to inform her of anything unless it suited him?

The plastic teeth on the hair clasp bit into her palm as she tightened her hand around it. "I'm not sure."

Juanita satisfied their curiosity as she entered the courtyard, international courier pouch and signature-release clipboard in hand. She held both up. Luis grinned as he shifted the phone. "Excellent. Anna, sign for it, por favor." Even before Luis slipped his free hand inside his suit, she knew what he was reaching for. She stared in horror as her cousin retrieved his prized fountain pen and tossed it toward her, already resuming his conversation with Rubén as he turned back to his study. Obviously, Luis had assumed she'd catch it.

She didn't even try.

She watched in horror as the pen sailed through the air, flinching as it clattered on the gray stones at her feet. Even Juanita knew enough to gasp. By the grace of God, Luis heard neither. He was too immersed in his conversation with Rubén Galindo. She stared at her cousin's back as he disappeared from view, then dropped her gaze to her feet, hoping against hope the pen would do the same. It didn't.

Now what? She couldn't touch it.

She dragged her stare to Juanita. From the horror on the poor woman's face, neither could she. From the look on Tom's face, he thought they were both nuts. Worse, the man leaned down and picked up the pen. He held it out. She just stood there.

He stepped closer. She stepped back.

Juanita jumped.

His brow shot up. "Are you two okay?"

No.

Juanita took the next step. Forward and definitely tentative. Instead of retrieving the pen, she shoved the clipboard into the man's chest. "Please, señor. You sign."

As grateful as they both were when he nodded, Anna winced as the man accepted the clipboard, uncapped the fountain pen and scratched his name on the release. Juanita shuddered. The housekeeper snatched the release from his hands and thrust the unopened envelope at him before spinning around and racing out of the room as fast as her stocky legs could carry her. Anna would have given anything to be able to follow her. Instead, she forced herself to face Tom.

She should thank him. She would have…if she could speak. She swallowed the lump in her throat as he stepped closer. She knew it was coming, knew she had to do it. She had to take that envelope and that pen from the man's hand and walk them into her cousin's lair and pass them over. She watched him extend his arm, hold both out. But she simply couldn't do it.

"What is going on? It's just a pen."

But when he stiffened, she knew. Tom Wild had done more than his homework. He'd just aced the entire test. He finally dragged his gaze back to hers. "Anna…tell me your cousin didn't use this pen to stab the man I replaced." She didn't bother answering.

They both knew Luis had.

* * *

Tom glanced across the back of the limousine, into the seat facing his own. Despite the night, there was enough neon light flashing in through the tinted windows for him to make out Anna's features clearly enough. Though the woman appeared to be watching as the sea of honking traffic merged with another of strolling human bodies, she wasn't. He doubted she'd seen anything at all during the twenty-minute ride from her cousin's beachside hacienda into the heart of Panama City. She couldn't have. She was in shock.

Hell, so was he. She hadn't murdered Manny.

No, he hadn't asked her to confirm it, much less demanded to know why she'd let him believe she'd killed the man. He'd been too busy tossing that cursed pen onto Luis's desk and politely but quickly evacuating the man's shell-shocked cousin from his house before the lowlife figured out what Anna had unwittingly given away. In fact, Tom didn't plan on questioning Anna about Manny at all. Not while they were trapped in this air-conditioned leather box with that no-neck goon of a driver up front. The limo's soundproofed glass partition might be raised, the intercom off, but he wasn't taking any chances. Not after he'd discovered his host was loonier than anyone in ATF or Delta had ever suspected. Manny hadn't been stabbed with his own switchblade as their contacts in the Panamanian Defense Forces stated. Luis had stabbed his friend with that goddamned gold fountain pen—a pen the murdering bastard still carried!

Tom studied his hands as he had inside the courtyard, half expecting to see the pen gleaming at him. His stomach lurched as light from a passing strip club touting its wares spilled into the limo and over his palms. For a split second, the neon red looked like blood. His buddy's blood.

Christ. He clenched his fists and forced himself to throttle his fury in lieu of Luis Ortiz's neck. For now.

Tom jerked his attention to the tinted windows and the Hotel Monterrey looming too many gridlocked blocks ahead. With Carnaval kickoff four days out, damned near every rental car and taxi in Panama had converged on the city. At this rate, it would take another twenty minutes to reach the restaurant atop the hotel. A five-star restaurant renowned for its oysters, caviar and imported cadre of condescending Castilian waiters. Given the fact that Anna was more out of it at the moment than when she'd been flat-out stoned the night before, he doubted she was up to the overrated experience either.

The rainbow lights of a trio of bars slipped into his peripheral view, ushering in a better plan. Why not? Even if Juju hadn't had a chance to dredge up anything on Anna, he'd get the man's gut assessment. Given Juju's parting shot as he'd left his hotel room last night, not to mention his buddy's DEA cover, it could be worth it. Tom reached out and stabbed the intercom button. "Pull over here."

Nothing. He hadn't even rated a grunt.

Maybe the overgrown ape didn't speak English. Or maybe the intercom was busted. Right. Tom was about to issue the order again—this time loud enough for Luis's shady connections in Colombia to hear—when Anna finally turned to him and blinked.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Wild?"

Gee, he'd been forced to dump a provocative international courier pouch two inches from his buddy's murderer and then leave the man chatting merrily away back in that study with God knows who while he crawled into a leather box with some porcelain zombie. What could possibly be wrong? He shrugged. "I'm just not in the mood for an overpriced meal with undersize portions, no matter who's paying. I'd rather grab a burger, a beer and some atmosphere. How 'bout you?"

"Uh—"

"Unless you'd rather go home?"

Right on cue, she flinched. He had to hand it to her, though. If he hadn't been waiting, he'd have missed it. He quashed the surge of victory as she folded her hands neatly in her lap. "A burger sounds great."

But. She hadn't voiced the objection. She hadn't had to. He'd felt it. When her attention shifted past his right shoulder and lingered at the window once again, as if she was trying to figure out where they were—on the main strip of a city she'd grown up in—he realized that scene in the hacienda had rattled her more than he'd originally thought. He slapped the compassion down and seized the opportunity instead.

"Since I'm the guest, how about I pick?" He watched as relief flooded those dark brown eyes as the limo passed beneath a streetlamp. Confusion crowded in after. He cut her off before it mutated to apprehension. "I hit the streets a couple nights ago. Ran into an old Army buddy. Turns out he owns a bar and grill in town—La Iguana Azul. I imagine it'll be a bit crowded tonight, but I've got a standing invite." Tom kicked in half a grin as he shrugged, just enough to keep the suspicion at bay. "I'm assuming it includes a guest."

Too much, too soon. Because suspicion set in anyway. Fortunately, frank curiosity accompanied it.

"An Army buddy? That's…fortunate."

He nodded. "But if you'd rather go someplace else—"

"No. La Iguana's fine."

His own suspicion set in. According to Juju, his place had been in play for almost a year now. The woman might have left Panama for her father's home in the States when she was fourteen, but she'd also been here for three months. Long enough to discover the illicit menu the Iguana was known for besides burgers and beer…if she'd been looking. "You've been there?"

Tom couldn't explain the relief that snuck into his gut when she shook her head. He wasn't sure he wanted to. He did know the jolt was as unwelcome as the compassion had been, and just as dangerous. He purged the remnants of both as she leaned forward to press a manicured nail into the intercom button he'd stabbed two minutes earlier.

"Pepe, pare el coche aquí, por favor."

Pepe instantly and miraculously found his hearing, immediately jockeying the limo to the side of the street. The ape parked the car halfway up onto the sidewalk before shoving his door open and lumbering forth with more speed than Tom would have thought possible given the man's girth. The resulting spike in the city's nonstop cacophony of honks, shouts and downright creative cursing reverberated through the back of the limo as Pepe broke the seal on their own door. The ape scowled down at him, deliberately blocking Tom's path as he elbowed his beefy, suit-clad arm into the car to assist his mistress out into the neon night. Tom vaulted out after, straight into a wall of tropical humidity. He plowed through the heavy air and rounded the ape, snagging Anna's free arm and drawing her to his side before she could change her mind about their change of plans. Unfortunately, the ape didn't go down gracefully.

"¿Estacionaré yo el coche y lo une, señorita?"

Anna's gaze settled on his as the posturing ape waited for her answer. Did she want Pepe to park and join them? Tom's gut assured him she didn't want the goon eavesdropping on their meal any more than he did. But while his nerves shouted push, years of experience forced him to do the opposite. Tom shrugged amid the milling bodies and still blaring horns. "Feel free to drag your gorilla along, honey."

Evidently her gorilla spoke English after all, because it growled. The overgrown primate also lurched forward.

Tom matched the move.

"Pepe." The gorilla froze beneath his mistress's quiet warning. "Continue on to the Monterrey and enjoy our reservations." She withdrew an ivory business card from her purse and tucked it into the ape's paw. "Have Julio put your meal on my cousin's tab. I'll phone you when I'm ready."

"But Señor Ortiz—"

"—will not mind." Those last three words carried the same soft-spoken assurance of her first words. But they also provided a glimpse into the officer Anna had once been. Calm, cool. Firm. Even if Tom hadn't spent his last two weeks poring over the woman's Navy career, he'd have known right then and there that Lieutenant Shale had never raised her voice during the heat of command. She hadn't needed to.

He watched, amused as the goon buckled beneath her quiet grace and clipped an unusually respectful nod—even for a purportedly adored cousin of Luis Ortiz—before swinging his bulging muscles back to the limo. The car door slammed behind them, for a brief moment displacing the cacophony of the street. Tom leaned down to murmur in Anna's ear as he guided her into the throng of pre-Carnaval revelers. "I think monkey-man has a crush on you."

Her light, unexpected laugh washed through him, kicking the heat index in his gut up by another twenty degrees. The soft smile that followed doubled it. Somehow that simple curve—the first genuine twist he'd spotted in all the official Navy and surveillance photos he'd viewed, as well as in the flesh these past two days—made her seem even more vulnerable than her shock had. It also got to him.

Remember the plan, buddy. The mission.

Especially his impromptu one. She might not have murdered Manny, but she was covering for Luis. She was also flying through life via an artificial breeze he'd sworn a long time ago he'd never get involved with again. It didn't matter which cloth her kite was cut from. Though he did intend to find out.

Tonight.

The thought managed to cool his insides, despite the sweltering night—not to mention the smooth, bare skin beneath his hand as he hooked his arm around Anna's shoulders to guide her off the main drag and down a smaller, quieter, one-way street. He stopped a block down, beneath a streetlamp, to retrieve the folded square of hotel stationery from his wallet. He'd taken the dictation from Juju in front of the concierge following their "accidental" meeting in the crowded lobby earlier this morning. Anna waited patiently as he pretended to study the sketched map. He slipped the stationery and wallet inside his suit jacket and returned his hand to the small of her back.

"It's not far."

They continued on in silence, turning down two more streets before reaching a dead end and, at the moment, vacant alley. He spotted the neon glow of the Iguana at the end. Halfway down the cobbled alley, he was burning up again, this time with curiosity. He'd never met a woman so enamored with holding her thoughts, much less her tongue, as this one.

What the devil was she thinking about?

By the time they reached the front door of the Iguana and paused to wait for a trio of middle-aged male tourists, with a teenaged working girl hanging on each arm to exit, Tom was pretty sure he knew. Anna laid her hand on his as Tom retrieved the door from the trailing stud, waiting until the herd cleared the front of the club, and crossed the narrow cobbled street. "Thank you."

He was right. She was thanking him for the hacienda, the pen. Getting her away from both before her cousin finished his latest call and changed his mind about accompanying them. Tom clamped down on the stubborn spurt of compassion and forced himself to listen to his instincts as he tipped her chin. His professional instincts.

"I've got an idea. How 'bout we leave everything at the door? Just bring ourselves inside. No Luis, no pending plans or employment status. Just you and me. What do you say? You game for a good old-fashioned date?"

* * *

A date? With him? Was he serious?

Anna blinked up at Tom, shoving her shock aside as she searched his face for the slightest hint that he was leading her on. At the very least, attempting to lull her into a false sense of security. Her efforts were in vain. The light spilling down from the club's namesake had blended with the darker, hypnotic blue of the man's eyes. All she could make out was pure sex appeal. Intense, unwelcome sex appeal. She opened her mouth and promptly closed it. After the night she'd had, it was probably better to keep it shut anyway. Wait for him to make the next move…and the next. Then she'd decide if he was simply attempting to use her again.

Before she had the chance, another crowd of locals, already well past tipsy, turned down the alley and converged on the bar from behind them. She and Tom stepped away from the door by tacit agreement and waited for the guys to enter. The door snicked shut, leaving the muted sounds of traffic and the city behind…and her traitorous stomach.

Tom chuckled as the embarrassing rumble died out. "Looks like I'm not the only one who could use a burger."

She was starving. And she didn't want to face Luis or that damned pen. Nor could she afford to return to the hacienda without at least appearing to submit to Luis's vile and, as of this afternoon, now openly stated request. She couldn't even blame Foster for this dilemma. In handing over Eve's list, she'd sealed her own fate. Maybe Luis and Foster were right. It wouldn't hurt to get to know the man. It might even help her to put the gnawing suspicion to rest, especially after the compassion he'd displayed over that pen. If Tom Wild was Manny's replacement and not just some thug for hire, what better way or time to find out? She nodded warily. "Okay. No Luis tonight, no job. But no date either, just dinner."

"Great."

She swore she caught a sliver of relief hiking his grin. She must have imagined it. Before she could decide, much less draw her next breath, Tom swung the Iguana's door wide and swept her into the crowded, smoky bar. For once she didn't mind the stench of tobacco. The blissfully cooler air made up for the nauseating mix of unfiltered cigarettes and pungent cigars as Tom linked his fingers into hers to lead her through the crush of noisy bodies waiting to be seated. Even after he'd produced that map, she'd assumed Tom had been exaggerating his status with the bar's host. She changed her mind as an Hispanic, ponytailed giant decked out in a Hawaiian shirt that was loud even by Panamanian standards spotted her escort and lunged toward them. The man's blinding grin put out more wattage than the bar's fifty-odd hurricane table lamps combined.

"Wild Man, you made it!" Tom released her hand as the neon bear whacked him across his shoulders. The bear hooked an arm about Tom's neck, hauling him in tight as they turned to include her. "And you've brought a guest. Excellent."

She stared up at Tom. "Wild Man?"

She had the satisfaction of watching him flush beneath the muted glow of kerosene.

"It's a long story."

"I'll bet." The night might prove useful after all.

Tom slipped his arm about her waist in lieu of a response and drew her closer as he faced their host. "Anna, meet Julio Ramos—also known as Juju due to a shameless addiction to said candy. Juju, Anna Shale. She's ex-military, too—Navy. I applied for a gig with her cousin's company. Ortiz Imports."

"Outstanding." Juju barked an order over his shoulder in their native tongue. Within seconds his bouncer had released the rope holding the horde around them at bay. Juju abandoned Tom's shoulder, hooking his arm around Anna's as they passed through the crowd. He winked down at her. "Maybe you can convince this guy to linger if the job doesn't pan out, eh?"

She smiled. "We'll see. I haven't known your friend long, but something tells me he's a man who doesn't linger anywhere, let alone for anyone…especially with a nickname like that."

Juju burst out laughing. Genuine respect gleamed in his dark eyes as they reached a rare, empty table fifteen feet from the bar. "For you, Anna, he might. You may not have known mi amigo perdido largo for long but you know him better than most." His grin flashed. "Certainly any woman who's had the misfortune to precede you."

Tom cuffed his friend across the shoulder, forcing Juju to relinquish his hold on her. "That's enough, buddy. Back off and get your own woman, or at least stop flirting with mine." Tom's grin took the sting out of the accusation as he drew a chair away from the table so she could sit.

Juju just shook his head. "Face it, gringo, you're out of your league this time."

Tom just laughed. "Wrong. You are. The lady prefers blondes."

Anna blinked up at Tom as he dragged his own chair away from the tiny table and hunkered down opposite her. Homework, hell. He'd run a full-out background investigation on her, culling details even the Navy had ignored—in the span of a week. Shock warred with indignation. Before she could act on either, the arrogant jerk punctured both with a conspiratorial wink. She tucked the revelation aside. For now.

Juju shrugged his defeat and tipped his head toward the bar. "Name your poison, Anna." He flashed her a grin. "The more expensive, the better, 'cause it's on the house."

"Coke will be fine."

Was it her imagination, or had Juju stiffened?

He must have, because just like that, the atmosphere at the table shifted, tensed. Turned silent. It was magnified by the sudden swell in conversation, laughter and clink of glasses and silverware among the tables surrounding them.

Tom frowned at his friend as he finally broke it. "She was referring to the soft drink, Juju."

"Right. Just a minute."

Before Anna could respond, Juju left. She turned to Tom.

His frown dipped lower. "You did mean soda, didn't you?"

"Yes." She winced because it came out more a hiss. A self-defensive, guilty hiss.

"Hey, just thought I should make sure." He held up a hand. "And, no, not because of yesterday. There's something you should know. Juju and I go way back. We roomed together plebe year at West Point. His dad was a hero in Nam. Awarded the Medal of Honor. But, uh, Juju only completed four out of his five-year commitment after graduation and commissioning."

"What happened?" But she knew.

Juju's rumble behind her confirmed it. "Whiz quiz."

Random urinalysis testing. The man had popped for drugs.

Anna flinched as Juju reached around her to thump her fountain soda, a shot glass and a brand-new bottle of Scotch on the scuffed but polished table. He hooked a boot into the bottom rung of a spare chair from the table beside them and dragged it to theirs to straddle it backward. Juju appeared as startled as she as Tom stood abruptly.

"Everything okay, amigo?"

Tom stared him down. "Been trapped in a study all evening. Need to visit the latrine. That okay with you, Mom?"

Juju flashed another grin. "Suppose so. Hell, do my job while you're at it. The kitchen's two doors past the men's room, on the right. Stop in and place an order for you and your lady with Benigno—on the house, of course. You can't miss him. He's the two-hundred-pound Kuna Indian octopus working the grill."

Tom captured her gaze. "Anna?"

He was asking for more than her order. He was also asking her permission to leave her with a stranger. The simple courtesy shouldn't have softened her resolve against this man, but it did. "That burger you mentioned will be fine."

Tom held her gaze a moment longer, then nodded again and turned. She watched him thread his way through the postage-stamp tables until he'd reached an open doorway to the right of the bar and disappeared from view. She swung her gaze back to Juju's. Once again, silence reigned.

She cleared her throat softly. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't have discussed your private—"

"Why not?" He shrugged. "I did the crime, so I gave up the time, so to speak. And forfeited my commission."

"Was it a…one-time thing?" Not that it would have mattered. Not with the military's zero tolerance at full throttle these past few years. Still, she had no business wondering, much less asking. Unfortunately, given the events of her life lately she was driven to both.

"Nope." He pushed the bottle of Scotch to the exact center of the table, then nudged the shot glass beside it. "Probably a good thing I got caught when I did. As it is, I got to face up to my sins and repent before I crawled back here and took over—" he swept his arms out to encompass the smoky bar "—this place." He dropped his arms and settled over the scuffed but polished teak.

She had no idea what to add. She didn't have the nerve to ask what she really wanted to, so she retrieved her soda and fingered the condensation beading around the outside of the glass, instead. When Juju didn't pick up the conversation, she took a sip—and grimaced. The Coke was flat.

"You sure I can't get you something stronger?"

She froze. Surely he wasn't offering what she thought he was offering? Given the way her nerves and her chest had begun throbbing, he was. She shifted her gaze beyond the man's shoulders, to the bar. It was past nine now, the working girls were out in full force. Prostitutes outnumbered the pre-Carnaval celebrants by two-to-one, at least at the bar. She studied the remaining patrons, specifically, the locals. Sure enough, most appeared to be waiting their turn for more than just booze. The subtle, swift white-powder transaction at the far left confirmed it. Juju's attention was still focused solely on her when she turned back.

It was unnerving. For more reasons than she could count.

She swallowed her next sip of soda carefully and chose her words even more carefully. "I thought you repented."

"I did." He shrugged. "But, I can't assume responsibility for anyone else's sins, now can I?" In other words, Juju might not use anymore but he did deal. From the deliberate arch in his brow, he was also offering.

Where was Tom when she needed him? Because, despite the fact that the bastard had obviously set her up, she did need him. And that pissed her off.

She used the betrayal. It gave her the strength to hold Juju's dark gaze, to keep from bowing beneath it. She did not want to know this man. Not now and not here. Not when she could feel her world crumbling around her brick by brick with every passing hour. She caved in to the only need she could afford to feed at the moment, breaking off her stare and shifting it to the bar and the doorway to the right. Still no sign of Tom. She begged him to hurry.

Tom could order her a week-old tuna fish sandwich for all she cared so long as he hurried. When he didn't, she slipped her hands beneath the table and dug her nails into her palms as she focused on the bottle of pills in her purse—and the promise Sam had secreted amid them. It helped. "Juju, I think the bartender's motioning for you."

They both knew the bartender had done no such thing.

She held her breath anyway, releasing it only after Juju stood, returned his chair to the next table, nodded politely and left. It wasn't until Juju rounded the bar that she drew her hands from beneath the table and noticed the raw indentations her nails had left. She rubbed the sting from her palms as Juju headed off toward the restrooms and kitchen. She might have been out of the Navy these past three months, but she knew a pending debrief when she saw one—whether or not she'd be permitted to sit in on it. Not that it mattered.

She'd be gone before they finished.

Chapter 5

Tom took one look at Anna as he stepped into the bar and knew—he'd miscalculated. Badly. No matter how much he'd needed to visit the latrine, he never should have left her alone with Juju. Not when he knew Juju had his own DEA agenda to account for. An agenda that had to have included Luis Ortiz for over a year now in some way, shape or form—whether Juju had copped to it or not. The moment Juju had walked into the hall Tom realized that, despite their agreement, he'd put that agenda first. Juju had offered Anna drugs.

God willing, he wasn't too late.

Tom threaded his way back across the smoky bar as quickly as he dared, counting down his heartbeats as Anna grabbed the cell phone from her purse and began punching out what had to be that no-neck gorilla's phone number. By the time he'd reached the table, she'd hit the first six digits. He closed his hand over the touch pad a split second before her finger could connect with the send button. She glared up at him.

"Go away."

He shifted his grip, grabbing her hand as well as the phone. "Look, I'm sorry. I ran into Juju outside the kitchen. He told me what he did. He was afraid he'd screwed up—and he did. If you've changed your mind about having dinner here, I'll understand. Just don't—"

"—change my mind about you?" Hurt flooded her dark eyes. "Too late." Damned if that churning pain didn't cut into him.

He clamped down on his hand, as well as that insidious compassion. "Please don't."

"Why not? Why should I trust you? Why should Luis?" She tried wrenching the phone from his hand. When he refused to release it, she jerked her chin to the unopened bottle of Scotch Juju had left behind. "You couldn't even make it past the first drink before you broke your word."

He stiffened. "I did not break my word."

"The hell you didn't. You told him!"

Tom winced as Anna's voice carried across the smoky room, straight up to a pair of half-tanked tourists at the next table…and the next. Fortunately, both sets of morons appeared more interested in leering at Anna's stunning face than listening to her words. Tom shifted his body, hooking his free hand to the back of his chair. He dragged it closer, blocking the men's view as he sat down beside her. Right beside her. He knew she'd felt the spike in his body heat by the way she'd dropped her attention to the phone. To their hands. The pulse at the base of her neck kicked up its pace as she swallowed—and it wasn't due to desire. More like fury.

"Will you please release me?"

He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. "Will you give me a chance to explain?" He waited as she sucked in her breath, then released it in a rush. Her pulse continued to heighten along with her anger. He couldn't blame her. She believed he'd set her up. He had. But not for this. Never for this.

Juju was dead wrong. Offering the woman dope had been a lousy decision all the way around. At the very least, it would affect his mission. But if she turned on him now and outright walked out? He could kiss two weeks of painstaking preparations goodbye, along with any chance of finding out what her cousin was up to in time to prevent it. He tried not to focus on the crowd of locals and tourists, each one a potential target, as Anna continued to glare at him.

"Please."

She shook her head. "I gave you a chance. Last night. My terms were quite clear. Why should I give you another?"

He sighed. "You don't understand—"

"Wrong. It's you who doesn't. Not that I even care." Her fury still raged. But at least she'd kept her voice to a whisper, albeit a seething one.

"Well, I do. Explain it to me."

"I already told you last night. I can't. But it's not what you think. I know you didn't believe me, but you did agree to keep your trap shut."

"And I did."

"To Luis, yes." She jerked her chin toward Juju as he stepped behind the bar. He'd already warned the man to stay the hell away from them. "What about your friend? Just how long do you think it'll be before he goes running to Luis?"

Never. Unfortunately, there was no way he could prove it, not without blowing his cover and his mission. Tom went on the offense. It was his only hope. "I didn't tell Juju anything. From what he told me in the hall, neither did you. As for that offer he made, the man picked up on your vibes, lady, not mine." Tom ignored the guilt as he finished spinning out the lie. He'd learned a long time ago to push past the regret. It was the only way to work a mark effectively.

That was all this woman was. A mark. That was all.

"Dammit, I didn't tell him. Ask that bartender when he returns if you need to. Hell, ask anyone else who works here, including the girls working the bar. This is bound to be a regular pickup spot for one or two of them." He released her hand and slipped his fingers beneath her chin, coaxing her face to his so he could capture her mutinous stare. "Anna, I swear to you, this is the first time I've stepped foot in here. I ran into the man today in the lobby of my hotel. Not to mention, your cousin hunted me down. Luis flew me here a week ago. I just met you yesterday. How could I set something up—set you up—this fast?"

He watched her work through his logic. He wasn't worried. He might have made it up on the fly, but it was sound. After what happened to Manny, he'd been adamant about using a third-party thug referral on this job and the time and effort were paying off. He could see it in her eyes.

It was her instincts he was worried about.

Lieutenant Shale might not have been a trench operator, but from everything he'd read in her official file, she was an exceptionally savvy Asian intelligence analyst—or had been until she'd sold out. When the fingers beneath his loosened from the phone, he knew his argument was working. He took a chance and pushed it as he slipped her cell phone from her fingers. He tucked the phone into her purse and shoved the sleek leather bag into her hands as he sighed. "You don't believe me? Fine. Let's go. We can ditch the burgers I ordered and eat someplace else—someplace you choose—or I can see you back to that no-neck limo driver and grab something by myself. It's up to you, honey. I don't much care."

He shoved his chair away from the table, away from her, and stood. It was a risk, but one he was beginning to believe he could afford. Why else hadn't she finished that call to her ape of a driver or simply walked out? She needed to be here just as badly as he did. With or without the pretense of a date. The woman still had squat to take back to her cousin, much less anything she could hoard to use privately on him. She needed leverage as badly as he did. Worse, in fact.

He had the drugs on her. She had nothing.

The seconds continued to tick out, magnified by the ebb in conversation around them his deliberately defiant stance had caused. She set her purse on the table and carefully smoothed from her face the loose strands of hair that had slipped past her shoulders. "You ordered dinner?"

"Yes. Two burgers, all the fixings. Fries." He'd finished just before Juju walked in.

Thank God. She considered his arguments for several more moments, and then, she relaxed. He relaxed. Breathed easier.

She nodded to his vacant chair. "We may as well eat them, then." It was definitely given grudgingly. The set to her chin had returned, too. The regal cool was back. So much for their truce. One more reason to deck Juju the first chance he got.

Tom took his seat, deliberately shifting his chair until he was opposite her. If he'd learned one thing about Anna Shale tonight, it was that she didn't do trapped well. Hell, neither did he. He dragged the bottle of Scotch from the center of the table and broke the seal as she tucked her purse down beside her feet. Her gaze met his as she sat upright, stabbing him clean through.

"For the record, I don't use."

In other words, she was still in denial. Given her panic in his hotel room, he wasn't surprised. Nor did he bother arguing. Any attempt to force her to face up to her problem wouldn't go over well. Not here and not now. And especially, not from him.

She was wrong. He did understand. All too well.

But he'd be damned if he'd let her off the hook scot-free. He poured out two fingers of the booze Juju had left and saluted her with the glass. "Honey, I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I'm not your cousin and I'm sure as hell no priest. As long as it doesn't interfere with my job, I don't care how you get your kicks." The lie burned more than the Scotch. He ignored both as he replenished the shot glass and carefully lined it up beside the still-open bottle.

"No, I imagine you don't. Not—" her dark gaze narrowed remarkably well given the drugs she wasn't using as she flicked it to what she clearly believed to be his own mind-altering substance of choice "—that I'd expect much from a hypocrite who does what you do for a living."

There it was again. The disdain. Had he not caught a hint of the icy note in her cousin's study tonight, he might have chalked it up to lingering fury. Though she'd done her best to conceal her contempt in front of those lithographs, he'd felt the chill woven amid a searing, almost palpable need to know if the idea of murder bothered him. Now, why would a former naval officer who'd knowingly and willingly sold out a team of fellow American soldiers and Panamanian agents care if complete strangers died?

The inconsistency bellowed at him. Especially in light of her reaction to that fountain pen.

Unfortunately, that was something else they weren't supposed to talk about. What the hell? Their attempt at a date was a bust. At the rate they were going, they wouldn't even make it through dinner. Tom leaned forward, only to stiffen as he caught the scent of fruity sugar mixed with good old-fashioned beef and grease. Scratch that, the burgers and fries were here.

And so was Juju.

Tom didn't bother disguising his temper as he snapped his scowl toward the man, laden with their meal. "I thought I told you you'd done enough, buddy?"

Juju shrugged. "Thought I'd take the opportunity to apologize."

"I did it for you. Now drop the food and go."

This time, Juju returned his scowl, but he also obeyed. It was the first time in his life Tom had seen the Jolly Brown Giant bow before anyone, himself included. He was forced to appreciate the effort. If they were lucky, the act might go a long way toward assuaging Anna's anger and suspicion, not that either of them would know by looking at her face. The fury she leveled on Juju as he set her plate in front of her would have charred her open-faced burger to a crisp.

Tom waited until Juju set the second plate in front of him, before offering a terse thanks for both.

"You're welcome, amigo." He grouped the pair of napkin-wrapped silverware and plastic bottle of ketchup in no-man's-land, just shy of the shot glass and Scotch. "Can I get you anything else?" He nodded to Anna. "Another Coke, perhaps?"

Her gaze smoldered anew.

Juju weathered the fire with his usual shrug. "Perhaps not." He tucked the serving tray beneath his arm and turned. He took a step toward the next table, then stopped. Tom held his breath as the man swung back, ignoring him completely as he faced Anna square on. "I am sorry I misjudged the situation. More importantly, you. Please don't let my ill manners affect your evening. Your date here scored much better on his cadetiquette exams at West Point than I did. Hell, I hear the man's not bad in bed either—" Juju flashed one of his trademark, obnoxious grins. "—for a gringo."

No doubt about it. Juju might be half Hispanic and half Samoan, but he was also one-hundred-percent asshole. Tom was about to shoot out of his chair and pound some sense into his friend along with those missing manners when the knowledge hit. He froze, instead. Waited.

Son of a gun. The stunt had done the trick, distancing Anna from her anger.

Tom could feel the shock displacing Anna's fury as Juju swung around and headed out across the room. By the time Juju reached the bar and shot a covert wink back in his direction, she'd recovered the innate poise he'd come to admire in just two short days. She retrieved one of the silverware sets from no-man's-land at the center of the table, carefully peeling the paper napkin from her fork and knife before she smoothed it across her lap as if it was made of linen. That done, she drew her half-empty soda closer and took a sip, sans straw.

Again, silently.

What the devil was she thinking? Any other mark, and he'd be reading her easily by now. It drove him nuts to admit that with this particular woman, he just couldn't. Hell, he couldn't even hook in to her psyche long enough to find his edge, even with the drugs. He finally sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you. Juju can be—"

"—a complete cretin?"

His surprise and chuckle were genuine. Her answering smile wasn't. Just like that, they were back to cool, strained. Probably the best spot for them anyway.

He shrugged. "I was going to say crude, but that works. I admit, the man can be a bastard. But he's also been a damned good friend."

"With friends like that, Mr. Wild, you truly don't need enemies." At the moment, he was forced to agree.

"What about you?"

She blinked.

"Friendships?" He flipped open the lid of the plastic ketchup bottle and squirted out a generous portion beside his fries. "Cretin or not, I'm guessing you could use a few right now. From what I heard, even your old man won't give you the time of day anymore."

He caught her flinch as the barb struck home.

Good. It was time to get this game moving before it—and part of this city—blew up in his face.

Tom dropped the bottle of ketchup between them with more force than he'd intended. He frowned as it skidded into the shot glass. He'd pulled the napkin off the second set of silverware before he realized what he'd done and cleaned up the booze that had sloshed over the rim. She was still staring at him as he finished returning the glass to its spot beside the bottle of Scotch. Silently.

"I'm sorry. That was out of line."

The twist to her lips carried more melancholy than humor as she shook her head. "No, you're right. I'm pretty much Benedict Arnold and Typhoid Mary rolled up into one according to anyone Stateside, former friends and nonexistent father included. Probably why I'm still here in Panama with Luis." She retrieved her Coke and saluted him with it, much as he'd done with the Scotch. "Well, Tommy, looks like you don't need me to grade your homework after all. You've aced the test all by yourself." Her pretense of a smile faded as she took a sip. The terse frown that followed caused the scar at her mouth to cut deep. The silence accompanying it managed to cut into him.

He ignored both as he prepped his next shot.

"Oh, I don't know. A woman cunning enough to fool the U.S. Naval Intelligence community for seven long years? I'm sure I missed a few things."

The scar cut deeper as he scored again.

She set the Coke on the table and snagged a French fry, pushing the shot glass out of the way so she could dip the fry into the ketchup he'd poured out on his plate. "You mean like the fact that, while I might prefer blondes, there are some men—blond or not—that I'd never be attracted to?"

Bull. She might hate his guts, but she was definitely attracted to him. It was in the way she stiffened, however subtly, when he came near, as if she needed to steel herself against his very presence. He could feel the sparks igniting every single inch of his own flesh whenever he dared to brush against hers, torching not only them, but the entire room around them. You didn't have to like a person to want to crawl into bed with them and set the sheets on fire and she damned well knew it. She felt it. So did he. Right now.

What intrigued him was that she was willing to risk denying that attraction. An attraction he could prove with one simple touch. She had to know he'd call her on it. He'd done it last night in his hotel room. He was about to do it again, if only to knock her off balance. Hell, he had to do something to rattle that ironclad self-possession of hers. That irritating calm. He tamped down on his own gnawing desire as she leaned forward to dip another fry into his ketchup. He followed her back across the table and retrieved her Coke, slowly and deliberately turning the glass so that he drank from the precise spot her lips had been.

The flush darkening her cheeks added another point as his blatant invitation struck home.

He replaced the glass, biting back victory as she stared but refused to touch. "As I mentioned, Ms. Shale, I only had a week. Give me a bit longer and I might uncover all sorts of things about you. Things that weren't in your Top Secret background investigation or your officer evaluations."

She licked her lips. "Like what?"

He knew the motion had been unconscious, a nervous tick more than anything. It didn't help. Not when his finger itched to absorb the trail of moisture left behind. He killed the urge and settled for reaching out and grazing his fingertip across another spot that had ignited his curiosity from the moment her stunning beauty had enveloped him in person. Her scar. "Like how you got this."

She stiffened. A split second later, she shot to her feet, her chair scraping sharply across the floor. So sharply, every single patron five tables deep turned to stare. Before he could open his mouth, she was gone, her heels clipping across the tiles as she made a beeline for the door to the right of the bar and the bathrooms beyond.

At least, he assumed that's where she was headed. He couldn't be sure. The only thing he was certain of at the moment was that he'd just made one hell of a miscalculation.

And he had no idea why.

* * *

She was going to be sick.

Anna clamped her fingers on the edge of the chipped sink, praying the half-dozen women crowded into the bathroom behind her would hurry up so she could crawl into a stall before she humiliated herself. She hadn't been this nauseous since she'd spent her freshman summer of college hung over the bow of the USS Talisman, tossing her cookies into the Atlantic.

Take that back. This was definitely worse.

She sucked in her breath, welcoming the antiseptic air. It might reek of Lysol in here, but it was better than that godawful cigar smoke. Another few minutes and she might be able to head back to the table without Tom figuring out he'd finally gotten to her. She inhaled again and risked a glance in the mirror. Great. She was as white as the redheaded turista still tapping her foot at the head of the line.

She needed makeup, and a lot of it. Concealer, at least. Something to erase the stark shadows beneath her eyes. Blush wouldn't hurt either. She dropped her gaze to her mouth. Definitely lipstick. She dropped it lower, only to rip it right back up before the nausea returned. It was bad enough Luis had all but ordered her to sleep with Tom, but to then have the man touch her there? Her stomach roiled again.

She grabbed the knob to the faucet and twisted hard, leaning down to splash the frigid water up on to her face.

It didn't help.

"¿Hágalo necesita a un doctor?"

She waved the woman off. "No, no, soy vale. Soy vale. Gracias." But she wasn't fine. She was trapped in a shoddy bathroom with a line of impatient women, two of whom were openly doing what Juju had offered to procure on her behalf as she fought the sudden urge to race back out to the table and get her own. Unfortunately, no purse meant more than no makeup and no cell phone to call Pepe. It also meant no pills.

Her chest throbbed.

God, was she a fool. Tom's story about running into his "old friend" might be true, but his offer of a date sure as heck hadn't been. He probably considered the spark between them a bonus. Either way, the man was using her, pure and simple. Just like Foster and Luis. She forced herself to study the mirror. Just like her aunt had used her.

Her chest throbbed harder.

The ache was so bad she changed her mind, cursing her decision to hold to her prescribed dose two hours earlier, despite the fact that it no longer kept the pain at bay. Who was she kidding? The Percocet hadn't even taken the edge off. Thirty-six hours back on the stuff and her body had already adjusted, welcoming the pills like an old friend. The only friend she had left.

Dammit, Tom was wrong.

A quick, fortifying glance inside the vial would have proved it, perhaps even helped to stave off this insidious craving. But again, she didn't have her purse. She'd left it at the table. She had to get out of here before Tom realized she'd left her bag behind and decided to paw through her belongings in the middle of the bar—and stumbled across the hidden compartment and figured out how to crawl inside her. She checked her reflection in the mirror one last time and caught sight of the door opening. Two women entered the bathroom, stepping in line as two others left. The pair—both natives like her—had been sitting at the bar. The taller woman's dress was more subdued than her companion's and more…complete, but she was definitely on the job. She'd also been staring at Tom.

Anna wasn't offended. Fifteen years of living in the States hadn't been able to erase her first fourteen in the slums across town. No amount could. The woman's gaze met hers. Envy simmered within as the prostitute stepped up to the sinks. But so did resignation. Both resonated through Anna. And in their wake came a plan. Tom wanted a date tonight? She'd give him one. A date that was not only attracted to him…but more than willing. She turned before she could chicken out and immediately launched into their native tongue. "Excuse me, do you have change for the phone?"

She'd seen it in the hall.

Suspicion pinched the woman's lips as she studied the classic, shamefully expensive sheath Luis had purchased three months earlier. Fortunately, most of the gold omega chain as well as that hideous charm stayed hidden beneath her collar as she shrugged. "It's my date. I only met him yesterday. He's coming on much too strong, looking for more than I can give."

The message was clear. You want him? Go get him.

Just give her the change.

The woman reached into her tiny purse wordlessly. A moment later, she pressed several coins into her palm. Anna didn't bother counting. She whispered her thanks instead as she turned again, this time to make her escape. She was dimly aware of the prostitute following her out of the bathroom and continuing on, out of the darkened hall as she stopped beside the kitchen to grab the receiver and shove what turned out to be exact change into the pay phone's slot. Anna punched out Pepe's number and gave him the address. The surge of adrenaline bled off as she hung up.

Pepe had been eating. It would take him fifteen, twenty minutes to collect the limo and drive back across town. She couldn't return to the table yet. Even if Tom was interested in the replacement she'd sent, the woman would need a few minutes at least to solidify an agreement. The thought of returning to the bathroom to wait didn't sit well. Not with the drug use copious and in plain sight.

Foster. She stared at the phone, the empty hall. Did she dare? Even if she did, she was out of nickels.

She could always call collect.

He'd be pissed.

That settled it. She waited as the bathroom door opened. The moment the redhead turista passed behind her and turned into the bar, she grabbed the receiver again. A local operator and a religiously memorized long distance phone number later, the phone rang again. Foster picked up on the first trill and suffered through the operator's rambling request. The moment their connection turned private, he lit right in.

But not with what she'd expected.

"Where the hell are you?"

"What do you mean, where am I? You planted that thing inside me. Aren't you tracking it?" She sealed the receiver to her ear as she turned into the wall to tune out the loud crash reverberating through the wall from the kitchen beyond and the Kuna tirade that followed. She needn't have bothered. Foster's purple spew surpassed both.

"It only works if you turn the goddamned thing on!"

She stiffened. Oh, God. She'd forgotten to turn the bug back on after she'd completed her last errand for Luis. The one that would allow her to fulfill Eve's request. If Foster found out about—

"Well?"

She tightened her grip on the receiver—and lied. "I'm sorry. I fell asleep. I am recovering from surgery, you know. I must have forgotten to turn it back on when I woke." If she'd hoped to prick his conscience, she'd failed.

His next base curse told her that. "I don't care if you snore loud enough to wake the dead, leave it on next time."

Jerk. He could have e-mailed her and told her it was off. She'd checked the miniature laptop shortly before she'd linked up with Tom in her cousin's study. Her electronic mailbox had been empty—still. She opened her mouth to tell him so and promptly closed it. Footsteps. Closing in on the hallway from inside the bar. Heavy footsteps. A man's.

Tom?

She spun around. Relief seared as she spotted a local with his date. The kids ignored her as they passed by, kissing briefly before they parted ways to push through their respective restroom doors. Two more women followed the girl out. The cokeheads. One stopped to wipe her nose one last time before reentering the bar. Anna spun back to the phone, back to Foster, anxious to get to the point of her call.

He beat her to the punch. "What do you have?"

Nothing but a lousy case of frayed nerves. She wrapped her fingers around the metal cord and lowered her voice as far as she could. "I was hoping you'd have something—on him."

"Who?"

She tightened her grip and hissed, "You know damned well who. Tom Wild." Foster wanted to punish her for turning off his listening device? Fine. But that didn't explain why his initial check on Tom hadn't been in her e-mail box this morning as promised. "Well? What did you find out?"

"Nothing."

No bloody way. With everything this guy had managed to dig up on her, and he had nothing on a man supposedly as dirty as Tom? Unless she was right and Tom was Manny's replacement. "Maybe—"

"He's not."

"How can you be sure? You just told me you don't have anything on him."

"I also told you I'm working on it. Check your e-mail. I should have something for you by tomorrow. The day after at the outside."

"Two days? I don't have that long. We might not have that long. Carnaval kicks off in four, lasts for another four. That's our window."

She could feel his excitement surge. "Wild told you?"

"No. I'm guessing." She was pretty sure Tom had been, too. Luis seemed intent on making her wait until the last minute, why not Tom? All she knew for certain was that Luis was looking to make a statement. That meant the Canal. Or bodies. Tom Wild might be a hired thug, but he was still ex-Army. His arguments against the Canal made sense. The Bridge of the Americas, too. "We were talking. Wild thinks he's going to be tasked with rigging something along the parade route or perhaps in a club." Hell, some bastard had shot off a can of pepper spray in a New York club just last week. Thirty-one partygoers had been trampled to death trying to escape. God only knows how many would have died if the chemical had been deadly.

Anna gasped as the suspicion hit.

"What is it? Someone coming?"

She glanced over her shoulder out of habit. Another working girl had turned into the hall, but she was the least of Anna's concerns. Still, she dropped her voice to a bare whisper. "No. Wild's file."

"I told you I'd send it—"

"Not yours. My cousin's. The report his private eye compiled. According to the man's DD-214, Wild was primarily a demolitions operator, but he also cross-trained as a Special Forces medic." Foster should have seen that already, at least.

"So?"

She blinked. Was the man really that much of a desk-jockey? She sighed. "So, think about it. Medics are familiar with biological and chemical warfare. Effects, treatment." Anthrax, smallpox, sarin, ricin, a host of other nerve and blister agents…and worse. Oh God. "He didn't even blink at the thought of bombing a club. What if he volunteers to rig something deadlier? Like a chemical or biological release during Carnaval?"

"Relax. You said it yourself. Four days to kickoff. Wild would have to be smart enough to have arranged his connections beforehand, just in case."

"Trust me, this guy is smart." Juju. "And he definitely has connections. So does Luis." Her cousin had already expanded from Colombian coke to running Russian AK-47s. What was stopping him from taking his crimes one step farther?

She could tell by Foster's sigh that he didn't agree. "Your cousin's cracked, but I don't think he's—"

"You didn't see the look in his eyes when he went after Manny. I did." She shuddered at the memory. The blood. She never should have told Foster about that pen. And she never should have let him plant an active bug inside it. She certainly never should have come back here.

If she knew what was good for her, she'd write off her career and leave now. Save her life.

Carnaval. All those kids. She closed her eyes. It was a mistake. The lack of sight caused her other senses to ratchet up. The ache in her chest ratcheted with them. She opened her eyes and sucked in her breath. Her resolve returned along with the stench of cigar smoke. Still, she had to get out of here. Soon. "Look, you've got to find out if the guy has the connections to rig a chemical release. Start with La Iguana Azul. It's a bar in an alley a couple blocks off—"

"I know it."

"Good. The owner's supposed to be an old Army buddy of Wild's. Goes by the nickname Juju. Get me something I can hold over both their heads while you're at it, and get it soon."

"Fine, but you get me something in return. Something I can use this time, like a date and a place. Better yet, hard evidence that hasn't been botched. Evidence even your cousin's police cronies can't refute, much less keep off a warrant."

She was working on it. Not that she planned on telling him that. Not the way he'd double-crossed her. If it worked out, fine. If not, it was one less stressor. The throb her chest was putting out was enough as it was. So were those pills in her purse. The purse she didn't have. She definitely had to get going.

"Where are you anyway?"

"The Iguana."

"What? You're there now?"

Anna stiffened and not because the bathroom door opened again, admitting another woman into the hall. It was the suspicion in Foster's voice. The disgust. Bad enough she had to hear it from Tom. She did not need it from this jerk. Not when it was his fault she was taking the things. Anna bit down on her tongue, at the irony of the betrayal. Sam was wrong. Dr. Matthews hadn't chosen this particular prescription, Foster had. Somehow, Foster knew she'd been on the verge of becoming hooked in college. She'd realized that as soon as the anesthesia had worn off. Unfortunately, she had no choice but to swallow her first and subsequent doses. Foster had left her no choice.

"Well? What's gotten into you. Are you h—"

"No, dammit."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Didn't you hear me? I'm in a bar. A public bar. And, yes, the jerk who runs it is selling more than burgers and booze. But the reason I'm in this bar is because you haven't done your job. You remember? The answers you were supposed to have for me, at the very least, the dirt I could use?"

"Calm down. I told you, I need another day or two."

"And I told you, I don't have two days." The rate she was going, she might not make it through the night. "That bug in my breast might not be live right now, but it was last night. You heard Luis. He wants me to sleep with the man, and Tom Wild is not opposed to going along."

"So do it."

She nearly dropped the phone. "You can't be serious?" She clamped down on her jaw and her shock as two more locals turned into the hall and headed for the bathroom. The second after the door closed, she opened her mouth. "Don't bother answering. I don't care if you are. I won't whore for Luis and I sure as hell won't do it for you." Not even if Foster had done his homework, too.

The nausea returned as footfalls closed in on the doorway once more. Like the set she'd heard when she placed the call, these were heavy. Definitely a man's tread. Tom's? If the prostitute hadn't been successful, they probably were. She wouldn't put it past him to come looking for her. Anna glanced at her watch. She hadn't realized she'd taken so long. Pepe would be arriving soon. "I have to go. I might have something soon. Until then, you do your part."

The footsteps turned into the hall as she hung up the phone. She swung back, certain they were Tom's. She was wrong. They belonged to Juju. How much had he heard?

How much would he tell Tom?

Juju just stood there. The seriousness in his dark eyes at total odds with the explosion of flowers on his shirt. She had the impression he wanted to say something to her and it didn't concern her call. The prostitute? Had Tom left with her already? The thread of pity confirmed it.

As if she cared. Dammit, she didn't.

She stalked down the hallway to prove it, ignoring Juju's effort to make way as she passed. Two steps into the bar, and she realized Juju didn't pity her. He'd been trying to warn her. The prostitute was sitting at another table, clinging to another man. Tom was alone at theirs, with her Coke, his bottle of Scotch and a pair of cold, uneaten burgers still on the table. And he did not look happy.

Chapter 6

It took fourteen steps to reach the table. To reach a silent, seething Tom. Anna knew, because she'd counted each one of them. She'd also counted each and every thud of her own pounding heart, but she wasn't offering up that figure for examination. Not even to herself. Instead, she forced herself to push out her heel and finish that last, perilous step.

"Took you long enough."

Evidently not. He was still here, wasn't he? But Pepe wasn't. She glanced down at her purse, relief swamping her as she noted the leather bag's position on the floor, still crushed up against the left leg of her chair. It hadn't been moved. There was a God after all, it seemed, and he'd finally deigned to take pity on her. For now. "Yes, well, there was quite a line in the ladies' room."

"I'll bet."

She stiffened at the open disbelief in his voice. In that steel blue gaze. First Juju, then Foster, and now him—again. She grabbed the soda from the table and downed what little Tom had left behind, hoping the swallow would cool her ire.

It didn't. She snapped her gaze down to his. Steel-blue had smelted to pure fury. "I was not in there using."

"I believe you."

She searched the molten fire. He was telling the truth, too. Then why was he so pissed?

The hooker? Good Lord, had she stumbled across the only thug for hire in existence with a conscience? Or had she merely pricked the man's pride? It had to be the latter. Either way, she was out of here. Pepe would be arriving any minute. Anna leaned down to snag her purse, slipping a crisp fifty-dollar bill from the center pocket as she straightened. She tossed the bill on the table, meeting Tom's darkening frown as it landed beside the still-full, meticulously placed shot glass.

"For our dinner."

He kept his stare fused to hers as he leaned forward to retrieve the fifty, his gaze beyond smoldering as he held the bill up. "When I ask a woman out on a date, I pay."

She matched his frown with one of her own. "Welcome to the twenty-first century, Mr. Wild. Women pay their own way now." She certainly intended to. She tipped her head toward the bar and the twice-disappointed hooker who'd finally resumed her seat. "But if you've changed your mind about the dessert I sent out, I'm afraid she's on you." Or under him, depending on the man's tastes. Anna turned back to that scorching fury and deliberately cocked her brow. "Or are you having a crisis of conscience about that vice, too? If so, let me reassure you. Prostitution's legal here in Panama. Feel free to indulge."

Before she could turn away, his hand snapped out, closed over her wrist. Hard. Hot. His stare burned hotter.

"Honey, I don't pay for sex. Ever."

No, she didn't think he did. Hell, the hooker probably would have done him for free. She ignored the now raging fire in the man's eyes as well as his searing palm as she used her free hand to calmly slip the leather strap of her purse over her shoulder. That done, she simply waited. There was no need to fight him. With several diners already openly gaping in their direction, it was only a matter of time before he'd be forced to release her arm.

Whether he wanted to or not. And he did not want to.

Fortunately for her, Pepe had arrived, his timing as impeccable as it had been all those years ago. Her childhood neighbor took one look at Tom's hand, still fused to hers, and vaulted forward. She shook her head sharply. Pepe wasn't happy about it, but he stopped in his tracks, two feet shy of Juju's bouncer. He shot Tom a filthy frown as he stepped back to mark time none too patiently at the crowded door. She dragged her stare to Tom's. His smile held little humor as he slowly loosened his grip and then withdrew his hand altogether.

"I see you managed to call your gorilla without your cell phone, your purse…or your change." She waited as he, too, glanced at the hooker she'd sent out before returning to her. Those searing pools of blue had finally cooled to hard ice as the extent of her impromptu bargain sank in. "How much did I go for?"

"Ten cents."

For a man who'd never paid, he took it well. She knew better than to push it. She also knew it was time to leave. Anna tucked her purse beneath her arm and turned, more unnerved than she wanted to admit when she heard Tom's chair scrape away from their table. He didn't say a word as she threaded her way through the tables and gawking patrons with as much composure as she could muster. He didn't have to. Those slow, measured footfalls directly behind her said it for him. What did he want from her? Did he honestly expect her to give him a lift back to his hotel? Why would he even want one? She refused to turn around long enough to ask.

Yet.

She'd wait until they were safely out of here, away from a crowd that could very well contain someone who knew her cousin on a business level, then she'd have Pepe call him a cab and physically place the man inside it if he had to. Tom's footsteps drew noticeably closer as she reached the rope barrier and the Iguana's bouncer. She stopped short. So did Tom. He didn't touch her though. Again, he didn't have to. She could feel the heat radiating off his chest and into her back as they paused to wait for the bouncer to release the rope and motion them through. She eased her breath out as she skirted the line of half turistas, half locals. Five more paces and she'd be at Pepe's protective side.

And then, she was there.

She welcomed the thick fingers that spread out at the small of her back, whisking her away from Tom and through the door into the hot, humid night. She blessed Pepe and his decision to ignore the No Car warning at the head of the alley. Ten more paces and she'd be home-free. Her relief spilled into her smile as Pepe clicked the electronic key in his right fist and opened the rear door wide with his left.

"Gracias, Pepe. Llame por favor una cabina para el Señor Wild."

"Ms. Shale?"

She froze. Pepe growled. She shook her head sharply and turned back to the owner of that deceptively quiet voice. Something inside it warned her it was in her best interest not to ignore it. But she had to try. "Surely you'd rather not walk to your hotel in this heat? Or perhaps you intend on staying and visiting with your friend?"

"Neither."

"Then I suggest you take the cab, Mr. Wild. I'd drop you, but your hotel is in the opposite direction. It's late and I need to be up early. I have errands to run." Both excuses were true. Not to mention that, given the increasing strength of the throb in her chest, maintaining her composure was becoming increasingly difficult. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Certainly. I'd hate to interfere with a woman's beauty rest. Especially when the results are so visibly rewarding. I just thought you'd like to know you were missing something before you leave. Something you seem…attached to."

The pills.

His eyes glittered beneath the oversize neon iguana above his head as he nodded slowly, silently answering the question she was deathly afraid to voice. Even in front of Pepe. "It seems it—they—rolled out on the floor while you were in the powder room."

The hell they had. The jerk had rifled through her purse in the middle of a crowded bar. Long enough to find the "invisible" compartment Foster had touted. Tom obviously intended to use the pills as leverage. For what, she had no idea. Nor could she demand Tom hand the vial over—because he was right. Pepe had developed a crush on her. She wouldn't put it past Pepe to tell Luis about those pills for what he'd believe was her own good. And if Luis saw those pills, let alone the ring Sam had secreted among them…

Her stomach roiled at the mere thought.

If Sam's gift didn't scream undercover, she didn't know what did. Especially since she'd promised Luis months ago that she wanted nothing more to do with the U.S. or the Navy. If Luis had slaughtered Manny over a bug in his pen, he'd torture her for days over that ring. And then he'd murder her. She no longer cared who Tom might work for. She couldn't afford to.

She took a chance and stepped away from the limo, from the man she knew all too well, right up to the man she didn't know at all…except that right now, whether he knew it or not, he held her very life in his hands. She blessed the group of pre-Carnaval revelers who stumbled out of the bar behind them, using their bawdy conversation to conceal her own from Pepe as the men made their way up the alley on foot.

"What are you suggesting?" Because he did want something in return for those pills. Why else had he taken them?

"How about a walk?"

Her shock must have shown because he shrugged.

"Why not?" He tipped his forehead toward the tipsy men as they reached the corner of the bodega beyond the bar. "They're doing it. It's cooled down. I'm in the mood to stretch my legs before bed…and you do know the sights."

She did and it had cooled off. But a walk? Without Pepe? No way. "I told you. I have to get up early."

"So do I." His sigh spilled out between them, rife with deliberate regret as he peeled off the jacket to his suit and folded it over his arm. Too deliberate. "I supposed I could always walk alone. But then I'd probably get lost, be late for my own meeting. And then, heck, who knows how long it would be before I'd make it over to the hacienda to drop off your—"

"Okay."

She expected victory. A smug smile at the very least. What she got was disappointment and a frown.

"I thought so."

She turned back to the limo, to Pepe still waiting discreetly beside the door, not even bothering to shift into their native tongue. Not only did Tom speak Spanish, they both knew Pepe understood English. "Wait for us at the cathedral." There. She should be able to withstand four blocks alone with this man, especially since they wouldn't really be alone.

Not as soon as they left the alley.

Tom tossed his jacket to Pepe. "Hang on to this."

Pepe's frown dug deep, but he complied. She waited as he dumped Tom's jacket into the back of the car before slamming the rear door shut and opening his own. Her apprehension locked in as Pepe closed it again and started the limo, slowly driving up the alley until his blinding headlights began dogging the group of drunks. She had to lock her knees to keep from running after the men for help, and then the limo's taillights turned and disappeared from view.

Silence filled the alley, thickening the night air.

"Relax, honey, I don't bite. Not unless you want me to."

She swung around. "Just give me the pills and go."

"And leave you to walk to the park alone? At night, in Casco Viejo?" He shook his head as that infuriating tsk of his grated across her ears. "Now what kind of date would I be?"

"A good one."

He actually laughed. A deep, hearty chuckle that reverberated off the buildings around them. The brief sound seemed to startle him as much as it had her. "This coming from a woman who sent a hooker in her stead." By the time he shook his head, his humor had already begun to ebb. "I have to confess, I've had some lousy dates in my day, lady, but I can honestly say this is the first time a woman has invited me to go home with a prostitute instead of her."

"I doubt it'll be the last."

He tipped his head. "Touché."

"Good, now reward me."

"The hell I will." His sudden shift back to vehemence stunned her. Then again, it wasn't so sudden was it?

It was also her incredibly rotten luck. Her cousin had to hire the one thug with a serious hang-up about drugs. And this man did have a problem with drugs, as well as alcohol. Since the moment Tom had refilled his shot glass and lined it up beside that newly opened bottle of Scotch—exactly as the other glass and fresh bottle had been lined up the night before in his hotel room—she'd known he wouldn't be finishing off a second round. Instinct told her he never did. The same instinct, she suspected, that had Tom obsessing over the bottle of pills he'd taken from her purse.

Or had he?

He could have left them in his suit jacket. A jacket that was now sitting in the back seat of Luis's limo in the middle of La Plaza de la Independencia. If he'd even found the vial at all. He could be guessing. Heck, even she'd had trouble locating the hidden latch inside the purse Foster had shipped to Sam's just before the surgery. Evidently Foster only wanted her hooked, not dead. Small enough blessing, but she'd take it. She reached inside her purse and fingered the latch, praying for a major miracle. As usual, she came up empty. The compartment was empty. Tom might not be willing to show her the vial, but he definitely had it. And if he got a look at what was inside that vial besides those pills—

Her hand shook.

"What's the matter. Need another already?"

She closed her eyes against the taunt. "No."

Yes.

"Which is it, sweetheart?" There was no amusement in the smile that accompanied that one.

"Dammit, I am not addicted."

"Really?" He reached inside his trouser pocket, retrieving the opaque prescription bottle she'd give just about anything to get back, and not because of those goddamned tablets. He held the vial between them, turning it to scan a label she was certain he'd long since memorized. "According to the doctor who ordered this prescription, these pills were intended for a woman named Maria Herrera. She had it filled yesterday as a matter of fact, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, of all places. Shortly before your plane departed. Talk about coincidence. Quantity? Thirty pills. Recommended dosage? One to two tablets every four to six hours for pain." He stared down at her, hard. "You got any pain you'd like to cop to, Ms. Shale?"

"Yeah, in my butt. Would you like his name?"

His lips twitched grudgingly. "Score another for the lovely lady. Still, even a pain as large as…me would only require eight, maybe ten, pills since onset. Which would be yesterday at the hacienda, yes? Leaving twenty, twenty-two tablets in here. A simple count ought to solve our argument." He palmed the lid. "Shall we?"

The soft pop that followed ricocheted through her.

Her hand snapped out before she could stop it, clamping down directly over his. "Why do you even care?"

"Someone has to."

"Why you?" Like her hand, her mouth opened before she could stop it. The words spilled out, "Because you couldn't save her?" It had been a guess, but an educated one. Earned through the school of hard knocks. She'd planned on hoarding it. But maybe it was for the best, because he stiffened. Stared. And she knew she had him. She no longer needed Foster or Sam to find a chink in this man's armor. She'd located a major one on her own. Before the knot in his throat finished bobbing, she went straight for the jugular.

It was the only way to save herself.

"You think you're the only one who's smart enough to do homework, Mr. Wild? What do you think I was really doing in your hotel room last night? In that bar just now? Observing you. Just like you've been observing me. Would you like to know what I've figured out?" She didn't wait for his answer, she kept drilling even after she heard the cap snap back on. "A lot. You can't even stand to take a second drink. But you can't stand to put it away, either, can you? You need that reminder. You thrive on it. Hell, you couldn't keep your eyes off it. In fact, I think you need to not need that shot of Scotch even more than you think I need those damned pills."

His scowl deepened. "You finished?"

"No." He waited, seethed. She didn't care. She slung her purse over her shoulder. "You've spent all night trying to dig into my past. Well, now it's my turn. I'd like to know who you're really trying to save, because it sure as hell isn't me. Who sucked down the booze like it was water, Mr. Wild? Who couldn't get enough of the pills, the needle or the rocks? Your mother? Your father? A sister? A brother? An old lover?"

He didn't answer.

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'm not her or him."

He grabbed her arms, the capped vial digging deep into her left arm as he hauled her dangerously close. "No, you're not. There's still hope for you."

On the contrary. Even she was beginning to think there wasn't. Especially after that phone call with Foster. Oh, there might still be a chance she'd survive this mess, but she wasn't going to have a life left when it was over. Or a career. Unfortunately, she couldn't tell him that.

So she said the only thing she could. "I'm a traitor, remember? The lowest of the low."

"The hell you are."

Tom compounded the shock exploding through her as he lifted her several inches into the air and whirled her around, her heels scraping across the cobblestones and then the trio of steps as he stalked down into the bodega's concealing doorway, effectively shielding them from the next gaggle of patrons heading into the alley to the Iguana. The vial of pills fell out of his hand, clattering down dusty bricks at her feet. "You're right about one thing, though, I have been observing you. You want to know what I've learned tonight? That you're no more a traitor than I am."

"What?" The nausea roiled. And it wasn't due to jarring aftershocks or the swirling dizziness.

"Oh, please. Don't take me for that NCIS moron who investigated you at the embassy. I've known since last night that something didn't look right. Turns out it looks a lot like Percocet. Exactly like Percocet. You're hooked, lady, whether you're willing to admit it or not. Based on the fact that you can't stick to the purchase of a handful of pills anymore—even though you're clearly terrified of Luis finding out—I'd say you've been hooked for months. How does it feel to have sold out your country and not even remember doing it? To have been so stoned that your cousin walked into your office and culled classified information right off your desk? Do you sleep at night knowing you're responsible for a bust that went so bad it left three Panamanians and an American soldier dead? And what about the guy I replaced? The one you stood by and watched your cousin murder with that pen? Do you see their faces in your dreams? Is that why you like those things so damned much? Why you want to reach down and snatch that bottle out of the dirt, rip off the cap and swallow one right now? So you can anesthetize yourself against them?"

"Yes."

She flinched as the truth spilled out. She hadn't meant to actually say it. Only imply. But after that relentless barrage of his, she couldn't have stopped it any more than she could stop her heart from pounding against her ribs, the pummeling roar drowning out even the throb within her breast. But again, maybe it was best this way. Anything to keep him from ripping that cap off that vial in his temper and upending it for her. At least, that's what she told herself. She dropped her head back against the bodega's wooden door, hoping to ease the strain of staring straight up into that thunderous gaze. Hoping to ease the strain of everything.

It didn't help.

She closed her eyes and sighed at the weight of it all. At the cold, clawing guilt. Drawing on all the excuses she'd created and then force-fed to herself all those years ago.

Until Sam had caught her.

"It's just a way to relax. Why can't you understand that? It's like having a glass of wine with dinner. A couple of beers after a lousy day, a six-pack after a completely crappy week. It's a way to feel good again. A boost when you're not sure you ever will. Why does it have to be anything else? Why does it have to be more?" She opened her eyes, but it was too dark in the alcove to see into his. He'd moved in too close. By the time the rest of her whisper poured out, she wasn't pretending anymore. She really wanted to know. "Haven't you ever wanted to forget all the pain and just let go?"

He leaned closer. Instead of answering, he kissed her.

She inhaled sharply, stunned as he eased into her, his head sinking down so slowly, so steadily, their lips merged before she realized what was really happening. He caught her soft, startled gasp and pulled it into his mouth. She felt him taste it, savor it, before he breathed it back into her. The warm, soothing kiss that followed seduced her from the inside out, pulling her under gradually, yet more firmly and more completely than any of those pills had ever done. By the time Tom skimmed his hands up her bare arms and then her throat to hook his thumbs beneath her jaw and tilt her face further, she was reaching up into him. Lulled beyond thought, she wound her arms around his neck and slipped the tip of her tongue into the hot, intoxicating recess of his mouth. He growled. A split second later, everything changed.

Their kiss ignited. Her world ignited.

And she burst into flames. Sensation after heightened, torrid sensation exploded around her, on her and in her. She absorbed every one of them and came back for more. The subtle hint of musk, the barest lingering trace of the smoothest Scotch. The thick, roping muscles of his arms flexing beneath his shirt as he lashed her to his chest. The crisp linen of his collar, the slippery silk of his hair as she raked her fingers through the shorn strands, the rasping shadow on his jaw as he razed his lips down her throat to nip hungrily at the hollow at the base of her neck before he returned to her lips. The slick, solid scrape of his teeth as he shifted to gain better, deeper access to her mouth. And especially the dark, heady smoke in the groan that followed.

His groan.

She gasped again, deeply this time, as Tom pressed his groin into hers. She felt his erection grow harder and thicker as he dragged his hands down her sides, stopping just below her rear end. He wedged his fingers between the door and her dress, gathering the fabric together until the hem was bunched up in his right hand while his left delved completely beneath. The calluses on his fingertips and palms scraped against the back of her thighs as he teased and caressed her naked flesh. Right then and there, she knew she hadn't pitched her nylons months ago because of the stifling heat. She'd been waiting for this man. For his incredibly seductive hands.

She sucked in her breath as his fingers slipped beneath the lace of her panties, the driving need within her belly growing stronger and more insistent as he began kneading the rounded cheeks of her rear. She struggled to hold tight to sanity, to the reality of where they were, even if they were hidden from view—until she caught another gasp and realized they weren't.

Tom stiffened along with her. A split second later, he released her, smoothly and discreetly tugging the hem of her dress back down over her thighs before he turned to face the couple who hadn't had the decency to quietly acknowledge what they'd interrupted and leave. They should have.

The woman definitely should have. Because she was the same woman, the same prostitute, Anna had met in the restroom earlier and then sent out to Tom.

The hooker didn't say a word. She didn't have to. Her smirk said it for her and in a language as old as the woman's profession. You're just like me after all, chica. You're just not honest enough to admit it. Fortunately the hooker's customer—a young American—appeared as experienced as Tom had professed to be in retaining this woman's particular type of service. The kid took one look at Tom and chickened out. He spun around and fled. Anna knew the feeling. Especially when the hooker turned and followed suit, albeit at a more leisurely pace.

Leaving her to deal with Tom.

He turned around slowly, carefully tucking the tail of the shirt she hadn't even realized she'd tugged from his waistband back into his trousers. He didn't bother fixing his open collar and loose, twisted tie. She wished he would. It might help kill the erotic charge still sparking around them. In them.

He was right. She was attracted to him. Incredibly attracted. No point in denying that now, was there? Least of all to herself. At least she couldn't quite make out those eyes within the shadowy alcove. She accepted the meager blessing. Though this time, a true miracle had clearly accompanied it. If they hadn't been interrupted, there was a damned good chance they wouldn't have ended that unexpected but extremely passionate encounter until they were both completely sexually sated. From the stiff set to Tom's shoulders, he was as shaken by the realization as she was.

But why? After all his attempts to seduce her right into the compromising position they'd just been in, why regret it now? When he glanced down, she knew.

The pills.

He stared at the bottle that had settled beside the leather tip of his left dress shoe for a full fifteen seconds, and then he leaned down and scooped it up. Silently.

She held out her hand. Silently.

He shook his head. "I can't. I won't."

"You have no choice."

"Wrong. I do and I'm exercising it."

"Even if it means your job?"

For a brief moment, she actually thought he was going to answer yes. But then he shook his head. Instead of handing the vial over, he crossed his arms. "Fortunately for me, you can't follow through on your threat."

"It's not a threat, Mr. Wild. It's a promise."

Evidently the attempt to return him to mere employee status after what they'd just shared didn't sit well with him, because he stalked forward, backing her up into the bodega's door once more as he loomed over her in the dark. But this time, he wasn't there to kiss her and she knew it. Strangle her perhaps, but not kiss.

She blessed the shadows that concealed her face along with his as she swallowed firmly. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be, honey. You should be."

"Give me the damned pills."

She didn't need to see his brow hike to know it had. "Or what? You'll go running home to your big bad cousin Louie and tell him Tommy stole your stash?" She didn't need to see his grim sneer of victory either. "I bet that'll go over real well in his study at the hacienda. Given his temper and how he expressed it with—what was his name…? Manuel Morales?"

He had to have heard her next swallow. She did.

She also knew this entire square-off was pointless. Arguing hadn't worked. Pleading wouldn't work either. Not with him. The Scotch had told her that. Nor could she tell him the truth. Only action would work. As cruel as it would be to use those actions against this man given what she'd learned—and what she suspected—she'd have to follow through to the bitter end. She had to get that bottle back. And not because of those pills. She forced herself to bide her time until she heard it. Them. A large group of locals heading down the alley, to the bar. From their raucous conversation, still sober enough yet already worked up enough to provide the precise type of backup she desperately needed. She waited exactly three seconds longer and then did what Tom least expected.

She slipped out from his imposing chest and left.

He grabbed her arm on the second step of the bodega. Fortunately they were far enough into the alley that they'd gained the group's attention. The men stopped.

All eight of them.

Unfortunately, Tom was undeterred. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To see your friend."

"The hell you are."

She smiled coolly as she shifted the arm he still held hostage, jerking it noticeably to make sure the men could see.

"¡Oye, chica! ¿Necesita usted alguna ayuda con el gringo?"

She stared at Tom. "Do I need help…gringo?"

The Canal might have reverted to Panamanian control five years ago, but enough anti-American sentiment still simmered around town that a simple sí right now, right here, would light the spark. Eagerly. At least with these eight men and, big, bad, ex-Army Special Forces thug or not, Tom knew it.

He released her arm.

But there was still the group of locals to contend with. She waved them off politely. "Soy vale. ¡Gracias!" Luckily, the men complied, no doubt chalking Tom's temper up to a lover's spat. A temper that still seethed as she turned back.

"Juju won't give that crap to you if I ask him not to."

"Oh, I'm sure the promise of an introduction to one of my cousin's…business partners…would convince him to override the bonds of even a West Point friendship. Don't you?"

Silence. It didn't matter. They both knew the answer.

But he still refused to speak.

She shrugged and turned to the bar. His hand snapped out again, clamping down before she could complete her first step. She turned back. There was no point in calling the men. This would be over before they could return anyway. It was obvious Tom intended to see to that as much as she did. He stepped closer. "How do you plan on preventing me from lifting the next batch? Now, or a day or two from now?" His grip tightened about her arm, underscoring the barely suppressed fury in his voice. She ignored it. Like his earlier concern, it wasn't really meant for her. The raw desperation he couldn't quite exorcise from his voice or his grip convinced her.

It also sealed his fate.

She whittled the remaining distance between them down to a fraction of an inch, sliding her free hand onto his muscular shoulder as she tiptoed up to whisper her solution in his ear. "If I decide to swallow two or three pills before then, or maybe even the whole blessed bottle, I won't have to worry about that or you anymore, now will I?"

He flinched. Foster would have approved of her method.

She didn't.

But it did produce the desired result. The one she desperately needed. He released her arm and shoved the bottle of pills into her hand. She locked her fingers around the vial, holding on tight lest the relief coursing through her give her away. The waves finally passed. She had no idea what to do then. Pepe and the limo were four blocks away. Nothing could convince her to stroll the streets with this man now. From the fury still radiating off him, she doubted Tom was up for an amenable hike either. She reached into her purse and withdrew her cell phone. Ten seconds after she hit the correct speed-dial button, the limousine backed up to the head of the alley five yards away. Bemused, she canceled the call as Pepe idled the limo and got out to open her door. Her old friend had been waiting. Worried. Evidently Pepe knew Tom Wild better than she did. Or maybe Pepe just knew men.

She turned her back on the one man she truly needed to get away from and crossed the remaining fifteen feet of cobblestone. A mixed crowd of partygoers from the Iguana caught up with her, reaching the limo door along with her. Several of the tourists gawked until a local spotted the hand-detailed scorpion beneath the license plate and hurried them along. The group skirted the rear of the limo and turned down the street.

Tom did not. His fingers singed her flesh as he snagged her elbow, guided her the remaining three feet to the open limo door and politely seated her within. He seemed pale beneath the stark light flooding out from the car's interior. A fresh round of guilt bit in. Why not? Pepe was here.

"Do you need a lift, Mr. Wild?"

Tom shook his head. "Just seeing my date to the door."

"Can I…call you a cab then?"

"No. I think I'll head back to the club and catch up with an old buddy. Who knows, I might even see if that dessert's still available. On the house, of course." The door snapped in her face before she could respond. After everything that had happened between them tonight, it shouldn't have hurt.

But it did.

Chapter 7

For the first time in his career, Tom was in over his head and he knew it. Why else was he sitting in a jeep concealed in jungle foliage five yards off the private driveway leading to and from the Ortiz hacienda, hoping his most promising mark's limousine didn't pass him by? Hell, not even a sleepless night followed by a predawn breakfast of stale coffee and half a roll of Tums had been able to kill the hope. The prayer. Juju was right. He had to get his head screwed on straight and soon.

Those damned pills.

As much as Tom hated admitting it, Anna had had a point. Why did he care? By all rights, he shouldn't. He hadn't before. With his mother, sure. Not that it'd made a blessed bit of difference. But he hadn't cared with Gayle. Not enough. And he'd been living with her. Sleeping with her. Was Anna right? Was that all last night had been about? Guilt?

He didn't know. He did know that if Sigmund Freud were alive today and telepathic, the good doctor would be having a field day inside his head. Anna certainly had. Especially with those razor instincts of hers. Tom stretched out his legs, ignoring the pinch in his right dress shoe as it hit the dormant gas pedal. He still couldn't believe Anna had been able to get under his skin this quickly, let alone this thoroughly. It pissed him off. It was also unnerving.

Like that kiss.

No, that kiss had definitely struck deeper. She'd struck deeper. An entire night spent second-guessing his actions, and he still wasn't sure how it had happened. Let alone why he'd pushed it. How many times had he heard those same arguments? And how long had it been since he'd learned to recognize them for the self-deluding hogwash they were? All except that last reason. The one that had actually managed to strike home. The one he knew in his gut had been the most telling reason of all. Because it had resonated with the truth. Haven't you ever wanted to forget all the pain and just let go?

Sure he had.

He imagined most folks got to that point at least once or twice in their lives. But he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that Anna had reached the breaking point more often and much, much sooner than the average person. Not that she'd ever let it show. After the limo had pulled away last night, he'd been consumed with finding out more about her than a bunch of dry files and reports had revealed. He'd called his own cab, ending up in the slums where she and Luis had grown up. He'd located their hovel and, unlike the locals, he'd disobeyed the gold scorpion painted smack-dab in the middle of that rotting door and gone inside. One whiff had taught him more than two weeks' research combined.

Anna hadn't been born in the gutter, she'd been born beneath it. Even now, six hours later, he could still smell the stale grease permeating the walls, feel the ghostly, gnawing sensation of hunger. Taste the utter desperation. Just thinking about the place had him whizzing both windows down until they were flush with the jeep's doors, to let more of the predawn breeze in the Rent-A-Wreck's cab. According to her Navy background investigation, Anna had shared that hole with her mother her first six years, until her mother had been struck by a city bus. Afterward, Anna had been forced to share the two-room shack with the very woman rumored to have pushed her mother in front of that bus.

Her loving aunt.

That sure as heck couldn't have made for a happy home life, and from all reports, it hadn't. By the time Anna's father tracked her down at fourteen and sent for her, Anna was desperate to leave Panama behind for the promise of home, hearth and heart in the States. Instead, she'd discovered the only reason her father had sent for her was because his pious wife had finally learned of her existence and insisted he take Anna in.

That had to sting.

From the ache he'd glimpsed last night, it still did. Worse, he'd gotten the distinct impression there were more demons lurking in her past. Demons that hadn't been included in her backgrounder. Demons she'd yet to reveal to anyone, let alone openly acknowledge herself. Ones so foul he wasn't sure it was his right to call on them and use anymore. Not even for his case. All he knew for certain was that for a brief moment in that darkened alcove, Anna had dropped her smooth poise and vigilant guard and he'd caught sight of the real woman beyond the facade. Before he realized what he was doing, he'd caved in to the temptation and reached out to touch it. To touch her. From the second he'd slid his arms around her, it felt as if Anna had always belonged there and always would.

But that was impossible. Ridiculous.

And the fallout? That was damned ironic. He'd done exactly as he'd threatened at their first meeting. He'd lit the woman's fuse, all right. But somehow, despite those drugs, Anna had managed to light his, too. Tom unclipped his seat belt and wrenched it to the side as he continued to stare out through the shadowy three-foot hole amid the banana trees and jungle ferns that led to the Ortiz private driveway. Who was he kidding? Anna hadn't lit his fuse seven hours ago, she'd torched it. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to douse the fire. His cell phone rang, dousing the memory for the moment at least. He blessed his caller as he reached into the fresh suit jacket he'd tossed on the passenger seat.

"Wild, here."

"That's not what Carmelita said."

Tom winced as Juju's obnoxious laugh grated through his right ear. "Yeah, well, I thought you were the one who told me to save it for someone I loved." Wrong thing to say.

The silence confirmed it.

"Does this mean—"

"Don't even go there, Juju."

From the muffled chuckle that followed, Juju refused to take his snarl to heart. Either that or the man's morning box of candy had already sweetened it. The stale coffee Tom downed at the hotel sloshed at the mere thought of sugar before dawn. On top of everything else, he'd just met the woman.

"There is such a thing as love at first sight, amigo."

The sloshing increased. Tom focused on the rare ribbon of perfectly maintained Panamanian blacktop beyond the opening in the ferns. The sun had to be sneaking up on the horizon, because the shadows were beginning to lighten. "How would you know? From what I remember, you can't seem to get past lust."

"True. But I did get past the Austin County General medical records' clerk. I thought I'd give you a call before I turned in for the night—or morning, as it were," Juju reported.

"Just a sec." Tom shifted the phone to his left ear in order to grab his Palm Pilot. A howler monkey let out a bloodcurdling shriek less than fifty feet from his jeep as he slipped the plastic stylus from the Pilot's side holder and used the tip to punch the electronic assistant On.

"Where are you? The middle of the bloody jungle?"

"Close enough."

Tom caught Juju's low whistle as he tapped open his notes file, and ignored it. Dealing with a friend in the Intel biz—regardless of the specific branch—had its advantages, because the man didn't ask for clarification. They both knew he couldn't give it anyway. As it was, they were operating on the tacit understanding that Juju would give what he could and in return, when and if Tom was able, he'd return the favor.

"What have you got for me?"

There was no mistaking the disappointment in Juju's sigh. "More than you wanted, amigo."

Damn. Tom knocked back his own disappointment and forced himself to reserve judgment until he heard it all. "Spill it."

"I've got a buddy in the Austin DEA offices who owes me one. Meaning you now owe me two. Anyway, he got a look at the woman's college medical records. Her surgical one."

Tom tightened his grip on the stylus, nearly snapping it in two. It made sense. It also meshed with his gut. He didn't think Anna had gone down willingly. She was just too tough. She also had way too much spunk and more than enough pride. Exhibit A: the slums she'd survived. Exhibit B: the razor edge to that smart-assed tongue of hers. When he added on the fact that Percocet was the number one choice for after-patient care, despite its addictive nature…

"What kind of surgery did she have?" Okay, so he was curious about more than the pills.

"Some female thing. Beginning of her junior year, over Thanksgiving break it looks like. Ovarian cyst. Sounds like they took one of 'em out—ovary, that is—but left the other. Least, I think they have two." Another chuckle, this one bordering on forced. "Never checked, myself."

Tom sighed, his patience with Juju's attempt to soften the confirmation shorter than his store of sleep. "They gave her Percocet, didn't they?"

"Yup. But…there's something else."

Great. "Meaning, she went back for more."

Juju's next sigh confirmed it.

"Dammit, why didn't someone talk to her then?"

"Not sure. But my contact says she hit them up that one time. Claimed the prescription vial had been stolen from her purse. It was believable enough on a campus that large with a drug that in demand. She was living with a group of ROTC women at the time, some kind of sorority called—"

Tom caught the rustle of papers and filled in the missing information. "Sisters-in-Arms." He could feel Juju's nod.

"That's it. Anyway, my guess is one of the others figured it out, knocked some sense into her and yanked her back on the straight and narrow. You know how it was at West Point. I'm betting the women banded together and kept their mouths shut, maybe even covered for her at her ROTC unit and with her profs if needed while she came down. And she did come down, probably over Christmas break, because she was clean by the time she took her precommissioning whiz quiz that spring."

It was something. She'd beat the pills once before. She could do it again. He hoped.

"So…does this mean I made up for my gaffe at the club?"

Tom frowned as he heard a car start up in the distance. From the direction of the hacienda. "I'll let you know."

"Well, while you're thinking, I've got something else that may interest you. About some NCIS dweeb named Foster."

Tom straightened, relatching his seat belt with his free hand in case he had to peel out after that distant revving engine. "Foster? The guy who investigated her security breach at the embassy three months ago?"

"The one and only. My Austin DEA buddy is Navy Reserve. Intel of all branches. He got curious after he came up with the Percocet and did some digging on his own. Wanna know what else Foster investigated—or rather who…and when?"

Tom dumped his Palm Pilot on the passenger seat and grabbed at his tie, loosening the knot along with the top button on his dress shirt as the only conceivable possibility set in. Anna had only been investigated twice. The only two times that had been necessary. "Are you saying Foster was involved in the legwork on her Top Secret background information?"

"Yup. Pops plain as day if you're looking for it. Foster was stationed down here at the time. Fall of '96. Before the Canal turnover, so there was no need to hide the NCIS contingent. Interesting, isn't it?"

Damned straight it was interesting. He had to ream Juju a new one more often because it had definitely paid off. But right now, there was no time. Tom could hear the car approaching the hacienda's twelve-foot wrought-iron gates, then slow to idle. The limo? He'd find out soon enough because the car door opened and then slammed shut. "You're forgiven. Just stay the hell away from her from now on, even if I bring her in. And don't replenish her supply."

Silence. He knew exactly which condition Juju was having a problem with. He didn't care. Not even when he heard the gears on those gates squeal. "I mean it. No goddamned drugs. No matter what you think you'll get on her cousin in return."

A heavy sigh filled his ear, rife with argument. "We go back a long way, Wild Man, but—"

"Please." His voice was hoarse.

More silence. And then, "You ain't playing fair on this."

Tom kept his gaze fused to the road. "Nope."

"She know you care?"

Nope. "She's a mark, Juju. Just a mark I happen to need sober. That's all."

"Bullsh—"

"That mean I have your word?"

Even more silence as the gates squealed shut. The car door slammed shut again. Finally, a growl in his ear. "You'll owe me, amigo. Big time."

"Yup."

"I gotta go."

Good, 'cause that unseen car was closing in. "Bye." Tom severed the call and tossed the phone on the passenger seat. Five seconds later, a souped-up silver Blazer zipped past his vantage point as he stared through the dark green fronds concealing his own pauper wheels. With the atypical Panamanian Pacific-side sunrise bleeding up past the horizon he got a clean backlit view of the driver, upswept hair and all.

Anna Shale.

Disappointment tore through him as he switched on the jeep's ignition. He forced himself to wait a ten count before he nudged the Rent-A-Wreck into gear and inched its nose out onto the private driveway. He waited until he saw the Blazer's taillights turn to the right onto a larger two-lane stretch of seriously pockmarked blacktop that eventually connected with the Interamericana highway five miles away. As he approached, something in his gut warned him to take the corner easy. He complied, slowing the jeep to a crawl.

It turned out to be a wise move. Not only had Anna stopped the Blazer a mere three hundred yards past the turn, she'd inched the SUV to the side of the road and partway into the concealing foliage beyond. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear she was attempting to hide the darn thing and herself.

But why?

He blessed the jungle shadows fingering across this section of the road as he followed suit, burying the grill to his jeep in the lush foliage as he grabbed his binoculars and craned his neck out his driver's window to zero in on the rear of the Blazer. Anna had gotten out of the SUV and popped the trunk. From the tension in her denim-clad waist and legs, she had to strain to shift the crate someone had loaded in the back. What the devil was she doing?

And where was her gorilla?

According to Manny's reports, Anna never traveled without her no-neck ape in tow. Not that he blamed her. Not with the Colombian border a stone's throw from the Canal Zone. And certainly not when her cousin's local and Colombian business rivals were known to have built their vast fortunes on not only the production of cocaine, but also the kidnapping and ransoming of wealthy Central American residents and tourists alike. So what was Anna doing on the side of the road at the crack of dawn without so much as a capuchin monkey in tow?

Tom stiffened as the woman's chosen inanimate companion made its appearance. A tire iron? The Blazer had a flat? He scanned the rear left tire, the only one he could clearly see. It had to be one of the others. Still, he couldn't believe she intended to change it. The woman was in shape. She was also a runner and a good one. He'd seen her physical training scores. It would take her four, five minutes to reach the wrought iron gate. Or did she have some hang-up on doing for herself?

She must, because he watched her kneel down to work the main nut beneath the Blazer to release the full-size spare mounted beneath the rear of the SUV. The tire settled into the foliage as the securing cable played out. But instead of removing the spare, Anna stood. He figured she was going for the jack when she stumped him again, using the tire iron to crack the top seal on the wooden crate inside the back of the Blazer. She levered off the top—and he cursed.

Out loud. A goddamned crate full of AK-47s.

The fury ripped in, gutting his hope clean through as Anna culled one of the black-market automatic rifles from the top of the cache and knelt to secure the weapon to the cable above the spare with a pair of plastic police zip-cuffs. She jerked her head toward the road as an oncoming rusted truck whooshed first by her hidden location, then his. He could see her hands shaking as she returned to the tire, rapidly hoisting it beneath the Blazer's undercarriage. Her terror was understandable, given the fact that if Looney Louie figured out she'd just stolen from him, cousin or not, she'd be dead.

Tom clamped down on his rage as Anna replaced the crate's wooden lid, hammering it into place with the tire iron before she restowed the tool and thumped the hatch shut. He waited as she slammed the driver's door and started the Blazer before peeling back onto the road. He had no idea what she planned to do with the rest of those rifles, but he would find out.

As for the one she'd just culled? He knew exactly what she'd be doing with that AK-47, and it wasn't what she'd planned. The hell with the woman's hair—he'd just figured out his second condition. And she would be honoring it.

* * *

Her hands were still shaking by the time she turned onto the hacienda's private driveway and it wasn't due to the insanely heavy traffic crowding the Interamericana that morning or even the convoy of logging semis that seemed determined to run her off the road moments earlier. Anna pried the fingers of her left hand from the steering wheel of Luis's latest gift and wiped her sweaty palm across the thighs of her jeans as the iron gates finally came into distant view.

Thank you, God.

She was almost home—and for better or worse, this entire three-month nightmare could be mere days from finally being almost over, but for one lingering, crucial step. All in all, the theft and main trip to drop off the extra weapons cache to Luis's most trusted and daring Huey pilot had taken less than thirty minutes. Her secondary mission to cull a weapon for Foster had taken even less. Two minutes total. But, God as her witness, her heart couldn't have withstood a second more. Even now, her breast throbbed. The pills whispered.

She did her damnedest to ignore both as the hacienda's massive gates loomed closer. She could make it to the next scheduled dose. She could. She would. If she had to, she'd take Samantha up on her offer and see if the woman's laptop was turned on, her instant messaging up and running already. If it wasn't—if Sam wasn't—she'd take a jog on the beach. No, she wasn't supposed to run this soon after the surgery. She didn't care. She had to do something other than lie around in that gilded cage and think about that seductive vial. About Tom Wild. About that dark, sultry kiss they'd shared.

Anna jacked up the music pulsing out from the Blazer's speakers, until the bass throbbed through her ears and in her bones, hoping Shakira's latest pounding Latino dance number would help purge all three from her brain.

It didn't.

She jerked her foot off the gas pedal as the illusion in her rearview mirror took on the appearance of chilling reality. If she didn't know better, she'd swear that raucous number had made him appear. Tom. In a black, battered jeep no less. A jeep that continued to scream up from behind until it was riding her rear bumper. Until he was riding it. She'd swallowed her prescribed dose upon waking, not one milligram more; she couldn't be hallucinating. Anna blinked just in case. The jeep didn't disappear. Nor did Tom. Instead, the jeep swerved out from behind and caught up with her as the Blazer slowed from the lack of gas, but then it shot ahead and over, cutting her off. She slammed on her brakes in the nick of time, the front rubber strip on her bumper all but kissing the jeep's passenger door as both their vehicles came to a screeching halt thirty feet from the hacienda gates.

She punched her window control, livid, as an impeccably dressed Tom vaulted from his jeep and stormed around the rear. "Are you nuts? You could have killed me!"

His jaw locked as he reached her side. "Trust me, lady, if I'd wanted to kill you, you wouldn't be talking now."

"Gee, thanks. Am I supposed to take that as a warning?"

"Wouldn't hurt."

"Wonderful. First you run me off the road, giving me whiplash and damned near putting me in the hospital and now you're making death threats. Maybe I should call the PDF. Or are you working for them now, too? Was I speeding, Officer Wild? Or maybe you just took it upon yourself to make sure I wasn't driving under the influence."

His gaze narrowed on hers, probing. "Are you?"

She refused to answer. And not because her fury was spent. Because he already knew the answer. She could tell by the look—the disgust—that entered his steel-blue eyes. And damn, but it hurt. "I'm quite capable of driving this thing."

"Good, then you should have no trouble turning off the engine and getting out."

"Now why would I want to do that? For that matter, why are you even here? This is a private driveway. We both know you speak Spanish, so don't tell me you missed the sign."

"I saw it."

"Then I suggest you leave now, Mr. Wild, before my cousin enforces the penalty that comes with disobeying it."

In retrospect, it wasn't the best comeback.

Before she realized what had happened, Tom's right hand snapped inside the cab, his callused palm rasping into the skin at the back of her neck as his fingers dug into the chignon she'd fashioned upon waking. Several strands came loose, slipping down around her face as the raucous pop number ended. The opening notes of a softer Iglesias ballad filled the cab as he dragged her closer, until she was staring into pure, molten fury. "Let's get a few things clear right now, honey. One, I am not afraid of your cousin. Two, given the fact that my hand has been up your skirt, I think you can safely address me by my given name. Now, get out of the car."

She couldn't help it, she swallowed firmly. "Why?"

"Because you have something I want." Something told her it wasn't what was under her skirt, even if she had been wearing one. A split second later, it hit her. No! Not the—

But he nodded.

Terror punched into her, kicking up the nausea her Percocet breakfast had induced to flat-out acidic roil. If Tom knew about the AK-47 she'd stashed beneath the Blazer, then he must have been lying in wait for her earlier. And if he'd seen her with that spare tire and was still here now—

"That's right, darlin'. You might not have bought in to your cousin's world willingly three months ago, but you're up to your ears in it now, aren't you? Errand girl."

Like the shock, the relief slammed in. She closed her eyes to hide it. If he thought she was running guns for Luis, that meant he didn't know about Eve. It also meant he wouldn't be able to use this morning against her, much less foil the arrangements she'd made. Yet. But there was still the Kalashnikov. His unspoken demand.

"Give me the rifle." Okay, now spoken.

It didn't matter. Neither his demands nor his anger would change a thing. She couldn't afford to bend. "I can't."

He dragged her closer, until she could feel the fire in his breath licking at her lips. "Let's get another thing clear. You can. What's more, you'd better. Because neither one of us is leaving this spot until I have that weapon."

She twisted away from his hand, scooting out of reach before he could stop her. Mistake number two. Before she realized his intentions, Tom had hooked his arm inside the open window. He popped the master lock on the driver's door and wrenched it open. She gasped as he reached inside and plucked her out of the cab as if she were little more than a child. Her legs shook as he dropped her on her feet, trapping her between the Blazer's steel body and the equally unyielding muscles beneath that crisp linen shirt.

"Why do you even want the thing?"

"Because I know what you plan on doing with it."

No, he didn't. He couldn't. So what—"Drugs? You think I'm going to trade the rifle for—"

"I don't think, I know. How many pills were you supposed to get for it? Two whole bottles? Three? Or is your supplier desperate enough to give you more than the rifle's worth?"

"It doesn't matter. Because it's none of your business."

He grabbed her arms. "The hell it isn't. I'm making it my business. You and I had an agreement, lady, and you are not backing out. Two conditions. The second, whenever, wherever, and whatever I wanted. The when is now, the where is here and the what is that tube of black-market steel. You want my silence about the pills? You're going to have to earn it."

She didn't need his silence, she needed a miracle. At the very least, the mythical hero that damned singer was crooning about. Without that rifle, she could kiss the agreement she'd struck with Foster goodbye, not to mention her career and her life. She closed her eyes as the chorus poured out of the Blazer's window, taunting her.

"I can be your hero baby, I can kiss away the pain…"

She'd never liked that song. Or maybe she'd just liked it—felt it—too much. Either way, she got her wish. Her hero had actually arrived. In the damnedest place of all, too—or rather, in the damnedest person. Luis.

Anna jerked her eyes open and stared into ice-blue fury as the portentous purr of her cousin's stretch limo merged with the song's trailing notes. Moments later, the car closed in on the opposite side of the hacienda gates. Unlike her, Pepe must not have forgotten his remote because the gates swung open immediately and then her cousin was closing in on her. She didn't care. For the first time in three months Luis was the lesser of two evils—at the very least, the lesser of two devils—and she'd take him. If her heart wasn't still pounding against the wall of her chest, she might've actually enjoyed watching Tom squirm as the car stopped beside theirs.

Only…Tom wasn't squirming. Why?

He smiled down at her. "Guess who left a message at my hotel last night inviting me to breakfast?"

No.

But the smile on her cousin's face as his power window zipped down confirmed it. "You're early, Señor Wild." To her horror Tom slipped a proprietary arm around her waist, his fingers searing intimately into the outer curve of her rear end as he guided her around with him. As she feared, Luis's eager eagle eye took note. Her cousin didn't even try concealing his approval or his grin. "Evidently, I need not ask how your evening went in my absence. Nor why you are so eager to arrive this morning." Luis turned his smile on her. "I trust your errand went well, prima?"

"Sí."

"Excellent. You need no further assistance?"

No, what she needed was another miracle and she needed it now. "Thank you, Luis. You've done more than enough."

"Then you will not mind if I steal Señor Wild from you?"

Mind? She could kiss her cousin's scrupulously manicured hands and feet. She turned her own sincere smile on Tom, not even bothering to hide her triumph from him. "Not at all, cousin. I share Mr. Wild most willingly."

Thunder entered Tom's stare.

The good Lord granted her another boon as her cousin popped his limo door open before the lightning behind the thunder could lash out from Tom's mouth. "Come then, señor. A crisis requires my personal attention in the city. Perhaps we can discuss your duties after. As my cousin may have informed you, she has plans for the remainder of the day. Perhaps she can receive you for breakfast on the morrow…privately."

The hell she would.

Tom nodded to Luis. "Sounds like an equitable rain check to me." The man's smile even appeared sincere, until the moment he turned to focus it solely on her. He slipped his fingers into her chignon almost tenderly, smoothly decimating it with a single twist. His breath filled her ear as her hair tumbled down around them to buffer his low growl and the searing promise that followed, "You've got twenty-four hours, sweetheart. Meet me for breakfast at my hotel at oh-seven-hundred tomorrow with the rifle and the rest of those pills in tow. If you don't, I spill it all. The drugs and how you've been paying for them. Oh-seven-hundred, not one minute after. If you don't show up at my door by then, I'll be here, knocking on yours looking for Luis. ¿Entiendes?"

Before she could assure him she'd understood, much less breathe, he razed his scorching lips across her cheek and kissed her full on the lips, hard. And then he was gone, his jeep still blocking her path as he climbed into the stretch limo opposite her cousin and slammed the door behind him.

Twenty-four hours? How was she supposed to manage that?

She needed the rifle to buy another seventy-two for Eve Paris's safe return to Córdoba—from Foster of all men. Evidently she hadn't turned off the bug in her chest properly before her predawn meeting with Luis. Foster now knew all about Eve Paris and the plans Luis had helped her put into place. Plans that had to be executed tonight. Foster had called her cell phone while she was still warming up the Blazer's engine in the hacienda driveway and issued an ultimatum of his own. If she didn't produce one of the weapons, he might let Eve and her Special Forces captain reinsert back into Córdoba to investigate that Black Hawk crash, but one terse call to the wrong person and they'd never make it back out alive. Bastard. As far as she was concerned, the man was worse than Tom. At least Tom cared about the drugs, even if he wasn't trying to save her.

Foster might still claim he'd yet to uncover anything useful. But that didn't mean Sam hadn't.

She grabbed onto the hope and dove into the Blazer as the limo purred from sight. Anna twisted the key in the ignition and threw the SUV into Reverse, and then Drive, whipping around the jeep and then through the yawning gates Pepe had left open. She parked the Blazer on the far right of the six-car driveway, grabbing her purse as the engine died. She might have managed to walk calmly into the hacienda, but by the time she stumbled into the sanctuary of her plush prison, her hands and legs were shaking again, this time violently. And her chest was throbbing.

It took everything she possessed to dump her purse onto her dresser. She slammed the drawer shut on the concealed vial of pills within and forced her legs to wobble over to the desk. There, she pulled the miniature laptop forward and flipped it open as she sank down into the chair, her blood pounding through her ears as she punched through the key sequence designed to activate the hidden wireless communications link.

Desperation set in as she stared at the screen.

No e-mail from Foster and no open, encrypted instant messaging link to Sam—but, wait. There was a note from Sam. Anna punched the e-mail open and quickly skimmed the contents—and nearly cried. Apparently Sam hadn't been able to uncover anything useful on Tom. But the note contained even worse news. Not only would Sam be unavailable the rest of the day, she might be out of touch for the next week. Her boss had had a heart attack. Sam was desperately wrapping up the inspection, while she prepped to go to Moscow in the man's stead. Her Sister's advice? I'll bring my laptop to Moscow. Write soon. Sam. PS: Open the vial if you need me. It might have sunk to the bottom, but it's in there. I'm in there. We all are.

She knew exactly what her friend meant.

What she didn't have was the heart to e-mail Sam back and admit the rest. The gift had settled at the bottom of the vial. The only reason she'd found it so soon was because she'd dumped the pills out on her bed during a weak moment, shortly before dining with Tom. No matter what happened in the next twenty-four hours, no matter how many times she'd denied an addiction to the man, she had to live with the real reason she'd dumped out the pills. To count them. She'd needed to know how many she had left before she was forced to decide whether or not she'd go back for more. Again.

Anna killed the encrypted comm link and snapped the lid to the miniature laptop shut. She stood, fully admitting she was drawn to the dresser for more reasons than one. She opened the drawer, and then the concealed compartment in her purse, pulling her breath in deep as she retrieved the vial of pills and popped the lid. Her Sisters were truly with her, because it had settled at the top. It wasn't hers, but she'd recognized it instantly. How could she not? It was identical to her own military sorority ring.

The words Sisters-in-Arms were even raised in polished, gold relief around the stone they'd chosen, a clear blue sapphire. They'd argued about the choice for weeks. Since they represented all branches of the military, they all carried different service colors, ranging from dark blue to light, dark green and red. In the end, Sam had floated a compromise. A medium blue stone, dark enough to represent the sea from which marines sprang and sailors sailed, but light enough to represent the sky where airmen flew, and beneath which soldiers were wont to sleep. A sky that also blanketed them all. Connecting them together after they parted, if only in their hearts. The one in her bottle had Samantha Hall engraved inside it. Sam must have slipped it in there after she'd discovered the Percocet prescription.

She must have been too out of it the day before to notice it amid the pills. But once she saw it, she knew exactly why it was there. Even before Sam's latest e-mail. Every time she opened the bottle, Samantha was inside it too, giving her strength. The rest of her Sisters as well, even if they didn't yet know what had happened to her. What she was really doing.

It helped. But in the wrong hands, it could kill.

How many traitors kept their military mementos hoarded this close to their chest? If she hadn't found it in time, she might have let Tom count the pills beneath, if only to get him off her back. There was no way she could risk that now. And nowhere else she could hide the ring. Not when Luis had made a habit of rifling through her things when she was out. There was also no way she could hand the vial over to Tom, let alone the rifle. Foster would not understand. Nor would he back down. But neither would Tom. She was truly trapped this time.

But it wasn't just her life in the balance anymore. Eve Paris and her Special Forces captain had joined her.

And the clock was ticking…

Chapter 8

"You're sleeping with her," Anna said bluntly.

She winced as Rick Bishop stiffened. She'd shared all of thirty words with the Army captain since they'd met at the restaurant entrance five minutes earlier, and most of them had been Bishop's as he informed her that Eve's flight had just arrived, her friend was still at the hotel freshening up and would be arriving shortly. Anna had hoped to use the delay to determine how committed Bishop was to helping her friend reach the crash site that had ended Eve's career and Carrie's life, but she hadn't intended on opening with that. Still, she must have struck a nerve, because she'd caught the flush creeping up from the collar of Bishop's gray dress shirt as he reached for the bottle of spring water beside his goblet. The tide had receded by the time he leaned back.

The man's dark brows arched as he twisted off the foil cap. "I beg your pardon?"

She flushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out that baldly. It's just, we don't have a lot of time. I don't have a lot of time. But I do have a lot I need to tell you—and Eve." She scanned the room behind him. She couldn't help it. Tom had been following her all afternoon, right up to that evening. She hadn't seen him, but she had felt him. She was pretty sure she'd lost him in the pre-Carnaval crowds before she'd entered the restaurant, but she had to be certain. If Tom saw her with Eve and had done enough research to peg the woman as her friend he might be suspicious, but they wouldn't be done for. The fact that Eve was currently in disgrace too would help.

But Bishop wasn't.

If anything, the Special Forces captain was war-hero material in the flesh. Tom might have gotten out of the Army a year before, but SF was a tight community. The men stood an excellent chance of recognizing each other. Her only hope was to keep the men apart until Eve and Bishop left for Córdoba. The strategy wasn't impossible, but it was complicated by the fact that she'd needed a public dinner to maintain the cover stories she'd spent the morning constructing for Eve and her stalwart captain—as well as her own.

Anna made one last sweep of the restaurant's entrance before glancing at Pepe three tables away. Pepe met her gaze over his appetizer. From the slight shake of his head, he didn't see Tom either. Thank God. She turned back to Bishop, praying the man would simply chalk up her preoccupation with the restaurant's doors and patrons as simple eagerness to see her friend after all these years. "It was the best I could come up with on short notice."

He blinked. "Best?"

"Cover." She checked the bar doors. Clear there, too. For now. "I'm assuming you two would rather conceal your intentions."

The captain nodded. "Of course."

"I thought so." She tucked the strand of hair that had slipped free into her chignon and leaned closer, careful to keep her voice below the strains of the classical guitar floating out from the corner dance floor, unwilling to allow even Pepe to know the rest. "It'll go down like this. You and Eve came down here for one reason and one reason alone. Hot, passionate sex. I want your hands all over her from the second she arrives. Touch her, kiss her, dance with her, whatever it takes. By the time you two head back to your room, we need every person in this restaurant to believe you both want nothing more than the chance to hole yourselves up in bed and spend the next two weeks setting the sheets on fire. Can you handle that?"

The man swallowed firmly. "Done. Why?"

"Because someone will be in your room. As you two leave by the maintenance elevator minutes before oh-four-hundred tomorrow morning, he'll be arriving. The first thing he'll do is hang up the Do Not Disturb sign. It'll stay there the entire time you're gone. He'll order for two and eat for two, leaving the empty bottles of wine and champagne and the trays outside the door along with enough used towels for the maid to believe you and Eve had sex in the tub at least twice a day."

When the guy swallowed again and flushed again, Anna knew there was more going on than Eve claimed.

Anna bit down on her relief.

Captain Bishop might be here because he wanted to know what had really happened during that crash, but he was also here because he cared about Eve. Deeply. Whether he knew it or Eve denied it. No, Bishop hadn't known her friend long. Hell, look at Tom and how deeply he'd been able to get under her skin—and she had no reason to like the man. Eve and Bishop did. Anna glanced at the entrance again as he set the water bottle down. No Tom. She was about to turn back when she spotted the most beautiful sight she'd seen since arriving in Panama.

"Eve!"

She shot to her feet, cutting Bishop off as he followed suit. Budding romance or not, this reunion was hers. She'd be lucky if it lasted five minutes before Tom crashed it, so she intended to savor every one. Anna made a shameless beeline for the Sister she hadn't seen since commissioning, drinking in Eve's short blond curls and the beaming smile on her ivory, heart-shaped face. She hugged Eve close for several moments, then stepped back to admire the beige slip dress hugging her friend's stunning if too slender figure. The flecks of green and burnished gold woven in set off Eve's emerald eyes perfectly. "You look gorgeous."

From the glow in Bishop's darker gaze, the man obviously agreed. Even more fortunately, he also immediately slipped to the plan she'd just finished briefing. He stepped up to Eve, taking her friend's hand and pulling her smoothly into his own arms as he leaned down to press his lips to her temple before dragging his mouth to her ear. The spark between them was real all right. It gave Anna hope.

This just might work. She waited for Bishop to fill Eve in. She couldn't make out his words, but the moment Eve stiffened, she knew he'd mentioned the word lovers.

"We're what?"

At least Eve had whispered.

Anna waited as Bishop led her Sister to the table and seated her in the leather chair to the right of his. Anna sat before the man could assist her too and quickly leaned into Eve's opposite ear to fill her in on the rest. Eve's gaze snapped to Bishop's as they reached the crucial part.

"You honestly think people are going to believe we flew down here just so we could hole up for a marathon session of sex?"

"By the time we leave tonight, they will." Anna had to hand it to the man, the way Bishop smoothly linked his fingers with her friend's, even she bought the too-turned-on-to-keep-his-hands-off-her act. "Now relax." Eve complied as Bishop turned to fire his questions at her. "The chopper? Our gear?"

Anna leaned forward. "It's all set. A taxi will pick you up at the staff entrance at exactly oh-four-hundred tomorrow morning. You'll be driven to a private airstrip. From there, you'll be given the gear you requested and then you'll board the Huey. Once the chopper inserts you both at the position you've requested, the pilot will head home and wait. You'll have seventy-two hours to check in at the number keyed in on the cell phone he'll provide you with. Don't worry, it's encrypted. You can fine-tune your extraction then."

"How?" They all knew what the man was asking.

Unfortunately, she couldn't give him much.

If Tom was lying in wait outside the restaurant, there was no doubt in her mind the man sitting across from her would put his relationship with Tom first, just as Juju had. But from the determination in Bishop's stare, she also knew she'd have to give him something. She chose her information carefully as she nodded. "I'm sure Eve told you I've been staying with my cousin while I'm assigned down here. What she couldn't have told you, because she didn't know, is that my cousin has connections. Connections that aren't exactly…respected. Once I downloaded the file containing the list of your requirements, it was obvious the best way to help you was not to go through the regular but obscure channels we discussed, but to go through my cousin. He's agreed to help."

Suspicion ripped into the man's stare. Damn.

"Why?"

She held his dark gaze as steadily as she could, then shrugged. "Good question. Unfortunately, it's one I can't answer at the moment. What I can do is fulfill your request." She notched her brow deliberately, telling him without words she'd already given as much as she could. It was up to him—and Eve—to take it, or not. "Are you still interested?"

"What do we owe your cousin in return?"

"Nothing."

She caught Eve's blink out of the corner of her eye and forced herself to ignore it. She couldn't ignore the captain's terse, disbelieving smile. "Try again."

She finally glanced at Eve. "Is he always this suspicious?"

"Yes."

The two glanced at each other, obviously startled that they'd answered in unison. Anna wasn't. But she did take advantage of their momentary distraction to scan the entrance to the restaurant again.

"Expecting someone?"

"Of course not."

"Then answer my question."

"Bishop, please."

He ignored Eve. "Look, lady. I don't care how good a friend you are. This guy may be your cousin, but he's still a man. He's not sticking his hand into a puddle this deep and this muddy without knowing he can fish out something he wants in return. Now, what do I owe him?"

Her dealings with Tom these past two days had warned her this man would be tough to convince. Hell, she should probably thank Tom, because the practice allowed her to hold firm. Not that she'd had a choice. There was no way she could admit that she'd already sold her soul for them.

"I told you, nothing."

She bit down on her curse as Bishop called her bluff, pulling his arm from Eve's shoulders to grab her hand, hauling her friend to her feet with him as he stood. Just as Anna thought the man was about to outright reject her assistance, Bishop stiffened. Anna instinctively snapped her gaze to Pepe's. Pepe nodded and flicked his own iron stare straight to the doorway leading to the restaurant's bar. Straight to Tom. He was here. La Madre dulce. Now what?

The man turned to Eve. "I need to use the latrine. Be just a minute."

Anna watched as Bishop appeared to do as he'd claimed, briskly crossing the room to turn down the hall that led to the restrooms. Unfortunately, the unerring purpose in the man's stride told an entirely different story. Revealed an entirely different plan. If the men's room contained a window or any other exit along that hall she was doomed. A furtive glance to the restaurant's main doors confirmed it.

Tom Wild had disappeared from sight.

So had Captain Bishop.

She didn't have to draw on her trip to the ladies' room the night before to know what was going on. Nor did she need to call on seven years of work as an intelligence analyst. The men were linking up right now, somewhere beyond these walls, she'd stake her rapidly splintering cover on it. All she could do was pray a departing Pepe reached Tom in time to thwart it. If Pepe didn't, she wouldn't have to wait twenty-four hours for Tom to fulfill the promise he'd growled into her ear this morning. Her world would be crashing down tonight.

* * *

She'd sent her no-neck goon after him.

God help him, he was actually amused. Given the thickening stew of questions and serious dearth of answers that'd been churning through his gut all day, Tom welcomed the opportunity to expend a bit of energy. For the moment, however, he limited himself to slipping off his suit coat and folding it lining side out as he melted into a jewelry store's alcove, blessing the cloak of night that already enveloped him as well as the hundred-odd pedestrians strolling along this side of Panama City's high-end strip. The sun might have set less than an hour earlier, but the turistas were already out in full force. Fine with him. The ratio of nationalities was in his favor for a change, allowing him to blend in as a still-searching Pepe stalked right past the jewelry store. No doubt about it, the thug was definitely looking for him.

Good. He'd been aching to put his fist through something since his bust of a meeting with Luis earlier that morning. Might as well be this clown. Not only hadn't he and Luis dined together, but from the moment he'd slammed the limo door behind him, Luis had been on his cell phone obsessing over a shipment of bronze statues just in from Asia. From what he could gather, some of the antiquities had been damaged during off-loading. Evidently that had been the crisis.

Not that he could be certain.

He hadn't even gotten a look at the statues, much less the inside of Luis's heavily guarded warehouse. Instead, he'd received a grilling from the perverse bastard on the status of his so-called budding relationship with Anna—all the way into the city. Once there, Luis had politely dumped him in front of his hotel. In no mood to wait for his jeep to be delivered, he'd paid through the nose to hire another Rent-A-Wreck during pre-Carnaval week to head back out to the jungle shack he'd tracked Anna and that crate of rifles to at dawn. What he'd found had forged more questions than answers. Stranger still, those questions had just led him to an old sorority friend of Anna's…and his old Special Forces A-Team buddy, Rick Bishop. Finally, a chance at real answers.

Just as soon as he got rid of that lumbering goon. Pepe had turned around two blocks past his vantage point in the jewelry alcove to double back to a deserted alley.

That's it. Keep moving, buddy. Now, turn in…

Perfect!

Tom left his jacket in the alcove and caught up with the gorilla seven paces in. By the time the ape sensed his presence in the alley behind him and froze, it was too late. Tom had already jerked his hands up, slamming his cupped palms directly over the man's ears, simultaneously rupturing both Pepe's eardrums in a move he owed not to Uncle Sam's Army, but the meaner streets of Chicago where he'd grown up. He wrenched his arms down as the ape passed out, proving once again that the bigger they were, the harder they fell.

And Pepe fell hard. Tom grunted as three-hundred-plus pounds of deadweight crashed into him. He lashed his arms about Pepe's significant girth and dragged the ape's limp body around the oversize Dumpster he'd noted during his recon minutes earlier. A hearty heave and he had the slumbering thug tucked as far back as he could. If Pepe was lucky, the thug would sleep it off with whatever was in his pockets still intact. The man's eardrums would take longer to reach the same condition. As for his temper upon waking?

That remained to be seen.

Right now, Tom couldn't afford to stick around long enough to find out. He hit the end of the alley as quickly as he could and forced himself to digest his lingering adrenaline as he strolled back to the jewelry store alcove to snag the remainder of his suit before continuing on to the alley that had been his final goal all along. The one downwind of Enrique's bathroom windows. As expected, Rick was waiting.

Uncharacteristically pacing, too.

His old A-Team buddy spun around as he coughed lightly. "What took you so long? I'm supposed to be in the john."

"Sorry. Had to stop and toss a banana to a gorilla." Tom finished donning the jacket he'd removed for the impromptu force-feeding as he met Rick at the end of the deserted alley. He straightened his tie. Much as he'd like to offer the truth, he couldn't. The less Rick knew about the ape snoring two alleys over, the better. For everyone concerned.

Fortunately, as with Juju, Rick had been on the job long enough not to take it personally. "And here I thought you stopped for a touch-up at the local beauty parlor. By the way, what's up with the blond tresses? And those eyes?"

"Don't ask."

Silence settled in as the mood turned serious. If Rick was supposed to be in the can, they didn't have much time.

"So, Wild Man…other than the fact that you finally seem to be living up to the potential of your name, what else can't we discuss?"

He shrugged.

Rick matched it. "How 'bout the girl. Can we talk about her? As in, what the devil is she really up to?"

He shook his head.

"Great. I knew this stank from the moment I walked into that goddamned honeymoon suite."

Tom froze. "What?"

Rick nodded. "The room. It's nothing more than a full-out love nest. And that woman expects Eve and I to occupy it. Together. For a few hours at least."

Tom raked his hands through his hair to cover the tremble. God help him, he should not be welcoming the overwhelming relief that was setting in. Not this much. But he was.

Anna hadn't been setting up a torrid assignation of her own this afternoon—for sex or drugs. She'd done it to cover up for her former sorority sister. Like everyone else in SF, he knew about the crash. The fallout had interested him even more when he discovered the link last week between the two Black Hawk co-pilots and his own mark. All three were members of the same college military sorority. Except, SF rumor control had also claimed that the operator standing three feet away from him in this darkened alley had attributed the crash to the women. A Captain Carrie Evans and Eve Paris. The same Eve Paris he'd just spotting wrapped up in Rick's all-too-willing arms, whether or not the man was protesting his revised sleeping arrangements.

"What gives?" Tom jerked his chin to the curtained window his buddy had crawled out of a good ten minutes before. "She cause it?" To his surprise, Rick sighed.

"I don't know."

Tom blinked. "You don't know?"

"That's why I'm here. Eve swears she pulled pitch."

"Hell, buddy. You were there. What do you think happened?"

"Damned if I know. I thought I did, but…" His friend sighed again as he tapped the scar slicing across his temple. It was still fresh. About six weeks fresh, he'd wager. "Given this, who knows? The descent got pretty ugly. And frankly, if all I lost is an accurate account, I got off lucky."

Bill Turner. It was Tom's turn to sigh. "I heard about Turner. I'm sorry, man. He was a good sergeant."

"Yup." That single word said it all. And yet, it left more out. Tom's instincts convinced him that whatever Rick was withholding, it was tangled up in that burned-out wreckage three hundred miles away. He also suspected that whatever it was, Rick wasn't comfortable admitting it to himself. Not yet. Tom forced himself to respect the man's privacy. God knows it was bad enough with Juju nosing into his own.

His buddy sucked in his breath. "All I know is that Eve is so doggone sure, I've gotta give her the benefit of the doubt. At least till we know different. Till I know. Maybe then I can sleep."

Turner. Whatever was eating his friend, it definitely concerned his dead sergeant. Despite the alley's shadows, it burned within his eyes. Tom hadn't been offering platitudes. Turner had been a good man. An even better platoon sergeant. He ought to know, he'd worked with Turner himself.

Christ. Tom sighed.

He knew damned well his buddy wasn't down here on the level. Nor was Eve. If they had been, they wouldn't be going through Anna, possibly Luis, too. From the activity he'd monitored when he'd gone back to recon the jungle hooch Anna visited at dawn, he now had a pretty good idea what was going down, too. "You're going back, aren't you?" Into a communist country currently embroiled in its own very private, exceptionally ugly civil war. If Rick or Eve got caught, they'd be lucky if all they ended up with was a sudden infusion of lead in their brains. Even if they didn't get caught, there was an even better chance their careers would be over once their little jungle vacation came to light.

"Yup." Another one-syllable grunt worth a thousand more words. But this time, Rick gave him the rest. "Anna claims she's got it all under control. We're supposed to make like cats in heat out on that dance floor and then head back to the room where I'll slap a Do Not Disturb on the door. It'll remain there for the duration, which she's also supposed to have covered. Meanwhile, Eve and I leave at oh-four-hundred tonight."

"What's your problem then?"

"Military sorority or not, I don't trust the woman."

Neither did he. But that hadn't stopped him from obsessing over her for the past few days now had it? "What about supplies? Does she claim to have those locked in, too? Two rucksacks, a couple AK-47s with enough ammo to start your own war, a pair of handheld global positioning units along with several pieces of truly choice gear and a seriously old Huey chopper with an even older ex-Army expatriate of a rotary-wing jock to hold the rusted thing together long enough to fly you two over and dump you off in the middle of hot, steaming nowhere?"

It was Rick's turn to blink. "How did you know?"

Because he'd seen the scruffed-out geezer packing it all up just before noon. But again, he couldn't discuss that.

"The woman's on the level, then?"

But he could discuss that. Tom nodded. "She is about that." Regardless of how low Anna had sunk, she seemed determined to toss her old sorority chum enough rope so Eve could pull herself out of her own hole before Eve went under. He squelched the burst of admiration before it surged out of control. "I say go for it. I'll watch your back, buddy. You have my word. I'll make sure she's on the level about the rest, especially your plans on getting out." Those he'd be discussing with Anna personally. Within the hour if he had his way. And he would. It was about time the answers fell into place according to his schedule. If he had to lie and hold Anna's friend over her head to accomplish it, so be it. If nothing else, Anna's actions today had proven that Eve was more important to her than the pills. For the moment.

"I owe you one."

"The hell you do. Now get out of here before the missus sends the hounds after you. Oh yeah, and don't forget to invite me to the wedding. I just might be able to make it."

As expected, his buddy opened his mouth to deny the latter half. He must have remembered who he'd been chatting with because he promptly closed it. In the end, Rick settled for a terse nod before he turned and headed to the still-cracked window to heft his frame back up inside the men's room. His parting words floated down into the darkened alley, "Good luck, Wild Man." The window snapped shut. A second later the curtains fluttered into place, darkening it further.

"You too, buddy. You too."

Something told him they were both going to need it.

* * *

"Carrie was pregnant."

Anna stiffened as the confession ripped through her body with more force than Tom Wild's thunderous rage when he'd confronted her outside the hacienda gates that morning. Somehow, she managed to blink, then swallow. She even managed to open her mouth. But before she could force a single word past her throat, Eve blurted out the rest.

"The father was enlisted—and one of her regular passengers."

This time, Anna gave up all pretense of speech. She slumped back in her chair and just gaped, her brain still caught in some surreal alternate reality that had rendered her incapable of speech. Eve finally reached out, her hand shaking as she bypassed her empty water goblet to grab Bishop's full one. But like her, Eve couldn't seem to drink. She simply clutched the glass as she settled into her chair.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I wasn't even sure I should tell you. I didn't want to put you in the position of ever having to lie."

Anna closed her eyes as the irony of her friend's concern bit in. She didn't have the heart to confess that the lies she'd told these past three months had already earned her a one-way ticket to hell. And the ones she'd dripped for Tom Wild these past three days? They guaranteed she wouldn't be stopping in purgatory along the way. But a baby. What a secret to live with. Poor Carrie.

No, she hadn't been close to the woman. Not like she'd been with Sam and Meg. Their first year under the same roof at the sorority house, she'd told herself it was because Carrie was Army. But that wasn't true. She'd gotten along great with Eve. But Carrie, she'd always politely avoided. It wasn't even the rags-to-middle-class background they'd shared. No, it was a far more painful reminder. Put politely, Carrie Evans liked men. Tall ones, short ones, dark ones, light. Carrie hadn't much cared. So long as she had a man. Anna didn't even think Eve knew why. But she did. She'd recognized it right off. Not in Carrie, but in Carrie's mom.

The first time they'd met, it had come through clear as a Caribbean sunrise. Carrie's mother had been a working girl. Just like the one she'd sent over to Tom last night. And Carrie had dealt with the emotional fallout the only way she could. The one way Anna had sworn she never would.

But a baby?

Fire smarted at the corners of her eyes as years of polite but deliberate avoidance congealed into regret. Tears followed. But it was too late to make up for any of it. No matter what she'd give to go back and hug Carrie, to tear down the invisible barrier that had always been between them, it wouldn't happen. The tears welling in her eyes slipped free. Anna scrubbed them away. It was too late to cry. But it wasn't too late to help Carrie the only way she now could.

If she had to give in to Luis and sell herself to Tom Wild to do it, so be it.

"Bring them both home."

"I will." Eve smoothed her own tears. Or rather, she tried to. But as her gaze dropped to the scarlet candle flickering between them, they continued to glisten.

Anna knew why. She and Carrie might not have been the best of friends, but Eve and Carrie had been. So much so, that Eve was willing to risk her life to find out what had caused that crash and bring home their Sister.

"Eve?"

She set the glass on the table. "Yes?"

Anna opened her mouth, but the words just clogged up behind the rest of her unshed tears. She knew what she wanted to say but, despite her heritage, she'd never been able to express herself openly. Not like Carrie, who'd been even freer with her affections among her friends than she'd been with her lovers. Anna drew her breath in deep and silently begged the woman to guide her now. To help the friend she'd left behind. Carrie must have, because suddenly the words were there. She used them. "Don't be careless with your life. We can't lose you, too. We all love you, you know. You're not alone."

From the way Eve flinched, she was afraid she'd done exactly the opposite of what she'd intended, said exactly the wrong thing. But in the moments that followed, her friend's glistening tears flowed even stronger, Anna knew that somehow Carrie had gotten through. She was sure of it when Eve smoothed her tears away and reached out to wrap her arms around her.

The hug was for Carrie and her.

And it was okay.

Better than okay, because as Anna hugged Eve back, she could feel Carrie hugging her back too. But the moment Eve pulled away, she felt the rest. It was in the air around them, as if the pulse of the room had shifted and it wasn't due to the sudden swell in music, laughter and muted conversations.

It was Bishop. He'd returned. But Pepe hadn't. And neither had Tom.

"Is it—"

Anna shook her head. "It's your guy. He's coming back."

And she had to be leaving. Soon.

She'd already been forced to admit to Luis's involvement when Eve caught sight of her necklace. Or maybe she'd drawn her friend's attention to the distinctive scorpion on purpose. Distinctive to anyone who lived here in Panama or who'd been briefed on Central American politics recently, that is. As Eve would have been upon arriving in San Sebastián before the crash. Eve's horror at discovering who her mysterious benefactor really was had been offset by her subsequent realization that, monster or not, Luis truly did have the power to see the private, unauthorized mission Eve and her captain had committed to through to the bitter end.

A mission that was about to begin.

The hard, clipped stare Bishop shot her just before he leaned over the back of Eve's chair to nuzzle her neck according to their plan and invite her to dance assured Anna of that. Anna waited as the man took her friend's hand and drew her away from the table. She waited as he escorted her through the maze of tables to draw her onto the small wooden dance floor at the far corner of the restaurant. The moment he took Eve in his arms, Anna knew everything would be okay. There was no way Eve or Rick Bishop could fake the desire that flared between them as he drew her close. Even from here, it was apparent the two weren't so much merging with the slow, sensual rhythm set by the elderly guitarist as with each other. Once the couple reached Córdoba, Eve would be fine.

Bishop would make sure of it.

It was time for her to go. Time to make sure her part in getting them there went off without a hitch. Soon she'd be slow dancing as well, with the very devil himself.

She didn't see him as she stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her basic black dress. She didn't see him as she retrieved her purse and withdrew several bills to cover the meal. Nor did she see him as she turned to walk calmly out of the restaurant and cross the street, right up to the doorman at the hotel where Eve and her captain would be returning shortly. She didn't even see him as she accepted the cab the doorman hailed for her or when the taxi pulled out into the crazy late-evening rush.

Not to worry. Tom had been following her.

She could still feel him.

She wasn't even concerned when twenty dark, haphazard, traffic-and-pedestrian-congested blocks later, she could no longer feel him. Not even when the cars thinned out to just her cab and the odd rusted heap or two. If Tom had done his research well enough to know she'd send Pepe after him, he'd done it well enough to know exactly where she was headed.

"Pare aquí."

The driver turned and stared at her as if she was insane, the argument already gathering in his face. A woman dressed like her wanted to stop here? In the midst of these slums? With no big, bad man to protect her? She slipped her fingers beneath the collar of her dress and withdrew all the protection she'd need, carefully arranging the scorpion with the telltale bloodred ruby dripping from its stinger beneath the driver's now horrified stare. The cabbie all but vaulted from the car to wrench her door open, refusing the twenty she held out. She ignored his protest and tucked the bill into his hand as she turned to cover the remaining blocks on foot. She needed the time to gather her nerve as well as a few moments to stop at the corner bodega and purchase a lighter and two of the novena candles her mother had always burned.

Mama would simply have to forgive her the blasphemy.

The clerk, too.

The old woman was clearly torn between not wanting her to pay and wondering why anyone with that charm would be buying religious candles in the first place. She didn't humor the woman, or the pack of strutting barrio boys who immediately ceased their barrage of wolf whistles to apologize and move aside as she passed. As if she'd be interested in a gaggle of immature boys. No, she was looking for a man. A sanctimonious, blue-eyed blonde with a filthy temper when roused.

But was he a thug? One way or another, she was about to find out. She had to. Carrie and her baby were dead. Eve needed help. With Samantha leaving for Moscow any day and Meg already there, it was up to her. She shifted the paper bag containing the eight-inch candles, careful to cushion the glass containers as she reached into her purse to retrieve the remote control. She blessed Sam for demanding it as she switched off the bug.

Foster could join her in hell for all she cared.

She was doing this her way.

The last two times they'd done it his way, innocent men had died. One in her arms. Eve and her captain would not be joining them. However, someone would be joining her, and soon. She quickened her stride. Knowing Tom, he'd beaten her here and was already waiting inside. She shifted the paper sack and shoved the remote back into the concealed compartment in her purse as she turned. In retrospect, it hadn't been a smart idea. The distraction sent her plowing straight into a waiting man, all right. A pair of them. But neither was Tom. White-hot pain exploded inside her chest as the larger man spun around, one of his elbows slamming squarely into the bottom curve of her left breast—right into her three-day-old surgical scar and the bug beneath. Hard. She didn't recognize the man who'd accidentally struck her or the one who caught her as she screamed.

A moment later, she couldn't recognize anything at all.

Because she'd passed out.

Chapter 9

Tom stared at the three-foot scorpion that had been painted over the door at the end of the alley. A door that had been left six inches open, the faint glow of light spilling out letting him know in a message as old as hospitality to come on in. His hostess was waiting for him despite the hour. He wasn't surprised. From the moment Anna had walked out of that restaurant after Rick had walked back in, he'd known it would come down to her and him. Right here and right now.

To be honest, he wasn't looking forward to it.

Most of the rage he'd been nursing against this woman had been purged upon learning that she wasn't a traitor. Her concern and willingness to put her life on the line for her old college friend and an unknown SF operator had washed away the rest. Yes, she'd screwed up with the drugs. Her life and possibly others. Though to be honest, Foster's involvement at the two most crucial turning points in Anna's intelligence career had raised questions about the veracity of those crimes as well as Foster's report, at least in his gut. Not only had he shot off his own report to SOCOM this afternoon, he'd put out a few personal feelers of his own, this time on Foster. Unfortunately, nothing had come back. He was back to square one. Back to Anna Shale. He had no choice but to walk into that shack and take her down any way he could.

Time was running out.

He didn't need a calendar or even the mounting nighttime madness in the streets to tell him that. Five years of working terror takedowns had all but guaranteed that whatever Luis was plotting was bound to go down sometime between the coronation of the Carnaval queen that Friday and the symbolic burial of the sardine in the sand the following Wednesday at dawn. He'd stake that vial of pills Anna carried that, this year, the hardy few who managed to show their hungover mugs out on the sands at the Bahía de Panama would be mourning not only Jesus, but also themselves.

He needed that rifle. It was his only link to whoever Luis and Ortiz Imports were really doing business with. As a former intelligence analyst and not a down-in-the-trenches operator, he doubted Anna knew AK-47 rifles were stamped with a code that not only pinpointed which country the rifle had originated in, but the actual plant in which the steel had been forged. Even if she did, he seriously doubted she'd be able to translate those codes. But he could.

Unfortunately, not a single photo he'd taken included an unobstructed view of the section he needed. He checked his watch and shrugged. The half-hour detour he'd made to the Iguana Azul would pay off one way or the other. If he was lucky, Anna was past wondering where he was and well into impatience. Which was right where he needed her. He slipped off his jacket and folded it over his arm as he crossed the remaining cobblestones to reach the door at the end. Even without the scorpion and his previous night's reconnaissance, he'd have known which one. It was the only door that wasn't locked up tight despite the day's lingering heat. Panama had two seasons—hot and dry, and hot and wet. He shoved the door open and stepped inside. It was roasting in here.

"You're late, Mr. Wild."

True, but she wasn't even in here. Not in the front room anyway. There was nowhere to lay his jacket so he kept it with him as he crossed the darkened empty room, his dress shoes echoing over the scrupulously swept concrete. The stench of old, embedded grease had been offset by the scent of citrus, wax and smoke. Candles. Made sense. Loony Louie might keep the rats out of the joint, but Tom doubted even he was fanatical enough to try to keep the electricity on in an unoccupied shrine. Not in Panama where even Fortune 500 companies had their power disconnected at the drop of a hat. Tom passed through the kitchen and entered the equally empty room beyond. Empty but for her.

Anna stood in the far corner of the windowless room, her black leather heels flanked by two eight-inch-tall candles encased in glass. Together the flames put out enough light for him to make out not only her matching black dress but her cool, regal face as she lounged against the wall, her hands tucked at the small of her back. And her hair was down, the thick mass swirling about her shoulders. Not a good sign.

She smiled slightly. Her shrug was even slighter. "I trust I haven't offended you with my choice of accommodations."

He hooked his fingers into the collar of his jacket and shifted it over his shoulder. "Not at all. I'm not above ceding the home-court advantage to a woman, especially a woman I've…dated." Her subtle flinch assured him she'd caught the reference to that morning and his warning over her continued use of his formal name in an attempt to put him in his place. He leaned back against the opposite wall. "Though you have to admit, my room would have been much more comfortable."

"More comfortable for whom? You?"

He shrugged. "And you."

Her smooth brow notched in the flickering light. "Perhaps. But there's more to a room than comfort. There's also belonging. Sometimes the latter can outweigh the benefits of the former."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning I may not be comfortable, but I belong here."

The hell she did. She might have been raised in this dreary room, but she didn't belong here. She was in a class by herself. He suspected she always had been. She was also off tonight and it wasn't just the cryptic comments. It was her mood. It was almost…melancholy. His first instinct had been to chalk it up to the pills. Unfortunately, he couldn't verify it from this far away. Not in candlelight. But there was something else, too. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Eve Paris? Had Anna's meeting with her friend shifted an unwanted magnifying glass over her own troubles? Or was she still in mourning? They had to have discussed the friend who'd died in the crash. He shoved the compassion aside and forced himself to concentrate on his mission.

The rifle. That's what he needed to focus on.

"So…where's Pepe?"

That helped.

"Last time I checked? Sleeping."

"What did you do to him?" This time she didn't even bother disguising her pique or her worry as she straightened, though he did note she was careful to keep a hand on the wall.

Disappointment seared in.

"Relax." He shrugged. "The ape stepped on a banana peel, that's all. He'll be up and pounding his chest by morning. Couple days at the outside." As soon as his eardrums healed. As for the gorilla's hearing? That was between Pepe and his doctor. "Why the worry? Unless you're sweet on him, too?"

"My relationship with Pepe is none of your business."

Ouch. The lady had a temper when high. She'd also revealed an unexpected weakness. Interesting. "It is if I'm reading the vibes in this room correctly." He paused to let the dig sink in, then pushed off the wall. He took a step into the room and caught her subtle but corresponding shift away from him. She'd all but sealed herself to the wall. "I am, aren't I?" Silence. Why not? Might as well get it out into the open now. "You know darn well I followed you today. I admit, you had me stumped for a while. Reservations for two in the city's premiere honeymoon suite? Lucky for you there was a cancellation. Did you arrange that, too—or did Luis?"

"Luis."

"Ah, the devoted primo. I wonder what your cousin would think if he knew—"

She stiffened. "He gave me the crate of rifles. The pilot's name. Do you really think I could have pulled off today without him?"

No. But the confirmation was nice. Not that it raised the bastard in his estimation at all. Not when he knew what Luis had demanded from this woman in return. Tonight. Tom forced his bile down. "Pretty high price to pay, wouldn't you say? Even for an old college chum?"

"She has no one else."

That stark statement revealed more than she intended. It also confirmed his suspicions. Anna truly believed she also had no one else. Given her cousin's warped "devotion," it wasn't hard to figure out why. Compassion bit in again. Only this time, something else came with it. Rage. The source of which was something he didn't want to acknowledge, much less feel. He shoved it and the fury aside and forced himself to stick to the plan. He had to. Much as it turned his stomach, he'd have to force her hand. Now, or tomorrow.

It was up to her.

She beat him to it. "So now what? Is this where you threaten to interfere with the plans I've set into motion, knowing Luis would turn on you if you did? And what about Captain Bishop? Don't pretend you don't know him. You were there, remember? You saw me dine with him. And I saw him when he saw you. You were both SF. I've heard that's thicker than blood or marriage. You'd violate that?"

"Why not? You think you're the only one who can sell someone out—for whatever reason? As for Bishop? Yeah, I know him. Even worked with him a few years back. The man's a complete ass, not to mention he's got the morals of a priest. We used to call him the Pope behind his back. Hell, he's still so trusting he actually confirmed your plans in the alley. I figure Bishop deserves whatever he's got coming." He forged a grin and nailed it to his lips. "So do I. We both know I need the money. I'm sure I could interest the Córdobans in your plans. I imagine they'd pay a lot more than Luis."

"You won't."

He laughed at that. "You really think you've got me pegged, don't you?"

"No. But I do know you're desperate to keep your hooks into Luis. Even if it means putting up with me." Her assessment didn't surprise him, but her candor did. As did the brief glimpse of self-loathing woven inside it. In fact, that she'd let that slip surprised him more. It also verified his suspicions. He no longer needed a clear shot of her pupils to know she'd taken a fresh hit before he'd arrived. The second fissure in her ever-vigilant guard confirmed it. It pissed him off to know she'd needed a fix to contemplate sex with him.

It also stung like hell. It shouldn't have, but it did.

He shifted his jacket against his shoulder, cursing the shadows between them. "Are you honestly willing to trade yourself?"

"Do you honestly even care?"

Yes. He forced a shrug. "Perhaps. But what about you? What would you get in return for this…"

"Dessert?"

"Gift."

He'd surprised her. Maybe even stunned her. With the shadows and that regal facade now working overtime, he couldn't be sure how much. It didn't matter. She wasn't dessert. And she sure as hell wasn't like the woman she'd sent over. No matter what her cousin thought. From the slim number of relationships he'd been able to pin down in her past, it wasn't how she saw herself either. Not when she was away from here. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get her out of here. He slung his jacket over his arm and held out a hand as he stepped closer. "Let's go."

"What? Why?"

"Because the game's over."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't you get it? Or did you take one too many of those pills? I'm not playing anymore." He couldn't. Not here. If she wasn't leaving, fine. He'd go without her. He'd wait and call her bluff in the morning if he had to. But he was not doing this. He spun around and stalked to the door.

"Seventy-two hours."

He froze. Turned.

She nodded. "You asked what I wanted in return. Seventy-two hours." She was serious.

He knew why. Seventy-two hours would take them into late Saturday, early Sunday. Long enough for Bishop and her sorority sister to return to the crash site, photograph every inch of it and get back out. Unfortunately, seventy-two hours would also take them past the Carnaval coronation. "No."

"Fine."

He stared through the flickering light, certain he'd misheard. "That's it? Fine?"

She crossed her arms. For a moment he suspected the motion had caused her to become dizzy, but then it was gone. Probably because she propped her spine back against the wall. There was no hint of wavering now, in her stance or in her voice. "Why not? I'll just tell Luis. I'll ask him to hold you until they get out. Trust me, he will. If he doesn't remove your windpipe and drop what's left of you in the Canal first. And don't even bother renewing your threats from this morning. You can't prove anything. You don't have the rifle and you don't have the vial of pills. I do. But I can guarantee you, I won't have either one of them by the time you see Luis."

He had to admit he was impressed. The tactic might have worked too. If he hadn't anticipated it.

He took his time, carefully shaking out his suit jacket before he slipped his hand inside the inner pocket. He withdrew the stack of three-by-fives he'd printed in Juju's office at the Iguana before heading over, and held them out.

"What's that?"

It was dim. "Them. I guess I forgot to mention I had a camera with me this morning. I confess, I wanted to make sure they came out. I'm happy to report, they did." Not enough for him to use the pictures against her cousin, but enough for him to use them against her. He'd take his bitter victory where he could. When she refused to step forward and take the photos, he flipped through the stack for her. "Now, due to the angle I was shooting from, I did have a hard time getting the rifle's stock in. But I got several excellent shots of you and the barrel as you secured it to the spare. Oh, and here's a great shot of the license plate on your Blazer."

"Damn you."

"Oh no, honey, you did that all by yourself. I'm just the guy making you live with the consequences. My original promise stands. You have until oh-seven-hundred tomorrow to show up at my hotel with the rifle and the pills. Or I hand over the pictures to Luis. Your choice."

Silence.

He really hadn't expected a response. He tucked the photos back into his inner jacket pocket and slung the coat over his right shoulder as he turned to finish doing what he should have done a while ago. Leave.

"Mr. Wild—Tom."

He froze. And it wasn't because he'd heard his name on her lips for the first time, low and husky, exactly how it had sounded during the fantasy that had invaded his power nap that afternoon. As well as his dreams the night before. It was the zip. The one at the back of her dress. She drew it down slowly, so slowly he swore he could hear each and every tiny, plastic tooth scrape against his ears, feel each individual rasp as the ensuing vibrations took up residence in his belly before quivering straight down into his groin. He closed his eyes against the whispered invitation and held firm.

Don't do it, buddy. Don't turn around.

He just might have made it, might have held firm, had it not been for the delicate sigh of sliding silk and the soft plop that followed as her dress settled on the floor. He had to know. He turned…and damned near died at the sight that greeted him. Sweet Mother in paradise. Within seconds, his brain had fogged. His mouth actually watered.

His entire body begged.

It was everything he could do to keep his feet welded to the floor and not vault across the ten feet of cold concrete separating them. Because that concrete was the only thing in his entire world that wasn't on fire. The icy veneer he'd come to dread had shattered. In its place stood a living, breathing, glistening vision of sultry, candlelit perfection. The owner of those understated linen dresses that had been flitting through his dreams these past few nights was now clothed in nothing more than a set of two-inch leather heels, a pair of barely there black lace panties and a matching, mesmerizing, damned near see-through bra that all but strained against the bounty inside it.

And what bounty it was.

Every toned, dusky inch shimmered in the flickering light. Calling to him, pleading with him to reach out and touch. To linger, savor. Heaven help him, he wanted to. He wanted to tease his fingertips over the honeyed swells spilling up from the top of her bra, to smooth his palms down the satiny expanse of her belly, to dip his tongue into the slight pucker in the center and taste. His arms damned near ached to envelop her; his legs clamored to step out so that he could step back into the fiery blaze that had consumed the two of them in that darkened alcove outside the Iguana—

Until she swayed.

She didn't sway by much. Just enough for the rest to pierce his haze. He watched her limbs begin to tremble as she struggled to maintain her poise without the wall pressing against her back, supporting her. He caught the palpable distance that entered her eyes as she focused not on him but somewhere far beyond him. Somewhere he'd never been and never wanted to be. And then the glaze set in. That selfish, placid I don't care, so why should you? glaze. The one he hated more than all the pills on the planet combined. Reality crashed in, leaving him colder than he'd been in years.

Somehow, he managed to smile.

Even nod. Speak. "Thanks, but I'll pass. Not only don't I pay for it, I make a point never to sleep with a woman who won't remember what happened the next morning."

She swayed again, this time noticeably.

She also nodded. "That's probably good…because I think I'm going to be sick." When she swayed a third time, he knew she was going down for the count. Tom shot across the room, catching her as she collapsed. He pulled her into his arms, dragging her across his lap as his knees hit the cement. He didn't think, he simply reacted, instinctively racing through the mental checklist that had been engraved inside his brain since he was nine years old. Body temp? Cold, clammy. Breathing? Definitely depressed. He shoved the cloud of hair from her cheeks with one hand as he seized the closest candle with the other, praying as he hauled it closer to shine the flame beside her eyes.

Just dilated. Please, God, just dilated.

Her pupils were constricted. And she'd passed out.

Oh, Jesus. No! He pressed his fingers into her carotid artery and willed his thundering heart to slow so he could gage her pulse. By some miracle it did—until he got a read on hers—and then his shot clear off the scale. While he'd been busy ogling her, the bulk of the pills she'd taken had been slamming into her bloodstream. He forced the panic down and slapped her cheeks, relief searing in as the third sting brought her around. "Anna, talk to me! How many did you take?"

"Don't. Tired. So…tired."

He shook her as her eyelids drifted back down—hard. "Don't you dare leave me, woman! Answer me! How many?"

Nothing.

No! All the times he'd raced into his apartment growing up only to find his mother passed out, stoned out of her gourd, crashed in. His mother's coffin locked in next. Then Gayle's—the one he hadn't even tried to prevent. He grabbed Anna by the shoulders and shook her again, violently. "Dammit, Anna, answer me! How many pills did you take?" Her sleepy protest managed to pierce his panic long enough to kick his checklist into high gear. Tom hauled her to her feet, pulling her along with him as he grabbed the encrypted cell phone from his trouser waistband. He punched out the only number he could risk dialing, half dragging, half shoving her into a sleepy, stumbling walk as he paced through the first two rings.

Juju picked up on the third.

"I think she's OD'd on me, man."

"What? Who—Anna?"

"Yes, Anna! Who else would I be calling about?"

"Calm down, amigo. Calm down. Take it slow."

That was just it, he couldn't. For the first time in his life, he couldn't. Hell, he couldn't even slow his own ragged breaths long enough to double-check her excruciatingly shallow puffs. "Hold on." He shifted the phone to his left ear and bent down to yank off her heels. She protested again as he forced her to rely on more of her flagging strength during the next trek across the room. "Come on, baby. Keep moving. You've got to keep moving." It was the only way to keep the blood pumping through her limbs and excrete the drugs from her system.

"What's her respiration?"

"Twelve. Her pulse is forty."

"Good."

He swung them around as they reached the end of the room, glaring into the taunting, flickering light from those stupid candles. Light so poor he hadn't had a clue when Anna had stripped that she had no idea what she'd been doing. She'd been too far gone. "That's not good, that's bad."

"I know. But she hasn't bottomed out yet, has she? And that is very good. Where are you?"

"Curundú. I took a cab. So did she."

"Okay. I have connections. I can get an ambulance—"

"No. No ambulance." Ambulances meant hospitals. The same hospitals her cousin had been in and out of growing up due to diabetes. "She could be recognized. Come get us."

"You can't take her home."

"I know." He was scared to death, not stupid. But he couldn't take her to his hotel either. He'd seen the look that had passed between the doorman and Pepe when he'd got out of the limo that morning. Curse Luis and his spies. There was a couch in Juju's office. Privacy. "Can I come to the club?"

"Absolutely. I'm on my way."

"Thanks. I'll need a stethoscope, a vial of Narcan and a syringe to inject it, just in case."

"Already gotcha covered, amigo. I'll bring 'em with."

He did not want to know. Tom severed the call, shoving the phone in his pocket as he reached Anna's crumpled dress. Her purse lay beside it. The vial. It had to be in there.

She protested as he propped her up against the wall.

"Just a sec, honey. I've got to get your pills."

"No."

He knocked her flailing hands away. "Dammit, this is serious. I've got to find out how many you took." He grabbed her purse and dumped out her wallet, her keys and her own cell phone as he searched for the latch on the hidden compartment he'd stumbled across the night before. There. He shoved his hand past the compact three-inch switchblade he'd noted the night before, relief blistering in as his fingers closed around the vial. To his shock, her fingers closed over his as he jerked the bottle of pills from her purse.

"I took…three. No, four. I th-think."

"Which is it?" As if he could even trust her memory at this point. Not with her speech beginning to slur.

"Four. D-definitely four. Two on time…then…two more."

"Why?" Why had she kicked up her dose at all? But he knew. "Because of me?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. He didn't believe her. He'd pushed her too far. Too damned hard. The implied threat against her friend that deliberately showing himself in the restaurant had sent? Leaving her to stew in this dump while he stopped to pick up the photographic nails for yet another coffin? The rifle, the pills. It had all combined to send her over the edge. He'd sent her over, all right. Of all people, he should have known better. He popped the child-proof top on the pills and shook them out in his hand.

What the heck was that?

He stuffed the ring in his pocket and counted out the remaining tablets, swallowing the knot of tears burning in his throat as he reached the last tablet. Thank you, God. He shoved the bottle and pills in his pocket and closed his eyes, drawing Anna with him as he slumped back into the wall, not even caring that his own arms and legs were quaking. She was telling the truth. If she was off, it couldn't be by more than a pill or two. She was going to have a blistering hangover in the morning, but unless she had a hidden medical condition her last yearly Navy physical had missed, she should be fine. But it would be a hell of a ride until then. Damn her.

"I'm c-cold."

She was shaking, too. In a Panamanian oven.

As pissed as he was with her, he couldn't leave her stripped down to her underwear. Not with Juju on his way. Nor did he want to examine why. He braced her against the wall with one hand while he snagged the crumpled fabric off the floor with his other. Ironically, she was too out of it by now to realize why she was even cold, much less able to help him. He pulled the dress over her head for her and worked around her fiery protests, in Spanish no less, to get her arms through the sleeves. "Anna, please. Stop fighting me."

That brought her back to English. And exhaustion.

Her head fell to the wall. "Go away. I want to sleep."

"Sorry, not an option." He didn't care if Luis himself crawled through that door ahead of Juju, he was not leaving. Not this time. He yanked the dress down over her thighs and tugged her forward, pressing her head into his chest so he could zip up the back. The light flickered up from their feet, highlighting her mesmerizing features as she settled back against the wall, right down to that tiny scar as he tipped her chin and smoothed the tangles from her cheeks.

Tears welled up in her eyes. He knew they weren't for him. At the rate she was fading on him, she'd be lucky if she remembered his name by now.

"You hate me." Then again, maybe she was hanging on.

He shook his head at the irony of that statement from this woman. Especially now. He opened his mouth to confirm it, but somehow the truth came out instead. "I don't hate you, honey." He wanted to. He should. But he didn't. Hell, he had no idea what he felt for this woman. Whatever it was, it was intense—more intense than anything he'd ever felt for another woman, Gayle included—but it wasn't based in hate.

And that scared him most of all.

He held his breath as she sighed. But before she could respond, her eyes glazed over again. He wasn't surprised. With roughly twenty milligrams of oxycodone pulsing through her veins, he was lucky she was conscious. God only knows how much she'd remember by morning. Especially since she was slurring half her words now. Exercise. He had to keep her walking until Juju arrived. Work that crap out of her system. Fortunately, she didn't argue as he pulled her into his arms to lead her into another faltering lap across the room. To his surprise she captured his stare as they reached the opposite wall.

"He hates me, too."

Don't do it, buddy. Don't ask. While no one could predict what part of tonight would still be with her come tomorrow, he could all but guarantee that if he started grilling her about her cousin that would be the part she did remember. Dammit, it was worth the risk. It had to be. "Who? Luis?"

She nodded. "Hmm."

He rewarded her for her answer by letting her pause for a moment and lean into the wall. Maybe the rest would encourage more without him sticking his neck out on the chopping block.

It did.

She sighed as her head tipped back. "But that's okay. I hate him, too. And Mike." She spat that last.

Mike? Who the heck was Mike?

She wasn't wrong, he had done his homework. She'd had two steady relationships in college, three since, but none of the men had been named Mike. He turned her around as they reached the wall—as it hit him. "Mike Foster?"

Her head wobbled, but that was definitely a nod. "It's all his fault. He's a bastard."

Disappointment seared in. Stoned or not, she wasn't about to impart secrets. This was just another good old-fashioned pity-fest, compliments of the garbage she'd taken. If he encouraged her, she'd come up with a thousand reasons as to why everyone else was to blame for her problems but her. Just like his mom. If your dad didn't leave, I wouldn't have to take them. Yeah, right. Anna had hit the nail on the head outside the Iguana. His mom had been too strung out on valium and booze to figure out dear old dad kept volunteering for mission after mission because she couldn't stay clean long enough to stand up and welcome him home. His dad couldn't sit around and watch her kill herself. That had been left up to Tom.

He tugged her away from the wall with more force than he'd intended, cursing as she lost her balance. He steadied her, then nudged her legs back into motion.

"You lied. You said you didn't hate me."

"I don't." But he winced. Even high, she had to have caught his tone. Where the devil was Juju? "Keep moving."

"Yup, you're mad."

"Okay, I am mad. No, I'm downright pissed."

"Why?" She blinked up at him through that artificial haze. Maybe that's what did it, what finally caused him to snap. Or maybe he was just sick of her. Of the waste. He couldn't be sure. All he knew for certain was that, before he realized what he'd done, he pushed her up against the wall, sealing her spine to decades of stale grease as he unleashed the fruitlessness of the past three weeks, more importantly, the past three days into that glassy, vacant stare.

"So the man's a bastard, so what? You're the one who won't own up to the muck in your life long enough to crawl out. You're the one who sold out. You caused the deaths of three men. You and your obsession with those pills. What I want to know is why? You kicked it before. Why did you even start up again? Dammit, Anna, you'd beaten it all. Luis, your aunt, your father." He jerked his head toward the room. "This place. You had so much going for you. A career, professional respect. You're smart, beautiful as hell and—when you're not stoned out of your mind—you've got a wicked sense of humor that would put a straight edge to shame. More importantly, you had friends. From what I saw tonight, good ones. Why did you give it all up? Why?" His fury expended, he finally shut up.

Stared. Waited.

He wasn't surprised as he watched the tears well up in her eyes and finally spill over. But never in a million years could he have anticipated the hoarse confession that came with them. "I didn't betray those men. Foster did."

Chapter 10

Where in God's name was she?

Anna clamped down on the panic surging through her and forced her eyes to reopen. She studied the darkened room for the hundredth time, dread locking in as she noted the worn leather couch beneath her cheek, the weathered paneling on the walls, the paper-cluttered desk across the tiny room along with a matching set of metal filing cabinets beneath a shuttered window and, finally, the closed door beyond the arm of the couch and her legs. The entire pass had yielded no more clues than the previous ninety-nine. But this time humiliation blistered in, supplanting the pounding in her head along with the throb in her chest as she finally acknowledged the bitter truth. She had no idea where she was, let alone how she'd gotten there, or with whom.

Was Tom right after all? Was she hooked?

No! No matter what that man said, she was not addicted. Yes, she wanted the damned things. More than she should. That she'd admit, to herself or even Sam. But she hadn't gone overboard. Not even when it had become obvious her prescribed dose wasn't keeping up with the pain. If she was hooked, she'd have doubled her dose by now. She had before. But until last night—

Last night. Oh, God. How many had she taken?

The memory of that iron elbow slammed back in. The agony that had followed. The look on that unfortunate man's face as he spotted her necklace and realized whose sick talisman and even sicker protection she carried. She remembered trying to soothe the man's terror and refusing his and his friend's prostrated offers of help. She even remembered stumbling on to her childhood home under her own power. But after? Everything else was a haze with only bits and pieces burning through long enough for her to grasp them. She remembered waiting in the old room she'd shared with her mother and then her aunt. The room where her entire life had changed, desperately trying not to give in to the past, much less the siren in her purse. But the pain in her breast had been excruciating. She'd started to fashion a compress, until she remembered there was no running water. She couldn't raise Pepe on her cell phone and she couldn't leave. Not with Tom on his way and Eve and Captain Bishop still hours from—

She shot up on the couch, only to fall right back over as the dizziness crashed in.

"Easy."

Anna stiffened as a pair of muscular arms encircled her before she hit the cushions, smoothly righting her. The arms weren't tanned but naturally dusky like her own, with black hair sprinkled liberally along his forearms, not dark blond. Long black hair spilled down, shielding her eyes from the glare of that neon-pink Hawaiian shirt. Not her hair and definitely not Tom Wild's.

Juju. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She shook off the man's apology, and then his hands. "You didn't." She hadn't even heard the door open, a door she now realized must lead from the man's office to the rest of his bar. She'd been too busy trying to find a—"What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

Nine? Which nine? Morning or evening? The window above the file cabinets was shuttered too tight to be of help. She was dying to ask. She had to know. But, good Lord, this was humiliating. She could feel the heat scalding her neck. By the time it reached her cheeks, she figured she was past scarlet. Still, she couldn't get her mouth to open.

Evidently, this happened a lot around Juju, because he simply shrugged and filled her in. "Nine in the morning. Thursday morning. You've been in and out most of the night. Mostly out."

She closed her eyes as relief blistered through the fog in her brain, easing her panic. Eve and Rick were already inside Córdoba. They were safe. At least from Tom.

Tom. Again Juju picked up on her thoughts.

Granted, it couldn't have been difficult. Not with her wits lying shredded and scattered about her feet. "You just missed him. He left for the hotel to shower and change. He was here all night, awake, stethoscope and guilt in hand. Wouldn't leave your side. Frankly, I was surprised."

She had no idea how to respond to that one, much less that dark, expectant stare. Juju might have survived awkward morning-after scenes like this before, but she hadn't. She settled for smoothing the rumpled fabric of her dress over her knees, then stared down at her folded hands. For some odd reason, that simple act helped to focus her thoughts. For the first time since she'd woken, she realized her feet were bare. She looked around discreetly.

Nothing. No black leather heels, no purse. And no pills.

"Coffee?"

Juju must have brought it with him, because he held the steaming mug out.

"No, thank you."

He nodded and walked over to what she assumed was his desk. He set the mug atop the paper clutter and withdrew a slim yellow box from his shirt pocket as he turned. The crick in her neck eased as he hooked his thighs to the edge of the desk and lowered his frame, but not by much. He still loomed over her as he held out the box.

"Jujube?"

Her stomach turned at the mere thought. "No, thanks."

"Something…stronger, perhaps?"

She truly wished. "No."

He shrugged and slipped the box back inside his pocket.

Now what?

She took a stab at reclaiming the remaining threads of her dignity. "Where are my…ah—" she lost them again as his brow shot up "—things?"

"Your shoes are beside the couch."

"And my purse? I had it with me in my—" She swallowed the surging bile as the scents of her past slammed in. "Last night."

"I don't have it. Nor did Tom when I arrived."

She couldn't help it, she jerked her head up. "You were there? In Curundú?"

Juju nodded. "He called. Frantic as only a man who's lived through last night more times than he can remember, can be. Before he was forced to see it through to the bitter end."

Meaning whoever Tom loved had OD'd.

And she'd just forced him to relive it.

Shame swamped her, settling into her gut to churn in amid the lingering nausea. Given the mood she'd been in before Tom had arrived last night, her fury over their AK-47 stalemate, not to mention her terror over Eve and Bishop, she'd probably put him through the wringer before she'd passed out. He could have walked away. He'd probably wanted to. But he hadn't. Thug or not, he'd stayed by her side and quite possibly saved her life. She shouldn't ask. She had no business intruding on Tom Wild's private pain any more than she already had. But she needed to know, and not because of Foster.

Because of herself. "W-who was it?"

"Which one?"

She blinked. There was more than one? Her breath bled out as the depth of her cruelty struck home. She'd never know how she managed to force the whisper past her lips. "How many has he lost?"

"His mother from the pills just after high school graduation. Valium and Scotch, if I remember correctly." They both knew he did. "Seems his mom couldn't take the fact that he was finally getting the hell out of Dodge—or rather, the outskirts of Chicago—and leaving her for West Point. And then there was a woman he was…close to. A couple years after commissioning. I think she preferred her booze straight up. You want more, ask him." But the message was clear.

If you're smart, you won't. Not with her habit.

So she asked Juju instead. "How do you two…do this?"

"Remain friends?"

She nodded.

He shrugged. "I wonder myself. Old friendships, mutual respect—who knows? Perhaps we simply understand that different paths can be walked in different ways, yet end up in the same place." That made no sense at all.

She also knew he wasn't going to elaborate. She'd gotten as much as she was going to get. It was time to go.

Without knowing what had happened to Pepe, she'd have to call a cab. As for Luis? Her rumpled dress would more than make up for missing breakfast. Luis was bound to assume she'd spent the night in Tom's hotel room. If she was lucky, Luis would leave her alone so she could get cleaned up and head over for real. What would happen after was anyone's guess. Most of all, hers. She had no idea what she and Tom had settled last night, if anything. But since it was now two hours past the deadline he'd issued at the hacienda gates the morning before, it was also past time to find out.

When Juju stood and crossed the room to reach down and retrieve her shoes, Anna realized her thoughts had shown again. She wasn't surprised. She didn't have the energy to even try and conceal them let alone the pounding in her head as Juju held out her shoes. "Thank you." She slipped the heels on, hoping the dizziness would remain at bay long enough for her to stand and make it to the front of the bar without humiliating herself more than she already had. "Would you mind calling a cab?"

"Not at all. But first—" The man tucked an oversize paw beneath the hem of his Hawaiian shirt as she stood. "Tom left something for you." Even before Juju shoved his hand down into his front denim pocket, she knew what Tom had left.

The vial. Good Lord. The ring. Had Tom seen it? Had Juju? Her dizziness returned, this time with a vengeance, as the opaque container surfaced. Juju held it out. Unlike the heels, she couldn't seem to take it. Her heart pounded as the silence stretched out. Her chest throbbed. She shoved the panic down. "Is it…was it…empty?" To her eternal shame, she didn't know which she was more worried about.

The ring or the pills.

Juju shook his head. "He left the ring inside it. Some sorority thing. I presume it's yours?" He knew damned well it wasn't. He'd read the engraving. Samantha's name, date of commissioning and branch. It was in his eyes. That meant Tom knew, too. What conclusions had he drawn?

That, Juju's face didn't reveal.

There was no way she could ask. So she lied. "Yes, it's mine."

He nodded. "Then I guess you'd like it back."

"Please."

But instead of handing the vial over, Juju placed it at the corner of his desk, between a battered pencil cup and a small Hotei Buddha. The figurine's belly had long since been rubbed to a lucky sheen. She ignored the taunting laughter in the Buddha's tiny, squinting eyes as she reached for the vial.

"I took the liberty of refilling it."

She flinched. She stood there a moment, then pulled her hand back and faced him. "Why?"

His gaze met hers again. This time, he held it. "We both know if you want them, you'll find a way to get them. No matter how your cousin feels about this issue. In fact, Tom seems to think you'd already been working on it. In deference to our friendship, I'd prefer to know it was done safely."

"He'll hate you."

"He won't know." The message came through loud and clear.

The threat.

She pulled herself together and matched the pointed arch in his brow. "And what you do get in return, Juju?"

"A promise."

She waited.

"I want your word you won't overdo it. At least, not until what's between you and my friend runs its course."

She stiffened. "There's nothing—"

His hand snapped out, locked over hers. But it wasn't the barely restrained strength she could feel in his hand that put the fear of God into her; it was the low growl that followed. "Your word. Now." In that moment, she knew Juju had truly screwed up his calling in life. He never should have snorted coke, because he was a natural on the battlefield.

She surrendered. "You have it."

She didn't bother adding that she had no plans to "overdo" anything anyway. He wouldn't have believed her. But then, neither would Tom, would he? Fortunately, that wouldn't matter. As much as she hated admitting it, Tom Wild was a thug. A thug with a conscience and a painful past, but still a thug. They had no future. Despite their attraction, one Juju had obviously picked up on, they didn't even have a present. She resisted the temptation to step back as Juju released her.

He did it for her, turning to cross the room. He stopped at the door. "I'll call your cab, but feel free to take your time. Tom said he'd make your excuses and explain for you."

"What?"

"You don't remember?" She gaped at Juju. He shook his head. "Not last night. Yesterday morning. Tom seemed to think he'd be welcomed at breakfast today. Said he had something to discuss with Luis. It sounded like he had an ultimatum for your cousin."

The rifle? Photos.

She stiffened as another missing piece from the night locked in. Tom had taken photos of her stashing the rifle. He'd brought them with him to Curundú, threatened to show them to Luis this morning. He'd also promised to tell Luis what he thought she planned on trading the rifle for. A rifle that was still concealed beneath the spare to her Blazer—in the hacienda's driveway. That bastard. No wonder he'd tossed her the ring. It was nothing more than a distracting bone to keep her out of his way while he moved in for the kill. Hers.

The betrayal socked in harder than all the knocks she'd taken in her entire life combined, surpassing even the throbbing in her chest. The now screaming need in her blood and in her brain. The hell with a cab. If Tom had gone back to the hotel to shower and change, she still had time. A chance. She grabbed the vial from the desk, shoving it into the only concealing crevice left to her as she shot across the room. The one inside her bra. "Do you have a car?"

"Sure."

She whipped out her hand. "Give me the keys."

"I don't—"

"Dammit, Juju, you and I both know you have an ulterior motive for restocking this container and it doesn't have a thing to do with friendship." She stepped close until she was staring directly up into that dark, enigmatic face. "Give me the keys and I'll give you what you want when I return them."

His brow lifted. "And what's that?"

But he knew. They could both feel it—him—throbbing between them and it wasn't Tom.

She confirmed it. "Luis."

She watched as Juju weighed his friendship with Tom against his darker, more selfish interests. She knew the exact moment she'd won. She wasn't even surprised. Not even with the guilt that followed. By then, she'd come to understand what Juju had been referring to earlier. Different paths can be walked in different ways, yet end up in the same place.

All she had to do now was get there before Tom.

* * *

Her heart was still slamming against her ribs as she rounded the final turn in the hacienda's private driveway. It nearly crashed through as she came bumper to bumper with Tom's jeep—literally. She slammed on the brakes in the nick of time and jerked the steering wheel to the right. Unfortunately, the motion brought the front end of Juju's ancient pickup within an inch of the jeep as Tom swerved into the circular driveway in front of the house. Her hands shook as the truck's engine died. Her entire body ached. She was sweating, too. So much, she couldn't grab the handle to the driver's door long enough to open it. The metal lever kept slipping out of her fingers.

Blast those pills.

Her stomach surged, confirming the onset of the Percocet withdrawal. Don't think about it. It would all pass.

But he wouldn't.

Anna flinched as the jeep's door slammed shut. She was still trapped inside the truck as Tom stalked up to her door, the fire in his eyes and in his step at complete odds with the dark, cool blue of his suit and tie. And then, she wasn't—in the truck, that is. Before she could stanch the wave of dizziness, he'd yanked open the door and hauled her out, pressing her up against the truck and pinning her there as he had the morning before.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, woman?"

"What am I doing? How about you? You couldn't even give me a chance, could you? Yes, I'm late. But according to your friend, you know why."

Both of them froze as the front door to the hacienda opened thirty feet away. A mutinous Pepe glared out across the lawn. "¿Señorita? ¿Necesita usted alguna ayuda con el gringo?"

She had a feeling the irony of that particular question phrased that particular way wasn't lost on Tom, any more than it hadn't been on her. She was sure of it as he turned back.

Steel-blue eyes stared down at her. "Well? Do you need help with the gringo?"

"¡Ningún gracias, Pepe!"

She didn't catch Pepe's response. She did catch the satisfaction that flared in that already superheated stare. She waited until she heard the door to the hacienda slam before she dropped her glare to the arm blocking her path.

"Do you mind?"

When Tom refused to honor her request, she tried shoving him out of the way. Unfortunately, he didn't budge. She pushed harder. Physics sent her flailing back into the truck. This time, the back of her head connected with steel and she gasped, but not at the sting. Not even at the strong hands that snapped up to grab her arms and right her.

"Are you okay?"

She blinked up at him as the floodgates in her brain ripped even wider, and then all the way open as the entire night's events began crashing in.

"It's coming back, isn't it?"

Oh yeah. Every single humiliating moment. Her, him, standing in the dark. Tom at the door in his suit and with his jacket hooked over his shoulder. Her, in nothing but her panties and bra…daring him. Inviting him. She closed her eyes. Begged the dizziness to return. Maybe then she could just pass out. She felt him push her hair from her cheek, then trail his fingers down the side of her face.

"Hey, it's okay."

She refused to open her eyes. "No, it's not."

"Nothing happened, Anna. Nothing."

Oh, a lot had happened. She was convinced of it as the next memory ripped in. She could still feel the absolute rage that had radiated off Tom as he pushed her up against the wall and lit into her. And then, the denial that had slipped free because she just couldn't hold it in any longer.

I didn't betray those men. Foster did.

Tom caught her as she swayed.

"Christ, Anna, are you already—"

"No." But she had been last night, hadn't she? There was no escaping it. She'd been so out of it, tripped so high, her barriers knocked so low, that she'd babbled it all.

She'd blown her cover. Completely.

So why was she here? For that matter, why was she even alive? Wild Man's confounded conscience again? She forced herself to meet Tom's eyes and not to flinch in shame as his hand came up to smooth her hair from her face as it had so often through the night…and the rest slipped in. She remembered everything about this man now, about these hands. The way they'd come back to her time and time again, in that rat hole she'd grown up in, and then on the couch in Juju's office. His hands had checked her breathing and her pulse, smoothed the sweat from her brow. An hour later, they'd caressed her face and gently, steadily massaged her shoulders and neck, soothing the ever-looping roller coaster of anxiety and fears that had inevitably returned. These hands had drawn her close again and again, whenever her emotions had gotten the best of her, settling her head against Tom's solid chest, combing through her hair while she'd lain there and cried. Any other man in his purported position would have taken advantage of her initial offer and then left her in Curundú in disgust.

That's when she knew.

Deep down, she'd known it all along. Tom Wild might be one heck of an actor, but he was no monster.

He was no Luis.

He tipped her chin up, looking directly into her eyes as he confirmed her prayers with a simple, wry smile. "Kinda ironic, isn't it? Two blind mice, each so busy watching the other run, they both forgot about the blessed chunk of cheese?"

"Please, say it. Spell it out. I need to know I'm not dreaming." Or worse, hallucinating.

He leaned close, his recent shower and the crisp, breezy aftershave he'd splashed over his carefully groomed morning-after scruff teasing into her lungs. A shiver coursed through her as he pushed the remaining strands of hair from her neck so he could spill his whispered confession directly into her ear. "You're not dreaming, honey. I'm undercover, too. Major Thomas Anthony Wild, U.S. Army Delta Force. I was brought in after Manny was murdered. He was ATF and an old SF buddy."

Manny.

She closed her eyes. Mourned. "I'm so sorry."

"I know. I gathered that last night. And the night before when that bastard tossed you his pen. I also gathered you tried to stop Manny from bleeding to death. I owe you for that. I read the police report. It couldn't have been pretty."

"It wasn't."

She shivered again, and this time it wasn't from Tom's heat or his proximity. It was the memory. This one of blood. Tom shifted against the cab of the truck, bracing his arm above her head as he leaned into her. She knew why. Anyone watching from the house would assume he was simply a recent bedmate unwilling to let her or the night go just yet. He drew his finger beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to complete the illusion. "That's why you went to Sam's, isn't it? You walked out on Luis and Foster?"

"I cracked."

She didn't deserve the compassion that slid into those dark, gorgeous pools of blue. Not after what she'd done to him last night. His sigh bathed her lips. "It happens, honey. You've been in too long and under far too deep. I did my research, remember? You aren't even trained for this. I'd say you've done damned well considering." He must have picked up on her lingering guilt, because there was a wealth of pain in his next sigh, and even more disappointment. "I was right, wasn't I? Outside the Iguana? I just didn't have the right deaths in mind. You took up the pills because of Manny."

"No."

He tipped her chin again and leaned closer, so close the plea in his eyes blocked out the sky. "Anna, don't. We may not have known each other long, but I'd say we know each other better than most, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then don't lie to me. Please. Not about the pills. Anything but that."

He wasn't going to believe her. She couldn't blame him. Given his past with his mom and Lord only knows what with his ex-lover, nothing short of stripping down again and, this time, peeling her bra off to boot would convince him.

"So…what do we do now, Major Wild?"

He wasn't happy, but he backed off. "We eat. Last night convinced me that it's time to force your cousin's hand. It's better if I do it alone. That way if it backfires your cover's still safe. We both know your cousin wants us together. I'm convinced it's so you can keep me in line. Let's go with it. All you've got to do is walk in looking like you do and he'll assume we spent the night together. Excuse yourself right away. Tell him you need a shower. He's bound to buy it."

She flushed.

"I didn't mean it like—" Someone screamed deep inside the house, severing the rest. "What the devil was that?" Tom grabbed her wrist and spun around, dragging her around the back of the jeep and across the lawn before she could answer. A moment later, she didn't need to. The front doors slammed open. Pepe stood in the arch, huffing for all he was worth.

"¡Vengas, vengas! ¡Señor Ortiz está enfermo!"

Luis was ill?

"Oh, my God—his diabetes!"

She twisted her wrist until she was clutching Tom's hand and, this time, she dragged him. Pepe scowled at Tom as they reached the front steps until she assured her friend that Señor Wild had Army medical training. Pepe's massive paws lashed out half ushering, half hauling them both through the entranceway, across the inner courtyard and straight into her cousin's study. Luis lay slumped over his desk, his barely touched meal still on the silver serving tray atop the buffet behind him.

Idiot! He might as well have skipped his insulin.

She automatically checked the wall beside the display case containing his Kama Sutra miniatures. The picture that concealed the wall safe was still in place. Luis had missed his insulin. By the time she turned back to the desk, Tom already had her cousin laid out on the floor and was halfway through the ABCs of first aid.

"He's breathing, but his pulse is dangerously low." Tom snapped at Pepe, "Get an ambulance—a helicopter would be better. Now." Pepe tore out of the room. Tom turned to her. "Where does he keep his glucagon?"

"In the safe with his insulin."

"Get it."

"I can't."

His hand whipped out, locking about her arm. "Dammit, Anna. I know what he's done, but this isn't the—"

"You don't understand. I don't know the combination. He doesn't trust me, not really. He never did. He's gotten so paranoid since I moved away he's afraid someone would spike his syringes or his insulin. That's why he keeps it in there."

Tom cursed viciously.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We gotta break in, that's all."

Break in? Sheer panic set in. Her head started to throb, along with her chest, with a vengeance, surpassing the body aches. She snapped, taking out the sudden, selfish need the only way she could—the only way she ever would again—with sarcasm. "You're the explosives expert, buster, not me."

"You got a stick of C4 and a blasting cap handy?"

"What?"

He shook his head grimly. "Neither do I." He turned to bend over Luis, his next curse even darker and more base as he straightened. "I have to start CPR. Go to the safe."

"I told you, I don't—"

"Now."

She went. Two seconds later, she was across the room, beside that god-awful Kama Sutra collection, wrenching the frame of an antique map of the Americas aside. She stared at the huge, taunting dial. "Now what?"

"Start with his birthday, turn it into numbers."

Of course! Three excruciating months in this gilded cage, and she'd never even thought of that. Tom was right, she wasn't trained for this. She ripped through the numbers as she cursed Foster for the hundredth time that morning alone. He could have taught her that much, at least. She stopped on the last two digits of Luis's birth year and tried the catch.

"Nothing."

She spun around as Tom finished breathing into her cousin's mouth and shifted to work on his heart. "Double it."

She whipped back to the safe and spun through the revised figures, then tugged the catch. "That's not it."

"Try everything you can think of. Your aunt's birthday, yours, your mom's, the day his dad died, the day you left for the States. Anything. Just keep trying."

She did. She ran through all the combinations he'd suggested and then went back to double them all.

Not a single combination worked.

The lock wouldn't budge.

Luis was going to die. Manny's death would be for naught. Her career would never be revived, Foster would make sure of it. Hell, he'd probably find a way to take it out on Sam, too. She slammed her fist into the safe, wishing she could turn back the clock, the years. Back to when her mother was still alive, before her aunt had pushed her into that bus—

Another date.

She jerked her fingers back to the dial, knowing before she even started that the long shot wouldn't pay off. But it did. The lock popped. She swung the door to the safe open and grabbed one of the emergency glucagon injectors from within, leaving a trail of floating papers in her wake as she whirled about and tore across the room, reaching Tom's side as he finished his next breath. He shot her a flat-out breathtaking victory grin as he shifted to her cousin's heart.

"I knew you could do it. Now, pull up his shirt, remove the cap, pinch in the skin on his abdomen and inject."

Easier said than done, but she managed it.

By the time she finished, her hands were shaking worse than they'd been out in Juju's truck when she arrived.

"You did great."

No, he was doing great. She had no idea how long she'd been standing at that safe, spinning that dial, but it felt like hours. Meanwhile, Tom had been over here, still was over here, smoothly shifting from her cousin's airway to his heart and back again, over and over, as if he could keep it up all night. What if he had to? What if Luis—

She refused to consider that. Two blind mice. That meant Tom had as much information as she did. Zilch.

"Do you need a break?"

Tom shook his head and took another breath, before shifting down to her cousin's heart. Several more minutes passed. Then several more. A good five, ten minutes had to have passed by now. What was taking so long? She stared at Tom as he worked. The set to his jaw, the ironclad determination in his completely focused stare. Luis was still pale, placid. His lashes fanned out almost peacefully, as if he didn't even care that he was on the verge of slipping away.

Is that what she'd looked like last night? Lying there, lifeless, while this man stubbornly refused to give up?

And he'd had to do this with his own mother? She scrubbed at the corners of her eyes before the stinging tears had a chance to let loose. God help her, she couldn't watch.

"Anna?"

She forced herself to turn back as Tom pulled his hand from her cousin's neck and sat back into the plush gold carpet. "He's breathing fine. His pulse is getting stronger. He'll be okay. Just give the glucagon another minute, maybe two."

It took less than one.

Her breath caught as Luis's lashes fluttered. In that moment, he looked so much like the teenage boy that had lain in a hospital bed all those years ago. Luis had adored her then. Mainly because, though she'd been all of eight, she'd been the one who'd gone to warn the neighbors that her cousin was not quite right that first time this had happened. Heck, even her aunt had let up on her for a while after. His lashes fluttered again, this time lifting all the way.

"Prima?"

"I'm here, Luis." She tipped her head to Tom, guilt and relief mixed into her smile. "Mr. Wild just saved your life."

Luis returned Tom's nod with a groggy one of his own. He was definitely coming around now. Luis opened his mouth, but his hoarse thanks were cut off as Pepe barreled into the room.

"¡El helicóptero aterriza!"

Correction—the helicopter had landed. She could hear the paramedics rolling the emergency stretcher across the inner courtyard. Juanita shrieked out a course correction, diverting the men from the staircase and into the study. From the vile curse that followed, someone had clipped himself on the stone mermaid and her gurgling fish. Whoever it was righted himself. A moment later, the stretcher shot through the door, a beefy EMS tech at either end. Her cousin's maid behind them. In under a minute, Luis was hefted and strapped aboard. Naturally, Luis protested the entire time. This wasn't necessary. He was fine now. He didn't need to see the doctor!

Anna finally stepped up and grabbed his hand. "Luis, please. I'm worried about you."

He held her stare for a moment, then sighed. "Very well. For you. Let's go!"

Pepe leaned down to murmur something in her cousin's ear.

Luis shrugged. "It seems they can take only me."

She nearly fainted as he had the gall to wink at her rumpled dress in front of everyone.

"It looks as if you could use a shower and nap anyway. Stay, prima. You too, Señor Wild. I'll call you both when I am settled."

Tom's hand settled on her shoulder as her cousin and his impromptu entourage left the room. "He'll be fine now."

"I know." She'd been through this scene enough times growing up to know Luis was right. He probably didn't need to see the doctor. Once the hospital verified that his blood sugar level was stable, he'd be on his way back to the hacienda. Until then, "Tom, a bunch of papers flew out of the safe when I grabbed the injector. Take a look. I'll stay here and watch the door." She caught Tom's admiration and flushed. She didn't deserve it. Not after what she'd just seen him do. And especially not after last night. "Go."

He spun around and crossed the room.

She turned to the door, watching the courtyard as she listened to him rifling through the papers.

"See anything?"

"Not really. His will, international incorporation papers for Ortiz Imports, a few things that really don't seem to belong—" she caught another rustle. "—especially this."

"What?"

"You speak Chinese, don't you?"

She turned her back on the door. "Mandarin."

"What do you make of this?"

She crossed the room, taking what appeared to be a bill of lading from Tom's hand as he double-checked the remaining documents before tucking them into the safe beneath her cousin's insulin supply. "It's from a mainland medical supply company. It looks like Luis is buying his insulin from China now." In other words, useless.

Tom matched her curse as he retrieved the form and shoved it into the safe before relocking it. He spun the dial for good measure. "Great. The Carnaval coronation's tomorrow and we're back to square one."

"You really think that's the key, don't you?"

"Yeah. I don't have proof, though. Just my gut." He crossed the carpet, raking his hands through his hair as he sank into one of the leather chairs flanking her cousin's desk. The left chair. She stared at the black leather still visible around Tom's navy-blue suit. She knew the stains were gone. She knew it. He never would have sat there if they weren't. So why could she still see the blood?

"I swear, it's as if your cousin—"

She was dimly aware of him breaking off as the roar inside her head grew so loud her ears hurt. The ache in her breast increased as Tom stood, throbbing out scenes from the nightmare engraved on her brain with each step he took, marking the remaining seconds of Manny's life as Tom reached her. She watched Tom's hand extend. She still couldn't keep from flinching as he tipped her chin.

"Anna?"

She blinked and the memory, the nightmare, evaporated.

"That's where it happened, isn't it? In that chair."

"Yeah."

"You want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "But you need to know, don't you?"

He nodded. "It might help."

"It will." She knew he didn't understand. That was okay. He would soon enough. She sucked in her breath, determined to get it over with. "But not here. Upstairs, in my bedroom. There's something I need to show you. Something that requires…privacy." He captured her gaze. From the heat that entered, she knew what he was thinking. Remembering. What he didn't know was that he was about to see it again and more.

But when he did, she doubted the heat would last.

Chapter 11

She was taking the longest shower of his life.

Tom paced across the carpet of Anna's room, desperately trying not think about what was happening on the opposite side of that connecting bathroom door. He never should have suggested Anna bathe first. He wouldn't have, if she hadn't still looked so pale and wiped out after last night, not to mention this morning's emergency CPR session with her cousin down in the study. Tom had seen the guilt warring in her face. That Luis was a bastard and a murderer couldn't erase the fact that Luis was also the last living member of her family who even pretended to care about her. He sure hoped the steam wisping up from beneath the connecting door had helped her frayed nerves because frankly, the steady streaming noise that went with it was driving him insane.

Wild Man, his ass. Rick and Juju were right.

He was a sorry excuse for the name.

Why else had he been standing in the bedroom of the most beautiful woman he'd ever known and hadn't stopped once to fantasize about what might be happening inside that marble stall? He was too busy obsessing over what could be happening outside it. Had she finished already and left the spray on as cover? Did she have a stash in there? It was more than possible. Once his mother realized he was on to her, she'd learned to hide them everywhere. And Gayle? Her drug of choice might have been harder to hide, but it was also easier to get. He supposed it balanced out in the end.

Just as they both had.

He shoved the memories and the regrets aside and paced back to the French doors that led out to a second-story balcony. When he stopped just shy of the doors to strain his ears against the spray of water for the thousandth time, he knew it was time to do anything but just stand inside this room and wait to be fitted for a straitjacket. He popped the latch on the doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The wall of humidity, even at this hour, nearly knocked him back in.

He shrugged off his coat and loosened his tie as he stalked over to the whitewashed adobe balustrade. He tossed his coat over the top, automatically scanning the sandy horizon and then the narrow stretch of lawn beneath. He had an audience. Anna's gorilla. From the scowl on Pepe's face, the man was not happy about finding him on his mistress's private balcony.

Off her even more private, locked bedroom suite.

That episode with Luis down in the study might have earned him the ape's grudging forgiveness for rupturing his eardrums, but it wouldn't for this.

Tom nodded to Pepe, Pepe nodded back, both of them knowing full well that wouldn't be the end of it. He deliberately turned his back on the goon to stare out over the Pacific. Not a bad spot for a house, even if it did swelter in and around the nineties almost year-round in these parts. He wondered if Anna would have a problem giving it all up when the mission was over. Even two military paychecks combined would never rate this—Tom stiffened, and it wasn't the brief glimpse he'd caught of Pepe finally strolling back around to the front of the house that caused it.

It was his errant brain.

He had no business thinking about a future with Anna. Even if she was interested in a future that included him, it couldn't be. He wouldn't be able to handle it.

If nothing else, last night had cemented it.

He'd been plotting to burn past that shield of hers since the moment they'd met but, God help him, he hadn't wanted it to happen like that. In the past twelve hours, he'd learned more than he'd ever thought he could about the real Anna Shale and even more about himself. Every single lesson terrified him. He could have left her with Juju. His buddy would have taken care of her. Excellent care. By the time Juju arrived, Anna had finished imparting her secrets. From then on, it had been your standard overdose, every goddamned second of which had sliced into him, just like all the times before. He'd tried to leave. But he couldn't. Not last night. Not her.

So what did he do now? Stick around and wait for another round? And another? Until the final one? Would he learn his lesson then? He'd battled the enemy often enough to have learned that when it came right down to him or the high, he always came in last. Always.

What the devil was taking her so long?

He closed his eyes as he caught the sound of the commode flushing from within. Soon. One way or another, he'd know soon. Until the next time. He forced himself to wait for her and the truth to come to him, holding tight to his hope and his prayers as he heard the doors open behind him.

"Tom?"

He turned around—and searched.

She flushed.

So did he. He hadn't meant to be so bloody obvious. "I'm sorry. I don't—"

"Yes. You do."

His temperature shot up another twenty degrees. He'd give anything to be able to attribute the surge of heat to the sight of this woman dressed in a floor-length ivory silk robe, but he couldn't. It was the bizarre awkwardness of it all. For the first time in a long time, it really, truly mattered. He had to know. But she was standing in the shade, just far enough away that he couldn't get a clear view.

Or was he just afraid to?

She pulled the edges of her robe snug and tightened the matching silk belt. "Look. It's okay. I took something from you last night, I know that. Something that was precious. But what I didn't realize until just now is that I took it from me, too. Juju…he told me about your mom."

Great. He stepped back until he was leaning against the balustrade. "Yeah, well, my past doesn't give me the right—"

"No, it doesn't. But I do. Let's get one thing clear right now. You do have the right to ask me if I'm high. I'm giving it to you. You also have the right to look for yourself whenever and wherever you want. You even have the right to doubt me—and, yeah, you have the right to search my belongings too. But what I don't have the right to do is get upset. Not with you." She stepped forward, into the light, and kept coming. God help him, he looked.

He searched.

Relief seared in as he made out each and every one of the mesmerizing gold flecks in her dark, sultry but very clear brown eyes. She was clean. For now.

Uncomfortable with just how much he needed her to stay that way, he turned toward the ocean. "I'm sorry."

She joined him at the balustrade. "Don't be. I already told you, you didn't do this to me. Hell, it's not even Foster's fault. I did it all on my own. You hit the nail on the head last night. You're just the man who's making me live with the consequences. And that's okay. It's even good. Because I swear to you I don't want to live with the pills."

He wanted to believe her. He really did. But—

He stiffened. "Foster? What does he have to do with the pills? All you said last night was you were working for the man as an NCIS plant and that Foster compromised the border team to provide your cover."

She leaned up against the balustrade. "Maybe I should start at the beginning, now that I know what I'm saying?"

"Good idea."

She sighed. "It started three months ago when Foster brought me down to the NCIS offices in San Diego. He showed me several photos of Luis's handiwork and asked me to climb aboard. I did. I just didn't know how dirty the ride would get."

"The border team?"

She nodded. "No one was supposed to die. Not really. The scenario was supposed to be fictional. I was transferred to the embassy here to help on several issues with the Chinese port container holdings at Balboa. A week later, I walk into my office and the whole blessed place was being ripped apart. Next thing I know, I'm sitting down with a CIA investigator trying to explain why drug interdiction memos were found on my computer's hard drive. I had no answer. They had no real proof because the time stamps showed that the memos were downloaded before I got to Panama."

"Foster."

"Yup. He shows up at my door that night and tells me to keep my mouth shut, I'm doing great. If I do my job for him right, when all is said and done the computer file fiasco will go away and I'll be a hero. Some hero. Next thing I know, I'm asked to resign my commission. Seems they still couldn't prove anything, but no one trusted me anymore, either." Her lips twisted bitterly. "Suspicion and trust are kind of a big deal in the Intel field."

That they were. "What about Manny?"

The twist faded. Her gaze turned pensive. "He was already working for Luis by the time I arrived. I'm really not sure of the details, Luis still won't discuss him. I know Manny worked out of one of the warehouses. About a week before Manny died, he replaced another guy as Luis's driver and Man Friday, of sorts. Luis introduced Manny to me a few days before he—" she swallowed softly "—was killed. I had strange vibes and unfortunately, Luis picked up on them. It was almost as if Luis was looking for a reason to kill Manny. And I…I gave it to him." She turned to the ocean and blinked several times. She didn't seem to want him to acknowledge the glistening sheen, so he waited. She finally gave up and turned back, her eyes openly tearing now.

His heart clenched. "Anna? Are you—"

"I'm fine. It just hurts. The memory and…something else. Something other than the body aches from coming down. I took a couple of Tylenol before I showered, but they haven't kicked in yet." She shook her head. "Don't worry, you'll understand in a minute."

He hoped so, 'cause he was lost now.

"Anyway, Foster wanted me to plant a bug."

Tom stiffened. "He what?" Foster had asked an inexperienced operator to plant a listening device on Loony Louie, himself? A man known around town for maintaining his own private staff of bug sweepers? Rumor had it Luis was so paranoid he wouldn't even rig his own offices or house for his personal recording just in case the frequency could be compromised. It was one of the main reasons Tom hadn't bothered leaving for this debrief. The place was clean.

Her lips twisted again. "As usual, you've done your homework."

"Didn't Foster?"

She shrugged. "Ask him."

"I intend to." He had a few other things he'd be taking up with the man as well. "What happened?"

"Foster pushed. I finally told him about the pen. Vice President Gutierrez gave it to Luis a year ago. He always carries it. I told Foster and he got hold of another one, doctored it and gave it to me. I nearly had a heart attack, but I got them switched. Foster was happy for two whole days. And then, I walked into Luis's study and Manny was sitting in that chair playing with it—searching it. When he opened it, the damned bug fell out. And that's when Luis walked in."

Son of a—

"I'm so sorry." The tears welled up in her eyes again, and this time blinking didn't help. One by one they trickled down as she relieved the horror, each carving a path through him.

He couldn't help it. Unable to stay his hands or his heart any longer, he pushed the damp strands of hair from her face, his fingers shaking as he smoothed the tears from her cheeks. "Oh, honey, it's not your fault."

But that just caused a fresh bout to slip free.

"You don't understand. Just before Luis walked in, Manny knew. He recognized the quality of the device. He knew it was a U.S. government bug. He made me."

"And you made him."

He watched the guilt lock in as she sucked her breath. "Don't you get it? He could have ratted me out. If he had—"

"—he'd probably still be dead. And so would you." He dropped his hands to her shoulders and dried the tears that had made it down to her jaw, then tipped her face to force her to meet his gaze, to listen. To believe. "Anna, Manny made a decision. It was his to make. His risk to take. His job. It's not your fault. It's Luis's." And Foster's but, again, he'd be taking that up with the NCIS bastard himself.

He tried to wait for the truth to sink in. But when those gut-wrenching tears still wouldn't cease, he buckled beneath the need clawing at him. He pulled her to his chest and held on tight as the shudders overtook her, smoothing his hands through her damp hair again and again until they finally ceased. "It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay. I'm here now. You're not alone in this anymore. But you did good. I swear. You're just up against some pretty nasty players and, hell, you're related to one of them." It was enough to do anyone in. Frankly, he was surprised she'd returned for another round.

"What made you come back?"

Her eyes were red and puffy. "Foster. He followed me. Threatened me."

"The pills in college."

Shame slipped into the sultry shadows of her eyes, dulling the gold, deadening the spark as she nodded. Oh, yeah, he so needed to have a chat with this guy. But first, there was something else he needed to know. And it wasn't about her first go-round with the stuff.

He cleared his throat.

Amazing.

He'd all but bellowed the question at her twice now, once in that alcove outside the Iguana and again last night. But now, when he truly wanted to know, when he needed to, he couldn't even get the words past. He cleared his throat a second time and tried once more. "Anna, were you serious?"

She blinked.

"About…rights?"

The shadows in her eyes darkened, lengthened. "You want to know about the pills I took last night."

His gut clenched. Hell, his heart constricted. He didn't care. He wasn't sure if she remembered his tirade in that concrete hovel last night, but he'd meant every word. She had so much going for her. Brains, beauty, friends, that smart-aleck mouth. Why was she willing to throw it all away? The stress? She should have walked instead. He wished she had. No, he wouldn't have met her then—and, yeah, he wouldn't have fallen for her. But she'd be whole. Alive. Vibrant.

Clean.

"Why?" It was all he could get out.

It must not have been enough because she stepped out of his arms and turned so that her back was pressing into the balustrade. "Could you come around and face me? I know there's no one down there, but it's still a bit…embarrassing. Well, without the pills, at any rate."

What was she talking about? He moved anyway.

A moment later, the fingers working the tie on her robe registered. Surely she didn't intend to—

Before he could swallow his shock, she'd released the belt and then the entire upper right side of her robe. It slipped off her shoulder slowly, revealing the most amazing curve of smooth, dusky flesh. His breath caught as her duskier nipple came into view, riveting him. His groin caught. Locked. Hardened. He couldn't have stopped her if he'd wanted to. And he didn't. And then he did. If only to make the horrific sight that followed go away. To erase it. To turn back the clock and kill whoever or whatever had made this happen. He was dimly aware of her not-quite-so-careless shrug.

"Yeah, it's…pretty ugly, isn't it? Probably even turns your stomach. I should know. It turns mine."

She was right. It was ugly. An ugly, vicious violation of her flesh. And it did turn his stomach, but not the way she'd thought it would. And it sure as hell didn't turn him away. He stepped closer, reached out, traced his fingertips up the angry, mottled scar. Smoothed them over the swollen hematoma surrounding it. The bruise was huge, at least five shades of black and three of deep, dark purple.

It was ugly.

It was also the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

Because the scar was recent. Four days recent. Sealed with Dermabond. It had been a rush job too. He knew, because it puckered in several places. They'd have to get that fixed. But for now, he stared, memorized, and blessed the uglier, even more recent bruising surrounding it. That bruise was no more than roughly fourteen hours old. Putting its creation right about the time she'd taken those two extra pills.

She wasn't using.

Oh, she might want to be. She probably did want to be. But she wasn't taking those pills deliberately, just for that goddamned seductive high, and that made a world of difference. To him. She must have had the surgery while she was visiting her sorority sister.

Surgery?

Ice-cold fear slid down into his gut. Terror ripped right back up. A woman's breast, cut open. A woman who'd been hospitalized for her reproductive system in college—

"No, it's not cancer or another cyst. Or anything like that. The surgery was elective."

Elective? Who the hell would elect to get butchered?

But he knew. And it wasn't her. "I'm gonna kill him."

"No, you're not."

Oh, yes, he was. At the very least he was going to beat the ever-loving tar out of the bastard. "He sliced you open so he could bug you."

"I agreed."

"I don't care."

She jerked her robe up and knotted the sash. Before she could stalk into the room, he shot out his hand, clamped it about her wrist and tugged her back. He shoved his rage down low and deep, hoarding it, nursing it for another time and another person. She didn't need to know. She was strung too tight as it was. She'd been under far too deep and for far too long and the bastard hadn't even bothered to train her. Evidently, he hadn't concealed his fury enough because she remained stiff. The frost he'd come to know so well returned to her voice as she stabbed her subzero stare into the hand still trapping her wrist. "Can I get dressed now, Major?"

In a minute. "Is he listening right now?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Sam was furious when she found out what I'd agreed to do. She made Foster give me a remote control. It's in my purse. He had it disguised to look like an electronic car key for the Blazer Luis gave me."

Score one for Sam.

He was still going to hurt Foster. Slowly. "You're sure it's off?"

"Oh, yeah. I turned if off six times before I left for Curundú. I need to get it back."

"I have it. I stopped by this morning on the way to the hotel. Your purse is in my room. But I don't want you to turn it on."

"Why not?"

"What did Foster tell you about me? I'm sure you asked him, given what happened with Manny."

She stared at him. The moment she blinked, he had his answer, and he knew he was right. "Actually, that did bother me. If he's NCIS and you're Delta, why hasn't he figured out who you are by now? God knows he's been able to drag up enough dirt on me." For a moment he had the distinct impression she was referring to more than just the drugs, but before he could be sure, much less draw her out, she swung her stare to the double door leading to the room. "Unless he's e-mailed me."

"The miniaturized PC in your desk?"

Instead of nodding, her eyes widened then darkened to smoke as the hurt slipped in. They both knew what he'd been looking for. And it didn't have a thing to do with their now-joint mission.

"I'm sorry. It's a…hard habit to break."

Her air ripped in. "You have no idea." She sighed. "And it's okay. Really." Before he could respond, she shook off the lingering pain and covered it with a tiny smile. "Anyway, as for the PC, there's an encrypted wireless link inside it. Sam designed it to be invisible to the average cousin."

He met her halfway and returned her smile. "Rough and ready Delta dudes, too. I think I like Sam."

"Do you want me to check it?"

"Why not?" Though he doubted it would contain anything from the man. If Foster hadn't been able to pay him by now, the man never would. "First, the rifle. It was for Foster, wasn't it?"

"Yes. He said he could trace it."

"He can. So can I. Did you get a look at the markings?"

She nodded. "There's a triangle stamped into the metal."

Excitement surged. "Did it have a star inside?"

She shook her head. "No, a number. At least, it looked like a number, the digits were angled, barely squeezed in."

He stiffened as the exhilaration mutated to shock. "Four hundred sixteen?"

"Yeah."

No way. It didn't make sense. All the intelligence pointed to—

"It's what you need, right? To prove Luis is working with the Chechens?"

"Yes—and no."

Confusion tugged her frown low.

"Four hundred sixteen is Chinese, Anna. They're the only country that uses triangles and numbers. It looks like your cousin's branching out." Damn. He shoved his hands through his hair then tugged at his tie, loosening it further. What he really wanted to do was yank it off altogether and wrap it around a certain thug's throat. If that CPR session in the study earlier didn't pay off, he might.

"What is it?"

He sighed. "A missed opportunity. In retrospect, a damned good one. Yesterday morning in the limo Luis was on the phone with someone about a damaged shipment of bronze statuaries from Asia. From the sounds of it, they're fairly large and heavy. More importantly, at least one split open causing some serious panic and concern in your cousin and whoever else was on the other end of that phone."

"I don't understand."

Neither did he. Worse, he had no idea where to start. Not anymore. He'd planned on having Anna contact Foster. Only he would be showing in her place. But if Foster didn't even know he was Delta, he had to wonder if the man would be able to add to this puzzle at all. Tom blew out his frustration. "Let's head inside." The cooler air might clear his head. Help him think. Tom tucked his hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the French doors.

Two steps later, she gasped.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." But she wasn't. She couldn't be. Not when she had to close her eyes to absorb the pain shafting across her face, through her.

"Anna?"

She opened her eyes. The stark shadow was still there. Her eyes were watering now, too.

"It's your breast, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I stepped on the hem of my robe, jerked it tight. I'm fine, now. Really."

No, she wasn't. Even he could tell the Tylenol she'd taken wasn't cutting it. She needed the real deal. The prescription pain pills he'd dumped down the toilet at the Iguana. "Do you need—" He couldn't help it, his jaw locked. He had to force the word past. "—more?"

"No."

He clenched his fists. The motion helped him loosen his jaw. "Are you sure?"

"No."

He appreciated the honesty, but it still cut deep. He ignored the ache. He doubted the pain in his heart came close to the throbbing in her battered breast. He could make a compress. But that would take time. She hurt now. A very real physical pain that would soon make the psychological need rage. He leaned down instinctively and captured her lips.

They were warm and sweet, full. Soft.

Her startled gasp was even softer.

He drank in each of the sensations, welcoming them until they converged to forge the opposite response in him. Within seconds, he was actively working to keep the kiss light and soothing. Distracting. It didn't help to have already gone as far as they had in that alcove outside the Iguana. His hands and his body knew full well the two of them were capable of generating much more heat than they were putting out at the moment and they were clamoring for it. It damned sure didn't help to have that lacy, candlelit image branded in his heart. He gathered the edges of her robe in his fists and clamped down on the silk, holding fast to restraint as he slid his lips across hers again—caressing, gently nipping, tasting.

Wanting. Craving.

Back off, buddy. Now. While he still could.

Somehow, he did. He feathered his lips up her cheeks and kissed her lightly fanned lashes.

She sighed.

"Better?"

"Hmm." Her eyes opened and he savored the sight. Her pupils were wide, lazy. Aroused. And not from those pills. From him. He captured the drying wisps of her hair that floated between them and tucked them behind her ear.

"You should probably head in first, get dressed."

She nodded.

But neither one of them moved. They both knew why. The only question was, what were they going to do about it?

Chapter 12

As Anna stood on the balcony staring up into those mesmerizing, dark blue eyes, she was sure of exactly two things in her life. One, she had no idea what to do. And two, neither did Tom. Oh, she knew he wanted her. It was in his eyes, just as it had been in his kiss. And she wanted him, too. She just wasn't sure if they should act on it. Tom had been right that night at the Iguana. They were attracted to each other. Intensely. But they both also knew they'd gone far beyond mere physical attraction. If they walked back into that room together, hand in hand, and did what they both wanted to do, there would be more on the line than their mutual covers.

This time, there would be hearts. Hers. His.

Theirs.

She'd seen the look in Tom's eyes when she'd first walked out on this balcony. She'd seen the fear and the hope sear into relief. But she'd also seen the absolute, blinding need that followed.

What if she couldn't live up to that?

It wasn't that she didn't want to. She fully intended to. She'd done it before. But while she was confident she could do it again, she wasn't naive enough not to accept the very real possibility that it might not happen. She couldn't afford to. For better or worse, there was also a lot more riding on her ability to stay clean this time than just her career. There were her feelings for Tom. No, they hadn't known each other long. It didn't matter. She was falling for this man.

She couldn't be sure of the exact moment it had happened. It could have been when she'd woken to discover Tom hadn't left her side during the night. Or it could have been the look in his eyes in the driveway of the hacienda when she'd finally remembered what she'd tried to do in Curundú. And how he'd refused to take advantage of her. It might have even happened as late as an hour ago down in that study while she watched Tom use those amazing hands and that iron will of his to bring Luis and their case back from near death. Or maybe it had been happening all along, gradually, over the past week, as she'd watched this man, who'd succeeded in convincing the world time and again that he was nothing but a thug, slowly lose his own cover, bit by carefully constructed bit…if only to her.

But would he be able to expose himself all the way?

And would she?

The moment Tom decided to risk it all, himself, she knew—because the light in his eyes flared bright. His smile followed. And right then, she knew she was ready too.

"Anna, let's go inside…together."

She nodded and this time, they both moved.

He slipped his arm around her waist once again and splayed his fingers at the small of her back as he guided her across the balcony. That simple touch as well as the simpler courtesy that followed as he stopped to open the door for her and then wait patiently for her to enter, warmed her more than all the flowers in the world could have. She wasn't even sure why. The room was cooler as they reentered, dimmer, but the air was heavier. Ripe, humid. Expectant.

The moment he closed the door, it turned electric.

The charge magnified as he left her at the soft-blue armchair and overstuffed ottoman beside the doors. She waited as he crossed the room. Even before he stopped at the antique desk she hated and opened the drawer, she knew what he was after. If he'd found the PC Sam had rigged for her in there, he'd also found the box of condoms Luis had thoughtfully left on her bed the morning after she'd returned. She couldn't help it, she flushed as Tom returned to stand three feet away from her, condom packet in hand. Now that it was truly about to happen, she discovered her bravado had fled. It meant too much. He meant too much. Tom simply tossed the packet onto the ottoman beside her and began to loosen his tie, the smoke in his gaze assuring her he didn't care how or why that box had gotten there. He was just glad it had.

As the silence began to simmer between them, so did she. Because it was rapidly becoming apparent that Tom was also thinking about the scene she'd staged in Curundú the night before and had decided to revisit it…with a twist. This time, he was stripping for her. Slowly. In the full light of day. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to.

His smoldering gaze said it all.

It thrummed with desire, and with promise. She sucked in her breath as he silently ordered her not to move, only to stand there and watch as he carefully unbuttoned both his sleeves before loosening the knot on his tie the rest of the way. Her breath hitched as he slid the strip of cloth from his collar and he smiled—because he knew she'd felt that soft slither of silk all the way down in her belly. He dropped his tie without severing his stare and started in on the rest of the buttons on his linen shirt. By the time he'd reached the final one, she was silently begging him to allow her to drag her gaze from his just long enough to feast it on the growing expanse of muscle teasing at the corner of her vision.

He refused. Nor did he cave in to her unspoken plea and peel his shirt completely down from what she knew from that night in his hotel room were wonderfully sculpted shoulders and thick, roping arms. Instead, he dropped his hands to his waist and unhooked his belt. Her breath caught once again as she heard the metal hook give way and then his zipper. By the time he finished drawing the zipper down, her legs had begun to quiver. She didn't bother trying to disguise her anticipation as he tugged the leather strip from his waist.

Damn. To her utter disappointment, the waist of his trousers held firm, no doubt assisted by the even firmer portion of his anatomy that she could now see clearly defined beneath the dark blue fabric.

She sucked in her breath as he brought his hands to his collar. But instead of pulling the fabric down, he lingered, dragging out the moment. The anticipation. Right then, she realized why he was doing this. Yes, he was fulfilling his first promise to her. He was lighting her fuse and setting her on fire—and he wasn't even touching her. But that, too, was deliberate. Unlike those fiery moments outside the Iguana, this was to be a slow burn and she knew why. He wanted them both so hot and so ready that by the time they joined, they'd both be all but rocketing over the edge, straight into the inferno.

Because of her breast.

If she hadn't already fallen for him, she would have done it right then and there.

But he didn't even leave her time to savor the knowledge. He'd already kicked off his dress shoes and begun to peel his shirt down in earnest. She drank in the sight of those powerful shoulders as they finally came into view. And then those gloriously sculpted planes of his chest.

She couldn't help it, she stepped closer.

He shook his head and his brow lifted. Stand fast, sailor. The order had been issued as silently as his previous ones, and it was just as clear. They might have merged their respective cases, but they hadn't merged. Not yet. And until they did, he was in command. There would be no insubordination within the ranks. She opened her mouth in protest, and his hand shot up. The tip of his finger pressed into her lips. This time she dutifully complied. But that didn't stop her from nipping the tip of his finger with her teeth. Or from savoring the sharp groan that filled the air between them as he closed his eyes and worked to absorb the unexpected sensation. Warning flared as he reopened them. That was the first and only insurrection he'd allow.

She smiled.

He got even as he tucked his thumbs in at the sides of his waistband and deliberately leaned forward, just enough to obscure the better part of the show as he slowly peeled his pants down his muscular legs, shucking them, underwear and all. She ground down on her frustration as he loitered there in that damned obscuring stance long enough to remove his right dress sock, then his left. Then and, only then, did he release her stare as he stood straight, tall and proud.

And very aroused.

La Madre dulce en el Cielo. Her breath abandoned her. Completely. All thought followed. All save one.

He was beautiful.

Quite simply, amazingly, forcefully beautiful. So perfectly formed, it hurt to look at him. Her palms began to tingle. Her body began to ache and it wasn't from the lack of any man-made chemical—it was from the pure, sweet rush of desire. She couldn't even feel the throb in her breast anymore. Within seconds, a primal, awe-inspiring need had invaded her body and taken each and every one of her senses hostage. She could hear Tom's slow, deep breaths as the air ripped through his lungs. She could smell the raw, subtle musk that covered every inch of his taut, golden flesh. She could taste the barely restrained hunger in the kiss he'd given her out on the balcony. She wanted that hunger again. Now.

And she wanted it unleashed.

But she also knew he wouldn't allow it. Not yet. He would never believe she could be ready to accept him inside her this soon. But she was. She had been ready for this moment and this man her entire life. She just hadn't realized it until right now. So she set out to convince him the only way she knew. She released the sash on her robe before he could stop her and let the silk slide swiftly down her body to puddle about her feet. She savored the needy groan that followed.

Because this one was his.

And this time, he stepped forward.

She didn't stop him. She waited, welcomed, and then she reached out to slide her trembling fingers up his chest and twine her arms about his neck as he wrapped those thick, roping arms about her waist to pull her close. She gasped as he sealed his groin to hers and then moaned as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth to claim the entire scorching recess as his. Just as it had inside the alcove beside the Iguana, her world exploded. She dove willingly into the fire that raged between them, encouraging him to stoke it with her every gasp, her every moan, her every touch.

And stoke it, he did.

Tom deepened their kiss even as he stroked his fingers over every inch of her flesh, caressing her back, her waist, her belly and her thighs. When he finished exploring with his hands, he followed with his lips, tearing his mouth from hers to nip and caress a path over the curve of her jaw and down her throat. He stopped to bite the hollow at the base and encourage her unexpected growl with a darker, deeper growl of his own before he continued on to her left breast.

There he stopped to lavish the brunt of his hungry, greedy attention on that single aching nipple and globe, leaving her no doubt in her heart and in her soul that he would make good on his unspoken vow to return someday soon and consume the other. Just when she was about to beg him to travel there now, he razed his mouth straight down her belly. Her legs buckled as he stopped to nip the inner curve of her waist. He responded immediately by gripping his palms to the cheeks of her hind end. She was grateful for the support. A moment later, she nearly collapsed altogether as his lips reached the apex of her thighs. His tongue had followed.

She had no idea how long he held her there, imprisoning her in his arms as he sought out the most intimate recesses of her body, probing, stoking, tasting. Consuming. All she knew was that soon she was begging for not his mouth, but for him. If he didn't join her now, it would be too late. Just when she was sure he wouldn't give in, that she was going to come right then and there, he shifted suddenly, rising to seat himself on the ottoman as he donned the condom. He tugged her close and pulled her down on top of him without missing a beat. A split second later, she was missing her air—and so was he. He'd impaled her.

She gasped sharply as she stiffened, instinctively drawing her face to the ceiling as she slammed her eyelids down to absorb the intense punch of passion. But before she could draw her next breath, he'd dug his fingers deep into her hair and hauled her head all the way back down until he'd sealed her damp forehead to his.

"Look at me."

She obeyed the stark need in his order without question, forcing her eyes open until she was staring directly into his. He captured her gaze as he had earlier and refused to let go. She knew then, that would be the only time he would speak. He would waste no more of his rigidly committed energy on words. He wanted to see, to feel, to touch and to watch. To share. He stared deeper into her eyes as he drove up into her sheath, each successive thrust of his hips more powerful than the last. She'd never had a man watch her so intently before, much less during an intimate moment like this. He wasn't just staring at her, he was stalking her, learning her, judging her growing passion, waiting for the precise moment when he could claim her completely.

But the concentrated exertion wasn't easy on him. She could feel him clawing at the very edges of his restraint. Soon he was desperate to hold on. It was in the dark, erotic hunger in his eyes. In the harsh, ragged breaths that battered into her. In the rigid arms locked about her hips in a vain attempt to keep her bruised breast from smashing into his slick, heaving chest. She tried to tell him it didn't matter, that she felt nothing but the driving, irresistible urge to throw back her head and scream, but she couldn't speak.

A split second later, she watched her fiery release in his eyes as she convulsed around him and then, she was watching his. It wasn't until he'd gathered her still-quivering body close in the aftermath to smooth her hair from her face and kiss her as gently as he had out on the balcony, that she realized she'd seen more in this man's eyes besides raging passion and an explosive release that had rocked them to their cores.

She'd also seen love.

* * *

Tom sighed as he held Anna in his arms, running his hands along her back as he savored the soft floral scent floating up from her hair. The throes of their release had long since passed for both of them, but her face was still buried in his neck. They should probably move. At the very least, he should separate himself from their intimate joining so he could dispose of the condom. Unfortunately, he couldn't encourage Anna to leave his arms any more than she seemed eager to go. Even if she couldn't quite look at him.

He'd scared her.

He figured it was only fitting. After all, she'd just scared the bejesus out of him. Still, he shouldn't have come on so strong. Demanded so much. She'd been off the pills for less than fourteen hours. That ought to have earned her a brief respite. But once he'd committed to trying and she'd agreed, he'd had to give it his all. And he expected no less from her.

She'd given it. But she wasn't ready.

And now that their passion was spent, he had to admit, the doubts were settling into his gut as well.

Gayle.

Anna hadn't asked about her. He wasn't sure why. If Juju told her about his mother, his friend had to have also mentioned his former lover. If he wasn't such a coward, he'd have brought Gayle up himself. But five years later, he still wasn't willing to face his part in what had happened. Hell, he hadn't even been able to sleep in the same bed with Gayle again, much less make love to her, after he'd come back from an operation and discovered how she really spent her days when he was gone. Binge drinking. His stomach still burned at the memory of all those empty bottles. Gin, beer, Scotch—as far as he could tell from the mess, she hadn't had a preference like his mother. Just so long as it contained enough alcohol to numb her brain and loosen her tongue. And he still wondered if she'd left the evidence strung about on purpose.

Given her parting shot, probably.

Maybe that was his fault too.

Well, this time it was going to be different. Dammit, it was. Not only hadn't Anna reentered that deadly hamster's wheel willingly, she had already managed to crawl off. She'd quit. Despite the pain in her breast, she was clean today. And she'd succeeded in staying clean before. Most important of all, she understood his fears. Instead of ridiculing them, she'd accepted them. Hell, she'd even given him permission to follow up on them. Neither his mother nor Gayle had ever done that—

Enough! What the hell was he doing? The past was done. He had to put it behind him and move on. He had to be here for Anna. Their case. If he didn't get that solved soon and get her the hell out of this house, he could kiss any chance at them goodbye. He was about to lift her chin, when she stirred. His thoughts fogged as she met his gaze for the first time since he'd watched the last of her protective facade shatter in his arms, just before he'd shattered, too. Until he saw the fear still lingering in her eyes.

She was truly scared.

It amazed him that he could see it, see her, as clearly as he could. A week ago he'd seen nothing but black and white when he looked into these eyes, with just the barest hint of shadows. Now, he could see it all. The myriad of emotions that washed through her staggered him with their intensity, complexity and depth. He wanted to know every one of those emotions, every thought behind them. But she wasn't ready. Truth be told, he wasn't ready either. They both needed time to work this through.

He caught the concealing wisps of hair that had slipped forward and smoothed them from her face. "Hey, it's okay. I don't think this is meant to be easy. Not for us." She smiled softly, gratefully, and his heart swelled.

"So what do we do, Wild Man?"

He smiled back. "How about we just take it one step at a time?" When her expression turned pensive, he realized what he'd just said. Twelve steps for the recovering addict.

Dumb, buddy. Dumb.

Or maybe not. Because she didn't seem hurt. Not really. More…resigned. "You sure you want to walk them with me?"

"Damned straight, I do." He couldn't help it, she was so damned beautiful, so damned hopeful, he slid his fingers deep into her hair and pulled her down to meet his kiss, as well as his rapidly rekindling passion. She returned it for ten glorious seconds, but then she stiffened.

Pulled back.

Christ, her breast. "Are you—"

"—safe."

Safe?

The condom? Damn. "You're right. I'm still wearing the old one. I should change it." When she flushed, he realized she wasn't referring to sex or his body's now vigilantly renewed interest in hers. "You're referring to the safe? As in, the one downstairs in your cousin's study."

Her blush deepened as she nodded.

He couldn't help it, he laughed. "It's okay, honey. I'm not insulted. At least one of us has their mind on getting us out of this mess." He pulled her in and kissed her hard, then lifted her from his lap, severing their intimate connection before he could change his mind. The mind located in his brain. The other mind was still arguing as he settled her on the ottoman in his place and turned to grab her robe and drape it around those incredibly distracting curves. That done, he grabbed his pants and headed for the bathroom to dispose of the condom. By the time he'd donned his pants and returned, she'd moved to the chair in front of her desk.

"You think you've got something?"

She pushed her hair from her face as she sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. It's the bill of lading for Luis's insulin. I guess it's bugging me now that I know he's running arms for China."

He still didn't understand what she was getting at. If the guy had forged new connections in China, it wasn't a stretch that he'd turn his legit business there, too. Unless…"You think it could be forged? A cover to wash the munitions?"

"I don't know. Possibly. It didn't even hit me until you were kissing me just then, but the receiving date on that manifest was the day before yesterday. I didn't see any Chinese labels on the insulin in his safe. Did you?"

No, he hadn't. She just might be on to something. "The statues Luis freaked over came in the day before yesterday."

She nodded. "The manifest could be cover. Thanks to Foster I don't have a lot of connections left, but I still have a few. If I can get someone on the inside to track down the medical supply company that supposedly sold Luis the insulin, who knows? It just might lead us to the rifles."

A fresh batch of adrenaline surged through his veins. Like the last wave, it was due to her—but also their case.

Anna was right. She was also brilliant. The Chinese government was notorious for using civilian companies to cover military interests and shipments. Case in point, the two Hong Kong shipping container ports flanking both ends of the blessed Canal. He pulled the desk drawer open and retrieved the miniature PC.

"Do it."

Hell, maybe while she was at it, she'd have a message waiting for her from that NCIS moron as well. Though he doubted it. He had a feeling he was going to have to show up at Foster's door and pull any real knowledge the man possessed regarding this case out of the bastard's head personally. He headed for the ottoman and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on as he headed back to the desk and Anna. By the time he'd finished buttoning his sleeves, the PC was open, comm link already fired up—and it appeared to be connected to an instant messaging application, though the IM window appeared to be idle. She frowned at the screen. "There's nothing from Foster. Just another lecture from Sam."

He smoothed her hair out of the way as he leaned over her shoulder. "Mind?" She shook her head as she tapped open an e-mail from Sam titled, Where the @#$! are you? Yup, he definitely liked this Sam. He grinned and began reading. Five short, terse sentences later shock smacked the smile right off his face. Anna stiffened along with him, the fallout still exploding within him all over her face as she turned.

"Oh, my God."

He stabbed the LED screen. "Who's this Meg? Another Sister?"

Anna nodded. "She's Marine Corps."

"Can you trust her source—this Bud?"

"If not, we're in big trouble. That's why I didn't want Sam to contact Meg. I knew she'd get Bud involved. Bud is Meg's father. You'll know him as General Robert 'Budweiser' Gallagher, the current Commandant of the Marine Corps."

They turned back to the screen simultaneously, automatically double-checking the succinct note. The words hadn't faded. Neither had the punch behind them.

Anna,

Please don't get mad. Leaving for Moscow now. Was worried. Called Meg. Bud says there's no Agent Foster in NCIS. Foster got out six years back. He's with the Company now. Watch your back and call Meg if you need help or strength! With you always,

Sam

According to the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Mike Foster had left the Navy's cop shop for the esteemed Central Intelligence Agency. Tom hadn't needed to interface with "Bud" on a private op or two over the past few years to know General Gallagher's information was never wrong. Anna, however, was. At least this time. They weren't in trouble. Foster was. Because Bud had also thoughtfully provided Mike Foster's current cover identity as well as the bastard's address.

Right here in Panama City.

Chapter 13

Tom stalked into the main entrance of the granite-and-glass, thirty-story high-rise with his brand-new, battered, duct-taped guitar case in hand. He hung a left in the music hall of a foyer, directly in front of the rainbow mosaic that proclaimed the free exchange of information as mankind's common liberator, and kept moving down the freshly waxed corridor. Not a single soul he passed, Panamanian or expatriate-American-cum-spy, stopped him.

Must have been the look on his face.

That or the video feed from the half-dozen security cameras lining the block leading up to the building had already been piped through to Foster's office. Scratch that, the office of Marvin Shefton, editor in chief of The Voice of Panama, Panama City's only source of English-speaking news. Or so the rag's masthead claimed. Tom shoved the double glass doors at the end of the corridor open and entered the newspaper's formal waiting area. He stopped at the front desk and stared down at the emaciated blonde doing her best to pull off the regal chill that came to Anna naturally.

"I need to see Marvin."

"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Shefton is in a meeting—"

"Fine." Tom hiked the battered case to his shoulder and hung another left, this one taking him straight into the conference room beyond. Six reporters vaulted to their feet as he slammed through this door.

"Hey, you can't—"

"Just who the hell do you—"

He cut them both off. "Which one of you bozos is—" He cut himself off next as the suit at the end turned around, cellular phone still welded to his right ear. On a foggy day at sea "Marvin" could have been Tom's double. Well, minus a clean shave, roughly two inches of extra height, dark brown hair buzzed Marine-Corps short, and a killer set of birth-control glasses hooked to his late-thirties, twice-broken nose. At least they were wearing matching navy-blue suits. Marvin also had the dubious honor of matching Anna's description of the former NCIS Agent Foster to a tee.

Tom grinned, cheerily bridging his five-second vocal delay as well as the attention of the half-dozen "reporters" still gaping up at him. "Marvin! Good to see you, old buddy." He hooked the chair at the far end of the conference table with his right dress shoe and dragged it closer. He sat. "Got a breaking story for you, Marvin. Fascinating stuff. Real headliner material. You interested?"

The man's silver stare narrowed as he severed his call and dumped the cell phone on the conference table. "Sure thing…Tom."

So the jerk had known who he was all along despite what he'd told Anna. "Outstanding. You got somewhere you'd rather talk? Someplace a bit more private?" He shrugged. "Not that it matters to me who hears my tale—"

"Leave."

The room cleared in five seconds, and that included the light-speed whizzing as the miniblinds screamed down over the bank of windows behind him, effectively blocking the room from view. That just left the hidden cameras and bugs, the latter of which this jerk had already proved himself inept at planting. Twice. Unfortunately for Foster, the memory of the sight of that second fiasco still burned—in him.

"Now…Tom, about this breaking story? It concerns…?"

He gave his grin deadly rein. "Your head."

"And why would you be interested in my head, Major Wild?"

Tom shrugged. "Hell, I don't know. I guess I'm not much one for music. Truth is, I kind of stink at it. Figured I might take up basketball, instead. But I need a ball."

The man's brows shot up, clearing his black-rimmed glasses completely as he frowned. "And here I thought you said you had hardcore news for me. Headliner stuff. Not a tidbit for the sport's page."

"Oh, I got that too, ol' buddy. In fact, I got the whole blessed who, what, when, where, why and how."

"Really?"

"Yup." Tom stood. He planted his fists at the edge of the conference table, just shy of the battered case he'd purchased in a pawnshop five blocks down from the Iguana half an hour earlier. Two hours after Anna had finished dressing and then followed him in his jeep off the hacienda grounds in her Blazer. A quick stop to exchange the hidden goods, and she was on her way to the hospital for her obligatory Florence Nightingale act and he was off to check in with SOCOM and let the uniformed powers that be know that the rules, the assignment of pieces and, hell, even the bloody game board had changed on all of them. If he was lucky, Anna would be back from the hospital and in his hotel room when he finished here.

"I'm waiting, Major. And I'm a busy man."

"I'll bet you are, Marvin. I'll bet you are."

"Shall we get started then? I believe you said you had all five W's as well as the H. I confess I'm intrigued to see if your interpretation of the facts matches up with my own. I'll go first. The who must be Anna Shale."

"Wrong. You are."

From the tic that lit up at the lower left side of the man's jaw, he'd scored a surprise. Good. There'd be more.

"And the what?"

Tom straightened, purging all pretense of humor as he got down to why he was really here. "Well, now, that's kind of tied to the when, where, why and how."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that from now on, Marvin, here's how it's going to go down. What you won't be doing is contacting Anna Shale again. When? Never. Where?" He tamped out another thin grin, this one almost genuine. "In light of the former, I don't think we need to cover that point, do you?"

The man's cell phone shrilled.

Marvin ignored it. "And the why?"

"Ah, now there's a damned good question. My favorite one, as a matter of fact. It's sort of the reason I got into this line of work. And I've got part of the answer right here." Tom slapped his palms onto the top of the battered case and heaved it forward, shooting the duct-taped leather down the polished surface of the conference table. The guitar case slammed smack into Marvin's thighs. "Take a peek."

"I know what's inside."

"I'll bet you do. I'll also bet you already know the stain some goon dribbled on the packing material reeks of Chinese fish head soup instead of Russian borscht."

This time, Marvin grinned.

Tom wasn't surprised. Not anymore. And, despite those mind-blowing moments he'd spent in Anna's arms this morning, he was far from being satisfied. "Like I said, that's only part of the why. But as far as SOCOM is concerned, it's the only part you're now privy to. Once your Company boys are done taking a look-see at the evidence, it's ours."

"Along with the lovely ex-Lieutenant Shale?"

"Nope. She's mine."

The bastard's grin turned taunting. "You forgot the how, Major. As in, how do you plan on enforcing the conditions you've just laid out?"

"Personally."

Marvin threw back his head at that and just laughed. Great big booming, nerve-grating guffaws.

It was the exchange gift Tom had been waiting for. He vaulted down the table in two seconds flat, knocking Foster, Marvin, or whoever the hell he really was on his knees, hacking the man's two-inch height advantage down to a two-foot handicap with a single blow. Tom followed up with a head-lock, gaining one of his deepest desires and the upper hand in the same lash. The birth-control glasses went flying as his prey bucked violently. He tightened his right arm—the one clamped about the bastard's neck—forcing Foster's body to still even as his filthy, lying trap ripped wide-open to gasp for air.

Tom lowered his head and sealed his mouth to the man's left ear. "One simple twist. That's all it would take and you know it. And you sure as hell know why I would willingly follow through."

The man jerked out a nod.

"Good. Now listen up, 'cause this concerns the why and the how. You and I both know why you really picked Anna and it wasn't because you thought she was the best one to get to Luis. You needed a patsy in case this whole freaking mess—whatever it is—blew up in your face. Well, I've got news for you, Marvin. It just did. As we stand here all cuddled up, my boss is already speaking to yours, and I am not talking about some pissant local station chief. He's on the horn with Langley. You will leave Anna Shale alone. If you do, I might not be back some night to give you a personal kiss—away from Company property and in some darkened Panamanian alley—to thank you for that goddamned roach you planted inside her. Not to mention, Marvin, that Manny Morales was a friend of mine. A real good friend. Have I expressed the depth of my dedication to your pending health clearly enough?"

"Yes."

"Great. Now, my boss has also authorized me to ask you a question. Given the fact that I was allowed to stroll in here with my gift unimpeded, I'm assuming the moron on the other end of that phone call of yours when I arrived was in the process of telling you to answer it. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"What is Luis Ortiz smuggling out of China?"

"Let go of me first."

He tightened his arm instead. "Wrong answer."

Foster hacked and gasped for air as he loosened it. "Jesus, Wild Man. Screw some alley, you're killing me now."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I know. It's a hell of a name to live up to. But I find my ways."

"Can I at least move my arm?"

Why not? He was in a charitable mood at the moment, thanks to the hungry promise in Anna's parting kiss. "Do it. But if you come up with anything that contains lead, I'll turn it around and feed it back to you—cold."

He saw the man's arm move, pull his suit coat away from his waist, but other than that—

"It's tucked in my pants. Grab it."

"Sorry, buddy, I joined the old Army. I don't subscribe to that 'Don't ask, don't tell', crap. And I'm sure as hell not reaching into some guy's pants, 'cept to cut it off. Then again, I do have a blade on me. You still want me to reach?"

Foster turned green. "No, I think I can get it after all." So much for the ploy to get him to loosen his grip.

A second later, the mystery item thumped onto the table. A split second after that, Tom's stomach punched into his gut. Fury fired the contents to a roiling boil. The longer he stared at the slim, pocket-size beeper, the hotter it got. The black casing looked innocuous enough. Hell, so was the circuitry inside it. But the material the personal, portable, Geiger counter was calibrated to sniff out, was not. It was deadly. In the worst way.

The bronze statuettes.

Only he'd wager they weren't bronze after all, but bronze-coated lead. No wonder Luis had freaked over a cracked casing. A radioactive leak was enough to ruin anyone's day. But that wasn't the most chilling discovery. "That son of a bitch wants me to build a dirty bomb." He could do it, too. Pretty much all he had to do was strap one of those statuettes to a conventional explosive and boom. Contrary to Hollywood's propaganda, the yield would be on the minor scale, especially with the right atmospheric conditions. But there would be mass hysteria. During Carnaval.

"I take it I've managed to surprise you this time?"

There was no use denying it. "Yup."

"So, do you have anything I can use, Major?"

No. But Anna might by the time they linked up in his room. Thanks to this bastard's help, not one of her former Asian Intel contacts would take her call. But one of her sorority sister's had. The same Sister who'd provided him with the means to take out his frustration on this asshole.

"I'll let you know." But first, he had one more question. And it better have an answer. "Why didn't you tell her?"

"Need-to-know."

The assessment was issued coldly. Callously. And it enraged him. Tom wrenched his arm in tight. "She was working for you in her cousin's house. She's been to that warehouse. I think she had a need to know she could be exposing herself to radioactive material!"

Foster didn't turn green this time—he turned blue. "You…want to…keep your…voice down?"

"Why? You afraid I blew the receiver inside your bug?"

Disgusted, Tom released his grip on the man's neck and shoved him into the edge of the table, hard.

Foster slammed into the table with his ribs, hacking and spewing out the bulk of his lung capacity as he struggled to his feet. The man loosened his tie as he worked to wheeze in enough air to replace what he'd lost until, finally, he managed a succession of deep breaths. He shook his head as he turned. "All this concern for a simple addict?" He clucked his tongue. "I have to admit, Tom, I'm stunned."

"You shouldn't be. You gave her the push."

"True, but I didn't the first time, did I? Or the second."

"The hell you—" The second? This was the second.

Wasn't it?

Don't! The guy was trying to get even. Salve his own bruised, warped pride. He had to get out of here. Before the bastard succeeded. "I'll call you if I need you, Marvin. Otherwise, stay the hell out of my case." He turned to the door. As Tom was the senior undercover agent, Luis Ortiz was now his mark and this thug in a Company-issued suit knew it.

"She didn't tell you, did she?"

Don't stop, buddy. And for God's sake, don't listen.

"She was fourteen."

Christ. He stopped. Turned.

Foster waited.

Tom stalked back to the table. Back to the viper. "You got something to say, say it."

"Valium."

The whispered blow struck hard. Deep. Just as the bastard knew it would. Somehow, he found his air.

"You're lying."

He shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Ask her. While you're at it, ask her why. She'll tell you. You two are close, right? Real close. If not, hang out on those streets a while. You know the ones, you've been there."

Curundú.

"Talk to her first john."

It wasn't the shock exploding in his brain that did it. It wasn't even the scream of denial ripping through his heart.

It was the smirk.

Mike Foster's smarmy, filthy sneer.

It stabbed in deep, slicing the frayed remains of his self-restraint clean through. Tom snapped, lashing out before he even realized he'd moved. A split second later, he'd clipped the bastard behind his skull and shoved Foster face forward and straight down, right into that polished mahogany table, fracturing the man's nose for the third time in his life. Then again, knowing how the guy operated, he might have underestimated a fracture or two. By the time Foster groaned, he'd pulled the man's head back for a second bash—and froze.

It wasn't worth it.

This thug wasn't worth it.

Tom spun on his heel and headed for the door, ignoring the stream of purple filth and promise of revenge that followed as he grabbed onto the knob.

"Major!"

He stopped, but he didn't turn.

"Three times now, Tom. You'll never be sure. Never."

There was nothing he could say. Not to Foster, or to himself. Only Anna could do that. So he did the only thing he could. He opened the door and left.

* * *

He found her in the bathroom of his hotel room, standing in front of the marble vanity, from what little he could see of her face in the mirror above, transfixed by the cluster of pills already in hand. In her pale, shaking hands. Tom forced himself not to shout, to scream, to vault forward, much less to jump to conclusions. Instead, he hooked his suit jacket over his shoulder and leaned into the whitewashed frame of the bathroom's half-open, beckoning door. And he prayed.

"Need any help?"

She jumped, sending the contents of his shaving kit spilling out across the gray marble. The box of disposable contact lenses skidded into the sink. He didn't care. He was too busy watching her gaze as it swung up to the gilded mirror to collide with his. He studied it openly, studied her, counting each thud of his heart as he waited for her to speak. Nothing. He finally stepped into the room, his gut bottoming out as she flinched like a recovering thief who'd been caught with her hand still inside the jewelry box.

Or worse.

She jerked that same hand up, the pills still clutched inside her fingers. "The Tylenol wasn't helping so I…checked your things. I hope you don't mind. I—uh—found your ibuprofen. I was about to try them."

Her hand opened.

Relief seared in as he stared at the twin brown caplets in her palm. Ibuprofen. There was a God after all. He reached past her arm, hoping to cover the quaking in his own hands as he tossed his jacket on the vanity to scoop up the box of contacts. He tucked the lenses inside his shaving kit and tossed the bag under the sink. He forced himself to ignore her second flinch as he reached out again, this time to retrieve the upturned glass beside the sink and fill it with water.

He held out the glass.

She took it. "Th-thank you."

He nodded. "I'll meet you in the bedroom."

He grabbed his jacket and left before she could argue. They both knew why. He'd seen it in her eyes. Once he'd gotten his own private terror under control, hers had been as plain as the deep gold flecks amid the stark, carefully masked brown. He dumped his jacket as well as his encrypted cell phone on the bed and loosened his collar and tie. She was standing behind him when he finished, looking far too much like the cool, distant stranger he'd met at the hacienda at the beginning of the week. Maybe it was the fact that she was dressed in a similar off-white linen sheath. Maybe it was her carefully maintained stance, as if she didn't trust herself to take another step, lest her legs buckle. He didn't know. All he knew was he couldn't take it anymore. Or the silence. He was about to break it when she spoke.

"Foster told you."

He shook his head. "He tried. I wouldn't listen." Tom dragged his hands through his hair and forced himself not to cave in to the knocking in his own knees. He stepped closer, knowing damned well she could hear the desperation in his voice, and not even caring. "I need to hear it from you."

To his eternal pain, she stepped back. Then she rounded his body completely to cross the room. She stopped in front of the window, between the cherry desk and plush reading chair flanking the far corners of the room. Relief seared in for the second time in as many minutes as she drew the heavy draperies across the panoramic view of Panama City's financial district, plunging the room into a soothing twilight at the height of scorching afternoon. She wasn't avoiding him. At least, not completely. She just needed time to gather her thoughts. And perhaps regain a measure of the protective shield they'd both lost this morning on that ottoman wrapped up in each other's arms. So he waited. She finally turned in the now obscuring shadows, drew her breath in slow and deep, and shrugged.

"He's right. My aunt pimped me."

His eyes slammed shut. His knees finally buckled. He caught himself as he swayed and forced his legs to lock. He was dimly aware of her taking advantage of his instinctive horror to push through the worst of it while he couldn't move. He couldn't have stopped her if he'd tried. Because now, just as he knew she had to say it, and say it fast, he had to know.

"I was fourteen when she came to me. She told me it was time to earn my keep. The neighborhood pharmacist had offered to cut her a deal on Luis's insulin. But the man wanted something in return. Me. Once I realized what she was asking, I refused." Tom watched her hand creep up to her mouth as the dizziness began to ebb from his brain. He watched her finger the scar that had driven him insane with curiosity. And, despite the shadows, he watched as the memories churned through that thousand-yard stare he'd seen on more shell-shocked soldiers in his life than he cared to remember. Her aunt's fury. The beatings that must have followed.

And then the fog.

"She drugged you."

Anna jerked her hand down and dropped her gaze to the desk. To the purse he'd left lying at the corner. "Yeah."

"How did you get out?"

"Luis."

Ah, Jesus. He hadn't said it out loud and she hadn't even looked up, but she must have sensed it.

"Yeah, I know. I told you he hated drugs. I mean, he'll run them through his business and keep the profits, but God help you if you take 'em. Maybe it's tied to his diabetes. I don't know. I've given up wondering." She stopped. When she failed to start up again, he stepped forward.

She flinched.

He froze. Waited. And when he couldn't stand it anymore, he finally begged her to finish it. "Anna…what happened?"

The ragged breath she purged filled the dimly lit room. "You know, I'm not really sure. To tell you the truth, I've worked really, really hard to block it out."

But she hadn't succeeded. Not completely.

He didn't need the stark, illuminating light of day to see that. He didn't even need her to tell him. His own past, as well as three weeks of painstaking research, did it for him. But it was his heart that allowed him to feel the disjointed memories as they crashed in, right along with her. Fourteen years old. Just a girl. But not after that dark, sweaty body had crushed into her, ripping her apart. He could feel her struggling to breathe, to cry, to scream, until suddenly, she just didn't care anymore. He knew he was right when he heard her swallow, when he felt the utter resignation in her shrug and in her whisper. "I know you don't want to hear this, but there can be benefits to those pills."

The next swallow was his.

She cleansed her lungs swiftly and plunged through the rest. "Anyway, a neighbor stopped by. I guess the door had been left open. The guy interrupted, beat the tar out of him and then he waited with me until my aunt got home. Luis got there first. He lost it. I can still hear him screaming at my aunt. The drugs were bad enough, but that his own cousin was a whore? That freaked him out. I have to give Luis credit, he does double standards better than anyone I've ever known. But when Luis found out my aunt knew where my dad was—had always known—because she was blackmailing him for child support, that was when it got ugly. Twenty-four hours later, I woke up in my father's house in Arizona. I spent the next few days huddled on the bed in a cold, shaking sweat with my loving new papa bellowing at me, thoroughly disgusted, and I didn't even understand why. Not until college."

"From one perfect family to the next."

"That about sums it up."

The iron band around his heart clamped in tight as her nod finished on a wobble. Tighter than it had since he'd walked into this room. Tighter even than when he'd spotted Anna in the bathroom and realized she had pills in her hand. But the suffocating pressure was nothing compared to the excruciating burn as a single glistening tear finally slipped free, rolling down her cheek and straight into his heart. He sucked in his breath at the pain.

The absolute agony.

He had to go to her. He needed to hold her. But her body language kept his feet nailed to the carpet beside the bed. She still wasn't ready. When she dropped her hands to the desk and nervously fingered the edge of the wood, he was sure.

"I'm sorry."

"For Christ's sake, why? Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for. Absolutely nothing."

"I made you break your rules. Maybe you didn't pay for it. But because of me, you slept with a—"

The band on his heart snapped.

He was across the room in two seconds flat, his hands shooting out before he could stop them, his fingers digging into her arms as he dragged her in close. "Don't."

She waited for him to release her. Her eyes begged him to. When he finally did, she pushed it. Quietly. "Tom, it's true. And Foster's going to make sure everyone knows. You think it's going to matter that I was half-conscious? Not after he finishes putting his special spin on it. What's going to happen to your career when the rumors start circulating that you've been sleeping with an addict and a wh—"

His hands snapped back. This time, he didn't let go. He couldn't. He dragged her closer, until he was staring directly into her eyes. "I told you, don't. I don't ever want to hear that word out of your mouth. Ever. Mike Foster, or whoever the hell he is, will not be talking to you, or about you again. He kept his mouth shut for seven years, till now, and he can damned well do it for the rest of his life. And trust me, he will." There was a wealth of steel in his vow. He'd forged every ounce deliberately. He needed her to know. To believe.

To feel safe.

Her eyes widened as she caught the rest of the message.

Pepe. As they'd left the hacienda this morning, the gorilla's scowl had turned so dark he'd told her what he'd done. "Tell me you didn't rupture Foster's eardrums, too."

He loosened his grip, caressing her arms lightly as he smiled. "Now, honey, I just talked to the man. That's all. Cross my heart."

"Yeah, right. And I've got a Canal I can sell you."

"From you, I'd probably buy it, too." He chuckled as he tucked a stray wisp of hair back up into that trademark regal twist that didn't bother him anymore. Truth was, he found it sexy as hell…when his fingers didn't itch to pull it down. They'd also gotten off the subject of her past. He didn't have the heart to drag them back. Not when she so clearly wanted to keep the conversation moving into the future.

"What else did you find out from Foster?"

He released her arms altogether, folding his over his chest as he leaned back against the desk. "Your cousin's in the radioactive material business."

"What?"

"Yup."

She slumped back up against the window, catty-corner to him, as she struggled to absorb the shock. The ramifications. "Oh, my God. He's going to ask you to build a dirty bomb."

He nodded. "Makes sense. Especially if you're right about that bill of lading. I'm betting it tracks to a medical equipment company instead of a drug distributor." Given their security clearances, they both knew cesium 137—the isotope found in a variety of medical equipment—was one of the easiest sources of radioactive material a terrorist could obtain. "There's also the fact that your cousin has refused to tell me jack about his plans. Hell, it'd gotten to the point that I wondered if Luis really wanted me to blow up anything at all. He's been more interested in pushing my relationship with you than discussing the job. But even his cupid stint makes sense now. Not a lot of guys would touch the stuff. He's probably decided to hold his cards until the last minute. He may not tell me anything at all until he thinks it's too late."

"By then it may be too late for us. For this city."

"Yup. What about you? Did you get anywhere with that bill of lading?"

She shook her head. "Meg hasn't called back yet. Turns out she's in Moscow, prepping for the same strategic arms convention Sam's headed out for. When we spoke, Meg was up to her ears in finalizing security arrangements. It seemed like such a long shot I told her it wasn't an emergency. Now I wished I hadn't." She shook her head as if she was still not quite convinced. "Foster's sure Luis is transporting radioactive material?"

"Man's wearing a radioactive dosimeter around the city."

She blew out her breath. "That's pretty sure."

"Yup. Parts of this still don't add up though."

"Like what?"

"Your cousin." Even Luis's part in the past she'd revealed just now supported his earlier doubts. "Do I think Luis could be making a profit off cesium 137? In a heartbeat. But from everything I've learned about Luis, unless he's currently embroiled in one of his rages, the man's just not one to sully his hands. What you've told me about Manny's death fits the pattern. The moment Luis came down from that bloodlust, he was the consummate professional, once again fanatically committed to the image he has of himself."

"You're right. He's a real Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde."

"What he is, is mentally crocked. Still, why would he want to endanger that pristine image as well as his thriving businesses—legal and illegal—by turning terrorist himself?"

She dropped her head back against the drapes, closing her eyes in frustration as she sighed. "I don't know. I wish to God I did. Before Manny died, Luis never said word one about a bomb. It was just weapons and the coke. Now the bomb is all he talks about. That, and throwing us together."

Tom reached out and slipped his hand over hers and squeezed. "Relax. I put in a call to SOCOM on the way here. They're on it, too. We'll get something soon."

He hoped.

She glanced down at their hands as he gave her a second, reassuring squeeze—and gasped.

"What's wrong?"

She glanced at her own watch and shook it. Listened. Frowned. "Is it really four?"

He checked his watch and nodded. "Why?"

"I'm late. I was supposed to meet Luis at the hospital half an hour ago. He's fine, by the way. But they had some tests to run, so he told me to go eat and come back."

He cursed. "I've got some more calls to make. Think you can get me invited over for a late dinner?"

"I'll try. If not, I'll tell him I'm heading out to share dessert with you. He'll be thrilled." The moment the words came out of her mouth, the air turned thick, hot.

His groin followed.

Dessert twice in one day with this woman? Luis wasn't the only one who'd be thrilled.

Tom couldn't help it, he took her hands and tugged her into his arms, claiming her lush mouth in the kiss he should have given her the moment he'd walked in the door. Within seconds, the kiss had flared out of control. So had he. Before he'd realized what he was doing, his hands had slid up the column of her neck and reached her hair. His fingers dug in on their own. Satisfaction seared in as the heavy silk tumbled down, cloaking them as intimately as it had on that ottoman. Somehow, he managed to clamp on to the ends of his rapidly disintegrating restraint before it was too late. Every nerve in his body screamed in protest as he forced himself to break off the kiss and lift his head. This close, despite the dim light, he could make out her eyes clearly.

Her pupils were wide, lazy with passion.

Her sigh washed his lips. "I…guess I should…go."

"Yeah." But he leaned down and covered her lips again. Within seconds, the fire had reflashed. Somehow he managed to pull back once more; this time, his mouth growled at the loss. He nearly lost his renewed restraint as the tip of her tongue slipped out to lick her bottom lip in an unconscious invitation as old as the desire raging in his groin.

"Tom, I…"

"…need to go."

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Go put your hair back up. I'll grab your keys. See you down to your car." Maybe an audience would make this easier.

He turned to the desk before he could change his mind, scooping up her keys and the purse he'd retrieved from Curundú early that morning as she headed across the room and into the bathroom. It all seemed like a lifetime ago. Especially the nightmare last night. God willing, he would never go through that again. He wouldn't survive. Not with her on the line this time. Not with them.

He opened her purse to slip the keys inside—and froze.

The hidden compartment was open.

Why? It hadn't been this morning. He knew because he'd secured it himself. Dammit, stop. She'd just checked on the switchblade and the spare set of car keys that contained the remote control for the bug in her chest, that was all. He glanced at the bed, at the purse she'd brought with her out of her cousin's house that morning. Hell, maybe she even opened it to hide her sorority sister's ring back inside.

Don't look, buddy. It ain't healthy.

But he had to.

He shoved his hand inside…and damned near died.

There was no use in trying to stanch the nausea that surged in his gut as he wrapped his fingers around the bottle. He already knew it contained more than just that ring. He could hear the pills rattle, feel their weight. See the taunting, telltale shadow of those white tablets crowded up against the side of the opaque container. Even before he pulled the vial completely from her purse, he knew in his heart that he'd also already seen their goddamned seductive lure take hold—again—on her. Her pupils hadn't relaxed as a result of his kiss. The pills she'd swallowed before he arrived had finally taken effect. Ibuprofen his ass. The caplets had been a cover. His mom had pulled that one enough times he should have seen it coming a mile away.

At least he saw her coming.

She rounded the bathroom door and froze. Cursed. A very unladylike curse it had been, too. But there wasn't anything polite about her true nature was there? Or his mood.

"Tom, I can explain—"

He stabbed his stare straight into hers. "Really." He had to hand it to her, she kept coming, crossing the room, closing in on the bomb even he could hear ticking. In himself.

"I know you flushed them. But when I woke up, Juju—"

He stiffened and it wasn't from the hand she'd laid on his arm. "Juju gave you pills?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you. I knew you wouldn't understand—"

"You're goddamned right I don't!" He shoved the vial in the purse and slammed it on the desk so he could grab her arms and shake some sense into her. "Score one for the clever damsel in distress. She manages to suck an undercover DEA agent into her tawdry game, too. I can't believe I went to bat for you today—with SOCOM and the bloody CIA. You were right, lady, my ass is on the line over this, over you. And what do you do? You're up here in my hotel room behind my back swallowing another handful of those precious pills the first chance you get. Well, I hope you got your rush 'cause, honey, you just swallowed any chance we had at a future together along with them." But that wasn't what enraged him the most. Much less what cut so deep it made his stupid dreams bleed out right there on the carpet between them. What truly killed him was that it had all been a lie to begin with.

She'd had the pills all along.

While he'd been busy falling in love, she'd been more concerned with finding the time and the space for her next fix. And she'd gotten that crap from his own friend. He shook her again, harder, glaring at the hair that tumbled down, this time from his fury instead of passion. "What did you offer Juju, anyway? I know you didn't have the rifle on you. Did you promise him Luis? I'll bet he was thrilled with that bargain. Or did you two just settle on yourself?" He regretted the ugly accusation before it even came out.

But it was already too late.

He watched her hand fly and just stood there and took it. The flat of her palm smacked into his cheek, the force slapping his face several inches to the right. The blow stung like hell, too, but not as much as the anguish that filled her eyes as she blinked up at him. Those damned pupils were so wide and so full of hurt, he couldn't tell if it was from drugs or the tears anymore. Her ragged sigh ripped through him.

"Score one for the major in tarnished armor. In fact, I think you just won the war. Congratulations. I'll slink off to my twelve-step program now and lick my wounds. But don't you worry none. I may be an addict, Tom, but at least there's hope for me. You? You'll always be a bastard."

She was correct as usual—cuttingly correct, but correct.

"I'm sorry, Anna. I had no right to imply—"

"No. You didn't. But I think maybe it's best you did. Gets it over with clean and simple. Quick. And that's how you wanted it all along anyway."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Gayle."

He hadn't even seen that blow coming. It struck twice as hard as the flat of her palm had. "What do you know—"

"—about her death? I know she was drunk. I know she wrapped her car around a tree. I know she took another passenger with her, some guy she'd picked up to party with because you wouldn't. I even know you'd just kicked her out of your house and your bed the day before it happened. See, Sam was worried. You know, that other person who put her ass on the line for me. But this one, she still believes in me. Despite the pills. And I gotta tell you, that means a lot to me, because I put that woman through hell nine years ago. But she still believes. So much so, she had Bud look into you, too, right along with Foster. Meg filled me in on the whole story when I called her this afternoon right before you walked in. So don't stand there and tell me you care about me. You just couldn't walk away. Deep down, you know it. You've been planning to drive me off since the moment I got too close."

That was not true. The rest of it was, yeah. But that last was just not true. "Bull—"

"What color are your eyes, Tom?"

He closed them. Oh, Jesus. He knew she'd seen that box. He'd just been too damned rocked over Foster's revelation that he'd shoved it back into his bag, hoping he could shove it—this—away until later. Well, later was here. "Anna, I—"

"And your hair?"

This time the curse ripped free.

"You know, your dye job is actually pretty damned good. But next time, I recommend you don't strip in broad daylight in front of your mark. Not if she's foolishly interested in another part, an intimate part, of your anatomy. She just might notice the color difference in the hair down there."

"Honey, I can—"

"No. You can't explain. I don't think either one of us really can. You were right this morning. This wasn't meant to be easy for us. I'm beginning to think it wasn't meant to be at all." To his horror, she picked up the purse. "I could explain this bottle, and it might even make this whole argument go away. But it would be back. Again and again, until it drove us apart for good. I don't think either one of us is up to that. You know what else you told me this morning?"

He shook his head. He truly had no bloody clue.

His heart hurt so goddamned bad at the moment, he couldn't remember his own name.

"One step at a time. You promised you'd walk them with me." She shook her head slowly, sadly. "You can't even take the first one, can you? I'm not surprised. Not anymore. Not when it's become clear that you've got your own steps to walk. Your own addiction to fight. And you do have an addiction, Thomas Anthony Wild, whether or not you're ready to admit it."

He swallowed the tears burning in his throat. His words still came out hoarse. "And what am I addicted to?"

"The doubt."

He flinched.

She just reached out and slipped her cool, slender fingers behind his neck as she tiptoed up on her heels. He didn't resist when she guided his head down. Not even when she pressed her lips gently to his cheek. "Give me a call if you need help fighting it. I've had a bit of experience fighting it myself. Until then, I'll call you if I get something you can use on Luis. I've got to go now. It's never been a good idea to keep my cousin waiting, and I've done it for far too long today. Goodbye, Tom."

He just stood there as she turned around and left. It wasn't until the door closed that he realized she'd taken the purse—and those goddamned pills—with her.

But left him.

Did he ever think it would turn out any different?

Chapter 14

Her legs were still shaking as the elevator doors shut. Anna slumped into the corner of the lift and closed her eyes against all four of the glaring mirrored walls, especially their zealous depiction of her tear-streaked face, as she cursed Foster for the millionth time. If she could go back now to that interrogation room in San Diego, she'd never, ever agree to step into this mess of tangled lies. The hell with her career. It was over anyway. And now she'd lost her heart. To a man who would never trust her. Could never trust her. A man who, after all the pieces had finally fallen together, she now knew would never even want to trust her.

Doing so would risk too much in himself.

She opened her purse and pulled out the vial of pills that had sealed her fate so perfectly. If it wasn't so ironic, it would be funny. The most amazing man in the world had fallen in love with her because of a bottle of Percocet. And now she'd managed to lose him over a bottle of—

She flinched as her cell phone trilled.

God, here it came. Luis.

Oh, he'd be polite. Politely furious. And after that gutwrenching fight with Tom she didn't have two nerve cells left in her body, much less her brain to rub together to come up with an excuse. She shoved the vial of pills inside the hidden compartment and retrieved her cell phone before she could chicken out, not even bothering to glance at the caller ID.

"Hola."

"Anna? Is that you?"

She stiffened. "Meg?" She hadn't expected an answer on the Chinese medical supply company this quickly.

"It's me." But it wasn't. Not really. Meg's voice was taut with barely suppressed panic. Hoarse. As if she'd been crying or trying not to. Meg Gallagher, crying? Somehow, from somewhere, she found the presence of mind to slam on the emergency stop button, killing the elevator's zip between floors with a screaming, heaving jerk. The car shuddered to a stop somewhere between floors five and four.

"Meg, what's wrong?"

Silence.

Her panic ratcheted straight though the roof. "Meg?"

"I'm sorry." A hiccup. "I just—God, I shouldn't have called you."

"But you did. Now, please, you're scaring me. Just tell me what's wrong. Is Sam there yet? Can you put her on the—" Dizziness ripped through Anna as the extent of Meg's panic slammed in. The only reason Meg would ever have called her in the middle of a case with sheer terror in her voice. "What happened? Is Sam—is she—Meg, are you telling me Sam is—" She was babbling. She couldn't help it. She just couldn't say it. She just couldn't get that word out. Not after they'd lost Carrie six weeks before. "Meg, please. Is Sam okay?"

"I don't know."

¡Ah, Jesús dulce, no! Anna gripped the phone so hard her fingers went numb. They matched her heart. "Just tell me."

She heard Meg's air shred through her lungs. "It's Sam's C-130. There's a fire onboard the airplane." There was more. And it was worse. Anna heard it in Meg's now openly trembling voice. "The plane's currently in Russian airspace—directly over territory seized by Chechen rebels early this morning. Anna…the pilot's trying to crash-land the Herc now. I know you don't need this. I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry. But I didn't want you to see it on the news."

Sam's plane was crashing?

"Anna?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She couldn't think, much less speak. It was Eve and Carrie all over again.

"Anna, are you okay?"

Dammit, snap out of it. "I'm fine. And it's okay. I want to know. I need to. I've got—"

She broke off as Meg cursed, then cut into a discussion with someone who appeared to be standing close by. "Oh, thank God! Anna, the plane's landed in a river or a lake. Sounds like there are injuries, but everyone's alive. I gotta go."

Her heart started beating again as the relief set in. "Okay. Call me when you know more."

"I promise. And, Anna?"

"Yes?"

"I don't have all your answers yet. But I did find out the main factory is located in the Hunang province. They make medical equipment. No word on what kind yet. I'll call you later. Until then, be careful."

"I will."

The moment Meg hung up, Anna's legs resumed shaking. She managed to get the phone shoved inside her purse just before the tremors took over her entire body. There was no way she could drive, much less face Luis like this. Hell, she couldn't even think. The only word she could hold in her head, the only hope, was a name. Tom. He'd know what to do. She'd tell him about the pills. He'd forgive her. Tom would help her.

Please.

She canceled the emergency stop and punched the button for his floor. She'd never know how she made it to the lobby without fainting. If half a dozen passengers hadn't joined her for the return rise, she'd have passed out for sure. As it was, three of the tourists were looking at her as if she'd done what Tom had accused her of minutes before. One got out two floors before Tom's. The other two, an elderly couple, claimed his. She managed not to scream as the pair held her to a snail's pace for the entire first corridor. They stopped just shy of the right-hand turn at the end. She blessed the concierge for placing the seniors there and not all the way down at the next end, damned near to the emergency exit where the concierge had placed Tom. Three steps past the couple, Anna turned and promptly jerked backward, slamming her spine against the wall directly beside the elderly couple's door.

Luis? He was here?

What the devil was her cousin doing at the Bristol with a mutinous-looking Pepe in tow, knocking on Tom's door when Luis was supposed to be at the hospital waiting for her?

"Are you okay, dear?"

She nodded at the older woman as her husband continued to mutter down at his electronic key card and lock. "I'm fine, ma'am. Thank you." But she didn't feel fine as she turned to the corner. She peered around just in time to see Tom open his door and step into the hall. She caught sight of the high-tech, compact stun gun in Pepe's hand as it snapped up, and opened her mouth to scream—

But it was too late. For her and for Tom.

No!

But the electric gun's twin-wired probes had already shot out of the weapon and into Tom's chest before either of them could react, dropping Tom to his knees as several hundred thousand volts of electricity scrambled his entire nervous system instantly, rendering him unconscious. Before she could round the corner, Pepe and Luis had hooked their arms beneath Tom's and were already dragging his limp body toward the emergency exit beyond. Her knees finally gave way, too.

The elderly woman and her husband caught her together. "Miss…can we help you?"

Anna shook her head as the blood continued to thunder through her heart, knocking her terror to unbearable levels. Her ears roared, her stomach surged, her panic caused sweat to explode along every inch of her flesh. Help? No one could help. She had nowhere to go. Foster had turned out to be as trustworthy as a local PDF cop on the take. Meg and Eve were too far away. Sam might be—stop! Don't go there.

Juju. He'd help her.

Tom said he was DEA. That meant he'd have to have backup around somewhere. Yes, Juju was furious with her. Almost as much as Tom was. But that didn't matter. Juju would help Tom.

"Dear, are you sure—"

She didn't catch the rest, she was already down the hall, whirling around the corner and straight up to the bank of elevators. She punched every single down button three times, pulling that hideous necklace from beneath her collar as the first set of doors slid open. She practically jumped inside, ignoring the dark disapproval on a local's face as he spotted the jeweled scorpion dangling from the end. She didn't care if the whole blessed city connected her to Luis right now, so long as the doorman and the cabby followed suit.

They both did.

She shoved a bill from her wallet into the doorman's hand and rattled off the Iguana's general address only to spend the next twenty excruciating minutes in air-conditioned hell, cursing the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the tourist-locked sidewalks and the entire pending Carnaval celebration as the taxi crawled down the blocks and through intersections, taking each more slowly than the last. Just when she thought she'd scream, they reached the Iguana's alley. She shoved another bill into the cabby's palm and stumbled out of the taxi. Within moments, she was banging on the front door of the bar.

No one came.

Dammit, he had to be here. The bar didn't open for another two hours. Juju had been up all night with work, and then her and Tom. Didn't the man sleep? Oh, God, sleep. Where did Juju sleep? She took out the desperation in her own unanswered question on the door. By the grace of God, it ripped open. She fell into Juju's arms.

"Jesus, Anna. You can't be out of pills this soon. I—"

"It's Tom."

He froze. "What?"

"Luis—my cousin—he's got him. I don't know where, probably the hacienda. Maybe his warehouse. I don't know. I just know they used one of those stun guns on him. Juju, he—"

He hauled her close. "It's okay. Calm down. You have to calm down so I can understand. We'll figure this out. Where's your car?"

"I didn't bring it. I wasn't sure how to get here. I took a cab."

"Is the taxi waiting on the street?"

"No. Dammit, why does it matter? You have a truck—" But he didn't. Not at the moment. Because of her. "Oh, God. I left it at the hacienda. I can call another tax—"

Juju closed his hands over hers before she could grab her phone. "That's okay. Don't worry about it. I'm going to have to make some calls anyway. See if I can arrange surveillance and backup. Come in and tell me everything you know. And do it slowly. Tom's life may depend on it."

Somehow she managed to babble her way through the events of the past three months in the three minutes it took them to reach his office. San Diego, Foster, Luis, Pepe, the drugs, the rifles, the radioactive material and their suspicion that it was Chinese cesium. Hell, she even managed to blow Foster's cover in the process. Juju took it all in silently for the most part, with a pointed question here and a nod there. He sat her down on the couch when she finished and pressed a glass of water into her still shaking hands.

"Anna, I need to see what I can arrange. Will you be okay if I leave you in here?"

She managed a shaky nod. Just like that, she was alone. With her screaming nerves and her aching heart.

Why had she left him?

If Tom didn't live, it wouldn't matter if she did. Dammit, why hadn't she gone after them? Stop. Calm down. Juju would figure it out. As DEA, he probably had a better idea where Luis was headed than even she did. But good Lord, the wait was killing her. She stood and crossed the room, nearly upending the glass of water over Juju's paper-strewn desk. She did managed to knock over the battered pencil cup and the small Hotei Buddha at the corner. She grabbed the cup and righted it, then lifted the Hotei to stroke his worn, happy belly for the luck she so desperately needed as she sat down at the desk. Her gaze skimmed the Made in China stamped into the bottom—and the Hunang province hallmark beneath.

She stiffened. No way. Don't even think it.

China was a mother of a huge country. And Hunang was one of its largest provinces.

Maybe she was having a delayed reaction to the pills in her system—the ones from last night, because she was thinking it. She couldn't stop thinking it. Tom had said this morning that ATF believed Manny might have been sold out by an insider. They'd both even openly considered Foster, but not—

But it made sense. ATF, DEA, how many joint ops did the agencies pull down together in the Canal Zone?

Too many.

She dropped her stare to the desk drawers, tried them. All but the bottom one on the right were locked. The catch hadn't connected. She slid the drawer open and gasped as she caught sight of the man's beeper-size radiation dosimeter.

"Guess I took too long, eh?"

She blinked up at Juju, knowing it was him—knowing it was him—but still not comprehending. Still not wanting to as she stared up into the cheery, open face above that godawful, innocuous Hawaiian shirt, ever-present slender yellow box of candies still tucked in his pocket. "No."

But he nodded. "Yes."

She shook her head slowly, stupidly. "You don't need an introduction to Luis, do you?"

He shrugged. "'Fraid not. We're sort of in business together already."

"But…why?"

Another shrug. "Who knows why these things happen? Maybe I was sick of getting crap in my paycheck while the guys I took down got off with a slap on the wrist and then went home to their fat bank accounts and sprawling mansions. Or maybe I was just sick of living up to the old man's rep. Does it matter?"

She continued to stare, to blink. To struggle to even think. "How…long?"

"Since I've known about you?"

She nodded.

"I suspected from the beginning. Hell, it's in my nature. But I have to hand it to you, you were good. In the end, I think the fact that you weren't a pro actually helped. Kept you from doing the telling stuff. If Foster hadn't tipped your hand for you, who knows? Things might have turned out differently."

Foster. "The bug in the pen?"

Juju flipped his ponytail over his shoulder as he finally stepped all the way into the room. He rounded the desk and reached down to snag her arm almost politely. So much for the man scoring worse on his cadetiquette exams at West Point than Tom. She didn't fight him. Why? He had a foot and a half of height on her. And there was the other thought. The burning one. He could be taking her to Tom.

"Yeah, the bug. As you know, your cousin assumed it was Manny's."

"But you knew better."

"Hell, yes. The Company always gets better toys than the rest of us schmucks. You were Navy, you ought to know that."

She shook her head as the past three months fell into place. "You knew Foster suspected you, or you at least thought it. That bug was all the proof you needed. And if Manny was ATF, which I suspect you also knew, then you probably had Luis bring Manny to the house in order to tip his hand. But since Manny wasn't CIA and the bug was, you had proof I was working for Foster. Proof Luis was forced to believe."

Another nod. "You're pretty good, you know that? By the way, is Foster an ass or what?"

"He ranks up there with some men I've known."

That earned her a hearty chuckle. "Yeah, that scene in Tom's room was priceless. It's a shame, really. I'm a damned good matchmaker. Once I realized what had to be done, that I'd have to stage my own death and make it look like someone else set the bomb to get the Company off my tail, Tom was the perfect choice. For me and you. Don't you think?"

Anna stopped short as the past week finished clicking in, jerking her arm from Juju's grasp in the middle of the hall as she made her stand, right there beside that pay phone. "You set Tom up from the beginning. You're setting him up right now. He thinks I was Foster's patsy—and he's probably right—but he was also yours." Nausea roiled as the extent of the deception sank in. The inescapable brilliance of it. "You bugged me to finish the job. This phone, the pills."

She knew now why Juju had refilled that vial. Not so much to keep her happy, as to keep himself in the loop.

Juju hooked his forearm over the top of the phone as he stared down at her, confirming it all with a wide grin and a wink. "My bar, my phone. My bug. And, yeah, I put one in the cap to your pills. Though you have to admit, that one was a no-brainer. Like you'd leave those behind, eh?"

She flinched as he reached out to casually tuck her hair behind her ear. "You're an animal."

He shrugged off her recoil. "Animal? Nah." He took her arm once more, nudging her forward until they reached the door at the end of the hall. "Save that compliment for the Wild Man." The door led to a maintenance room. He pushed her inside but didn't release her arm. "And look, here he is now, in the flesh. Even if he isn't quite conscious yet."

La Madre dulce en el Cielo. Horror punched the breath right out of her lungs. Completely. All thought followed. All save one. Tom. He was propped up in front of a massive white propane tank, his arms behind his back, handcuffed to the legs of the rusting steel behemoth—and he was out cold.

Juju frowned. "Sorry about his condition. Pepe was leery of the Wild Man after that whole ear thing. Had to give the guy a bit of help. Then Tom came to before I was ready and—" Another one of those enigmatic Samoan shrugs. "Had to zap him again. Don't worry. When he comes out of it, he might feel like he did a belly flop out of second-story window, but he'll be fine. You'll see."

She finally rounded on that infuriating cheer and snarled. "What do you care?"

"Watch your mouth, Lieutenant. Man's a friend of mine."

"The hell he is!"

"A-Anna?"

¡Alabe a Dios! Tom had woken. She wrenched her arm from Juju's grasp and vaulted across the concrete floor room. Tom grunted as she slammed down to her knees and threw her arms around his neck to kiss his still rousing features. He winced as she caved in to the blinding need to hold him close even if he couldn't hold her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him a good six inches from the tank.

Tom's lips found her ear. "Hey, hey, easy now. Watch the makeshift nuclear bomb. Okay, sweetheart?"

She followed his gaze to the left, around the side of the steel blimp and nearly fainted. Sure enough, someone had already strapped several bricks of plastique C4 explosives to the side of the tank, and a large, grinning, gleaming, bronzed Hotei had been fused to the entire bundle. She wrenched her stare to Tom's. To the deadly serious glint in his eyes. The one that completely contradicted the lingering amusement in his lips. In all her years in the Navy, there were two sights she'd learned to respect more than anything. A cold sweat on her chief's face—and that look in a special operator's eyes.

Could this get any worse?

She never should have asked. Not even in the privacy of her brain and her heart. Because the devil himself took the cue and Luis Ricardo Ortiz stepped into the room.

* * *

He'd screwed up. Royally.

Tom knew it the moment he looked into her eyes.

Anna was clean. She hadn't taken those pills in his room earlier. He still had no idea what had really happened, but he did know she wasn't lying to him about that bottle. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was addicted to the doubt. He sure as hell could have at least let her explain. Unfortunately, unless he could devise a way to get them out of this mess, he'd never have the chance to find out what had really happened.

Goon gallery be damned. Tom ignored her cousin, the gorilla who'd lumbered in after, as well as his ex-friend as he turned to soothe Anna as quietly as he could. "It's okay, baby. Just follow my lead. No matter what happens, all right?"

Terror stiffened her nod. But she had nodded. Her unquestioning faith gave him strength. Unlike he had, Anna trusted him. He didn't deserve this woman's confidence, much less her heart, but he was taking both. Somehow.

A moment later, she flinched as her cousin stepped into the center of the room, smiling as if he was el presidente himself, all decked out and schmoozing with Panamanian society's best in the middle of the Union Club ballroom. "Ah, Señor Wild. And how are you feeling this afternoon?"

Tom grinned back. "I don't know, Louie. Why don't you come a bit closer and we'll find out together?"

The man chuckled as he brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his olive suit. "I think not. Besides, you have my lovely cousin to keep you company. For a few more minutes."

The man's lovely cousin did her best not to flinch again, but Tom felt it. Hard not to with her battered breast fused to his arm. He latched on to the only new piece of information Luis had provided and cocked his brow. "Just a few more?"

"Unfortunately. Your visit to Foster forced us to move our plans forward. We had decided on blowing up this charming establishment at the height of Carnaval before we departed for Colombia, but…" Luis shrugged.

In other words, they'd inadvertently thwarted Juju's original plot to demolish the joint leaving behind two-hundred-odd sources of human DNA material in a single, ashen, radioactively contaminated stew for whoever had the cojones to try and pick through afterward to locate Juju's unique genetic code. It was small consolation to know it might just be him alone dying today instead of hundreds, but Tom would take it. But first he'd have to work on the might. "You're taking Anna with you then?" He willed the man to say yes.

"Unfortunately, I cannot."

Tom swallowed his darkest curse.

Was it his imagination, or had Pepe stiffened, too?

He couldn't be sure, because Juju's booming laughter filled the tiny room. Another man he'd love to lure closer. Just far enough so he could shove that stun gun up Juju's hind end and give him a taste of his own amusement. Hell, he still felt like that bomb beside him had already exploded—inside his body. Tom lit into Luis. "Come on, man. I can see you offing me. But your own prima? Now that's just plain rude. What would society think?"

Again, Juju laughed. "Tell her, Luis. Hell, I'm surprised she hasn't figured that out too the way her brain's been churning today. Especially after you all but spelled it out for her this morning in your study. Or rather, added it up." His former friend hooked his elbow on a stack of stainless steel beer kegs, Juju's grin taunting his new best buddy now.

Luis didn't say a word, but his lips thinned. The man looked ill, too, and it wasn't from a lack of insulin. Tom had no idea what was behind the vibes radiating off the thug, but Anna appeared to. At least, she had an inkling, because she stood.

"Honey, don't—"

She squelched his protest with a sharp wave. "It's okay."

No, it was not okay. Tom nearly dislocated his shoulder as he watched that regal cool stroll across the room, closer and closer to the cluster of pigs, each step searing in deeper than the successive tears to his rotator cuffs. "Anna, listen to me—"

Juju grinned. "S'okay, amigo. Relax. I think she's figured it out."

"Figured what out?" Tom watched as she stopped in front of her cousin and damned near felled the man with a whack that put the blow she'd given him an hour ago to shame. Tom roared, jerking his entire body forward as Luis's fist flew, sending Anna flailing right back to him. She landed over his legs, her battered breast cradled in his thighs as her temple slammed into the concrete on his right. Luis was two inches from carrying his remaining rage through when Pepe's body smashed into the man from behind. The overgrown ape put a silverback's fury to shame as Pepe lifted his employer by the collar of his suit and the back of his trousers, swinging Luis's body up to use his head as a battering ram, right into the wall.

Anna screamed as a shot reverberated through the room, the 9 mm bullet behind it punching straight into Pepe's heart. She ignored Luis completely as she scrambled over her cousin's body to cradle Pepe's head in her lap, working in vain to stop the blood from seeping into the driver's shirt. Juju shrugged as she continued to weep, each silent shudder of her shoulders punching into Tom's gut as he tried to figure out why she'd take the man's death this hard.

"It has to do with loose ends, amigo. Hers. Luis's." Juju pointed his Glock toward her cousin's inert head. "The combination to the safe in his study. It's the day her mother died…compliments of her cousin's first pubescent rage. Took me a while to piece it together. She doesn't even know why. Seems Luis took offense at the fact that his auntie decided to seek her fortune in the States and, naturally, planned on bringing her darling daughter with her." Juju swerved the barrel of the Glock to Anna and her slowly dying patient. "Pepe there grew up with Luis. He knew. He saw the murder. And, well, we all know he's sweet on the girl." Juju flashed his wide-open grin. The one Tom would give a hell of a lot to pulverize, lips, teeth and all. "Looks like she's sweet on him too." He shrugged. "Guess my matchmaking wasn't so black-and-white after all, eh?"

But when Anna lifted her gaze as the life finally faded from Pepe's and Tom watched the shadows set in—felt her deep, keening loss—even from here, he knew. Nothing was black-and-white in this town, least of all Anna. Pepe was the neighbor who, a decade and a half ago, had pulled another monster off Anna when she was fourteen years old.

She nodded sadly, confirming it.

"I'm sorry, honey." He truly was. If he could go back, he'd leave the guy's eardrums intact for the gift Pepe had given him in return. And he'd never have injected those glucagons. In the end, he was indebted to the gorilla twice over. Because of Pepe, the odds had gone down to one-to-two. Juju and them.

It was time to trim it further.

"Juju, let her go. For old times' sake."

"Sorry, no can do. Not even for you." To Tom's horror, Juju stood and motioned to his side the woman Tom needed more than the blood thundering through his heart. "Anna?"

She didn't move a muscle. She didn't have to. Tom had stiffened for her. He knew that tone. "Juju, whatever you've got planned, don't. I'm begging you. Let her go."

"Nope. See, I need her too, amigo. More than you." He tipped the Glock toward her cousin's body. "Luis was my easy ticket into Colombia. I've got things set up, but I still gotta get there. Things have changed. There's been a gunshot. I might need a hostage." The man reached behind his back and retrieved Anna's purse of all things. He tossed it on the floor. It skidded to Tom's thighs, scalding him on contact. He now understood Juju's shift in plans.

"No!"

Juju nodded. "Yes." He flicked the Glock to Anna's still shell-shocked face. "What did you say a couple of days ago? Oh, yeah. She's a mark, Juju, just a mark I happen to need sober. That's all." He shrugged. "Now see, I just don't happen to agree with you. Probably because I need her stoned."

For the first time in Tom's life, he violated the most sacred rule of special ops and Chicago street-fighting combined. He took his eyes off the enemy…and then closed them as he prayed. Sweet Mother in heaven, no.

"'Fraid so. It's come down to you or me, Wild Man. Or rather, her and me. Anna?"

Tom watched as she smoothed her fingers over Pepe's eyes, extinguishing the man's distant stare forever. She slowly raised her own. "Yes?"

Juju pointed to the purse. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. The easy way involves you and your first love. The hard way? That involves this pistol and your second love. Frankly, I don't need him alive to pull this off. He can be dead when the bomb blows. Do we understand each other?"

This time, Tom nearly dislocated his shoulders. "God dammit, Juju, no!"

But her whisper sliced in. "Yes."

"Good girl. Bet you made a fine Squid. You follow orders so nicely."

The hell she did.

Tom thrashed against the handcuffs. He could feel the slick spread of his blood as it smeared out around his wrists as the outer layers of skin gave way. He didn't care. He kept thrashing. And she kept walking. She leaned down to retrieve the purse, bringing the cursed thing right up into his lap as her beautiful clear gaze closed within inches of his. Didn't she realize that Juju would have her take one and then another, and another? She'd kill herself for him by the time it was over and not even care, much less try to protect herself.

"Oh, baby, please don't. Please. Please."

She just leaned closer and brushed her lips against his.

He clenched his fists against the pain in his wrists and in his shoulders as he strained all the way home, devouring her mouth, trying to convince her with his last desperate kiss, his last desperate breath if that's what it took. But when she slid her hands down his arm to brace herself against his body so she could pull away, he knew he'd lost—until he felt her drag her mouth across his cheek, press her lips to his ear and whisper, "Trust me."

She'd said it as clear as day.

Absolutely sober.

She pulled away before he could react and resumed her zombie pace back to Juju. His so-called friend. The man who'd given her the pills in that vial clutched in her hands. She tucked the purse beneath her left arm as she stopped in front of Juju. He reached into one of the crates beside him and pulled out a bottle of water, cracking the seal as she cracked the lid on the vial. She tapped two of the pills into her palm. Tom tried to trust. He truly did, but her swallow still stabbed straight through his heart as she washed the pills down with a mouthful of the water.

She held the water out.

Juju shook his head. "Take another."

"But I already had s-some on the way over."

"Sounds like it." He shrugged. "But I don't care."

Trust me.

The Tylenol wasn't helping so I checked your things. He didn't have Tylenol in his shaving kit. She'd taken it hours before they met up in his room. I could explain this bottle, and it might even make this whole argument go away. Ah, Jesus. Tylenol pills were white, about the same size and shape as—

Percocet.

She must have swapped the pills at the hacienda.

She was right. He was addicted to the doubt.

Well, not anymore. He was taking his first step of twelve, right here and right now. For her. For them. He also knew he had to make it look good. That's why she'd warned him. She knew he'd eventually remember there was something else in that compartment besides pills. He understood the plan now. Her plan. Tom picked up his end, thrashing so hard he worried that the bomb on the opposite side of the tank would go off. He harvested every curse he'd ever heard, ripened them all and spewed them back on the man he'd once called brother as she tapped another pill from the vial out into her palm, just far enough away from Juju to keep him from really seeing it. "I swear to God, Juju, you do this and I'll kill you! If I have to come back from the dead to do it!"

Juju ignored him as he reached out to catch Anna as she lurched straight into his chest. "Damn, lady, how many did you have on your way over?"

"None." Her voice was stone-cold sober.

And it was the last thing Juju heard. He was too busy staring down at his gut. At the switchblade Anna had just impaled him with. The blood spread out, soaking into his Hawaiian shirt, turning the neon-green a dark, soulful red. She pushed his body away as the light faded in Juju's gaze, then spun around, turning her bright, beautiful stare on him as Juju's body collapsed to the floor. "What do we do?"

Tom jerked his chin to her purse. "You got something in there I can use on these cuffs?" The switchblade was his last resort. He might need the edge for the wires on that bomb. He waited as she plowed though, shaking his head at her keys. Too big. The ballpoint pen was a long shot, but the trio of hairpins she surfaced with next weren't. They earned her a grin.

"Give 'em to me."

She did. "Tom, I'm not—"

"I know. I think they were Tylenol. I don't understand why yet, but I know you'll explain. You've also got a huge grovel session coming from me. But, sweetheart, if we don't postpone it for that bomb…" She nodded as he trailed off. Smiled. He'd already unbent the first two pins. He worked them into the keyhole in the left handcuff as he tipped his head toward the tank. "Now, take a look at that thing for me and put my mind at ease."

"What am I looking for?"

"You'll know if you see it."

She was clearly confused, but she nodded. A split second later, she disappeared from view. Two seconds after that, she cursed viciously and he knew she was no longer confused.

He was now also officially worried.

He closed his eyes and prayed for the time he knew he didn't have—because Juju had included a clock, and it was already counting down. The bastard must have a remote in his pocket and triggered it when he fell. No way in hell he was telling Anna that. If he didn't make it, she did not need to know. Her pupils were constricted with honest-to-God fear as she returned. He didn't blame her. He had a bit of the emotion rippling through his gut at the moment.

"How many minutes are left?"

"Just under four."

He stabbed the pins into his right cuff keyhole this time and tried working that lock. "Anna, get out of here."

"No."

He twisted the pins again. "Dammit, woman, I mean it."

"So do I, Major, and you're in no position to argue so shut up and tell me what to do."

She truly did not follow orders well. He also knew she'd never leave. Damn her. "Go to Juju's office. I left the stethoscope from last night tucked beside the couch along with your shoes. Take the Glock with you in case he locked it up in the file cabinet or his desk, but save a couple shots for me."

She blanched.

"For the cuffs, sweetheart, the cuffs."

She flushed so quickly and deeply, he'd have demanded a kiss if the situation wasn't so dire. He still didn't know how to get her away from here if he couldn't get out of the parting jewelry present Juju had locked about his wrists.

"Go." He glanced at all three bodies, praying they were all actually dead. There was no time to check. "And see if you can find some pliers, tape and anything else that looks interesting." He had no idea where Juju had stashed the tools he'd used. But he didn't see them in here.

She nodded, scooping up the Glock as she tore out of the room. He cursed the blood that had slicked down from his wrists as he lost his grip on the pins at a crucial moment. He closed his eyes and forced himself to focus. To see himself working the lock. To feel it. Damned blood tripped him up again. He lost his grip a third time as he heard the Glock's sharp report. He was setting up his forth pass at the cuffs when she slammed back through the door, scope in hand and a pair of wire cutters and electrical tape to boot. Her gorgeous smile was all the luck he'd needed.

The catch on the right cuff popped open.

He was up and rolling around to the opposite side of the tank before she reached his side. He cursed again.

"How bad is it?"

He held up a hand as he traced the wires twisting around and around the grinning Buddha until both the real and the faux ends reached the blasting caps crammed up into the double-wide bricks of C4. Evidently he wasn't the only one who'd done his homework this past month. When he'd woken up the first time, Juju had taunted him with his plans, claiming that he'd set him up to take the fall—for this bomb, as well as future ones. Following Juju's "death," Juju intended to reappear as Tom Wild every so often, planting a new bomb for his Colombian terrorist hosts. What the explosions would have in common was that each would appear as if Tom had actually designed it, ensuring that the authorities would be tracking a dead man. Frankly, he'd doubted that Juju could pull it off.

He was wrong.

This puppy was textbook Tom Wild, signature wire twists, mystery switches and all. So much so, he let out an appreciative whistle. "Juju was right, darlin', I gotta get out more. At the very least, vary my routine."

"What are you trying to say?"

He grinned as he hooked the stethoscope to his ears and got down to work, taping off the two mercuries and the slide switch in short order to immobilize them. "I'm saying go pour yourself a Coke. Hell, pour one for me too. I'm thirsty." Forty-five seconds later—with thirteen left on the clock—he was also done. His breath came out in an undignified rush.

He didn't mind. This was Anna.

But it did sting when her air refused to budge from her chest until the final thirteen seconds ticked down on the clock and it flashed 0:00…and nothing happened. Then her breath blew out in a ragged rush.

"Trust me, she says."

Her lashes flew wide, and not because of his teasing. Because he'd snaked his hand out and tugged her down into his lap. Before she could restock her lungs, much less recover from the rush, he was kissing her as deeply as he'd wanted to in his hotel room before all his damned insecurities had come within a hairsbreadth of blowing this for him and them. Just like every other time their lips touched, his body shot straight to the edge. Hers followed. Within seconds the kiss was so hot, so intense, that for a moment he actually thought the C4 had exploded anyway. Not that he'd have cared.

He was too busy savoring the rush of adrenaline wrapped up in the arms of the sexiest woman he'd ever known and the only one he'd had the good fortune to fall completely in love with. Even if it had taken the mess surrounding them for him to figure it out. The piercing wails of at least ten sirens stabbed through the fog in his brain…and lower, reminding him of that mess and all that still needed to be dealt with. He deepened the kiss anyway, determined to savor the moment as long as possible. Eventually, they were forced to surface.

The Company cavalry had finally arrived and, what do you know, Agent Asshole was leading the charge.

"Geez, you two. Get a room."

Chapter 15

"You want me to break his jaw?"

Anna stared up into Tom's eyes, still stunned by the fire in his kiss, the adrenaline surging through her veins and the absolute shock of the entire afternoon—and the fact that, suddenly, there seemed to be more living bodies crowded inside this tiny maintenance room than the rest of Panama City combined. All were milling around or checking over Juju, Luis and Pepe but for two striking exceptions. Tom and the bastard looming directly above his right. Had she even heard Tom's question correctly? The moment she glanced at the man who'd started this all, saw the bandage taped across his once arrogant, now bruised and shattered nose, she knew she'd heard correctly. She also knew Foster had heard it all. Why else was he here? How else?

Just like that, the adrenaline purged from her system. But only because the sickening nausea had set in. "There was no off switch to the bug in my chest, was there?"

The bastard shrugged. "Nothing personal. Just couldn't take the chance that you'd flip out and take off again if you knew. Just like I couldn't take the chance that lover-boy here wasn't in cahoots with his old West Point buddy. Not when Juju and Luis went to such lengths to make sure Tom would be the one sent in next."

"Well?" Tom. She pulled her gaze back to his. No matter what color those eyes really were, she suspected that steel would have come through just the same. Nor did it bend as Tom reached up to catch the handcuff key Foster tossed him from midair. "You want me to break it, or not?"

"Just make him leave."

Tom kept his gaze on hers. "You heard the lady, Marvin."

Marvin, Foster, or whoever he was, turned. But before he could step out to join the cluster of ambulance techs now flooding the room along with half of Panama's police force, and the CIA's local contingent, Tom cut him off. "Marvin?"

Foster stopped. He didn't turn or speak.

"You have one hour, buddy. One hour. I want the tapes and the transcripts, the bug's frequency and a mobile jammer. And the jammer better work or I'll hold you personally responsible. You can send it by official courier to keep the chain of custody. Either way, it'd better be in my hands at the Bristol within the hour. She decides what you use and what she burns. And, Marvin, there will be no gaps in the tapes' timeline, understood?"

Foster nodded stiffly. Quickly.

She would have been amused at how quickly, if she wasn't so absolutely humiliated. If Foster and his cronies had recorded every moment of her life since that bug entered her body, that meant they'd also listened in as she and Tom made love in her bedroom this morning. Her stomach bottomed out.

Tom didn't bat an eye.

Foster waited as a crony stepped up to whisper in his ear, then spoke. "You want the good news or the bad?"

Tom tipped his head, offering the choice to her.

"Both."

"Juju's alive. Lost a lot of blood, but the EMT says he'll make it to the hospital's prison ward. Luis appears to have a massive concussion. Coma, lasting brain damage, EMT tech's not sure. The driver's dead. Sorry."

So he knew that, too. Was nothing in her life sacred?

Tom eased her to his chest as she closed her eyes. "Get 'em all out of here and stand clear of the room. You can have your crime scene when we're done."

She lay there against the solid, comforting strength of Tom's chest as Foster complied, ordering the EMT techs to get their patients out and his men to remove Pepe. The murmurs, shuffles and footfalls gradually lessened until she caught the sound of the door closing and then there was nothing but silence and the steady thud of Tom's heart beneath her ear. She opened her eyes as he smoothed the hair from her cheek.

"You okay?"

She shrugged.

"I'm sorry about your mom. Luis. That must have been rough to hear it like that."

"I knew." His brows shot up. Evidently she'd surprised him for a change. She'd surprised herself. "I didn't admit it to myself until then, not even when the combination clicked in this morning, but I think I've always known. Maybe that's why I really came back. To admit it once and for all. Settle it."

He smoothed away the tears she hadn't even realized had slipped free. "Well, you did that. Damned nicely, too."

"Thanks. You did pretty good yourself."

He shook his head. "No. I almost blew it. Didn't I?"

They weren't talking about the bomb.

She shrugged. Not much else to say. Yes, she'd forgiven him for his insinuation regarding Juju. But it still hurt.

"I was an ass. I know it doesn't help, but I'm sorry."

But it did. The ragged kiss he pressed to her hair helped even more. She lifted her face and accepted his second, shakier kiss on the lips. Like the caress out on her balcony, the kiss was warm, soothing and healing.

They both sighed as he finally pulled away.

"What happened, honey? Why did you exchange the pills? Where? At the hacienda?"

She nodded. "This morning. After the shower. The bottle was still in my bra. I knew you wouldn't understand. You'd blame me or hate him. I didn't want either one. I swear I didn't take them with me when I left his office this morning deliberately. I took the ring. But I wasn't thinking. I couldn't throw the bottle away at the house so I filled it with some of the pills from the economy bottle of Tylenol in the bathroom. I have to be honest, Tom. When I opened that bottle, the thought did cross my mind. But when I looked in, I knew I'd already made it up. So I dumped the pills in the toilet and flushed them."

He believed her, but it still hurt.

She could tell by the way he dropped his gaze to study their hands as he linked his fingers to hers. "You've got a good friend in Sam. I'm glad. I'll be forever grateful for the ring she left."

"Tom?"

He dragged that too-blue stare back up. "Yeah?"

"It wasn't the ring. It wasn't even the pills. It was what I couldn't see in that bottle that stopped me."

She watched him swallow firmly. But his whisper still came out hoarse. His hope. "And what's that?"

"You."

His eyes filled with tears.

He blinked them back several times, but it didn't help. Not even when he turned away to wipe them with his sleeve. She didn't stop him. Nor did she stop him as he rubbed his fingers on his shirt to clean them so he could remove the set of disposable contacts from his eyes. But when he blinked again and slowly met her stare, she gasped softly and smiled.

He had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen.

They were a gorgeous shade of light green, still a bit reddened around the edges, and definitely still hoarding the bulk of those tears. They hadn't changed a bit. She could still see the love reflected in them that she'd been seeing since that morning and she could still see the need for her love in return. She felt her smile spreading out right along with her heart. She didn't try to stop either one.

"What about the hair, Major?"

He blinked.

"Well, I suppose we can't find a stylist this late in the evening." She sighed heavily. Teasingly.

His grin followed. "I could always offer up another portion of my anatomy for reference. We're about to be kicked out of here anyway. We could take the bastard's advice and head back to the room. Maybe even order some room service. Neither one of us had lunch."

She nodded. "I am hungry."

"For dessert?"

He looked so hopeful, she laughed. "For you."

A split second later, she was seated not in his lap, but on the cold concrete beside a rusting propane tank and a deactivated dirty bomb. She stared up at him, bereft as Tom used the key Foster had tossed him to release his remaining handcuff. He dropped the cuff beside the tools he'd used and held out his hands. She took both as she rose, bringing them to her lips so she could kiss the raw flesh encircling his wrists inch by inch. By the time she finished, she was blinking back her own tears. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

He pressed his fingers to her lips. "No more apologies, Anna. The past is the past. You were right in that room, about a lot of things. We both have issues to work through and we both need to start fresh. I say we do it right here and right now. Take it one step at a time. Figure it out as we go. But we have to do it openly and together. It's the only way we'll make it." He lowered his hand and held it out. "What do you say?"

Hope swelled within her, burning off the lingering pain in her chest and in her heart. But it wasn't until she slipped her fingers inside the warm, quiet strength of his that she knew Tom was right. No matter how long it took or where the road led, they would make it. As long as they did it—

"Together."

ISBN: 978-1-4268-8097-1

A DANGEROUS ENGAGEMENT

Copyright © 2003 by Candace Phillips Irvin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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*Sisters in Arms

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Table of Contents

CANDACE IRVIN

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15