The Mercenary Page 2

  His attitude couldn’t be clearer. He didn’t want her to accompany him to Mezcaya. The only thing she wasn’t sure of was whether he’d heard about her, and his lack of welcome was because of that, or whether he had other reasons.

  She knew he was part of some special unit with the military. The former ambassador had told her that, along with a few other, scarce details. Though unlikely, she supposed it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he might have met Gerald and heard the rumors surrounding her.

  It had been four years, yet even now, Marisa had to consciously release her anger over Gerald’s lies. He’d claimed to love her. But he’d ruined her. Left her career in tatters. And her family—

  Don’t think about that.

  It was a much too frequent mantra.

  The plane leveled off, and Marisa’s ears stopped popping. She reached for her briefcase and drew out a file. Among other things since she’d “left” embassy service, she’d found work as a freelance translator for a few small-press publishers. The latest project was a paper on the long-term effects of video game usage by myopic users. She was translating it from English to Italian.

  A few hours later, she’d made little progress on the dry project, because her eyes kept straying to the oval windows on the other side of the empty seat beside her. She sighed and put the file back in her briefcase, unclipped her safety belt and slid into the window seat to look out.

  The landscape below was lush, green…and surprisingly close. Startled, she jerked back and stared at the cockpit. Surely they weren’t supposed to be flying so close to the ground. The treetops looked so close that it was a wonder they weren’t hitting the wings!

  All the nervousness that she’d ever felt about flying climbed into her throat, leaving one choking knot. She slid out of the seat and hurriedly made her way forward to duck into the cockpit.

  Tyler knew she was there before she could say a word. He pulled off the headset that held little more than static. “Head’s behind that door there.”

  She blinked. “What? Oh. No, no, I don’t—I—” Her lips firmed and she leaned closer. “What are you doing flying so low? Surely that’s dangerous.”

  “Everything’s been dangerous since takeoff.” He didn’t want her up here in the cockpit. It was close enough without adding her shapely self to the mix. If he moved his arm two inches, he’d be brushing against the curves contained within that scoop-necked jacket. It buttoned all the way up the front, but still exposed the hollow at her throat, the golden creamy neck—

  His head filled with curses that some forgotten sense of decency kept him from mouthing. “Either sit down here, or go back to your seat and buckle in.” He sounded like a grouchy old man, and he didn’t much care. Better that than a red-blooded male way too aware of a female he didn’t want around, anyway.

  She confounded him by taking the seat beside him. And he couldn’t help but appreciate the view when she arched her back a little, reaching for, then fastening, the safety harness. Her knuckles were nearly white as she clenched them together in her lap.

  “Don’t touch anything.”

  Her nose went up in the air. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  His jaw ached. He focused on the view beyond the nose of the plane.

  He was flying low for a reason, but he had no intention of explaining himself. And when they got Westin to safety, he was going to have a talk with TPTB of Alpha Force. Apparently they didn’t take his no-women rule quite seriously enough.

  He tuned out his companion and her white knuckles, and focused on the heavy forest below. This corner of Mezcaya near the border of Belize was mostly uninhabited. He wanted to make sure he didn’t show up on any radar and he wanted another look at the terrain while he had the chance. His last foray into Mezcaya had been too brief to suit him.

  He’d studied the maps, of course, well enough to memorize them. But maps were one thing; seeing the land for himself was another. Soon enough, they’d exchange the plane at a designated place just across the border in Belize for a less conspicuous mode of transportation, and he wanted every advantage he could get before then.

  Her knuckles were still white.

  He stifled a sigh. “You were born in Mezcaya?”

  She didn’t look at him. “Yes.”

  And she’d been in Embassy service. Probably the pampered daughter of some dignitary. No wonder she looked like Miss Universe. “How many languages do you speak?”

  “Thirteen.”

  Definitely one of the privileged few from Mezcaya. The average family didn’t school their sons, much less their daughters, beyond primary. “Impressive.”

  Her head slowly turned toward him, her golden eyes skeptical. “Why do I doubt you mean that?”

  “I don’t say what I don’t mean.”

  Her expression didn’t change. “Perhaps we’d be better served by discussing the task ahead of us.”

  “Task.” The word felt as insubstantial on his tongue as it did to describe the operation. “Weren’t you briefed?” If she hadn’t been told too many details, he’d come up with a way to keep her from accompanying him all the way to the compound.

  “I know we’re to try to rescue an American officer named Phillip Westin.”

  “I will get him back.” Tyler corrected flatly. “There’s no ‘try’ about it.”

  “El Jefe has him.”

  “That won’t stop me.”

  “Us.”

  His jaw ached even more.

  “Others have failed,” she persisted.

  “I—we won’t.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because we’re not going in the way they’ll expect.” His friend Luke Callaghan had already been injured and was even now recuperating at a hospital in Texas. Tyler still had a hard time believing his old friend wasn’t just the millionaire playboy they’d all believed him to be. And if it weren’t for the fact that Luke had been blinded during his battle to save Westin, Tyler would probably still be pissed about the revelation that Luke was an operative with a covert civilian agency, involved in tasks eerily similar to those in which the Alpha Force engaged. But Luke’s methods had still been of the traditional bent.

  “You mean, we’re going in as domestics.”

  He slid the plane in a slow bank, then dipped into the valley between two mountains. A river snaked below them, glittering like a strand of diamonds. They were no longer skimming the treetops. It was so damn beautiful it was hard to believe anything bad ever happened in this country. “Yeah.” He glanced her way. “We’ll have to go in as a married couple.”

  That seemed to startle her. “Why?”

  “Because you’re a woman.”

  “And you’re none too pleased about that.”

  “If M. Rodriguez had been a man, we could have posed as brothers.”

  “Even though one wouldn’t be able to speak Mezcayan, much less Spanish.” Her voice dripped disbelief.

  His inability to fully master foreign languages was something Tyler had long ago accepted. People had different gifts. His was more along the lines of blowing things up than conjugating verbs. Which didn’t mean that hearing her observation did not rub him wrong. “I don’t need to do much speaking,” he said flatly. “That’s what they gave me you for.”

  “Then I’ll be your sister instead of your brother,” she said reasonably.

  “You’ll be my wife.”

  His words seemed to float around the cockpit, blurring into the sound of the wind outside the plane, the steady drone of the engine.

  He saw the way her shoulders stiffened, as if the statement was as abhorrent to her as it was to him. “What if I don’t agree to that?”

  “Then I’ll leave your butt in Belize when we land in a few hours.”

  “And you’ll never make it from there across Mezcaya and into El Jefe’s compound without me.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that.” He would make his way to Fortaleza de la Fortuna whether she accompanied him or
not. He would infiltrate the infamous compound, locate the damned cave that Luke had spoken of, free Westin and get the hell out of there, even if he had to blow up the entire compound and everyone in it in the process.

  As far as he was concerned, destroying El Jefe’s compound was just fine with him. The world would be a better place without the terrorist group. Only he’d been ordered not to incite an international incident. Which meant he had to use some finesse, exercise some restraint and get it done in the time he’d been allowed before the Brits took over and did God knew what.

  “El Jefe runs that entire region of Mezcaya.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” That was one of the reasons they were flying into the opposite side of the country.

  She rattled off a stream of incomprehensible words. Mezcayan, he assumed. “Your point?”

  She smiled faintly, looking superior enough that he wanted to hand her a parachute and show her the door. “I said that you’ll never make it through the gate of la Fortuna, unless you can speak Mezcayan or are very closely tied to one who does. That’s how El Jefe ensures some modicum of loyalty from those who live there.

  “El Jefe may be scourge to the rest of the world, but to a great many citizens of this country, it is their savior. It feeds and clothes them. Provides for their children. Its compound isn’t merely a well-secured estate, Mr. Murdoch, it is virtually a state of its own. The language isn’t taught in schools. The government has decreed Spanish to be the official language, quite possibly as a direct statement against El Jefe. There are some that believe the language has been kept alive for the past few generations strictly because of El Jefe’s influence. Mezcayan is handed down from parent to child and so on, and only those who are natives of the land are likely to speak it well. Which means that you need me to get you through the door.”

  Everything she said was true. But she’d left out one detail. And much as he didn’t want her there with him, he wouldn’t be responsible for harm coming to her, something his damned superiors had to have known. But as much as Tyler hated feeling manipulated, he was more concerned with his obligation to Westin. “We won’t go through unless you have the protection of being a married woman.”

  He saw unease ripple through her eyes. Her lips parted, then closed.

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  She looked away. “There have been rumors.”

  “Unless you’re a nun or married—which El Jefe seems to have an unusual respect for considering everything else—women are fair game. Willing or not, El Jefe doesn’t care. If you’ve been raised in the compound, you’d possibly be taken as a wife or mistress by one of the officers should one take a shine to you. Gain their disfavor and you’d be sold off to the highest bidder. Or worse.”

  “Rumors.”

  “You want to take a chance that they’re not just rumors? Come on, M., look in a mirror. They’ll be lining up like hungry coyotes to see who gets the first taste. First tastes probably go to senior officers. The generals of El Jefe. Remember that British reporter a few years ago? She managed to infiltrate the compound, even managed to keep her cover intact. But she was—”

  “Stop.” Marisa didn’t need him to go any further. He could have no idea how close his words struck. No idea, whatsoever.

  It was just that he, like so many others in the free world, had probably seen the news story. It had been splashed across every paper for days. The woman, barely a reporter at all, had been raped then abandoned outside of the compound. When she was found, she was taken to a hospital in Mexico where her story came out.

  What the news stories hadn’t said, however, was what happened after the hospital. The woman eventually committed suicide, unable to withstand the effects of her encounters with El Jefe. She’d left behind a child and a lover beset with grief.

  The knot in Marisa’s throat had extended down to her stomach. She couldn’t let fear stop her from following through on this. There were too many reasons why she needed to succeed. “So, I’ll be a nun.”

  “Nobody with two eyes in their head would believe that.”

  She bristled. “Why not? Is there something…heathen about me, Mr. Murdoch?”

  His gaze roved over her, making her feel hot and cold all at once. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like him. Knowing that this arrogant stranger could have any kind of effect on her was simply unacceptable. And being told in that unrelenting manner that she would portray his wife was just too close to orders that Gerald had once decreed. “I could act the nun well enough. For a little while, at least. I was raised as a Catholic and—”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I couldn’t pass as a priest, and there would be no other reason for me to be accompanying you.”

  “Of course you could pretend to be a priest. For a little while. We could say…well, that your vocal cords were injured so you can’t speak, or something.”

  “Unless my eyes were bandaged they’d still see the way I look at you.”

  Marisa flushed.

  “Besides,” he went on, as if regretting his admission, “there’s no reason why a strange priest and nun would gain access to la Fortuna. But they’re constantly taking in servants. It’s the only way.”

  Silence hung between them for an endless moment. Then he spoke again. “Come on, Marisa.” Tyler’s voice was low, gentle. And she immediately distrusted it. “There’s nothing important enough for you to want to do this.”

  Distrust, indeed. Her voice cooled. “My reasons are important, Mr. Murdoch, so please don’t make the mistake of dismissing them. Why is it so important to you to find this man?”

  “Because I owe him. I was a hostage once and if not for Lieutenant Colonel Phillip Westin, who lived, ate and breathed for his men and didn’t give up on us, my friends and I would all be dead by now. I’m prepared to lay my life down for that man.”

  Whatever Marisa had expected, it wasn’t that. However, Tyler wasn’t finished.

  “But I’d just as soon get out with us still alive,” he added. “Which means that you don’t make one move without my say-so. I don’t care how well developed your Mezcayan heritage is, or what your reasons are for horning in on this op. There’re two people in Mezcaya that I trust, and one of them has been held captive for months now. So do what I say, when I say, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll come out of this with our skin intact.”

  “And the other person you trust?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  Tyler was no longer looking at her, but out the window beside him. “Isn’t you.”

  Two

  Well. That was clear enough.

  Tyler didn’t trust her. She didn’t particularly trust him, either, so she supposed that made them even.

  “You’ve got different clothes?”

  The absolute and utter change of topic surprised her. She looked down at her linen pantsuit. It had been excruciatingly expensive, but necessary, if she was going to make it back to the life she’d once had. She couldn’t show up as a representative of former Ambassador Torres in the polyester uniform she wore at the restaurant.

  He’d made no sound whatsoever, but she could sense his impatience. “Yes, of course I have different clothes with me,” she answered.

  “So you’ll look like a local? A likely candidate for a servant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God for that,” he muttered.

  Oh, she really didn’t like this man. “You don’t exactly look the part of a servant, either,” she retorted. What he did look like was a one-man military unit who’d never taken orders from anyone in his life.

  If he took exception to her tone, she didn’t know it. “We’ll both change when we land,” was all he said.

  She realized her teeth were worrying the inside of her lip and made herself stop. She didn’t want to pretend to be anything with this man, but if she had to, she’d do what was necessary.

  “When will that be?”

 
; “Soon enough.”

  Her lips tightened. “Mr. Murdoch, things might run more smoothly if you’d just tell me what your plans are.”

  “I’ll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it.”

  She blew out a noisy breath, then unsnapped her harness.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To sit back there with the cargo. It’s friendlier than you are.” Her annoyance was a bristling, physical thing as she brushed past him through the cockpit door.

  The bare skin of his arm tingled from the contact. He looked back at her. He was acting like an ass. He knew it. She knew it. She was beautiful, sexy as hell with her hair tied back in that tight knot, and he didn’t want to need her help. He didn’t trust her but he had to work with her.

  Damn El Jefe!

  He ran a practiced eye over the instrument panel, then looked back at her.

  She was just fastening her seat belt, her head lowered as she fumbled with what should have been an easy task. A long strand of hair had worked free of her knot and clung to her cheek. She dashed it away with an angry motion, her gaze meeting his.

  She looked away, but not quickly enough.

  He thought he was immune to crocodile tears. Sonya had been able to summon them at the drop of a hat.

  Hell. A conscience was mighty inconvenient, sometimes. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Why?” She was suspicious.

  “Only making conversation.” He turned back around, automatically checking his panel.

  After a long moment, she answered. “I have a sixteen-year-old-sister and…”

  He glanced back at her when she paused.

  “Three brothers,” she finished flatly. But at least her tears were nowhere in sight. Then her eyebrows rose and with extreme politeness, she said, “And you?”

  “I’m one of a kind.” Though, really, he had no way of knowing whether the man who’d fathered him had sired a dozen other offspring, since Tyler never even knew the guy.

  “Indeed.” Her tone was dry. “What a pity the world doesn’t have more just like—” She gasped when the plane shuddered and suddenly lost altitude.