The Mercenary Read online

  If Marisa were going to make a move against him, she hadn’t done it yet. Hell, she could have just let the lethal snake do its thing if it really had been intending to strike him.

  He pitched the “non-essentials” into the river and watched until everything disappeared—sank or floated away on the current. Then grabbing a heavy palm, he wiped away their footprints and all other traces of their presence as they headed away from their camp.

  “You are so totally paranoid, Murdoch,” she murmured as he tossed the palm into the river when they’d left the sandy, muddy bank for the stretch of river rock that they’d follow for now.

  “Just ’cause you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you,” he said blandly.

  She snorted softly. And they set off, picking their way carefully over the jagged, shifting rocks.

  “You were pretty handy with that machete,” he eventually said. He could hear her shoes on the rocks behind him. They’d be lucky if she didn’t break an ankle because of the smooth soles.

  “Is that your version of a thank-you?” Her voice was a little breathless.

  His lips twisted. “Take it how you want, M.”

  “Un idiot entêté.”

  Idiot. It wasn’t hard to grasp the sentiment behind the words. And he was glad she was behind him. Because, for some reason, her huffy utterance made him grin.

  “Murdoch’s window was three weeks.”

  Ricky Mercado nodded. He didn’t look at the British officer who’d spoken to him. Just because Tyler hadn’t made it to the field near the Mezcayan border to exchange the plane for the Jeep didn’t mean the mission was scrapped. “We picked up Ms. Rodriguez’s ID and credentials at the airfield just as scheduled.” So things had been on target then, at least. “He’ll do it in three weeks,” he said flatly. Knowing Ty, it might even be less.

  Unless he was dead.

  “We captured another group of men crossing the border yesterday. They were terrorizing a caravan of students traveling from Belize City to Mexico. El Jefe’s moves into Belize from Mezcaya won’t be tolerated.”

  Again, Ricky nodded. “Yes, sir, I heard. But your government agreed to support this mission with the United States. Tyler will get Westin out and then you can get on with your efforts to eradicate El Jefe. Everyone wants them stopped.” Everyone, including Lieutenant Colonel Westin, who’d been detailed by the United States government to work with the British base located in Belize to stomp out El Jefe’s reign of terror from spreading into that country. Everyone had a vested interest in putting El Jefe out of commission.

  “You don’t even know whether Murdoch and his companion are still alive. There has been no sign of them since we discovered what was left of his plane. The wreckage clearly indicated it exploded on impact.”

  “Three weeks,” Ricky reminded, turning around to eye the other officer. No matter what had happened in the past, he refused to believe that Tyler had gone down that way. He couldn’t believe it. “If you send in troops to El Jefe’s compound before then, Westin will most certainly die. And I can guarantee you, sir, that the international incident everyone is hoping to avoid will explode in our faces.”

  The officer’s eyes cooled. “Are you threatening me?”

  Ricky didn’t much care what the other man thought. He turned and looked out the window once more. “Three weeks,” was all he said.

  “It’s a bridge.”

  “It’s a flippin’ Mayan artifact.”

  Marisa propped her hand wearily on her hip and glared at Tyler. The sun was high in the sky: it was hot and almost unbearably humid. Even without her watch, she knew they’d been hiking for hours. Over the past few days, she’d gotten so she could judge time passed in accordance with the ache in her feet. “Murdoch, if we cross here, we’ll cut off miles. We can go over the mountain instead of all the way around it!”

  “If we cross here, we’ll end up down there.” His hooded gaze was directed down the deep chasm. They’d long ago left the river behind and had been following this particular ridge for some time. He’d been hoping to find a likely crossing point as it was simply too steep and rough to descend otherwise.

  “No, we won’t. All the bridges around here are like this,” she assured. “They’re stronger than they look.”

  “No.” He pulled the binoculars from his pack. It didn’t matter that she was right about the shortcut. They did need to get across the chasm. And the sooner, the better, he thought silently as he watched a tiny moving point far off in the distance. It was definitely a person. He could easily make out the pale hair—or maybe a light-colored hat—against the plethora of green surrounding him. He also could see the telltale glint of the sun reflecting off a rifle. The guy was steadily gaining on them. “We’ll find another crossing point further—”

  He lowered the binoculars and turned to Marisa only to find her already starting across the narrow bridge. “Dammit! Marisa, come back here now.”

  “Thought you were a big, strong military man,” she called back as she gingerly stepped from one board to the next, hands curled over the fraying rope that was supposed to pass for handrails.

  He stuffed the binoculars in his pack and started after her. “Talk about an imbecile,” he grumbled, as the bridge shifted and groaned the moment he set foot on it. “Marisa!”

  She was nearly halfway across. “Tyler, you know I’m—” She screamed when the rotting board beneath her foot gave way and her leg went through right past her knee.

  Chills streaked down his spine. In an instant, he went down on his knees, distributing his weight. “I know you’re a damn walking accident,” he said through gritted teeth as he cautiously slid his knee across one plank to the next. “Just hang on.”

  “No kidding,” she gasped. She had one arm wrapped around a board, and the other twined in the rope support. “The other board is cracking, too.”

  “Then don’t put any weight on it.”

  It was an achingly slow process, creeping out over what he considered to be a death trap. He still had yards to go to reach her, but he could see her white face. The way she kept looking down. He needed to distract her. “Did I ever tell you about the day my golfing buddies and I found a baby on the golf course?”

  She closed her eyes and when she opened them, she was looking at him. “You know you didn’t. You’re just making it up to be outrageous.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  He slid past another plank. “Well, okay, I know I didn’t tell you already. But it’s true. There she was in her carrier on the ninth tee of the Lone Star Country Club, all tucked up snug as a bug with a note pinned to her blanket.”

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Nobody’s figured that out just yet.” He crossed another plank. And another. The bridge rocked, groaned. He kept his voice easy, his tone casual, and as a distraction, telling her about the odd occurrence last year was fitting the bill. But when they got off this thing, he was going to strangle her. “My friend Flynt and his wife are taking care of the baby until we figure out who her daddy is.”

  “Lucky b-baby. Some places would have stuck her in foster care.” She closed her eyes, and he could see her visibly control her trembling. “I can’t see you playing golf.”

  “Too civilized for the likes of me?”

  She managed a shaky smile, but her eyes were terrified. “Yes.”

  “Just hold on, Marisa, I’m almost there. You’re just fine. You haven’t slipped any more. You’re more on the bridge than off. Okay? You ever been to a circus?”

  She nodded, her eyes glued to his. “Is it too late to say you were right?” she asked shakily.

  “Definitely.” He slid up beside her. “Way too late. This is what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna take your wrists, and you’re gonna hold on to mine exactly the same way. Just like the trapeze artists at the circus. Our arms’ll be linked. Then I’ll pull you up. Got it?” He slowly wrapped his hands around her wrists.

  He could see her swal
low, and knew she was thinking about that brief moment when she’d have to let go in order to grab him. “I’m not going to let you fall,” he said.

  Her eyes searched his. “Even though you don’t trust me.”

  He tightened his grip. For a taller than average, curvy woman, right then she felt painfully delicate. “Even though. Come on, Marisa. Grab my wrists before we both end up down there.”

  That seemed enough to prompt her. As if in slow motion, he saw her eyes close. Her lips moved silently. After a moment, she moved. First one, then the other more quickly, she wrapped her hands, tight and strong, around his wrists, completing the link between them.

  He allowed himself a long breath as he adjusted to her weight. “Good girl,” he murmured.

  She smiled weakly.

  Then he was pulling her free of the rotting board, and she clung to him, there on that narrow, swaying excuse of a bridge, high above the rest of the world. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was fervent.

  He shrugged off the idiotic notion that he could hold her like that for about a month of Sundays, and carefully moved her hands to the ropes again. “Don’t stand up,” he said flatly. “We’ve still got to get to the other side. We’re already halfway across the damn thing, so we might as well go the rest.” It couldn’t be any more dangerous than returning the way they’d come.

  But two more boards split apart and fell, silently, swiftly, toward the base of the chasm before they made it. When they got to the other side, he yanked Marisa well away from the edge, feeling adrenaline surging through his system like newly struck oil. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “Tyler, I’m sorry, I—”

  “Shut up. Just shut the hell up.” He shoved his hands through her hair and covered her mouth with his.

  Marisa stiffened like a board, her fingers going to his wrists once more, intent on pushing him away. But his lips were warm and surprisingly soft, and without conscious thought, instead of pushing away, she held on.

  Back and forth his lips gently, tantalizingly, irresistibly brushed over hers. She murmured his name and nearly moaned when his tongue slipped along her inner lip.

  And her mind simply went blank.

  All she could do then was feel. And taste. And think, in the very back of her fogged brain, that never in her life had she been kissed quite like his.

  When he finally lifted his head, she swayed weakly, twining her fingers into the coarse fabric of his shirt for support. “You…” She swallowed, pressed her forehead against his chest and moistened her lips. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  His wide chest moved in a deep breath. “Probably not,” he agreed roughly.

  And then he tipped back her head and kissed her again. One arm went around her, his large palm splayed against the small of her back, urging her against him. And she, oh she couldn’t ever remember feeling quite so alive. Quite so perfectly feminine as he fitted her curves against him, letting her know undeniably that they were indeed very much alive.

  And he was just as aroused as she.

  Her daypack hit the ground with a thud and a puff of dust. His hands slid under the back of her shirt, fingertips gliding along her spine.

  Her knees went to water, and he caught her about the waist. Mindless, she arched against him, exhaling deeply when he tugged the shirt from her altogether and pressed his lips to her throat. Her fingers sank into his hair and she stared blindly into the endless blue above them. Her heartbeat felt slow and heavy even as it raced in her chest, until she felt dizzy with it.

  His kiss burned over her shoulder, up her neck, finally finding her seeking mouth yet again, and she cried out when his hard, warm hand finally glided along the narrow strap of her bra and slowly, oh, so slowly drew the stretchy fabric away from the aching tip.

  He lifted his head, and she swallowed hard as his dark eyes surveyed his handiwork. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed together. Only the heat burning in the depths of his eyes told her that he was far from being put off by her abundant breasts. Then he drew his finger along the edge of satin and she thought she may well collapse when he urged the other cup aside.

  Her nipples tightened even more under his steady gaze. Her lips parted for air, her fingers tangling in the buttons of his shirt. She was desperate to feel his bare skin. To feel his chest against hers. To have nothing at all between them.

  But when she yanked apart the buttons, popping one right off in her haste, and she spread the lapels of his shirt, it wasn’t an expanse of muscle and sinew that she saw. It was an expanse of blue and green and yellow, visible through his dusting of chest hair; one of the most vicious bruises she’d ever seen in her lifetime.

  She scrambled back from him, utterly and completely horrified as she yanked her bra into place before tugging his shirt away even more fully. “You’re hurt!”

  Tyler made a rough sound. He tried to slide his arms around her waist again, but she wriggled away. “Marisa—”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  Her touch was light as a feather as she felt along his bruised rib cage, but it still made his nerves nearly explode. Not from pain, but because he wanted her hands all over him. And he was a damn fool for letting things get this out of hand.

  “Please don’t tell me that you’ve had a broken rib all this time.” She was sliding under his arm, going behind him, tugging at the backpack that he’d all but forgotten because he’d been more concerned with exploring every inch of the infernal woman’s body.

  “It’s not broken,” he assured. “Just bruised, and it’s healing. Come back here.”

  Again, she evaded him. “How did it happen? When the plane went down? It takes a while for a bruise to color that much, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what hit me when we went down.”

  “How do you know it’s not broken?”

  “Because I’ve had broken ribs before. Trust me, it’s a bruise.” He tugged her back into his arms and caught her earlobe gently between his teeth. “Just a bruise,” he said again.

  She shivered against him, her knees weak. “Tyler, we shouldn’t—”

  “I know.” He did know it. They shouldn’t. For about a dozen reasons, not the least of which, he was technically on duty. She might be part of El Jefe, in which case, he’d deserve the knife she’d stick in his back if only because of his own stupidity. If she wasn’t part of El Jefe, and really was on the mission because of the vague reasons she’d admitted, then he had no business whatsoever not protecting her to his fullest ability.

  Which also meant protecting her from him as well as any others. “I know,” he said again. He took a long breath, soaking up the feel of her satiny, rich skin against him, then stepped back from her. He handed her the shirt that he dimly remembered tearing over her head, and then the small pack.

  “Oh, no,” she said, as she held it up by the straps. “Not so fast.” And damn if the woman didn’t go to his pack and begin flipping free the straps to pull stuff from inside.

  “What on God’s green earth do you think you’re doing?” He crouched down beside her, yanking the bundles of clothes and supplies out of her hands. “We’re too exposed to camp here, and we’ve got hours of daylight left.”

  “I’m not stupid,” she countered. “I know that. But my pack is less than half full. There’s no reason for you to carry all the weight.”

  He was surprised enough for a minute that she actually managed to stuff some of the gear into her own daypack before he stopped her. Even Sonya, who’d been an equal member of his team before she’d been exposed as the traitor she was, had never concerned herself with lightening someone else’s load.

  Then Marisa held up the fat pack of gum that he’d carefully tucked in the middle of his pack. “Been holding out on me, Murdoch?”

  He grabbed the packet and stuffed it back into his belongings. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “That’s enough, now. There wasn’t enough weight in there to start with to bother me.”

  She blinked
at his brusqueness, but it couldn’t be helped. He let her take some of the clothing, since it seemed particularly important to her.

  Silent, as if nothing had just transpired between them at all, she slid her arms through the straps of the pack and flipped her braid free. “I still don’t get you, Murdoch,” she finally said as she struck out in front of him, heading into the sun.

  He watched her backside, distinctly uncomfortable at the feelings inside him. Sex was easy enough to get beyond. He’d done it before. He’d do it again. He was a soldier. He was used to putting everything aside for the sake of the battle. And there were no two ways about it. It was a battle against El Jefe that he and the rest of the decent world were waging.

  So what was it, then, about Marisa that sneaked under his skin, making it damn impossible to ignore?

  Right then, he didn’t “get” himself, any more than Marisa did.

  Seven

  It was a blond-haired man following them, Tyler decided.

  Three days had passed since the bridge, and the man tracking them had made no moves to lessen the distance.

  On the fourth day, however, he did.

  Tyler had determined the man was traveling alone, and was capable of making better time than he and Marisa were. He’d also figured it was only a matter of time before the guy made his move. Maybe he’d been waiting for Tyler and Marisa to be lulled into a false sense of security by the continual distance he’d been maintaining. Maybe he’d wanted to bide his time to see just where Tyler and Marisa were heading. Maybe he’d been waiting for Marisa to make some move.

  Even though his companion seemed completely ignorant of the guy tracking them, and had made no moves whatsoever on the GPS, Tyler made himself consider that last possibility.

  Regardless of their tracker’s reasoning, though, on that particular day, the guy started moving faster. And without trying to alert Marisa, or alarm her for that matter, Tyler pushed them faster than usual before making camp.

  Since the day they’d crossed the bridge, both he and Marisa had made certain to keep their distance from each other. When he’d set camp, she’d do some magic with the fruits and plants she managed to gather while they’d hiked. He didn’t know what she did to the stuff, but it was edible, some of it even tasty. It wasn’t fish, and along with the protein bars that were nearly gone, it was enough to keep their energy going.