Special Ops Exclusive

chapter 9



“We still haven’t found them.”

An aberrant vise of helplessness squeezed his throat as he paced the expensive carpet in his office. This was not the news he’d wanted to hear first thing in the morning.

“Where the hell are they?” he demanded. “And how have you not tracked them down yet? She’s one of the most recognizable women in the world, for Chrissake.”

“And he’s one of the most skilled soldiers in the world,” came the annoyed response. “Neither of them has surfaced in Mala since the shoot-out at the hospital.”

He clenched his teeth, not in the mood for the reminder. Fortunately, the media hadn’t uncovered the truth behind the shooting, so Rebecca Parker’s involvement in the death of the mercenary was not common knowledge. And thanks to Parker’s call to her network and her assurance that she was taking some time off to grieve, the ABN executives hadn’t reported their star correspondent missing.

Yet.

“She told the receptionist she’s coming back to D.C. soon.” He stopped pacing and approached the desk. “I want people at her apartment, the network, her favorite haunts. If Parker steps foot in this city, I want to know about it.”

“Of course.”

“And what’s the latest on Waverly?”

Carraway sounded aggravated. “No sign of him either, but I’ve got men looking into it.”

He briefly closed his eyes. Bad enough that he had three supersoldiers breathing down his neck. He also had a missing government aide to deal with.

Paul Waverly should have never been allowed to leave the Pentagon after giving Sebastian Stone that tainted water; the man was supposed to be neutralized, damn it. But now Waverly had taken off, too, fleeing in a panic because he was smart enough to know that he would need to be eliminated for his part in this cover-up.

“Just find him,” he grumbled into the receiver. “Call me later with an update.”

He hung up and sat down at the desk. Took a deep, calming breath. All right. Time to push the headaches out of his mind and concentrate on doing the job people depended on him to do.

Leaning forward, he pressed the intercom button that connected to his secretary. “Bernice,” he barked, “what’s the first item on the agenda for today?”

* * *

They landed in Costa Rica just after 7:00 a.m. Despite the five hours of sleep, Nick didn’t feel at all rested or refreshed. Rebecca, on the other hand, looked as chipper as a cartoon character. Bouncing off the plane, tipping her head to gaze up at the bright blue sky, shaking hands with Manuel as she thanked him with a broad smile.

He wondered if she’d still be in good spirits if she’d been forced to experience the same X-rated dreams that had taunted his subconscious all night.

Rebecca, naked, moaning and writhing beneath him.

Christ.

His mind had managed to produce such vivid images that Nick felt like he’d actually been naked with the sassy redhead.

Banishing his wicked thoughts, he slung his duffel over his shoulder, shoved his aviator sunglasses on the bridge of his nose and rested a hand on Rebecca’s upper arm to lead her into the hangar. The cavernous space smelled like oil, fuel and oranges, and it was devoid of life as they strode inside.

First things first—find a mode of transportation. This was the closest airfield to Pista Olvidada, but the town was still a good two-hour drive, and they didn’t have a car.

Spotting two men in gray jumpsuits near a metal rack littered with toolboxes, Nick offered a casual wave and called out, “¡Hola!”

Both men lifted their hands in brisk waves.

Next to him, Rebecca’s hand tightened over the strap of her canvas purse. “Do we have to show them our passports or something?” she murmured.

Nick laughed under his breath. “Does this look like a real airport? We won’t be encountering any customs officials here, Red.”

“Ah. Right.”

They reached the two men, one of whom introduced himself as Javier, the owner of this less-than-legal airstrip. Javier was a stocky man with a thick black mustache and pockmarked olive skin, but even though he looked slightly menacing, he was surprisingly pleasant.

“What brings you to our little town?” He moved away from the mechanic he’d been consulting with and gestured for Nick and Rebecca to follow him.

As the three of them headed for the open doors where sunlight streamed into the hangar, Nick addressed the man’s inquiry. “We’re backpacking through Central and South America and decided to make a pit stop here to track down an old friend.”

“I see.” Javier’s dark eyes seemed to be smirking at them. “And do you always travel by such...backdoor methods? Because not many tourists wind up in my airport, my friends.”

Nick just shrugged. “We like to live on the edge.”

Beside him, Rebecca huffed out an exaggerated breath. “Don’t listen to him, Javier. My boyfriend is just trying to protect me.”

The owner of the airfield lifted one bushy eyebrow. “How so?”

“I’m on a no-fly list,” she said glumly. “There was an...incident...a few years back. Let’s just say I lost my temper and now I’m paying the price for it. No commercial flights for me.”

Now the man let out a genuine laugh. “This doesn’t surprise me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No?”

Still laughing, Javier reached out and tugged on the end of Rebecca’s long ponytail. “The red hair,” he clarified. “Women with red hair are known to have ferocious tempers.”

“Tell me about it,” Nick said with a sigh.

They stepped out into the morning sunshine and Nick breathed in the scent of rain, earth and flora. The air was unbearably humid, which was what you got when visiting Costa Rica during the wet season.

He shrugged out of the jacket Rebecca had returned to him before they’d landed and tucked it under his arm, then glanced at Javier. “Our friend was in these parts about a week ago, but we have no way of contacting him.”

“No cell phone,” Rebecca said, shaking her head in amazement. “Who doesn’t have a cell phone these days?”

“He called us collect from some little town. Pista Olvido? Olvida—”

“Olvidada,” Javier filled in.

“Yeah, that was it. So he called and told us to come see him if we ended up here, but we have no idea where he’s staying or if he’s even still there.”

“But he was here at your airport,” Rebecca piped up. “He’s the one who hooked us up with our pilot, Manuel.”

Javier stroked his mustache with one meaty hand. “And he was here last week, you say?”

Nick nodded. “He’s from London, but he’s been living in the States so long that his accent might not be as pronounced anymore. His name is William Neville.”

The flicker of recognition in Javier’s eyes told Nick that Neville aka Waverly had indeed made an appearance at this airfield. “Yes, I remember him. Blond hair, blue eyes—”

“Vampire-white skin,” Rebecca chimed in, grinning. “Yeah, that’s Willie.”

Although he had to hide it, Nick was ridiculously impressed with Rebecca’s playacting. The woman was quick on her feet, handling Javier like a pro, and every word that left her mouth sounded like the honest-to-God truth; Nick himself would’ve believed her if he didn’t know better.

“Well, I don’t know where your friend is staying or whether he’s still in town, but as of seven days ago, he was in Pista Olvidada,” Javier confirmed.

Nick masked his eagerness. “Are you certain?”

“Quite certain. I drove him there myself.” A frown puckered Javier’s mouth. “He wasn’t the friendliest of men. Slightly rude, if I’m being honest.”

Rebecca sighed again. “Willie tends to get cranky after a flight. And he’s a Brit—we all know those Brits are notoriously snooty. Don’t take it personally.”

Javier laughed again. “You’re right about that. Damn Brits.”

“So you drove him to Pista Olvidada,” Nick prompted. “Did he say if he planned on sticking around?”

“He didn’t say much, but he hasn’t been back, so if he left town, he didn’t do it by plane. Unless he flew commercial or drove to another private airport—the nearest one is about ten hours south of here.”

Nice. So chances were, Waverly was still in Costa Rica, Nick thought with satisfaction.

He looked around, noting the three vehicles parked nearby on the dirt. “Is there anywhere to rent a car around here? Or is Pista Olvidada within walking distance?”

“Oh, no, my friend, it is a very long walk. Two hours by car, much longer by foot.”

Nick and Rebecca exchanged a look, as if they weren’t happy to hear this.

“Lucky for you, I also offer car rentals,” Javier said with a big, crooked-toothed smile. He hooked his thumb at an older-model Jeep. “Two hundred bucks a day.”

Wow, that was steep, but Nick supposed a man had to make a living in this no-horse town any way he could. Besides, he couldn’t imagine that they’d be in the country more than twenty-four hours.

Nick reached into his back pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. He peeled off two hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Javier. “Let’s say one day for now. If it’s more, I’ll pay you when we bring the car back.”

Javier accepted the bills and nodded in agreement.

“And if you could also arrange for a charter out when we return?” Rebecca asked sweetly. “We probably won’t be visiting with Willie for too long, and we’re eager to head south. Venezuela is next on our itinerary.”

“I will see what I can do,” Javier said as he handed Nick a set of car keys. “The tank is full. And it comes back full, yes?”

“Of course,” Nick assured him.

The two men shook hands, and then Javier took Rebecca’s hand and planted a wet kiss on her knuckles. To her credit, she didn’t balk or convey any sign of disgust.

“I will see you soon, then,” Javier told them before stalking back into the hangar.

They watched him go, then turned to each other with matching grins.

“He is astonishingly awesome considering he owns an illegal airport and probably smuggles drugs through here,” Rebecca said wryly.

Nick suddenly thought of the charismatic Enrique Salazar and had to laugh. Seemed like none of the nefarious characters he was meeting these days were living up to their reputations.

He took a step toward the Jeep. “Come on, let’s go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we find Waverly.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “The game’s afoot, then!”

He choked down his amusement. “Whatever you say, Watson.”

“Watson?” Her trademark smirk returned. “Uh-uh, Nicky, I’m Sherlock. You’re the sidekick.”

“Whatever helps you sleep better at night, darling.”

* * *

Nick was hyperaware of Rebecca during the ride to the coast. Excruciatingly aware, in fact. Erection-of-the-century aware.

It didn’t help that the woman kept lifting her ponytail up, revealing the tantalizing arch of her graceful neck and the little red tendrils at her nape. Her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, thanks to the humidity thickening the air and the sun beating down on their heads. The breeze that rushed through the open top of the Jeep did nothing to ease the fire in his groin.

Why did Rebecca Parker have to be so damn sexy?

And so damn intelligent?

He wasn’t sure what he found sexier—those stunning looks of hers, or her astute, passionate rhetoric. He’d always had a thing for smart women, and Rebecca’s endless well of knowledge and insight was a major turn-on.

“So yeah, they steal the eggs!” she was saying, sounding livid.

Nick snapped out of his thoughts and tried to remember what they were discussing now. Sea turtles. Right.

“And then these a-holes sell the eggs, thus contributing to the extinction of the species.”

She angrily shook her head, and her wide-brimmed straw hat nearly flew off. Earlier, they’d stopped at the bustling outdoor marketplace they’d spotted along the way and picked up some supplies. Courtesy of his stack of cash, Nick was able to buy Rebecca a few changes of clothes and better shoes, and they’d also stocked up on water and fresh fruit.

Now they were about twenty minutes from Pista Olvidada, and Nick couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed the ride. Unceasing erection aside, he enjoyed Rebecca’s company, even if she did tend to go on long diatribes about the injustices of the world.

“And then, to make matters worse, we’ve got all these resorts being erected—”

His groin clenched. Did she have to use the word erected?

“—effectively usurping the nesting grounds these turtles have been using for centuries. You know what, Nick? I hate people. I really do. People suck.”

A laugh rumbled out. “Aw, come on, not all people are egg-stealing, resort-building villains.”

“True,” she relented. “There are some great folks working at the preservation society. I volunteered with them last year—we spent hours digging up sea turtle eggs and moving them to protected areas, that way those nasty thieves can’t get their hands on the eggs.”

The revelation impressed the hell out of him. He was quickly learning that Rebecca was more than a pretty face you saw on television. She didn’t just report on stories—she interacted with them, lived them, breathed them. Which brought both a spark of admiration and a tug of dread, the latter because it was becoming less and less likely that she would meekly agree to go to Ecuador if he pushed the issue.

Up ahead, the road sloped upward, hugging a jagged cliff that overlooked the ocean hundreds of feet below. To their left was the jungle, emanating the familiar scent of earthy vegetation, wildflowers and acrid rot. Nick breathed it in, reminded of some of his earlier ops under Tate’s command.

The road narrowed and curved, then dipped down after five or so miles.

“It’s so beautiful,” Rebecca remarked, her gaze focused on the sparkling turquoise ocean. “I’d love to live somewhere like this one day.”

“And be away from the hustle and bustle of the city? I can’t see you giving that up.”

“No?”

He shot her a sidelong look. “Nah, I think you’d miss the excitement.”

Her green eyes twinkled playfully. “I don’t need to be in a heavily populated area for that. I can find excitement anywhere.”

Something hot and sultry sizzled between them, and it had nothing to do with the stifling temperature.

Nick broke eye contact and swallowed a groan. His lower body was on fire. He was stiffer than a two-by-four, his blood humming with arousal. Fortunately, Rebecca wasn’t looking at his crotch, otherwise he knew she’d flash that mischievous smile and tease him mercilessly.

New aromas permeated the air as they drove into the beach town of Pista Olvidada. Sweet flowers, dark spices, pungent coffee, and underlying it all was the salty scent rolling off the ocean. The town offered one main strip with a handful of shops, restaurants and bars. In the distance was a picturesque marina, and a long dock where vessels ranging from beat-up speedboats to gleaming white sailboats were moored.

Nick parked in a spot on the street and they hopped out of the Jeep. “So how are we doing this?” Rebecca asked. “Same deal? We’re looking for our friend Willie?”

“It worked with Javier. Might as well keep up the charade.”

“So I’m your girlfriend again.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, then.”

Before he could object, she rounded the vehicle and took his hand. When she interlaced their fingers, the warmth of her palm seeped into his already-feverish flesh.

“Couples hold hands,” she informed him.

Her tone was light, but those green eyes were dancing again. Looked like her seduction plan had officially been launched.

Nick decided to play along. Truthfully, holding Rebecca’s hand felt...nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held hands with a woman.

They fell into step with each other and crossed the street, heading for a corner bar that featured a green sign cleverly labeling it as “The Bar.” Several patrons were seated on the outdoor patio, and the light breeze blew cigarette smoke in Nick and Rebecca’s direction. Every person on the patio narrowed their eyes suspiciously when they glimpsed the approaching couple.

“The locals might not be too welcoming,” Rebecca murmured.

“Nah,” he murmured back. “They’ll warm up once you unleash that sassy redhead charm.”

Sure enough, his prediction proved correct. Within two minutes of meeting Rebecca, every man, woman and child they spoke to fell in love with the redhead. Unfortunately, nobody admitted to knowing, seeing or having any information whatsoever about one William Neville.

For the next hour, they struck out time and time again. After visiting every establishment on the strip, they drove to the marina where they finally hit pay dirt at a fish and chips restaurant right on the water.

The fishing boat captain they encountered turned out to be a Chatty Cathy, and more than familiar with Nick and Rebecca’s prey.

“Neville! Yes, yes,” the captain said with an enthusiastic nod. “He bought Rudy’s place by the dump. I gave him a lift out there to check out the property.”

Nick’s chest tightened with excitement. “He’s still in town, then?”

“Well, sure. Haven’t seen him around the strip, but I saw him on the water early this morning. Fishing near the cove.”

“He has a boat?” Rebecca asked in a careful tone.

The gray-haired captain gave a hearty laugh. “If you can call that flimsy dinghy a boat, then yes, he has a boat. The dinghy came with the house. So did the car. When old Rudy dropped dead, his kid sold everything in one bundle.”

Nick chuckled. “Who exactly was this Rudy?”

“An American. He visited our town about thirty years ago and never left. Cranky son of a bitch, a real cheap bastard, too, but he had a knack for finding the fish. Whenever I had a bad catch, I’d take old Rudy out on the water the next day and that bastard would sniff out the fish like a bloodhound. It’d more than make up for the loss of the previous day.” The captain sighed regretfully. “I’ll miss that son of a bitch.”

They ended up chatting with the colorful captain for several more minutes, but not about Waverly; they’d already gotten the intel they’d come here for, including directions to Rudy’s beach house. But the captain seemed to appreciate the company, and Nick felt slightly bad when he finally had to cut the man off and announce it was time for them to go.

Rebecca’s green eyes were filled with excitement as they left the waterfront restaurant and walked down the wooden pier toward the marina’s entrance.

“So what now?” she asked. “Are we heading to old Rudy’s place or should we wait until nighttime? You soldiers prefer the cover of darkness, right? Like, being one with the shadows and whatnot?”

“First I want to case the place.” He shot her a stern look before she could open her mouth. “Just me. Alone.”

“Aw, you’re mean. I happen to be a great caser.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure. But you’re still not coming with me. You’ll only slow me down.”

“Have I slowed you down so far?” she challenged.

“No,” he had to concede, “but this is different. It’s recon. I prefer to do recon alone.”

When they reached the Jeep, Rebecca paused by the passenger door and tightly crossed her arms over her chest. The pose pushed her breasts together and created a whole lot of cleavage in her tight white tank top. Nick’s mouth went dry at the sight, and he had to force himself not to ogle the tantalizing swell of creamy white skin.

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” she demanded. “Knit a sweater?”

He opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. “Take a nap. Read a book. I’m sure you can find ways to entertain yourself.”

“I’m not tired, I don’t have a book, and in case you haven’t noticed, we didn’t pass a single motel driving through town, so where exactly am I supposed to lie low and entertain myself?”

She raised a good point. And although he’d teased her about it, she was also right about that cover-of-darkness issue. He would much rather check out Waverly’s place at night when he could blend into the shadows and move around unseen. Doing recon in broad daylight defeated the purpose of...well, recon.

But what other choice did he have? It was only ten o’clock in the morning. The sun wouldn’t set until at least seven, maybe later. So unless they wanted to spend the next nine or so hours twiddling their thumbs, it looked like a daytime mission was in the cards.

Nick started the engine, then waited for Rebecca to get in and buckle up. “You’ll have to stay in the car, then,” he told her.

That elicited an unhappy frown, but she didn’t protest. “Fine.”

He gawked at her.

“What?” she muttered.

“Did you really just agree to my request without putting up an argument?” He pulled out of the marina lot and headed in the direction the captain had told them.

“Request? You don’t request, Nick. You command.”

He sighed. “Not usually. With you, the commands just come out.”

“Oh, really? So you don’t typically order women around?” She sounded extremely intrigued.

“Nope. I’m a gentleman, remember? Very polite and respectful.”

“Are you saying I bring out the rude, disrespectful a-hole in you?”

“I guess so.” Laughing, he stepped on the gas and picked up speed as they drove away from the heart of town.

Waverly’s hideout was only a ten-minute drive according to the fishing captain, and it required following a long, dusty road lined with towering trees and dense foliage on both sides. Five minutes in, the odor of garbage thickened the air and made them both wrinkle their noses.

“And there’s the dump,” Rebecca said, her gaze fixing on the wooden sign indicating the turnoff for the town’s garbage dump. “Why would anyone willingly live near a dump?”

“Clearly old Rudy was a risk taker.”

She laughed. “Clearly. Hey, did you also find it weird that the captain seemed to know a scary amount about Rudy?”

“Not really. I mean, Rudy was a genuine fish whisperer—of course he was popular around these parts.”

Another melodic laugh left her mouth and tickled his ears. “I guess you’re right. I kind of wish I got to meet him. It sounds like he was an interesting chara— Hey, you missed the turnoff,” she suddenly said. “The captain said to turn at the red fence.”

Now Nick was the one laughing. “We’re not going to pull up right into his driveway, Red. We may as well wave around a big sign that says We’re Coming for You.” He snorted. “Ha, I knew you’d be terrible at recon.”

She stuck out her tongue at him.

“Wow, real mature of you, Rebecca.”

This time she gave him the finger.

“Even more mature,” he said mockingly, but his lips were twitching with amusement.

Jeez. He was having way too much fun with this woman. He definitely needed to stop that.

He kept driving for another fifty yards or so, slowing down when he neared a section of road where the vegetation was thicker. “Hold on to the dash,” he told her. “Might get bumpy.”

She barely had time to respond when he’d veered off the road and drove directly into the thick canopy of trees. The Jeep bounced as it traveled over the tangle of vines and rotting undergrowth that made up the jungle floor, and the sun disappeared from view, hidden by the trees. Everything was green and lush in the rainy season, and the air smelled like fragrant wildflowers and damp earth.

Palm fronds scraped the sides of the Jeep as the vehicle skidded to a stop in a small clearing. The trees provided shade, but no protection in terms of bugs. The moment Nick killed the engine, mosquitoes swarmed the vehicle, whizzing past his ears with a high-pitched whine.

As Rebecca began swatting at the persistent insects and cursing in her noncursing way, Nick hopped out and grabbed his go bag from the back of the Jeep. He rummaged through it, found a can of heavy-duty bug repellent, along with a mosquito net that he tossed to Rebecca. Then he began to arm himself, sliding a pistol into his waistband, a knife sheath on his hip, a second pistol in his right boot and another deadly KA-BAR in his left one.

When he finished, he stalked to the passenger-side door and held out a 9-millimeter Beretta. “You know how to use this, right?”

She nodded. “I go to the target range every couple of months, and I have a permit to carry.”

“Good. Safety’s on, keep it that way. Move into the driver’s seat and don’t get out of the car, no matter what. If I’m not back in an hour—”

Her eyes widened. “Why wouldn’t you come back—”

“—I want you to get the hell out of here. Make your way to the airfield and call Tate. He’ll arrange for a plane to take you to Ecuador. Understood?”

After a moment, she nodded again.

“With that said, I’ll be back shortly,” he assured her.

“You better be,” she grumbled. “I can’t do this alone, Nick. You’re the Watson to my Sherlock, remember?”

He laughed again and resisted the urge to do something stupid, like lean in and kiss her goodbye. The mere thought of feeling Rebecca’s pouty lips pressed against his own sent a bolt of lust straight to his groin, and he took a step back before he gave in to the overpowering urge.

“Remember, stay put,” he said in a strict tone.

“Yes, sir.”

He left her in the Jeep and disappeared into the trees, swiftly making his way through the heavy brush. His boots didn’t make a sound as they stepped over the overgrown jungle floor; years of training and experience had honed his ability to move like a ghost.

The half-mile trek to Waverly’s property didn’t take long, and soon the house became visible through the trees. Nick found himself staring at a small shack constructed from an unusual combination of brick and wood, with a brown clay-tiled roof and a front courtyard overrun with dirt and sand. He couldn’t see the ocean, but he could smell it, salt and seaweed and fresh air.

Flattening himself against a gnarled tree trunk, he drew his gun and examined the house. Through the blossoming foliage he made out a rust-covered sedan. Someone was home, then, unless Waverly was out on that dinghy the captain had mentioned.

Nick crept closer, assessing, pinpointing entry points. Front door. One window.

Satisfied, he made his way to the back of the house, traveling silently through the brush. His grip on the 9 millimeter was solid; the weapon had become an extension of his hand over the years.

A rickety wooden deck graced the rear of the shack, ringed by a slatted railing with several broken posts. Nick’s gaze zeroed in on the beer bottle sitting on the rail. Condensation dripped down the side of the bottle, hinting that it had been recently opened.

Footsteps.

His spine stiffened when he heard the footsteps. He edged backward, camouflaged by the trees, but he still had a clear line of sight to the man who’d just stepped onto the deck.

Paul Waverly.

Jackpot.

The tall, blond man wore khaki shorts and a white polo T-shirt, and the Costa Rican sunshine had brought some color to his normally pale face, which meant that he no longer resembled someone who’d spent his entire life locked up in an attic.

He had something in his hand. A cell phone. He was typing furiously on the keypad and he didn’t look happy. Not by a long shot.

Nick shifted his gaze and noted the large window behind the blond man, then the screen door with its mesh torn to hell. When he concluded his appraisal, he made his way through the trees again, this time emerging at the side of the house.

Now he could see the ocean. About a hundred yards away, and getting there required a trek down a rocky slope that opened onto black sand rather than white, a product of the volcanic rock much of the landscape had been carved out of. He glimpsed a small wooden dock at the water’s edge where an old white motorboat was tied up.

Satisfied, he returned to the back of the house, but Waverly was no longer on the deck. A flash of movement in the window confirmed that the man had gone inside.

Nick stared at the screen door, thoughtful. There was really no reason why he couldn’t make a move right now. The house was isolated, no neighbors for miles. And yes, it was daylight, but Waverly was indoors. Unless the DoD aide had ten bodyguards with assault rifles in there—which Nick highly doubted—gaining the upper hand on the man would be a piece of cake.

He checked the tactical watch on his wrist. Only fifteen minutes had passed since he’d left Rebecca. It shouldn’t take long to handle Waverly. And if the man refused to talk, he could always tie him up and go back to the Jeep to grab Rebecca before his hour was up.

Decision made, Nick palmed his weapon and stepped out of the brush.