Chapter Ten
Mark wanted to comfort Laura about her father’s capture. But her friend Julie—and God help him, he knew exactly who she was—held her as she read and reread the story.
According to the newspaper, Arturo Herrera had been caught in the capital after a brief shootout that left several men wounded. How the hell had Emilio Estrada allowed this to happen? Herrera’s top agent had either made a monumental mistake, or was wounded or dead, something that wouldn’t be reported.
Laura borrowed an aide’s phone to call the man who’d seen Tony at Ruiz’s the day he was taken. As far as anyone knew, the boy hadn’t been released. Ruiz hadn’t used him to lure her father. With a quick thanks to Beatrice, Mark hustled Laura into the pickup and started south.
An hour from the clinic, waves of heat rose up from the Pan-American Highway that ran along the Pacific Ocean and the coastal desert. With no air conditioning in the junker, they’d rolled down the windows, but that did little to keep sweat from soaking his T-shirt.
He pulled over at a small tin-roofed store and bought barely cold bottled water. He poured some over his head and back and watched Laura splash the water on her face. She adjusted her pony tail into some kind of bun, her hands moving swiftly as from long-time practice. She wore shorts, the sleeves of her T-shirt rolled up. Nothing provocative, but to him, she was sexy as hell in anything.
Back on the road, he concentrated on the trip before them. The Pan-American Highway in this part of San Mateo tended to become covered with sand from the shifting dunes on either side. A week ago, he’d had a difficult time navigating around sandy patches and potholes dotting the asphalt. Today there were several crews along the road repairing the damage.
Two hours later, just as he was ready to pull away from a station after gassing up, a small convoy of military vehicles, Guardia Civil from the insignia on them, roared north. Nearby road crews stopped their work and watched as the trucks rushed by, leaving whirling sand and dust in their wake. One workman, choking on the dust, glared at the trucks and sent them a fuck you gesture.
“They’re Guardia from a garrison just south of the capitol,” Laura said, as one cluster of trucks passed them traveling north. “That’s odd.”
“What’s odd about that?”
“A friend, a Guardia captain stationed in the south, always said they never go north. There are enough Guardia stationed there because of the border issues.”
The last of the convoy passed, but Mark had to wait while the work crews stopped all traffic to load their heavy equipment.
Laura turned on the radio. It took her a few minutes to find a station they could hear clearly in this desolate part of the country. With the road crew holding up traffic, they listened to a mix of regional music, Latin pop and Afro-Peruvian, while waiting for the on-the-hour news headlines.
Minutes later, the news came on, reported by a well-respected journalist. “The arrest yesterday of Arturo Herrera came as a surprise to many in the capital. It was expected that Herrera’s intelligence officers would protect him. But, according to Colonel Juaquin Escobar, who captured the minister, he was alone.”
“Escobar was at Ruiz’s party yesterday,” Laura said.
The announcer continued. “President Valdivia announced the appointment of General Ernesto Ruiz as the new Minister of Defense in the early hours of this morning. Ruiz accepted the position.”
“So Ruiz wins,” Laura said as soon as the reporter switched to international news. She turned off the radio. “Now there’s no one left inside the country to stop him. My father has risked everything, all of us, for his vendetta, and Ruiz won.”
“Do you have any idea why President Valdivia would place Ruiz in such a powerful position?” Mark asked.
“I’d guess Ruiz threatened Valdivia’s family. Or he’s somehow blackmailing him into doing his bidding. Maybe it’s as simple as the fact that Valdivia is a politician. He recognizes that he must have the support of those who want Ruiz in power, so he tries to pacify them by going along with efforts to undermine the opposition to Ruiz.”
“Men like your father.”
“And Carlos Montoya, the Minister of Justice, who has already been jailed. Ruiz will probably go after Nicholas Romero, Montoya’s nephew, next. He’s a diplomatic troubleshooter. But the last I heard, he was in New York, working on some sort of crisis in Africa.”
At least Nick, his brother-in-law, was safe and had the good sense to keep Mark’s sister away from San Mateo.
Laura continued. “Julie, who you met at the clinic, should leave the country. Her step-father is the UN ambassador.”
He knew Julie Faulkner had been engaged to Ricardo Molina, the third San Matean Ranger who was killed with José Antonio Iglesias. Nick’s cousin was the other.
“With the most honest and respected men out of the way,” Laura said, “Ruiz has the power to make or break the president. Valdivia shouldn’t consider his presidency safe.”
“You think Ruiz will overthrow Valdivia?”
“He’s power hungry. The presidency would be ultimate power trip. Whether he’d go so far as to overthrow the government? I don’t know. He may just want the people to see him as presidential material for the next election. But my father’s arrest,” her voice wavered. She blinked several times. “His arrest signals an escalation in Ruiz’s plans. I don’t think he’s interested in democracy. If the men he had at his party in Puerto Escondido are any indication, he’s consolidating his power.”
Mark agreed. With Herrera out, the intelligence service was in disarray and Ruiz now commanded the military. With that sort of power, anything was possible. Emilio Estrada, Laura’s father’s top agent, might know what Ruiz was up to. If Estrada was still alive, he could provide a new identity for Victor Fuentes and give Mark some insight into what was going on.
It was past time to contact Ethridge with what he knew so far. He’d take heat from his CIA boss about the risks involved in getting so close to Ruiz, but he had a feeling Ethridge wouldn’t complain too much. The man had never been averse to risk during his own clandestine career. Whether Mark would say anything about Laura and her son, was still in doubt.
Laura continued. “My father has been so obsessed with Ruiz. According to Esperanza, he was working sixteen or more hours a day and bringing work home. That’s why I came back for a visit. I thought if he saw Tony, he would slow down, take time with him.”
“You had no way of knowing what would happen.”
“I should have.” She shifted in the seat. Heat and no air had caused curling tendrils of hair to stick to her temples. “I thought I could… I don’t know. Save my father from himself. What a laugh.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over this.”
“He told me not to come, but I didn’t listen.” She took a small breath. “The first thing he did when he saw me was call the airline and ask about immediate return flights.” Her voice wobbled a little. “My father never does that sort of thing. Secretaries do that.” She stared out the windshield at the workmen. “I should have done as he said. If I’d taken Tony and left—”
“It’s not your fault.” He reached out and gently turned her face toward him. “You did what you thought best.”
“But if—”
“Don’t dwell on ifs. They’re pointless.” He’d spent four years doing just that. Hell, he still was.
The car behind them honked. The road crew had finished. They were free to continue.
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep,” he said as he accelerated.
“You need some, too. I can drive.”
He wanted to hug her, to tell her he admired her spirit and her courage. “You sleep first. I’ll take a turn later. We have at least another ten hours before we get to the city.”
“You couldn’t have gotten much sleep in that chair.”
He glanced at her. Yeah, the chair was bad, but it was this morning that he couldn’t get out of his head. She was watching him, her gaze focused on his mouth. Was she remembering? The air blowing in the windows tugged at the hair she’d pulled into the loose bun. She was amazingly beautiful.
And brave and strong. But fear for her child was utmost on her mind and made his chest hurt.
A half hour later, as her head settled back against the seat and she fell asleep, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if he’d met her in another way, in a another time and place. Without the history that led him here.
***
They’d stopped. The quiet and stillness woke Laura. She’d been dreaming. A wonderful dream. Tony was kicking his soccer ball against the outside wall of their house in her small backyard in Alexandria. He kicked it to her and she tried to trap it, but it rolled past.
To someone wearing worn work boots and jeans frayed at the cuff. Someone who trapped it and kicked it back. But instead of waiting for it, Tony ran straight for the man whose hair looked like dark gold in the sun. He swung him up and around, hugging him close.
She opened her eyes. She lay on her back, the steering wheel only inches to her left, the solidity of Mark’s thigh beneath her head. She didn’t remember stretching out or even stopping. He’d tilted the seat back. His steady breathing told her he was asleep. His eyes were hidden behind his sun glasses even though they were in cool shade.
Prepared to sit up, she realized his fingers were tangled in her hair. She couldn’t move without waking him.
She’d let him sleep. If he’d pulled off the road, it meant he was tired and had made them as safe as he could.
“You’re awake.” He looked down at her, his eyes still hidden behind the shades, his voice a sleepy rumble.
“Yes.” She grabbed the steering wheel and levered herself up. He’d parked beneath a bridge. A river tumbled toward the sea, swift ripples sparkling in the sunlight. “Where are we?”
“More than half way to the capital, beneath the bridge at the Moche ruins, where the road from Huacachina meets the Pan-American.” He stretched. “I was going to get out and take a quick swim, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Can we do that now?” She stared at the tempting clear water. “Take a swim?”
“Why not?” He reached for the door handle. “Grab what you need and come on. I’ll be in the water.”
By the time she found her tiny bottle of shampoo, grabbed another T-shirt from her bag and made her way down the narrow, weed-choked path to the river, Mark’s jeans and T-shirt were hanging on a tree branch. His holster and gun lay beside his boots, all neatly placed next to the tree. He was in the water, floating on his back, wearing dark knit boxer briefs. Briefs that were molded to him.
Laura bit her lip.
He stood, his upper body the only part of him visible.
Why couldn’t he be in shallow water?
“Come on in.” He waved her in.
Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts. Before she changed her mind, she spun around and pulled off her T-shirt and bra. She placed both on the ground over her tennis shoes, then slipped on the tank top she’d brought to swim in. After stepping out of her shorts, she turned, wearing the top that clung a little, but fell below her panties to her upper thighs.
Mark wasn’t even looking her way. He was swimming, his arms pulling him forward in a steady rhythm.
So much for what he’d called reciprocal attraction.
***
Okay, so he was an idiot. What the hell had he been thinking telling her they could swim? Of course she had to take something off. She’d had her back to him but even her back was beautiful. And the glimpse of the side of her breast? Well, damn.
He dove deep, then surfaced to swim at a steady crawl, trying to loosen his shoulder, digging deep into the cool water of the ancient river, purposefully turning his thoughts to the bloody civilization that ruled here so long ago.
Then, as he turned his head to take a breath, he realized he was almost out from under the two-lane bridge. He stopped and treaded water.
Laura stood about thirty feet away, back turned, pouring shampoo from a small bottle into the palm of her hand. She lathered her hair one-handed.
He rolled onto his back and floated, enjoying the cool water and the sight of her doing something so mundane with those graceful fingers that had soothed Victor Fuentes—that had touched him this morning. She tilted back to rinse her hair in the clear river. Mark closed his eyes and let his body and thoughts drift.
A splash brought him jerking upright.
She’d gone under. Only a widening ripple appeared where she’d been. Taking a deep breath, he dove and raced to the spot where she’d vanished.
Beneath the crystalline waters, she seemed to be looking for something. She wasn’t drowning. She wasn’t in danger. She looked up and gestured by rubbing her hands in her hair and indicating something small with her thumb and forefinger.
She’d dropped her shampoo bottle.
He gave her a thumbs-up and began scanning the sandy bottom. She popped to the surface. He took a moment to enjoy the way her shirt molded itself to her breasts then billowed up to reveal an enticing belly button and white panties rendered translucent by the water.
Damn.
She dropped back under, her hair wild and waving around her face in the current. The shirt left nothing to his imagination. Her nipples were hard, probably from the cool water. Hell, he was hard, despite the chill. He pushed to the surface, took a deep breath, and dove again.
Suddenly she blew out air and surged up and back, her legs kicking wildly. He surfaced as she continued backing, searching the river as if she were being chased by something from the depths.
“Hay algo debajo del agua.” She reverted to Spanish. Something was beneath the water. With the elegant fingers of her right hand splayed across her chest, she continued backing away. “Algo feo.” Something ugly.
“A snake?”
“No. Tiene piernas.” It has legs. She spun in a circle, gaze down, searching. “It touched me.”
Mark looked beneath the rippling clear water, scanning the sandy bottom for the something that had frightened her.
Then he saw it. Right next to the shampoo.
A pretty big camarón, a cross between a shrimp and a lobster about eight inches long, lay on the bottom, its brownish body curled around the tiny bottle. The crustacean seemed to find the shampoo interesting and clasped it as Mark dove.
He surfaced, holding the bottle with the prawn clinging stubbornly to it.
Laura let out a muffled screech.
“It’s just an overgrown shrimp,” he said.
“It has legs,” she said, her hand still on her chest.
“Lots of them,” Mark agreed, with a laugh.
She backed away. “Get it off.”
He shook the camarón off, sending it plunking into the water downstream, far from her, then held the bottle out. “Here’s the shampoo.”
She screeched again and scrambled back as if he’d tossed the shrimp at her.
“It’s gone,” he said, turning the bottle so she could see.
“You made it look like it was still there,” she accused.
“I didn’t,” he replied, but smiled. “How can you be scared of a shrimp? You stayed in that miserable excuse of a room where I’m sure roaches the size of T Rexes crawled on you every night.”
Before he knew it, she was swimming quickly toward him. He made a half-hearted effort to back away just as she reached him. She surged up and pushed down on his shoulders, sending him below the surface. If he hadn’t seen the wicked smile on her face, he would have thought he’d really frightened her. But the expression on her face said she simply wanted a bit of revenge. He ducked away from her and spun around, but before he took a step, she caught the waistband of his boxers.
He grabbed at her hand too late to keep her from dumping a handful of river sand down the back of his boxers before dashing away. He ducked down for some sand, surfaced, and went after her.
She backed away, smiling. “I didn’t mean it. Really.”
“Yes you did,” he said with a laugh. “Now it’s my turn.”
She pushed her wet hair out of her face, turned and swam strongly away from him, pausing only once to look back. That pause made it possible for him to snag the hem of her shirt. He reached around and rubbed the small amount of sand left in his hand onto her bare stomach.
She grabbed his arm and, still laughing, turned, her hand going to the top of his head. She meant to dunk him again. He went down, but took her along, holding her tightly against his body.
In the silence beneath the water, they floated together, nearly nose to nose, fully front to front, and she smiled, her face animated and carefree. And he couldn’t help it. He reached out and traced a line from her throat to her chest with the tips of his fingers.
The current tangled her hair around them. She closed her eyes, her head back, as if enjoying the cool water. He pushed them to the surface and held her pressed belly to belly, chest to chest, his erection nestled firmly between her thighs.
She opened her eyes, lashes spiked with water. He lost himself in the inky depths. Her smile faded, her lips parted.
He bent and kissed her. As she held on, as he dropped the shampoo and let his hands slide down her back to cup her bottom, he pushed the clamoring warnings out of his head. She responded without inhibition, wrapped her legs around his hips and stroked his tongue with hers. trying to accommodate his cock, still constrained by the fabric of his boxers.
He thrust against her, one hand skimming wet skin to cup her breast. Her nipple pebbled against his palm. He broke the kiss, his breathing harsh, and saw her eyes were closed. He kissed one eyelid, then the other. She opened her eyes, licked her lower lip, and kissed him. With his free hand, he pushed her panties down. She pushed the front of his boxers down freeing his erection and he positioned himself against her slick heat.
She moved against him while his senses roared and the kiss raged on. Still cupping her bottom, he raised her and thrust deep. She gasped, breaking the kiss, her forehead leaning on his, and hummed with pleasure before levering herself up, then down.
Condom. Damn. He’d never gone without. Where the hell was he supposed to get a condom? Then it didn’t matter. She was riding him and he could do nothing but thrust, deep and hard. She buried her face against his shoulder and nipped at his neck. Moments later he felt the first spasms of her climax. He held still as she came.
He rubbed her slick back, rejoicing in the tremors of her orgasm. She pulled back and gave him a sheepish and satisfied grin. “I was a little fast.”
“Fast is good.” His voice cracked. “Slow is good. You okay?”
She nodded, hot and liquid around him.
“Hold on,” he said.
He thrust, slow and steady. He could wait, but he was so damn ready—
Rumbling from the bridge above stopped him. They looked upward. More rumbling. It would take something heavy to make the bridge shake like that. Senses now screaming, he pulled out of the heat of her body and lowered her so she could stand.
“I’m going to see what’s happening.” He shoved himself back into his boxers.
She nodded, her eyes wide.
He swam to the shore and, still wet, scrambled into his jeans before pushing his way through the thick weeds until he could see what had caused the bridge to tremble.
Several trucks sped south, followed by several transport trucks, their side flaps rolled up, filled with soldiers. Army, not Guardia like before.
“The insignia says they’re from Huamachuco,” Laura said from behind him. She’d pulled on her clothes. “From the garrison north of here.”
“From the north, not the south, like the Guardia?”
“Yes.” She followed the movements.
Why would the army move south when the disputed border was in the north?
Then came six huge flatbed trucks covered with tarps. He was pretty sure about what they carried. The last truck’s tarp had come loose in the back and verified his guess when it flapped open.
A Russian made T-90 military tank.