Sofia didn’t have a chance to catch her breath again.

They’d left the Parque Los Caobos by mid-morning. Dispersing widely through Caracas.

Kyle and Chad had gone down into the subway system but found nothing interesting at the La Tumba end. They were now probing in the other direction toward El Helicoide.

Richie and Duane were off to see exactly what was going on at La Carlota—the Air Force base across town—in case they needed a contingency exfiltration plan. It would be much harder to get out after they stirred up the hornet’s nest than it had been to slip into the city while everything was quiet.

Carla and Melissa had swept her under their wing and the three of them had armed up and gone deep into the San Agustín barrio.

They’d talked to a lot of people through the afternoon: sharing parrilla barbeque with a couple of drug runners, squatting over a cup of fresh ground coffee with a circle of women as their children played around them, scouting the layout of paths and alleyways. Then, at the hottest point of the afternoon when the barrio was particularly fragrant from the beating of the tropical sun, a lone boy had come up to them with an invitation to meet the leader of San Agustín’s colectivo.

The colectivos had replaced the police in many of the most dangerous neighborhoods. Ex-military, some were pro-government and some not. But they were the law. They cared less about the government’s policies and more about La Policía’s failures and corruptions.

“I kill a crooked cop as fast as I kill the druggies you speak with at lunch,” word of the presence in the barrio had spread fast ahead of them.

Sofia would have been freaking out, except Carla and Melissa appeared to have some form of a plan. It would have helped her nerves immensely if they’d told her that beforehand. Perhaps they hadn’t known it themselves and were still making it up as they went. That did not increase her comfort level.

“I catch the drug runners selling anything to people here, I shoot them.” The former Army major held up a well-worn Browning Hi-Power 9mm pistol. “The police do not care about San Agustín. So, I take care of it. You hurt my people, you dead. No matter how fine you look. You don’t hurt them? You’re not my problem.”

His cell phone had rung while they sat in his bunker.

He’d listened, then snapped the phone closed without responding past a grunt of acknowledgement.

“You have ten minutes. Someone else is on your trail. Mis amigos will lead them sideways for a little time. Now, why do I listen to you?”

“We only need two minutes,” Carla said without even blinking.

He waved his Hi-Power for them to continue.

Sofia didn’t doubt that, if he felt it was necessary, he wouldn’t hesitate to put down all three of them despite his curiosity.

“How do you feel about SEBIN coming into your neighborhood?” Carla jumped in with both feet.

Sofia held her breath.

“An attack?”

“Running.”

“From you?”

Carla’s smile sent a chill up Sofia’s spine.

The colectivo leader’s smile was even chillier. “I could get to like you, señorita.”

“Señora. You would not like to meet my husband.”

“He’s more dangerous than you?”

She simply nodded which earned her a deep laugh.

Then he’d turned very serious and abruptly shifted his pistol to aim at the center of Carla’s forehead.

Carla didn’t even blink.

“Not el presidente? Only SEBIN?” So, this colectivo’s leader still believed in the government.

“Only SEBIN.” Carla had to be the coolest-nerved person Sofia had ever met.

“When?”

Carla had merely looked at her watch as if she was counting minutes, then back at him, ignoring his unwavering Hi-Power.

Tonight? Sofia couldn’t believe it. Or maybe she could. Once ready, they hadn’t hesitated to blast their way into General Aguado’s compound. That meant that one way or another this would be over tonight.

With a sharp jerk, he shifted his aim up and away from Carla’s face. Then he holstered the weapon with a slap of metal into leather and held out his empty hand.

Carla shook it once, hard.

“Your husband. He must be very brave.”

“Yes. Unless I do something stupid, then he gets very angry.”

“Like when three beautiful women walk into my barrio.”

“No, this wouldn’t surprise him…much.”

Again he laughed as if he meant it. “Tonight, la señora, we will be keeping watch at the gates.”

Duane had tried pacing, ordering room service, and glaring out at La Tumba from the window of the King Hotel, but still the minute hand refused to move any faster. It certainly couldn’t have moved any slower.

Richie had locked himself in one of the suites with a whole array of strange gear, leaving Duane with even less to do than usual. A thorough check of his own gear had lasted him under half an hour before he was back to pacing.

The sound of the key in the door hit him like an electrical charge triggering a detonator. He had one hand on the door knob—and the other on his weapon, of course—before it had time to open.

Sofia stepped in.

He didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

He simply slammed her into a hug and hauled her against his chest so hard that she squeaked in surprise as her duffel tumbled to the floor.

Melissa stepped over it, with a bag of her own gear, and smiled at him. He nodded toward the closed door at the other end of the suite’s living room. Her smile and hip-loose walk told him that Richie had better be done with whatever he’d been working on.

Duane kicked the door shut and looked down at Sofia.

“Hi,” he held her tighter. “That seems to be the best I’ve got at the moment.” He breathed her in. She smelled…awful. He barely resisted coughing the air back out. She smelled like…the barrio on a hot fall afternoon.

“It is plenty good enough for me,” she planted her face firmly against his chest and didn’t complain about how tightly he was holding her. It felt like heaven—

“Uh, please don’t take this wrong, honey. But you really need a shower.”

“Am I that bad?”

“You’re always good to me, but yeah.”

She pushed back enough to look up at him, her smile teasing. “I think you are just trying to get me out of this dress.”

“Only wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you in it.”

She turned her back, “Unzip me then, you low brute.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he ran the zipper down and popped loose the bra strap while he was at it.

She kicked off her shoes, a long dark line of skin showing between draping sides of light floral dress. Just before the bedroom door, she shrugged. Dress and bra slithered down to floor and she stepped out of them without breaking stride.

He wasn’t going to get caught again. He raced forward and managed to get his hand in the door jamb before she could close and lock it. Thankfully, she hadn’t swung it too hard. He flexed his fingers and shook them out—use your boot next time, doofus.

Duane closed the bedroom door just in time to hear the bathroom door snap shut. Thankfully it was a pocket door with no lock. He followed her in. By the time he was stripped down, she was in the shower.

No dancing. No hot Spanish mama waiting for her man. Instead, she had her forehead planted against the shower’s plastic wall and the hot water was pouring onto her unmoving back.

He managed to crank down what she did to his libido and consider that maybe he should consider what she needed. Grabbing a bar of soap, he began working over her. Shoulders first, digging into tight muscles. She groaned as they loosened, but didn’t move. He slowly went over her body, soaping, massaging, soothing. Fingers, palm, wrist, arms. Toes, feet, calves, thighs. If he spent extra time on her butt and up her front, who could blame him.

He had switched over to shampoo and was working on her luxurious fall of hair before she spoke the first time.

“This is what you do all the time?”

“No. Because I’ve never had you in the shower with me.”

“That is not what I am meaning,” she twisted around so that her back was leaning against the shower wall.

He smoothed her hair back to keep the soap away from them.

“I mean what Delta does.”

“Rub down beautiful women in showers? Oh yeah, all the time.”

“Duane,” he heard the growl in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am. Doing impossible shit in dangerous damned places is about the size of it. Before Iraq and Afghanistan, those early operators were stuck with doing much more training and rarely doing shit. Modern Delta op tempo is so high that it’s a challenge getting back to Fort Bragg for new skills training. We were supposed to get another South American team and be rolled back Stateside already. But the reengagement in Libya, Syria, and the fuckin’ Caliphate in the Dustbowl has left us pretty much on our own. Now close your eyes.” He stepped her under the water and rinsed out the soap, only burning his hands in the scorching water a little to make sure it was well rinsed.

He pulled her back out of the water, sniffed her wet hair, then kissed her on top of the head. “All clean, now move aside woman.” He nudged the temperature down a little with his elbow. Kinda too far, but a cold shower at the moment might be a good idea. Sofia looked amazing, but not up for much.

She leaned on the wall at the end of the tub and just watched him.

He was soaped and half rinsed before she spoke again.

“I could get used to this.”

Duane eyed her carefully, which earned him a stinging drip of shampoo. He rinsed and tried the other eye. “This, as in showering with an incredibly handsome Unit operator or this, as in…” he waved a hand toward the madness that was Caracas.

“I meant Caracas.”

Yep! Cold shower had definitely been the right choice.

“But I could also get used to this,” she stepped forward and yelped. “But not if you are going to be freezing me like a chili-chocolate ice cream.” She reached past him and turned the water back up to scald.

Then she moved the rest of the way into his arms and turned her face up for a kiss, her lovely length pressed tightly against him.

“Worth putting up with a little heat to draw the fire.”

“Absolutely,” Sofia agreed.

Sofia let go. Let Duane do whatever he wanted to her, she would just lean in and enjoy it.

What he did was hold her close and start a slow dance in the shower. Nothing much, just a slow shuffle step that matched his heartbeat when she laid her ear on his chest. An easy sway of their hips in perfect harmony, his hands just holding her close. This she could definitely become very used to.

“What are you thinking, Mr. Jenkins?”

“Do you ever have those fancy dress receptions at that winery of yours?”

“Sometimes. Why?”

“With dancing?”

She nodded against his chest.

“I’m picturing you in a slinky, revealing evening gown.”

“One with cleavage down to my belly button and no back I am guessing.” That was an easy guess with Duane.

“Yes, ma’am,” he rubbed his hand slowly up and down her spine to make his point. “Exactly like that.”

“Well, it just so happens that I have a dress exactly like that.”

“The color of your hair?”

“Yes.”

“Good. What do I have to do to arrange a private preview of that?”

“You must be very, very nice to me. Nicer than you ever are to anyone ever before.”

“I’ll have to work on that.” He slapped off the water, reached out and took one of the big towels off the rack.

Starting at the top of her head, he rubbed her down until she was warm all over from the attention. He even grabbed the hair dryer and a brush and attempted to dry her hair. He was clumsy, awkward, and sometimes pulled the brush too hard through a snarl, but she was too charmed to complain. Instead, she just held onto the sink with both hands and watched him in the mirror—he was concentrating so hard that it was cute.

Then Sofia watched herself. She’d always thought that happy equaled smiling. But she was fast mapping a new terrain beyond that. Duane was teaching her that there was a quiet place, where her eyes lidded half shut on their own. When the feeling was too good, too strong to do more than breathe. Her hair began to fill and billow. At the rate he was going, he might soon turn it into a teased disaster.

“Duane?”

He turned off the dryer. “Yes, Sofia?”

“Now.”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

No one could ever accuse a Unit operator of being slow on the uptake. The dryer and brush clattered onto the shelf. He bent out of sight of the mirror for a moment over his pants, then she heard the tearing of foil.

“Sofia?” Duane looked at her in the mirror, restraining himself long enough to be sure.

“Yes,” she was absolutely sure.

She continued holding onto the sink as he eased his hands on her hips and pulled her back against him in a single, soul-filling slide. His palms cradled her breasts as he leaned over her to kiss her between the shoulder blades. Even in this position, his hand traveled to make sure that she would be satisfied as well.

She watched Duane, watched his face as the smile faded but the joy rose. Saw how he saw her as special beyond words. Watched his eyes as they slowly lidded closed. How had she ever thought their blue was icy? How had that been possible when they were really so clear that they saw her in ways she’d never seen herself?

Unable to watch the sensations crossing her own face anymore, she let her eyes slide shut.

He wrapped his hands around her as he carried her aloft to places she’d never even known in her dreams.

Because her dreams had been merely dreams of the flesh. With Duane they were turning out to be so much more.