Eye of the Storm (32 page)

"I needed help getting into the compound. But more importantly, I needed cover. If I took Isabella out, there would always be a chance that I'd be discovered. But with you along for the ride, all I have to do is twist the evidence a bit and it'll be like I was never even here."

"So all of your talk about old times. Our relationship. That was all bullshit?" In light of the situation, it was a ridiculous question, but his betrayal cut deep and she needed to understand.

"No." His voice was somber, his eyes darkening with something akin to remorse. "You're the one thing I really do regret about all of this. I meant what I said, Simone. I care about you."

"But not as much as you care about yourself."

Again he shrugged. "Got it in one."

"So what now?" Simone asked, watching Isabella inch toward her bedside table. Maybe she had another gun.

"Now, sadly, the two of you are going to kill each other. Isabella in a rage over the death of her brother."

"And me?"

"You have many reasons to kill her. She killed your friends, and now sadly she's killed your husband and brother-in-law."

White-hot fury replaced the pain, and Simone stumbled to her feet, lunging at Tate. He hit her in the head with the side of the gun, sending her spinning back to the floor.

Simone felt sick, mentally and physically. And stupid, too. She'd sensed something was off, but she'd failed to put it all together. Tate had always been in the right place at the right time. Had the right contacts, the right information. It had been right in front of her all the time.

"What have you done to Reece and Martin?"

"I haven't done anything." He glanced down at his watch. "But if things are on schedule, Derek should have finished them off by now."

His words cut through her with the efficiency of a knife. They'd believed in her, trusted her, and she'd led them to slaughter.

But even as the idea occurred to her, she quashed it. There was nothing to be gained in giving in to grief. It wouldn't help anyone. Maybe Reece had managed to escape. Either way, she owed it to him to try and find a way out.

Isabella was watching her, too, her dark eyes solemn as she slid in front of the bedside table.

Simone blinked, clearing her head to concentrate on the man in front of her.

"So you used us all. Reece, Martin, Marguerite, even Carlos."

Isabella reached behind her, sliding out the drawer.

"What about the missing information in the files?" Simone asked, struggling for something to keep his attention away from Isabella. "You arranged that, too, didn't you?"

"It was easy enough to set up. Maurice trusted me. It never occurred to him that I was a threat. And the missing files were incentive for you to believe that Carlos and Isabella were in fact up to their necks in all of this."

"And you sent the postcard." She dared a look in Isabella's direction. The woman nodded slightly, her hands still behind her.

"Nice touch, don't you think?" Tate sounded thoroughly pleased with himself now. "Allowed me to kill two birds with one stone...so to speak. Additional incentive for revenge. I even added the bit about the code on my card, so that you'd be able to find the others. I was afraid you'd see through that one, but fortunately you were distracted."

Her heart twisted as she thought again of Reece and Martin, her chest tightening as the grief mixed with her pain. "If I could walk, I'd..."

"Do what? Thank me? Jesus, Simone, what were you thinking? You're hardly the soccer-mom type."

The drawer squeaked as Isabella yanked it open, fumbling to right the little pistol in her hands. The gun went off, but the shot went wild, and Tate leveled his own gun on her with deadly calm. "Do it again and I'll kill you."

"You're going to kill me anyway."

"Yes." He nodded, the two of them squaring off with their guns. "But I can make it very painful. You decide."

Isabella shifted her weight, and Tate, recognizing the movement for what it was, fired, the impact of his bullet knocking the gun from her fingers. Isabella stood frozen, staring at her now empty hand.

"You're lucky I'm such a good shot," Tate said, bending to scoop up the little pistol. "So what do you say? Shall we put an end to this? Once and for all?"

The words were an eerie reflection of what he'd said to her before. If only Simone had stopped to think about it, maybe it wouldn't be too late.

She scanned the room, looking for a way out, but saw nothing. Just when she had everything to live for—her luck had run out.

*****

REECE WALKED into the hallway just as someone screamed. Panicked, he rushed forward, only to be stopped by one of Ramón's men, shaking his head, motioning quiet. Pulling his emotions into check, he crept forward, back to the wall, straining to hear something more.

Through the crack in the door, he could see Tate's back, and Simone lying on the floor, her leg stained with blood. Isabella wasn't visible, but he deduced from the way Tate kept swinging his gun back and forth that she must be somewhere on the far side of the big canopied bed.

It was clear from his stance what Tate intended to do, and Reece knew they had to act fast or he'd lose Simone forever.

Gatekeeper, whose name was really Escobar, flanked the door on the other side, three more men standing across the hall. If they rushed the room they'd be able to kill Tate, but there was no guarantee that they would be able to save Simone and Isabella in the process.

Better to try and throw off Tate's aim, and then take him out.

Reece signaled to Escobar that he was going to try and tackle Tate. It seemed conceivable, since the man's back was to him. However, he wanted to be certain that someone was behind him with a gun, ready to help if he succeeded, or to take the bastard out if he failed.

Escobar nodded his understanding, and Reece silently counted to three and then launched himself through the door, aiming for Tate's knees. He hit the other man hard, the two of them falling to the floor. The gun went off as Tate threw out his arms to catch himself, but the bullet lodged safely in the floor.

Shifting almost before he hit the ground, Tate knocked Reece back, sending him crashing against the wall. Using the same momentum, Tate pivoted toward Simone, leveling the gun, his intent deadly.

But Escobar was first, the rifle crack echoing through the room, everything suddenly going still.

For one minute, Reece thought that the man had missed, but then Tate dropped to his knees, clutching his chest, almost in surprise. A blossom of blood spurted from just below his solar plexus, the gun clattering to the floor as Tate's fingers jerked open in a macabre dance with death.

One minute he was staring up at Reece, and the next he was gone.

"Reece," Simone's whisper reached him as if she'd screamed, and he clambered over Tate's body to reach her side. "I thought you were dead."

Seeing her smile was worth every bit of hell they'd been through, the love reflected there enough to carry him forward the rest of his days.

"You're hurt." He slid his arms around her, helping her to sit up.

"It's not bad. Just tore up my hip a bit."

Judging from the blood, it was a little more than that, but he was satisfied that the injury wasn't life-threatening. She reached up to run her hand along his cheek, needing to touch him, to reassure herself that he was indeed alive. "I was so afraid."

"Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too. But everything is okay now. We're going to be fine." For the first time he remembered Isabella, and he looked up to find her standing at the end of the bed unharmed.

Escobar stood at her side, his rifle pointing at Simone and Reece now. The other men had crowded into the room as well, their weapons also at the ready. Maybe he'd been too quick to assume they were out of danger.

Simone's hand tightened on his as her eyes raised to meet Isabella's. Seconds passed as the two women contemplated each other, and then Isabella signaled her men to lower their weapons. "It is over." Her gaze dropped to Tate's body, and then back to Simone. "What happened here will stay here,
sí
?"

"I'll find a way."

And Reece knew that he'd help her do it. Isabella had been as much a victim as any of them, and at the moment, that was all that really mattered.

"You saved my life once, a long time ago." Isabella waved her hands at the gunmen filling the room. "And now I have saved yours. There is nothing more between us. Go." Reece pushed to his feet, reaching down to help Simone stand. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he helped her hobble past the guards, through the hacienda and out onto the lanai.

Ramón Diego stood by the same table where Reece had left him, almost as if he hadn't dared to move. Reece nodded at the question in the old man's eyes.

Martin jumped up at the sight of them, his face full of joy. "You're all right."

He rushed to Simone's side, offering another shoulder to lean on, and together the three Sheridans walked out of
El Ojo de la Tormenta
into the sunny brilliance of the Nicaraguan day.

"YOU LOOK incredibly domestic," Reece said, grabbing his briefcase before slamming the car door.

"Well, if you'd been here twenty minutes ago, you'd have gotten a completely different picture." Simone put down her trowel and smiled up at her husband. "Ten budding martial artists in the basement is not exactly the Donna Reed model of homemaking."

With Reece's connections, it had been easy enough to find a way to combine her unique talents with her need to give something back to the community. It was her tribute to Maurice, Bea, Marguerite and the others. A way to make their deaths count for something. And a way to keep other kids from taking the wrong path. Between the martial arts classes and a couple of board appointments, her days were busy, and she felt fulfilled in a way she'd never thought possible.

"Any news from Laura?" Reece had crossed to the mailbox and was sorting through the mail, the mundane act taking on new meaning in light of all they'd been through.

"She's supposed to be released sometime next week. The doctors are still amazed at how quickly she's recovered. I don't think they really understand the power of family." She stood up, wiping dirt from her hands.

"And friends," Reece said, tucking the mail under his arm. "There's a card from Martin." He held out a postcard and despite herself, Simone shivered, remembering the one Tate had sent.

Forcing herself to relax, she took the card from Reece, laughing when she saw it. Beer steins of every imaginable description covered the front, a breasty woman in the center extending a frothy mug. The caption read,
So Many Beers, So Little Time
.

The note on the back was equally pithy.
Life is good. Send money.

Simone smiled. "Looks like he's settling back in just fine."

"More than fine, I'd say," Reece laughed. "Considering everything that happened, Martin must be a regular celebrity. At least in the eyes of the ladies. I predict he'll be trading on that scar for a long time to come."

The scar, like the rest of the fallout from Tate's betrayal, would no doubt have residual effects. But they'd come a long way in the weeks following their return from Nicaragua. Her hip was recovering nicely. Not even a limp. And the time in the hospital had given her and Reece a chance to talk. To get to know each other again—as real people this time.

Of course there'd been briefings, but the CIA's primary interest was in closing the files on D-9. Which meant there hadn't been much of a probe. And as she'd promised, they'd downplayed Isabella's role in the affair. She'd already paid enough.

It was time to bury the dead and leave them be. The future beckoned, promising, if nothing else, to keep them on their toes.

"Did you file?"

Reece nodded and produced a sheaf of papers. "As of three o'clock this afternoon I'm officially a candidate in the race for District Attorney."

She hugged him, delighted to see the spark of excitement in his eyes. "It'll be a landslide. After all, over half the voters in Nueces County are women. All you have to do is smile and they'll be putty in your hands."

"The only woman I want to feel sliding against my fingers is standing right in front of me." He dropped the papers, briefcase and mail on the porch, then closed the distance between them.

"Oh yeah? Right here in the front yard? What will the neighbors think?"

"That I'm a really lucky guy." He cupped her face with his hands, his smile crooked. "I paid a little visit to Judge Adams today, too."

"Is he in charge of one of your cases?" She contained a smile, pretending not to understand.

"Very funny, Mrs. Sheridan. I think you're more than aware that he's the judge handling our divorce."

"Or lack thereof." She covered his hands with hers. "So what did he say?"

"He dismissed the case. No grounds, apparently."

"Apparently." She reached up to kiss him. "It's just as well, really," she whispered against his lips, "because I ran out of mulch, and had to make do with the materials at hand."

Laughing, Reece swung her into his arms, the warm ocean breeze rippling across the bed of bright red zinnias, each plant carefully banked in the shredded remains of what had once been a divorce decree.