Navy SEALs Complete Series: 3 Books + 3 Novellas (Tempting Navy SEALs) (89 page)

He would know the whores, the pimps, clubs, and owners and which location yielded the highest sales. He was gathering the names of political buyers and sellers as well as those within the law enforcement community that not just Diego, but a dozen other drug kingpins, were blackmailing.

By the time he brought Sorrel and Diego down, there wouldn’t be a secret of Diego’s that Ian didn’t know. And that brought satisfaction. If he lived to achieve his objective, then two fewer drug-dealing terror-selling sons of bitches would cease to breathe air.

He should feel a measure of guilt, he was sure. Diego
was after all his father. The same father whose wife had nearly killed Ian’s mother, as well as Ian. Who had been responsible for the most terrifying night of a ten-year-old boy’s life. The night his mother had lain bleeding to death in his arms.

Because of Carmelita Fuentes. Because Diego was a drug-dealing slime pit with more enemies than friends and hands so bloodstained Ian could smell the stench of them anytime he was around the other man.

And soon, his own hands would carry the same stench, Ian thought with a sigh, as Deke pulled a white Range Rover to a stop in front of the villa.

Rather than driving this time, Ian stepped into the back seat, accepted a briefcase from Mendez, and opened it as the doors closed and the vehicle drove way.

The fourth bodyguard was in another Rover behind them, providing backup and an additional vehicle in case this one encountered any unforeseen accidents. In this business, Ian had learned to expect the unforeseen.

D
IEGO WATCHED AS THE ROVERS
left the estate, a frown on his face, his jaw clenched with worry and concern as Ian left the protection of the estate. He worried, a sign of old age perhaps. Each time Ian left, Diego feared it would be the last time he saw him.

“El Patrón.” Saul entered the breakfast room, closing the doors behind him and facing Diego with an inquisitive expression. “You sent for me?”

Saul was old. His shoulders were stooped, his dark eyes a bit dull, his face creased with age. He had been Diego’s father’s most trusted advisor. At Carmelita’s death he had returned to Diego’s side.

Diego nodded slowly. “Have you learned anything from our sources?”

Ian had eliminated the spy in the U.S. government that Diego had drawn closest to him, Jansen Clay, but there were
others, much more important contacts, who relied upon Diego as much as he relied upon them.

“No teams are being sent for him, as you requested.” Saul stepped to the sideboard and prepared himself a plate of fruits and sweets. “There are reports that Durango team, the friends he fought with, have protested this action vociferously, especially the one known as Macey, but they are being contained. Orders have gone out to watch his actions only, and to learn what he has planned. It seems the Americans are more concerned with your promise that Ian will eliminate Sorrell than they are with capturing a traitor.” Satisfaction echoed in Saul’s voice, as it did in Diego’s heart.

“The boy, he takes too many risks.” Diego sighed. “He goes now to meet with lawyers rather than having them come to him. As though he dares Sorrell or the other cartels to strike at him.”

“The other cartel leaders are learning to stay out of his way, Diego. As with yourself and the Americans, they merely watch him.”

“And your report on his activities?” Diego asked.

As much as he loved the boy, and he did, loved him more than he had loved his youngest son or that viper Carmelita, he couldn’t forget that betrayal could come from within.

“He has met with no agents that he hasn’t killed.” Saul chuckled. “Of course, they attempted to draw blood first. He does not party, nor does he partake of our product. He does not surround himself with the whores and drug groupies that vie for his attention other than necessary. And those who cling to his arm at those times are well known to us, and not associated with any government’s law enforcement agencies. For all appearances, my friend, he has upheld his word. His loyalty is to you.”

Diego nodded slowly. “And your own impressions of him?”

Saul sighed then.

Diego turned and watched him with an edge of sorrow. Saul’s impressions were as reliable as other men’s reports.

“I must know this, my friend,” he said softly. “What do you believe goes on in my son’s mind, in his heart?”

“There is still much anger,” Saul stated as he laid his arms on the table and regarded Diego. “He has softened toward you marginally. He does not refuse to hear the stories I would tell him now of your youth and your dreams. He listens. But I can see the rage in his eyes. The events of his childhood and Carmelita’s torments are not forgotten.”

Diego clenched his fingers into fists before forcing himself to relax them.

“He blames me.” Diego moved back to the table, taking his seat with a heavy breath of regret and staring across the table at Saul. “As well he should. I should have known Marika had not been killed as my father reported. I should have known that his fascination with her would result in a betrayal.”

“He was an old man, Diego.” Saul shook his gray head sadly. “The little blond nurse you brought to him was seen as an angel. An angel that should not be mired in the blood and treachery of the cartels. He sought to save her. It was only by chance that Carmelita learned of her and of the child.”

Diego stared at the table, his finger smoothing over the lace cloth that covered it as he remembered Marika Desmond. An unusual name, for an unusual woman. She had been named after her Slavic grandmother, and she wore her name with pride.

So blond her hair had glistened white beneath the Colombian sun. Her smile had been filled with dreams and with purpose as she came to the villages as a nurse, healing the sick and touching all with her kindness. She had been unaware of who Diego was, and she had taken him into her bed with a love that had touched his soul.

He had known her such a short time. Only months. And he had never forgotten her. To learn she had spent the years of his marriage to Carmelita living in fear, that Ian had nearly died more than once, still filled him with rage.

Diego’s father had arranged it so it appeared Marika had died. Carmelita had attempted to arrange her death in truth.

“We made a strong son,” Diego whispered, wishing he could call Marika, wishing he could thank her for Ian’s life, but his son forbade it so violently that Diego feared his wrath if he attempted it.

“You did,” Saul agreed.

“Has she attempted to contact him?” Diego lifted his gaze to Saul once more. “Have you heard her voice?”

“He refuses to speak with her,” Saul said heavily. “He has broken all ties, Diego, even those with his mother. I questioned him just this past week about her. He said he does not speak to her in an effort to not add to her pain. She would only plead for his return, and he has sworn he will not leave the cartel.”

Diego wrapped his hand around his coffee cup and stared into the cooling liquid. Memories of Marika washed over him, staining his soul with his own regrets.

“She is well?”

“She is well and happy with her American husband. And protected, Diego. Ian and John Richards see to this, though Richards is unaware of the two men Ian has ordered to watch her.”

“And my son is loyal?” He lifted his eyes to Saul again, needing the confirmation.

“In my estimation, he is loyal. And within a few years, my friend, perhaps he will even call you father.”

Diego breathed in roughly. He needed to be called father, perhaps even one day, grandfather. Recalling the information he had received last night, he thought that maybe with a little push, his son would take the American heiress to the Maclane fortune. If nothing else, as a lover. Diego did not care if his grandchildren were legitimate or not. It was blood that mattered. Now, he understood his father’s beliefs in family, no matter the betrayal. Blood mattered.

S
HE WAS A FOOL, AND
Kira admitted it as she allowed the waiter to lead her to the small table of the restaurant where she had arranged to meet her uncle that afternoon. The same restaurant where she knew Ian would be having lunch. Money in the right hands, and before the morning was over she had known where to find him.

She was pushing him, pushing herself, and she knew it. Ian was playing with fire, and she didn’t just mean the operation he was working against Fuentes and Sorrell.

She was terribly afraid he meant to kill Diego Fuentes, a monster, a brutal, merciless bastard who preyed on the weak. But he was still Ian’s biological father. A son should never have to kill his sire. The repercussions would be horrifying.

She had no proof of it, no verification. All she had was her own intuition, which she admitted was colored by her desire for him. And something much more.

There was a part of her that refused to let go of Ian. A part she had never known existed until last year. As though beneath the darkness that had been her life for the past ten years, a shadow of light had begun moving, weakening her, reminding her that she was a woman.

“Kira, is that you?”

Her head lifted, a smile of pleasure pulling at her lips at the sight of the small redhead who was coming to her table. Tehya Talamosi, with her shadowed eyes and somber face, and Kira’s suspicions that she was as much an agent as the Chameleon was.

“Tehya, what are you doing here?” Over the years Kira had met the other woman in several different countries, where she was usually involved with relief efforts of some sort.

“Vacation.” Tehya shrugged, her gaze flickering around the room. “I just wanted to stop and say hi.” She ducked her head almost shyly, allowing her long hair to shield her face.

“It’s good to see you again.” Kira watched her closely. She couldn’t be old enough to be an agent, yet Kira had the same feeling, the same internal defenses jumping to life, with the girl as she did with any other agent. Or enemy.

Tehya smiled back at her, her gaze flickering toward Ian and a few other scattered tables before she nodded and turned to walk through the restaurant.

In a glance Kira once again took in the way her denimclad legs moved. There was a stiffness that hadn’t been there the last time she saw her, a few years before. Her shoulders were straighter beneath the light cotton T-shirt she wore. And as always, Kira felt the need to protect the other girl.

She shook the feeling off. If Tehya needed her protection she had ample opportunity to ask for it. Kira made a mental note to have Daniel run her name through DHS tonight, see what he could dig up on her. This mission was too important and the realization that an unknown could be on the perimeters of it worried her.

Hiding behind her menu, she lowered her head and closed her eyes at the sound of Ian’s voice as she pushed Tehya to the back of her mind. So dark and rough. He was angry, she could tell. His voice roughened to a gravelly sound when he was angry. When he was aroused it was guttural. And once she had heard him chuckle, the sound like a coming storm at midnight. Rich and laced with sensuality.

Last night, his voice had been gravelly fury as he held her beneath him. Fury and arousal. The sensuality had been there, in his voice, in his dark eyes, in the brooding expression on his face. And the sound of it had struck her womb like an explosion of heat and light.

She let a little smile touch her lips at the thought of Ian’s reaction to her arrival. In hindsight, she could look at it with amusement, though the night before, her sexual frustration had been less than amusing.

“That smile makes grown men’s knees tremble in fear.”

Kira’s gaze jerked from the menu to Ian as he stood looking down at her. She tried to pretend surprise. She had felt him, had known he would end up speaking to her.

“Ian, what a surprise,” she said softly, laying the menu on the table as she crossed her legs, braced her elbow on the table, rested her chin in her bent wrist and gave him a mischievous, flirty look.

“A surprise, huh?” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks, causing the finely woven white cotton shirt he wore to ripple over his abs.

The shirt was a little loose, subtly shaping his broad shoulders and tight, leanly muscled body. His overly long dark blond hair was pulled to the nape of his neck, casting the harsh angles of his face into aching relief.

“Of course it’s a surprise.” She rounded her eyes and stared back at him as though his tone shocked her. “Do you think I’d stalk you?”

“Only if I gave you the chance.” He didn’t smile but he stared at her with hunger. A somber, dark hunger that had her stomach clenching in answering need.

“Would you like to join me?” She waved her hand to the three empty chairs. “My uncle should be here momentarily. I’ve chosen the most gorgeous little villa outside of town. A lovely white and red stucco with an outdoor pool and wraparound balcony. One side of the property is even bordered with a ten-foot handplaced stone fence.”

His eyes narrowed on her. Of course she had picked the
villa next to Diego Fuentes’s, and Ian’s. Did he believe she was going to make this easy for him?

His lips thinned as she smiled back with subtle satisfaction.

“No. But you can join me.” He gripped her arm with the pretense of helping her from her chair before pulling her along with him into the reception room of the restaurant. From there, he led her to a hallway at the far end of the room and then to an unmarked door that he unlocked, opened. He pushed her into the darkened room.

Kira found herself flat against the wall, the door slamming closed behind them, even as Ian’s lips captured hers in a kiss that curled her toenails.

This was what she needed.

Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders as he lifted her to him. Her breasts pressed against his chest, became swollen and sensitive, desperate for his touch.

When had she become so addicted to him? When had his touch become the focal point of all her fantasies and hungers?

Surely it had happened before Atlanta? One stolen night of sexual frustration couldn’t have developed over nearly a year to this burning hunger? Or had it? Perhaps it was a product of years of meeting him in the heart of danger, their eyes connecting, knowing he knew who she was each time, seeing the recognition in his gaze, in the slight tilt of his head in acknowledgment. So many years of it. Meetings in the dead of night, bullets blazing, nothing mattering but the success of the mission and the lives at risk.