Navy SEALs Complete Series: 3 Books + 3 Novellas (Tempting Navy SEALs) (95 page)

“Oh, I think it’s very much as it seems.” He jerked a wooden chair forward, straddled it, and braced his forearms on the back. And then he smiled at them. A triumphant, knowing smile.

Eleanor pulled the sheet toward them.

“Leave the sheet alone.” His hardened voice rasped through the silence that had been broken only by Eleanor’s gasping breaths.

“El Patrón Fuentes does not mind how we find our pleasure.” Liss suddenly had the temerity to speak up. She tried to simulate fear, but there was too much triumph, too much anger in her for her to carry it off.

“Liss, you forget who rules the roost here. That rooster has done cocked his last crow, so to speak, as far as decisions in this house are concerned, are we clear?”

She licked her full, wide lips as she flicked a glance around the room, obviously judging the threat. And coming up with death.

“Ian, it is so small a transgression,” Eleanor whispered then, her limpid gaze imploring. “It was just a bit of consolation.”

“Your sex games or preferences don’t concern me, Eleanor,” he assured her with an easy smile. It was a smile she didn’t seem to find much comfort in. “Your association with Liss and, shall we say, cartel enemies does concern me.”

He was watching Eleanor directly, though he caught the flash of fear in Liss’s gaze with his peripheral vision. Poor Eleanor, she wasn’t the liar she wanted to believe she was. Guilt marked her chocolate-brown gaze as surely as the forceful touch of Liss’s lips on her breast had marked the taut mound.

“I do not know.”

“Don’t lie to me, Eleanor.” He reached his hand out to Deke. Four pictures were placed in it, prints taken from the digital camera that had marked Eleanor and Liss’s trip to the market the day before.

The two women were photographed speaking with a known Sorrell contact, Ernesto Cruz, then accepting two less than thin plain envelopes. Liss, greedy little bitch, had opened hers and fanned through the bills there.

He tossed the pictures to the bed where the women stared at them in rapt horror.

“I’m going to assume you gave them the only piece of information you could have acquired. The meeting with Radacchio that you believed was taking place late last
night?” Liss stared back at him furiously, not bothering to hold her rage in, as Ian continued. “Ernesto’s friends didn’t find Radacchio at that meeting. They found a small army instead. His friends were returned to Ernesto in pieces this morning.” The women paled, terror rounding their eyes even as Ian felt rage scour his soul.

Sorrell had sent the best he could acquire on short notice. Two of Ian’s men had died, but Sorrell’s men hadn’t lived to take another breath.

It didn’t matter that they were all criminals of varying degrees, murderers dozens of times over, each and every one of them, all in the name of the mighty coca and the almighty dollar.

“I lost two men last night, Eleanor,” he said softly. “Two of my best. I’m not happy over that.”

Her lips trembled as she quivered, fear paling her dark face and dampening her eyes.

“Ian, there was supposed to be no one hurt.” Her breath hitched with panic. “They promised—”

“Are you a fool, Eleanor?” he snapped. “Look at Liss. Look at her.” Eleanor’s gaze shot to Liss’s defiant face. “She thought Sorrell would triumph. That I’d die in the bloodbath her boss arranged.”

“No, Ian,” she cried.

He whipped the Glock from the inside of his jacket, the barrel aimed at Liss’s head. For a moment, he had the satisfaction of her fear, but just for a moment.

“You won’t kill us,” she said quietly, confidently. “You do not kill women, do you, Señor Fuentes? You are not El Patrón. Only El Patrón understands this world. You are but a braying little burro—”

A weapon exploded, tearing into her skull, splattering the back of her head onto Eleanor and the wall behind her as she was flung backward.

The weapon had no sooner discharged than Ian was ducking and rolling, coming up, the gun braced in his hand and centered on the chest of the man who stood in the doorway.

Diego Fuentes. Ian’s finger clenched, the need to tighten, to fire, nearly overwhelming his control. He could get away with it. He could kill the bastard and swear it was an accident. His superiors wouldn’t question it, and he could still go after Sorrell. It would be so easy.

Diego’s black eyes met his, knowledge in the curve of his lips as he lowered the gun. His pristine white silk shirt contrasted with his swarthy skin, the stiffly pressed black trousers and obscenely expensive loafers untouched by the blood he had just spilled.

“They are not women, they are traitors. Traitors die,” he spat.

“So what does that make me, old man?” Ian suddenly snarled, coming to his feet as fury coursed through him. “I betrayed my country for you. What makes you think I won’t betray you as well?”

“Blood is stronger than country,” Diego said. “My blood in your veins. My heart pumping inside you, a part of me forever bonded with you because you are my son. Dispose of those whores and wipe them from your mind. No one betrays what is mine, and by all that is holy you are my son.”

Eleanor was sobbing now, her body protected by his own as he stood between her and Diego.

“We agreed this operation would be handled my way!” Ian bit out, coldly furious. “You don’t kill without my permission.”

“As though I would ever receive it,” Diego spat back. “You will throw her carcass into the streets and that whore she slept with will take back to her diseased owner my answer to his quest. ‘Get fucked, Sorrell.’ ”

Good God, have mercy. Ian wanted to put his fist in the man’s stupid mouth and shut him the hell up. Or a bullet in his black heart and stop this charade for good.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he snarled. “Now.”

“So you can bargain with her?” Diego sneered. “You
bargain with your enemies as though they were business associates whose word you can trust. You are the fool.”

“And you’re as dead as she is if you don’t get the fuck out of here!” Ian’s voice lowered dangerously as the need to silence the bastard raged inside him. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Diego smiled mockingly. “But you will not kill me, and still Liss is dead. My answer to the bastard that would strike my son. Eleanor can give it to him herself.” Then he turned and strode from the room.

Ian turned to look at Eleanor. She had stopped sobbing and now stared at Liss’s cooling body in horror.

“Ernesto will have me killed,” she whispered, pulling her gaze to Ian. “I only helped Liss, as she asked me to do. So we would have the money to leave Aruba and to return home to Colombia. Enough money to help feed our families . . .” Her voice trailed away as she reached out a trembling hand to touch Liss’s slack face.

The scent of blood and death filled the room now, wiping away the sweet scent of sex and fear.

“Deke, get her on a plane,” Ian told him quietly. “I want her safe.” He wiped his hand over his face, suddenly aching as he stared at the mess Diego had made of Liss.

Ian had had no intention of hurting her. Frightening her, yes, convincing her to give him information, definitely. But God help him, he would never have hurt her.

“Should we have her interrogated?” Deke’s voice was just as quiet.

“On the plane.” Ian nodded. “I want her flying out of here to a safe house within the hour.”

The Cessna waited on a private airfield outside Palm Beach, just in case it was needed, the pilot on twenty-four-hour call.

“Come on, Eleanor.” Deke wrapped his arms around her and helped her from the bed. “Let’s get you dressed. Get you out of here.”

She stared at Ian, shell-shocked, desperate. “Don’t kill me, Ian, please.” Tears fell down her cheeks as her reddened lips trembled. “I am so sorry.” She held on to Deke’s arms as though terrified Ian would jerk her from the suddenly gentle embrace.

“I’m not going to kill you, Eleanor. Go with Deke. Let him take care of you.” Ian’s gaze moved back to Liss. “Have Liss buried. Quietly. Get this taken care of.” He turned and stared at Liss’s blank expression. “Son of a bitch, some days it doesn’t pay me to wake up in the morning.”

“You’d have to sleep first, boss,” Deke murmured as he helped Eleanor dress.

“Shut the fuck up, Deke,” Ian snarled.

He left the room, his gun still clasped in his hand, and headed through the villa to the one place where he knew he could find Diego at this time of the day. Nothing turned that bastard off his food. The son of a bitch could murder a woman and sit down to breakfast as though he were royalty five minutes later. And that was exactly where he was. At the breakfast table, a cup of coffee and a plate of fruits and sweets in front of him, his assistant Saul sitting across from him.

Before Ian realized his intentions, his hands were on the older man’s silk shirt, clenching the fabric in his hands as he jerked Diego from his chair and threw him against the wall.

Shocked, wide black eyes met Ian’s, then narrowed in fury. But no anger Diego could have been feeling could possibly come close to the rage building in Ian’s gut now. The remembered sight of Liss, slumped back, her brains splattered on the wall behind her, sickening him.

“Ever. Ever. Fuck me over that way again, and I walk. Do you understand me?” He was in Diego’s face, nose to nose, a killing rage pumping through him.

“She betrayed me,” Diego snarled.

“You stupid fucking bastard, she had information,” Ian rasped, murderous fury burning in his gut. “Information I
needed. Do you understand me?” He threw his father away from him, his fists clenching, the need to do something, anything, raging through him. Damn Diego. Liss had been a fucking child. An easy-to-use, impressionable, filled-with-anger young woman who didn’t know shit about this world. And Diego had just killed her. Without a second thought. Without questions.

“Fuck it,” he muttered. “I’m out of here.”

“You would leave Sorrell to destroy us all?” Diego moved to place himself in front of Ian, his expression knowing, cold. “What of all your justice and belief in freedom,” he sneered. “I move to defend you and you whine over blood spilled. What will you do when Sorrell achieves his objective to strike at your precious country?”

Ice was forming in Ian’s soul now. This man, this fucking monster, was his father. A man who had just killed a fucking nineteen-year-old girl as though she were a diseased animal rather than a beautiful, vibrant young woman.

And he couldn’t walk away. No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how badly he wanted away from the blood and death, he couldn’t walk away. Not yet.

Ian clenched his teeth. His fingers tightened on the grip of the gun as a grimace contorted his features. “Stay the fuck out of this, Diego. Stay out. Or I walk.”

He moved away from Diego, stalking out of the breakfast room.

Deke moved into the foyer, his expression somber as he gave Ian a short nod. Ian breathed in a heavy breath. Eleanor was in safe hands and being escorted to the plane by the same hands that would bury Liss’s body. The only other agent Ian had been able to get into the Fuentes home would take care of her.

Stepping into the bright sunlight, Ian drew in a deep, cleansing breath, and swung his gaze to Kira’s villa. God, he wished he had stayed in the bed with her. Wished he were wrapped around her lithe, softly scented body, holding her warmth close to him. And it was the worst thing he
could wish for. He was the most dangerous thing she could have right now. And she was the one thing he couldn’t allow himself.

D
IEGO BREATHED A SIGH OF
relief as the doors slammed behind Ian, leaving him and Saul alone in the breakfast room, the ramifications of his actions slamming into his brain.

He turned to Saul, his fists clenching, his muscles trembling, from the fear and fury inside his soul.

“A mistake,” he whispered. “That was a horrible mistake I made.”

“You must think first, Diego.” Saul’s face was pale as well. “You walk a very fine line with your son. Our rules that we see as so simple are not so simple to him.”

Diego wiped his hand over his face and slumped in his chair once more, the food before him suddenly unappetizing.

“He would not have done it,” he whispered. “My son, he would not have eliminated that threat.”

“And had we heeded his warnings about the servants, then it would not have been necessary,” Saul reminded him gently.

“I will make it up to him.” He pushed his fingers through his hair, his chest aching, his heart heavy as he remembered the pure, unadulterated hatred that had glowed in his son’s eyes. “How can I make this up to him, Saul?”

“Follow his wishes.” Saul was shaken as well. “We will do as he says, yes, Diego?”

Diego stared back at him, agonized when a sad smile suddenly shaped his lips.

“Do you know, Diego, who your boy reminds me of?”

He shook his head, uncertain about the flash of affection in Saul’s eyes. That old man cared for few people.

“Your father,” he said gently. “A young, proud, hot-blooded Aquiles Fuentes. This is who he reminds me of.”

Diego blinked at his father’s old friend and tilted his head thoughtfully. Yes, he thought, a smile of remembrance creasing his face. Like his father, Aquiles. This was who Ian reminded him of as well. A strong, proud man. A warrior, an innovator. That was his son. Yes, perhaps Saul was right; for now at least, they would follow Ian’s directions.

S
HE NEEDED HIM
.

A week later Kira admitted to the real reason why she had followed Ian to Aruba, why she had decided to stick her admittedly curious nose into his business, and it was why she was ignoring his piercing gaze seven days later as she sat in one of the open lounge sections of the Fuentes club, Coronado’s.

The club was one of the most popular on the island, filled with tourists and regulars, hard-driving music, and undercurrents of the shadowy world that existed within the center of the popular gathering spot. It was a hotbed of illegal practices and shady deals and Kira was sitting smack in the middle of Sorrell symathizers posing as Fuentes contacts.