Never Surrender (Task Force Eagle) (8 page)

He understood, but reluctantly, and allowed himself a
dollop of smugness at her incoherence. She wanted him.

But would he be betraying all he stood for by having
sex with this woman? No. Her brother might be involved in the trafficking, but
he’d bet his next paycheck on her innocence. Standing, he held up his hands. “I
told you I would stop and I’m a man of my word.”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.
My brother’s welfare is my concern. I can’t . . .” Her spine stiffened as she
summoned composure. Averting her eyes, she repacked the water bottle and donned
her jacket. “We should start down. Ready?”

“I’m always ready. Don’t you know that?” Teasing was
better. Laughter diluted tension. Held fear at bay. Laughter also seduced. He
hoped.

“You’re impossible.” Her lips curved in a
warm—forgiving?—smile that made his heart bump an extra beat.

After a sweep of the pink granite sloping to the woods
and the distant blue water, they retraced their steps.

Juliana hopped from boulder to boulder. “How did you
become a DEA Agent? Didn’t your dad want you to be a doctor like him?”

“Safe subject?”

“Don’t laugh at me. Really. Tell me.”

He considered his answer until they reached the tree
cover. “Two of my sisters are doctors. Lupe’s a pediatrician, and Dolores is
studying pathology. Dad wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but medicine wasn’t
for me.”

The trail leveled through an area of switchbacks
around sheer faces of granite. The rock-strewn U-turns dropped almost as
steeply. At the second switchback, a lively chattering resounded from the
spruce trees.

Rick stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “There,
you hear it?” he said. “Hey, there
are
birds. What are they?” The tiny
black-winged creatures darted from tree to tree.

“Chickadees. Some birds do stay here for the winter.
We might see a cardinal too.” Juliana adjusted her pack. “Not medicine. You
wanted more adventure. Is that it?”

“Maybe. Science isn’t my thing. A profession like that
keeps you in school forever, ties you down.” Folding his arms, he leaned
against a tree.

“Why the DEA?”

“Drugs are an evil that destroys too many of my
people, Cuban and other Latinos.”

He paused, considering how much he wanted to reveal.
He wanted her to understand—and to see the connection to Jordan. “I had a
brother, Rodolfo—Rudy. Two years older. He stuck up for me when we were little.
Taught me to dribble in soccer and basketball.”

“You had a good relationship.”

“The best. Until his teens. Rudy hung out with the
club crowd, got into drugs—Ecstasy, cocaine, heroine. Addiction led to working
for the drug gang. Another of El Águila’s tentacles. One day Rudy disappeared
into the bowels of Miami only to surface in the morgue. At age sixteen. I
have
to fight that scourge. Rid the world of El Águila’s infection.”

The color drained from her cheeks, and fear was stark
in her gaze. His tale had scared her, maybe too much. She cleared her throat
and blinked. “That’s so sad, Rick. I can’t imagine how hard that would be on a
family. Tell me more about your brother. What was he like?”

Why didn’t make sense, but telling her was easy. “Rudy
was smart and driven. He always had to be the best. Maybe that’s why when he
rebelled, he crashed and burned.”

“Did he look like you?”

“Mostly. Taller, maybe because he was older.” Rick
shoved away the errant thought that he’d never know Rudy’s adult height. “But
he was so passionate. You could see the fire in his eyes. Me, I got by on—”

“Charm. Not that you don’t have passion, mind you.”
She gave him a soft smile. “No wonder you’re so dedicated. Your parents must be
proud of you. Especially your dad.”

He shrugged.
Papá
had never said as much. “I
don’t see him enough to know.”

Her blue-green gaze perused him earnestly. She placed
a hand on his arm. “It would be hard not to be bitter about that. Did you and
your dad used to be closer?”

Her gentle comfort soothed the resentment he usually
hid from people. “Maybe before Rudy died. Dad was only a teenager when he
escaped from Cuba. He had to work hard to become a doctor. That meant a
papá
too busy for family dinners or soccer games.” He understood his dad’s drive,
but didn’t accept its cost.

“Aha.”

“What’s
aha
supposed to mean?”

Her full lips curved in a gentle smile. “Just that all
families seem to be so complicated. Balancing numbers on a spreadsheet is way
easier than adding up people. Sometimes I resent Molly racing all around
searching for God knows what, and I have to remind myself she’s just doing the
best she knows how. Maybe that applies to your dad.”

“Maybe.” He watched a gray squirrel foraging in the
leaves. The creature retrieved a pinecone and scurried away. Scrounging to feed
the family. “My parents have done nothing their entire lives but work. I want
freedom, fun in my life while I’m young.”

“No ties, no responsibilities. I see.” She tilted her
head as if at an insight. “You miss your family though, don’t you?”

“A DEA agent signs a mobility agreement. They can send
us anywhere. But yes, I miss home. I miss my family.”

“Moving around the country, excitement and danger,
your cup of tea?” Her brows drew together in a pensive frown, and she sat on a
fallen log.

“Don’t forget to add paperwork, bureaucracy, and red
tape to that excitement.” He flopped beside her and stretched out his legs in
the mulch of pine needles and dead leaves. “Someday I’d like to try for a Miami
placement, a promotion. But the way this case is going, I’ll be lucky to retain
special agent status.” He traced a vein on the back of her soft hand.

“That doesn’t sound like the optimistic guy I started
the day with,” she said in a tight voice. Did the sensitive stroking evoke the
same erotic sensations he felt?

“
¡Ay, Dios mio!
Your worrywart disease must be contagious.
What shall I do?”

“Does that mean no more kisses?” Her mouth curved, but
her gaze remained somber.

The possibility shook him more than he wanted to
admit. If she was only teasing, he could be patient. “Hopeful or disappointed,
Juliana?”

In the silence of her hesitation, the fine hairs on
Rick’s neck raised. Instinct switched on. What was different about the woods?
He shot a comprehensive glance around.

“I—”

He covered her mouth with his fingers. “Listen,” he
whispered.

Chapter 8

She cocked her head. When he lifted his hand, she
whispered, “I don’t hear anything. What is it?”

“Nothing. That’s just it. The critters didn’t mind our
invasion, but now all is quiet.” The gut-sure sense of danger switched on his
experience and training.

Detach. Absorb. Analyze
.

“What’s wrong?” She bit her lower lip, fear in her
wide eyes.

Dammit, his cop tone had frightened her rather than
merely caution her. Perhaps she ought to be frightened.

“Could be nothing.” Stones clattered farther down the
trail below the switchbacks. He levered to his feet and held a hand on her
trembling shoulder. His gut tightened. “You stay here while I scope it out.”

“Have they found us? Is it El Águila’s men?”

At the quavering in her voice, the screw tightened. “It
might be more hikers, but I won’t take a chance.”

“What if they hear you coming?”

He leveled a long, silent look.

“Oops, sorry.” Juliana’s eyebrows drew together. “I
forgot you were 007.”

“Bond, no, but on SEAL missions I earned the nickname
The Invisible Man.” He led her into the woods and behind a boulder where she’d
be hidden from the path. “I’ll come back in a few minutes. Stay here, and don’t
make any noise.”

The slow tip of her head didn’t reassure him.

“I mean it. Stay put.” He shed his jacket and thrust
it at her. He could move better without it. Quieter. He checked his SIG.
Replaced the weapon in his belt holster.

Squeezing her shoulders, he planted a kiss on her
forehead.

Before Juliana could protest, Rick vanished into the
trees as silently and invisibly as a ribbon of smoke.

She hunched against the rock, listening. Whatever
noises they heard below could come from ordinary hikers, but maybe the Mexicans
were on the island.

This excitement and their chat hadn’t restored her
balance after that stunning embrace. She floated between frenzied desire and
shimmering oblivion. He was sexy and dangerous, and she shouldn’t succumb, but
when he touched her, her body—and her heart—ignored all warning bells.

Maybe she’d been alone too long. Her involvement with
Bill ended months ago. Then she’d had no time for a social life, much less a
serious hook-up. His lovemaking never radiated desire like liquid flames
through her like Rick’s kisses.

Was she that vulnerable, or did the chemistry between
them burn hotter than his Miami sun? Dammit, she’d rubbed against him like a
cat in heat.

The more she learned about him added up to a more
complex Ricardo Cruz than she’d expected. More than the smooth charmer she
first thought. Including his honorable retreat when she said no.

His brother’s death from drugs had fired his zeal—his
hatred of drugs and those who dealt in the dirty business. No wonder he wanted
her
brother at all costs. He must think her family was dirty. Did he suspect even
her? The thought had her shifting her feet.

And where was the man? He’d sneaked into the woods
with a panther’s stealth, evidence of his military expertise. He’d be fine.

She drummed fingers against the rough stone. She
mangled her lower lip. Why didn’t he come back? How long had he been gone? She
stared at her watch. Five minutes? Ten?

She tied his jacket to her pack with shock cord and
jogged in place. She couldn’t just wait here doing nothing. She was putting off
disclosing one more place Jordan might be. She
had
to reach her brother
first, and she’d deceive Rick if she had to. To balance accounts, she might be
able to help him now. She adjusted her pack and tiptoed into the trees.

The scent of pine and the sweetish decay of leaves
mingled in the cold air. She concentrated on her surroundings, listening for
voices or footsteps as she tried to follow Rick’s path. The only sounds came
from branches clicking together in the breeze.

And her clattering heart.

Grasping trees and rocks for support and avoiding the
sparse undergrowth and patches of ice, she maneuvered down the steep grade. At
every footfall, the terrain mocked her attempts at stealth. Twigs snapped.
Pebbles clattered. Desiccated leaves shivered.

How the hell did Rick do it?

She focused on the ground and eased around an ice
patch to step on a soft patch of reindeer moss. There. No sound.

The next step took her silently to a clump of
bearberry, its stems devoid of summer’s shiny green leaves and red berries.
Grinning with success, she hopped over a jagged stone to a lichen-encrusted
boulder. When an overhanging branch snagged her pack, the sere wood broke with
a loud snap. Her breath caught in her lungs and her heart seemed to stop.

Crack!
The report came from below. That was no
branch.

Her stomach knotted and her temples felt clamped in a
vise. She swallowed and made herself listen. Made herself think. The scrabble
and thumping below meant her failure at stealth didn’t matter.

She slid and leaped downhill toward the dissonance of
combat. She raced through underbrush and over logs. When she rounded the
boulder marking the last switchback, she crouched and peered through a tangle
of branches.

A figure in dark clothing lay beneath the cedar tree
at the trail’s edge. A crimson stream trickled onto the frozen earth beneath
his head. Needles pierced her heart.

But the clothing was wrong. Not Rick.
Thank God
.

Guttural exhalations and the jarring stridency of bone
striking flesh and bone drew her gaze beyond the wounded man. Rick and the man
she’d dubbed Droopy Mustache grappled in the middle of the steep trail. They
struggled for possession of the pistol in Rick’s right hand. Another pistol lay
in the middle of the rocky path.

Heart pounding against her sternum, she bit her lower
lip. If she rushed out and grabbed the discarded pistol, then what?

Mustache delivered a chop to Rick’s right arm. Rick’s
pistol sailed across the rocks like a pebble skimming water. When he tried to
dive for it, Mustache wrenched his arm.

From her downhill side came the scrabble of someone on
the gravel path. She hunkered lower in the underbrush.

It was the other one, the heavy-set, lumpish one who
had pinned her for Droopy Mustache’s interrogation. Lumpy halted beside his
prostrate comrade, but barely spared him a glance, his attention focused on the
fight. The man presented his back to her, but held a pistol with a long black
barrel.

She had to stop him. She shrugged off the pack and
searched it for a possible weapon. Lumpy was short and built like a bulldog,
but maybe . . .

Mustache twisted, holding Rick in a headlock. Lumpy
stepped toward the combatants.

A spasm gripped her chest. She slapped a hand over her
mouth to contain a scream. She crept out, planting each step with precision.
Don’t
let him turn around.

Lumpy stared ahead. He didn’t notice her stealing
closer.

Rick jerked away and shot an elbow hard into Mustache’s
belly. Freed, Rick spun and snaked out a sideways kick that knocked his
opponent flat.

Lumpy aimed the pistol.

Juliana brought the binoculars down on his head with
so much force she nearly fell over. The plastic cracked like a champagne magnum
on a ship’s bow.