Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1) (10 page)

When I got back down to the fire, Noah had a guitar balanced on his knee and he was entertaining the group with a Woody Guthrie tune. A joint was passed around. I faked a drag. Noah covered Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and even some John Denver while the others lazily sang along.

Soon, couples started retreating into the darkness and Noah and I were left alone at the fire.
 

“I like your friends,” I said.
If only the circumstances were different.
“I feel comfortable here.”

“Yeah, they’re a good bunch.”

“How’d you meet them?”

“Oh, you know. We share interests.”

I wanted to know more about them, about him, about the smugglers, but I couldn’t figure out a way to ask right now without being obvious. I stared into the smoldering coals.
 

“You’re welcome to stay,” he said. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“Now, why would I want you to do that?” I crawled toward him across the sand and hit him with a kiss that made his toes curl.

“Mmm, exactly,” he moaned.

I pulled back. “But I really have to go.” My mom always said, leave ‘em wanting.
 

I caught a taxi, found my moped where I’d left it, and hurried back to the resort.

I didn’t want to wake Dalton, so I slid the door open and quietly stepped into the dark. A flashlight beam blasted me in the face. My hand flew up to cover my eyes. “What the hell?”

“What the hell is right? Where have you been?”

“Following a lead.”

“A lead? A lead!” Dalton flicked on the lamp and stood with his arms crossed. “What did I tell you?”

“Didn’t you get my text? I did what you told me. I went to the butterfly gardens. Absolutely amazing what they’re doing over there, by the way. You should stop in. They have an insectarium and four gardens, each dedicated to—”

“What’s your point?”

“A guy who works there knows about the smuggling operation and—”

“What? Seriouisly, Poppy. It just happened to come up in conversation?” He nodded, mocking me.
 

“Well, yeah, one thing led to another, and the next thing you know, I’m invited to a bonfire with him and his friends. I found out that—”

He held up his right hand for me to stop and rubbed his forehead with his left. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But—”

“I don’t care what some civilian renegades think they might know.”

“But they’ve seen things. They have evi—”

The hand went back up in my face. “I have been here for nine months. Nine months working this case.” His eyes crinkled with worry and frustration. “Do you have no respect for what I've worked so hard to build here?”
 

“Of course I do. But you weren’t there.”

He turned away from me and lowered himself into the chair. “Stay away from them.”

“Listen to me,” I said. “The information they have, I know it’s valid.”

“Oh, and how do you know?”

I hesitated. I couldn’t tell him I’d been there. “I just do. I trust them—”

“Are you listening to yourself?” He got back up from the chair and got in my face. “Trust them? They’re civilians. There's a reason we don't include civilians in our operations.” His eyes were on fire. “You’re going to blow everything.”

“That’s not fair. Just because you don’t know me yet—”

“Don’t you understand? This isn’t a game, little
Poppy
.”
 

I crossed my arms. “How dare you?”

“You’re gonna get us killed.” He threw up his hands and plopped back down into the chair.

“You don’t trust me.”

His eyes snapped to me. “Damn right I don’t trust you! I don’t know you. As far as I can see so far, you’re a serious liability.” He lay back in the chair. “I don’t care if Joe likes you. One more stunt like that and I’ll send you packing.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and turned on my heel and headed for the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, taking my frustration out on my gums, and when I came back out, Dalton was stretched across the bed. The blanket was piled on the chair.
 

Dalton tried to slink out without a word.
 

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going for coffee.”

“Aren’t you going to have breakfast with me?” I asked. Maybe I could get him to listen to me this morning. “We don't want them to think we’re fighting.”

“Why not? We are fighting. Spouses fight.”
 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

As soon as he shut the door, I threw the pillow across the room.
Dammit!
I had risked getting caught, ruining my career, blowing this op, everything, to get that information, and all for nothing. He wasn’t going to listen to me. I stomped around the room, threw a few more pillows and kicked the bed before I slumped into the chair.
Dammit!

A few minutes later he was back with two cups of coffee. He handed me one. “Get ready. I want to stroll around the shopping district, look like tourists,” he said. “I could use a new pair of sunglasses anyway.”

Shopping? Really? What would we learn there? I had to admit, though, it did seem the logical thing that John and Brittany would do. I grabbed my hideous handbag and we headed for town.
 

The old-town shopping district was a hodgepodge of tiny stalls where local craftsmen hocked their handcrafted wares. I preferred it over the glitz of shoe, handbag, and perfume counters. This was a group of real people with real lives, trying to make a living for their real families. Not some faceless corporation from a foreign land.

Brightly colored sarongs and dresses livened the spaces with reds, yellows, and greens. There were hand tied hammocks and straw hats, wood bowls, cutting boards, trinket boxes, and hair pins made from exotic native woods.

We wandered through, looking for nothing in particular, Dalton holding my hand. It was hard to stay mad at him while he was holding my hand. I bet some marriage counselor had figured that out.
 

As I came around a corner, I spotted Yipes in the crowd. I spun around, wrapped my arms around Dalton’s neck, and gave him a big kiss. “We have a tail,” I whispered.

“Ah, you noticed,” he said with a grin, his eyes on me.

“It’s Yipes, the guy from our bungalow.”
 

“Yeah, he’s been—” He drew back and looked at me with a baffled expression. “Yipes?”
 

I started to open my mouth.

“Forget it,” he said. “I don’t need to know.” He ran his fingers through my hair and pulled me toward him for another kiss. Dammit. Why’d he have to be so yummy? Jerk. This Jekyll and Hyde thing was going to put me into a tailspin.

“We should split up. You keep shopping, keep him busy. I’ll meet you back at the bungalow for dinner.”

I nodded and watched him walk away.

I exited the other side of the shopping area into a fruit market. Boxes of ripe bananas, mangos, watermelons, and coconuts were stacked on plastic crates. I selected a banana and paid. An Afro-Caribbean beat pulsed through the streets. I wandered toward the performers, then stopped and looked around. Head slap. Dalton had ditched me.
 

Fine. Two could play that game. I would take advantage of the time to get better prepared, make sure I was ready for anything. Mrs. Strix had hooked me up with some realistic girly items, but she’d never been an agent. I needed a hardware store.
 

Around the corner and down the street, I found what I needed. A Leatherman tool, matches, lighter, heavy-duty string, tiny mirror, mini-mag flashlight, and assorted other items. I thought about a hand-held recorder, but like a gun, if I got searched, it could get me killed.
 

Now that that was done, what to do? I started toward the butterfly gardens then stopped. I needed to be careful. Dalton had been right about one thing, I had been reckless. Noah set me on fire. I could get burned. But oh my god, that kiss. A warm sensation came over me thinking about it. What’s wrong with working an informant? Male agents do it all the time.
 

I sat down on the curb. Dalton made me want to scream. Noah made me want to scream, but in a different way. My head was mush. I went back into the store, grabbed a pre-paid phone card, then found a pay phone around the corner and punched in the country code and the number. After three rings, he answered. “Yo.”

“Chris, it’s Poppy.”

“Girl, what’s going on?” Chris is the only guy who gets to call me girl. We’ve known each other since sixth grade in the Philippines. When we ran into each other again in high school, half way across the world, we figured we were destined to be friends for life. Now he’s a flight attendant for Delta airlines and I see him every few months or so, depending on how many layovers he spends with his latest flame.

I hesitated. I shouldn’t have been calling him while undercover.

“Wow, silence. Something must really be wrong. Talk to me.”

“I’m all right. Just frustrated. I wanted to hear your voice is all.”

“Honey, what have I been telling you? You’ve gotta get out of redneckville and get properly laid. Come with me next weekend. I’m on a five-day Shanghai right now, then I’ve got four off. We could pop down to the Caymans. Drink some margaritas, watch those tight-assed college boys play beach volleyball. What do you think?”

“I can’t. I’m in—”
Crap.
“I can’t get away right now.” I sighed. “I’ve been reassigned.”

“What do you mean, reassigned? Poppy-girl, that doesn’t sound good?” He paused a beat. “What’d you do?”

“Nothing! I busted the Lawson boys. But this is…Listen, I can’t tell you. I just wanted to say hey.”

“Well, now you’ve got me worried.”

“Well don’t. I can handle the job. It’s just—”

He drew in a quick breath. “Oh my holy-hell. It’s a man.”

I blushed. Only Chris could make me blush. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh my holy-hell, it’s two men. I just talked to you last week. You were bellyaching about rednecks and lumberjacks and now you got a love triangle going on?” I heard the rustle of blankets and his hand over the phone. It was the middle of the night in Shanghai.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time zone you were in.”

“No, no, no. I picked up, didn’t I? Now tell me everything. I want every juicy detail. Like what are you doing in Costa Rica?”

Crap. Double crap.
 

“You think I don’t know the country code? It’s on my caller ID. Hey, are you on the Pacific side? There’s a great hotel with a swim up bar that—”

“No, some bungalow in the valley, Arenal Gardens or something, and—never mind, I can’t talk about it.” I glanced down the street, one way, then the other. A random pay phone wouldn’t be tapped, but being on it might cause suspicion. “You know, sometimes my work, I can’t talk.”
 

“Um, sweetheart, you called me.”

“I know.”

“This is much more than guy trouble, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, love. I gotta go.” I hung up.
Crap. What was I thinking?
He’d understand; I’d explain it all to him at Christmas. But that was a dumbass thing to do. I gritted my teeth.
That was a rookie move, McVie.
If I didn’t watch my step, Dalton would boot me before I could stop my head from spinning. I needed to be more careful.
 

I circled back through the hardware store. I’d forgotten electrical tape.
Definitely not on my game. I need to step it up.

I found a little cafe serving Costa Rican fare that had several vegetarian options. I sipped an iced tea and went over what had happened so far in my mind. Mr. Strix had told me to follow protocol, to listen to my SAC. But Dalton was so damn aggravating. My mother always accused me of having issues with authority. Damn, I hated when she was right.

After I finished my meal, I decided to take a walk, look for birds, at least I could add a few to my life list while I was here, when my phone rang. It was Dalton. “Where are you?”

“Why, I’m shopping, darling. Where else would I be?”

“Get back to the bungalow. I got the call.”

Hot damn! Lights, camera, action. I’m going to pick a monkey.
 

The call came as an email. Anonymously, of course. We were to be ready at the bungalow for a white panel van to pick us up at seven o’clock.
 

“Are you ready for this?” Dalton asked.

“Bring it on. Let’s do this thing.”

“You understand, the van is so we can’t see where we’re going. They’ll want us disoriented. And we’ll likely be in an isolated location. We’re on our own. It could get ugly. ”

“I can handle it.”

He paced.
 

I said, “Somehow I don’t think a Navy SEAL would get so nervous about a simple covert action.”

He glared at me. “I don’t like wild cards.”

I shrugged. “I’m your loving wife, wanting a pet monkey. Nothing more. Nothing less. It’s simple.”

He grimaced. “Why do I get the feeling nothing’s simple with you.”

Seven o’clock rolled around. No van. At seven-twenty-two, a white, solid sided panel van rolled into the parking lot. The back door opened and Dalton and I hopped in. One man drove while another man in the back motioned for us to sit on the floor and stay there. There was no confusion about it. The men were both native Costa Ricans, nothing particularly notable about them. They were delivery men. That was all.

We made a right out of the parking lot, drove about two miles, then made a left, then an immediate right, then we were in a roundabout.
Crap
. Or a parking lot, though driving in circles might bring unwanted attention. The van circled several times. Difficult to keep north from south, but I kept my head down. I was sure we straightened out again heading in the same direction we’d started—north.
 

After seven minutes of driving, two lefts and a right, we slowed and turned onto a gravel road or driveway. The van bumped and rocked over potholes for about two miles, then turned left again, this time immediately heading uphill, crawling along on what must have been the driveway. We were getting close and I had a pretty good idea where we were.