Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1) (11 page)

The van came to a stop. They made us wait inside for something, then the back doors creaked open and we got out.

It was dark, but there was no doubt—we were at the Mendoza family coffee plantation. I recognized the shed.
I was right. I knew it—oh crap!
I dropped my head and stared at the ground.
What if the guard I clobbered is here? What if he recognizes me?

A man approached from the shadows. “Bienvenida,” he said. It was Carlos. I smiled and tried to act excited. “This way please.” As soon as he turned, I scanned for others. If that guard was here tonight, I was screwed.

There was no breeze. Musty smells hung in the stagnant humid night air. As we approached the dark shed—Carlos, me, then Dalton—the animals started to stir and make noise. “So you have those cute monkeys with the white fur face, right?” I said, trying to sound like the snooty Texan wife I was there to play. “I don’t want one with a black face, looking like he’s dirty all the time.” Carlos stepped inside the shed, flipped a switch, and the tired fluorescent bulbs flickered to life.
 

I stopped mid stride.
 

Cages were stacked wall to wall, the stink unbearable. Flies buzzed everywhere. The cages near the top were stuffed with birds—yellow-crowned parrots and keel-billed toucans. One toucan squawked and fluttered, banging its huge bill against the walls of the cage, feathers flying everywhere, its raw flesh exposed, ninety-percent of its feathers gone. A lump formed in the back of my throat.
 

Another cage was full of tiny chicks. Stolen right from their nest. I clenched my teeth together.

Below that were the monkeys. Some shook the doors to their cramped cages, their cries high-pitched shrieks. Others cowered in the corners. One pulled at its fur, patches of red skin exposed where it had yanked out handfuls. My stomach churned, bubbling up angry acid at the back of my throat.
Calm down. Take a breath.
 

A three-toed sloth lay on top of one of the crates, hog-tied, his little arms pulled behind his back. My own voice screamed inside my head.
How can you be so cruel?

One of Carlos’s men took a stick and rapped on the cages, hollering for the monkeys to shut up. If one let out a shriek, he’d poke it through the bars, jabbing at the sorrowful creature.
 

For a moment, I lost all sense of orientation. I was sure I’d descended into the depths of hell. How could this be happening? Why? I reached for Dalton to steady myself.
 

Carlos was oblivious. He went straight to a cage which held a tiny white-faced capuchin, opened the door, and grabbed it by the scruff of the neck. “Like this one?” he said and held it up. It squirmed in his grip, its tiny, round eyes lit with terror. “This one’s a female,” he said. Her fur was matted and caked with grime. He held her out for me to take. The lump in my throat grew larger. I reached for the monkey and faltered. My throat started to constrict.
No, no, no. Poppy, keep it together.
I took the monkey in my hands and the poor thing shook with fear. “No, this one’s no good,” I managed to say.
 

Carlos shrugged, took the monkey from me, shoved her back in the cage, and slammed the door shut. He moved to another one, reached in and grabbed this one by the tail, dragging it out as it screamed. I couldn’t breathe. No air. Not enough air. “He’s a feisty one, but he already knows some tricks,” he said and shoved the monkey at me. It grabbed hold of my hair and tried to climb over my shoulder. Dalton snatched it from me and handed it back. “Too active,” he said. With his steady hand on my shoulder, I drew in a breath.

Carlos nodded. He went for a third one. “I’ve got just the right one for you,” he said. He reached into a lower cage and tugged out a baby capuchin, still docile and trusting. He held it out for me to examine, its body cradled in one hand while he had ahold of it by the neck with the other, the way a sommelier would display a bottle of wine for the buyer to read the label. A baby girl. Her little arms flailed, her tiny, human-like hands reaching for something to grip.

By the grace of some patron saint of undercover agents, I managed a smile and took the baby monkey in my arms. She looked up at me with wide eyes, her little nose twitching. Her tail curled around my wrist. I thought of Clyde, how he had snuggled against me just last night, how he too had been taken from the wild, snatched from his mother, robbed of his beautiful, natural life. I swallowed, trying to be rid of the lump in my throat.
 

This baby monkey mewed, a high-pitched whistle, calling for its mother. A tingling sensation pressed behind my eyes.
Tears coming. No, no!
I blinked, trying to hold them back. Blood thrummed in my veins and my lip began to quiver. My breath started to expose me. I sucked in air and shook as it rumbled into my lungs. I turned to Dalton. “Oh, John,” I managed before the dam broke open and tears streamed down my face in a warm, blinding flood. I snuffled and brayed and snot came out of my nose. “I’m so sorry about the baby,” I cried. “If we hadn’t lost the baby.”

He put his arms around me. “It’ll be all right, my darling,” he said. “I’m sorry, guys. My wife, she’s had a tough time of it.” He rubbed my back. “I thought she was ready, but, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever,” said Carlos. He took the capuchin from me. “Let’s go.”

We were led right back to the van and it was over. My one job to do here and I failed miserably. I couldn’t handle it.
All those animals…
I leaned into Dalton and let him hold me all the way back to the bungalow.

I went straight for the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor and cried. For the animals. For the suffering in this world. For the fact that the smuggling will go on because I just screwed up. Dalton eased the door open and poked his head in.

“Go away,” I said.

He sat down on the floor next to me and wrapped his arms around me. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’ll be all right.”

“I’m so sorry,” I cried. “I screwed up big time. I blew everything. I’m so sorry.” My tears wet his shirt.

“Don’t worry. I think they actually believed you. I think it’ll be okay.” He stroked my hair and I let loose and sobbed until I couldn’t cry anymore.
 

“I just couldn’t,” I whimpered, my breath ragged as I tried to regain control. “I just couldn’t—”

“I know,” he soothed and rubbed my back. “I know.”

“Oh my god, the horror. They were sitting in their own feces. The birds, their feathers ripped out.”

“I know.”
 

I sat back, rubbed my nose with the back of my hand, and faced him. “I was the top of my class. Hand to hand combat. I won the firearm medal. I aced the law exam, for chrissake. Why can’t—” My eyes teared up again and the words caught in my throat. “Why can’t I handle this?”

He didn’t say anything. Not a dig, not an admonition, or even how to fix it. He just took me in his arms and held me some more.
 

“How do you do it?” I sniffled.

“You keep your mind focused on the big picture.” His fingers twirled in my hair. “You play for the long game.”

“But meanwhile, all those animals suffer.”

He nodded. “We can’t save them all.”

“How can you stand it? We’ve gotta stop it. We’ve got to.”

“We are.” He patted my back. “Every moment we get closer.”

“We’ve gotta go back.” I jerked from his embrace. “We need to choose a monkey we can document, can identify, right? So when he smuggles it, we can bust him.”

Dalton was shaking his head. “Listen to me. I told you before, we’re not here to bust anyone. We’re here to gather intel. Taking down someone so low on the totem pole will gain nothing.”

“It’ll gain something for those animals!” I huffed. “I memorized the route we took in the van. I can draw a map to that barn. We can stake it out.”

“That’s not our call to make. Do I need to remind you, we’re not on U.S. soil? We’re here under a special agreement. These are Costa Rican citizens. We have no authority for that.”

“Then we call in the Fuerza Pública.”

“It’s not our mission.”

“But we can’t just ignore the, the horror of it.”

“I know it’s hard, but that’s exactly what we do.” He smiled at me, the smile of someone trying to make someone else’s pain go away, then took me by the hand, pulling me to my feet, and led me out of the bathroom. We sat down on the edge of the bed. “We made a huge step forward tonight. This is the closest we’ve gotten.” He rubbed a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Smile. We did good.”

“How can you say that?” I couldn’t stand it. My teeth clenched involuntarily and I started to shake.

“Poppy, listen to me. If you want to work Special Ops, you have to accept the fact that this is what we do. It’s not all about saving fuzzy bunnies. This is syndicated, organized crime. We slowly work our way in. We have to pass up the small players to go after the big fish. Sometimes it takes years.”

I huffed. “Meanwhile, millions of animals suffer.”

“Yes, millions of animals are suffering. But we can’t save them overnight.” He sighed. “You seem like a really passionate woman. With all respect, I’m not sure this kind of work is for you.”

“Not for—” I held my breath. I wanted to scream, to gouge his eyes out, to set something on fire. “I’ve dedicated my life to this!”

Dalton held his hands up. “Whoa, hey.”

“I could kick your ass.”

He smirked. “No doubt.”

“Now you’re being an asshole!”

“I—” He threw up his hands. “I give up.”

 
I crossed my arms and flopped back on the bed. The steam fizzled from my head and I was spent. “All I’ve ever wanted to be, for as long as I can remember, is a wildlife cop.”

He eased back onto the pillow beside me. Smiled. “Because you love animals so much.”

I nodded. “My father—” I sniffled “—my father said I was born with a love for every creature on Earth.” I closed my eyes. “He used to take me with him on photo shoots. He was a wildlife photographer.”

“He sounds like a pretty cool dad.”

I swallowed hard. I missed him so much. “He was.”
 

Dalton said nothing.
 

“My mom was always gone, out to sea or somewhere. My dad homeschooled me. We lived wherever mom was stationed or in the forest near the animal he happened to be obsessed with.”

“He did a fine job raising you.”

In a faked stern voice I said, “Not a proper upbringing.”
 

He grinned.
 

“I speak five languages. Learned them all from subtitles watching eighties reruns in whatever country we were in. My dad, he wanted me to be…” I held back the tears.

Dalton took my hand. “You’re all that and more.”

 
The damn tears started again. “People are so cruel.”

“Listen, there’s no shame in it.” He cupped my face in his hands and made me look him in the eyes. “No shame in feeling what you’re feeling.” His eyes brightened and his lip turned up at the side. “It’s beautiful, actually.”

He pulled me toward him and I snuffled in his chest and cried some more.

I came awake slowly, with a warm, snuggly, safe feeling, like I was emerging from a cocoon. Too warm actually. I wasn't alone. I was cuddled against a man, my arm draped over his naked chest, my leg entwined with his leg. I sat up.
Crap!
“Sorry, sorry,” I babbled.

He smiled lazily and his eyes opened. “You’re beautiful in the morning, you know that? With those rosy cheeks.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better?”

His eyes turned lustful. “I’m trying to tell you that you’re beautiful.”

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t know what to do. “Thank you?”

He grinned. “You don’t like compliments, do you?”

“I don’t know. You could have mentioned my skill when I pinned you down with the thumb lock. Now that’d be a worthy compliment.”

He shook his head. “You really are something.” He rolled over and sat up on his side of the bed. He combed his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. He was wearing boxers. I sneaked a look.
 

I went into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I was a mess. Dark circles under my eyes. My pupils ragged like a madman’s. My red mop needed an overhaul with a professional pair of scissors. I grabbed handfuls of my hair. “Arrrgh! You need to get your head on straight,” I said to my reflection.
 

I washed my face and ran a comb through my hair. Then I went back out and plopped on the bed next to Dalton. “I suppose you’re going to send me home now.”

“Actually, I was thinking, maybe this will be a good way for you to connect with Maria, you know, the lost baby thing.”

“Now the wife?” I glared at him. “What is it with you?”
Damn, why am I being like this?

He frowned. “Or yes, you can go home.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that…well, just because I, last night I, you know, doesn’t mean I’m not capable of helping with the real work here. I have skills. I’m as good as any man.” I launched from the bed. “I bet you’re one of those guys who thinks women shouldn’t be in combat.”

“Uh, yeah. Women shouldn’t be in combat.”

“I knew it. You think we aren’t strong enough, aren’t smart enough. You think we can’t handle it.”

“I never said that.”

“You got this macho frogman ego. Elitist military crap. You know what I’ve got? The element of surprise. No one suspects little ‘ol me. I can sashay right in and bam, knock you on your ass. I can outshoot you any day. Line up some cans, buddy.”

“You know what I’m picturing right now,” he said. “Me with my hand on your head and you swinging in the air.”

“You are such an asshole!”

“You’re so cute when you get all riled up.”

“Cute? I’m cute!”

“Yes, my lovely, beautiful, cute little bride.” He smirked. “Get it? I know you don’t like it, but you’re the wife. That’s your role here. Take it or leave it.”
 

I clenched down on my teeth so hard I thought my molars might shatter. “Yes. Thank you,” I said. I’d rather stick an icepick in my eye, but there it was. My directive—be a good wife.
Shoot me now!
“Maybe I can learn to play bridge and make a positively delicious soufflé.”