Under the Wire (17 page)

He lied.

The guys were his friends. His brothers. They'd disliked Lily on general principle from the moment he'd told them about Adam. And they were taking their cues from Manny. At first he'd felt justified in their response. Lily deserved to be treated like a pariah. He was entitled to their anger on his behalf.

But he could see how their cold shoulder affected her. It wounded. Yet she took it on the chin. The look in her eyes said,
The hell with you.

It was hard not to admire her for that, he admitted grudgingly. Or for her single-minded determination to find her son. She loved that boy. Would move mountains, rivers … hard-faced men to find him. And she was running on empty. But she didn't complain. She had to be out of her mind with worry—but she didn't boo-hoo and wail.

Instead, she looked stoic and determined and so goddamn beautiful it made him ache.

Bad.

So, yeah. It was hard not to admire her—even though he didn't want to. He wanted to keep feeding his anger—yet the sharp edge had dulled and doubt had set in. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe ...

Hell.
He tipped his head back. Glared at the canopy of leaves shielding the setting sun, breathed deep of the forest loam and the distinct scent of tea leaves that filled the humid air. It royally pissed him off that the resentment wasn't nearly as potent as it had been before she'd shown up after nearly two decades.

And it ticked him off that they hadn't made any major strides in finding Adam. They'd canvassed the city of some forty thousand all day. No clues. No leads. No ideas of where to go next.

It wasn't until a little over an hour ago, when they'd about decided the day would come up empty, that they'd finally gotten their first break.

The Rest House was a colonial-style inn that sat on the top of the hill that dominated Ratnapura. The manager of the inn, the son of a gem dealer who owned the property, had seen Adam.

"Yes, yes, American boy," he said, pleased to help when Manny showed him Adam's photo. "Tall. Like this?" He'd held his hand above his head—which wasn't all that far, considering he barely reached five feet.

When Lily had nodded, the innkeeper had hurried on, eager to assist. "He and a young lady, they come on the bus. A man and woman—the lady's mother and father, from Colombo, I think—met the children here for dinner. They laughed much. I heard them mention Kirindi Ella Falls and the game preserve on the way to Kandy."

It wasn't much more than they'd already known, but at least someone had seen Adam and his host family. Whether they made it to Kandy was still up for grabs, but it was a place to start tomorrow.

Manny hadn't wanted to be, but he'd been moved by the mixture of relief and renewed worry that crossed Lily's face when she heard the news. Just like he didn't want to be impressed now, as she marched past him and joined Ethan and Dallas by the cache of weapons.

Manny stood at attention when she picked up a Browning Hi-Power P35, then proceeded to handle it like she toted the damn thing every day of her life.

Jesus Christ, look at her.

Life threw him few surprises these days, but, as she had since she'd reentered his life a few short days ago, Lily knocked the ground out from under him again when she grasped the semiautomatic handgun. She tested its weight with the familiarity of a seasoned shooter, then sighted down the barrel using a two-handed grip.

The weapon looked big in her small hands, but not clumsy. She racked the side like a pro, said something to Ethan that Manny couldn't hear, then with a nod pocketed a box of ammo and shoved the gun into the waistband of her khaki pants. And he felt an ache tighten and twist low in his groin.

Dallas and Ethan exchanged a look that encompassed surprise and awe—as well as an unspoken,
Make a note not to piss her
off.

No shit.

Manny had many memories of Lily Campora. Most of them involved her naked in his bed. None of them were of a pistol-packing Amazon with a grim-reaper look on her face. A look that spoke volumes of both the strain and the unwavering resolve of a woman focused on one and only one thing: finding her son.

Despite the way she'd expertly handled the gun, Manny had to ask. When she would have walked past him back to the Suburban, he stepped in front of her.

"That's a lot of firepower. You sure you're up to handling it?"

She looked dead ahead, avoiding his eyes. "I'd prefer a .45, but the 9mm will do. The action's pretty much the same as my Springfield."

Manny blinked. "Your Springfield?"

"Springfield Armory 1911. It's a copy of the Colt semiautomatic that used to be the military's service pistol—"

"Whoa, whoa. I know what it is," he said, cutting her off. "What I don't know is what the hell are you doing with a Springfield?"

Still avoiding eye contact, she rolled a shoulder. Dismissive, impatient. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

She was right about that. He didn't want to know, either, he told himself. He knew everything about her that he needed to know. Nothing good would come of asking more.

And yet, damn if he didn't. "Like what?"

She glanced at him then, like she questioned his motives for asking. Hell, so did he.

In the end, she shrugged again. "I've been alone a long time."

The weariness in her tone suggested that "alone" hadn't necessarily been part of her plan. He decided not to think about that.

"I sometimes feel the need for protection. The Springfield provides it."

Her eyes held a hint of defiance. A full measure of resolve. And, though she would never admit it, a boatload of fatigue.

She was a woman on the brink of collapse.

"When was the last time you ate?" he growled, more upset with himself for caring than with her for not taking care of herself.

"Not your concern." She moved to walk past him.

He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. And realized his mistake too late.

He hadn't intended to touch her. Had never intended to touch her again. He hadn't wanted to resurrect, reconstruct, or in any way renew memories of what her warm flesh felt like beneath his hand. To be amazed by the satin softness of her skin. To imagine what it would feel like to sink into the giving, gloving warmth of her lush body again after all these years.

He closed his eyes. Insane. He was in-fucking-sane.

"Eat something," he ordered, and let her go, his body practically humming from the electric rush. "Then get some rest. You aren't going to be any good to yourself or your son if you don't keep up your strength."

She turned with a sharp look, seemed about to say something, but abruptly walked away instead.

The fact was, she hadn't had to verbalize what was on her mind. She'd transmitted her message loud and clear with one look from those incredible eyes: It wasn't just
her
son's life on the line here. It was
his
son's life, as well.

His son.

Manny thought of the photograph Lily had given him. The one he now carried like a talisman. He'd memorized the boy's face. Saw himself in it so clearly it made his throat ache. And he wondered,
Does Adam even know my name?

Manny hadn't realized he'd clenched his jaw until it started to cramp. Slowly, he let off on the pressure while residual tension built and bred in his gut, coiling in on itself like a spring.

He'd hated Lily Campora for half of his life. Had never wanted to see her again. And now her life was embroiled so intricately with his, it was as if those years had never existed.

Except they had.

He had a sixteen-year-old son whose existence said they had.

And here he stood. His hand still tingling from touching her. Wanting to go after her. Wanting to ask... hell, a million questions. Why was she alone? Why wasn't there a man in her life now? Manny was half-crazy wondering how many men there had been after that Nicaragua summer when she had been his.
When she had been his.

Manny looked south toward the distant peak of Mount Pidurutalagala, unaware that he'd clenched his jaw again until he felt it pop. She swore she hadn't betrayed him. That she'd searched for him. That she'd been told he'd died in battle.

He had no reason to believe her. And now, just because she insisted he was wrong, just because every time he looked at her his gut twisted and he wanted to bury himself deep inside of her, he questioned everything he thought he'd known about her. Questioned every motivation he'd ever owned that had been fueled by his hatred.

"Dios," he swore under his breath, and walked toward Dallas and Ethan to stake a claim on an AK-47 and the Czech CZ-52 he'd spotted in the mix.

He was no better than that boy who had been seduced by an older woman with eyes that cried and a body that had made him weep. Even now, his cock reacted to the sight of her. To the memory of her. To the reality that Lily was no longer a raw, gut-wrenching part of his past.

She was part of his present.

And he was certifiably insane, because more than he wanted to hate her, more than he wanted to justify that hate, he wanted something else.

He wanted her.

And if that didn't make him out of his fucking mind, he didn't know what did.

Lily stowed the Browning and ammunition in the bottom of her medical bag, steeling herself at the thought of using it. Then she ate—not because she'd been ordered to, but because she'd be damned if she'd give Manny or the Garretts a reason to blame her for slowing them down. And then she slept for an hour—for the same reason.

She even bit her tongue to keep from railing at them to move out and resume their search in Kandy. But common sense told her they all needed some rest. She was restless now, though, so she walked through the thickening dusk.

All day long, she'd gotten the feeling that Manny had bitten the proverbial bullet and taken responsibility for her. Like she was a liability. Or an encumbrance.

Their little exchange a while ago cemented that notion. She'd missed an opportunity then to set him straight on that point. To make certain he knew she could hold her own and didn't need him running interference for her.

But she'd gotten sidetracked. And she wasn't proud of herself over the reason why. There he'd stood. Wet from a shower, his shirt open, his skin glistening. The cool silver of his St. Christopher medal lay in stark contrast against the warm butter bronze of his skin.

He'd been a handsome boy. He was a stunning man. Shockingly so.

So shockingly it had momentarily insulated her from the real world. And in that moment, all she could think, all she could feel, was the knot of desire twisting low in her belly, the tingling in her fingers with the need to touch him. Just... touch. Just reclaim what once had been hers for the price of a smile.

There were no smiles from Manny Ortega now. And she was ... what? Baffled? Ashamed? Annoyed with herself?

All of the above,
she settled on finally. She shook herself out of her little side trip to lust and cut herself a little slack. She was desperate to find Adam. Desperate, also, for some relief from the constant and grisly thoughts that plagued her. Manny, regardless of his feelings for her, offered diversion.

Well, she didn't want diversion from him right now. She decided on the spot that she wanted to clear the air—something she should have done earlier. She'd missed an opportunity then to tell him she was up to here with his tight-lipped, stiff-backed, regard-her-like-she-was-a-leper attitude and to get over it.