Читать книгу Enemy Infiltration - Carol Ericson - Страница 11

The raven-haired beauty in front of him dashed the back of her hand across her runny nose and smeared a streak of black mascara toward her ear, where a row of silver studs pierced the curve.

“Who the hell are you?” The tough words belied her trembling bottom lip, full with a juicy cherry tint.

Logan pulled back and blinked his eyes. He knew Lana Moreno was pretty, but he didn’t expect her attractiveness, slightly muffled by a red nose and puffy eyes, to hit him like a sledgehammer.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Logan Hess, your new best friend.”

“I already have a best friend—” she narrowed her eyes “—and I already have a media contact. I’m working with Peyton Fletcher. She has my back.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” He dropped his hand onto his thigh, rubbing his knuckles across the denim of his jeans. “I’m not with any news organization.”

The lips he’d been admiring flattened into a thin line. “Cordova’s office? Is that why you were warning me about the truth? You did warn me, didn’t you?”

“C’mon.” He spread his arms. “Do I look like a politician?”

Her dark eyes tracked from the top of his head, flicked sideways across his leather jacket and traveled down his jeans. When she reached the silver tips of his black cowboy boots, her nostrils flared.

The inventory got him hot and bothered, and he willed Lana to keep her eyes pinned to his boots so she wouldn’t notice his response to her assessment a little higher up.

He got his wish, as her eyes flew to his face. “As a matter of fact, you do kind of look like a politician—the smooth kind who tries to fit in with the locals with expensive designer duds no real Greenvale farmhand would ever wear…or could ever afford.”

Ouch. His erection died as fast as it had come on.

Logan tipped back his head and laughed at the sky, laughed so hard he fell backward, his backside, covered by his nondesigner jeans, hitting the dirt. His hands went out behind him, and he wedged his palms against the ground to keep from falling back any farther.

“You’re a pistol, little lady.” He put on his best Texas drawl. “Would they say things like that, too?”

One side of her mouth twitched. “Yes, they would. That accent though, it sounds legit. Where’d you pick it up?”

“Same place I got these fancy duds.” He slapped the side of his right boot. “Dallas. So, if you think you Greenvale, California, cowboys are the real deal, you’re dreaming.”

“Got me.” Lana held up her hands. “But if you’re not a reporter and you don’t work for Cordova, I repeat my question. Who the hell are you? And don’t say Logan Hess. That name means nothing to me.”

He’d hoped she wouldn’t recognize his name, but no report would ever reveal the names of a military unit.

“Let’s try this again.” Logan wiped his dusty palm against his shirt and held out his hand. “I’m Captain Logan Hess with U.S. Delta Force.”

Her mouth formed an O but at least she took his hand this time in a firm grip, her skin rough against his. “I’m Lana Moreno, but you probably already know that, don’t you?”

“I sure do.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I saw your little impromptu news conference about an hour ago.”

“But you knew who I was before that. You didn’t track me down to compare cowboy boots.” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “Did you know Gilbert?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Lana didn’t need to know just how unfortunate that really was. “Let’s get out of the dirt and grab some lunch.”

She tilted her head and a swathe of dark hair fell over her shoulder, covering one eye. The other eye scorched his face. “Why should I have lunch with you? What do you want from me? When I heard you were Delta Force, I thought you might have known Gilbert, might’ve known what happened at that outpost.”

“I didn’t, but I know of Gilbert and the rest of them, even the assistant ambassador who was at the outpost. I can guarantee I know a lot more about the entire situation than you do from reading that redacted report they grudgingly shared with you.”

“You are up-to-date. What are we waiting for?” Her feet scrambled beneath her as she slid up the wall. “If you have any information about the attack in Nigeria, I want to hear it.”

“I thought you might.” He rose from the ground, towering over her petite frame. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and waved it at her. “Take this.”

“Thank you.” She blew her nose and mopped her face, running a corner of the cloth beneath each eye to clean up her makeup. “I suppose you don’t want it back.”

“You can wash it for me and return it the next time we meet.”

That statement earned him a hard glance from those dark eyes, still sparkling with unshed tears, but he had every intention of seeing Lana Moreno again and again and however many times it took to pick her brain about why she believed there was more to the story than a bunch of Nigerian criminals deciding to attack an embassy outpost—a ridiculous cover story if he ever heard one.

About as ridiculous as the story of Major Rex Denver working with terrorists.

Her quest had to be motivated by more than grief over a brother. People didn’t stage stunts like she just did in front of a congressman’s office based on nothing.

“Sure, I’ll wash it.” Lana stuffed his handkerchief into the pocket of her suede jacket.

“My rental car’s parked around the corner.”

“That’s nice.” She shrugged her shoulders off the wall. “I’ll take my truck over and meet you at the restaurant.”

“Understood. You can’t be too careful…especially you.” Logan reached for his wallet. “Do you want to see my military ID before we go any further?”

She whipped around. “Why’d you say especially me? Come to think of it, why did you say the truth could get me killed?”

“I’ll explain over lunch.” He slipped his ID from his wallet and held it out to her, framed between his thumb at the bottom and two fingers at the top.

Her gaze bounced from the card to his face. “Your hair’s shorter in the picture.”

“Military cut.” He ran a hand over the top of his head, the ends no longer creating a bristle.

“And lighter.” She squinted at the photo on the card. “Almost blond.”

Logan felt that warm awakening in his belly again under Lana’s scrutiny. If this woman could turn him on just looking at his picture, he couldn’t imagine what her touch would do to him. He shivered.

“This—” he tapped the card “—was taken in the summer. My hair tends to get darker in the winter. Any other questions? Do you want me to shed my jacket so you can check out my…weight?”

Lana’s eyes widened for a second, and a pink blush touched her mocha skin. “I’m not questioning you. The ID matches the man. Do you like Mexican?”

He blinked. He liked this Mexican. A lot.

“Food. Do you like Mexican food?” She stomped the dirt from her boots like a filly ready to trot.

“I’m from Texas. What do you think?”

“I’ve eaten Mexican food in Texas before, and if you think that salsa is hot…you’re dreaming.”

His lips twitched into a smile. If California salsa was as hot as Lana Moreno, he’d love it and ask for more. “Then I’m in for a treat because I like it hot and spicy.”

Ignoring his innuendo, she turned her back on him and marched toward the street.

When they turned the corner and reached the front of the strip mall, someone in Congressman Cordova’s office flicked the blinds at the window. Was the congressman afraid Lana would come storming back in?

She hadn’t mentioned what she and Cordova discussed during their private conversation but judging from her tears after the meeting, it wasn’t what she’d wanted.

She must’ve noticed the blinds, as well. Squaring her shoulders, she tossed her head, her dark mane shimmering down her back. “The restaurant’s about ten minutes away.”

She gave him the name and address and then hopped into an old white pickup truck with a flick of her fingers.

Could she reach the pedals of that monster? As if to prove she could, she cranked on the engine and rattled past him.

Logan shook his head as he ducked into the small rental. He’d gotten more than he’d bargained for with Sergeant Gilbert Moreno’s sister. He just hoped they could help each other, and for that, he needed to stay on Ms. Moreno’s good side, which just might involve a little lying or at least some omission of the facts.

He plugged the restaurant’s address into his phone and followed the directions that led him several miles away from the congressman’s office. The buildings and streets on this side of town lacked the spiffy newness of the other area, but the restaurant stood out from the rest. It occupied a Spanish adobe building with a colorful sign out front and a small line at the door.

Logan parked his car and strode toward the entrance, his cowboy boots right at home with the ranchera music blaring from a bar two doors down from the restaurant.

Lana waved from the arched doorway of the restaurant, and he wove through the line of people waiting for a table.

“How long is the wait?”

“I already have a table in the back.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “Are you a regular here?”

“You could say that.” She turned her head over her shoulder as she led him to their table, a small one that looked like an afterthought, tucked in next to the bar.

Logan reached past her to pull out a chair.

Putting a hand on the back of the chair, she said, “I’m going to wash my hands first.”

“Probably not a bad idea.” He turned his hands over and rubbed a thumb on his dirty palm.

“This way.” She pointed down a short hallway behind the bar, and he followed her to the restrooms, his gaze slipping to her rounded derriere in her tight jeans.

Several minutes later, he made it back to the table, where two glasses of water waited for them, before she did.

Lana strolled from the kitchen, chatting with one of the waitresses, and Logan had a second chance to pull out her chair.

Lana thanked him as she took her seat. “Iced tea for me, Gabby.”

“And for you?”

“Water is fine.” Logan tapped the water glass on the table.

As soon as the waitress left, a busboy showed up with a basket of chips and a small bowl of salsa.

“Is the service always this good, or is it just you?”

“The service is always good here. It’s one of the oldest Mexican restaurants in Greenvale, and one of the most popular—at least with the locals.”

“And you’re a local? Have you always lived in Greenvale?”

“My grandfather was a bracero in the Central Valley, worked the fields on a seasonal basis and then brought over my grandmother and their ten children. My father was third to the youngest.”

“So, you have a big family here.”

“Not here… Salinas. Most of them are still in Salinas. My father came to Greenvale to work with horses on a ranch. When the work became too much for him, he started cooking—here.”

“Is he still in the kitchen?”

“He died two years ago.”

“I’m sorry. Your mother?”

“My mother went back to her family in Mexico. My grandmother is ill and Mom takes care of her.” She picked up a chip from the basket and broke it in two. “And you? Dallas native?”

“Born and raised outside of the Dallas–Fort Worth area.” He dipped a chip in the salsa and crunched it between his teeth. He waved his hand in front of his mouth as he chewed it. “You weren’t kidding. This stuff is hot.”

“I can have Gabby bring a milder version for you, Tex.”

He grabbed another chip and scooped up even more of the salsa. “Oh, them’s fightin’ words. Now it’s a matter of pride.”

Lana smiled, and their dark, little corner of the restaurant blazed with light.

“Competitive much?”

He nodded as he dabbed his runny nose with a napkin. Luckily Gabby saved him from stuffing his face with any more of the hot stuff as she approached their table and took their order.

When Gabby left, Logan took a sip of his water and hunched forward. “Tell me, Lana, why do you think there’s more to the story than the government is telling us about the attack on the embassy?”

“Because my brother told me there was.”

“He died in the attack.”

She flinched. “He suspected something was going on before the attack.”

“He communicated this to you?”

“We had a few face-to-face conversations on the computer after he got there. He didn’t understand why they were at the outpost to begin with. There were a lot of secret comings and goings and a supply shed that they weren’t allowed to enter.”

“Who exactly was coming and going there?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Some Americans, some foreigners. The guards weren’t briefed, and he didn’t recognize any of them—except one.”

“Who was that?” Logan’s heart thumped so hard, Lana could probably hear it over the music playing in the background.

“A Major Rex Denver. The guards all knew him. They’d heard all about his exploits in Delta Force…” She snapped and aimed her index finger at him. “Delta Force, like you.”

This was not one of the things Logan planned to lie to Lana about. “That’s right. I know Major Denver. He was my squad leader before…”

“Before he turned traitor and went AWOL.”

“That never happened.” Logan slapped a palm on the table and a chip slid from the basket.

“You’re trying to exonerate him. That’s why you’re interested in the attack on the embassy.” She settled back in her chair and stirred her tea with the straw, the ice clinking against the glass. “Not sure the fact that Major Denver showed up at the outpost is going to do that. In fact, it makes him look guiltier if there was any hanky-panky going on at that compound.”

“Not if he knew about the…hanky-panky and was there to investigate it himself.”

Gabby brought their food. “Watch the plates. They’re hot.”

“Thanks, Gabby.” Logan pointed his fork at the salsa dish. “Can you bring more salsa, please?”

“Of course.” She swept the nearly depleted bowl from their table.

Lana smirked. “You don’t have anything to prove, Logan.”

“I know.” He plunged his fork into his burrito and sliced off a corner. “It’s growing on me.”

She picked up one of her tacos and held it over her plate while the busboy delivered another bowl of salsa. “Maybe Denver’s presence at the outpost triggered the attack, or maybe it was the questions he asked after his visit.”

“How do you know he asked questions?”

“I know he asked Gil and the other marines a ton of questions while he was there. The guys were kind of in awe of him, but they couldn’t give him any answers.”

“Did Gil tell you what kinds of questions Denver was asking?”

“Mostly about that shed.”

“I suppose you didn’t record your sessions with your brother?”

“I didn’t, but I’m sure he wrote down everything in his journal.”

“He kept a journal?”

“Gil was always a good writer and I think he believed he had the makings of a book.”

“Where’s his journal, Lana?”

“On its way to me.” She patted her chest. “The military is sending me his personal effects.”

“You’ve already—” Logan swallowed “—buried him?”

Lana dropped her taco and crumpled her napkin in her hand. “Yes, they returned his body and we buried him with full military honors—a military that refuses to honor him now by telling the truth.”

“I don’t know if you can blame the military, Lana. There’s something going on, something secretive, something so deep cover I don’t think even the top brass knows what’s happening.”

“And you believe it has something to do with Major Denver.”

“I know it does.”

“Why did he take off? Why not stay and fight the charges against him?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to wage a war on your own terms. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” She jabbed her straw into her glass so hard, a chip of ice flew onto the table and skittered toward him.

Logan dabbed at the ice with the tip of his finger. “I think he could see the net closing in on him and he understood that it was a trap—especially for him. I’m sure wherever he is, he’s fighting. He’s doing it his own way.”

“I can understand that.”

She gazed over his shoulder as if at something in the distance, and he wondered what battles Lana had undertaken on her own.

Several minutes later, Gabby slipped the check out of her pocket and waved it over the table. “Anything else?”

“Not for me. Logan?”

“Anything more than that burrito?” He plucked the check from Gabby’s fingers. “No way.”

She picked up their plates and spun away, calling over her shoulder. “See you next time, Lana.”

Lana stretched out her arm to him and wiggled her fingers. “How much do I owe?”

“I’ll take care of it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You keep me updated on Gil’s journal and anything else you find.”

“And you do the same.”

“Deal.”

“It seems like we’ll be helping each other, so we can split the check, too.”

“I’m the one who suggested lunch. You can get the next one.”

She plunged her hand into her purse and pulled out a wallet. “Let me get the tip.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be generous with the tip.” He added a few more bills to the pile and held it out to her. “Is this okay?”

“More than generous.”

“You’re kind of a control freak, aren’t you?”

“You could say that.” She stood up and pulled her jacket from the back of her chair. “Where are you staying?”

“The Greenvale Inn and Suites back by the congressman’s office, but I’m not going there right now.” He reached the front door of the restaurant before she did and held it open for her.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m following you back to your place. You said you were expecting a delivery of your brother’s possessions any day, and I’m going to hold you to your word.”

“All right.” She flicked up the collar of her jacket. “I want to show you something in that report, anyway. Have you read it?”

“I’ve seen bits and pieces of it, not the entire report.”

“The report is bits and pieces. There’s so much redaction, it’s hard to read.”

He could believe that. There would be secrecy surrounding an embassy outpost like that even without an attack. “Your address?”

“Just follow me. It’ll be easier.”

He did follow her, right to her truck, and opened the heavy door after she’d unlocked it.

She placed one boot on the running board and hopped into the driver’s seat. “It’s about a forty-minute drive.”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

He followed her out of town and along the two-lane highway. He hadn’t given too much thought to Lana’s housing situation, but didn’t expect her to live out in the boonies like this.

Farmland rolled past his window, and occasionally he got a whiff of fresh manure, a smell that reminded him of home.

After about forty minutes of driving, the right indicator on Lana’s truck flashed on and off and she slowed down. She turned and drove the truck between two posts onto a small paved road.

As Logan took his car through the posts, he tried to read the writing carved on the sides but it was too small. Lana lived on a ranch. Was it hers? Her husband’s?

The thought of a husband lurking beyond the gate up ahead socked him in the gut, but he brushed it aside. If Lana Moreno had a husband, she wouldn’t be running around on her own trying to get closure on Gil. And if she had a husband and he allowed her to do this on her own, the guy didn’t deserve her.

As Lana’s truck approached the main gate to the ranch, Logan threw his car into Park and jumped out. He jogged to the gate, unhitched it and swung it wide.

Lana waved as she drove through and then waited for him while he followed with his car. He pulled up behind her, left his car idling, closed the gate and slid back into his rental.

He kept after her as she wound up the road past a horse riding ring and a pasture. Her truck rattled past the big house that had a later-model truck than hers and a minivan parked in the front.

He didn’t take her for a minivan type, anyway. She kept driving toward a stand of trees and then curved around them, pulling alongside a much-smaller house than the one in front and hidden from the view of the road.

He left his rental car several feet behind her truck. When he got out, she was halfway to the porch.

“I think it’s here.” Her boots clattered on the wooden steps of the front porch.

By the time he joined her, she’d sunk beside a box by the front door and had slid a knife along the taped seam.

As she made a grab for one loose flap, he said, “Let me get it inside for you first.”

She scrambled to her feet, as he wrapped his arms around the box and hoisted it against his chest. With hands that could barely hold on to her key chain, she fumbled at the lock before he heard a click and the door swung open.

She stood to the side. “Put it in the middle of the floor.”

His boots clumped against the hardwood floor as he made his way to a throw rug in the middle of the room. Crouching, he allowed the box to slip from his grasp until it settled on the floor.

Lana fell to her knees beside it, knife clutched in her hand. She ran it along the other seam and peeled back the lid. She stopped, gripping either side of the box, her eyes closed.

“Are you all right?” Logan touched her hand. “Do you want to do this on your own? I can step outside.”

Her eyelids flew open and one tear glistened on the edge of her long lashes. “It’s okay. It’s the smell, you know? It came at me all at once—his smell.”

Logan inhaled deeply. Lana smelled her brother, but another scent hit him and resonated deep in his core. “It’s the smell of war.”

Hunching over the box, she buried both of her hands inside and pulled out some clothing. She placed a stack of clothes on the floor, smoothing her hands over the shirt folded on top. She dived in again and again, withdrawing toiletries, books and personal items.

As the pile of Gil’s things grew around her, her movements grew more and more frantic until she withdrew the final item from the box—Gil’s beret.

She collapsed against the base of the couch, clutching the hat to her chest, her eyes dark slits. “They stole it. Somebody took Gil’s journal.”