Читать книгу Navy SEAL Newlywed - Elle James - Страница 10

Leading the way, Rip took the staircase down to the ground level.

Tracie followed more slowly in her high heels, listening for others entering the stairwell or raising the alarm about a killing in the hotel.

So far, nothing had gone according to plan, which was right on par for the life of an FBI agent, or a Covert Cowboys, Inc. operative for that matter. Rarely did she have complete control over what happened, but she’d rather be in the position of giving the orders than taking them. She frowned at Rip’s back.

The massive breadth of Rip’s shoulders gave her a modicum of confidence. At least he was capable of defending himself and possibly her, if hand-to-hand combat became necessary.

Outside in the parking lot, Rip hit the unlock button on the key fob. A nondescript gray economy car’s lights blinked and the vehicle let out a mechanical beep.

Thankfully, the car was parked at the side of the building, not in clear view of the lobby or the hotel manager, and hopefully out of range of security cameras.

Without wasting time, Rip dove into the car and thoroughly searched the interior before he gave up and popped the lock on the trunk. It was empty.

“Check under the mat where the spare tire and tools are located,” Tracie suggested.

His hand already skimming over the edges of the trunk lining, Rip found the tab to pull it upward. Beneath the felt-covered liner was a large envelope tucked next to the spare.

A siren sounded in the distance. Tracie’s pulse leaped. “Grab it and let’s get out of here. We don’t know if that siren is headed this way.”

Rip grabbed the packet, dropped the car keys on the ground nearby and peeled off the gloves, tucking them into his pocket.

Rip put his arm around Tracie, tucking the package between them as they made their way toward the limousine the driver had parked in the far corner of the hotel parking lot.

With Rip so close, Tracie had a hard time concentrating and she stumbled.

Rip’s hand on her arm steadied her. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Which is more than I can say for Franks.” Before Rip could reach for the back door, the driver hopped out and opened the door for Tracie. Rip helped her into her seat, leaning across to slide the package onto the seat beside her. In the process, he stole a kiss.

Startled by the feel of his lips on hers, Tracie froze, her mouth tingling, her hands pressed to her chest to still her furiously beating heart.

When Rip rounded to the other side of the vehicle and slid in beside her, his jaw tight.

“Was the kiss necessary?” she whispered.

“It was part of our cover,” he said, his lips twitching in the corners.

“Well, warn me next time,” Tracie muttered.

“Sorry, I thought you’d want me to act like the lovesick bridegroom.”

He had a point. He also had her trembling, and that just wouldn’t do.

He winked at her and glanced at the driver. “For now, just get us away from the hotel.”

The driver nodded and shifted gears, setting the limo into motion.

Rip pressed a button and the privacy window between the driver and the passengers slid upward.

As soon as they were back on the main road and Tracie was certain they weren’t being followed, she opened the packet and peered inside.

“What’s in it?” Rip cast a quick glance her way.

“Photos and some printouts from the internet.” Tracie thumbed through the contents.

“Photos of?” Rip queried.

“People. They appear to be Latino.” She handed one to him. The image was at an odd angle, as if whoever had taken it hadn’t been focusing on the subject. “This is marked as Juan Villarreal.”

Rip’s eyes narrowed and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Villarreal was the leader of the terrorist camp we raided in order to free the DEA agent. He’s the one in charge of the group using the US-supplied weapons. The photos are probably more of those taken by Greer while he was embedded. I’m surprised they made it all the way to his boss in the States. I had the feeling the flash drive he gave me before he died was all the evidence he managed to get out. Find anything else?”

“More photos and a hand-drawn map.” Tracie pulled the map out of the packet and unfolded it in her lap.

Rip leaned over the map. “Looks like the layout of the camp before we raided. I don’t think it will do much good now.”

“Maybe not, but the photos might help.” Tracie gathered the information and slid it back into the packet. “We need to get this information to Hank and let him run it through his computers.”

“And how will we do that?” Rip asked.

“Back at the airport. Everything we need is on the airplane.”

Rip studied the controls on the armrest and hit the one marked mic. “Driver, take us back to the airport.”

“Yes, Mr. Gideon,” the chauffeur responded.

Tracie shot a brief text message to Hank telling him what had happened and to clear the hotel’s video feeds of their images.

They arrived at the hangar within minutes and entered the big space where the airplane sat waiting for them.

An attendant hurried over to them, “We’ve topped off the fuel and checked all fluid levels. As soon as the chauffeur indicated you were on your way back to the airport, the pilot conducted all preflight inspections and is ready to file a flight plan.”

As they approached the aircraft, the steps were lowered. Tracie climbed aboard first, followed by Rip. The flight attendant secured the door behind them. Tracie led the way to the middle of the plane where she flipped one of the tabletops open, revealing a computer screen. She tapped several keys, and in moments she had Hank’s face up on the screen. “Hank, we’re back on board the Freedom Flight.”

“Glad you’re safely aboard. Brandon wiped the security video of any images including you and Schafer.”

“Good. I’m not certain how soon the body will be discovered. Your help with the security footage should give us some time to get out of Atlanta. We found some data in the DEA boss’s vehicle. I’m scanning it now.”

She raised another part of the table, revealing a computer scanner, and fed the documents they’d found in the DEA agent’s vehicle into the machine.

Hank’s attention shifted to something beside his monitor. “Got them. I’ll have Brandon double check the identities of the men in the photos. But I can’t move on nailing the suppliers of the weapons until we have some serial numbers.”

Rip frowned and leaned close to Tracie so that he could see and be seen by Hank. “The only way to get serial numbers is to go back to Honduras and get them off the guns.”

Hank nodded. “Afraid so.”

Rip’s gaze captured Tracie’s and then returned to Hank. “She can’t come with me. It’s too dangerous.”

Hank’s brows rose. “Miss Kosart’s a trained professional. She knows the risks.”

“Look, frogman, I can speak for myself.” Tracie shoved him aside. “I’m on board. So we’re headed to Honduras as planned?”

Hank smiled. “You can opt out, if you feel it’s too dangerous for your liking?”

“I’ve been in worse situations,” she said, her lips thinning.

“Exactly. You might not want to go to that extreme again. The men in that terrorist camp are pure evil and have little regard for women.”

“Hank’s right,” Rip confirmed. “It’s not a good place for a woman.”

“Or a man.” Tracie crossed her arms. “If we don’t go in for the additional information, how will we stop whoever it is selling American weapons to terrorists?”

Rip opened his mouth to say something, but the stubborn set of Tracie’s chin made him realize he wouldn’t get her to change her mind. Instead, he turned to Hank. “I won’t be able to focus on the mission if I’m worried my partner can’t keep up or will be captured and tortured.”

“She’s your partner. We can’t activate your SEAL unit and send them in again. They’ve been in once and that got one of your men killed. Someone is dirty on the Fed side. Until we find that person, we can’t count on the secrecy of the operation if we involve your unit or any other government agency.”

“I trust my brothers.”

“So did Gosling.” Hank stared straight into Rip’s eyes. “Tracie can handle it.”

“Yeah,” Tracie said, her ire up. “I don’t need you or any other man telling me what is too dangerous for me. We go in together or, if you think it’s too dangerous, I’ll go alone.”

Tracie stared at Rip, holding his gaze, daring him to try to override her decision.

Finally, Rip shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

“That plan is not in my books.” Tracie aimed for confident, when inside she wasn’t quite as certain. The kidnapping in Mexico had shaken her more than she cared to admit.

“Then you’re deluding yourself. You’re headed right into trouble.”

Her chin tilted upward. “That’s my choice.”

The flight attendant appeared. “If you would fasten your seat belts, we can get underway.”

Rip frowned into the screen. “How do you propose the two of us sneak into the terrorist camp?”

“I’ve got that covered. You will be the guests of a friend of mine.” Hank grinned. “You’re honeymooners, I’m sure they have tourists wander off the beaten path on occasion. And Rip you will be especially prone to wandering off. Your cover is a wealthy entrepreneur looking for potential investment property.”

“On my honeymoon?”

“My contact has the story spreading already. You’re notorious for your arrogance and disregard for anyone but yourself.”

Rip snorted. “I’m an entrepreneur in a violent, nearly lawless country?”

Tracie’s brows rose. “Are you afraid?”

He met her stare with his own, his lips firmly set into a straight line. “Not for me. If you recall, I’ve been there. I know what the terrorists are capable of.”

“Then you’ll be the best guide to get us back in there.” Tracie nodded at Hank. “We’re good to go.”

Hank tipped his head. “Glad to see you two agreeing. Your flight plan has been filed. Brandon tells me you’re number three in line to take off. My contact, Hector DeVita, will greet you on his private landing strip. I’m sending two of my best bodyguards from CCI to provide some backup. They should arrive soon after you.”

“Only two?” Rip’s lips thinned. “Honduras is overrun with rebels, terrorists and guerillas, and you’re sending only two of your best bodyguards for us?”

Hank smile. “DeVita will augment with several men of his own. He’s in the security business, providing bodyguards and human shields to the wealthier members of Honduras’s population. The plane you’re on is fully equipped with an arsenal of weapons you might familiarize yourself with.”

Tracie harrumphed. “Some honeymoon.”

“Nothing but the best for my baby,” Rip winked at her.

“Good luck, you two. Make use of the satellite phone if things get tough. I’ll answer at any hour.”

When the call ended, Rip stared across at Tracie. “I felt better going in under the cover of dark with my SEAL team.”

“What? You’re not up for a frontal assault in full daylight with only a girl as your sidekick?” She leaned back in her chair. “No guts, no glory.”

The giant hangar door opened to let in the afternoon glare. The plane taxied out into the sunshine. Within minutes, they were in the air, winging their way to Honduras.

Tracie closed her eyes. “You might as well get some rest. Once we hit the ground in Honduras, we’ll need all our faculties to pull off this information-gathering honeymoon.”

Once they had serial numbers or even a manifest, they might have a chance of tracing the weapons back to those in the United States who had sold them. Nothing like barreling into a potentially hostile situation pretending to be a newlywed couple to get your adrenaline pumping.

Knowing they were headed into a hotbed of danger in the steamy Central American jungles of Honduras didn’t stop a chill from slipping across Tracie’s skin.

Whatever happened, she refused to be taken captive ever again. If the terrorists wanted her, they’d have to kill her before she’d surrender.

RIP REMAINED AWAKE, studying all the information they had on the case. He reviewed every photograph to glean as much insight as possible from the details in the images they’d obtained from Franks…everything from the faces to the crates of weapons.

After the botched retrieval of the DEA agent by SBT-22, the terrorist camp had probably moved to another location, taking advantage of the jungle’s canopy for concealment from satellite photography. Finding them would be a challenge.

Beside him, Tracie had leaned back in the contoured seat with her eyes closed, the steady rise and fall of her chest letting Rip know she’d fallen asleep.

His attention shifted from the computer to the sleeping woman beside him.

Her long, soft brown hair fanned out around her shoulders, and her dark brown lashes made shadowy crescents against her cheeks. Apparently, she was caught in a not-so-pleasant dream. She shivered again and whimpered.

Her eyelids twitched, her eyes beneath them darting back and forth. Her fingers clenched the armrests and a tremor shook her body. Rip motioned to the flight attendant to bring a blanket. He took it from her and laid it across Tracie his hand finding hers.

She let go of the armrest, fingers curling around his, squeezing so tightly she nearly cut off his circulation.

“Tracie,” Rip whispered. “Wake up.”

Her head turned from side to side and she whimpered again.

“Tracie, wake up.” Rip made his entreaty more forceful. He didn’t like seeing her in such distress. What kind of dream was it to make her so upset?

When she still didn’t wake, he leaned forward and captured her face between his palms. “Tracie, it’s okay. You’re just dreaming.”

The CCI agent’s eyes blinked open, the startling green of them piercing Rip through the heart with the anguish reflected in them. She stared around at the interior of the plane. “What…where?” She shook her head and her gaze locked with Rip’s.

He stroked his thumbs across her cheek. “Remember me? I’m your husband.” He winked and pressed a kiss to her forehead, liking the sound of the word on his lips. What would it be like to be Tracie’s husband? “You were having a bad dream.” He leaned back, letting go of her face.

Tracie touched her fingers to the place he’d kissed and frowned. “Oh, it’s you.” Dragging in a shaky breath, she let it go slowly and sat up. “I’m sorry. For a moment I forgot where I was.”

“I take it you weren’t in such a good place in your dream.” He tucked the blanket in around her sides.

Sitting up, Tracie adjusted her seat to an upright position and pulled the blanket up to her chin, her body trembling. “It was only a dream. How long have we been flying?”

“Two and a half hours.”

“That long?” She pushed her hair back from her face and slipped an elastic band around the thick hank, securing it in a ponytail at her nape. “I must have needed the sleep. What about you? Did you rest?”

“I can rest when we solve this case, and I can return to the land of the living.”

Tracie’s lips twisted. “I know this must be difficult for you to play dead and alive at the same time. Hopefully, we’ll get in, get out and the terrorists will be none the wiser.”

Rip snorted. “That’s what we planned when we went in to get Greer out.” He glanced out the window into the clear blue sky. “That’s not quite how it worked.” Gosling’s wife had been devastated when she’d gotten the news of his death. She’d almost lost the baby.

Tracie laid her hand on his arm. “We’ll do the best we can. You should get some rest.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “What were you dreaming about when I woke you?”

A long moment of silence stretched between them.

Rip opened one eye.

Tracie stared straight ahead, her face pale and drawn. Finally, she spoke. “I was dreaming about Mexico.”

Closing his eye again, he allowed his lips to quirk upward in a wry grin. “I take it you weren’t dreaming about a vacation to Cozumel?”

“Not hardly.”

Rip opened his eyes.

Tracie had turned her head away and stared out the window. Her back stiff.

“Dreaming about being held hostage by members of a drug cartel?”

She nodded.

Rip slid his hand over hers and gently squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Tracie turned to stare at where their hands touched. “It happens.”

“Yeah, but it’s not something you get over that easy. I’d bet you have PTSD.”

She shrugged. “What do you do? Give up?” She shook her head. “Not my style.” Her hand slipped from beneath his.

Rip’s grip tightened before she got away. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“Thanks, but I did enough talking to the FBI shrink.” She tugged again and he let go of her hand. “I want to get on with my life, not dwell in the past.”

“I get it.”

“Perhaps we should look at the weapons Hank sent for our use,” Tracie suggested.

The flight attendant cleared her throat. “Mr. Derringer also provided additional clothing, if you’d like to change.” She opened a small closet with an arrangement of clothing hung on hangers that included several nice dresses in light colors typical of warm climates, a man’s light gray suit and a white linen suit next to it.

“Oh, please,” Tracie said. “Wear the white one. It reeks of spoiled, rich playboy.”

“I thought I was going for wealthy entrepreneur.”

“True, but that white, with your dark hair, will make more of a first impression. Very sexy.”

Rip’s brows rose and his lips curved upward. “You noticed?”

Tracie shrugged. “I’m an agent. It’s my job to notice things.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fine.” Tracie frowned. “Wear the gray one. I don’t care.” She disappeared around a curtain at the rear of the plane with one of the dresses.

Though he tried not to, he couldn’t help watching Tracie’s bare feet beneath the curtain. The red dress pooled on the floor and she stepped out of it, then light yellow filmy fabric puddled on the floor of the plane and Tracie’s feet stepped into the middle of it.

Something about her bare feet had Rip’s blood singing through his veins at Mach 5. He had the urge to yank the curtain back and feast his eyes on her naked body.

A slow chuckle built in his chest and he nearly laughed out loud at what he expected her reaction would be if he followed his urge. He rubbed his cheek where he guessed she’d slap it. But, damn, it would be worth it. The woman had his insides tied in knots.

Tracie emerged, wearing a beautiful dress that hugged her breasts, emphasizing the ripe, rounded fullness while drawing attention to the narrowness of her tiny waist. The skirt flared out and fell to midthigh. Long legs stretched from what seemed like her chin to her slender feet encased in nude, strappy stilettos. She was pulling her hair up into a sleek French twist, her arms raised, head tucked low.

For a moment, Rip could only stand and stare. When she finally glanced up, she caught him gawking.

Snapping his mouth shut, he took the white suit off the hanger and stepped behind the curtain, coming out when he had the white trousers on, a black button-up shirt, open halfway down his chest and the jacket hooked on his finger and slung over one shoulder.

Tracie stood beside the closet, arms crossed over her chest, a cocky look on her face. When she caught sight of him, her mouth opened as if to say something and closed again without uttering a word. She swallowed hard, the muscles in her throat working. “I—” Her voice came out in a tight squeak. After clearing her throat, she finally managed, “I was right. Damned sexy.” Then she turned on her stilettos and marched back into the cabin.

Rip chuckled. If he wasn’t mistaken, the woman had been tongue-tied by him in a white suit. Who’d have thought a man in a white suit would have that much of an effect on a woman. He’d have to ask Hank where he’d gotten this one. It would be worth it to invest in something that inspiring. Especially if Tracie thought it made him look sexy.

He returned to the cabin with a wide, satisfied grin on his face.

FOR THE NEXT thirty minutes, Rip and Tracie poured over the racks of rifles, grenade launchers, pistols and explosives with which Hank had seen fit to equip the small armory on the airplane.

Rip tucked a HK .40 caliber pistol in his boot, then he grabbed a nine-millimeter Glock in a shoulder holster and slung it over his shoulders.

The flight attendant stepped up behind him and offered to hold the white linen jacket that went with the tailored white trousers, while he slipped his arms into the sleeves.

Though the sleeves were long, the entire outfit was surprisingly comfortable and cool. Used to heavy battle-dress uniforms, bullet-proof vests and helmets, Rip felt somewhat naked and exposed in the suit.

“Smile. You’re supposed to be on your honeymoon without a care in the world.” Tracie adjusted the collar of his shirt beneath the jacket and patted his chest. “You look more like a kid in his itchy, Sunday best.”

Rip fidgeted. “I’d rather go in with my M4 on automatic.”

“Well, we can’t. We’re honeymooners and guests of Hector, so act like you’re in love.” Tracie’s eyes widened and a smile curled her lips. “Unless you’ve never been in love.” Her brows climbed up her forehead. “You haven’t, have you?”

He shook his head. “Haven’t had the time. I was a little preoccupied with SEAL training straight out of Navy basic and saving the world one bad guy at a time for the past seven years.”

She smiled at him. “Let me guess…it’s a tough job, but—”

“—someone has to do it.” With one arm, he captured her around the waist and clamped her body against his, his other hand reaching up to cup her face in his palm. “Is this better, mi amore?” He bent to claim her lips with his. At first he did it to prove a point, but when her body pressed to his, it triggered a response he wasn’t prepared for.

Her arms slid around his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest, he couldn’t break the kiss to save his life.

Not until a discreet cough sounded nearby.

Her cheeks flushed, the flight attendant gave him a weak smile. “Sorry, but Hank’s on the satellite phone. He wants to talk to you two before we land.”

Tracie stepped away and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Tell him we’ll bring him up on the computer.” She took a seat at the monitor and clicked the keyboard, bringing up a video feed of Hank.

“Tracie, Rip.” Hank nodded. “We have a little information on the man called Carmelo Delgado we thought you should know. He’s a coffee plantation owner. Though they don’t have photos to back it up, the Feds think Delgado is a key player with the rebels. His plantation has never been targeted and he keeps a heavy contingent of gunmen employed to protect his interests. Locals say that he is well-known in Honduras for his ruthless disregard for the law and life and for the way he treats women. Or should I say beats women?”

“Sounds like a nice guy,” Tracie said, her voice flat.

“Be careful around him,” Hank said. “He’s dangerous and he could be one of the rebel leaders.”

“We’ll keep that in mind. Did you find anything else?”

“I don’t know if it means anything, but there is a photo of Senator Craine in San Pedro Sula this year. He’s been in several of the Central American countries negotiating trade agreements between the different countries and the US.”

“So?” Rip stared at the screen, studying Hank Derringer’s face. He didn’t look like a billionaire. He looked like a rancher with his weathered skin, shock of white hair and a blue chambray shirt he might wear out to the barn to muck stalls.

“Brandon found a photo of Craine and Delgado at a trade meeting, shaking hands.”

“Flight attendant, prepare for landing,” the captain said over the intercom.

“We’re about to land,” Tracie told Hank.

“We’re still searching for more clues. If we find anything else, I’ll call you on the satellite phone.” Hank rang off.

Rip took his seat across the aisle and buckled his seat belt, his mind not on the information Hank had imparted but on the kiss that had left his head spinning and his pulse hammering. She was such a distraction, he was afraid he’d lose focus when he needed it most.

Turning his back on Tracie, Rip leaned toward the window, staring down at what appeared to be a jungle rushing up at them, when in fact they were plummeting toward the treetops.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins spiked at the speed of their descent. He peered closer as the Citation X circled, dropping toward the canopy, slowing as it approached the ground.

A wide slash opened up in the green carpet below, revealing an expansive field with a magnificent hacienda sprawled across a hilltop, its stucco walls painted a pale terracotta and accented with creamy white trim. The place had a dark terra-cotta tiled roof and richly dark wooden doors. A sparkling pool provided a splash of blue with palm trees lining the tiled deck.

To the north of the house stretched a long, level green field of grass with several wind socks along its length. It appeared to be more of a fancy playing field than a beautifully manicured and level landing field.

The Citation kissed the turf, the pilot reversing the thrust to come to a swift stop on the grass-covered landing strip. From all appearances they’d landed in a tropical paradise.

The peace and tranquility of the lush setting was short-lived. As they taxied to a halt, several topless Jeeps, with machine guns mounted on them, exploded out of the tree line headed straight for the Citation.

The pilot’s voice sounded over the plane’s intercom, “Relax, our host assures us the approaching vehicles are his men coming to greet us and ensure our safety.”

Rip frowned, patting the Glock in his shoulder holster. “They don’t look like the welcoming committee.”

Tracie bit her bottom lip. “I hope they’re on our side. I’d hate to take live fire from one of those guns.” She peered out her window, her brows furrowed.

Even if they’d wanted to, they couldn’t take off again and leave. Not with Hector’s men surrounding their plane with weapons pointed at them. Now that they were in Honduras, they were Hector’s guests, like it or not.

Perhaps a little danger was just what Rip needed to wipe away the aftereffects of that kiss. One thing was certain, it had left an indelible impression on his lips and his libido. Pretending to be a lusty, loving honeymooner wouldn’t be such a burden to bear. Turning off the act at the end of this charade would be an entirely different story.