About the Author

DANA MARTON is the author of more than a dozen fast-paced, action-adventure romantic suspense novels and a winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence. She loves writing books of international intrigue, filled with dangerous plots that try her tough-as-nails heroes and the special women they fall in love with. Her books have been published in seven languages in eleven countries around the world. When not writing or reading, she loves to browse antiques shops and enjoys working in her sizable flower garden, where she searches for “bad” bugs with the skills of a superspy and vanquishes them with the agility of a commando soldier. Every day in her garden is a thriller. To find more information on her books, please visit www.danamarton.com. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached via e-mail at DanaMarton@DanaMarton.com.

Last Spy

Standing

Dana Marton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Karen Micek,

a wonderful friend.

With many thanks to my editor, Allison Lyons.

Chapter One

The unforgiving South American sun scorched Mitch Mendoza’s neck as he watched three men on the hillside below him through a pair of high-powered binoculars.

His current mission had only two rules. Rule number one: Don’t mess up. Rule number two: If you mess up, don’t leave witnesses.

The three men, aka the witnesses he wasn’t supposed to leave, moved at a good clip. They were local, used to the jungle terrain and the humidity that made breathing difficult for outsiders who had no business being in these parts. Outsiders like Zak “Kid Kansas” Goodman who gasped for breath as he tried to keep up with Mitch.

“We can’t let them reach the river.” Mitch let the binoculars drop against his chest and looked back at the twenty-two-year-old trust-fund jerk whose only ambition seemed to be finding trouble and annoying as many people as possible in the process.

The boy was a long way from his fancy college fraternity, scratched and gaunt, wearing the signs of his recent imprisonment. “They’re just a couple of goatherds. Let them be.”

Mitch didn’t think the kid had developed a conscience—although, that would have been nice. More likely, he was just too lazy to pick up the pace, too soft to put in the effort that would be necessary to catch up.

“I’m hungry. I want a break.” He was worse than a three-year-old whining, Are we there yet? from the backseat.

“Soon.” Mitch moved forward, adjusting his half empty backpack.

Their food had run out the day before. Neither of them had washed since last Friday. Not that he would have said they were roughing it. They still had a bottle of drinking water between them, and a tent to keep out the poisonous creepy crawlers that liked to pay jungle trekkers nighttime visits.

“Watch your step.”

The faster they went, the more careful they had to be. Snakes hid in the undergrowth, stones blocked their steps on the uneven ground. Neither of them could afford a twisted ankle. They needed to catch up with those goatherds. Quickly.

Word that two Americans were trespassing through infamous drug kingpin Juarez’s part of the jungle could not reach the nearest village. Or the head of the local polizia. If the police chief was corrupt, he’d report right back to Juarez. If he was clean, he’d report the info to his superiors. Mitch didn’t need complications like that. Enough had gone wrong already.

The trip should have been a simple in-and-out rescue op, except that Zak wasn’t the clueless victim his file had indicated. Mitch had found him in a shed on Juarez property just as the kid had shot the drug lord’s second in command. Juarez’s brother-in-law, in fact.

That wasn’t going to be forgiven.

Juarez was going to move heaven and earth to find the idiot. What had the kid been thinking anyway? He’d shoot his way out of camp and make it out of the jungle? He would have been dead within the hour if Mitch hadn’t been watching the camp for days; if he hadn’t been ready to grab the kid and run with him.

He pushed forward and knew without having to turn around that Zak was falling behind. The kid made a lot of noise.

“Keep up and keep quiet.” His mission was to get Kid Kansas, aka Kansas Governor Conrad Goodman’s son, out of the South American jungle in one piece without anyone knowing that he’d been there in the first place.

They didn’t exactly have authorization from the local government. Mitch didn’t have authorization from his own government, for that matter. Just a request from Colonel Wilson. The governor and the Colonel went way back, to a double tour of duty in ‘Nam. They were blood brothers.

That the Colonel trusted Mitch with the mission was an honor. Mitch would have walked through fire for the man.

He looked up at the sun and prayed for a little luck, although he was used to his prayers going unanswered. But maybe this was his lucky day, because suddenly the three men he was following stopped. It looked like they were going to have a bite before crossing the river.

“Let’s move.” He set the pace even faster.

“I can’t.”

“Should have stayed home, then.”

“It’s not my fault I was kidnapped,” the kid snapped. He was getting his spirit back and then some.

Right after he’d shot Juarez’s brother-in-law, he’d been ready to fall apart, panicking when Mitch had busted into his prison. But in the past two days, once he’d realized his escape had been successful, he’d come to consider himself some sort of an action hero—or, at the very least, Mitch’s equal.

“I don’t deserve any of this,” the boy kept on whining.

“You didn’t come to Bogota for sightseeing.”

The governor had bought that line from his spoiled son. Mitch didn’t. But Zak’s lies were an issue for another day. Right now, he had bigger fish to fry. The men in front of them weren’t his only problem. Juarez’s soldiers were hunting for Zak, and they couldn’t be far behind.

He got the kid down the hill in twenty minutes, stashed him in some nearby bushes, then moved toward the men’s camp. The goatherds had already lit a fire to warm water for their yerba maté, a favorite herbal drink of most South American natives.

They seemed simple men, each traveling with a single bag, wearing worn, mismatched clothes under their equally tattered ponchos. Their only crime had been being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Then again, better men than these had been killed for lesser reasons. And how many truly innocent men hung out in this part of the jungle? Where was their herd, for starters?

What had they been doing that close to Juarez’s camp? The day after Mitch had rescued Zak, he’d stashed him out of harm’s way and left the idiot for half an hour, so he could double back and see how close their pursuers were getting. Zak’s only job had been to sit tight. But when he’d heard people moving through the woods, he lost his head and panicked. He’d run, yelling for Mitch in English. The goatherds had seen him.

And for that, they would have to die. Mitch checked his gun with distaste. He didn’t condone senseless killing. And he hated having his hand forced by Zak, who should have simply followed him out of the jungle, quietly appreciating the rescue along the way.

He shook all that off and focused on what he was about to do. He would take these men out because he had to. But he wasn’t going to shoot them in the back. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the clearing.

The next second, ponchos were shoved aside, the men—definitely not simple goatherds—aiming AK-47s at him. Mitch’s index finger curled around the trigger of his weapon, adrenaline shooting into his bloodstream.

But instead of all hell breaking loose, everything became absurdly surreal as a blonde suburban housewife stepped out of the bushes at the edge of the clearing. She wore khaki capri pants and a matching tank top, blond waves tumbling around her heart-shaped face, translucent amber eyes as wide as they could be. She looked like she came straight from a backyard barbecue or a kid’s birthday party. The only things missing were the oven mitts.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry. Can you help me?”

Then their moment of grace was over and the “goatherds” opened fire on Mitch. They apparently didn’t consider the woman much of a threat. Mitch dove for the bushes to avoid the flying bullets. But one nicked him in the shoulder. He ignored the burn as he shot and rolled, careful to avoid Blondie.

Lucky for her, he was good at what he did. The fight ended in seconds.

She stood in the same spot, her feet frozen to the ground, her entire body trembling. And he noticed now that her clothes were stained in places, her hands dirty.

“Oh,” she said, as he came to his feet, blood trickling down his arm. Her full lips trembled faintly. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Don’t move.” He patted her down, feeling surprised, and a little guilty, that he enjoyed it. Her eyes went even wider, and her cheeks blushed pink.

When he was done, he slipped the small designer backpack off her shoulders and checked over the contents: a small first aid kit, bug spray, suntan lotion, extra clothes and a water bottle with a filter that made even mud puddles safe to drink. No weapons.

He gave the bag back. Damned if he knew what to make of her. “Okay. Get sick if you need to.”

She ran for the bushes she’d come from, and a second later he could hear her retching.

He turned to the bodies on the sand, then to Zak, who was inching forward from his hiding spot. He looked green around the gills, too. He threw a questioning look toward the bushes where they could still hear their mysterious guest.

Mitch shrugged and collected the weapons. “Go see what they have in their bags.” Food would be welcome. He looked with regret at the yerba maté that had been spilled.

“Hey, check this out!” Zak held up two-kilo bags of white powder a minute later, grinning from ear to ear.

Mitch leveled his gaze on the idiot. “Rip it open, then dump it into the river.”

“What? No way.”

Mitch went stock-still. “Dump it into the river or I’ll leave you here to rot.”

A long minute passed before the kid sprinkled the white powder over the water, his stance belligerent. He took a quick sniff from the back of his hand when he thought Mitch wasn’t looking.

The governor of Kansas was a decent man, but too softhearted. He was going to have to learn tough love in a hurry if he wanted to straighten out his son. Mitch didn’t envy him.

He collected the AK-47s and tossed them into the river. He had plenty of ammo for his own gun and didn’t need the extra weight to carry in this heat. No way he was giving one to the kid.

The bushes rustled as Blondie returned, none too steady on her feet. She kept her distance. She was too pretty to look truly pitiful, but she looked tussled—in a curvaceous, wholesome way. “Are you Americans?”

She wasn’t the kind of woman Mitch could relate to. He didn’t exactly lead a suburban lifestyle. He fixed Zak with a look to keep him quiet. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Megan Cassidy. From New Jersey. I’m on a South American orchid tour.” She swallowed hard. “We were attacked in the jungle.”

Here? What was she on, the kamikaze boat run by Stupid Tours? He swatted some bugs away. “How many people?”

“Twenty-two of us tourists …” Her voice faltered. “Plus the two guides.”

He felt infinitely tired all of a sudden. He didn’t have time to rush into the jungle. He couldn’t. It wasn’t part of his mission. He asked anyway. “Survivors?”

“Just me.” Tears spilled over and ran down her alabaster skin.

He didn’t trust tears. He never knew when they were genuine and when they were used to simply manipulate a man. Her crying made him uneasy.

What did people like her think they were doing in the jungle? Hell, she shouldn’t have been allowed in the country. Women like her should stick to attending PTA meetings, sipping double lattes while strolling through the mall and playing golf at the country club.

“I need to go home.” She swallowed a sob. “Could you help me find the nearest town? I need to get to the police and an airport. Please?”

An unwanted complication at a time when he couldn’t afford to be slowed down. “When did all this happen?”

She blinked rapidly. “This morning.”

“How far away?”

“I don’t know.” She sniffed. “I kept running.”

He hadn’t heard gunshots, but the dense greenery muffled sound—the jungle formed solid walls in places. It all came down to this: he had no way of figuring out where exactly the massacre had taken place. And he had no time to look for it.

He finished considering his options, and shot Zak a look to remind him to keep quiet. “I’m Mitch and this is Zak here. From Panama. We’re hiking buddies. Just got on this trail when these drug runners ambushed us,” he lied with practiced ease.

He didn’t want to have to kill her, and didn’t have the heart to leave her, either. But he would, if she became a threat to his mission. “About that attack on your group …”

She folded her arms around her slim midriff, her skin tightening over her cheekbones. “Would you mind if we didn’t talk about it? Just right now, I mean?” Her amber eyes begged him. There went those trembling lips again.

The sight of her twisted something in the middle of his chest, an unfamiliar sensation he didn’t care for. He supposed his questions could wait. “You can come with us as far as the nearest town.”

She looked ready to melt with relief. “Thank you. I won’t be any trouble, I swear.”

He didn’t believe that for a second.

Her shoulders straightened as she visibly pulled herself together. “What can I do to help?”

All right, she got a point for that. He’d yet to hear that question from Zak.

“Take whatever food and water you can find and store it in our backpacks,” he told her. He nodded at Zak to help her, then went to see about the bodies.

He searched their clothes, but found little beyond cigarettes. No ID on any of them. The last thing people like this would have wanted, if they were caught, was for the polizia to be able to identify them.

Ten minutes later, the current carried the bodies of the three goatherds-slash-drug runners downriver. Another minute and the bags were packed. Mitch’s had been hit, his GPS/radio unit among the casualties. It would have been a lot worse if he’d lost that on his way in. But from this point on, the way back out was fairly straightforward.

As he swung his backpack over his shoulder, he caught Megan looking at him.

“Let me see to your wound.” She stepped closer, her movements hesitant, but her gaze determined.

His shoulder. Back at home, he would have ignored something this small, but it wouldn’t be smart to risk an infection in the jungle.

“All right.” But he watched her carefully. She hadn’t taken the earlier gunfight well. He didn’t want her to faint at the sight of his blood.

She seemed more together now as she peeled back the torn fabric of his shirt, took a good look, then went for her first aid kit.

Zak wiggled his eyebrows at Mitch from behind her. He glared back at the kid who seemed to have little on his brain beyond drugs and women. He looked decidedly less tired than he had before Megan showed up. His gaze kept returning to her, lingering on her curves.

“Try to focus on something useful,” Mitch told him. “It tends to increase the chances of survival in a place like this.”

He rolled his eyes, but asked, “Where do we cross?”

“I’ll figure that out. Don’t you worry.”

The woman’s glance darted to the river, concern in her eyes, before she returned her attention to the task at hand, her movements quick and efficient. He wouldn’t even have felt her light touch as she cleaned and bandaged his wound if he wasn’t so damned aware of her. He closed his eyes so at least he wouldn’t have to watch those long, slim fingers as they touched his skin.

He stepped back the second she finished. “Thanks.”

She couldn’t have been much older than the kid was. No more than late twenties. In some ways, he felt ancient compared to the two of them. A couple of years of black ops duty had a way of aging a person. But not enough, it seemed. He definitely wasn’t too old to appreciate the way she moved. He caught himself. He wasn’t any better than Kid Idiot, the two of them ogling her as she packed away her emergency kit.

He cleared his throat and glanced up and down the river, evaluating the height of the opposite bank and the speed of the current. “We’ll cross right here,” he decided after a moment of deliberation.

If the locals had picked this spot, it had to be the easiest crossing in the vicinity. He looked back at the jungle behind them, watching closely for a few seconds. Listening did no good—the noise of the river blocked any distant sounds. He didn’t see any flocks of birds suddenly taking flight or movement in the vegetation. That didn’t guarantee anything, but he’d learned over the years to trust his instincts. He felt reasonably sure that Juarez’s men hadn’t caught up with them yet. Crossing the river should be safe, as long as they didn’t stay out in the open longer than was absolutely necessary.

“Let’s go.” He reached for the woman’s small hand and nodded for Zak to take the other one. They strode into the water, the three of them forming a human chain.

“If we get separated and washed downriver, turn on your back and aim your body toward the other shore at an angle. Don’t fight the current. Work with it.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the rushing of the river now that they were standing in the shallows.

The water wasn’t high, but it moved fast in its narrow bed. Which was better than slow water and the pools it formed. At least, here they didn’t have to worry about piranhas, poisonous water snakes or alligators. All they had to contend with was the current and any logs that might wash along under the water. Being hit by one of those wouldn’t be pleasant. He knew from experience.

Soon they were in up to their knees and Mitch fought to keep his balance. “Remember, if the water breaks you loose, stay on your back.”

“Why?” Megan had his hand in a death grip, her delicate fingers folded tightly around his.

“To protect your vital organs. There might be sharp rocks on the river bottom, or logs and other junk being swept along under the surface.”

She paled.

“You’ll be fine.” He was trying to find the right words to reassure someone like her, but came up empty. He felt like he should carry her out of the jungle without letting any danger touch her. He felt guilty that he couldn’t, then angry at himself for feeling guilty. He hadn’t asked for any of this.

He couldn’t let her mess with his head. He had no time to mollycoddle her. He swore under his breath. She was definitely going to slow them down, despite her promises.

But she did keep up in the water. He didn’t have to drag her or anything. She did slip once, but he was quick to haul her up against him.

Wet top. Award-winning curves. Man, it’d been a long time since …

He made himself look away.

Zak’s eyes were seven kinds of shiny and glued to her. Mitch frowned at the kid and kept going, testing the river bottom with his foot at each step before putting his weight on it.

In the end, he was the one who messed up. When she slipped again and this time went under, he was suddenly all thumbs, not wanting to grab anything, um, delicate. A moment of hesitation, but it cost him. As she scrambled to right herself, her frenetically moving legs kicked his legs right out from under him.

Zak pulled her up. Mitch let go of her, not wanting to pull her back down with him. He tried to stand, but finding purchase on the muddy bottom was no easy task. His feet couldn’t find purchase on the slippery silt.

The current carried him downriver.

“Get to shore. I’ll find you,” he shouted back to them, trying not to swallow too much of the frothy water.

Zak looked green with panic. She didn’t. Probably because she didn’t know enough to realize how much trouble they were in, two complete amateurs in the middle of a raging river.

Chapter Two

An eternity seemed to pass before Mitch crawled up the muddy bank on the other side of the river, exhausted from battling the current. He scanned the hillside behind him.

No sign of Juarez’s men. Yet.

He could see Megan helping Zak out of the water a few hundred feet away. She hadn’t panicked. In fact, she had enough presence of mind to even help the kid. Maybe she isn’t as helpless as she looks, he thought as he began marching toward them.

“Better get into the woods and out of this sun.” He took charge when he reached them, leading them into the cover of the trees so they wouldn’t be seen from the other side. They could use some rest, and this place was as good as any.

On closer inspection, she did look shaken. And more than a little lost. She kept casting worried looks at him. He couldn’t blame her. This morning she’d been on a bus tour that she’d thought was safe. She had no way of knowing that the only roads up here were the ones cut into the jungle by loggers who were little more than criminals, clearing the jungle illegally. Traversing those roads without permission from the local crime lord could be deadly. Without protection, the bandits who controlled the area would consider anyone on them free prey.

Whoever had put her tour together was running an irresponsible operation, exploiting tourists who didn’t know better. He’d probably figured he could take a few people in and out quickly, without being seen. Idiot.

And so were the people who would sign up for a trip like this. You couldn’t hire the first local guide that showed up at your hotel. Nor should you get on the first rickety bus that promised a grand adventure. He had half a mind to tell her that, but she looked like she’d already paid plenty for her error in judgment. She’d almost paid with her life. The thought set his teeth on edge.

“What did your husband have to say about you coming all this way for a flower?” he asked once they were settled on a big rock, shaking water out of their boots. He wanted to know what kind of man would let a delicate woman like her come to a dangerous place like this.

“I’m not married.” She finger combed her hair, then pulled her clothes away from her skin. She seemed to be trying to air-dry the fabric, but it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon considering the humidity level.

He tried not to look much, but it wasn’t easy. She had perfect proportions. Everywhere. And a pretty face, with symmetrical features, thick lashes and full lips. She radiated a kind of wholesome innocence he didn’t know what to do with.

He took the cheese and chunk of flatbread that they’d taken from the goatherds out of his waterproof backpack, and divided the food between Zak and Megan. “You go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

He’d eat grubs if he got desperate. He had a feeling the other two wouldn’t.

“You two hike a lot in these parts?” she asked between two bites.

“Here and in other places.” His missions took him all over the world.

As far as the kid went, this was Zak’s first trip to South America. Based on the scant information he’d been given, Mitch knew Zak had graduated from being a pothead to more serious vices and decided that as long as he was using, he might as well get into the business. He’d probably taken one too many college business classes and fancied himself an entrepreneur. And since he learned from his father that when you wanted to get something done, you went to the top, he bought a ticket to South America.

Big mistake.

“How far is the nearest town?” Megan wiggled her toes in the sunshine. They were tipped with nail polish and looked like candy. Her pants were rolled up to above her knees.

He looked away. Her dainty toes and long legs were none of his business. “We should be there by nightfall.”

“Do they have an airport?”

Sure. Right next to the day spa. “We’ll be lucky to find a phone and a shack to sleep in. We’re in a sparsely populated area. There isn’t any industry around here, and little agriculture. The natives farm a little, but mostly they live off the jungle’s bounty.” He didn’t mention the criminal element, didn’t want to remind her.

In the morning, he would hook her up with a dependable guide who’d take her to the nearest city. She couldn’t come with them any farther. When he contacted the Colonel, they’d get a military transport out of the country, which wasn’t something she could be allowed to see.

“But they have shops, right?” She tugged on her top, her eyes filled with embarrassment. “This outfit is completely ruined. Everything else I have is soaking wet from the river, too.”

Educating her on the local realities didn’t seem worth the energy. She’d be out of his hair tomorrow morning. Simpler for him and safer for her. She was a babe in the woods. Megan Cassidy had no business being someplace like this, around men like him.

TTHEY REACHED THE TOWN at twilight, walking out of the rain forest tired and dirty.

Mitch wiped the sweat off his forehead as he led his small team toward the largest wooden building he could see. Kids ran around in the dust, chasing dogs and small, black pigs. The hum of generators filled the air, providing the few dozen houses with electricity. A couple of ancient bicycles leaned against crumbling walls. A beat-up, rusted-out pickup—probably the only car in the village—hid in the shade of a fruit tree.

He scanned the scene before him carefully, but everything seemed as it should be. He couldn’t spot anyone paying them undue attention. Juarez’s influence may or may not extend as far as this place. But even if Juarez was looking this far afield, he’d have people watching for a young man, not two men and a woman. They had that going for them, a definite advantage.

“Hola!” They reached the building, and he slowly pushed the door in.

The local guesthouse had four rooms, the toothless old man who shuffled out from the back explained, but one had burned out and two were permanently occupied, so only one was free. He didn’t have a phone, but there was one in the next village, fifty kilometers to the east. Mitch paid in advance, took the key, then led the others down the hallway to the room the man indicated.

“This is it.” The door stood ajar. He nudged it open with his boot, his hand near his weapon, ready for ambush, ready for anything. Juarez’s men could have cut in front of them.

But as he looked around, it didn’t seem they did. Nobody waited for them in there save a handful of cockroaches that skittered across the floor. A single bed took up most of the room, covered by a torn blanket that might have had bright-colored stripes at one point in the distant past, but was now beyond faded.

He could hear Megan swallowing behind him.

“Didn’t the sign on the front say LUJO? Doesn’t that mean luxury in Spanish?” Her voice was a touch faint.

He felt sorry for her. She was so far out of her element … “We have our own bathroom. And you’ll be in a nice hotel by tomorrow this time. Hang in there just a little longer.”

She nodded bravely.

He walked forward to the open door in the corner, and took in the small shower that probably had only cold water. The chipped toilet had no seat. The pipes were rusty, but none of them were leaking. And he didn’t have to worry about water quality as long as they had their filter bottles.

Not that Megan appreciated their good fortune—having a roof over their heads and all. Her eyes were unnaturally wide and brimming with something that looked suspiciously close to tears. Even Zak was looking around with a dubious expression on his face.

He couldn’t allow them to fall apart now. “Sit.”

They both obeyed.

“This is what we’re going to do. We’ll clean up then have a decent meal. Then we’ll get some rest.” He looked at Megan. “You should wait to report the attack until you reach a bigger place. The polizia in a village like this is probably one man. He won’t be able to do much. And he might even be in league with the bandits.”

Plus, he didn’t want any part of the police report. If they were together when she went to the authorities, the police would also want to talk to him and Zak.

She went a shade paler, probably remembering the attack, but she nodded.

He couldn’t let her think too much. “All right. Let’s get on with the cleaning up. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty hungry. The sooner we get ourselves in decent enough shape to go out and look for food, the better.”

Zak went first. He didn’t take long, then settled in front of an ancient radio bolted to the wall, trying to make it work while Megan took her turn. She didn’t loiter, either, confirming Mitch’s suspicions about the water being unheated. He was about to ask Zak, but then the bathroom door opened and she stood there wrapped in nothing but a worn towel.

His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth.

She had legs a mile long. Lean, pink thighs. Zak stared at her wide-eyed, with a stupid grin on his face. She tugged the towel down in a self-conscious gesture that nearly caused her breasts to spill out on top. She looked desperate and embarrassed, the hottest thing Mitch had seen in years. Or ever.

Stop staring, get moving, he told himself, and after a few seconds he actually did it.

He moved to grab his gun off the dresser, but she moved toward her bag on the bed at the same time, getting between him and his weapon.

In nothing but a towel.

Which would have been just fine—more than fine—if she were a different sort of woman, if they were alone and he wasn’t in the middle of a clandestine mission.

He practically ran for the bathroom, needing that cold shower ASAP.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he called through the closed door, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

He peeled off his clothes, stepped into the shower and let the cold spray hit his head. Exactly what he needed. He tried not to think of Megan Cassidy in that flimsy towel, those legs or those wet, soft locks framing her delicate face.

Morning couldn’t come too quickly. She needed to get far away from places like this and men like him.

He quieted the little voice in his head that said he should put Zak on the military transport then stay behind and personally escort Miss Cassidy back home to make sure nothing bad happened to her.

That voice had nothing to do with her long, lean thighs. Rescue missions just ran deep in his blood. He couldn’t help it if his instincts were to rescue her, too.

She was the proverbial damsel in distress, a scared, lost little thing who’d gone through considerable trauma in the past day. She collected orchids in New Jersey. This was probably the first massacre she’d ever seen.

He couldn’t relate to a life that sheltered.

He was drying off when he heard a crash come from the bedroom. He didn’t stop to dress, just burst through the door without thought, ready for fighting. He swore viciously at the sight that greeted him.

Zak was tied up on the bed, a rag in his mouth keeping him quiet. Megan stood in the middle of the room, dressed in shorts and a black tank top, boots on, hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, looking like the lead character in a kick-butt video game. A fierce scar ran from her ear to her throat, a pink line her tumbling locks had covered up until now.

All uncertainty was gone from her fiery amber eyes, all paleness gone from her face as she glared at Mitch and pointed his own gun at him. She held a matching weapon in her other hand.

Where did she get that from? “Put them down,” he ordered.

Instead, she stepped closer.

“Who are you?”

“Who are you?” She turned the question on him. “Definitely not a hiker from Panama.” She shoved one weapon into the back of her waistband, pulled a plastic cuff from her back pocket—one she had to have stolen from his backpack—then gestured toward the water pipes in the bathroom behind him.

“No.” He measured the distance between them, judging it too great to be covered in a single leap. He was going for it anyway.

Or not.

She squeezed off a shot that passed so close to his ear he could feel the wind of the bullet.

“Hey, all right.” He stepped back, knowing no help would be coming. In a place like this, people knew enough to walk away from gunfire, not toward it.

She tossed him the plastic tie. “The pipe.”

He took a step back, held his left hand up to the pipe and cuffed himself to it. He swore under his breath, not taking his eyes off her for a second. He’d been had. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

What in hell had he been thinking? But of course, he hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d short-circuited his brain the moment she’d stepped into that clearing.

He flashed her his most lethal glare. “The money I have on me ain’t worth it, honey. I’m going to track you down. That’s a promise.”

She gave him a cocky smile, keeping her gaze above his shoulders, then turned away, leaving him handcuffed and naked.

But if he thought this was about cash, he realized his mistake a second later when she untied Zak roughly and yanked him to his feet, not paying any attention to the boy’s muffled groaning.

“You let him be,” Mitch ordered on a voice that usually brought results.

She didn’t even bother with a backward glance as she shoved Zak out the door. The next thing Mitch heard was the door slamming behind them and the key turning.

The sound of a car’s motor coming to life reached his ears a minute later, as he desperately searched the bathroom for a tool that could set him free. Under his breath, he cursed Megan Cassidy—if that was her real name—a hundred different ways, each singularly inventive.

Chapter Three

The rumble of the ancient motor drowned out the sounds of the rain forest, but not the strange noises the kid made behind the gag.

“Are you going to keep quiet if I take it off?” Megan glanced over as she drove the geriatric pickup down an uneven dirt road that cut through the jungle.

Zak glared at her and sounded as if he were trying to swear around the cloth.

“Then I’m sorry, but you’re going to stay this way.” Not that she enjoyed making anyone uncomfortable on purpose.

But he could breathe. She was going to save herself from having to listen to more of the threats and the names he’d called her when she’d tried to take out the gag the first time. She wasn’t going to put up with that from some two-bit drug dealer who got on Juarez’s bad side.

She didn’t know who he was and she didn’t care. All she cared about was returning him to the boss and getting that next promotion, the next level of trust that would allow her to accompany Juarez to the meeting at Don Pedro’s hidden stronghold next week.

The logging road she was on was about to end, which meant they would have to hoof it thirty miles south to the next passable road she knew, the one she’d left her ATV on before she cut through the jungle to cut off the kid at the river. She had figured that would be the way he would go if he knew anything.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t found him alone, which had required some quick thinking and cost her a lot of wasted time. Mitch was … Never mind that. She didn’t have all the details and she didn’t need them, not even if he had the most amazing body she’d ever seen and the most dangerous bedroom eyes she could imagine. Juarez’s orders were only for the kid.

She drove to the point where the jungle became impassable, left the pickup and shoved Zak forward on the foot trail ahead. His head was red with fury as he dragged his feet.

She shoved him harder. “I’d prefer if you walked. It’s easier than dragging a dead body over terrain like this. Of course, the boss probably wouldn’t want the whole body.”

She pretended to ponder the point then put a smile on her face. “As long as I take some vital organ that proves you’re dead, it should be enough for him.”

The kid’s eyes went wide. He picked up the pace.

She undid the snaps at her hips and rolled down her pant legs, transforming her shorts to long cargo pants, the bottom of which she tucked into her boots to keep herself safe from bugs and scratches. Then she pulled a light shirt from her backpack, completing her preparations for the jungle. And she did it all on the go, without missing a step.

She kept an eye on their surroundings as they pushed ahead, looking for anything edible, alert to possible danger. “Watch for snakes on or near the trail. And poison frogs.”

Her stomach growled for the meal they’d missed at that guesthouse. The small chunk of bread and goat cheese they’d eaten after crossing the river hadn’t been nearly enough. But she didn’t have time to leave the trail and forage right now. Night would be falling soon, and before that happened, she had to find a place to camp and make a platform that would keep them off the ground while they slept.

Even a raised bed didn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t awake with a snake or a tarantula up their pant leg, but at least it would improve the odds in their favor. Regardless of what she’d threatened the kid with, she intended to take him back to Juarez alive and in one piece.

Which meant they were going to sit the night out. Walking through the jungle after dark was suicide. She wasn’t foolish enough to attempt that. And they both needed rest, anyway. You got tired, you made mistakes.

Then you were no help to anyone.

They walked an hour before she found a good spot, a clearing with bamboo nearby and big-leaf palms that had gathered rainwater she could collect in her safe-filter water bottle. She’d forgotten to fill it at the guesthouse. Okay, not forgotten. But once Mitch had been cuffed to the pipes, it hadn’t seemed too smart to go near the sink.

She wasn’t going to think of the way she’d left him. Naked.

She’d almost dropped her guns when he’d busted out of that bathroom, all muscles and tanned skin.

“Here.” She hung her backpack on a branch and used her short machete to cut enough bamboo for a double bed and enough vines to suspend it. When she was done, she pulled the rag from Zak’s mouth.

“Keep quiet,” she ordered before she showed him what she wanted him to do. “I’d recommend you do a good job. You don’t want to sleep on the ground here, believe me.”

She wasn’t a great fan of the jungle. The past year hadn’t been fun, exactly. But she would have put up with worse to achieve her aim. She scanned the trees and moved toward one that seemed to have potential, all while trying not to think of Mitch—and failing.

“Where are you taking me?” Zak called after her. Dirty and exhausted, he sounded a lot more subdued than when he’d screamed choice obscenities at her earlier.

She ignored that question as she got working on the bay leaf palms locals used for thatching to keep the rain out of their huts. “We need a roof to keep us dry overnight.”

“Why does it rain so much here?” he whined, pulling his shirt away from his neck where the wet clothing had rubbed the skin raw.

She had some salve that would work on that.

“Because it’s a rain forest.” She kept Zak in sight as she worked. When she dragged the palm fronds back, she helped him finish the beds—he hadn’t gotten far—then put the roof on, thatching it as best she could. The sky was already darkening by the time she finished. They had only minutes to start a fire.

She grabbed a dry cotton sock from her backpack and used that as kindling, wondering how far Mitch was behind them. Far enough, hopefully. She hadn’t seen another vehicle at the village.

Getting a fire going in a place that dripped with moisture was quite the trick, but the burning sock dried the bamboo shavings she piled on, and then that caught fire at last. Just in time. The jungle around them was already black. Because of the tall trees, night here was a sudden thing. You’d better hope you were ready for it.

“Here, put this on your neck.” She tossed the small jar of salve to the kid, then tied his left foot to the platform with some vines and one quick hook.

“You can’t do that to me!” He yanked his bonds, his face turning red with outrage. “What if some wild animal attacks us? How do I escape?”

She put more wood on the fire then climbed onto her side of the platform, stashing the guns so they were at hand for her but out of reach for the kid. “If any trouble comes our way, I’ll take care of it.”

He swore viciously, but did it under his breath this time. And he didn’t try to attack her, mindful of her weapons. Good. He wasn’t an all-around idiot then. He seemed to have the ability to learn.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked again.

“Back to the camp.”

“I have money—my father has money—”

She needed sleep. “No.” However much drug money the kid and his family had, there weren’t enough greenbacks in the world to tempt her. Something a lot more important was at stake.

Zak fell into sullen silence. Bugs began their night serenade. A macaw cried somewhere above them in the canopy.

She closed her eyes, ignoring her growling stomach. In the morning, as soon as there was sufficient light, she would find something to eat.

Her dreams were jumbled, and mostly involved Mitch. In some of the dreams, he was naked in her bed. In others, he was trying to kill her.

She woke in the dead of the night to a noise that didn’t fit in with the rest of the sounds of the jungle. Or had she dreamed it? She listened carefully. No. Even the insect chorus was off. Something was disturbing their nightly routine.

Their fire had burned down to embers, providing little visibility. She reached for her weapon as quietly as possible and waited.

She was awake but she hadn’t seen him yet. Mitch crouched in the cover of some bamboo. The smartest thing would be to shoot her right now, but he wanted to know who she was and who she worked for. She intrigued him, he couldn’t deny that. It kept her alive. For now.

“Drop both guns to the ground,” he told her without showing himself.

After a moment of hesitation, she did, then slipped from her shelter, searching the darkness in the direction of his voice. “How did you find us?”

He’d followed the logging road on the polizia man’s motorbike, then tracked their trail through the jungle. “I could smell the smoke of your fire from miles away.”

“I didn’t think you’d be so close behind,” she admitted, then pulled a machete from behind her back and came at him.

How in hell did she see him?

The first blow almost took off his nose. He dropped the old pistol he’d bought in the village, knowing he wasn’t going to use it, not yet, not until he had some answers. And for that, he needed both hands to restrain her.

He grabbed her wrist and held the machete away from them. She launched herself at him again, and they ended up grappling on the ground in short order, which was a really bad idea, considering all the poisonous bugs and snakes. The sooner he got her under control the better.

“Quit it,” he snapped at her.

She ignored him.

He kicked the embers as they rolled, and the flames livened up, giving them both a little more light. He could see Zak from the corner of his eye, working madly on the restraint on his leg.

“You stay where you are,” he growled at the kid. The last thing he needed was for the idiot to pick up one of the discarded guns and shoot him by accident.

That small diversion—his attention on Zak for a split second—was enough for her to make her move. She flawlessly executed a flip he remembered from special ops training. Interesting. And where would she have learned that?

He responded with a move a martial arts fanatic taught him while he’d spent two years deep undercover in Thailand. That made her eyes go wide and got him control of the machete at last.

He tossed the weapon aside and pinned her to the ground, embarrassed to be breathing so hard. Her firm breasts pressed into his chest. That image of her at the guesthouse, wearing nothing but a towel, popped into his mind. He batted it away. “Where did you get your training?”

“Where did you get yours?” She strained against him, taxing his focus.

“Who do you work for?” Don’t think lean pink thighs.

“Same guy everyone works for around here.” She grunted with frustration as she tried to heave him off, undaunted by the sixty or so pounds he had on her.

He kept her firmly in place, ignoring the interesting ways her body moved under his. At another time, in another place … Focus. “Not me.”

“Let me guess, you’re Cristobal’s.”

Cristobal was a rival drug lord, controlling vast territories north of the river. He had the reputation of being a ruthless bastard who didn’t hesitate to burn whole villages if someone crossed him.

“Guess again.” He transferred both of her wrists to one hand, then reached out with the other and grabbed his gun from the ground, feeling much better with a weapon handy.

She stared at the barrel and turned all soft under him, her large eyes filling with tears. “Juarez is going to kill me if I don’t bring the kid back. You don’t know my situation. You have to help me. Please.”

He went slack like an idiot at the sight of her tears. She immediately shoved her knee where sharp knees had no business going. Her elbow slammed into his chin, and before he could begin to breathe again, she was out from under him and running into the jungle, taking a split second to sweep down and pick up her own weapon.

What was wrong with him? He was the most cynical man he knew. He could usually smell a trap or a scam from a mile away. But something about her kept sneaking under his defenses.

He rolled to his feet and tore after her, limping, determined not to make the same mistake again. They were both playing with their lives like this, dammit. He couldn’t see her in the darkness—the thick canopy above didn’t let through much moonlight. He fired a warning shot in the general direction where he could hear her moving.

Then he could no longer hear her. Could he have shot her by accident? So much the better. Except, part of him didn’t like the idea of Megan Cassidy dead, no matter how much grief she’d caused him. He caught himself. There he went again, thinking stupid thoughts.

He stole forward step by slow step. At last he spotted her figure emerging out of the darkness. She faced him head-on, her legs slightly apart, with her gun in both hands, aimed directly at him. A movie poster combination of dangerous and sexy. She made a fine-looking enemy, he had to give her that.

But he was done letting that affect him. He pointed his own gun right back at her. “Now what?”

“One of us shoots the other and gets what she wants.” Everything about her was cocky, from her stance to her voice.

It turned him on, God help him. But he was a professional. “Juarez will kill Zak if he gets him back,” he said, deciding to reason with her instead of using brute force and threats. He could always fall back on those. Maybe he could appeal to her feminine compassion. “He’s just a kid.”

For a moment she wavered. But only for a moment. “That’s between the two of them.”

All right, so she wasn’t interested in compassion—not that big a surprise. Maybe she was interested in money. “I’ll pay you for him.”

“I’m not after money,” she snapped, as if offended. “Why do you want the two-bit crook? You two business partners? He screwed the big boss over. He’s going to do the same with you.”

He thought for a long moment, trying to figure her out, then decided to take a calculated gamble. “He’s not a two-bit crook, exactly. He’s the son of a U.S. governor.”

That gave her pause. “Which one?”

He told her, and again she wavered.

“The reward would be substantial.” He pushed.

She didn’t even bother to acknowledge that. “So you’re U.S. law enforcement or something.”

He calculated how far they’d come from Zak. Far enough. The kid should be out of hearing distance. “Or something.”

For a second she took her eyes off him to scan the black jungle behind him. Her gun never moved, however. “Where is the rest of your team?”

“Where I come from, we don’t waste a whole team’s time on a quick little job like rescuing a politician’s idiot son.”

She considered him for a long time. “Are you one of Colonel Wilson’s men?”

He went still. Now that was a question he hadn’t expected. Who the hell was she? “How do you know Colonel Wilson?”

The Colonel headed the Special Designation Defense Unit, SDDU, a top secret team of commando soldiers who ran various secret missions around the globe without anyone knowing. So how did she know?

“You’re not CIA. The FBI never sends just one man. If you were a mercenary, you wouldn’t have helped me. There was no money in it,” she added. “So that didn’t leave much.”

Sound logic. But it didn’t explain how she’d come to know about his team. Very few people knew about the SDDU. A handful of top government officials, and the few FBI and CIA agents who’d done joint missions. Had she?

“Who do you work for?”

She pressed her generous lips into a tight line as she glared at him without saying anything.

“Have you infiltrated Juarez’s band of criminals?” He couldn’t help being a little impressed.

“You’re ruining an undercover op a full year in the making,” she snapped at him. “I need Zak.”

He reported to the Colonel, not to anyone else. “You can’t have him.”

“There’ll be a meeting between Juarez and the big boss, Don Pedro, next week. No outsider has ever been to the Don’s secret stronghold before. We know he deals weapons to terrorists from there. I need to know what kind and how much. I need to uncover his connections. These are weapons that could march straight north, across Mexico and then through the U.S. border.”

She was hunting terrorist connections abroad. A CIA spook then. He should have guessed. She’d ruled out the CIA for him first, because that was her outfit and if he was with them, she would have known it.

He was beginning to understand her better now. She was trusted at Juarez’s camp, but not enough for Juarez to include her in his personal retinue. Except, if she did something his other men couldn’t accomplish, like bringing back the kid who’d killed his brother-in-law …

Her plan wasn’t bad. She was working on an important mission. But his orders weren’t to accommodate other important missions he came across. He only had one order from the Colonel: to bring the governor’s son back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. “You’ll find another way.”

But instead of accepting defeat, she shot at his foot, apparently not done with this way yet. A miracle that she hadn’t maimed him. He had no choice but to shoot the gun out of her hand. He did just that, then lunged forward, and they went rolling on the ground again.

“This doesn’t feel like progress.” She had the presence of mind to joke with him, even though her hand must have smarted.

It might not have felt like progress, but it sure felt like one hundred percent pure, curvy female to Mitch. He wouldn’t have minded the prolonged body contact so much if the ground wasn’t full of danger. He couldn’t afford to get injured, and he didn’t want her hurt, either.

“Could we have a civilized discussion about this?” he suggested between a flip and a roll.

“Worried that you can’t win by sheer force alone?” She grunted and heaved.

“Stop.” He pinned her down at last. “You roll into a sharp branch and your mission goes nowhere.”

She gave it another try before she stilled. “Fine. A civilized conversation it is. In the morning.” She blew out a breath. “So you’re an extractor.”

“The extractor. When someone needs a target removed unseen from an impossible situation, I’m the go-to guy.” She might as well know that he wasn’t going to give up or give in to her.

“Do you always get them?”

“Always.” He didn’t compromise.

“It’s that important to you. Interesting.” She gave him a calculating look. “I’m guessing you lost someone close to you at one point?”

A discussion they weren’t going to have. He moved back slowly and let her go, then offered her a hand.

She sprang up on her own and dusted off her clothes. “Just for the record, you called truce first.”

She sauntered off toward her makeshift camp without looking back at him. Unfortunately, not enough moonlight filtered through the canopy for him to fully enjoy that tempting image.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” she called over her shoulder.

She must have attended some CIA training on how to be thoroughly irritating. But if she thought she was going to be the last spy standing here, she was sadly mistaken.

He headed after her, hoping Zak hadn’t done anything stupid like untying himself and running off into the jungle. They’d had enough excitement for one night.

As luck would have it, the kid was where they’d left him. Mitch checked his restraints and, despite loud demands, left them in place.

“Up,” he ordered next, nudging Megan onto the platform and tying her wrist to the other end the same way she’d tied up Zak. Then he lay between them, snug, his gun resting on his chest, finger on the trigger.

He didn’t like the idea of the other two guns, plus the machete, scattered out there, but he’d have to wait for daylight to look for them and secure them.

“You can’t be serious about this.” Megan snarled the words at him.

He settled into the uncomfortable bed. “Try to get some rest.”

“There’s not enough room,” Zak grumbled. “Untie me now. You can’t treat me like this. I’m the victim here.”

“I could knock you out, if you prefer,” he offered.

“You can’t touch me. You’re getting paid to save me.”

“This is cozy. Think of us as one big happy family,” he told the kid.

Megan turned to her side, jabbing him viciously in the side with her elbow in the process, probably not by accident.

He let it go. Couldn’t be mad at her when they were pressed against each other full-length. She smelled like the rain forest and the cheap soap they’d all used at the guesthouse. Not a combination that would turn the average man’s head, but for some reason it got under his skin.

He shook off the tension that had pushed him forward since she’d left him tied to the sink. Then he grinned into the night as the breeze moved her hair and it tickled his chin. At least, chances were, he was going to have pretty good dreams.

An honest to goodness spook, looking like a teenage video gamer’s dream come true. Thank God for small favors. When he’d thought she was a lost suburban housewife, he didn’t know what to do with her. When he’d thought she was a heartless criminal, one of Juarez’s lackeys, he didn’t want anything to do with her. But now that it turned out that they were almost on the same side … Their chance encounter suddenly brimmed with possibilities.

For after.

When they were both done with their missions and back in the U.S., he wouldn’t mind asking her out for a drink. He was ready to sink deeper into that fantasy when he heard something moving in the jungle, circling their small camp.

Megan heard it, too. She went instantly rigid.

So much for a good night’s sleep.

“Give me your gun,” she whispered under her breath.

Not going to happen. But he did reach up and untie her wrist. He had firsthand experience with the kind of damage she could inflict even unarmed. If they were attacked, she would be far from helpless. That was all he could do for her. He didn’t trust her enough to arm her, at least not until he knew what kind of danger they faced.

He listened.

Four men. He used military hand signals to pass on the news.

She nodded and pointed west.

He slipped from the makeshift bamboo bed, pulled back into the jungle just as the four shadows snuck into the clearing opposite them. They moved forward, then one of them signaled to the others to stop.

Mitch was ready to open fire at the first sign of aggression. He could take them out in a second.

“Is that you, chica? What are you doing here?” the one in the front asked with a voice raspy from too many cigarettes.

“Dammit, Paolo.” She swore an impressive blue streak in Spanish. “Ever heard of giving warning? I almost shot you.”

Megan jumped off the bed, brazen as anything, pretending to shove her nonexistent gun into the waistband at her back. And as dark as the night was, it seemed she managed to fool the others, because nobody called her on it.

If he weren’t careful, he was going to start admiring her or something stupid like that, Mitch thought.

“I’m taking Juarez’s young friend back to him,” she told the men, tossing wood on the fire, looking around surreptitiously.

Paolo checked out the sleeping platform behind her. “We’ve been looking for the bastard all day. We made camp east of here a couple of hours ago. Upwind, or we would have smelled your fire. Heard the shots, though. Figured we better investigate.” He knocked Zak to the ground and took his place.

The kid had to stay where he fell, with the ankle restraint still tethering him to the platform. He couldn’t do much more than squat and look scared.

Paolo patted the bed next to him and flashed a grin at Megan. “How about you come back to bed?”

Mitch took a silent step forward. He wasn’t quite out of cover, but he was close enough to take swift action if needed.

“How about you give up? As I said before, I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“Give it a try, I promise you’ll like it.” Paolo’s tone took on a menacing edge. There were four of them, and one of her. He probably knew that she, too, would have the odds figured. “Come on.”

Mitch stepped into the clearing, not bothering with stealth. He wanted them to see him.

Immediately, four guns pointed at his chest. Four pairs of hard eyes said they wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

“Friends of yours?” he asked Megan as if he’d just gotten back from a bathroom break.

“Who the hell is he?” Paolo came off the bed.

“An old friend.” Megan stepped closer to Mitch. “I knew he was in the area so I called him in for help.”

“The boss don’t like strangers in his business,” Paolo warned her, then turned to Mitch. “Who do you work for?”

“Whoever pays best. Right now, I’m protecting a logging operation north of here.” All logging in the area was illegal, so that should give him the right credentials. “Gun for hire, soldier of fortune, that kind of thing,” he added.

“Which timber boss?” Paolo wanted to know.

Mitch kept his demeanor friendly and his hand close to the weapon tucked into his waistband. “He doesn’t like his name passed around.”

Tense silence stretched between them.

But when Paolo lowered his gun, so did the others. “Forget logging. You’ll come with us. I know a man who pays well and needs some extra muscle.”

And just like that, his chances of getting Zak out of the country swiftly and unnoticed dimmed. Sure, he’d taken on four men in a gunfight before. When he’d been on his own. But if all hell broke loose now, in the dark, Zak or Megan could get killed, and he wasn’t going to take that chance.

Under the smile on his face, his jaw clenched. Instead of taking Zak to safety, he was going to have to stand by as the men took the kid back to the lion’s den.

Megan could have been helpful, but damned if he knew whether he could count on her. She seemed determined to care only about her own mission and nothing else. He had hoped to convince her once morning came, but they weren’t likely to get time alone for that now.

And the balance of power had shifted anyway. The men had played right into her hand.

Regardless, he would get Zak home. With or without her, he thought as he surveyed the drug lord’s lackeys for weaknesses. He never left a mission incomplete.

Chapter Four

By the time morning came, Mitch had a plan. He’d thought about it all night long as he’d slept in spurts squatting by the fire. He could take the men out during their long trek. Getting another look at Juarez’s compound might have provided new intelligence he could pass on to the Colonel, but Megan had already seen the place and had probably passed on all kinds of intel to the CIA. They could deal with Juarez.

His job was to deal with the kid. Which meant he would have to take out Paolo and the others, then turn around and continue north with Zak. He’d call in for military transport the second he could make connection.

Megan Cassidy was welcome to do whatever she pleased. As long as she didn’t stand in his way.

They marched forward silently, in single file. Paolo led the way, with Sanchez, his second in command, behind him. Then came Megan, then Zak, then Mitch, then the other two men.

Mitch reached into the opening of his shirt and plucked a leech from under his collar, slowing his steps as he disposed of the little bloodsucker. He needed to fall to the back of the line. He didn’t like anyone with a weapon behind him.

He made a point of scratching a couple of times before stopping altogether and stepping aside. “Damned leeches in my pants.”

One of the men laughed at him, another winced with sympathy, the rest didn’t bother to respond. Nobody stopped to wait. He messed around with his belt and zipper for a while, until they passed him, then he fell in step behind them.

Step one completed.

Yet the setup was far from ideal. Since they were walking single file, he’d have to take out the men in the back first as they blocked sight of the others up front. But if he took out the men in the back, the two in the front would start shooting at him. Which would leave Megan and Zak in the crossfire.

Not that she was a factor. Megan Cassidy was nothing more to him than the possibility of some carnal fun. His unhelpful fascination with her had to stop before it got him in trouble. She could take care of herself. And yet, on some level, he cared. Not because she was another American; God knew he’d been stabbed in the back more than once by his own countrymen. And definitely not because she was CIA. He’d been caught up in their intrigues before. Their wheeling and dealing had once cost the life of a good friend and nearly his, too.

He had allegiance to his country, not to its corrupt systems. He took orders only from the Colonel. He was loyal only to his team. He trusted very few people beyond that circle. Friends outside the job were too much of a risk.

His family thought he was dead. Better that way for everyone. They hadn’t gotten along too well when they’d thought he was alive. This way, his work didn’t put them in danger, and they didn’t get on each other’s nerves.

He was too busy to be lonely.

Except, back when he’d thought Megan was a traumatized tourist he was leading out of the jungle, she’d sure made him wish for … He wasn’t sure what, but an empty little spot suddenly opened up in his chest.

He looked at her as she marched on resolutely and felt a funny kind of tingle on his skin.

Maybe he was getting jungle fever. That would explain why his thoughts were getting jumbled all of a sudden. He wasn’t the type of man who lost his head, and consequently his life, over a pretty woman.

He had a small box of emergency medicine in his backpack, antibiotics and malaria pills among them. He’d take some meds when they next stopped, Mitch decided as he marched forward, watching where he stepped, until sharp cries pulled his attention to the canopy.

Howler monkeys were passing by high above the ground, flashes of gray streaking through the emerald green of the foliage. He watched them for a second before returning his focus to the path in front of him and the four men he had to neutralize before he could complete his mission.

“Are your wrists okay?” Megan was asking Zak up ahead. Paolo had tied the kid’s hands thoroughly that morning. She checked his skin and reached into her backpack, pulled out a jar and put some kind of a salve on Zak’s wrist.

The kid’s response was lost in the noise the monkeys made.

She was a strange one. Taking the kid back to Juarez where he’d be shot, yet worried about the ropes cutting into his wrists. She didn’t seem hard-hearted. But definitely focused. She would do whatever it took to achieve her aim.

So would he.

The men looked up at the monkeys. Mitch looked at the men. His best chance would be if one of the two up front stopped for a bathroom break. Both at the same time would be outstanding, but he wouldn’t hold his breath for that. He would take whatever opportunity presented itself.

His break came sooner than he’d expected. The howlers were crossing right above them. The man in front of him slowed as a shot went off.

Paolo had decided to go monkey hunting. But he’d only managed to wound the animal, which clung to a branch, emitting a keening sound of pain.

Mitch took aim and ended the animal’s suffering. Then their line scattered at last, Paolo going for the monkey, taking charge of it, even though it hadn’t been his kill. “Let’s eat!” Others moved off into the jungle to gather wood for a fire. Mitch used the distraction to get closer to Megan.

“Are you with me?” He kept his voice below a whisper. He felt better just standing next to her. Didn’t understand why. He barely knew her. She’d scammed him.

A lock of hair had escaped her ponytail and curled against the scar on her neck. His fingers itched to tuck that lock behind her ear. He didn’t.

He watched regret come into her eyes as she said, “I can’t. Not in this.”

So she wouldn’t fight to help him. But would she fight against him? Or would she stay out of it all together? He didn’t have a chance to ask.

“Hey, gringo,” Paolo called him over, working at skinning the monkey. “Look at this. Big sucker, eh?” He puffed his chest out. “What do you think?”

“I think we’re about to have some lunch.” He faked an enthusiastic grin.

Twenty minutes later, the fire crackled under the roasting meat. When it was done, Paolo divided it and handed out the portions. Mitch ate in silence, filling his stomach for the first time in two days. Now if he could only get some decent sleep. As soon as he and Zak could make their escape and get far enough away from Juarez, they were going to take a serious break.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Megan sneaking off into the woods. Probably for a bathroom break. The men had taken theirs as they’d walked, barely bothering to step off the path before aiming at the nearest tree.

Mitch gobbled up the rest of his portion, noting the position of every man, the whereabouts of every weapon. Now was his chance. He could take them without having to worry about Megan. He reached for his gun, ready to yell at Zak to duck.

If he weren’t watching the men so closely, he wouldn’t have caught the exchanged look between Paolo and Sanchez.

A second later, Paolo melted into the jungle following the path Megan had disappeared down a minute ago.

“All right.” Sanchez stood. “Better get going.”

The others washed down their food with some water then picked up their backpacks and fell in line. One yanked Zak onto his feet. The kid shot a plaintive look at Mitch, but he was more concerned about why Paolo had taken off after Megan.

He made sure he was the last to head out, bringing up the rear. Then he silently fell behind without anyone noticing. They were slowed by the heat and humidity as much as their full bellies. Catching up with them again wouldn’t be too difficult. Their job was to bring Zak back to Juarez, so unless the kid did something stupid, he’d be safe for the moment.

In five minutes, Mitch had returned to the remains of their abandoned fire, drops of water sizzling on the coals as rain began to fall. He moved forward in the direction Megan and Paolo had taken.

He was a pretty good tracker, and they hadn’t bothered to mask their trail. Another minute or two brought him close enough to hear the two of them, and he soon realized they weren’t talking. They were fighting. Mitch rushed forward, finding them rolling in the undergrowth, glaring and swearing at each other. Paolo was doing his best to gain the upper hand while Megan fought like crazy to prevent that from happening. They were a blur of growling faces and entangled limbs.

For a moment he hesitated, unsure if Megan would want him to interfere or if she needed to beat the man herself to maintain her status on the team. He didn’t want to mess up her mission if he didn’t have to.

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