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  PALACE OF THE JAGUAR

  Betty Womack

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK VERSION: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.

  PALACE OF THE JAGUAR

  Copyright © 2008 by Betty Womack

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-094-8

  First E-book Publication: June 2008

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2008 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  PALACE OF THE JAGUAR

  Betty Womack

  Copyright © 2008

  Chapter 1

  Bone-chilling wind whistled into the dark alley, slicing through Agent Ali Donavon’s leather jacket as she huddled against an overflowing trash dumpster. The stench of rotting garbage filled her nose and would be with her for weeks. She couldn’t wait to head back home to Charleston. Damn. Why had she turned down that agent’s offer of a parka?

  Being sent to St. Louis to work with the FBI’s most elite covert task force, Black Bird, had been a welcome diversion from her grinding, paper-trail routine of the last year. Her briefing on what to expect had been just that. Brief.

  The supervisor of her unit, Milton Hamm, had laid out the reasons she had been chosen for a hush-hush assignment with this group and not much else. She was at the top of her class in intelligence and physically able to carry out a tough mission, a three-year veteran of the FBI.

  She had been told the mission was to be carried out in Bogotá, Colombia. Her part of the job was not immediately clear. The group was waiting for the final orders and several important agents to join the unit. One thing Hamm had said bothered Ali. Her partner preferred to work alone. While the loose strings were being tied up, Supervisor Hamm kept her busy on local stings with the other agents. The group was a small, secretive slam team that operated under the auspices of the FBI.

  The assignment in St. Louis should have provided a fresh and exciting exercise in law enforcement training. Instead, comments from several agents made her aware they considered her a nuisance, especially Rance, the agent she’d been partnered with.

  Rance moved closer to her. He touched her shoulder and got in another jab about her recent drug bust. “Remember. We’re not rounding up the councilman’s kid tonight. We’re after real criminals.”

  She grimaced under his verbal punch. “The little bastard was buying blow. He’s a criminal. I arrested him.” She looked at her partner over her shoulder. “Get off my ass.”

  He laughed softly. She noticed little puffs of vapor from his mouth in the eerie glow of a dying security light. “I noticed you shivering, Donavon. If you’re cold, go sit in the car.”

  She barely afforded him a glance. “No, thanks, Rance. You go ahead. I know you guys try to avoid shrinkage at all cost.”

  He chuckled and jostled her shoulder a little. The agents saw her as a skinny, useless brunette, and probably wouldn’t change their minds even if they’d known she was a black belt in Muay Thai kickboxing.

  Their grousing didn’t matter. Right now, she wished something would happen. She was in no mood to listen to any more of the tight-knit group’s razzing. On top of that, she was freezing her ass off, waiting to collar some two-bit malcontent selling military small arms to the highest bidder.

  She blew her breath on her icy fingers and watched the back door of the bar the team had staked out. Her patience eroded when she heard Rance mouthing off. He was such a sexist jerk.

  “Maybe you should move to the rear of the group, Donavon. When the action starts, I’d hate to see you get trampled in the rush.”

  “Why don’t you get the hell out of my face?” Ali elbowed him in the ribs, and he eased out of her striking distance, still laughing.

  “Quiet.” Supervisor Milton Hamm held his hand up, and everyone stopped talking.

  Five men walked into the alley. Several of them lit cigarettes, talking and laughing like old friends. Their words were indistinct, but their actions said they were pleased as hell with themselves, slapping each other on the back and laughing like a bunch of hyenas. One of the men gestured toward a black sedan, went to it, and popped the trunk. The others joined him and stood looking inside.

  As if on cue, they brought out an olive drab, three- or four-foot-long cylinder, sighting it like a kid with a BB gun. Ali’s heart hammered. A Stinger missile.

  All hell broke loose. Supervisor Hamm’s order to go penetrated her brain and fired her blood. Go, go, go screamed in her ears and spun through her tensed muscles.

  The sound of boots on wet brick and the jingle of equipment on belts echoed in the icy air. She heard Hamm yelling at the hoodlums.

  “Stop. Federal agents. You’re under arrest.” The guy holding the missile dropped it and turned to run. Hamm shouted rapid-fire orders at him. “Get your hands up. Walk backwards to the sound of my voice. Don’t turn around.”

  Action became a blur. One of the men turned to fire a shotgun. He was brought down by Supervisor Hamm and fell face forward onto the bricks. Another hoodlum fought being arrested and struggled violently while being subdued. The rest of the gang took off with a trio of agents in pursuit. She sprinted down the alley to nab the tallest one.

  “Stop. Federal agent. You’re under arrest.” Ali could’ve sworn he shrugged.

  She kept a wary eye on the man she had singled out. He had the chance to get away, but he stayed where he was, barely lifting his hands in surrender. She briefly wondered why he showed little concern at the prospect of spending life in a federal penitentiary, such an arrogant calm.

  Had he heard her over Supervisor Hamm’s yelling and the general mayhem? Her hand was steady as she aimed her Walther PPK at a spot between her target’s broad shoulders. She yelled at him again.

  “Freeze. Put your hands on top of your head.”

  The tall one looked over his shoulder, and her adrenaline spiked.

  “Kiss the wall, mister.”

  Her palm hit the center of his broad back, and she pushed against him. For a fraction of a second, she hesitated. Her senses devoured his incredible scent. Her taste buds quickly identified the exotic blend of cedar leaf and something oriental.

  Disgusted by her momentary lapse of sanity, she pushed him closer to the grimy wall and then ran her hands over his narrow hips and hard rear. She carefully slid her hand around the lean expanse of his waist.

  “That’s getting close to sexual assault.”

  Ali couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She raised her head and yanked on his arm, trying to touch the back of his neck with his thumb. Her reward was his grunt. She had done hundreds of body searches and knew she had not violated her prisoner.

  Anxious to be rid of the wiseass, Ali snapped t
he cuffs on his wrists behind his back, checking twice to make sure they were nice and tight. “Spread your legs.”

  A well placed kick to his ankles and he obligingly parted his long legs. An evil whisper touched her lips and she did the unthinkable. She made the arrest personal. “Nice perfume. What do you and the rest of the girls call it?”

  Damn. If she were lucky, he hadn’t heard her dumb comment and she wouldn’t have to explain the blunder. She looked up, able to clearly see the guy’s profile in the glaring security lights. His features were chiseled under a bronze complexion, lean cheeked and masculine a’ la one of those cultivated two-day-old-looking beards. On him, the scruffy look was sexy.

  She clenched her teeth and went on with the frisk that seemed to take forever. He coughed and she reacted.

  “What did you say?”

  He laughed softly. “That’s twice.”

  She leaned closer to hear him.

  “My nuts. You squeezed them, not once, but twice.”

  “Keep your mouth shut.”

  His easy laugh should have made her angry, but it didn’t. Rich and smooth as vintage whiskey, it conjured up memories of deep, passionate kisses in the shadows of a late summer afternoon. Somewhere in the past, she’d experienced that. She was uncomfortable, certain he sensed her indecision. Feel him up or frisk him?

  Thankfully, he submitted mutely to the rest of her search. While her hands explored lean, hard muscle and sinew, she wasn’t thinking of a lowlife creep.

  As she checked between his legs, Ali noticed the heat radiating from his inner thighs. Thinking like that could bring about her immediate dismissal from the agency. That had been one of the first things she had been taught at the academy. He’s not a man. He’s a criminal.

  Would this damned search ever end? She clenched her teeth and shoved her hand up under his jacket, pressing her fingertips into warm, firm flesh, fighting the urge to go ahead and enjoy the feel of a hard, tight man.

  When she roughly turned her prisoner around, she stared in fascination. Hello, Lucifer. Someone had told her the devil was beautiful. They had been right. Deep, dark sin smiled down at her from eyes black as midnight. Straight black lashes framed his fathomless gaze, a slash of ebony brows tying it all up in an enticing, sensual dream.

  Disgust registered as she realized her mistake in focusing on his face. His gaze locked with hers, forcing her to identify the unmistakable gleam of male interest and challenge there. She returned his penetrating gaze with what she hoped was complete lack of emotion. Just like she had been trained to do. But, that had been so long ago. Maybe she was starting to lose her edge.

  The ploy hadn’t worked, if she read his wolfish smile correctly. The bastard knew she was shaken to the core. She jumped when Supervisor Hamm yelled at her from across the parking lot.

  “Donavon! Get your man ready for transport.”

  Grateful to be moving on, Ali grabbed her prisoner by the handcuffs. “Walk.”

  He didn’t resist; more like he leaned against her and sniffed her neck.

  “You son-of-a-bitch.” Furious, she pushed him ahead of her. “I hope they fry your ass.”

  She stepped back to watch as Rance shoved him in a car. He looked back at her before the car drove away. Her pulse hammered. What was her problem? Policy said no personal feelings allowed on the job. Ali had never found that a hard rule to follow. Until now. She turned away from the epitome of temptation and wondered if this sting would ever end.

  * * * *

  Three in the morning, and Jack Gunnison still cooled his heels in an interrogation room with nothing going for it. Steel furnishings with everything blurred into one beige scene of ugly. He had been taken there and left to pace the small room after the tight-assed female agent had manhandled him.

  She had gotten close enough for him to guess she was shoulder high to him and had a strong grip. Strong hands and a soft southern drawl made her irresistible. Damn, she had almost broken his arm. Thinking about her, he laughed.

  “Tell me the joke and we’ll both laugh, Gun.” The comment came from Hamm. “Did they take a report on your gun-running friends?”

  Gun nodded and stretched his arms over his head. “An hour ago. Now, I’m ready to get some sack time.”

  “All in good time.” Hamm sat down at the barren desk and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at Gun for several seconds. He opened the folder that he had tossed on the desk. “Got your next assignment. Take out Rodriquez Armondez.”

  Gun sat down on the edge of the desk. “Why now? I volunteered for this last year.” He knew without asking the second-rate murderer had gotten next to someone important. Otherwise, Gun wouldn’t be getting the nod to take him out.

  “It just got personal. He sold a cube of black tar heroin to the daughter of a prominent Washington figure. She threw a party, overdosed, and now her father finally sees the need to get fucking medieval with this son-of-a-bitch.”

  A scowl creased Gun’s brow. “As long as this bigwig knows it’s not only the drugs that make Armondez a necessary snuff.” He picked up the folder and thumped the photo of Armondez. “This guy is the lynchpin of a new terrorist operation right on the Pentagon’s back doorstep. Not to mention the forced prostitution trade, especially little girls and the drug cartel he uses to pay for it all. The agency’s lost count of the bodies he’s dumped in the Amazon.”

  “He knows.” The two men fell silent, the only sound that of Hamm’s lighter. He nodded and puffed on his Cuban cigar. “There won’t be a backlash. They have been alerted to the fact that Armondez has set up a thriving halfway house for terrorists in Washington, DC. No trouble from them, I’ll make sure of that.”

  Gun shook his head. “Better not be. I’m not taking the fall for anyone too girlie to do a job themselves.” He leveled a steady gaze on his longtime friend. “What’s the chance of the extraction team being there after the hit?”

  “It’ll be there. My personal guarantee.” Hamm puffed once more on his cigar before laying it in an ashtray. He leaned back in his old-fashioned swivel desk chair. “One more thing, Gun. You’ll have a companion. You’ll be a rich guy and his favorite lady out to have a good time.”

  “Not that, Hamm.” Gun voiced his dissent. “This is not a place to be saddled with a female.”

  “She won’t be any trouble. She’s an agent, just like you. She’s trained, been on similar missions and held her own.”

  Gun didn’t hide his displeasure over the plan. “Where have I heard that line before? Lucas and his female partner were both killed two years ago trying to do the same job. By myself, I know the job will get done. Dragging a skirt around is going to slow me down.”

  “It’s unfortunate about Lucas and Mendoza. That’s why we went to great length to pair you with a partner who can handle herself.”

  “Any chance I could go alone?”

  “None. You don’t have a choice. Plans are in motion, and she’s prepared to get underway.”

  Gun was tired and pissed off, not a good combination for a restful night’s sleep. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept peacefully. He gestured to the cigar burning up in the ashtray.

  “Enjoying that Cuban cigar, Hamm? I had to leave an Italian suit behind to get them in my gear.” He tapped the ashtray meaningfully. “You owe me.”

  “Now look, Gun.” His supervisor sat forward in his chair. “It won’t be that bad. One week and you’ll be back, ready for a new assignment.”

  Gun spread his hands on the desktop and shook his head. “And it’s snowing in Brazil right now.”

  Hamm grinned. “We’ll have the initial meeting and outline your mission in the morning.”

  “Just curious. Who will I be chained to?”

  “Donavon.” Hamm got up and took the folder with him. He paused at the door. “Agent Ali Donavon.”

  “Not the chick that cuffed me tonight?”

  “The same.”

  Hamm left Gun alone to remember Donavon’s roug
h frisk. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her, but he recalled that the perfume on her neck sent him back to a summer night under a mock orange tree with the girl next door.

  He worked his arm, touching his shoulder, and thought about the way she had nearly broken it. He shook his head. At least she was tough and didn’t back off from insults. She wasn’t scared of him. Yet.

  He paced to the window and sat on the wide sill, leaning against the frame. It could have been interesting, him and Donavon, but she wasn’t going with him if he handled things right. Someone opened the door and let it fly back to hit the wall. He turned to look over his shoulder and into the ice-blue stare of his next mission partner.

  Chapter 2

  Ali dragged the knit hat from her head and glowered at the man gazing at her with a smartass grin.

  “Hello, Donavon.”

  “Don’t hello me, Gunnison.” The man disturbed her deeply. Disturbed and angered her. By his cocky attitude, she guessed he thought women didn’t belong in the department. And he didn’t want her as a partner.

  “Gun.” He didn’t bother getting to his feet. “My friends call me Gun.”

  “Am I supposed to ask why?” She threw the hat at his face. “Hamm says you don’t want my company.”

  “He didn’t lie.” He examined his watchband.

  The damned undercover creep. She glanced away from him, looking around the dreary room. “Some guys don’t want a female partner, afraid she’ll see what a wimp he really is.” She slid a contemptuous gaze over him before finishing her insulting diatribe. “I know you brag it up, adding inches to everything from fish to hotdogs.” Her smile taunting, she combed her fingers through her tangled hair. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t tell the guys the truth.”

  He eyed her with a sarcastic smile. If her jab had bothered him, he concealed it under dark silence. She experienced a flashback to the bitter-cold parking lot. His body was lean and hard, and she remembered her icy fingers warming against his heat. He was close enough to touch, but this time she kept her hands well away from him.