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  She didn’t say anything more, watching the crowd and hurrying to get away from the noise and growing crush of people.

  He eyed her with the same look he had on their first meeting in that cold St. Louis alley. Pure amusement. “Can’t we discuss this in the shower?”

  He still saw her as a toy — wind her up and watch her spin. Fuck her enough to keep her quiet and out of the way.

  “You’ll be lucky if I let you stay in the same room with me.” She slapped the flowers against his chest, petals falling like snow, and then tossed them on the ground. “You know what you can do now, don’t you?”

  “Drop dead, maybe?”

  “You got it.”

  Chapter 15

  Donavon hadn’t said more than a dozen words to him all evening. Not during dinner in the hotel dining room and especially not now in their room. Normally, that’s what he wanted from a woman, but it was different with her. She wasn’t his usual date. She was independent, tough, sexy, and intelligent. Plus, she didn’t need him or his approval.

  He groaned and rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable on the chaise lounge. From where he lay, Donavon looked untroubled and comfortable in her diagonal stretch across the bed. She didn’t want company tonight.

  He knew where he’d gone wrong, forgetting she was not to be messed with. There had been a time he hadn’t given a damn about her opinion of him. Somehow that had changed.

  He dropped the magazine he’d been staring at. It made a rustling sound when it hit the floor, and Donavon sighed loud enough for him to hear. The ache in his back forced him to his feet. He stretched to relieve the kinks in his muscles. Didn’t she know he was too tall for that sofa thing? What the hell had gotten into her?

  His gaze went to the water tumbler full of ratty-looking carnations that he’d salvaged from her bouquet. Hit with how ridiculous he must have looked buying them, he tossed the maltreated flowers in the wastebasket.

  Boredom set in, and he took a bottle of water from the small refrigerator and went out to sit on their small terrace. A cold drink and a cigarette should have taken care of all his needs, but they didn’t.

  There was a need so deep inside him, he couldn’t name it. It couldn’t be satisfied with tobacco. What he felt was not going to be allowed to take root in his blood. No fucking way. He wasn’t able to feel romance or anything close to love. His longest affair since his divorce hadn’t lasted more than two dates.

  “Gun?”

  “I’m out here.”

  He waited, but she didn’t ask him to come to bed. Why the hell would she? He was just the partner who’d happened along at the right time. He crushed the cigarette out and stood up, listening to the drip of rain from the roof.

  He closed the double doors when he went back into the bedroom. Something about the night was really lonely, and he didn’t want the music from the passing cars to bother Donavon. Just thinking her name made him want to talk to her.

  “Donavon.”

  Silence. She had really gone back to sleep.

  “Donavon.” Humbling himself like he’d never done, Gun sat on the bed and touched her shoulder. “Are you awake?”

  “You want sex?”

  That had not been an invitation, but a dare to him to find out just how pissed off she was. He didn’t feel like trading shots with her. “No. I want to tell you why Rance thinks I’m a coward.”

  There was a second or two of scrambling until she had crawled next to him. “Here.” She sat up and piled pillows high behind his back for him to lean on. “Want another bottle of water?”

  “No. You were faking sleep, right?”

  “That’s the only thing I have faked with you.” She worked her warm curves up close to him and looked into his eyes with calm expectation.

  “Five years ago. Same reason, just another drug-dealing freak.” A cold rush of self-hatred choked him.

  Her soft voice chased it away. “You don’t have to tell me.” She pulled the sheet over them and quieted.

  “Teke wasn’t just my partner. He was my best friend. And Rance’s brother. We went through college and the training for the agency together.” Gun rubbed his jaw with his knuckles, searching for the right words. There were no right words. “FBI sent us down here to snuff a guy. We lay out in a coca field for a week before getting a real chance to make the hit.”

  Gun took a drink of the water she’d left on the nightstand. “They surprised us, using night-vision glasses to locate us.”

  “Gun, that doesn’t sound like anything you could control.”

  “Yeah, well, I was supposed to keep us on time. You know, down-to-the-split-second way we’re trained to do stuff.”

  “Want more water?” She sounded concerned.

  He pushed away the glass she offered. “I wasted precious time going to the guy’s house to get a good look at him. You know, be sure I got the right one.” His laugh was cynical. “Been like that all my life, Donavon. I have something loose in my head. Gotta get it right or I can’t do it.”

  “That’s not a loose screw, Gun. You’re a good agent.”

  “Well, after they flushed us out, they started using their machetes. We killed some of them, but I couldn’t watch the rear, and one of them caught me across the leg and chest.” He rubbed his thigh, recalling the pain and spewing blood. “We were both cut up pretty bad, but we drove them back long enough to make a run for the extraction site. They followed, shooting at us while we ate mud, crawling on our bellies in blood and snake tracks.”

  “That still doesn’t make me think you’re a coward.”

  He cupped her face in his hand, pulling her close to his chest. “Teke was cut across the gut and bleeding like hell. I tried to get him on board, too, but I didn’t have enough strength to pull him up. The rope ladder was slick with blood, and he fell back onto the ground.”

  Gun clenched his teeth against the vivid crimson scene. Her hand stroked his back, and he let the comforting touch ease his agony.

  “That must have been a nightmare, Gun. But not your fault.”

  “All of it was my fault. Rance has reason to hate me. I killed his brother.”

  “No, you didn’t.” She touched his hand. “Rance doesn’t hate you. He just needs time for the grieving to let up.”

  She sounded so sure. She couldn’t understand the pain and shame of letting another person be killed in your place. He would never discuss it again. “Okay. Tell me what makes you so damned hardheaded.”

  “Not much to tell, Gun.” Ali sat up and rested her arms over his shoulders. “I was the only girl among six boys in my family. I learned early that being a gal wasn’t going to get me far in this man’s world. If I got anywhere, I was going to have to fight for it.” She smiled at him as if something in her memory amused her. “I finished college and joined the Army. My dad was furious, didn’t think it was fit for his daughter. Not until I got out and into the FBI. Now he thinks I’m super-fine.”

  Gun got up and opened two ginger ales, handing her one. “Well, I’m the seventh son of a seventh son. I guess I disappointed a lot of people that believe being a seventh son has some kind of mystical power in it.” He sat down by her. “Now, what about that son-of-a-bitch boyfriend?”

  She laughed and drank from her bottle. “That’s all over. I’m in love with the FBI now. No time for anything else.” She didn’t stutter when she pried into his life. “Were you terribly in love with your wife? Did you try to make her understand your job?”

  “I loved her through college and the Rangers and after I got into the FBI. I had to leave her a lot after that. She couldn’t wait to hit the sack with our fucking attorney back in Dallas. He was dependable and safe.” He threw the empty bottle at the wastebasket. “And, yes, goddamn it, I did try to fix it.”

  She didn’t ask any more questions or make any comments. Donavon knew when to talk and when to shut up.

  Chapter 16

  Ali thought about the deep remorse that had been in Gun’s voice last n
ight. He hated himself. No need for anyone else to waste their time doing that when he was so damned good at it. But right now, in the light of day, he seemed completely at ease, as if the revealing conversation had never taken place.

  He combed his wet hair with his fingers and drank coffee that he had made in the suite’s coffee pot. Ali fought the tug at her soul. The sweet pain hit with regularity lately. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it until there were miles and time between them.

  “What are you thinking about, Donavon?” He eyed her as if she had popped out of an egg. “You trust me enough to go with me, or not?”

  He succeeded in pulling the firing pin to her temper. “Is that a macho way of asking for a vote of confidence?” Her hands shook, but she hid their tremble in the clothing she held. “Get over yourself.”

  If she could have, Ali would have bitten off her tongue. Why couldn’t she be a nice, sensitive woman who slathered on honey and kisses no matter what?

  “Well, aren’t we a bitch this morning?” He held the coffee out to her and grinned. “Here, suck on this. It’ll take care of those nerves.”

  “Sorry.” She took the cup and swallowed some of the bitter brew. “I’m not a morning person.” He seemed distant when she handed the mug back to him.

  He changed the subject. “Keep what clothes you need for today and tomorrow, and we’ll leave everything we don’t absolutely have to have.”

  She didn’t reply, choosing to play his game. Strange how the job had gotten lost for a few hours, but now she was Agent Allison Marie Donavon again, and whatever he said wasn’t personal.

  Her gaze lingered on the pretty but cheap clothes, and she wondered at her desire to keep them. Did this mean she was cheap? Her lips twitched in a grin of self-deprecation. Maybe she was a slut, had got lucky and made it in a job reserved for men. Yep, that’s where she wanted to be. A horny slut in the middle of lots of angry conflicted males. Just like every man she had ever come in contact with. How the hell had her tiny mother lived through raising six of the little animals?

  She didn’t want him to know, but she was checking to see if he was clear on their extraction time. “I wonder why the pick-up time was changed to fourteen hundred hours.”

  “Don’t make any difference. We’ll make it.”

  “We’ll have to leave before daybreak to make the hit and get to the red zone.”

  “We’re not going to mess up. We know our job.” He cocked his head and eyed her with a half-smile. “You having doubts about this now? About me?”

  “No. Just letting everything jell in my mind.”

  He went back to cleaning the rifle, lovingly breaking it down and cleaning it until the metal glowed in the lamplight. During the hours he’d had her in bed, she couldn’t recall him looking at her with such tenderness. Her soft harrumph escaped him. Ali admitted to the shameful fact that envy was what she felt.

  He only looked up when she threw the last of her gaudy luggage toward the door. “Got everything you need?”

  “Sure.” She held her choices up for him to see. “Cute little jumpsuit for today and good old olive-drab cargo pants and jack-boots for tomorrow.” She tossed a short-sleeved T-shirt and a long-sleeved button shirt on the pile.

  He shrugged and went back to reassembling the pistol. Armed and dangerous. Just how he looked best. She hurried to the closet after he looked up to catch her staring at him.

  “Looks good to me, Donavon.” He pulled his blue cotton shirt on and rolled the sleeves up to his forearms. “You make damned sure we don’t get separated at Armondez’s place, but if we do, use that cell phone.”

  She rolled her eyes and ignored his bossy comment, wrapping the cargo pants and shirts around the boots. Satisfied with the compact bundle, she pushed it under the bed. The jumpsuit was modest compared to the rest of the wardrobe she’d brought. It was made of creamy yellow French terrycloth; the cap sleeves plus a concealed zipper in front appealed to her desire for comfort.

  She let her bathrobe fall to the floor, not concerned that she was wearing nothing but white silk panties. His voice didn’t stop her while she stepped into the suit.

  “That all you’re wearing under that thing?” He sounded irritated.

  “I didn’t exactly come prepared to attend mass.”

  He snorted in amused derision, pulling her into his arms. “Maybe we should knock off a good one before we leave. What do you think?”

  Damn it. What was she supposed to say? Her body reacted instantly with heat and heart palpitations, but her brain screamed, no! God help her, it was not fair to tease her with Jack Gunnison right before a life-or-death mission.

  He nuzzled her neck, breathing in her scent. “You smell so damned good.” His approval was evident by the nice hard-on he pressed to her belly. “You don’t have that hooker-smelling stuff on this morning. Ummm, orange blossoms. Damn, woman.”

  Her salty reply would never be heard, cut off by his burning-hot kiss and seeking tongue. It devoured all reason and resistance, if she’d had any. She leaned against him, helpless and weak with the intensity of her passionate response. His hands swept aside her self-control, squeezing her breast, cupping her ass, pulling her flush against his erection.

  Her eyes opened, and she looked into the dark gaze that had been her downfall. Gun was her weakness, her drug of choice. That hint of a smile was nothing but the devil’s self-assurance, the call to his playground. What did she care if he knew how hot she was for him?

  Oh, but she did care that he was pushing the suit off her shoulders and over her hips. Her soft outcry of hot pleasure at the touch of his fingers to her damp crotch seemed to add to his determination.

  “Shall we stand up or hit the floor?”

  “I don’t ... give a damn ...” she rasped, shuddering with want. She flung her arms around his neck when he picked her up. He hesitated, and she demanded, “What’s wrong now?”

  He nodded toward the door. “Ramón’s out in the hall, knocking.” Gun looked stricken.

  Like a cold winter rain, reality took control. “Go see what he wants, and I’ll finish dressing.”

  “Right.” His face was highly colored with ruddy undertones after the heat of unfulfilled sexual desire. He set her down and went to the door.

  Ali caught scraps of Gun’s conversation with Ramón while she zipped up the jumpsuit and slipped her sandals on. Something about Armondez. Just what she wanted to hear on an empty stomach.

  He closed the door and came back into the bedroom, his expression closed and cold as marble. He sat on the bed to tie his shoelaces.

  “Okay. What gives?”

  “There’s a big, fancy SUV, complete with chauffeur, waiting for us downstairs.”

  “Our man being nice to us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do we do?” She applied a fresh layer of lipstick.

  “We could refuse, saying we would rather drive ourselves.” He lit a cigarette. “Or we accept the bastard’s hospitality.”

  Ali couldn’t ignore the tingle of concern in her stomach. “He’s controlling us with his kindness.”

  “If we don’t do things his way, it might queer the whole deal. He’s already suspicious as a wild dog.”

  Her question didn’t seem to bother Gun. “Have you given any thought to our being frisked? Armondez’s goons will check us out.”

  “Yes. They probably will pat me down. I don’t think he’ll let his goons touch you. What ever happens, I’ll go along with and be real humble.”

  She glanced at him and clipped her hair back in a fall of ringlets. “Better do it his way.”

  He patted the small-caliber pistol strapped to his calf under his trouser leg. “Yeah. He’s like a kid with a new toy. The bastard thinks he’s getting in your pants.” Gun poured a little of his cologne in his palm and roughly scrubbed it over his face and neck. “As long as you lead him on a little, keep him interested and thinking he might get in Bambi’s pants, he’ll stay out in the open, where w
e can find him. Wouldn’t want him to disappear.”

  Ali nodded and lowered the zipper of her jumpsuit to just below her breasts. “Can’t have him doing that.” Her brows arched with her provocative action. “Can we?”

  Chapter 17

  Gun hated the knots of tension in his gut. The ride to Armondez’s home in the jungle was taking way too long. Ten miles of varying colors of green and occasional red dust if they happened to hit a rare dry spot in the twisting trail that passed for a road. The summer heat in St. Louis was pure heaven compared to this soggy hole in the earth. Jesus, it was hard to breathe in this fucking steam bath, even with the air conditioner working at full tilt.

  He never could stand being a mere passenger in a car, especially stuck in the backseat. He glanced at Ali after she pressed her knee to his. She was staring out the window, but he could tell she was smiling. Her playfulness lowered his blood pressure, and he eyed her with a grin.

  Like any man crazy for his lady friend would do, he winked at her.

  “Hi, baby. Enjoying the scenery?” He slid across the wide leather seat to put his arm around her shoulders. “Green, isn’t it?”

  She sighed and grinned. “Like the sea.” Her brows lifted in a flirty arch.

  He didn’t take time to be cautious in his choice of words. Her heady scent was distracting. “Hey, you don’t have to wear that perfume to get my attention.”

  His low comment made her laugh. “You’re turned on, aren’t you?” Her smile was wet and soft, like he figured she was right then.

  “Like I got fire ants in my shorts.”

  They muffled their laughter, holding on to each other until the big car barreled over a deep rut. Gun sensed a real possibility something was going to happen. He stayed close to Donavon. Through a break in the underbrush, he caught sight of a vast field of coca and a dozen laborers working the crop. They all carried machetes.

  He leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Hey, Mac. How far to the Armondez place?”

  The driver shrugged. “Close.”