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  “Mi nombre es Ali Donavan. ¿Qué haces aquí en Bogotá?” My name is Ali Donavon. What are you doing in Bogotá?

  “Soy el Fusil y estoy aquí para divertirme.” I’m Gun and I’m here for some fun.

  She stepped into the bear trap. “¿La diversión? ¿Y qué sería eso?” Fun? And what would that be?

  “Para entrar sus pantalones.” To get in your pants.

  She stared at him for one second before finding her voice. “You’re the biggest bastard I’ve ever met. Stay away from me.”

  He tugged on the wispy curl. “Just trying to help.”

  Ali punched him in the arm.

  “You go to hell, Gun. I don’t want to hear your voice again until we kill that son-of-a-bitch, Armondez. Come to think of it, you can keep your yap shut after that.”

  He rubbed his arm and laughed, trying to look at her when she turned her head. “Aw, come on, Donavon. I was just making sure you understood Spanish.”

  She answered with a pillow to his grinning face before climbing over his legs to take the seat behind Rance.

  Damn him and his warped sense of humor. Get in her pants! She slumped in the seat and gazed down at the patchwork scene below. Good cover, Ali. Anger leaves less room to feel self-doubt.

  Gun walked by her seat a few minutes later and drummed his fingers on the headrest, winking at her when she made the dumb mistake of looking up at him. He went to the bar and got a cup of coffee. Would he treat her differently when they landed?

  She needed to move around and put him in the proper perspective. He was just a man and her partner. So, there it is. You don’t have to prove yourself to him. Inhaling deeply to fortify her resolve, she got up to retrieve her notebook.

  “Hey, Donavon.” Gun held the cup of coffee up. “Want one? I’m buying.”

  Ali wanted to knee him. He must think she had the memory span of a mouse. He irritated her more than her ex-fiancé.

  Notebook in hand, she went into the washroom and closed the door. It seemed to happen more frequently these days. Shaking hands, a little cotton-mouthed. She was nervous. Proving her ability teamed with a guy like Gun wasn’t going to be a picnic.

  Not that she hadn’t taken down men before. She had three kills on her record, and all done in defense of herself or a partner. You pull the trigger and hope the bastard falls before he gets a bead on you. She was no natural-born killer. She was a trained, tested agent with a job to do.

  She washed her hands and went back to sit beside Gun. He didn’t make eye contact or speak to her, only grinned when she pulled her skirt up to the edge of her thigh-high stockings. His soft chuckle mixed with the clink of his signet ring on the coffee cup. This story had the plot of the century. A coward paired with a cold-blooded, opinionated egomaniac.

  Chapter 7

  Gun killed time playing cards with Rance, napping, and in general being bored out of his mind. With each hour that passed, his nerves coiled tighter. The thought of going back into that green hell where his best friend had died still ripped holes in his gut. His heart had been torn out long ago. Now he had sexual frustration to put up with.

  Thirty minutes before their scheduled landing, Donavon had gone into the washroom and made a few changes. She had freshened her lip color and put some sparkly stuff on her cheeks. If that was supposed to be the cheap look, he had a taste for it.

  He eyed the hem of the skirt that barely covered her ass. Nice, very nice. She leaned over to get her makeup bag. Holy shit. Her knockers were roaming around in there, free as two fat puppies.

  Everything about her turned him on. Forcing his gaze away from Donavon’s legs, he wondered if Carmella was still taking clients in Medellin. Shit, looked like he would have to call on Mrs. Palm and the Five-Finger Sisters.

  Hearing the clink of metal and getting a whiff of Donavon’s perfume, he went back to studying her. She was looking in a mirror, but not especially at herself. She closed her eyes, taking a bottle from her handbag, and sprayed perfume over her hair. He dumbly voiced his opinion.

  “How much of that you going to put on? You don’t need that shit on.”

  The look he got reminded him of her desire to never hear his voice again. He nodded, satisfied to stare in mute fascination while she played around in her make-up bag. He thought about the scent of orange blossoms that usually trailed after her. Now, she was wearing something heavy on musk. It turned him on.

  Carmella smelled like musk. Not clean musk like Donavon. Damn, he must horny to be thinking of Carmella. Okay, first chance he got, he’d whip off some of his tension.

  Something else had changed. Rance no longer ignored or teased Donavon, but stopped to talk seriously to her, sitting on the armrest of the seat across the aisle.

  “You all set, Donavon? Any questions or ideas?”

  She waved a skinny pencil around as she talked. “How soon will we hear from you?”

  “Give us a few hours to check things out.” Rance grinned at her. “You and Romeo are free to disco all night tonight and meet us in the market tomorrow evening. We can compare notes then.”

  Gun didn’t like being called Romeo. “Rance, I don’t care how you make the final decision on the extraction time. Just don’t waste our time.”

  “You getting nervous, Gun?”

  “No. Tired of sitting on my ass.”

  Donavon dropped all the war paint back in the kit and snapped it shut. “I don’t know about the disco crap for tonight. I can barely feel my legs.”

  “You going to make me go alone, Donavon?” Gun wondered if she would answer him. She did.

  “That shouldn’t bother a wiseass like you.” She added one more layer of lip-gloss to her lips and then eyed him like he was a roach. She looked pissed off and stubborn. “Okay. We’ll go.” She stretched her arms over her head and glanced at him. “The sooner we make our connection, the faster we get the job done.”

  Gun liked the way she minimized everything. “The locals don’t get started until after eleven in the evening. It’s the heat thing, I guess.”

  “It’s going to feel great to me.” She took her wallet from a beaded red handbag she had hung on the seat in front of her.

  Rance handed her a sheet of paper and tapped it several times. “Shred this before you leave the plane.” He looked pointedly at Gun. “Memorize this, and don’t alter it by one second.”

  The extraction time. Gun couldn’t forget how a deviation of one or two minutes could mean disaster and death. Donavon was staring at him with doubt in her eyes. There was a possibility she’d heard about his screw-up three years ago.

  He hated himself and couldn’t see her feeling any differently toward him. Sure, that was the reason for the upfront dislike and open hostility to his attempts to be kind of nice to her. What the fuck did he care? He didn’t, as long as she kept the bit in her mouth and followed orders.

  “We more than got it, Rance.” Gun didn’t feel like remembering his failures at the moment. They were ten minutes out of Bogotá, and he could already smell the rotting vegetation of the swamps.

  Everything changed from that moment. Gun recognized the thunder of blood in his veins as desire to get the job started. He loved the hunt. He looked forward to dusting Armondez. Rid the world of a stinking virus and maybe ease the constant ache of guilt in his gut.

  “Here, Donavon.” He handed her a cell phone from his duffle bag. “Hamm’s idea. We can call each other on these toys.”

  She took it and nodded. “Good idea.”

  He liked the way she held it in her hand and studied the number pad on the damned thing. His phone rang, and he answered with a grin. “What’s the matter? Don’t believe me?”

  “Are you going to give me the code?”

  “You don’t need one. Any number will work.”

  She tossed her phone into her open purse and sat down, looking at him from the corner of her eye. “Those could be a lifesaver. In case we get separated.”

  Okay. So, he was thinking the same thing and
she read his mind. That was a definite plus for partners. His mood changed from playful to brooding as he took a look down below at the sea of emerald. Dark, stifling hot emerald and waiting hell. To ease his tension, he joined Ali in a last-minute flurry of gathering up their belongings.

  Gun packed his gear tight and left his heavy coat and hat in a locker. He took the case holding the Beretta and checked the time on his watch. He shook his head when he noticed the load of junk Donavon intended to drag along to the hotel.

  “Why don’t you leave some of that in one of these lockers? If you need more things, you can get them in Bogotá.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know which of the lovely ensembles I want most, so I’ll take them all. It’s no bother, really.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Looks like we have everything tied up here.”

  The pilot’s words added finality to the moment as he told them to prepare for landing. They got into their seats and buckled up. Gun eyed Ali with amusement. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

  “Hey, you all right?”

  “Bring those damned cigarettes with you.”

  He didn’t find any humor in her new personality. Donavon was going through some transition, and he hoped it didn’t include blowing his brains out should he fall asleep. One damned thing for sure, he would not forget her smokes. Son-of-a-bitch. Which one would kill the other one first? His lips twitched in a suppressed grin.

  The plane circled the airport several times before setting down on the tarmac of the nearby private airstrip. While the whine of the engines idled down, the group filed out into the steamy night.

  “Ah, just like I remembered the stinking place.” Gun worked the collar of his shirt open and spit on the hot concrete. Her stare made him laugh. “Superstition.”

  “Okay.”

  She allowed him to take two of her floral tapestry bags and followed him to the rental car area. The Jeep that had been reserved for them was ready, and he climbed in after throwing his bags in the back.

  He fiddled with the keys while listening to her cuss. She threw her junk in the back with his and tried to get her foot up on the running board. The damned shoes and skintight skirt she wore were giving her a fit, and she gritted her teeth as she tried to get in. “Hey, Donavon. Hurry up.”

  Her glare told him to keep quiet. He leaned across the seat and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the Jeep with him. “There you go.”

  Her hair waved in the humid breeze, and her mouth set in a resentful pout. “Gun, you’re nothing but an animal.” Flopping her handbag on the floor, she turned a cold gaze on him. “You could have helped me in first.”

  “Animals don’t help other animals.”

  She must be tired. No smartass retort, not even glaring at him when he accidentally brushed a hand over her thigh. While he drove, she lit a cigarette. She held it to his lips, and he gladly took a puff. He liked the hint of her cherry lipstick that went with it.

  “I think I see the hotel.”

  She sat forward and nodded. “We should live so good at home.”

  He laughed and nodded. “I hear the La Fontana is pretty damned ritzy. Seven floors of brick and glass and hot-and-cold-running maids.”

  “Christ, Gun. Don’t tell me you have an acquaintance or two in this city.”

  “One or two, maybe.”

  “Don’t plan on bringing either one to our suite. Not tonight, not ever.”

  Driving the Jeep around the circular driveway of the brightly illuminated hotel, Gun laughed at her comment.

  “Hell, Donavon. You’re confusing me with James Bond.”

  Several smiling, uniformed young men ran to the Jeep and opened the door to help Ali out. Gun tolerated the attention lavished on them and glanced at Donavon as they were escorted up the wide sweep of stairs to the entrance. He’d never been so damned mooned over by men unless he was patrolling the red-light district in St. Louis. The guys carried the luggage and smiled while they did it.

  Inside the cool lobby, the doorman blinded them with his smile and snapped his fingers at the two bellhops. They waited while Gun spoke with the desk clerk. He held Ali’s hand and gazed at her with convincing adoration.

  “Honey, what do you want to do about dinner? And how about a wake-up call?”

  She fell into character. “I think we should have dinner in our room. You can call room service later.” She touched his collar and smiled. “And forget that wake-up call.”

  He kissed her fingers and relayed her wishes to the smiling desk clerk. They followed the two bellhops to the elevator and waited. Gun hugged her waist and kissed her cheek. Her soft laugh was perfect, pure aphrodisiac.

  He made sure the bellhops saw him squeeze the cheek of her ass as they walked into the elevator car. He caught her sidelong glare. Oh, yeah, he’d hear about it later. No time like the present to get her to accept his method of setting up a front. He leaned over to catch her chin in his fingers and kissed her lips, tasting the cherry stuff and her sweet breath.

  She didn’t close her eyes when he kissed her. Yeah, he kept his open to see her face. He couldn’t read her reaction. But, she sure as hell hadn’t kissed him back.

  “I can’t wait to be alone with you, Bambi.” His pet name for her got a reaction, and it was loathing. Her blue gaze darted to the two bellhops who watched from the corner of their eyes. She became soft and a perfect Bambi type.

  She giggled then, the trilling sound piercing his eardrums and shrinking his sac. “I’ll just bet you can’t, you big old stallion.” Her hand went to her forehead. “But, honey, I do have a migraine coming on, so maybe we ought to sleep in separate rooms.”

  Acting the concerned boyfriend, he hugged her to his side. “I have just the cure for that. And you’ll sleep a lot better in my bed.” He chuckled, adding lots of ribald winking and messing with a strand of her hair.

  Gun couldn’t believe it took so damned long to get to the seventh floor. He was tempted to send the bellhops on their way and take matters into his own hands. Just getting the door open to their suite was a grand production of stupidity. The key didn’t seem to fit, and the bellhops took turns trying to open it. At last, the lock gave it up.

  “Okay, guys. Here’s your tip. We want to be alone. You understand.”

  The young men grinned and nodded, hurrying away with generous tips in their hands. Gun ignored Ali’s squeak of surprise as he caught her arm and pushed her inside the room.

  He kept an eye on the two bellhops until they disappeared down the back stairs. When he shut the door and turned to look at her, she stared at him with blue ice in her eyes. She rubbed her arm, and he could see she was getting revved up to chew his ass out.

  “Damn it. I’m getting tired of you touching, pawing, and pulling on me.”

  She was starting to be an issue in his life, and he didn’t want to like or feel anything for her. He had to set her straight.

  “Those two are worth a lot to us if we stay on their good side.” He took her arm and rubbed it briskly. “I’m just going to say this once, Donavon. Get over trying to take my head off at everything I do, or I’ll put you on the next transport home.” A large reserve of experience with females told him he’d made a mistake.

  He liked the way her eyes narrowed as she thought over what he’d said. She turned and looked at the enormous bed and then him.

  She shrugged negligently. “Okay.”

  That was it? He doubted he’d heard the last of this, but he would settle for the peace and quiet for now. He tried not to watch her as she took off her shoes and threw her red carnival-bead handbag on the bed. He looked twice as she unzipped her dress and slipped out of it, letting the thing drop to her hips.

  Sirens went off in his head, and his cock stretched two inches. Her legs were slim and well toned, with calves that were sculptured exactly right above trim ankles. Shit, she even had a small tattoo on the sweet rise of her left hip. He couldn’t tell what it was. Yet.

  He picked up the phone, developing
an awful and sudden thirst. “Yeah, send up two steaks with the trimmings, and a fruit salad plate. Throw in a couple bottles of mineral water and an ice-cold pitcher of sweet tea.”

  He hung up and checked her expression. She was stretching like a tall, lean cat in the bathroom, not bothering to close the door. He could swear he had developed x-ray vision as his gaze burned through her tiny lace briefs. His ears were probably beet red when she spoke to him. It finally sank in, the method Donavon would use to make a point. Sex. Not giving him any, more precisely.

  “Gun, you still want to go out tonight? I can be ready in a flash.”

  “No hurry. Let’s give the privileged party crowd time to get a line or two up their noses.” He opened his duffle bag and pulled out several shirts, a pair of casual slacks, and changes of underwear. “We can have something to eat and still have time to check the place out.”

  “Fine with me.” She turned the water on in the outlandish toga-party-sized bath and looked around the door. “Join me?”

  He gripped the floor with his toes to keep from vaulting into that damned tub. Of course she had been joking. “I’m a shower man myself.” He grinned at her in spite of the tightening of his sac and cock. Relief was his only thought at the moment. There was another bathroom, and he headed for it. Son-of-a-bitch. Now she was yelling at him about something she wanted.

  “What?” His hand was on his sex, and he fought for control.

  He hesitated at the bathroom door, looking at her from the doorway. She pointed up and splashed the water to get his attention.

  “Would you mind getting that bath soap in the upper rack?” She laughed in a sly, womanly way. “I’m in no position to get it.” She eyed him like a royal Sumatran tiger that sized up prey while lounging in her private jungle pool.

  Gun pulled his shirt from his slacks to cover his growing problem and went inside the plush bathing area. He couldn’t help gawking at her form under the water. Lean and curvy hips that looked wide enough to cradle a man. And then there was that great-looking patch of dark hair at the fork of her long legs.