Black Ops Bodyguard Page 11

  “He would have been placed in a government protection program probably.”

  “Against his will?”

  “Most likely.”

  “And his mother?”

  “She’s Delgado’s wife first. Argus’s mother second,” Cal replied. “She’s also an addict. No matter how much she loves her son, she won’t leave her supply.”

  “And if he loved his parents?”

  “His wants wouldn’t be taken into consideration. He’s no more than a pawn as far as we were concerned.”

  “You being Labyrinth,” she said dully. “So why didn’t you kidnap him?”

  “Cain MacAlister,” Cal said. “He suspected a leak. He scrubbed the operation. A week later, Cristo put a price on my head.”

  “Who did Cain suspect of leaking the information?” she asked, but already knew the answer.

  “Jason.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The cave chilled with the night air, but the dampness, the strong scents of jungle clung to its walls.

  Cal buried one of the glow sticks beneath the dirt, giving the cave a denser, almost eerie mood.

  It took a while for her eyes to adjust, but soon shadows shifted into vague, but decipherable patterns.

  Cal had taken off his shoes but otherwise had stayed fully dressed like she had. He laid a thin silver blanket on the ground barely big enough to hold his frame.

  “Are we sharing?” she asked.

  “That’s the idea.” When she hesitated, he sighed. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, Julia. I suggest you get some sleep.” He stretched out on the blanket and closed his eyes.

  “What are you planning for tomorrow?” Nerves pricked under her skin. During their time together, they had never just slept together and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about doing it now.

  Cal gave her a curt nod. “We’re going to get in touch with a friend of mine.”

  “Another Renalto?” she questioned, her eyebrow raised.

  “Not quite,” he answered, his tone dry, but with a hint of humor.

  “Cal,” she said. “You said earlier that most operatives have their special talents. What did you mean?”

  “Exactly that. Jordan Beck was the man of disguises, Roman D’Amato was security. Cain is known as a strategist. And his brother, Ian, a hunter. The man could track a snake across a hundred miles of rocks.”

  “And you, Cal? What are you known for?”

  “I neutralized situations before they got out of hand.”

  “You neutralized situations,” she repeated. “Meaning?”

  “They brought me in when the regular channels didn’t provide results,” Cal stated. “A diplomat of sorts.”

  “That’s vague,” she commented, her tone edged with annoyance.

  Cal opened his eyes. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the lies. Harder and harder to keep an emotional distance.

  “Look, Julia. What I do is top secret. I could tell you about my mission, but then I’d have to kill you,” he explained. He swiped a hand over his face, rubbed the whiskers on his cheek. “I’m too tired to do either.”

  “Very funny.”

  “What’s funny is that we’ve slept together countless times, but for some reason you can’t bring yourself to lie next to me.”

  “That’s not it—”

  “If I promise not to attack you, will you lie down so we both can get some sleep?”

  Embarrassed, Julia realized Cal was right. After all, they were both adults. They could manage one night together, sleeping.

  She settled next to him, immediately relaxing against the warmth of his side.

  The rain was coming down in torrents. For a moment Julia stilled and listened.

  Shivers rifled through her, shuddered into him. Startled, she shifted to put some distance between them. Her chest brushed up against his side, she felt his breath soft against her cheek, the scrape of his teeth against her earlobe.

  His arms tightened on her and without warning, he rolled her onto her back, catching her between the hard earth and the harder planes of his body. Using one elbow to hold his weight, he caressed her cheek with his free hand. “Julia—”

  “Shh.” She didn’t want him to stop—understood this would be for one night. Understood that she needed the solace, the warmth of his touch, then walk away, her heart whole.

  Julia turned her head until her lips pressed against the palm of his hand.

  When his mouth covered hers, he did so slowly, as if he was savoring the soft, feminine taste of her.

  She looked from underneath her lashes, saw his eyes open, the black heat piercing the semidarkness between them. Her body trembled.

  With a groan, his kiss changed. He slanted his mouth over hers, taking, coaxing, feasting.

  Igniting a heat inside her that smoked, swirled then burst into a fever of desire that threatened to consume her.

  Wanting to touch her, needing to, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him until she laid sprawled across him. Her hair, a curtain of silk against his throat.

  Branches broke in the distance.

  Cal stilled, his muscles tight, unyielding. A moment later, two masculine voices barked over the din of the rain.

  Julia froze. “Delgado’s men?”

  “I’m going to find out.” He moved off her. “Stay here,” he ordered in a toneless whisper. Quickly he slipped his shoes on, then slid his knife into his belt. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  “I will be, I promise.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  With her hair disheveled, her eyes wide with fear, he realized what he’d done. Who he was. What he’d told himself he’d never do. He was a killer.

  And he never mixed his personal life with business.

  This time, the pain made it easy for him to lie. “I’m going to lead them away.”

  “Liar,” she whispered when he’d left.

  Julia reached for her heart, rubbed the ache from beneath it, and realized she’d been wrong.

  It had belonged to Cal all along.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cal stopped short and raised a finger to his lips. Julia followed him quietly between the trees.

  They’d gotten up early, both opting for little or no conversation. The previous evening still fresh in her mind. Cal gave her a quick sign for silence and to follow.

  The dense brush opened into a clearing. At the far end stood a small man-made hut built up on a high foundation of beams.

  In the middle of the clearing, under a grass-covered lean-to, sat a large wooden barrel.

  Two men stepped from the opposite end of the clearing. Both carried a bushel of leaves. “Your friends?” she whispered in Cal’s ear.

  “Yes. His name is Miguel,” Cal whispered. “His son, Robard, is next to him.”

  “Then why are we standing over here?”

  “I want to show you something,” he replied patiently, but his gaze scanned the perimeter. “And the best advantage to watch is from here. Miguel tends to be a little shy when it comes to strangers.”

  The men dropped their bushels onto the ground near the waist-high barrel.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Making cocaine,” Cal responded in a low murmur. “Those are the coca leaves. They’re getting ready to mix the coca with ammonia and lime.”

  Julia watched them dump the bushel of leaves into the barrel of dark liquid.

  “The barrel is filled with diesel gasoline,” Cal commented. “Used diesel gasoline.”

  They watched the men stir the mixture. Each taking turns until the leaves were saturated. Julia noticed for the first time that the barrel sat on a long, narrow, wooden trench that ran about six feet in length.

  After a while, the older of the two men unplugged a hole in the barrel and the gasoline streamed into the trench.

  “The narcotic substance from the coca is in the gasoline. They’re separating it f
or processing.”

  At the end of the trench was another, smaller steel tub that caught the coca saturated gasoline.

  The younger man grabbed a gallon jug and poured it into the gasoline mixture.

  “That’s more ammonia. Watch. The mixture will turn to a white, milk-like liquid.”

  Julia watched as the white, cloudy mixture developed. Then while the young man stirred, the older one poured in more gasoline. “The gas forces the narcotic part of the plant to clump.” A few minutes later both men scooped bowls full of the liquid into another barrel with a fine mesh material covering it to strain the white clumps of cocaine.

  When they were finished, Julia was surprised to see only a few handfuls of cocaine drying on the cloth. “That’s very little product for how much work they put into it.”

  “They earn very little from that. Most of the money goes back into the process. The cartel sells the gasoline, ammonia and other supplies at steep prices.”

  “Yet they still do this?”

  “None of them wants to, Julia. They would rather grow bananas, corn and other foods, but the market isn’t good. So most produce gets thrown away unsold. They’re forced to raise coca plants to survive. On regular crops they would barely clear a hundred U.S. dollars a month. Selling cocaine, they clear three times that much. The alternative is starvation.”

  The two men laid the cocaine out flat in the sun to dry completely. Soon they were starting the process over.

  “The government cannot do anything. They send planes to make chemical drops to kill the coca plants, but the drops can only be controlled so much. The chemicals kill their other crops as well. The government has also promised to supplement the legal crops but there isn’t enough money to go around.

  “The cartel controls the government.”

  Laughter sounded, high-pitched giggles drifting from the grass hut.

  Julia stiffened. “Do I hear children?”

  Cal swore.

  Suddenly, a barrage of bullets hit the air. Cal shoved Julia to the ground and placed a finger over his mouth telling her to be quiet.

  Two gunmen stood at the rim of the clearing, AK-47s pointed at the farmers’ chests.

  “Stand away.” The gunman’s high-pitched voice and his companion’s mottled complexion told Julia that both men were high.

  A string of Spanish flowed between the men. “They want the cocaine,” Cal interpreted quietly. “It seems they ran out and decided to bypass the middle man.”

  The two gunmen approached the farmers and forced them back against the gasoline barrel.

  “Cal, the children.” Julia couldn’t keep the fear from her voice.

  “I know.” Cal took out his gun and waited. The gunmen directed the farmers to give them the cocaine drying in the sun.

  “Stay here,” Cal ordered softly. He maneuvered around to the hut and slid under its floorboard and porch. The position gave him a direct line to the gunmen.

  Suddenly, there was a muffled whimper from above him. Through the cracks of the boards, he could see a boy and a girl, neither older than six, huddled in the corner. He placed his fingers to his lips. “Shh.”

  Suddenly, Julia appeared at the back door. She talked to them softly in Spanish, calming them, holding them.

  So she understood Spanish. Anger whipped through Cal. He pushed back, knowing now wasn’t the time. But later…

  One of the gunmen prodded the men with the machine gun toward the dried cocaine. He demanded they put it into a bag.

  Neither gunman gave Cal a clean shot. He whistled low, catching Julia’s attention.

  “Scream,” he ordered in a low murmur.

  Julia nodded and gathered the two children close. Quickly, she explained what she was about to do.

  She took a deep breath and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  Startled, the two men stepped toward the hut. Cal’s first shot hit the closest gunman in the forehead; he dropped to the ground dead. The other stopped cold, then swung his machine gun toward Cal.

  Cal put three bullets in his chest. The gunman dropped his weapon and slowly sank to his knees. While Cal watched, he tumbled over. Dead.

  “Papa!” The boy broke free first and shot out the hut’s doorway. The girl instinctively stayed with Julia. She hugged her tight until the tremors of fear left both of them.

  The little boy’s father hugged him close.

  “Damn it, Miguel. Have you lost your mind?” Cal asked in Spanish.

  “West?” Miguel sat back against the porch railing and gathered his son to his chest. His eyes searched for his daughter, saw that she was safe in Julia’s arms, then turned back to Cal. “What the hell are you doing here? Not that I’m ungrateful, amigo. Your timing is heaven sent.”

  “Coming to see you.”

  “You have excellent timing then, my friend,” Miguel joked. He waved a finger toward the two dead men. “They have robbed us before. They killed my son, Philippe.”

  “When?”

  “A few months ago. Maybe more. Time, it does not matter when you miss someone like I miss my Philippe.”

  “You should keep a rifle handy, Miguel.”

  “I cannot afford bullets with so many mouths to feed at home,” Miguel argued. “Besides, they would shoot me as soon as they see a weapon.”

  Julia walked up with the little girl, who immediately slid onto Miguel’s lap. “Are you okay, Papa?”

  “Yes, bella. Are you?”

  She nodded, then buried her face in her father’s shoulder.

  “We have not been introduced, señorita,” Miguel said quietly. His hand stroked the girl’s hair.

  “This is Julia Cutting, Miguel. I’m helping her find her husband, Jason. Delgado might have him.”

  “A pleasure, señorita.” Miguel patted the little girl’s head. “This is my daughter, Lynette.” Cal lifted the boy into his arms.

  “And this is José,” Cal added, and ruffled the young boy’s hair.

  Miguel nodded toward the younger man who approached the porch. “This is my other son, Robard.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Cutting.” Robard smiled. He shook Cal’s hand. “And really great to see you again, Cal.”

  “You too, pal.”

  “I am in both of your debt,” Miguel stated, his tone serious. “Thank you.”

  “No thanks needed.” Cal dismissed the comment and sat José back on his feet.

  “We could not stand by and do nothing,” Julia added.

  “Yes, you could have. So many others around here do,” Miguel explained. “If you help, more than likely you become the next target of Delgado’s anger.”

  After setting his daughter on her feet, Miguel stood and slapped Cal on the back. “You are spending the night, Cal?”

  “Are you offering?”

  “If I did not, do you think Consuelo would let me back into the house?” Miguel laughed. A full belly laugh that nearly set the front porch rumbling. “Eat with us. There is a hut down the road from us that has been empty for a while. You can stay there.”

  “How is Consuelo?”

  “Fat.” Miguel laughed at the shock on Julia’s face. “She is going to have my baby in another month or so.”

  “Bloody hell, Miguel. That makes six.” Cal grunted.

  “Five,” Miguel corrected quietly.

  “Six,” Cal said firmly. “Philippe is still your son.”

  Miguel looked past his friend’s shoulder. “You are right, amigo.”

  “You realize you do not have to populate the earth single-handedly,” Cal observed.

  “And why shouldn’t I?” Miguel laughed again, shaking his somber mood. He looked at the setting sun. “Dinner is waiting for us.”

  “We need to get rid of your visitors, Miguel,” Cal said and nodded toward the two dead men. “We can take them to the river.”

  “You are right.” The farmer glanced down at the children. “Go with Ms. Cutting back into the hut and wait for us. Once we are done it will be time to g
o home and introduce her to your mama.”

  “I’d like that. But please call me Julia,” she corrected gently. Lynette slipped her hand in Julia’s and tugged her along. A lump lodged in Julia’s throat.

  “I—I’ll show you the way, Ms. Cut…I mean Julia,” Robard said, his face flushed, his voice soft.

  Miguel cuffed his son lightly across the top of his head. “Mind your manners, boy. Ms. Cutting to you. Keep your moon eyes to yourself.”

  “Yes, Papa.” But Robard’s eyes didn’t leave Julia’s face. Instead, he shot her a smile. One that showed the charm of the man soon to be.

  “My son is infatuated,” Miguel mused.

  “He’s fifteen. He doesn’t know any better,” Cal replied.

  Miguel watched Cal’s eyes stay on Julia as she walked back into the hut with his children. “You’re forty. What’s your excuse, amigo?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cristo Delgado forced himself to finish the last lap in his pool. Every day he made time for one hundred laps without fail.

  He did everything without failing. He started by making his first billion dollars by the time he was thirty.

  But now, at almost sixty, Cristo wasn’t interested in money. While it was a great motivator for most, to him money was a tool. It allowed him access to the most beautiful women, the upper levels of the world’s social circles and the ability to make influential men obey his orders.

  Caesar, Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great. They destroyed civilizations to achieve greatness.

  Cristo considered himself their equal. Extortion, murder, money—all brought power. And power made empires.

  Of course, there are some who are incorruptible. Not many. The President of the United States being one.

  But those who were not, eventually died.

  His fingers touched the tiled wall. He tilted his head up out of the water and blew the air out of his lungs.

  “We need to talk, Mr. Delgado.”

  He expected to see Solaris only, so it was a surprise when Renalto stood at the edge of the pool holding an oversize white towel.

  “It’s daylight. Aren’t you afraid you’ll be seen?” He hauled himself out of the water. In Cristo’s experience, men like Renalto preferred dark corners.