the window, but the radio that had been on the windowsill yesterday was gone. Buitre must have
taken it with him.
The notebook, on the other hand, still lay on the desk. Crossing the room to pick it up, Gus cracked it open, deducing at
once that it was a log, updated daily by the highest-ranking officer. Needing more light, he carried it to the window and
flipped through the pages, skimming the contents. As he blundered into a hand-drawn map of La Montaña, his heart gave a leap
of excitement.
This was just the kind of information the JIC desired from them. If there were time, he would snap off some digital photos
with the camera built into his sat phone. But the sun was rising quickly. Instead, he would have to take the map and hope
it wouldn’t be missed.
Beneath his deft fingers, the page parted smoothly from the binding. Blowing stray bits of paper off the desk, he folded it
and stuffed it in his pocket, returning the notebook to the desk.
The sky was already brighter.
He moved toward the bunk on the other side of the room and ran his hands along the headboard, encountering the haft of a small,
sharp knife.
Yes!
He curled it into his palm, relieved to have a weapon, which he hoped Buitre would just assume he’d misplaced.
The sound of furtive footfalls caused Gus to freeze. Someone was creeping toward the door.
Flattening himself against the wall, he waited.
Crap! Now what? If a rebel stepped inside and saw him, he would have to subdue him without being seen, but killing him was
out of the question. He dropped the knife into his thigh pocket and waited, resigned to using his bare hands.
The door creaked open, slowly, apprehensively.
A boot and a shoulder edged through the aperture. A pair of eyes rounded the corner, forcing him to react before the interloper
spotted him. With a lunge, Gus clamped a hand over the individual’s face, hauled him inside, and spun him around.
CHAPTER 7
L ucy’s muffled cry came just in time to keep Gus from suffocating her.
“Lucy!” His hoarse, spontaneous use of her name made him even angrier.
Jesus!
He whirled her around, put his nose to hers, and ground out, in Spanish, “Don’t you ever sneak up on me like that!”
He could feel her heart hammering against his chest as fast as his own heart was racing. She shoved him with two hands, securing
her freedom. “Why the hell did you sneak out without me?” she demanded.
“Because two of us would’ve been heard. We’ll be lucky now if we’re not caught,” he answered furiously.
“Oh, yeah? So much for teamwork,” she hissed.
“You were finally sleeping. What was I supposed to do, wake you up?”
“Of course.”
Damn her, she was right. They were professionals first.
“Where’d Buitre go?” she added, peering around.
“I don’t know. He headed up the trail alone with a rifle and a lantern.”
“Did you find anything?”
“A map and a dagger,” he confirmed, patting his thigh. “Come on. We need to leave.” They’d stayed too long already. “I’ll
go first. When it’s clear I’ll give a whistle.” Without thinking, he planted a distracted kiss on her lips. “Sorry,” he muttered
as her eyes widened in surprise.
With a self-directed grimace, he let himself out, slipping from the building into a distinctly brighter environment. The jungle
quivered with birdsong and monkeys leaping through the branches. He crossed the compound casually, heading toward a clump
of trees where the men were known to relieve themselves.
The coast looked clear. Giving a low whistle, he ducked behind a bush and watched as Lucy stepped from Buitre’s hooch. At
the same moment, a rebel rounded the long lean-to under which the soldiers slept. Shit! It was David. He spotted Lucy at the
same time that she spied him. To her credit, she didn’t stiffen or flee. Setting her shoulders, she bore right down on him.
When caught red-handed, go offensive.
Lucy had acted on her
taken it with him.
The notebook, on the other hand, still lay on the desk. Crossing the room to pick it up, Gus cracked it open, deducing at
once that it was a log, updated daily by the highest-ranking officer. Needing more light, he carried it to the window and
flipped through the pages, skimming the contents. As he blundered into a hand-drawn map of La Montaña, his heart gave a leap
of excitement.
This was just the kind of information the JIC desired from them. If there were time, he would snap off some digital photos
with the camera built into his sat phone. But the sun was rising quickly. Instead, he would have to take the map and hope
it wouldn’t be missed.
Beneath his deft fingers, the page parted smoothly from the binding. Blowing stray bits of paper off the desk, he folded it
and stuffed it in his pocket, returning the notebook to the desk.
The sky was already brighter.
He moved toward the bunk on the other side of the room and ran his hands along the headboard, encountering the haft of a small,
sharp knife.
Yes!
He curled it into his palm, relieved to have a weapon, which he hoped Buitre would just assume he’d misplaced.
The sound of furtive footfalls caused Gus to freeze. Someone was creeping toward the door.
Flattening himself against the wall, he waited.
Crap! Now what? If a rebel stepped inside and saw him, he would have to subdue him without being seen, but killing him was
out of the question. He dropped the knife into his thigh pocket and waited, resigned to using his bare hands.
The door creaked open, slowly, apprehensively.
A boot and a shoulder edged through the aperture. A pair of eyes rounded the corner, forcing him to react before the interloper
spotted him. With a lunge, Gus clamped a hand over the individual’s face, hauled him inside, and spun him around.
CHAPTER 7
L ucy’s muffled cry came just in time to keep Gus from suffocating her.
“Lucy!” His hoarse, spontaneous use of her name made him even angrier.
Jesus!
He whirled her around, put his nose to hers, and ground out, in Spanish, “Don’t you ever sneak up on me like that!”
He could feel her heart hammering against his chest as fast as his own heart was racing. She shoved him with two hands, securing
her freedom. “Why the hell did you sneak out without me?” she demanded.
“Because two of us would’ve been heard. We’ll be lucky now if we’re not caught,” he answered furiously.
“Oh, yeah? So much for teamwork,” she hissed.
“You were finally sleeping. What was I supposed to do, wake you up?”
“Of course.”
Damn her, she was right. They were professionals first.
“Where’d Buitre go?” she added, peering around.
“I don’t know. He headed up the trail alone with a rifle and a lantern.”
“Did you find anything?”
“A map and a dagger,” he confirmed, patting his thigh. “Come on. We need to leave.” They’d stayed too long already. “I’ll
go first. When it’s clear I’ll give a whistle.” Without thinking, he planted a distracted kiss on her lips. “Sorry,” he muttered
as her eyes widened in surprise.
With a self-directed grimace, he let himself out, slipping from the building into a distinctly brighter environment. The jungle
quivered with birdsong and monkeys leaping through the branches. He crossed the compound casually, heading toward a clump
of trees where the men were known to relieve themselves.
The coast looked clear. Giving a low whistle, he ducked behind a bush and watched as Lucy stepped from Buitre’s hooch. At
the same moment, a rebel rounded the long lean-to under which the soldiers slept. Shit! It was David. He spotted Lucy at the
same time that she spied him. To her credit, she didn’t stiffen or flee. Setting her shoulders, she bore right down on him.
When caught red-handed, go offensive.
Lucy had acted on her
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