Dangerous Desires (25 page)

“Yes, but—” he broke off suddenly, holding his hand up to signal quiet as a noise outside caught his attention. Drawing the gun, he signaled Madeline to get down and moved toward the door. There was a sharp knock, and then the handle turned. Drake pressed his back to the wall, waiting as the door swung slowly open.

“Drake? Are you in there?” Nash called as he inched forward into the room, his own gun drawn.

“Jesus, Nash, I could have shot you,” Drake said, his breathing still coming in short gasps. “Why the hell didn’t you call first?”

“We did,” Annie said, following her husband into the room. “No one answered the sat phone.”

Madeline stood up, a guilty expression on her face as she produced the phone from her bag, laying it on the counter. “I took it with me when I left. I didn’t think you’d need it and I wanted backup. Just in case. But I didn’t have it on.”

“She ran again,” Nash surmised, frowning over at Drake.

“First thing this morning,” he acknowledged with a tired sigh.

“But I came back,” she said, her tone defiant.

“Annie,” Nash said, “this is Madeline. The woman who put us all through hell.”

“It was never my intention…” she started, then trailed off. “I was just doing what I thought best. Anyway, the point is I’m here now.”

“Which is interesting in and of itself,” Annie said, her gaze speculative. “I know Drake’s charming and all that, but I’m guessing you had another reason for coming back?”

Madeline shot him a look and then ducked her head, her cheeks turning red. “I found out something I thought he should know about.”

“She says that Tucker is still alive.”

“Your brother?” Nash frowned. “But I thought he—”

“—was dead. So did I. But she swears he was in San Mateo prison. Same time she was.” As much as he wanted to believe her, he couldn’t keep the note of cynicism from his voice. “He even gave her a get-out-of-jail-free card. She swears this is what caught the attention of the brass at Langley.” He held out the card.

“The Queen of Hearts?” Nash scoffed.

“That’s what she says.”

“It’s true,” Madeline said, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at all of them.

“Can I see the card?” Annie asked, a funny expression crossing her face. “What did your friend say when he gave it to you?” She studied the front, then turned it over to look at the back.

“That if I presented it to the American Embassy, they’d help me. No strings attached.”

“And you believed him?” Drake queried.

“Actually, I didn’t. I thought maybe he was crazy. I mean San Mateo isn’t exactly an easy ride. But because I cared about him, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. And then later, after I…” She stopped, her eyes meeting Drake’s. “After I found out the truth about my sister, I just wanted out, and I figured the card might be my ticket. So I arranged for the meeting and you know the rest.”

“Except that we don’t, obviously,” Nash said, looking over at his wife. “Does the card mean something to you, Annie?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I think it’s related to the CIA’s divisions. Deep black ops,” she added for Madeline’s benefit. “They’re referred to by number. I worked with a guy from D-2 once. An operation in Eastern Europe. Anyway, everything they do is deep cover. Even more than A-Tac. They’re considered totally expendable. But in the event that things go south, each division member is given a playing card. Like this one. There are different colors and patterns for each division, and every member has a number. In this case the Queen. The higher the card
the higher the rank within the division. Assuming this card is legit, your friend was the second in command.”

“And if they get into trouble,” Madeline finished for her, “they can use the card to get through to people who can help. Oh, my God, it
was
a free ticket out.”

“If that’s the real thing,” Nash pointed out.

“It has to have some significance,” Annie responded. “Otherwise why would Langley have agreed to pull Madeline out?”

“Because she could turn evidence on di Silva,” Drake said.

“Yeah,” Nash said, “but something had to have gotten their attention initially. And besides, we’ve all had the feeling something else was going on here. This could be it.”

“But it doesn’t prove that Andrés is or was Tucker.” Drake sighed. “Tucker was in the military. If he’d been with one of the CIA’s divisions I’d have known it.”

“Would you?” Annie asked. “Did you tell Tucker about your work with the CIA?”

Drake shook his head. “No. I didn’t tell him anything.”

“So it’s possible he wouldn’t have told you. Look, your cover is being a professor. Tucker’s could have been serving in the military. I mean, it’s perfect for someone who’s spending time working deep under cover. It’s an easy explanation for absences, injuries. All kinds of things.”

“But I was told he was dead.” Drake sat down, his head spinning. “Why would the government do that?”

“Because, like Annie said, we’re expendable,” Nash said. “If his division
was
here in Colombia, you know that it wasn’t officially sanctioned. Which means that if
something went wrong, there’d be no easy way to extract survivors.”

“Better to just let them all die?” Madeline asked, her eyes widening with disbelief.

“The greater good and all that.” Nash shook his head, his own anger reflected on his face. “They almost sacrificed Annie for that same ideal.”

“But they didn’t.” She reached out to cover his hand with hers.

“Look, all of this is just conjecture. We don’t know that any of this is true,” Drake said. “I mean, all we’ve got is Madeline’s word.”

“I wouldn’t lie about something this important,” she said. “Andrés was my friend and you’re…” she stopped herself, shaking her head instead. “I’m telling the truth.”

“What if there was a coverup?” Nash suggested.

“But we don’t have any—”

Nash cut Drake off with the wave of his hand. “Just speculate for a minute with me. What if there was a coverup—some mission here in Colombia gone south. The team is killed and the powers that be don’t want anyone to know we were even there. What better way to cover it up than a training exercise in the desert? No one to verify it. And no reason for civilians to disbelieve the facts as stated.”

“But I wasn’t a civilian,” Drake protested.

“No, but you had no reason to believe it wasn’t the truth.” Annie shrugged.

“Anyway,” Nash said, pulling attention back to his conjecture, “let’s assume that the plan works. The operation is covered up, the missing people are accounted for, and no one is the wiser. But what if not everyone was
dead? What if one of the team members found himself in prison?”

“Andrés,” Madeline said.

“Exactly. He stays with the role, knowing that he can’t risk coming out and admitting who he really is. But he brings the card with him, thinking that maybe he’ll be able to get it out to someone to let them know he’s alive.”

“So why didn’t he use it?” Drake asked. “If he had the power to escape, why wouldn’t he?”

“The mission,” Madeline said, her face torn with anguish. “You people seem to care more about completing your operations than anything else. That’s why Drake risked his life coming after me when I ran the first time. And that’s why you all left him behind. Because the mission demanded it.”

“So you’re saying that Andrés”—he couldn’t bring himself to call the man Tucker, not yet—“knew that it would be problematic if he surfaced. That he sacrificed himself for whatever it was they’d hoped to have achieved.”

“Maybe,” Madeline mused. “Or maybe there were still other people to protect. Maybe Andrés wasn’t the only one who lived. All I know is that when I asked him why he didn’t contact his family, he told me that they thought he was dead. And that it was better that way. I thought it was because he was a revolutionary. That they’d be either ostracized or threatened because of his associations. But now that I think about it, he never really said he was a guerilla. I was the one who suggested it. He just never denied it.”

“But you had to know he was an American,” Nash said.

“No. He spoke fluent Spanish, and his English, though good, was heavily accented.”

“Any one of us could pull something like that off,” Annie said. “And division personnel are even more adept. Sometimes their entire careers are spent pretending to be something or someone they’re not.”

“So you think this man she knew in prison
was
my brother?” Drake asked, looking from Nash to Annie.

“I think it’s possible,” Annie answered. “Madeline obviously believes that it’s true. So much so that she came back here to tell you.”

“We need to take this to Avery,” Nash said. “He’s the only one with the clearance to figure out what the real truth is. Bottom line, if there’s a chance that your brother is still alive, we have to do something to get him out of San Mateo.”

“So you believe me?” Madeline asked, her attention on Drake, her eyes filled with more than just the question.

“I believe
you
believe it,” Drake acknowledged, fighting against the feelings she aroused in him. Lust. Irritation.
Hope.
“And for now, at least, that’ll have to be enough.”

M
adeline had never felt so alone.

Whatever tenuous connection had existed between her and Drake, it had been severed when she’d run out on him this morning. She hadn’t thought it would matter. But then she hadn’t counted on coming back. And with the appearance of Drake’s friends, they’d closed ranks, leaving her to her own devices while they contacted Avery with the news about Andrés. It shouldn’t have bothered her. But it did. Partly because she was worried about her friend, but also, if she were honest, because she was concerned about Drake.

She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if she found out that Jenny wasn’t dead. That the whole thing had been a scam. A coverup to keep her from the real truth. It would be wonderful, of course, but also mind-blowing in that it inverted reality, turning everything on its ear.

She sighed, moving restlessly around the living room. Inactivity had never been her strong suit. She preferred
taking action. Doing something. Anything, really, just to keep her mind from replaying the past seventy-two hours.

The obvious choice was to exit stage left. Pay off the captain and get the hell out of Puerto Remo. After all, she’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d told Drake about his brother. And now, clearly, her part in this little drama was over.

And if Nash’s suppositions were true and Madeline had somehow stumbled into a long-buried secret of the CIA’s, then her status had most definitely changed from asset to liability. And she had no illusions about what that might mean. These people meant business, and if her knowledge was a threat, then so was she.

She needed to go. Now.

But she knew that she couldn’t. She’d run out on Drake twice already. She simply wasn’t going to do it again. Maybe not the wisest of choices, but it was what her heart told her to do. And sometimes it was important to have a little faith.

But even so, that didn’t mean she had to stand here and stew. She’d go to the market. When they got out of their meeting they’d need to eat. It wasn’t the same as being part of the inner circle, but at least it would make her feel as if she were contributing something.

She grabbed some money from Drake’s wallet and headed out the door. The clouds had dissipated, the sky turning an azure blue. A lazy breeze stirred through the mangroves, as heat shimmered across the partially paved road. Across the street, the brightly colored awnings over the booths gave the market an air of gaiety.

Any other time she would have stopped to appreciate the simple beauty of it all, but somehow in light of
everything that was happening, she just couldn’t find the energy to care. It was easier to focus on the mundane. Coffee. Food. Anything but her conflicted feelings about Drake, and her worries about Andrés.

She knew that there was a very real chance that her friend was dead. That last day, in the exercise yard, he’d told her that he was a marked man. And that was three years ago. But even so, some part of her believed that he was still alive. Or maybe she just wanted it to be so. For Drake. The idea of his having to lose his brother twice was beyond contemplation. Surely fate couldn’t be that cruel?

She stopped at a booth to buy some fruit, haggling with the man behind the counter over the price of some mangoes. From there she moved on to buy
arepas, empanadas
, and some
chorizo
on sticks—Colombian street food at its best. Maybe not the most well-balanced meal, but at least she felt as if she were doing something to help.

The coffee stand, with its white paper cups of sugar-laced Colombian coffee, was at the northernmost corner of the market. She remembered seeing it the night before when she’d made her first foray into the maze of stalls.

She’d wanted so much to create a special evening, a moment separate from the reality of all that they’d been through—a way to repay Drake for everything he’d done. What she hadn’t counted on was falling for the man.

The words hit her hard, and she shook her head as if by doing so she could banish them. She didn’t care for Drake. At least not like
that.
It was a ridiculous notion. She was attracted to him, most definitely. The man aroused a need so powerful it had almost brought her to her knees. But the reaction was physical. Not emotional.

Strictly chemical. Her pheromones calling to his.

She wanted that to be true. And in part maybe it was. But chemistry couldn’t explain her sudden bout of selflessness. She’d actually thrown away her best chance at freedom because she’d wanted to help Drake. Of course, she wanted to help Andrés, too. But if she were truly honest, her first thought on seeing the photograph and recognizing its significance had been to find Drake, to tell him that his brother hadn’t died in Nevada.

Angry at herself and her musings, she tucked the food packages under her arm and headed toward the coffee stand. Vendors called to her, hawking their wares, but her smile was empty, her mind reeling with the horrifying realization that she had violated her number-one rule.