Hidden Agenda (8 page)

A
lma knocked on the door, informing Eve that their guests had arrived and Carlos was ready to begin the ceremony.

Eve took one last glance around the room where she’d spent the last month, and walked out. The curtain was going up on the second act. She followed Alma down the staircase and into the cool, spacious living room, stopping short as she met Matt’s hypnotic, topaz-yellow, green-flecked eyes.

Matt crossed the room, meeting her. He stared down at Eve, unable to believe she could look so innocent and wanton at the same time. The kimono-style dress was not one of the outfits he had purchased for her. However, the tailoring and design were tasteful and appropriate for the occasion. He smiled. The heirloom earrings hanging from her lobes were made for her.

“Are you ready, Darling?”

“I’m ready, Mateo,” she whispered softly.

“I’ll introduce you to everyone after the ceremony,” he said as her large black eyes noted several strangers among the small group of people staring at her. “But I do think you should meet our witness.” A tall, red-haired man stood apart from the others. “This is Cordero Birmingham. Cord, Eve.”

Inclining his head slightly, Cordero gave Eve a light kiss on her cheek. He was even with the six-foot mark, and rawboned. His smooth golden skin was taut over high cheekbones, a perfect foil for a thick mane of dark hair in an odd shade of burnished copper. His startling topaz-blue eyes under dark eyebrows captured her attention until he smiled. He claimed a perfect set of white teeth, and Eve wondered if he’d ever been approached for toothpaste ads for television or magazines.

“Mr. Birmingham,” she said, still dazed by his youthful attractiveness.

Cordero patted her hand. “Cord, please. Mateo’s my friend, and I hope you’ll also become my friend.” His drawling tone revealed that, like Matt, he was also from the American Southwest.

“Of course,” she replied quickly.

“Can we begin, please?” Matt snapped, observing the presumptuous interchange between his bride and witness.

Eve responded in a monotone as she repeated her vows, Carlos conducting the ceremony in Spanish and English, and in spite of the warmth from Matt’s large body she felt cold. She was reliving the ceremony between her and Alex as vividly as if it had occurred minutes before.

Matt slipped a wedding band of channel-set diamonds on her finger and she raised her head. An expression of supreme satisfaction brightened his features, and she felt her breath falter. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, trying to force air into her constricted lungs.

“Eve?”

Cordero had said her name, handing her a heavy gold band. She blinked numbly at it, then realized she was to place it on Matt’s finger. Her hand shook uncontrollably. Matt reached out and steadied it, assisting her as she placed the ring on his left hand. She never heard Carlos telling Matt he could kiss his wife. Matt’s mouth closed over hers, and then she knew it was over. She was now Eve Arroyo, having been in Mexico for a little more than a month.

Matt released Eve and she sagged weakly against him. Suddenly she felt warm. Objects blurred and swayed wildly as her eyelids fluttered. Her fingers tightened on Matt’s hand, biting into the flesh.

He caught her limp body with one arm while taking the glass of water thrust at him. He mumbled a thanks to Cordero as he held the glass to her lips. She managed several sips. “It’s over,
Preciosa
,” he crooned quietly against her moist cheek.

Opening her eyes, Eve pushed against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she apologized breathlessly. “I felt so warm and weak.”

Matt gave her a tender smile. “No harm done, because you’re a beautiful bride, Señora Arroyo.” She nodded, permitting him to escort her into the dining room.

Introductions were put off until everyone was
seated at the long banquet table. Eve was seated at the opposite end of the table from Matt, and she smiled when he winked at her.

A profusion of white roses in twin crystal vases served as a centerpiece for the table set with an antique white lace tablecloth, translucent white china trimmed with a gold border, and gleaming silver.

Listening to the Spanish spoken by the invited guests, Eve realized that her son probably now spoke it fluently. At Alex’s insistence, they had employed a Spanish-speaking housekeeper and nanny, and the little boy had attained enough of a bilingual vocabulary to communicate with his mother and father in their native tongues.

She spread her left hand out atop the table. It was as if she saw the precious stones on her third finger for the first time. The large ruby shimmered like rich, red blood, and the diamonds like sparkling stars under the overhead chandeliers.

She wondered what it was Matt owed her uncle to have him spend so much money on her. Had Harry Blackwell given him the okay to spend the money, only to reimburse him once she and Chris were back in the States?

Eve pushed the nagging question out of her mind as she dined on a consommé. The
bacalo y picadillo a la cirolla
, a dish of smoked codfish and chopped beef, was prepared creole style. She sampled a small portion of fried green bananas and a savory white rice. The spicy food triggered an uncommon thirst, and she drank more champagne than she normally would.

“May I have everyone’s attention?” Cordero asked loudly. He raised his champagne glass. “I’d like to
propose a toast to the new couple.” His bright blue eyes competed with the sparkle of his straight white teeth. “May your marriage be a long and loving one, and may you be blessed with many strong, healthy, and handsome children.”

Matt winked as Eve gave him a shy glance. “Thank you, Cord.” He poured a small amount of champagne into his empty glass, raising it. “To my wife,” he began in a soft voice filled with heavy emotion, “and her beauty and passion, and her happiness for all of the good things for her future.”

All eyes were trained on Eve, and she tried composing her thoughts. They expected her to return the toast. Smiling, she raised her glass.

“To my husband, Matthew. Thank you for allowing me a chance to discover real happiness, and to all we both seek for our futures.”

The hidden meaning was lost on the others, but Eve and Matt stared at each other for a long time before they attempted to sip their champagne.

Why couldn’t it have been different?
she thought, bringing the fluted glass to her lips. But it wasn’t different, and when it was over it truly would be over. She would relocate and concentrate on becoming reacquainted with her son.

She never would remarry, or become involved with another man.
Not after Matt
, she mused as her gaze met his across the length of the table.

The meal concluded, Matt and Eve chatted casually with their guests. Blanca Lopes admired Eve’s earrings while Matt stared at Cord, capturing his attention.

“
¿Me permite una palabra
, Cordero?” Matt questioned. Smiling at Eve, he whispered, “Excuse me,
Preciosa
. I need to speak with Cord before he leaves.”

She returned his smile, nodding and touching his hand before turning her attention back to Blanca.

Matt escorted Cord through the loggia and out into the courtyard. Cord slipped his hands into the pockets of a pair of light gray trousers. “Why so formal, Mateo?”

Loosening his tie with his left hand, Matt ran his right one over his shortened hair. “Did you get in touch with Nate?” he asked without pausing for preliminaries. “I need to know how I’m supposed to pass myself off as a drug lord without jeopardizing the Arroyo name.”

Cord gave him a long, hard stare. “Nate’s off this one,” he stated flatly.

The hardening of his jaw and the flash of amber and green in Matt’s eyes was the only indication of his reaction to Cord’s unexpected disclosure. He looked like a large cat ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey.

“Why? Who’s replacing him?”

“Why? Because they suspect someone very close to Nathaniel Webb is a mole.”

“Surely no one would suspect the Director of the Drug Enforcement Administration of selling out,” Matt said quickly.

Cord shook his head. “This has nothing to do with Nate. The man would turn his mother in if he caught her with a joint.” Matt rubbed his fingers over his smooth jaw, nodding in agreement. “And to answer your second question, Joshua Kirkland’s heading this maneuver.”

“No way,” Matt protested. “He’s out of it. Joshua retired several years back, and is now living in Jamaica.”

Cord shook his head. “Wrong, Mateo. The man’s back, and I’m supposed to meet him at the airport tomorrow evening. He’ll let me know who to contact for the pickup, and he’ll also arrange for the transfer of some of the highest-grade marijuana ever produced in Mexico. What you have to do is convince Delgado that you have the connections to move his drugs out of the country without implicating him or yourself.”

Matt kicked at a pebble, gritting his teeth. He hated masquerading as a drug smuggler, but he did trust Harry Blackwell enough to protect his name if the mission failed. There were too many people on covert U.S. government payrolls who would look the other way, or deny they ever knew Mateo Arroyo.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Nate the other day?” he asked Cord.

Cordero Birmingham’s blue eyes narrowed. “I just found out this morning. Your orders have been changed.”

“To what?” Matt’s voice was barely a whisper, his golden eyes resembling those of a trapped wolf.

“Someone has been tipping off Delgado. Your orders are now to take out the mole and leave Delgado in place.”

“Whose directive is this?”

“Joshua Kirkland’s.”

Matt felt a tightness in his chest. Blackwell’s orders were now worthless. They didn’t want him to rescue Christopher Delgado or identify the leader of the Costa Rican rebels. All they wanted was some damn mole who was embarrassing the United States. “Did you tell him about my marriage?”

“I mentioned you were to be married, but he didn’t
say anything. He just stared through me with those damned cold eyes,” Cord informed a frowning Matt.

Uneasiness etched on his face, Matt snorted audibly. “He’s a human machine who can freeze hell just by willing it,” he mocked, confirming Cord’s assessment of Joshua Kirkland. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. He’s the best in the business, and I could have worse watching my back,” he added in a lighter tone.

Cord turned away, not permitting Matt to see the expression of hardness marring his young, arresting good looks. “Why are you doing this, Mateo?”

“Doing what?”

“Operating in Mexico.”

Matt didn’t have an answer for Cord. His mind spun with the realization that he’d married Eve for nothing. He’d been reassigned; he wouldn’t be able to go after her ex-husband and rescue her son. How was he to tell Eve this after their month-long liaison? Or could he hope that the child was safely back in the U.S.? If the child was, then Harry should’ve gotten the word to him.

The thought also attacked him that Harry Blackwell knew he would never have operated openly in Mexico if it hadn’t been for the abducted child. What he had to find out was whether Christopher Delgado was still missing or back in the United States.

Cord turned back to Matt. “Why don’t you take your wife and get out of this stinking business, Mateo? Sell the hotel, move north, and settle down. You’re getting too old to continue flirting with death. You don’t need the money or the excitement anymore.”

A wicked grin lifted the corners of Matt’s mobile mouth. “Are you finished with the lecture, Cordero?”

“I’ll meet you in Puerto Angel in three weeks,” Cord replied smoothly. He’d seen the smile enough to know better than to test Mateo Arroyo’s temper. “Enjoy your wife.”
While you’re still alive
, he added silently.

Matt waited for Cord to leave before returning to the coolness of the house by a rear entrance, and made his way to Eve’s bedroom. Only her purse on the dresser indicated she’d occupied the space. Everything else belonging to her had been removed, and he wondered how long it would be before she would also become a memory.

Without any warning, Cord had informed him Delgado was no longer his target. And that meant he didn’t need Eve. But he did need her—not for his mission, not for her body, but for himself.

She offered something more: a sense of peace he never could seem to grasp. And she needed him, to get her son.

He cursed under his breath, the words ugly and savage. He cursed Harry Blackwell and he cursed Joshua Kirkland. The two men could rot in hell for setting him up. Not only had they set him up, but also Eve.

He sank down slowly to the bed, his hands tightening into fists. The uneasiness he felt before returned, and his chest rose and fell heavily from the naked fear snaking through his body. A vision of his death stabbed his brain.

He’d been close to death before, knowing what it felt like to sink deeper and deeper into darkness where there was no warmth or anything to hold on to.

The bullet had hit inches above his heart, instantly numbing his body with fire and pain. He’d run a
hundred yards before he found the courage to look down at his tunic soaked with blood. It had taken three men to hold him down before he was injected with a powerful narcotic. His movements had given away their position.

The men later told him that they didn’t know what had unnerved them more—his incredible strength or their possible capture by the guerrillas.

He wondered when he’d last actually relaxed and enjoyed being Matthew Sterling. Shaking his head, he smiled. It had been a long time. In fact, too long. Not since he’d taught at the small, private college in El Paso.

Matt, musing on some private memories, failed to notice Eve’s presence until his sensitive nostrils detected the subtle fragrance of her perfume. He glanced up, registering the tender expression on her face. Had she noted the void in his existence that money, danger, and other women had not filled?

He wasn’t able to tear his gaze away from hers as she stood only a few feet away, watching him wallow in the poignancy of unfulfilled dreams, while he managed a tentative smile. He was slipping. His instincts and reaction time had slowed. In the past he never would’ve allowed anyone to come within five feet of him without his internal radar alerting him of their approach.