Mexican Heat (Nick Woods Book 2) (20 page)

“I
understand,” she said, “but at some point you need to move on. Even she would
want that.”

Nick met
Isabella’s brown eyes and she slid her hand further up his arm, to his elbow.
Her fingers felt light, soft, and inviting.

Isabella
could barely control herself. He stood there, so tall, so magnificent, so
rugged. And his clumsiness made him even more attractive to her. This was a
real man. The kind of man who’d work all day in the fields and come home with a
six-pack of beer, not a dozen roses.

Men like
him weren’t much for words or romance, but they understood grit. And they’d
stick when things went south. In a world full of men who whitened their teeth
and shaved their chest, this man appealed to her like old, worn leather. He was
from a different period.

A lion,
still fierce, but a drifter. He had nothing left to prove -- he had already
lived a dozen lifetimes, and carried the physical and emotional scars like a
weight around his neck -- and yet he had so much fight left. So much more
living to do and even a passing glance at him would tell a stranger that he
intended to live it.

A man
like him didn’t know how to quit or retire or back down. Like a wandering lion,
he was okay avoiding the confrontation of other males eager to prove their
strength, but he would not back down if cornered. Or if duty called.

They
didn’t make them like Nick Woods anymore, and Isabella couldn’t shake the
thought of what a man of his strength would be like. It was something she
wanted to experience more than she could possibly explain.

He
stepped back again, hitting the wall, but appearing to gain control of himself.

“I can’t
do this with a woman I’m in command of,” he said.

Isabella
smiled. She knew she had him. She stepped forward again. “And in six months,
you won’t be in command of me,” she said.

She
stepped against him and ran her hand from his elbow up to his upper arm.

“I’m not
ready for a relationship,” Nick said.

“And I’m
not looking for one.”

She moved
her face just inches from his and she could smell the light sweat of his body.
She placed her hand on his chest and moved in, kissing him lightly. She pulled
back and allowed her hand to drift down his chest to his abs.

She
lightly kissed him again and then turned and walked away, as if nothing had
happened. But, as she opened the door, she looked back at him and smiled -- a
smile so wide and inviting that she couldn’t possibly have faked something so
real.

“I’ll
round up the men,” she said, and then looked down at his lower abs and raised
her eyebrows again, laughing as she left.

Nick
stood there, completely floored. He could feel every single place her fingers
had touched, from his forearm, to his elbow, to his arms and chest and stomach.
And the way she had just looked at him… He shuddered.

His
senses felt as alive as they had felt in a long time and he stood straighter,
feeling better about himself than he’d felt in years.

“Nothing
like a little romance to get the confidence back,” he thought. Then he tried to
suppress the thought. “Enough of that. Get your head back in the game, Nick.”

But he
couldn’t shake a single thought: If the opportunity arose, he might just go for
it.

Forty
minutes later, the Primary Strike Team finished watching President Rivera’s
press conference. Nick stood as far away from Isabella as he could, and he
wondered if any of the men could read the thoughts he had running through his
mind.

This new
attraction to Isabella was the last thing he needed. They were in the middle of
a war, for Christ’s sake.

When the
press conference ended, Dwayne Marcus said, “This isn’t good.”

“I’m not
sure what’s going on,” Nick said. “But I for damn sure don’t like being surprised
like this. I thought we were on the same page with the President, and no plan
I’m aware of involved an arrest warrant for this piece of garbage.”

“We won’t
have to wait long to find out,” Marcus said. “Probably either Mr. Smith or
someone from the Mexican government will be contacting us soon.”

Chapter
23

Marcus’s
prediction proved true. Mr. Smith called Nick on his secure, encrypted phone
three hours after the press conference.

“President
Rivera wants to meet with you,” Smith said.

“Tough
luck,” Nick said.

“Nick,
don’t be this way.”

“First of
all, I don’t do diplomacy,” Nick said. “Secondly, we’re in a secure location
and we’re not giving up where we are so we can be followed back -- either by
President Rivera’s police or Hernan Flores’s people.”

“President
Rivera wouldn’t follow you,” Smith said. “You’re forgetting that he invited the
men of S3 there. He needs you. Their government needs you. Their people need
you. Don’t forget that.”

“And
you’re forgetting,” Nick said, “that he denounced the Vigilantes and now is way
off the mark with this public call to arrest Flores. Truth be told, we don’t
know what he’s thinking. He could be up to anything.”

“You’re
starting to sound paranoid again,” Smith said.

“And you
sound like a guy sitting behind a desk in Washington.”

“We need
you to meet with him.”

“I’m the
wrong man. Believe me on that. If he wants to meet, then you meet with him or
send someone else from the Agency. Send the CIA contact you’ve got down here to
babysit me. Believe me, it would be a mistake to send me.”

“You
represent the Agency,” Smith said, “in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Wrong. I
represent a private military contractor named Shield, Safeguard, and Shelter,
which won a government contract to help train Mexican security forces, in case you
forgot.”

“Come on,
Nick. You’re in the Agency. You know that.”

“I’ll
remember that if I get picked up wearing street clothes and a bandana, with an
AK slung across my back. Otherwise, they might just think I’m an American
terrorist or hitman.”

Smith sighed.

“Nick,
you know you can’t say you’re with the Agency. You have a cover, you use it.
Call it a training op for your company or maybe a --”

“I can
handle coming up with a cover story. Maybe you forgot how I snuck out of
Afghanistan with a thousand Soviet troops trying to nab my ass?”

“And
maybe you forgot that if you listened to our counsel, you could work with the
Mexican government and they’d know your location and plans and -- get this --
you wouldn’t have to worry about being pulled over with your AK and bandana.”

“Clearly,”
Nick said, as angry as he’d been in a long time, “you fucking forgot about the
Navy SEAL Team that got slaughtered down here. I’ll bet you don’t even know how
many died.”

“Nick,
calm down.”

“You
don’t, do you?”

“Nick,
I’m not playing this game with you. No, I don’t know off the top of my head how
many died, and no, I have not killed as many men as you, and yes, I am a pencil
pusher. You win. But remember, guys like you -- even such a big-time hero --
need guys like me, providing intel and support and --”

“You’ve
been sending intel?” Nick asked. “I must have missed that.”

“Nick,
you
are
to meet with the President and you
will
represent the
Agency well. He wants to meet tomorrow at --”

“He needs
to be meeting with either your boss or our President,” Nick said. “I’m not the
one off script.”

“And you
need to remember that you are in Mexico at the invitation of President Rivera.
You piss him off and this mission is done. And with the mission off, you can
kiss your two million dollars goodbye.”

Nick
laughed.

“You
think I’m doing this for the money? How fucking stupid are you?”

Nick
turned off the phone and dropped it on the desk.

“Marcus,”
he yelled.

Marcus,
who had been standing in the hall in case Nick needed him, stepped into Nick’s
office.

“Yes,
sir?”

“Marcus,
get our Mexican contact to find out when the President wants to meet, and let’s
start planning how we get there early -- and safe -- and how we leave and get
out without being followed. Oh, and assign somebody to buy about five more used
vehicles, for this ridiculous dog-and-pony show I’m going to have to attend.”

“Will
do,” Marcus said. He turned to head out.

“Oh, and
Marcus? Get with the squad leaders. I want back-up squads strategically located
nearby and on exit points along our exfiltration route. This may be the most
dangerous thing we’ve done since we’ve been here.”

“Agreed,”
Marcus said. “I don’t trust hardly anyone in their government.”

Marcus
started to leave and stopped.

“What
made you change your mind on meeting him?”

“I’m
hoping I can change his damn mind,” Nick said.

The
following day, after a marathon night of planning, Nick arrived at the
Presidential Palace. He had to leave Marcus, Isabella, Truck, Lizard, Bulldog,
Preacher, and Red by their two vehicles outside the gate and was forced to
proceed inside alone. They were all heavily armed, with even more weapons in
their vehicles, but Nick knew if the Mexican government wanted to arrest him,
his team would almost certainly not be able to breach the Palace to rescue him.

But,
Isabella and Marcus both felt this wouldn’t be some arrest attempt, but rather
a speech to get Nick to stand down. And maybe an attempt to track and follow
them back to their base of operations, but nothing more in their opinion. So,
Nick reluctantly agreed to enter alone.

However,
Nick, being Nick, wanted to plan worst case, so he had all three squads work
out contingency plans in case the government tried to arrest him. Nick knew
they couldn’t hold off the army once it responded, but he did feel that his
Primary Strike Team, working with the three squads, could probably breach the
Palace and pull off his rescue. Casualties would be enormous, but with an
aggressive attack and heavy weapons and sniper support, they all believed it
was possible.

Nick left
his Primary Strike Team and allowed security forces to search him and confirm
he was unarmed -- a feeling that he did
not
like at all. Once they were
done, an aide walked him down numerous hallways and corridors. Nick tried to
stay oriented, but soon gave up. They had him if they wanted him and there
wasn’t much he could do about it. Instead, he focused on what he would say and
how he would react once he came face-to-face with the President.

Nick knew
he wasn't much of a talker or a man who liked to argue, and certainly, the
President would be. Like all politicians, he’d be all talk and not much spunk.

The
meeting was going to be bad no matter what, but Nick felt even more off-guard
since he had wanted Marcus and Isabella in the meeting. Marcus for his counsel,
Isabella to translate. But an aide had said the President spoke perfect
English, so a translator was unnecessary. The aide had further said that the
President had insisted he would only meet with Nick, and Nick alone.

“He
doesn’t want other witnesses to this meeting, which of course, isn’t really
happening,” the aide said timidly.

Nick had
grinned and gripped the young aide who looked about twenty on the shoulder.

“I know
the deal, bud. I know far too well about doing things that never happened.
Believe me. Now, just show me the way.”

The young
aide bowed and led Nick through the compound.

Nick
hated the absurd amount of decor and splendor he saw as he made his way to the
meeting. Gold lined the walls, paintings that looked priceless hung throughout,
and stout, plush furniture unlike anything Nick had ever seen occupied waiting
rooms. He wondered if the President had any idea how poor most of his people
were.

“All
politicians are the same,” he thought to himself. “Stealing from the poor to
line their own pockets.”

They
finally reached their destination. Nick knew it was the final barrier because
it had the hallmarks of any big-shot executive’s inner sanctum. First, it had
the hottest secretary he’d ever seen in his life, and she sat behind a
boat-sized executive desk. Second, it had a foreboding wall, thick door, and
impressive security -- besides what he assumed was a hard-nosed secretary. The
impressive security in this case was composed of two stout secret service
agents by the door.

Nick
wondered how many secret service agents were hidden in rooms and basements
throughout the complex. Probably a couple hundred, if he had to guess, after
the most recent attack on the Presidential Palace.

“Please,
wait right here,” the aide said, pointing to a massive couch.

“I know
how this works, young man. The President makes me wait an hour or so to prove
his power and then we talk.”

The aide
frowned. “Actually, the President is looking forward to meeting you. He will be
with you very soon. As soon as he finishes his meeting, in fact. Please,” he
said, pointing, “please be seated.”

Nick
noticed the two agents staring him down like he was a criminal. They knew when
a fellow shooter was in their midst, and their senses screamed danger. Nick
waved, fake tipped a hat, and smiled. Then he sat down and sunk into the couch,
which was too big and plush to be comfortable.

He looked
around for a magazine to read, saw none, and smiled at the secretary who kept looking
him over. Nick glanced down at his jeans and cowboy boots and realized he
probably wasn’t dressed to code. Yet, he
had
put on a long-sleeved,
button-up shirt, so there was that.

A couple
minutes later, the door to the Presidential Suite opened and five men in
business suits shook hands with President Roberto Rivera and exited the room.
Rivera noticed Nick and followed the group of men toward him.

Nick rose
to greet him. The President was decently tall, like most politicians. Nick
guessed his height at about six feet -- a tad taller than Nick, but not nearly
as lean. Nick had clearly spent more time running miles and shooting lead on
the range instead of sitting in meetings and reading reports. But, still, the
President was a good-looking man, and he would definitely still qualify as fit.
If Nick were a woman, then he’d definitely consider the man handsome. No wonder
the man had never lost an election.

“A
pleasure to meet you,” Rivera said. “Thank you for coming in.”

Nick
nodded.

“Please,
step into my office.”

Rivera
pointed to a chair and Nick sat, watching Rivera take a seat behind yet another
gigantic executive desk, except this one was more elegant and distinguished. It
probably came from some historic, wooden battleship or something. Nick knew the
drill.

Then he
realized that Rivera now sat higher than him.

He’s in a
taller chair
, Nick thought.

Rivera
steepled his fingers in front of his chin.

“Normally,
in a meeting like this,” Rivera said, “you don’t want to be the first to speak.
It’s a sign of,” Rivera waved his hand, “weakness, if you will.”

“You
wouldn’t want to try to outwait me,” Nick said, remembering once outwaiting an
enemy sniper for hours.

“So I
hear.” Rivera smiled.

Nick
didn’t.

Rivera
noticed the lack of a return smile and said, “You’re obviously upset about the
meeting, and I understand from my aides that you’re afraid that coming in for
this talk will give your operating base away to the Godesto Cartel?”

“Seems to
be a trend.”

Rivera
shook his head in reluctant agreement. “Unfortunately, drugs and money stacked
higher than your wildest imagination have indeed corrupted many in our
government. But, we have ferreted out many of these who have sold out their
loyalty.”

“It only
takes one,” Nick said, “but I’m not here to listen to excuses. What did you
want to meet about?”

“I feel,
respectfully of course, that you need to give more credit to those who resist
the pressures of the Godesto, as well as understand better those who can’t.”

“I don’t
see me respecting anybody who sells out their brothers for money,” Nick said.
“Don’t waste your breath.”

“How
would you feel if you were a police officer or government official and you came
home one day from a hard day at work, only to have someone stop and offer you a
bribe?”

Rivera
paused and reached for a cigar. He clearly worked on his storytelling. “Of
course, your first thought would be to arrest them or turn them in.”

Rivera
offered Nick a cigar and Nick declined.

“As I was
saying, your first thought would be to arrest them.” He lit the cigar and
puffed on it to get it burning right. “Maybe even shoot them. But, that would
quickly disappear once the cartel man mentioned that they knew where your wife
worked and where your daughter went to school. Can you imagine that?”