Operation Willow Quest (7 page)

Pulling up outside her motel, Terry covered her
hand closest to him with his own. “Meet me tomorrow morning at my office, and I
promise I’ll tell you everything. Once I send off the proof, the Government
will have to do something. But to make sure, I want you to write an exposé on
these guys—
Trèago
included. He’s mixed up in this so
deep, it’ll make your head spin. I want you to make people sit up and listen
and make sure the Government follows through on the information I’ve given
them. Okay?”

Willow
searched his face. The
strange calm she saw there scared her. It was almost as though he didn’t think
he’d
be here to make sure it happened.
She managed a jerky nod and smiled, while inside she was sick with fear.

“Thanks Will, it really has been great to see
you again.” He smiled gently. When she frowned and went to speak, he ruffled
her hair affectionately. “Get some sleep, I’ll see you in the morning,” he
said, cutting off her protest and reaching across her to open the door
pointedly.

Willow
climbed out of the car
and watched him drive off, trying to shake off the apprehensive feeling that continued
to lurk. Tomorrow she’d have something to sink her teeth into. A crusade to
fight, to sate this lingering, unsatisfied revenge on Samuel
Trèago
. The man who continued to haunt her dreams and who
now it seemed—even though he was behind bars—still had the power to hurt
people. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

* * * *

She hadn’t gotten much sleep. Between going
over Terry’s parting words and her nightmares she felt like she’d been run over
by a bulldozer—so she did the only thing she could to fill in the long lonely
hours ahead of her. She sat down and got to work. Over the years, Willow had
gathered quite an ensemble of contacts down here—contacts that she’d been busy
calling since arriving here to see if they had any further leads she might be
able to follow after talking to Terry the previous night. She’d been so busy at
her computer writing up notes she would use for her expose, she’d completely
lost track of time. It was almost eleven in the morning when she finally looked
at the clock and remembered she was supposed to meet Terry. The short walk to
his office was an opportunity to pump the blood through her veins and work out
some of the turmoil her restless night had left her with.

She introduced herself to the same receptionist
she’d seen the day before. “Terry’s expecting me—Willow Sheldon.”

The young woman with large brown eyes looked up
with a slight frown of concern. “I am sorry,” she
apologised
,
her hands fluttering over the phone, “he’s not here at the moment, but if you
would like to wait?” She indicated the cluster of seats across the room.

“He’s not here?” Willow asked doubtfully.

“He is late.”

Taking a calming breath, she forced a smile to
her face. “I’ll call him and make a new appointment later.”

She left the office.
Where the hell
is he?
 
Standing outside the office building, she
contemplated her choices. A nagging worry about Terry’s whereabouts continued
to niggle at her as she made the short journey back to the motel. Taking off
her sunglasses, she slipped them into her handbag and was about to head up to
her room when she caught a whiff of something
tantalising
,
wafting in from the restaurant. Her stomach growled—reminding her she’d missed
breakfast, and she altered her course, deciding to follow her nose. Reaching
the doorway to the restaurant, she was disappointed to discover it didn’t serve
lunch until twelve. With a little over twenty minutes to wait, she decided to
kill the time by having a drink at the bar first.

“Miss Sheldon, what a lovely surprise,”
Alistair Whitehall’s cultured voice said from close beside her. Looking up, Willow could barely
disguise her frown of irritation as she met his eyes. “Please, allow me to buy
you a drink,” he offered, catching the bartender’s eye with a pompous click of
his fingers.

“I’ve already ordered one,” she said, and
smiled up at the bartender as he sat her orange juice before her. “
Muchas
gracias.”

“De nada,” he said and smiled, saying she was
welcome.

“They do speak English you know; you don’t have
to fumble your way through a guide book here.”

“Considering we’re visitors in their country,
it seems rude to assume they should speak English, don’t you think?”

“If they want tourism, they’ll have to.”

Willow bit her tongue, and turned her back on
him.
Arrogant jerk.

“I would like you to join me for lunch—they
have a continental chef here and apparently he’s very good.”

“Actually, I think I might try one of the
stands down town.” She’d lost her appetite of a few moments before, and the
last thing she felt like doing was to be making idle conversation with Alistair
Whitehall.

“Good grief, you don’t actually eat at those
places, do you?” He seemed shocked. “I’m afraid you won’t catch me eating
anywhere unless they have a European chef on staff.” Willow decided her cynical expression must
have shown on her face as he hastened to add, “But of course you’re more
adventurous than me.”

“No, I just can’t stand paying some over-paid,
arrogant chef to cook me something which barely fills a plate and costs a small
fortune.”

She saw the slight turn of
his lips and assumed he was attributing her lack of culture, to her
colonial
Australian roots.

“Well, what about dinner, we could—”

“Sorry, buddy, tonight the lady will be busy
welcoming her boyfriend home.” The deep drawl sounded from close behind her—and
triggered something resembling a tsunami in her stomach. She absently noted
Alistair’s blank look of surprise before she raised her eyes to the mirror
behind the bar, to meet the twinkling blue gaze of Peter Delaware. She turned
to face him, and it took a few seconds for the initial shock to wear off before
her gaze narrowed as she considered why he may have turned up.

* * * *

Seeing the comical transformation, Del leaned
closer, swooping down to cover her lips possessively in a kiss to back up the
lovers theory he’d thrown at the stiff-lipped English guy he’d been watching
try to chat her up for the past quarter of an hour. He felt the slight tremor
of Willow’s
lips beneath his own and eased the pressure, taking his time to stake out his
territory before he slowly pulled away. “Did you miss me, Babe?” he asked in a
silky bedroom voice. “You’ll have to excuse us, we have a lot of catching up to
do, haven’t we, sweetheart,” he said, his eyes flashing her a pointed message.

Throwing a quick glance toward Alistair, she
forced a sympathetic expression to her tight face. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t
expecting my…” she couldn’t make herself say the required words, no matter how
much she detested Alistair Whitehall, “if you’ll excuse us we have to go,” she
said instead.
Babe?
Babe!
How dare he pull a stunt like that in front of all these people!
She
was outraged by Del’s
audacity.

“My apologies, I had no idea you were…
er
, had a…I’m terribly sorry,” he said, backing away as Del
sent him a steady look which practically screamed,
“Get lost.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” she
whispered furiously as the other man departed.

“Having drink,” he answered, toasting her with
a glass he held in his hand.

It disturbed her to
realise
he must have been here quite some time and she hadn’t even noticed. “I don’t
know what kind of game you’re playing, but you can forget it right now. Go
home.”

“I’m not playing any games, sweetheart. You’re
the one who’s got herself in over her head here. I’m just the poor sap who’s
supposed to bring you home.”

“Bring me
home
?”
she spluttered indignantly. “Which century are you from?”

Del
’s glance went to the mirror
behind her and he tensed. “Where’s your room?”

“Yeah, like I’m going to invite you up there.”

“Move,” he said, rising from his chair swiftly,
“don’t argue—for once in your God-damn life, Sheldon,” he snarled in a low,
threatening tone, picking up an overnight bag sitting by his feet.

Unsettled by his hard look, she found herself
following him toward the lift. Taking out the key from her pocket, she glanced
sideways and tried to read his expression. It was set in a cold hard mask of
intense concentration. She suddenly
realised
what was
different about him—he didn’t have crutches. Although he did have a slight
limp.
Serves him
right
, she thought snidely, then bit her lip as a surge of guilt
rose up inside her.
Okay, so
I don’t want to see him hurt, but if he
thinks he
can just turn up out of the blue and pull one of his Neanderthal-man
tactics on
me, then he’s in for a
rude shock.

As the lift came to stop, he exited quickly.
“Give me the key,” he said, taking it from her stiff fingers as they reached
the door of the room. “Wait here.” He unlocked the door in one swift motion and
went inside, checking the bathroom and behind the curtains, and once he was
satisfied, beckoned her in from the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded,
thinking he’d completely lost his mind.

Spinning to face her, he growled, “What the
hell are
you
 
doing? Have you gone completely insane? Do you
have any idea what your digging around down here has been doing?”

“What I do is my business.”

“Is it? What about when you put yourself and
your sister—not to mention your niece—in danger?”

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes flashed
and she zeroed in on his terse expression.

“I’m talking about digging about in anything
that involves
Trèago
. Did you think you could go
about a place like this asking questions and not stir up trouble?”

“I’ve been careful,” she snapped, irritated by
his condescending tone.

“Come on, Sheldon, no one can keep a low
profile once they’ve put out as many feelers as you have around here.”

“How do you know all this?”

He sent her a look that clearly told her she
knew nothing. “I just do.”

“There’s something big happening here, Del, and if it involves
Trèago
, then you can bet your
arse
I’m going to be all over it,” she growled.

“It’s not your job,” he snapped. “Lady, you are
so far out of your depth here it’s almost funny. If
Trèago
has anything to do with this place, then you can bet he’s got people out there
watching your every move, reporting back to him. You have no clue how this
stuff works.”

“Well, excuse me, 007. I wasn’t aware Marines
were experts at everything!”

“Well, now you are,” he said calmly in the most
conceited tone she’d ever heard.

“I don’t need you butting into my life,” she
yelled.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly my idea of a
good time either,” he muttered dryly, “but whether you like it or not you’re
coming back with me.”

Chapter 6

“Like hell I am.”

Sighing long and hard, he shook his head and
moved towards her.

She took a startled step backwards and eyed him
warily. “What are you doing?”

“Trying really hard to remember why wringing
your pretty neck right now isn’t going to make my life any easier in the long
run,” he said sarcastically.

“Leave me alone, Del,” she warned, backing up against the far
wall and
realising
too late, he had her blocked. She
watched as a strange expression crossed his face, a flutter of uncertainty.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked,
stopping so close to her she could feel the heat he radiated. “You don’t treat
any of the others the way you treat me—why is that?”

“I d-don’t hate you,” she stammered nervously.

“Then why do we always end up fighting?” he
asked, his hand reaching up slowly to move aside a stray strand of dark hair
from her face.

“I don’t know.” Her voice was a whisper, as she
watched his eyes darken.

“I think you do.” His voice almost sounded
desperate, stunning her with its vulnerability. “Do you know that for the last
two years I’ve tried to figure out why? And it’s driving me crazy.”

Shaking her head numbly, she tried to wrench
her dazed thoughts away from the direction they were headed.

“Why, Willow?” he prompted urgently.

“I don’t know.” She could hear that her voice
was husky with denial.

“You do,” he said, turning her face toward his
and making her look at him. “I know you do. I can see it hidden there every
time you look at me. What did I do, to you?”