White Dawn: A Military Romantic Suspense Novel (8 page)

“And your name, too,” she said
flatly.

Nick took in a breath. “Perhaps I should
leave you two alone for a while and let you catch up.”

“No, please stay, Nick,” Olivia told
him. “You’re family now. You should get to know my father
properly.” She looked back at her father, who had shown no surprise
at her reference to Nick as family. How much did he already know?
“I am Señora Castellano now. I am also the Vistarian Ambassador to
the United States.”

“For a faction that has no control over
the country they call theirs,” her father shot back. “Really,
Olivia, can we at least be civilized? You said…” He glanced at
Nick. “When you made that call from Vistaria, you said you would
work to find a way for us to at least speak to each other once
more. I have met you more than halfway. This…” he waved his hand at
the room in general, “is more than any non-recognized nation would
receive from the United States.”

“We appreciate your gesture of good
will,” Nick said smoothly. “And I appreciate the opportunity to
speak with you, even if it is not in an official capacity.”

Olivia could almost
see
her
father switch mental gears. The politician was in the seat, now.
“The United States and I are very grateful for everything the
Loyalists have done to protect our citizens,” he told Nick.
“Although there is the matter of three Blackhawk helicopters that
we would like back.”

“You should take that up with my
civilian and military quarter-masters, through normal channels,”
Nick replied just as blandly. “I am not aware of what happened to
the Blackhawks after the raid on the White Sands. I was busy
arranging transport to take your daughter to Acapulco for medical
treatment.”

Nick was in effect saying, ”I made your
daughter a priority and you should, too.”

Her father sighed. “I don’t care about
the choppers either,” he said flatly. “Although as this is the most
official meeting you’ll get from anyone in the White House, it is
my duty to speak of them. Nicolás…may I call you Nicolás?”

“Nick, preferably,” Nick said easily,
but Olivia could tell he hadn’t dropped his mental guard.

“Nick, then. Thank you. Your arrival in
Washington puts the White House in an awkward position. You are not
in control of Vistaria.”

“Yet,” Nick said flatly. “That will
change. And soon.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I know the quality of the men in my
army. And I know the Insurrectos are recalculating their position
and double-guessing ours, after the raid. Serrano is wondering now
if we have the silent support of the United States, a possibility
that is probably keeping him awake at nights. His spies will have
told him by now that I am in the States. Depending on how deeply
entrenched his intelligence system is, in the next few hours he
will learn that you and I met, too.
That
will give Serrano
nightmares.” Nick’s smile was predatory.

Her father gave a small smile back. “It
is because of your assistance with the White Sands exercise that I
am here at all. That, and my daughter, of course,” he tacked
on.

Olivia shook her head in wonder. He
hadn’t changed at all.

“However,” he continued, “you should not
consider the goodwill you have generated to be in endless supply.
There is only so much we can do unofficially.” He hesitated.
“Unless the situation changes, of course.”

Nick didn’t twitch in reaction. “Isn’t
it unusual for the United States to be hanging back and waiting for
a cue from another country? Mexico isn’t considered a world leader,
after all.”

“But Mexico understands your nation’s
strengths and weaknesses far better than we do,” her father
replied. “If they feel it prudent to acknowledge your Loyalists and
open up diplomatic dialogue, that would be the best indication to
us that your efforts will bear fruit.”

It was diplomatic double-speak, full of
passive verbs and indirect references. Olivia sighed mentally.

Nick shook his head. “Mexico is waiting
for you to acknowledge us officially. They won’t move until you
do.”

Callan Davenport smiled and it was a dry
expression. “A genuine Mexican standoff,” he mused. “You do have a
problem, don’t you?”

“Not necessarily,” Nick said, just as
dryly. “We’re not shooting at either Mexico or the United States.
Your real standoff is with the Insurrectos. If you’re looking for a
sign of weakness, Colonel, then consider this—the first person to
shoot in a genuine Mexican standoff is generally the loser, because
the third person can fire at leisure.”

“An interesting analogy,” her father
replied and for the first time, Olivia saw something other than
diplomatic indifference in his eyes. His attention had been
pricked. “Are you saying the Insurrectos shot first?”

“They haven’t shot their bolt yet,” Nick
said. “But we know Serrano much better than the Mexicans do.
Serrano
will
shoot first. He won’t be able to help himself.
He has sloppy impulse control. He’ll go off half-cocked and he’ll
do it very soon.”

“That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t
it?” her father asked sharply.

Nick inclined his head in an almost
regal nod. “That is what I am waiting for,” he confirmed. “Then
I’ll drive a stake through the weakness he reveals. I’ll drive it
right through the weakness and into his heart.”

Olivia detected a faint air of
admiration from her father. She didn’t blame him. She was
impressed, too.

Carmen found Garrett in his little monk’s cell, bent
over patient charts on his desk. Despite it being seven in the
morning, he had a gas lantern hissing on the corner of the desk,
shedding a white glow over the desktop. The lantern told her
Garrett had not gone to bed.

“If you haven’t slept, perhaps you
shouldn’t come to the rendezvous,” she said.

“And who would go in my stead?” he asked
dryly.

“I could go. I started this,
anyway.”

He snorted and turned back to his
charts.

“
What
?” she demanded. “You’re
laughing at me?”

“I’m laughing at your notion that you
could lead anyone to do anything.”

Carmen swallowed her ire. “I’m trying to
do something nice for you,” she said, her jaw tight. “My fucking
mistake.”

“Don’t do that,” he snapped back.

“Do what?”

“Don’t do anything
nice
for me.
Don’t start pitying me. Don’t make allowances for me. In fact,
don’t think about me at all, okay?” His clear gray eyes skewered
her and it was almost painful being pinned by his glare.

“I wasn’t making allowances!” Carmen
shot back, although the relentless voice in her mind challenged
her.
Didn’t you spend most of your night wondering how damaged
he was?
“Look, Garrett, what happened to you was shitty. It was
the worst luck in the world and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst
enemy. I wouldn’t even wish it upon you. So yeah, there’s a little
part of me that feels a smidgen of sorrow for what you went
through. But you’re not the only sad sack stuck in this war.”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed.

Carmen didn’t give him a chance to
respond. “My father was a good and kind man and a brilliant leader.
He was a moderate and he ran this country like Swiss clockwork for
two decades. Then, because some deluded nuts with guns thought they
could do a better job, they dragged my father out of the palace by
the scuff of his neck, tossed him onto the earth, then stood back
and took pot shots at him with their hand guns, betting each other
who could hit him and
not
incapacitate him. He crawled
around on that dirt for two hours until he died from his wounds and
the whole time they jeered and kicked him.” Her voice wobbled and
she stopped, trying to repress the sadness and the fury that always
rose inside her whenever she thought about the report she had found
on Nick’s desk, outlining exactly how her father had died. Where
Nick had got the report from was a mystery. But she didn’t doubt it
was true, because Nick had never shared it with her.

So she swallowed the sense of
helplessness that swamped her whenever she thought of her father
and looked Garrett in the eye. “Everyone has a story, Garrett. But
you’re not letting yours out to breathe. You’re holding it all in
and brooding on it.”

Garrett considered her for a long,
silent moment. “
That’s
where you get your hatred of the
Insurrectos from.” He reached out and turned the gas lamp off. The
room was washed in pale early morning light from the high window.
“Do you know what a shaped charge is?”

Carmen narrowed her eyes. Why on earth
was he talking about explosives? “C4 that is molded into a shape,”
she replied. “Why?”

“Do you know why they shape it?”

“Because it’s more powerful that way.”
She shrugged.

“Because the explosion is contained and
directed,” he said. “
That’s
why it’s more powerful.” He
stood up. “I don’t let my story out to breathe, because by holding
it in, I’m containing it. Then I can direct it where I need
it.”

He directs it at the Insurrectos
.
Carmen bit her lip. “That’s no way to live,” she said softly.

“No one picked this life,” Garrett told
her dryly. “They’re doing it because that’s what they need to do to
survive. The survival instinct is strong in people who have no
choices. They understand in their gut what will give them the best
chances of living. They follow me because they know they have a
better chance of surviving with me. You are a rank amateur who
happens to have some talent at war. But no man in this outfit would
agree to follow you to a town picnic because you’re an unknown
quality and you have weaknesses.” He picked up the hem of his tee
shirt. “Get out of my office so I can change, Escobedo. I have a
rendezvous to make.”

Carmen swallowed. The toxic taste in her
mouth made her want to moan. How could she have felt any sympathy
for him at all? He really was cold, ruthless and calculating. There
wasn’t a human bone in his body. “Sometime I hate your guts,” she
said.

“Feeling’s mutual,” he said flatly.

Carmen didn’t bother shutting the door
behind her. He could damn well shut his own door.

Minnie had said she would only be away
for a few minutes, which was the only reason Téra could sit still
in the chair in the corner and read. The book she was reading was
The Once and Future King
, in English. Reading English still
challenged her and it kept her mind on the story.

The office they were in had once been a
bedroom in the big house. Not a very big bedroom, but they had
squeezed in two small desks and filing cabinets. Rubén Rey, the
army’s quarter master and Minnie, who was the civilian
quarter-master, worked together to keep supplies flowing for the
big house and the army quartered on the beach below. They had
laptops hooked together to form a small network and used some sort
of miracle purchasing system that Minnie had invented that saved
oodles of money.

The bedroom office was tucked away in a
quiet corner of the house and Téra liked to sit and read in the
corner while Rubén and Minnie did their mysterious magic. The pair
of them would make comments to each other every now and again that
had no context at all, because they were both looking at figures
and spreadsheets that Téra couldn’t see. But the sound of human
voices was comforting and it wasn’t like she was burning to know
what they were doing anyway.

Minnie would have been justified if she
got mad about Téra constantly being at her elbow. Téra didn’t need
anyone to tell her she was clinging to Minnie for security. She
knew that perfectly well. But the need to always be in someone’s
company would fade eventually…or so the books assured her.

Not all her reading was fiction. She had
read the few medical texts in the house and knew that she was
suffering a mild form of Post Traumatic Shock Disorder. Minnie
probably knew it, too, for she never complained when Téra settled
nearby. Duardo would have warned her if Minnie didn’t like it.
Rubén Rey didn’t complain either, but he never said anything to her
voluntarily.

Twenty minutes went by before Téra
lifted her head and noticed that Minnie wasn’t back. She had been
lulled by the quiet click of Rubén Rey’s keyboard. “Do you think
she’ll be back soon?” she asked, uneasiness touching her.

Rubén looked at her over the top of his
laptop screen. “I hope so. I need her data to finish this
order.”

Téra bit her lip. She closed the book.
“Perhaps I should go and look for her.”

“You’re welcome to stay if you want,”
Rubén said. “You’re quite safe here.”

Téra could feel her cheeks heating.

Rubén glanced at the door to the room,
which was not quite closed. Then his gaze met hers. “I’ve never had
the chance before to tell you how sorry I am about what Lucas De la
Cruz did to you.”

Téra pressed her hand to her stomach,
which was hurting. “Does
everyone
know about that?” she
whispered.

Rubén shook his head. “It’s not gossip.
But I was part of the debriefing so I got to hear the details.” His
eyes were very direct behind the glasses.

Téra was almost overwhelmed by the urge
to get out the room
now
, but she forced herself to stay
seated. Her heart was hurting, so fast was it beating. She had
broken out into a sweat. “Why were you part of the debriefing?” she
asked. “You questioned people?”

Duardo had been relentless in his
scouring of the army personnel, their records, their backgrounds
and histories, afterward. But only those people who needed a second
look were given a complete, exhausting debriefing. Téra had been
one of them, of course, and the debriefing had taken three days,
while every moment she had spent with Lucas had been examined,
prodded and poked for nuance and meaning. At the end of the process
she had felt hollowed out and empty, not even able to feel
embarrassed about the fact that her brother had sat listening to
her describe her sexual obsession with Lucas and how it had played
out.