Danger Close Read online

  "What makes you so sure terrorists broke into the lab?" Commander MacDougal asked. "It could have been anyone."

  "The gun used to kill the guard was Russian, probably a Makarov, given the bullet found in his skull."

  "Well, it's a good thing your colleague wasn't there," Mad Max observed.

  Ricardo nodded his agreement. "A very good thing," he agreed, "especially since she's a young woman. Who knows what they might have done to her?"

  Sam must have made some kind of choking sound because every set of eyes in the room, including Kuzinsky's, flicked in his direction. He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands in order to mask his consternation. Only Bronco could have guessed the reason for it. Ricardo's colleague had to be Maddy Scott. What other young female would be skirting disaster?

  The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. He heard Ricardo insinuate that Hezbollah had realized they could strike at the heart of the Great Satan by attacking U.S. interests in South America versus attacking the U.S.A outright. It was up to the SEALs to stop them.

  After taking a few questions, Ricardo glanced at his watch and said that he had to be going.

  Mad Max appeared a bit nonplussed that the case officer was wrapping up the meeting prematurely, but in deference to the man's exhaustion and to his status as a new father, Max agreed that they could pick up the conversation at their next meeting. The CO stood up and the others followed suit, their height and breadth making the CIA contact look slight by comparison.

  Compelled to share a private word with Ricardo, Sam arrived first at the door, but then protocol demanded that he hold it open while everyone filed out ahead of him—all except for Bronco, who trailed him down the flag-stone corridor.

  "I can't believe she's here," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  Sam ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on Ricardo's dark head. When the man excused himself and slipped out of a side door, Sam gestured for Bronco to proceed with the others. He waited for all the SEALs to turn a corner before ducking out of the door and giving chase.

  Pushing outside, he allowed his eyes a split second to adjust to the dark. He'd emerged in the grassy area between the administration building and the outer wall of the installation. As a gate clanked shut before him, he chased Ricardo's shadow through it and, seconds later, stepped out onto the main road. The headlights of an approaching car illuminated a lone figure crossing the street. Sam checked the urge to call Ricardo's name as he couldn't risk being overheard.

  Dodging the oncoming car, he pursued the operative. By the time he reached the other side, the man was gone. Sam searched the stoops of the squat buildings to the left and right. Spying an alley between two buildings, he waded into it.

  "Ricardo," he called softly.

  A scuffling sound was his only warning before he found himself flung face-first against the wall of a house. The rough adobe surface scraped his cheek.

  "Why are you following me?" a silky voice inquired.

  While he marveled at Ricardo's stealth, the man was no match for him. Still, Sam submitted to having his arm twisted behind his back. "I'm not," he said. "I just have a question for you."

  The case officer released him. "And you couldn't ask me this question earlier?" He glanced toward an open window as a light came on, and they both moved away from it into the shadows. "What is it?"

  "Your colleague," Sam began, "the woman who works in the lab with you. It's Madison Scott, isn't it?"

  Ricardo's dark eyes flashed with surprise. "How do you know Maddy?"

  Sam didn't care for the sound of her nickname on another man's lips. "I'm a friend of her father's." Not technically a lie since he'd saved Lyle Scott's life. "Sam Sasseville." He stuck out a hand and Ricardo shook it.

  "Oh, yes, she mentioned you once." Ricardo's gaze flickered over him, appraising him. "You're the Navy SEAL who took her out of Matamoros. She'll never forgive you for that."

  Initial satisfaction that she'd mentioned him gave way to disquiet upon hearing that she still held a grudge. "Is she okay," he asked, "after what happened at the lab?"

  Ricardo's gaze flickered toward the lit window where a silhouette moved behind the curtain. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" he suggested, gesturing toward it. "This is her condo. Mine is attached on the other side." Turning, he started to walk away.

  Sam ripped his gaze from the window. "Wait! No, I can't talk to her," he protested, but Ricardo had managed to vaporize into the night. The silhouette behind the curtain disappeared.

  Maddy. Sam's blood thrummed at the realization that she was just on the other side of that glass. He'd told his men that they weren't to have any contact with her, and yet here he was, practically on her doorstep and, for the life of him, he lacked the willpower to simply walk away.

  As he took the few steps to her front door, casting guilty glances at the barracks across the street, he told himself he would only check to see how she fared at having come upon a murdered guard that day. Not that he owed Lyle Scott any sort of allegiance, but any father would appreciate a friend checking on his daughter's emotional state following a scare. Making up his mind, he approached her door.

  * * *

  The downy hair on Maddy's forearms prickled. Someone outside her window had been watching her. She had sensed a presence when she went to ascertain that the window was locked. Hauling the flimsy curtain across the glass, she tucked herself in the corner of the room and hugged herself in fear.

  Were the terrorists watching already, waiting for her to slip up?

  She hadn't told a soul about the threat to her life—not even Ricardo. With the advent of darkness, her fears overwhelmed her suddenly. Had the leader with the blue-green eyes regretted his impulse to let her live? Would he find her as he'd threatened and finish her off?

  Glimpsing the night sky through her kitchen window, Maddy darted across the room to draw the curtain over her sink. Feeling slightly safer, she turned and eyed her small refrigerator. She had yet to eat but she had no appetite to speak of, not with the vision of Enrique's fissured skull still so fresh in her memory. Perhaps a stiff drink would calm her jitters.

  In the cabinet, she located the bottle of native rum she had bought at the market and tipped the bottle to her lips, swallowing a gulp. The sweet, scalding liquid made her eyes water. She went to take another sip only to freeze with the bottle halfway to her mouth when a knock reverberated through her half-furnished condo.

  Good God! She set down the bottle before she dropped it. Her heart threw itself against her breastbone as she envisioned the Middle Eastern leader on her doorstep. Perhaps he'd decided she would betray him and his men, after all? She would open the door and he would shoot her on the spot.

  She edged toward the hallway, intending to hide under her bed or, better yet, crawl out of her bedroom window and run to Ricardo, who could protect her with his gun.

  She had just fled into her dark room when the knock came again, "Maddy," called a distinctly American voice. "It's me, Sam."

  She whirled and stared at the door in stupefaction. Sam? How could Sam be here? Her gaze darted to the rum still sitting on the counter. She had to be hallucinating.

  "Open up. I want to know if you're okay."

  That had to be Sam. No one else was so infernally bossy. She retraced her steps to unlock the door with uncertain hands. The light from her condominium fell on Sam's rugged beauty—crooked nose and all—his broad shoulders and long legs. Without thinking, she launched herself at him, hugging him with a whimper of relief.

  "Whoa, hey, hello to you, too," he exclaimed, clearly not expecting such a warm welcome. With a glance over his shoulder, he maneuvered them both inside of the building and shut the door with his heel, all without releasing her.

  Maddy held tight, absorbing reassurance from the breadth of his chest and mustering the strength to stop digging her fingers into his camouflage jacket. She couldn't afford to look weak in front of him. Collecting her composure, she released him and stepped ba
ck. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

  He didn't answer right away. Jungle green eyes raked her pale face, sliding down her rigid torso to the fingers she was curling into fists. "What's going on?" he countered.

  "What do you mean?" A sudden suspicion had her clapping a hand to her forehead. "My father sent you here again?" she railed, anger driving back her fear.

  "No."

  His immediate assurance only confused her more. "Then he sent you here to spy on me," she concluded, still bristling.

  "Wrong again. I just met your colleague, Ricardo."

  "Ricardo?" What did Ricardo have to do with any of this?

  "He mentioned what happened at the lab today."

  An image of Enrique flashed before her eyes.

  "Are you okay?" Sam continued. "You seem...," he angled his head with suspicion, "you don't seem like yourself."

  She tore her gaze from his all-seeing eyes and fixed it on the bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. "I think I'm drunk," she said, seizing the first excuse she could think of.

  He glanced over at the bottle. "The bottle's still full. You sure you're not just scared?"

  Maddy lifted her chin a notch. "Of course not." She ruined that assertion by all but jumping out of her skin as Sam laid a hand squarely over her thumping heart.

  "Tell me what happened today," he exhorted.

  Maybe she was dreaming him. That was all she seemed to do lately. She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that he was here in the flesh, in a place where she'd never expected him to be, regarding her with concern. Part of her longed to share her terrifying experience, but she couldn't. Sam would have her packing and on a plane headed for home by sunrise tomorrow.

  "Nothing," she said with a shrug.

  "You found the body of the guard at the lab," he stated.

  "Right. But nothing else happened." She winced the instant the words passed through her lips because they so obviously sounded like a lie.

  He cocked his head a second time, suspicion brightening his eyes. "You saw the men who killed him," he immediately guessed.

  Maddy shook her head. "No." She forced the denial past her tongue.

  He stepped closer, using his height and breadth to impose his will on her. "Were they foreign soldiers?" he interrogated, ignoring her denial. "Lebanese, maybe?"

  Surely he could see the pulse galloping at the base of her throat. "I don't know. I never saw them," she insisted.

  "Then why are you so terrified right now?"

  "I'm fine." She cast a longing glance at the bottle of rum. Maybe another shot or two or three would convince her of that.

  "Maddy." Sam's large hands rose without warning to capture her face between his large, warm palms. A frisson of awareness arced clear to her toes. "Those men have been identified as terrorists. If you know anything about them, anything at all, we could use that information."

  "That's why you're here," she realized, putting two and two together. He hadn't chased her to the Southern Hemisphere just to be close to her again. Of course, not. Why would she even think that when he'd left her home in McLean without so much as a fare-thee-well?

  He released her with a grimace of annoyance. "I can't talk about that," he told her flatly. "Our presence here is top secret. No one is supposed to know, not even you. Promise me." He held up a warning finger.

  Maddy glared at it. She hated when he pointed his finger at her. "I know how to keep secrets," she averred, flinching inwardly as she realized she was keeping one from him now.

  Doubt reared its grizzly head. If the Lebanese soldiers were terrorists, then shouldn't she tell Sam everything she knew? But then she would have to admit that her life had been threatened, and Sam would insist that she leave the country.

  Besides, what could she tell him that might possibly be useful?

  He flipped his wrist over to glance at his watch. "I have to be going," he said. Looking back at her, his gaze centered on her mouth.

  Craving a kiss, Maddy touched her tongue to her parched lips. "I can't believe you're here," she marveled. "It's almost like you're following me," she added, laughing self-consciously at her wishful thinking.

  "Pretty amazing coincidence," he agreed. Cynicism curled the edges of his upper lip. "I'm not supposed to have contact with any civilians in the area," he added, putting a damper on her expectations.

  "Oh." Her giddiness evaporated. "I see." He would leave without another backward glance, just like the last time.

  But he didn't. Instead, he stood there taking her in with such brooding intensity that it dawned on her that he didn't really want to leave. The pleasure that bloomed from that realization emboldened her. Seizing the front of his BDU jacket, she jerked him closer and stole the kiss she'd been craving.

  The feel of Sam's supple lips made her groan in remembered pleasure. He responded with initial restraint, his body tense with self-control. But then his control crumbled suddenly, dissolving into an avalanche of desire as he palmed her head, cupped the curve of her bottom and plundered her mouth like a man starved for the taste of her.

  Behind closed eyelids, Maddy's world tipped off its axis. A shimmering heat spread to her extremities. She could feel Sam's heart thudding beneath her palm, his sex swelling against her hip. Would he stop? Did she even want him to?

  Then, with a frustrated growl, he raised his head and gazed at her from beneath hooded eyes. Breathing harshly, he brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb and reluctantly released her.

  "Stay out of trouble," he ordered, turning to the door. He flicked off the light before stepping through it—to keep anyone outside from seeing him, she realized—and shut the door firmly behind him.

  Maddy released a whimper as her expectations drained abruptly away, leaving her feeling deprived. She drifted to the door, locked and bolted it, and then went to peek through her kitchen window, hoping to catch another glimpse of Sam, but he had disappeared. There was nothing to see except the sandy front yard, a scraggly cactus plant, and an empty street. Would he even come back? she wondered, or would he keep away like he said he had to?

  She reached for the bottle of rum and tossed back one more swig. One thing she was grateful for, she wasn't so terrified anymore. By some miracle, Sam Sasseville, her unlikely guardian angel, had followed her to Paraguay. And oddly enough, his assignment was to get those men who'd almost killed her today—the men who had murdered Enrique and terrorized her.

  Once they were dealt with, Maddy wouldn't have to worry that the leader might change his mind and come looking for her. God, she hoped Sam and his SEALs dispatched those men quickly!

  Putting the bottle away, she retreated to her bathroom to prepare for bed. As she laid her head on her pillow minutes later, she prayed she would dream of Sam and not the Lebanese leader with the blue-green eyes.

  Chapter 6

  Maddy cast Ricardo a puzzled glance as he drove them from the Guaraní village back toward the lab. "How do you even know Sam?" she asked him.

  Dark eyes flickered her way. "Who?"

  "Lieutenant Sasseville. He's a friend of mine. How do you know him?"

  "Oh, him." Ricardo shrugged his shoulders, staring straight ahead. "You mentioned once that he saved your father's life."

  The wind whistling through the Jeep's lowered window sent her hair into her eyes. "He said he spoke to you last night," she relayed.

  "Hmm. We must have run into each other at the Cantina. I stopped by for a drink."

  "Oh." The bar Ricardo referred to was the only place for drinks in Mariscal Estigarribia. She supposed Sam might have run into Ricardo there, but his kiss hadn't tasted of beer or liquor. If he'd gone there at all, he hadn't had a drink. Maddy surrendered the mystery with a shrug and changed subjects. "Do you think that cow died from toxins in the river?" she queried.

  The dead cow had been the topic of conversation among the indigenous villagers who relied on the Pilcomayo River for their drinking water as well as to water their livestock. Her gaze traveled p
ast Ricardo's profile to the red and white striped oil well raking the blue sky. "That oil well there can't be more than two miles from the village."

  Ricardo didn't take his eyes off the rutted dirt road. "No way," he replied. "The alkalinity and the pH are both within normal range, and we haven't come across any significant hydrocarbons."

  Maddy's gaze remained fixed on the spire of the closest oil well. There were two dozen more in El Gran Chaco that she couldn't see. "So you don't think the wells contaminate the environment," she concluded. "And there's no link between the dead cow and the locals complaining of gastro-intestinal trouble and dizziness?" Half the older population at the Guaraní village had mentioned similar symptoms in the last month.

  "From the tests we've performed, that doesn't appear to be the case," Ricardo answered smoothly. "The river water is clean."

  So the tests suggested, but Maddy remained skeptical. The wells had to be impacting the environment somehow; it was merely a matter of determining where and how.

  "What about the water in the Poseidon ponds?" she demanded, referring to the enormous reservoirs dug throughout the region. Water, siphoned from the ponds, was mixed with sand and chemicals and injected under pressure into the shale deep beneath the ground to break it apart, releasing the oil and gas trapped beneath the earth. It was then then collected, refined, and shipped off to market. "Where does it come from?" she demanded.

  Just then an 18-wheeler rumbled toward them, kicking up dust as it beat the worn road. "They truck it in," Ricardo said, pointing to the approaching tanker truck.

  "You sure about that?" Maddy asked, studying the approaching vehicle. "It takes four hundred tanker trucks to supply one well with what it needs. You saw how low the Pilcomayo River is running."

  Ricardo flicked her wry glance. "What are you saying?" He had to shout to be heard over the truck as it barreled past. "Scott Oil upholds the highest standards. I thought that was the reason you work for GEF—to prove to the world that your father's company is harmless."