Spy Hard. Dana Marton
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Don had come out earlier when Jase’d been in her room…
He thanked his lucky stars and watched as she headed toward her door, her neck pulled in. Apparently she didn’t move quickly enough. The Don grabbed her by the arm. Hard enough to leave marks.
Jase’s muscles tightened.
Her hands slid in a protective gesture to her abdomen as she tried to pull away. She winced as the man shoved her toward her room. The door closed behind them with a slam.
Then the Don proceeded to shout at her some more in Spanish, his tirade muted now and unintelligible to the men downstairs. A small pause came, then something crashed.
Jase’s muscles twitched.
She’d tried to use him and he didn’t like that, but he liked this even less. Instinct, and everything he was, pushed him to leap up the stairs and bust into that room. But his training held him back, even as his jaw muscles pulled tighter with every passing second.
Keep it cool. Don’t break cover.
The Don was obviously having a bad day. Having his mortal enemy, Cristobal, who’d nearly brought him down not that long ago, marching on his camp had visibly rattled the big boss. Jase had never seen him look anything less than invincible before.
He’d rather see him dead, all considered.
He noted the position of every man in the room again, each weapon, calculated angles and speed, shifted into a better position without letting go of the map. If she cried out…
But even as he thought that, the Don stormed out of Melanie’s room and yelled down below for everyone to work before disappearing in his office once again. The men shrugged off the display of temper—nothing they hadn’t seen before. None of them seemed to care one whit for the woman upstairs. They were all focused on the upcoming battle.
The bastard had slammed Melanie’s door so hard behind him that it’d bounced open again. Jase kept watching that gap in the door from the corner of his eye while he pretended to pay attention to Roberto and the others.
Then he caught movement. The door closed with a quiet click.
She was all right then—well enough, at least, to get up and move around. He relaxed marginally. Of course, the Don wouldn’t risk hurting the baby.
But after the baby was born… Jase rolled the tension out of his shoulders. Okay, so maybe she had a good reason for wanting to get away from this place, sooner rather than later.
She either ran now, or she would have to take her chances here.
Pretty soon she’d be too far along in the pregnancy to risk a trek through the jungle. And she couldn’t run once the baby was born. A newborn wouldn’t survive the grueling trek. Plus, once the baby was born, the Don would no longer need her. Who knew how long after the birth the Don would let her live. Any of the camp women could be brought up to the house to take care of the kid.
Jase didn’t blame her for trying to use him to gain her freedom. A part of him even wished he could help. He was drawn to Melanie in a way he hadn’t been drawn to any of the others.
But more than her life was at stake here.
By bringing down the Don, he would be saving thousands eventually.
He pushed thoughts of the woman aside. His full attention needed to be on the men. He had to be vigilant, to be fully present in the here and now so he wouldn’t make a mistake.
“How badly do you think we’re outnumbered?” one of the men wondered aloud.
Roberto shot him a glare.
Some of these men had been present at the fight at the previous camp and knew Cristobal was no pushover. Their losses in that fight had been rough.
Jase kept his eyes hooded, pretending to be studying the map, but studied the men one by one instead. Could he find an ally among them, somebody who would be willing to provide information? Would any consider defection?
If they had any reservations about the boss upstairs, they kept quiet about it. None would dare to air any doubts in front of Roberto and risk looking anything but 100 percent committed.
Jase held down the corners of the map and considered the satellite phone that made a bump under the paper. The phone was big and clumsy compared to his super spy phone that he’d lost crossing a mangrove swamp with Lucas and the others a month back.
That one had been special-issue: waterproof, bulletproof to a point, even damn near fireproof. It hadn’t been caiman-proof, however. When one of the large reptiles ripped away a chunk of Jase’s pants, it’d swallowed the damned thing right with the fabric.
Had he been alone, he would have hunted down the toothy bastard and gutted it, but he had to let it go in the interest of preserving his cover. He couldn’t go hunting for a phone nobody even knew he had.
He missed that phone, and didn’t like being cut off from the men back at headquarters for the time being, but right now the Don’s phone was more important. He shifted from one foot to the other, pretended that the corner of the map slipped from his hand, grabbed after the paper to roll it back out and “accidentally” knocked the phone to the floor in the process. It rolled under the table.
“Sorry, man. Didn’t see that.” He let the paper go and squatted to retrieve the phone, grabbing for it with his left hand while going for the bug with the right.
The cloner would duplicate the signal to a U.S. Army satellite, every future conversation would be recorded and stored on a secure server. He snapped the back off the phone with his thumb, plugged the bug in, then popped the back into place as he stood.
He put the phone back on the table, where someone else was now holding his corners of the map.
Roberto shot him an annoyed look, but he seemed too busy figuring out Cristobal’s next move to pay much attention to anything else.
Jase backed away and out of the room. He cast a last look at Melanie’s door, which remained firmly closed. A strange tightness appeared in the middle of his chest.
Probably heartburn. As enthusiastic as Consuela was with spices, it was a miracle he still had any stomach lining left. He rubbed the strange sensation away with the heel of his hand as he stepped out into the humid jungle air.
He strode back to the barracks, swung by the kitchen on the way. Speaking of the tequila-swigging matron… Consuela was stitching two pieces of plain linen cloth together that stood out in stark contrast against her red and orange block print muumuu. She sat on the ground, her feet extended toward Jase. She wore no shoes. She didn’t need them; the inch-thick cracked and hardened layer of calluses on the bottom of her feet protected her soles just fine.
Another woman chopped sugar cane in the back. Pretty ironic. Some of the men in camp were running around like headless chickens out there, while the women went on with their chores as if the whole camp wasn’t preparing for battle.
He glanced around but didn’t see Mochi in any of the corners. “Where’s the kid?” They’d have to have another talk about the importance of sticking around the women and keeping out of the way, especially once the fighting began.
“Alejandro came and got him,” Consuela mumbled with a shrug. “His shirt is almost done.”
But Jase was already turning back out the door. He hurried on toward the dog pens, broke into a run. With the camp in a complete upheaval, nobody thought his haste suspicious. Nobody stopped to question him.
The dogs perked up at the sight of him, then looked disappointed when they realized he wasn’t bringing leftovers, as he often did. The animals were all scarred, but still wagging their tails, not holding an ounce of grudge toward the humans who’d chosen this life for them.
He scratched a bulky head sticking out from between the bars. The dog in the next enclosure jumped up on its hind legs, wanting attention, as well. He was almost as tall as Jase. “Hey ya, Killer.”