Show No Fear - By Marliss Melton Page 0,29

they were. All she knew was she was still hungry, in every sense of the word.

A ROOSTER CROWED WELL before dawn, and Gus’s eyes sprang open.

The ghostly shimmer of the mosquito netting reminded him where he was. Oh, yes, asleep in a bungalow, way up on La Montaña, a guest of the FARC.

Lucy’s soft body pressed to his made up for the thinness of the mat. He could feel her shivering, but she was sleeping at last, given the steady rise and fall of her chest. He hadn’t slept much himself, not with the dull ache in his groin.

Playing Luna’s husband while remaining professionally vigilant was even harder than he’d thought it might be. Lucy’s scent, her softness, the way she fit against him like his long-lost other half were undermining his intent to keep their relationship professional, to keep his heart intact.

His weakness for her was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted her on this assignment. Ironically, it was probably also the reason he had given in. A number of women had thrown themselves at him over the years—SEAL groupies, mostly—but he’d never found another Lucy. And despite his common sense warning him of her danger to his heart, his body and soul had a will of their own.

He wanted Lucy the way he’d had her eight years ago, before she’d cut him from her life. Only Lucy didn’t seem the least bit interested in rekindling intimacies. She was too obsessed with saving the world, regardless of the cost to herself.

The groaning of Buitre’s screen door interrupted Gus’s reflections. Curious, he parted the leafy wall by his head and peered outside. With a clear view of camp from this end of the bungalow and the sky a dull shade of pewter, he could see Buitre stalking toward the head of the trail with an AK-47 in one arm and a battery-powered lantern in the other. The rebel paused by the fifty-caliber machine gun to speak with the man on watch.

Where would the deputy be headed this early in the morning? Gus wondered.

The promise of his departure brought Gus more fully awake. He eased carefully from the mat, loath to waken Lucy. Donning his socks and boots, he ducked out of their cubby and slipped from the bungalow’s rear exit, stepping quietly off the platform onto the muddy ground.

By then Buitre had disappeared up the trail.

Studying Buitre’s hooch, Gus weighed his odds of entering it unseen by the kid on watch. With the lean-to that housed the rebels blocking the guard’s view, his chances of success looked good, providing he kept close to the building’s shadows.

Counting on the wet earth to muffle his footfalls, he crept toward Buitre’s quarters. The door yielded with a groan, and he slipped inside, shutting it softly. Letting his eyes adjust to the gloom, he waited for his fast-beating heart to find a steady tempo.

Predawn light shimmered in the window, but the radio that had been on the windowsill yesterday was gone. Buitre must have taken it with him.

The notebook, on the other hand, still lay on the desk. Crossing the room to pick it up, Gus cracked it open, deducing at once that it was a log, updated daily by the highest-ranking officer. Needing more light, he carried it to the window and flipped through the pages, skimming the contents. As he blundered into a hand-drawn map of La Montaña, his heart gave a leap of excitement.

This was just the kind of information the JIC desired from them. If there were time, he would snap off some digital photos with the camera built into his sat phone. But the sun was rising quickly. Instead, he would have to take the map and hope it wouldn’t be missed.

Beneath his deft fingers, the page parted smoothly from the binding. Blowing stray bits of paper off the desk, he folded it and stuffed it in his pocket, returning the notebook to the desk.

The sky was already brighter.

He moved toward the bunk on the other side of the room and ran his hands along the headboard, encountering the haft of a small, sharp knife. Yes! He curled it into his palm, relieved to have a weapon, which he hoped Buitre would just assume he’d misplaced.

The sound of furtive footfalls caused Gus to freeze. Someone was creeping toward the door.

Flattening himself against the wall, he waited.

Crap! Now what? If a rebel stepped inside and saw him, he would have to subdue him without being seen, but killing him