Mexican Heat (Nick Woods Book 2) Page 18

  Isabella raised her eyebrows with a slight smile.

  He shook his head with a laugh. “I try not to even notice them. I stupidly thought that if I threw myself hard enough into duty, I could forget about them for good.”

  “Can’t live with us, can’t live without us,” Isabella said, crossing her arms and shrugging, moving her breasts in a way that Nick felt confident was no accident.

  “Right,” Nick said, turning away again. He felt himself blushing. He swallowed, tried to regain control, and faced her again. “Thanks again for the news and call together the team,” he said, back in his typical Nick voice.

  She was looking at him again. Her eyes dropped from his face down to his chest. They didn’t stop there.

  Nick stepped back. If he could have gotten behind a desk without looking like a coward, he would have.

  “Sorry I made all this get weird,” Nick said, taking yet another step back and putting his hands on his hips. He felt more in control now, the danger averted.

  “We can’t have this in a unit,” he said, his voice deeper and more like the voice he was familiar with. “We need to pretend this didn’t happen.” He made the last statement definitive.

  “Or we can acknowledge that it did,” she said, stepping toward him. She walked up and placed her hand on his forearm.

  Nick stepped back, taken aback by her aggressiveness, and wondered how he’d never noticed her signals before. Perhaps he’d been too much of an ass, trying to treat her like the men. Somehow, he had missed the clues.

  “I’m not ready for this,” he said, but he didn’t yank his forearm back. Her hand felt too good. “I just need you to understand that it’s been hard for me to get over Anne.”

  “I understand,” she said, “but at some point you need to move on. Even she would want that.”

  Nick met Isabella’s brown eyes and she slid her hand further up his arm, to his elbow. Her fingers felt light, soft, and inviting.

  Isabella could barely control herself. He stood there, so tall, so magnificent, so rugged. And his clumsiness made him even more attractive to her. This was a real man. The kind of man who’d work all day in the fields and come home with a six-pack of beer, not a dozen roses.

  Men like him weren’t much for words or romance, but they understood grit. And they’d stick when things went south. In a world full of men who whitened their teeth and shaved their chest, this man appealed to her like old, worn leather. He was from a different period.

  A lion, still fierce, but a drifter. He had nothing left to prove -- he had already lived a dozen lifetimes, and carried the physical and emotional scars like a weight around his neck -- and yet he had so much fight left. So much more living to do and even a passing glance at him would tell a stranger that he intended to live it.

  A man like him didn’t know how to quit or retire or back down. Like a wandering lion, he was okay avoiding the confrontation of other males eager to prove their strength, but he would not back down if cornered. Or if duty called.

  They didn’t make them like Nick Woods anymore, and Isabella couldn’t shake the thought of what a man of his strength would be like. It was something she wanted to experience more than she could possibly explain.

  He stepped back again, hitting the wall, but appearing to gain control of himself.

  “I can’t do this with a woman I’m in command of,” he said.

  Isabella smiled. She knew she had him. She stepped forward again. “And in six months, you won’t be in command of me,” she said.

  She stepped against him and ran her hand from his elbow up to his upper arm.

  “I’m not ready for a relationship,” Nick said.

  “And I’m not looking for one.”

  She moved her face just inches from his and she could smell the light sweat of his body. She placed her hand on his chest and moved in, kissing him lightly. She pulled back and allowed her hand to drift down his chest to his abs.

  She lightly kissed him again and then turned and walked away, as if nothing had happened. But, as she opened the door, she looked back at him and smiled -- a smile so wide and inviting that she couldn’t possibly have faked something so real.

  “I’ll round up the men,” she said, and then looked down at his lower abs and raised her eyebrows again, laughing as she left.

  Nick stood there, completely floored. He could feel every single place her fingers had touched, from his forearm, to his elbow, to his arms and chest and stomach. And the way she had just looked at him… He shuddered.

  His senses felt as alive as they had felt in a long time and he stood straighter, feeling better about himself than he’d felt in years.

  “Nothing like a little romance to get the confidence back,” he thought. Then he tried to suppress the thought. “Enough of that. Get your head back in the game, Nick.”

  But he couldn’t shake a single thought: If the opportunity arose, he might just go for it.

  Forty minutes later, the Primary Strike Team finished watching President Rivera’s press conference. Nick stood as far away from Isabella as he could, and he wondered if any of the men could read the thoughts he had running through his mind.

  This new attraction to Isabella was the last thing he needed. They were in the middle of a war, for Christ’s sake.

  When the press conference ended, Dwayne Marcus said, “This isn’t good.”

  “I’m not sure what’s going on,” Nick said. “But I for damn sure don’t like being surprised like this. I thought we were on the same page with the President, and no plan I’m aware of involved an arrest warrant for this piece of garbage.”

  “We won’t have to wait long to find out,” Marcus said. “Probably either Mr. Smith or someone from the Mexican government will be contacting us soon.”

  Chapter 23

  Marcus’s prediction proved true. Mr. Smith called Nick on his secure, encrypted phone three hours after the press conference.

  “President Rivera wants to meet with you,” Smith said.

  “Tough luck,” Nick said.

  “Nick, don’t be this way.”

  “First of all, I don’t do diplomacy,” Nick said. “Secondly, we’re in a secure location and we’re not giving up where we are so we can be followed back -- either by President Rivera’s police or Hernan Flores’s people.”

  “President Rivera wouldn’t follow you,” Smith said. “You’re forgetting that he invited the men of S3 there. He needs you. Their government needs you. Their people need you. Don’t forget that.”

  “And you’re forgetting,” Nick said, “that he denounced the Vigilantes and now is way off the mark with this public call to arrest Flores. Truth be told, we don’t know what he’s thinking. He could be up to anything.”

  “You’re starting to sound paranoid again,” Smith said.

  “And you sound like a guy sitting behind a desk in Washington.”

  “We need you to meet with him.”

  “I’m the wrong man. Believe me on that. If he wants to meet, then you meet with him or send someone else from the Agency. Send the CIA contact you’ve got down here to babysit me. Believe me, it would be a mistake to send me.”

  “You represent the Agency,” Smith said, “in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Wrong. I represent a private military contractor named Shield, Safeguard, and Shelter, which won a government contract to help train Mexican security forces, in case you forgot.”

  “Come on, Nick. You’re in the Agency. You know that.”

  “I’ll remember that if I get picked up wearing street clothes and a bandana, with an AK slung across my back. Otherwise, they might just think I’m an American terrorist or hitman.”

  Smith sighed.

  “Nick, you know you can’t say you’re with the Agency. You have a cover, you use it. Call it a training op for your company or maybe a --”

  “I can handle coming up with a cover story. Maybe you forgot how I snuck out of Afghanistan with a thousand Soviet troops trying to n
ab my ass?”

  “And maybe you forgot that if you listened to our counsel, you could work with the Mexican government and they’d know your location and plans and -- get this -- you wouldn’t have to worry about being pulled over with your AK and bandana.”

  “Clearly,” Nick said, as angry as he’d been in a long time, “you fucking forgot about the Navy SEAL Team that got slaughtered down here. I’ll bet you don’t even know how many died.”

  “Nick, calm down.”

  “You don’t, do you?”

  “Nick, I’m not playing this game with you. No, I don’t know off the top of my head how many died, and no, I have not killed as many men as you, and yes, I am a pencil pusher. You win. But remember, guys like you -- even such a big-time hero -- need guys like me, providing intel and support and --”

  “You’ve been sending intel?” Nick asked. “I must have missed that.”

  “Nick, you are to meet with the President and you will represent the Agency well. He wants to meet tomorrow at --”

  “He needs to be meeting with either your boss or our President,” Nick said. “I’m not the one off script.”

  “And you need to remember that you are in Mexico at the invitation of President Rivera. You piss him off and this mission is done. And with the mission off, you can kiss your two million dollars goodbye.”

  Nick laughed.

  “You think I’m doing this for the money? How fucking stupid are you?”

  Nick turned off the phone and dropped it on the desk.

  “Marcus,” he yelled.

  Marcus, who had been standing in the hall in case Nick needed him, stepped into Nick’s office.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Marcus, get our Mexican contact to find out when the President wants to meet, and let’s start planning how we get there early -- and safe -- and how we leave and get out without being followed. Oh, and assign somebody to buy about five more used vehicles, for this ridiculous dog-and-pony show I’m going to have to attend.”

  “Will do,” Marcus said. He turned to head out.

  “Oh, and Marcus? Get with the squad leaders. I want back-up squads strategically located nearby and on exit points along our exfiltration route. This may be the most dangerous thing we’ve done since we’ve been here.”

  “Agreed,” Marcus said. “I don’t trust hardly anyone in their government.”

  Marcus started to leave and stopped.

  “What made you change your mind on meeting him?”

  “I’m hoping I can change his damn mind,” Nick said.

  The following day, after a marathon night of planning, Nick arrived at the Presidential Palace. He had to leave Marcus, Isabella, Truck, Lizard, Bulldog, Preacher, and Red by their two vehicles outside the gate and was forced to proceed inside alone. They were all heavily armed, with even more weapons in their vehicles, but Nick knew if the Mexican government wanted to arrest him, his team would almost certainly not be able to breach the Palace to rescue him.

  But, Isabella and Marcus both felt this wouldn’t be some arrest attempt, but rather a speech to get Nick to stand down. And maybe an attempt to track and follow them back to their base of operations, but nothing more in their opinion. So, Nick reluctantly agreed to enter alone.

  However, Nick, being Nick, wanted to plan worst case, so he had all three squads work out contingency plans in case the government tried to arrest him. Nick knew they couldn’t hold off the army once it responded, but he did feel that his Primary Strike Team, working with the three squads, could probably breach the Palace and pull off his rescue. Casualties would be enormous, but with an aggressive attack and heavy weapons and sniper support, they all believed it was possible.

  Nick left his Primary Strike Team and allowed security forces to search him and confirm he was unarmed -- a feeling that he did not like at all. Once they were done, an aide walked him down numerous hallways and corridors. Nick tried to stay oriented, but soon gave up. They had him if they wanted him and there wasn’t much he could do about it. Instead, he focused on what he would say and how he would react once he came face-to-face with the President.

  Nick knew he wasn't much of a talker or a man who liked to argue, and certainly, the President would be. Like all politicians, he’d be all talk and not much spunk.

  The meeting was going to be bad no matter what, but Nick felt even more off-guard since he had wanted Marcus and Isabella in the meeting. Marcus for his counsel, Isabella to translate. But an aide had said the President spoke perfect English, so a translator was unnecessary. The aide had further said that the President had insisted he would only meet with Nick, and Nick alone.

  “He doesn’t want other witnesses to this meeting, which of course, isn’t really happening,” the aide said timidly.

  Nick had grinned and gripped the young aide who looked about twenty on the shoulder.

  “I know the deal, bud. I know far too well about doing things that never happened. Believe me. Now, just show me the way.”

  The young aide bowed and led Nick through the compound.

  Nick hated the absurd amount of decor and splendor he saw as he made his way to the meeting. Gold lined the walls, paintings that looked priceless hung throughout, and stout, plush furniture unlike anything Nick had ever seen occupied waiting rooms. He wondered if the President had any idea how poor most of his people were.

  “All politicians are the same,” he thought to himself. “Stealing from the poor to line their own pockets.”

  They finally reached their destination. Nick knew it was the final barrier because it had the hallmarks of any big-shot executive’s inner sanctum. First, it had the hottest secretary he’d ever seen in his life, and she sat behind a boat-sized executive desk. Second, it had a foreboding wall, thick door, and impressive security -- besides what he assumed was a hard-nosed secretary. The impressive security in this case was composed of two stout secret service agents by the door.

  Nick wondered how many secret service agents were hidden in rooms and basements throughout the complex. Probably a couple hundred, if he had to guess, after the most recent attack on the Presidential Palace.

  “Please, wait right here,” the aide said, pointing to a massive couch.

  “I know how this works, young man. The President makes me wait an hour or so to prove his power and then we talk.”

  The aide frowned. “Actually, the President is looking forward to meeting you. He will be with you very soon. As soon as he finishes his meeting, in fact. Please,” he said, pointing, “please be seated.”

  Nick noticed the two agents staring him down like he was a criminal. They knew when a fellow shooter was in their midst, and their senses screamed danger. Nick waved, fake tipped a hat, and smiled. Then he sat down and sunk into the couch, which was too big and plush to be comfortable.

  He looked around for a magazine to read, saw none, and smiled at the secretary who kept looking him over. Nick glanced down at his jeans and cowboy boots and realized he probably wasn’t dressed to code. Yet, he had put on a long-sleeved, button-up shirt, so there was that.

  A couple minutes later, the door to the Presidential Suite opened and five men in business suits shook hands with President Roberto Rivera and exited the room. Rivera noticed Nick and followed the group of men toward him.

  Nick rose to greet him. The President was decently tall, like most politicians. Nick guessed his height at about six feet -- a tad taller than Nick, but not nearly as lean. Nick had clearly spent more time running miles and shooting lead on the range instead of sitting in meetings and reading reports. But, still, the President was a good-looking man, and he would definitely still qualify as fit. If Nick were a woman, then he’d definitely consider the man handsome. No wonder the man had never lost an election.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Rivera said. “Thank you for coming in.”

  Nick nodded.

  “Please, step into my office.”

  Rivera pointed to a chair and Nick sat, watching Rivera take a
seat behind yet another gigantic executive desk, except this one was more elegant and distinguished. It probably came from some historic, wooden battleship or something. Nick knew the drill.

  Then he realized that Rivera now sat higher than him.

  He’s in a taller chair, Nick thought.

  Rivera steepled his fingers in front of his chin.

  “Normally, in a meeting like this,” Rivera said, “you don’t want to be the first to speak. It’s a sign of,” Rivera waved his hand, “weakness, if you will.”

  “You wouldn’t want to try to outwait me,” Nick said, remembering once outwaiting an enemy sniper for hours.

  “So I hear.” Rivera smiled.

  Nick didn’t.

  Rivera noticed the lack of a return smile and said, “You’re obviously upset about the meeting, and I understand from my aides that you’re afraid that coming in for this talk will give your operating base away to the Godesto Cartel?”

  “Seems to be a trend.”

  Rivera shook his head in reluctant agreement. “Unfortunately, drugs and money stacked higher than your wildest imagination have indeed corrupted many in our government. But, we have ferreted out many of these who have sold out their loyalty.”

  “It only takes one,” Nick said, “but I’m not here to listen to excuses. What did you want to meet about?”

  “I feel, respectfully of course, that you need to give more credit to those who resist the pressures of the Godesto, as well as understand better those who can’t.”

  “I don’t see me respecting anybody who sells out their brothers for money,” Nick said. “Don’t waste your breath.”

  “How would you feel if you were a police officer or government official and you came home one day from a hard day at work, only to have someone stop and offer you a bribe?”

  Rivera paused and reached for a cigar. He clearly worked on his storytelling. “Of course, your first thought would be to arrest them or turn them in.”