Cruz interrupted her. “Quiet, Eva. I can handle this.” With a jovial smile, the rebel rose from the sofa and strode toward Tate.
It took all his willpower not to launch himself at the other man, but he knew he’d be shot down like a dog if he did. He couldn’t afford to be stupid about this. He’d already made a grave error by letting Cruz’s revelation distract him, and if he wanted to get out of this mess alive, he had to play it cool from this point on.
“I don’t know what she told you,” Cruz began, “but I suppose she said whatever was necessary to get you here.” Those black eyes moved to Eva. “It’s all right. I don’t hold it against you. I treated you very badly, didn’t I?”
Eva said nothing.
From the corner of his eye, Tate saw her mouth set in an angry line. Ha. He doubted she was as angry as he was.
He still wasn’t a hundred percent on what the hell was going on, but one thing remained clear: Eva had lied to him.
Cruz was the father of her kid.
The resulting rush of rage, combined with an unwelcome burst of jealousy, set his insides on fire. Just picturing Eva in Hector Cruz’s bed brought bile to his mouth. And the memory of her kid...Christ, he’d left his men behind to protect Cruz’s son.
Goddamn it.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t very good to our Eva,” Cruz told Tate, his tone rueful. “But you know how it is, right, Captain? Love drives people to behave in crazy, irrational ways. So does stress. And I’ll admit, times were stressful then, more so than they are now.”
The rebel’s eyes softened as he looked at Eva. “I don’t blame you for running away. I behaved very, very badly, mi amor, and I truly regret that.”
Tate couldn’t stop himself for turning his head to study Eva’s expression. Her face was a mask of disbelief. “You behaved badly?” she blurted out. “You turned me into a prisoner in my own life!”
Cruz recoiled. His strained gaze darted to the five rifle-wielding rebels in the room, as if it pained him to have this dirty laundry aired in front of them, and then his eyes flashed and he shot Eva a hard look. “Let’s not trouble everyone with the boring details. We’ll continue this discussion in private.”
Cruz cocked his head at one of his men. “Take my woman to the room we prepared.” He spared Eva a pithy glance. “I’ll be there shortly.”
A yelp of protest flew out of her mouth as a rebel grabbed her arm and began leading her to the doorway.
“Tate!” Her voice was thick with anguish. “Don’t believe anything he says, Tate. Don’t trust—”
He didn’t hear the rest of that sentence. Didn’t really care to, either. The word trust hung in the air, making him want to laugh uncontrollably.
She was actually talking to him about trust? The woman had been lying to him from day one. Which didn’t surprise him in the slightest, did it? He’d known all along that she hadn’t told him the entire truth, but this? Covering up the fact that Hector Cruz was the father of her child? That she’d had a relationship with the man?
Anger and disgust burned a path down to his gut and seized his insides. He’d slept with the woman who’d once shared Cruz’s bed.
The man who’d murdered his brother.
Jesus.
As he choked down his revulsion, he was tempted to throw smarts into the wind and do something foolish, like rush at the rebels holding guns on him. That’d probably earn him a tidy little bullet in the head, but at this point, did he really care? He wasn’t getting out of this alive anyway. Might as well take out a few sons of bitches before he met his maker.
“Don’t.” Cruz’s voice was deceptively soft, his gaze knowing as he glanced at Tate. “They’ll shoot. And that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”
“Right,” Tate said sardonically. “Because you’re really going to let me walk out of this alive.”
“I am. I have no intention of killing you, Captain Tate.”
Cruz’s tone or expression didn’t reveal any mistruth, but Tate didn’t buy it. Not one damn bit.
He feigned a bored look. “Oh, really?”
“Really. You don’t know how impressed I am that you made it here alive. I heard about the ambush in the jungle, and it seems you evaded another attack a couple of days ago, too.” The rebel chuckled. “The Americans are desperate, no?”
Tate narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“Because they’ve teamed up with my military to hunt you down, and we both know your government likes to clean up its messes on its own. They’d probably be better off, too. I’m afraid the military in my country is nothing but a joke. But you already know this, since you made it here in one piece.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you want me to stay in one piece, huh?”
“I do,” Cruz confirmed.
“Yeah, and why is that?”
“Because I’m going to put you to use instead.”
The laugh he’d been holding earlier slipped out, a harsh, bitter sound that resonated in the air. “Sorry to disappoint, but that’s not going to happen. I’d rather let your men shoot me.”
Cruz gave a chuckle of his own before nodding at his men. “Leave us,” he told them. “But stay close.”
After the rebels shuffled out of the room, Cruz gestured to the sofa. “Sit.”
Tate didn’t move. He stared down the ULF leader, feeling the odds return once more in his favor. Even with his wrists tied behind his back, he could disarm Cruz and snap the bastard’s neck with his legs if he got him on the ground and in a good lock.
“Oh, Captain, you are so very predictable,” Cruz said with a sigh. “You could at least try to hide your desire to kill me.”
“Why should I?” He offered another callous laugh. “You slit my brother’s throat, you son of a bitch.”
Surprise flickered across the other man’s face. “Your fellow soldier, you mean?”
“My brother.” Fury constricted his throat. “So you might as well kill me now, Cruz, because the two of us? We won’t be reaching any goddamn agreements, not unless they involve me slitting your throat, amigo.”
The rebel’s answering sigh was heavy with annoyance. “My condolences about your brother, Captain, but it wasn’t personal. I did what I had to do to save myself, so I could live another day to fight.”
“Fight? All you do is rob and cheat and kill, under the guise of freeing your people from oppression. But all that money you squirrel away, where does it go, Cruz? To buy food and medicine and clothes for the people you’re pretending to care about? Or does it go directly into your wallet?” He laughed again. “Don’t bother responding—we both know the answer to that.”
“Your arrogance astounds me, Captain, and I’d prefer if you didn’t speak of things you know absolutely nothing about. I protect my people—”
“Protect them? Is that what you did in Corazón when you murdered hundreds of innocent people? You protected them?”
“My men and I did not harm those villagers.”
“No, you just burned them to death.”
Sarcasm dripped from Tate’s voice, and he nearly launched himself at Cruz out of sheer anger and frustration. He couldn’t believe they were standing around talking about that day as if it were a normal topic of conversation. Burning villagers. Slitting throats. Just another day in the life of Hector frickin’ Cruz, huh?
As his bound hands curled into fists and bloodlust flooded his mouth, Tate’s gaze flicked to the Ruger dangling idly from Cruz’s hand. Five steps and he could tackle the son of a bitch to the ground before the man even raised that gun.
“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but those people were dead before my men and I even got there,” Cruz informed him.
Tate raised his eyebrows. “And the doctor? I suppose he was dead, too?”
A dark smile graced the man’s mouth. “Oh, no, he was very much alive, at least before I had the pleasure of putting a bullet in his brain.”
“And why would you do that?” Tate said sarcastica
lly.
Just like that, for the second time in less than thirty minutes, Cruz threw him for another loop.
“Because the bastard is the one who killed all those innocent villagers you’re so concerned about.”
* * *
Eva was numb. She couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t form a coherent thought, couldn’t even breathe properly. Her reaction back in that room shamed her. She was the worst backup on the planet. A cataclysmic failure. She hadn’t even managed to get a shot off before one of Hector’s men had ripped her gun from her hand. And she hadn’t even tried to give Tate an explanation after Hector dropped that bomb on him.
In her defense, she’d been too damn shaken. She hadn’t heard Hector’s voice in three years, hadn’t seen his face since the day he showed up at her parents’ Manhattan co-op and demanded that she and Rafe return to San Marquez with him. Seeing him again had knocked her off balance. She’d frozen in place like a deer in the headlights, seeing that car careening in her direction and unable to do a thing but let it slam into her.
And by the time she’d regained her composure, Tate had already been restrained by Hector’s men and was looking at her as though she’d committed the ultimate betrayal.
You did. You had a child with his brother’s murderer.
The mature, rational part of her pointed out that she’d had that child long before Tate’s brother had died, but she knew that wouldn’t make a difference to him. In his eyes, she’d become the woman who’d warmed a murderer’s bed, and she knew nothing she did or said would change that.
Damn it. Why had she insisted on coming with him? She should’ve known that a confrontation with Hector would lead to the truth coming out. If she’d let Tate go alone, her name probably wouldn’t have even come up, Tate would’ve killed Hector, and her secret would’ve been safe. But she hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of Tate doing this alone. Of Tate getting hurt.
Except now he would get hurt. Who knew what Hector would do to him, and it was all thanks to her.
As agony ripped her heart to shreds, Eva rose from the four-poster bed that didn’t belong in a room made up of cement walls.
Hector hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d “prepared” a room for her. It wasn’t the same one she’d occupied the last time she’d been here. No, that room had been more like a nursery, with a crib and rocking chair and changing table, items that were gruesomely out of place in this dark bunker. But Hector had insisted she spend her pregnancy in a safe place. He’d allowed her to go outside—under a watchful guard, of course—but every night, he’d make sure she was back in her room, locked up nice and safe for the night.
Her lips curled in a frown as she looked around. Along with the elaborate bed, which featured a mountain of pillows and a soft burgundy comforter, there was a small bookshelf crammed with all her favorite novels and an antique armoire filled with clothes that were her exact size. The one thing that was conspicuously absent? A computer, which told her Hector was as smart as she remembered. No way would he leave her alone with a computer; even if this bunker didn’t have an internet connection, she’d still find a way to contact the outside world.
She started to pace, wondering what the hell Hector was expecting to happen. His reaction to seeing her had not been what she’d expected. He’d seemed happy. And regretful.
“He’s playing you,” she muttered to herself.
Yeah, he had to be. His apologetic admission about treating her badly was nothing but a ploy. She might be locked up in this room, but she still had the upper hand thanks to Rafe. Hector would never dream of hurting her as long as their son was still out there somewhere and she was the only person who knew where.
A sharp knock sounded on the door, putting a stop to her pacing. “Are you decent, mi amor?” came Hector’s voice.
She experienced another burst of surprise. Since when would her state of undress deter him from marching into a room?
When she didn’t respond, the lock creaked and then the door opened. Stepping into the room, Hector swept his dark eyes over her and frowned. “You’re still wearing those filthy clothes. I had thought you’d want to be more comfortable. Didn’t you see all the things I bought for you?”
“I saw them,” she said stiffly. “They just didn’t interest me.”
When his eyes blazed, she instinctively moved backward, anticipating an outburst. Hector wasn’t known for his restraint. If you angered him, you were punished, and nobody was immune to his wrath.
Or at least that was how he’d behaved in the past. Now, the rage in his eyes burned hot for only a few seconds before dimming into resignation. “I won’t hurt you,” he said in a quiet voice. “I already did enough of that three years ago.”
Eva clenched her teeth. “Stop it. Just stop it already. I don’t buy this remorseful act of yours. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but—”
“No games.”
He didn’t make a single move toward her. Just stood there with his hands dangling at his sides. He wasn’t even holding a weapon, she realized.
“I mean it, Eva,” Hector went on, his voice heavy with regret. “I was out of control back then. I was reckless and desperate for change, and nothing was happening. The cause was stalled, those bastards in our ‘government’ were refusing to hear our demands. Our people were dying at the hands of our military, dying from disease and starvation.”
She stifled an irritated groan. She’d heard this all before, many, many times. Four years ago, his “dedication” to the cause had been inspiring, but he no longer fooled her. Hector was a tyrant who used violence to advance his cause, who used children to fight his wars, and she refused to believe he had anything good inside him.
“I took my frustration out on you,” he said, gazing at her with earnest eyes. “And when you got pregnant, I was angry. Angry that yet another child would have to be born in this miserable country, a dictatorship operating under the guise of democracy. I kept asking myself, how could we bring a child into the world when every day children in San Marquez are dying?”
“Spare me the idealistic crap,” she retorted. “I don’t care how angry or frustrated or scared you were. You had no right to hit me. No right to become my warden and control every aspect of my life.” She shook her head angrily. “For God’s sake, I had to beg you for permission to take our newborn son to New York so he could meet his grandparents.”
His black eyes blazed with belligerence. “And I was right to deny you, was I not? You used that trip as a ruse to run away from me!”
“You made my life a living hell for eighteen months,” she said coolly. “Nine of which I spent pregnant, right here in this dark, horrible bunker.”
“I brought you here to keep you safe,” he insisted.
“You brought me here to keep me under your thumb.”
A frustrated growl left his mouth, and then he marched toward her, not stopping until his hands were gripping her waist like a vise. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear, Eva?”
“I don’t want to hear anything from you,” she said bitterly. “All I want to know is what you did with Tate.”
Something dark and sinister flickered in his eyes. “You’re sleeping with him.”
Her lips tightened. “What did you do with Tate?”
“Answer the question.”
“You didn’t ask one. But I did. So tell me what you did with him.”
They stared at each other for several long moments, and then Hector’s expression relaxed once more. She had no idea how to handle this new side to him. She was used to the volatile Hector, the one who exploded at the slightest provocation, who solved problems with his fists and cared for nobody but himself. This new Hector was calmer, more analytical, more restrained.
“The good captain is in a quiet place, where he can think about everything we talked about,” Hector finally revealed.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means Captain Tate and I share a com
mon goal. I made him an offer and now he must ponder it.”
Both confusion and relief swept through her. She had no clue why Hector was keeping Tate alive, but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tate was safe. For now, anyway.
And now she had to figure out a way to get them both out of this mess.
She shot Hector a wary look. “Why didn’t you kill him?”
“Because he’s of more use to me alive than dead.” Hector waved a dismissive hand. “Why do you think it was so easy for the two of you to get in here, Eva? I’ve been expecting you both, and the guards were ordered to stay out of your way.”
Surprise jolted through her. “Why were you expecting us?”
“Well, more you than the captain,” Hector conceded. “I figured your uncle would take care of Captain Tate. That was our compromise, after all.”
“My uncle? What are you talking about—” Her surprise transformed into a rush of hot outrage. “Miguel told you I was coming after you?”
“Of course he did. Miguel has been aiding the ULF agenda for years, mi amor.”
She blinked in horror. “You’re lying.”
But all she had to do was look into his eyes to know that he was telling the truth. Her uncle, a military general, was on the ULF’s payroll.
She’d gone to him for help, damn it. Miguel had been the one to tell her about Tate, the one to voice his agreement that her son couldn’t live a normal life as long as Hector was still alive. God, her uncle had all but encouraged her to hire Tate to kill Hector.
“Miguel called me the moment he knew you were on your way here. He’s the one who told me you’d be bringing Captain Tate along.”
“What was the compromise?” she demanded.
“I’m afraid the Americans really want Captain Tate dead, so Miguel had no choice but to send a unit to eliminate the man. He has a pretense to put up, after all, as a loyal member of the military. As much as I wanted to use the captain, I agreed to let him be killed, as long as you were brought to me, safe and sound.”
Eva gaped at him. “So my uncle agreed to bring me to you?”
“Yes, but it was unnecessary. The captain managed to stay alive. He’s good, I’ll give him that.” Hector offered a self-deprecating smile. “Miguel didn’t warn me that you were sleeping with the man, though.” He held up his hand before she could speak. “It’s all right, Eva. I forgive you. I drove you away and I accept responsibility for anything you’ve done during our separation.”