Tate pulled the rag out of Hector’s mouth, and immediately, the rebel spat at him. Unperturbed, Tate wiped the spittle off his chin, stood up and glanced at Eva.
She stepped forward and peered down at Hector, whose eyes took on a calculating gleam. “You know you don’t have it in you, Eva,” the man she’d once loved accused. “If you let him kill me, you’ll live with it for the rest of your life.”
She drew in a slow breath. “I want to ask you something. And I want an honest answer.”
Hector’s lips set in a wary line, but the suspicious expression faded fast, replaced by a soft look that reminded her of the day they’d met. The day they’d spent hours passionately talking about what they wanted for their country.
“Ask me anything, mi amor,” he said, his voice gentle yet seductive. “I’ll answer honestly.”
She exhaled in a rush. “What does Rafe mean to you?”
His proud forehead furrowed in puzzlement. “I don’t understand.”
With a burst of frustration, she sank to her knees in front of him. “What does he mean to you?” she repeated. “Why do you want him in your life? What do you want for his future? Why do you love him, Hector?”
Now he seemed incredibly frazzled. “Because he’s my son! He’s my blood, and he belongs with me.”
“Why?” she pressed.
“Because I need him to lead when I can’t! Because I want him to be a symbol for hope, a symbol for this revolution! His future is here in San Marquez and I’m going to raise him to appreciate his roots, to fight for them, to—”
She was done listening.
My son. My blood.
Hector didn’t love his son. No, Rafe was just a pawn in his power play, a symbol, and Hector would eventually destroy that little boy. Raise him to fight and revolt and do his bidding.
That was the difference between her and Hector. He didn’t care about Rafe’s future, only his own, while she...well, she’d gladly give up her life if that ensured Rafe would have a safe and happy future.
And she’d also sacrifice her conscience.
She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze locking with Tate’s. “You’re right,” she whispered. “This needs to happ—”
Before she could finish her sentence, she was yanked backward as Hector looped his arms around her neck and jammed his forearm into her throat.
She gasped for air, her windpipe burning, her heart pounding.
Hector’s wrists were restrained, but that didn’t take away from his strength. “Put the rifle down,” he hissed, “or I break her neck.”
Eva looked up at Tate, whose green eyes had gone cold with fury. Rather than lower his weapon, he continued to aim it at Hector.
“Lay down your weapon,” Hector demanded. “We’ll go our separate ways, amigo, and Eva lives.” His spittle splashed the side of Eva’s cheek, the scent of sweat, anger and desperation filling her nostrils.
Tate still didn’t make a single move.
Her pulse raced with panic. Oh, God. What if he stood by and let Hector snap her neck?
But the fear was unwarranted. With a harsh chuckle, Tate took a small step forward. “You honestly think I’m going to fall for that line of bullcrap again?”
And then he pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening. It exploded in her ear, making her head ring like a carnival game. The pressure on her windpipe eased, and Eva stumbled forward, sucking in deep gulps of oxygen. Something warm and sticky stained her cheek.
Hector’s blood. Hector’s brains.
The nausea hit her hard and fast. Crawling away from Hector’s lifeless body, she threw up, unable to control the horror that continued to spiral through her. When she had nothing left in her stomach, she crouched in the dirt dry-heaving, until she finally felt a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up and saw Sebastian looming over her, his gray eyes gleaming with impatience. In her peripheral vision, she caught sight of Tate dragging Hector’s body away from the Jeep. The blood oozing from the bullet hole in Hector’s forehead brought a fresh wave of queasiness.
Numb. She felt numb. And so very cold, but she got the feeling the chill wouldn’t go away for a long, long time.
She might not have pulled the trigger, but she was as guilty of killing Hector as Tate was.
He would’ve killed you. He would’ve destroyed your son.
She clung to that reminder, knowing with bone-deep certainty that Hector’s death was the only guarantee of her son’s safety.
“Let’s get outta here.”
She turned at the sound of Tate’s gruff voice. Their gazes collided and held. He’d saved her life. She knew without a doubt that Hector would have snapped her neck if Tate hadn’t pulled that trigger.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He remained expressionless. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Will.”
Her throat tightened. Of course. This had always been about avenging his brother, the only person he’d ever cared about. She was an idiot to think that Tate might actually care about her wellbeing, that he’d been protecting her when he’d shot Hector. He would’ve killed Hector regardless.
Lord, maybe Tate really was the heartless bastard she’d thought he was when they’d first met. Maybe she’d been fooling herself by believing they could have something real.
Collecting her composure, she staggered to her feet and headed for the Jeep. Without a word, she slid into the backseat, while Sebastian took the wheel and Tate got in the passenger seat.
Before Sebastian could step on the gas, she leaned forward and gripped Tate’s shoulder.
He turned around, his face expectant. “What?”
“You were considering it,” she said dully.
His eyebrows lifted.
“Leaving me in the bunker,” she clarified. “You hesitated. Like you were actually considering leaving me.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then he offered that careless shrug she was beginning to loathe. “That’s because I was,” he said coolly, and then he turned around and banged on the dashboard, a signal for Sebastian to go.
Agony punched her in the gut. Her hand dropped from his shoulder, and she sagged backward into her seat, working valiantly to control the tears threatening to break free.
Heartless bastard, indeed.
Paraíso, Mexico
Tate had never glimpsed a more beautiful sight than the crumbling exterior of the stone fortress. It still astounded him that only six hours ago they were running out of a bunker in the Marqueza Mountains. Even more astounding was that the three of them had made it back here in one piece. They hadn’t encountered a single hiccup, not during the chopper ride to the harbor, the boat to Ecuador, the private plane to Tijuana. Somehow, not a single thing had gone wrong, and Tate was starting to believe a higher power was looking out for them.
During the entire trip home, Eva hadn’t said a solitary word to him. Sebastian hadn’t spoken much, either, despite the fact that the man clearly had a lot on his mind.
Tate would never say it out loud, but he was damn proud of the sergeant. Aside from that one moment in the woods, when Tate’s instincts had screamed that he was being watched, he hadn’t picked up on Sebastian’s presence in the slightest, despite the fact that Sebastian had tailed them all the way to Hector’s hideout.
He’d trained the other man well, that was for sure. Maybe a little too well.
Didn’t mean he was happy about the way Sebastian had blatantly disregarded his orders, though. He’d already verbally assaulted him for it, which was probably why the man was acting so moody.
“Mommy!”
The high-pitched voice drew their gazes to the door beneath the watchtower, which burst open as Eva’s son dashed out of the fort, with Nick hot on his heels. For a toddler, the kid could sure move, but Prescott scooped the boy up before he got close to the Jeep. The little boy proceeded to wiggle like an eel in Nick’s arms, crying out for his mom, who didn’t even wait for the Jeep to
come to a complete stop before she dove out.
As Eva made a beeline for her kid, Tate couldn’t help but watch the reunion. An odd lump of emotion rose in his throat. He choked it down, disgusted with himself. So what if she was hugging that kid as if she never wanted to let him go? So what if her eyes sparkled with tears and her voice overflowed with pure love as she spoke to her child?
Cruz’s child.
Then again, did that even matter anymore now that Cruz was dead?
The reminder brought a rush of saliva to Tate’s mouth, a sense of deep satisfaction. He’d fantasized about this for eight months, and now it had finally become reality. The man who’d murdered his brother was dead.
“Good to have you back, Captain.”
Tate tore his gaze from Eva and Rafe, and leaned in to give Nick a quick side hug and back slap. “Good to be back.” He arched a brow. “Not happy that you kept me in the dark, though. You could’ve given me the heads up that Stone went AWOL.”
Nick looked sheepish. “I figured you’d make the tail within two minutes.”
He let out a breath. “I was a bit distracted.”
Fortunately, Prescott had the good sense not to hazard a guess about the source of that distraction. The guy already knew, anyway, judging by the way his amber-colored eyes gleamed knowingly when Eva made her way over to them.
The kid was clinging to her like a monkey, but he lifted his head when Eva came to a stop, and peered at Tate with big curious eyes.
“Thank you for taking care of my son,” Eva said quietly, her eyes shining with gratitude as she looked at Nick.
“It was my pleasure. He’s a great kid.” Nick reached out and ruffled the little boy’s hair, eliciting a peal of laughter from the boy.
Tate experienced a burst of discomfort. He wasn’t great with children, and he didn’t like the way the kid kept staring at him. As though he was an alien from another planet or something.
“What?” he grumbled when the kid refused to quit it.
Rafe’s bottom lip dropped out for a moment, a shy expression playing over his face, and then he grinned, pointed at Tate’s face and said, “You’re hairy!”
Despite himself, Tate cracked a smile, which earned him surprised looks from both Nick and Eva.
“Yeah, kid, I guess I am,” he answered, dragging one hand over the thick beard covering his jaw. The thing was starting to itch, too. He definitely needed to shave.
Eva turned to Nick. “Do you mind giving us a moment?”
The other man nodded. “No problem.”
As Nick drifted off toward Sebastian, who was loitering near the Jeep, Eva shifted Rafe to her other hip. “What now?” she asked softly.
“Mommy, I want down,” her son whined. “Wanna go to Nick!”
She gave the boy an indulgent smile before setting him on the ground. He barreled off toward Nick, giggling in an easy, carefree way that brought another wave of discomfort to Tate’s gut and had him wincing.
Eva didn’t miss his reaction. “You don’t like him.”
Her blunt tone made him scowl. “I don’t even know him.”
“And you don’t want to, right?”
His jaw tensed. “What the hell are you really asking me, Eva?”
Sadness washed over her beautiful face. “Do you want me to stay, Tate?”
He had no idea what to say to that.
“Because if you say the word, I’ll stay.” Her voice grew husky, thick with emotion. “I wasn’t lying in the bunker. I’m in love with you.”
Something hot and painful pinched his heart. “Eva—”
She didn’t let him finish. “I don’t know what kind of future we can have, but I’m willing to find out. I could stay. We can stay, me and Rafe.” Hope burned in her blue eyes. “I know you’re still angry I didn’t tell you that Hector was Rafe’s father, but I didn’t keep the truth from you out of malice. And now Hector is no longer a threat. He’s gone. My son is safe. And I’d like for Rafe and me to stay here. With you.” She searched his face intently. “Ask us to stay, Tate.”
Indecision burned a path up to his throat, nearly choking him. Was it that easy? Just ask her to stay?
But what was even the point? What kind of relationship could they have with him living in hiding? And would she expect him to be a father to that kid?
How could he be? He wasn’t fatherhood material, wasn’t interested in love or commitment or any of that emotional garbage.
So then why did his heart constrict at the thought of letting Eva go? And why did his gaze keep drifting toward that little boy happily playing with Nick ten feet away?
His silence stretched on and on. He couldn’t seem to get a solitary word out, and the longer he stayed quiet, the sadder Eva looked.
“Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, I get it. I’ll...ah, I’ll just go inside and pack up our stuff and, um, I’ll ask Nick to drive us into town. Rafe and I can stay in the motel there until I book a flight back to the States.”
His chest ached so badly it felt like a thousand-pound Sumo wrestler was sitting on the damn thing, but he still couldn’t seem to utter a word.
“Um, well, then, I guess I’ll just say goodbye now.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “So...goodbye, Tate.”
Chapter 18
“I love you, too, Mom, and I can’t wait to see you guys,” Eva murmured into the phone. “You still there, Dad?”
“I’m here, sweetheart.” Her dad’s warm baritone voice emerged from the speaker, and he sounded as choked up as she felt. “I’m dying to see that grandson of mine! The pictures you’ve been emailing aren’t nearly enough.”
Eva smiled through her tears, her gaze drifting toward the bed in the center of the motel room, where Rafe was sleeping soundly. “You’ll see him soon enough, Daddy.”
In fact, she would’ve preferred to be on her way to the airport already, but all the evening flights had been canceled thanks to a hurricane bearing down on them from the Gulf, so there was no point in hanging around the Tijuana airport waiting for the storm to pass. Might as well stay warm and cozy in this motel, and hope that the planes were back in the air tomorrow morning.
“Will Miguel be taking you to the airport?” Her mother didn’t sound thrilled by the idea, which wasn’t surprising. Miguel LaGuerta was a nationalist to the core, and he made no secret of the fact that he disapproved of his younger sister’s marriage to an Italian, and subsequent move to America. They’d been estranged for as long as Eva could remember.
But at the mention of her uncle, Eva’s shoulders stiffened. Hector’s accusation flashed in her mind, reminding her that she’d eventually need to confront Miguel about his part in all this. Someone had warned Hector that she and Tate were coming to him, and the only person who’d known about her plan was Miguel.
At this point, though, she didn’t give a damn if Miguel was on the ULF take or if Hector had been lying. She was done with San Marquez. She didn’t care what her uncle did or who he may or may not have betrayed. Now that Hector was gone, she had no reason to ever return to that godforsaken country.
“Miguel didn’t come with us to Mexico,” she told her mother.
Because I couldn’t risk telling him where we were, she almost added, but stopped herself at the last second.
“So we’ll take a cab to the airport,” she finished.
“Okay, well, get some sleep, honey,” her mother replied.
“That way you’ll feel fresh and energetic tomorrow when you come home to us,” her dad piped up.
She blinked back another rush of tears. It was so nice to hear her parents’ voices. Even nicer to know that she’d be coming home to them so very soon.
“I will,” she promised. “I’ll call you guys tomorrow with my flight details, okay?”
After she hung up, she stared at the prepaid cell phone for a few seconds, tempted to dial another number. The number Nick had slipped in her hand earlier, the one for the men’s satellite phone.
But she
resisted the urge, knowing there was no point.
Tate hadn’t asked her to stay.
He hadn’t wanted her to stay.
She shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t allow it to hurt her, but she was, and it did. Despite the callous way he’d treated her back at the bunker, she understood where his anger had stemmed from—she’d kept something important from him, after all—but she also knew it was about more than one little lie. Tate had opened up to her during their time together, and that had scared him to death.
His bleak childhood had hardened him. He’d shut down, convinced himself that he preferred a life of solitude to a life filled with love. By letting her in and letting himself care for her, he’d probably broken the number-one rule in his emotionless warrior code.
You’re better off.
Was she? In one sense, she supposed she was. Tate was a difficult man. Ruthless, dominating, prickly. And if they got together, she’d have to sacrifice her and Rafe’s freedom once again, at least until Tate came out of hiding, and who knew when that would happen?
On the other hand, was anyone really better off without love in their life?
She hadn’t planned it, hadn’t wanted it even, but somehow, she’d fallen for the man. She’d glimpsed past his gruff exterior and discovered a man who could be sweet and tender, a man who’d protect her with his dying breath, who treated her like an equal and made her body burn with the simplest touch.
So no, she didn’t feel better off.
Not by a long shot.
* * *
“A virus,” Nick muttered, shaking his head for the hundredth time. “That’s all Cruz said?”
“That’s all he said,” Tate confirmed.
The trio was up on the watchtower again, safe from the downpour thanks to the stone overhang above their heads. Tate had already filled them in earlier about everything Cruz had told him, but Nick and Sebastian were still visibly bewildered by it all.
“So the doctor we were ordered to rescue released some killer virus in Corazón,” Sebastian said, shaking his head for the hundredth time.
“According to Cruz,” Tate emphasized. “But I’m inclined to believe it might be true, especially since Eva came across that mysterious project Harrison was working on. Project Aries.”