Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

S itting across from Charles du Lac, the French Secret Service agent, Maggie struggled to retain the composure she’d summoned earlier by the river. The restaurant, located just off the hotel lobby, screamed art déco, with geometric patterns on the red carpet, chairs covered in gold and red upholstery, and crystal chandeliers cast a muted light onto every table, concealing?—Maggie hoped?—the tension creeping back into her.

Gripping her hands under the tablecloth, she kept up her end of a conversation with Charles while fighting her awareness of a silent Jake, to whom she hadn’t spoken a word since their exchange by the elevator. Given the discerning glint in Charles’s dark eyes as they swung from her to Jake, he could sense the undercurrent. But he didn’t bring it up until their salads arrived.

“Forgive me, but I’m noticing a wall between the two of you.” He drew an invisible line with his fork. “Perhaps you should get to know each other a bit better before passing yourselves off as man and wife.”

Since Maggie had just taken a bite of her salad, it was up to Jake to respond to that. He turned his head, considering her profile. Her cheeks grew warm. “Actually, we already know each other. We both studied abroad during our junior year in college. Lena was my girlfriend.”

Jake placed a hand on her back without warning, nearly causing Maggie to choke as she swallowed.

“Ah.” Charles stabbed a fork into his salad while coming to private conclusions. “You call her Lena, that’s good. You can keep doing that. And since we’re all supposed to be French, let us assume that tongue from this moment, going forward. ?a va ?” Okay?

Jake answered with a typical French shrug. “Oui, ca va.”

Maggie glanced over, surprised that even that smidgen of French sounded native, not at all like the stilted way he used to speak. “What language will the peacekeeping team be using?” she asked Charles.

“Spanish exclusively. Although everyone is probably conversant in English, I’ve told them neither of you speaks English well. I don’t want them hearing your American accents and wondering if you really are French?—unless you can pull that off.”

Maggie tipped her head at Jake. “He can.” He’d made her laugh more than once, imitating a Frenchman speaking English. “But not me.” Meeting Jake’s eye, she added, “Did you go to language school for Spanish, too?”

He answered in French. “ Non. I picked it up in the Peace Corps.”

Oh yes. He’d been working in Guatemala that one time she’d looked him up. “How long was your French language course?”

“Only six months, and I don’t have native proficiency yet, but??—”

“You speak it well.” She could give him that much. “With a perfect accent.”

“Merci.”

Across the table, Charles smiled as he stabbed at his salad again. “Well, this is more like it.” He persisted in his native tongue. “May I recommend you two sit at the bar after dinner and catch up?” His tone grew subtly harder. “I cannot have you airing your differences in front of the UN team and jeopardizing our mission.”

As Charles popped his fork into his mouth, Jake studied him with that same deceptively soft gaze Maggie remembered from Paris. Now that he was a SEAL, not just a twenty-year-old linguistics major, he didn’t seem so harmless. Charles wiped his mouth with his napkin while regarding Jake warily.

“Sure,” Jake finally responded. “We could have a drink at the bar after this.” His gaze landed on her.

Maggie, who’d offered that very thing earlier, turned him down. “Actually, I don’t drink.” At least not while she was still taking antianxiety medication.

Charles frowned at her. “I’m sure they have nonalcoholic options.”

Of course, they did, but sitting alone at the bar with Jake wasn’t going to resolve the tension between them because he would use that time to try to talk her out of this assignment. She didn’t need him undermining her wavering confidence.

Fearing the meal would last forever, she willed their waiter to bring their main course. But Charles proved adept at getting others to talk. Even before their entrées came, he had both Jake and Maggie offering up their opinions on current events. It came as no surprise that Jake’s outlook was similar to Maggie’s. They’d been equally like-minded in college?—with one exception. Jake was a man after God’s own heart, while Maggie simply had no use for religion.

Not hearing him mention God, not even once over dinner, she wondered if his faith had waned over the years. Oh, I hope not. She’d admired him for it.

When their entrées finally came, she ate most of her steak, which was more than she’d eaten since the fiasco in Morocco. Some of that had to do with Charles saying, “Eat up! You won’t get food like this for two weeks.”

That was the length of time they were expected to negotiate for Howitz and Barnes’s release. As missions went, two weeks weren’t long at all, which made this assignment perfect for getting her confidence back. Maggie could do anything for fourteen days.

Stuffed by dinner, they all declined any dessert. Charles paid for the meal with a company credit card.

After signing his name with a flourish, the Frenchman slid aside the booklet. “I’m sure you have much to do before flying out on Monday. Check your emails for plane tickets and itineraries. My apologies for flying you back to New York first, but according to your legends, you live here, so…”

Well, of course, she was traveling with Jake. The news shouldn’t catch her off guard.

Charles produced his phone. “I’m texting you the address of the facility where you’ll receive your microchips tomorrow morning. By Monday, the small incisions will be healed, and you’ll be ready to travel. Speaking of which, you will each receive a box in the mail at your respective addresses. Each box contains a backpack, waterproof jacket, and quinine tablets to safeguard against malaria. Leave your phones at home. Bring a pair of sturdy boots. Pack only two changes of clothing, a toothbrush, and maybe a comb. Any questions?”

Maggie couldn’t think of any. She turned to Jake, who shook his head.

Charles pushed to his feet. “ Bonne soirée, madame, monsieur. Enjoy your time at the bar.” With a wink that implied they should get very well reacquainted, he swiveled on his dress shoes and left them sitting in silence.

Jake drew a deep breath. “I can already tell you’re not going to sit with me at the bar.”

He’d reverted to English, so she did, too, sending him a tight smile. “Looks like you can still read my mind.” Hearing sarcasm in her voice, Maggie winced and tried again. “Sorry, but you can’t talk me out of this assignment, Jake, and I don’t want you wasting your time.” She pushed her chair back. “I’m going to hit the hay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Not waiting for his response, she left him alone at the table and bolted toward the lobby, jumping into an elevator that had already started to close. She’d accomplished her objective for the evening?—keeping Jake from taking sides with the worried voice in her head.

Truth be told, this new Jake was intimidating, and she was a teensy bit worried he might come after her. She would get to her room as fast as possible and just ignore him if he knocked at the door.

A thumping coming from the room next to his roused Jake from a light slumber. He glanced at the clock next to his hotel bed. It was two minutes to midnight, and by the sound of it, Lena was still awake?—doing jumping jacks?

He already knew she had trouble sleeping. His source claimed she liked to run at night, up to ten miles at a time. Maybe she was warming up for a run.

At night in New York City?

He threw back the covers and rolled out of bed. She’d better be smarter than that.

In the dark, he fumbled for a pair of sweatpants and searched for his socks and sneakers just in case she left her room. He was jamming his head into a T-shirt when her door thudded shut.

Muttering Grandpa Carrigan’s favorite invective, Jake crossed to his door and peeked into the hall just in time to see her step into the elevator. As she turned around, he ducked out of sight and went to grab his key card and his cell phone.

Not that he was going to try to stop her from running. He doubted he could do that, any more than he could stop her from taking this assignment. He would keep an eye on her, was all.

Approaching the closed elevator, he studied the display above the doors while pushing the button for the second elevator. She’d stopped at the mezzanine level?—oh, yeah, where the indoor gym was located. Good. He knew she wasn’t foolish enough to run outside.

By the time he spotted her through the long glass wall that looked out on the hallway, she was running on a treadmill, looking for all the world like a mouse flying on its wheel?—and getting nowhere.

The look of dismay on her face when she spotted him was worth losing sleep for. At last, he had her to himself?—though once inside the room, Jake glimpsed the earbuds in her ears, and a portion of his satisfaction waned.

Five other treadmills were available. Even so, he chose the one right next to hers. After powering up his machine, he began to walk, easing into a run because his knees protested, having run five miles just the day before. Maggie glanced over as he increased his speed incrementally.

Finally, he was running as fast as she was. Why would anyone punish themselves like this? Worried they were going to run for an hour and not even speak, he invoked divine aid. Lord, please let me talk to Lena tonight.

Not two seconds later, one of her earbuds tumbled onto her conveyor belt, which flung it under a stationary bike.

Jake hit the red button on his machine. “I’ll get that.”

“Thanks.” She slowed her pace, craning her neck to look back at him as he teased the earbud out from under the base of the bike.

Ignoring her outheld hand, Jake dropped the earbud into the pocket of his sweatpants and remounted his machine, amused by the indignant flaring of her beautiful eyes. Then he spurred himself into an easy lope, timing his footfalls to coincide with hers. Now they could talk.

“Look, I’m sorry if I came across a little negative today.” He tiptoed around his reason for it. Her appearance had thoroughly dismayed him. She didn’t look like she was anywhere close to being ready for the rough assignment ahead.

She shot a glance in his direction. “How come you knew I’d be at the briefing? You show up in my life without any warning, and then you disappear on me.”

Oh, so that bothered her, did it? Good. “My commander briefed me on this assignment two days ago. He mentioned you were the CIA’s top pick.” Jake had even agreed Lena was the perfect candidate until he’d seen her in person that afternoon and realized she wasn’t ready yet.

She cut a frown at him while running with an effortlessness he envied.

“I can tell you have questions. Go ahead and ask them.” This was exactly what Charles wanted them to do?—to clear the air.

“Okay. How long have you been a SEAL?”

“Five years. I worked for the Peace Corps first.”

She nodded as if knowing that much.

“When I saw innocent people tormented by narcotraffickers, I decided I could help more if I was a special operator.” His decision had as much to do with wanting to be part of Lena’s world, but he wouldn’t tell her that?—not yet, anyway.

Her gaze slid over him. “How’d you do at BUD/S training? You weren’t very athletic when I knew you.”

He could always count on Lena to be truthful. “Well, I got myself in shape first, but it still took me two attempts.”

“Two is still impressive. And when did you request to be a SOG?”

“A year before I recovered you from Venezuela.”

Another nod. She kept her gaze averted. “You disappeared on me pretty fast after that… and after Morocco, too.”

Her disgruntled observation made him smile on the inside. “Not my call.” Walking away from her, not once but twice, had gutted him. He’d worked so hard to put himself into the same theater as her, only to be ordered elsewhere the instant he got her to safety.

“And Paris?” Finally, she looked at him, allowing him to glimpse the pain in her expression. “Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?”

He blinked, confused by the question. “What do you mean? My parents came and took me away before I could catch you. I explained all that in my texts after I got a new phone.” His old one had been useless after the blast; hers, too, probably.

Maggie was frowning at him. “You never sent me any texts.”

He jabbed the down arrow to slow his pace. Was she lying? What would be the point? “I texted you for months afterward, wanting to stay connected. I knew I had the right number because I called your house to check with your mother. After that, I figured you must have blocked me.”

Her puzzled expression appeared genuine. “I had no idea you had texted me.” She sounded dazed.

Chewing on Lena’s assertion, Jake decided she was telling the truth. He thought immediately of someone who had both a means and a motive for blocking his number. “Could your father have blocked me?” A section chief for the FBI, Drake Ellis had had big dreams for his daughter, none of which included marriage to her college sweetheart.

“I don’t know.” Her edgy tone told him she didn’t want to live in the past. “It’s water under the bridge now, isn’t it?”

Given her reply, Jake doubted his texts would have changed the course of her future anyway. Rather than dwell on his hurt, he changed the topic. “So, you’re running a lot these days.”

That earned him a defensive glance. “So?”

“Like fifty miles a week or more.”

“How would you know that?”

He knew way more than she realized, having befriended her half-brother while swearing Miles to secrecy. “Been keeping tabs on you.”

“Why?”

Why? She was the love of his life, his muse, the woman he was going to grow old with, provided he kept her alive long enough. “Just curious.” World’s biggest understatement. “Sorry I offended you after the briefing today. I’m just…I’m worried this assignment isn’t right for you.”

It was Maggie’s turn to slap the emergency STOP button. As her treadmill ground to a halt, she whirled to face him, her body rigid, her beautiful eyes burning with emotion he could only wonder at. Her bosom, supported by a black jogging bra, rose and fell above her flat abdomen. He could see her hip bones through the Spandex of her running shorts.

“Please, don’t say another word to me about walking away from this assignment. Mike Howitz and Jay Barnes were my friends, my colleagues. Would you leave your teammates to die in captivity?”

Jake firmed his lips. Of course not.

“So, I’m going, Jacques . Have I been diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress? Yes, but it’s not a disorder. I’ve got it under control.”

That she confessed as much took guts; he had to admire her honesty.

“I have to do this,” she continued. “For them. All I can do is promise you that I won’t let you down. So please stop undermining my self-confidence and be supportive, okay? That’s how spouses are supposed to act.”

Spouses. He hid a bitter smile. She didn’t want to be his spouse?—except in pretend. Then again, pretending might be all he ever got of her, so, okay. He couldn’t lie. He was thrilled to be able to work with her, at last. “You’re right, Lena.”

While she silently processed his agreement, he powered down his machine, then stepped off it, putting himself within inches of her. Her eyes widened, and her body stilled like that of a wary doe.

Well, this is new . She saw him as a real man now, someone to be reckoned with. It was a heady thing to realize he could grab her and kiss her, and she would probably soften and kiss him back. But that wasn’t how Jake rolled. He took her earbud from his pocket and held it out.

She snatched it from his hand, as if afraid to touch him.

“I’m going back to bed,” he told her. “Don’t run too long, and remember to hydrate. We have that procedure in the morning.” He patted the railing of her treadmill. “Good night.” He headed for the door.

As he strode past the glass wall seconds later, he could see that she’d yet to resume her run. She was staring at the treadmill display, clearly muddled by their encounter.

Jake tamped down a smile and counted her confusion as a win.

Maggie regarded the two Advil in her palm, lit up by the sunlight beaming through the airplane window next to her. The 747 jumbo jet she had boarded three hours earlier sliced serenely through the atmosphere at an altitude of fifty thousand feet. She and Jake were on their way to Bogotá four days after their briefing in New York. Soon, something as simple as pain medicine might be unattainable, especially if the FARC seized all their possessions. Advil she could do without, but what about her antianxiety pills?

She’d joined up with Jake at New York’s JFK Airport, in the international terminal. Wearing a white rain jacket identical to hers, he’d been easy to spot. The last time she’d seen him was when they’d gotten their microchips implanted three days before. Strangely, one look at Jake’s broad shoulders and grounding stare, and a large portion of her nervousness subsided. She was alive today because of him. In his presence, nothing bad would happen to her, with or without her pills. Unless the FARC shot him dead.

Stop that .

Squelching her PTS, she asked a passing flight attendant for more Sprite so she could swallow the tablets. As she waited, her thoughts went back to the phone call she’d shared with her father at the crack of dawn that morning. He’d called to wish her well, to caution her not to rub any of the FARC leaders the wrong way with her feminist remarks.

“I want you coming home in one piece, Mags.”

His reference to the beating she’d suffered at the hands of Farid hadn’t helped her confidence. “Hey, Dad, I’ve got a question for you, and I want an honest response.” Jake’s insistence that he’d texted her after Paris had been eating away at her. “After the bombing in Paris, when I got a new cell phone, did you block Jake Carrigan’s number without my permission?”

“Whose number?”

“You know who I’m talking about?—my boyfriend in Paris. You should know he’s the SOG who pulled me out of Venezuela and Morocco and got me to safety.”

Her father’s startled silence had said it all. “So, you did,” she concluded.

He’d heaved an audible sigh. “You had to finish college strong, Mags, not be distracted by a love interest.”

“Yeah, well, I had no idea he texted me after Paris. You had no right to do that.” She’d hung up on him, inexplicably furious. It wasn’t until she’d calmed down that she acknowledged her father had saved her from years of suffering as she tried and failed to strike a balance between growing her career and growing a relationship.

Jake cut into her thoughts as he dropped into the seat beside her, startling her with his swift return from the lavatory. His gaze went straight to the tablets in her palm.

“Qu’est ce qui te fait mal?” What hurts?

Since joining him for this flight to Bogotá, they’d spoken nothing but French.

She answered in the same tongue, “I have a headache. Merc i?—ah, thank you,” she said to the flight attendant handing her a Sprite.” The truth was the spot on her right hip, where her microchip had been implanted, was still irritated.

Behind prescription-free lenses similar to the glasses he’d worn back in college, Jake’s blue eyes narrowed. She’d learned the Navy had paid for him to have laser surgery. The glasses he wore now were part of his cover, meant to downplay his over-the-top physical fitness and to make him look more harmless. Thanks to his intelligent demeanor, he almost pulled off the illusion.

“Are you sure it’s not your hip hurting?”

His acuity brought her startled gaze back to his. “Why? Does yours hurt?”

“No.”

Oh. She swallowed down the tablets to hide her concern.

“Are you taking the antibiotics?”

“Yes.” And the malaria tablets. And her antianxiety pills. “How do we know the rebels won’t take our meds from us?”

“We don’t.”

Terrific. She could get stuck in the wilderness with a raging infection and a case of nerves, with malaria to top it off.

Jake brushed her shoulder while inclining his mouth to her ear. “It’s not too late to turn back, Lena. When we get to Bogotá, we’ll just say you’re feeling sick, and we’ll buy you a return ticket. Pas de problème .”

She whipped her face toward his so their noses were mere inches apart. “I am not backing??—”

He cut off her furious retort?—spoken in English?—by covering her mouth with his.

In an instant, she was in Paris again, being swept away by the kisses of the young man she adored. The taste and texture of his kiss was exactly the same, but his technique was layered with a confidence that sent her pulse skipping.

Maggie drew away with her heart trotting. Oh, dear.

“Fais attention.”

Jake’s cautionary word rankled. She didn’t need to be reminded not to speak English. She’d slipped, was all. Steeped in chagrin, she turned her attention out the window and peered down.

Far below them, the coast of Venezuela resembled a flouncy green skirt with a hem of sand and a ribbon of peach against the blue-green waters of the Western Caribbean. Picking out landmarks, she pinpointed the area called Maiquetía, just outside of Caracas, where she’d worked for fifteen months inside a government-owned weapons depot. Her objective then was to discover which countries were supplying President Maduro with what weapons. If not for Jake’s timely rescue, she might have gone up in a ball of fire as a rebel army, intent on a coup that had ultimately failed, was about to fire a missile at the warehouse.

Jake, with a direct line to the rebels, had gotten them to divert their missile, which ultimately struck a retreating convoy filled with the dictator’s arsenal. Jake had then whisked Maggie to safety aboard the USS Theodore Roosevelt before vanishing on her.

How bizarre that she was now with him again, ten miles in the air, headed for another tenuous assignment.

Would she rather be alone?—or worse?—paired with some stranger while pretending to be that man’s wife? No way. Jake would keep her safe while she got her gumption back. When all of this was over, she would be stronger and more self-reliant than ever.