Chapter 5

Nyx stood in the middle of the room and watched the mercenary pull electronics from hidden locations. They'd been escorted to a suite inside the hacienda, not the small casita next to it. Maybe the guest house lacked enough security for prisoners. And that's what they were. Prisoners.

Their cell was spectacular, with bamboo floors polished to a high sheen, a tray ceiling with recessed lights, and the area rugs, chairs, and bedding were a pristine white. They were on the second floor, and outside, she could see a thick wall with razor wire strung along the top, negating the luxury surrounding her. A shudder went through her, and she brought her gaze back to the room itself.

A glass door led to outdoor space. Nyx couldn't call something that large a balcony. But while it theoretically would be an enjoyable location to have morning coffee, there were two men with assault rifles stationed on it, making sure they didn't escape.

The mercenary tossed the latest eavesdropping device he found onto the bed. There was quite a collection.

"Are there going to be repercussions for yanking this stuff?" She gestured toward the bed.

He stopped. For a moment, the merc studied her, and then said, "I think we'll be okay. If it was a problem, someone would have come in here and stopped me."

Nyx nodded. The circumstances meant she had to rely on him and on his judgment. A mercenary. A man whose loyalty was for sale to the highest bidder. He checked the area around the light switches, and she watched him work. Something about him made her believe she could put her trust in him, but that was probably hormones.

She was more than a little attracted to him and had been since she sat at his table at the market. Once his blue eyes had connected with hers, she'd gone warm. And now? He'd taken off the long sleeve camo shirt and the olive drab T-shirt hugged his chest. She was mesmerized by his biceps, the play of muscles in his forearms.

His dark-blond hair was shaggy, tousled, and Nyx wanted to run her fingers through it. Whether to smooth it down or muss it up more, she wasn't sure herself. His bottom lip was fuller than the top one, tempting her to nip it. Lick it.

Forcing herself to move on, she continued to study him. He was a couple inches over six feet with broad shoulders, muscular but with a lanky build. He appeared young. His beard was noticeably sparse on his cheeks, but Nyx knew better. She'd sat at a table with him, she'd spoken with him, had seen the little lines at the corners of his eyes. If she had to guess his age, she would put him closer to thirty than twenty.

She'd also bet he used that baby face to his advantage.

Gunrunning. Damn it. She hated arms dealers. Her dad had retired from the US Army, but her brother was still active Army, in Special Forces, and these illegal arms deals put him at greater risk. The idea of anything happening to Dylan made her feel sick.

Nyx had known blond and gorgeous was involved in either weapons or narcotics trafficking. It was disappointing anyway. Not that she was looking for a relationship. Not while she was in school. She wasn't missing out on her dreams, not like her mom had.

Sitting in one of the white chairs facing the bed, she shifted so she could keep her eyes on him as he continued his search. He'd already gone through the sitting room off the bedroom and the enormous bathroom, pulling listening devices and cameras. She'd followed him around, watching him work.

The sitting room matched the bedroom for décor, but the bathroom did not. The first two were warm, welcoming, and comfortable. The bathroom was enormous. It was elegant, with marble tile on the floor, in the shower, and surrounding the tub. It was also cold, lacking any sense of style. Why the difference?

Nyx watched the mercenary continue his search. She wanted to question him and learn more about him. Maybe he'd stepped in and saved her at the ruins, but she needed to know if, when push came to shove, she could trust him to have her back. The thoughts that came to mind had to remain unspoken. Then there were the basic questions she couldn't ask because a fiancée would already know these things about the man she was marrying.

Like his name.

He knew who she was because the drug lord had asked, but all she had was a surname and it was likely an alias.

Walking to the bed, he added more items to the collection. "I think I got everything," he said, turning toward her.

"How sure are you?"

That one shoulder shrug she was growing accustomed to. "About ninety-five percent."

Which meant she still couldn't ask him any questions. The danger was too great and their situation too precarious. At least her situation was precarious. He might be in a better position since Vargas wanted something from him.

"Why the hell did you get involved with arms? Isn't being a mercenary enough for you?"

He gave her a warning look and Nyx took a deep breath. She couldn't go off on him, not when she needed his help to get out of this situation alive. Not when they might be monitored by the drug lord. If he found out they'd lied to him about an engagement, neither one of them might be around to see tomorrow's sunrise.

Her chest was tight, but her tone came out moderately as she asked, "Do you think we'll really be stuck here until you complete the arms deal?" It was more difficult to keep her expression neutral, but she made an effort in case there was a stray camera the mercenary had missed.

"I hope not." He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted to lean his hips against a dresser. "You heard enough to guess I'm having trouble connecting with the arms dealer I need to sell to. That's going to eat up some time. The bigger problem is getting the weapons Se?or Vargas wants. They'll be nearly impossible to get my hands on. Personally, I don't want to be a houseguest for months."

Her brain jumped from item to item before settling on the last one. "Months?" Nyx felt her stomach bottom out. She couldn't be here for months. When she missed her promised check-ins, her teammates would begin to worry. That would morph into full-fledged anxiety when she didn't show up at the hotel tomorrow as scheduled. It would only take a day or two before Frankie and Ellis would come looking for her and they'd get themselves in trouble.

But they'd also alert Archer, who would put his own plans in motion. For all his failings, the man took care of his employees, even contractors like her. He'd launch some rescue scheme of his own.

That might make things worse, depending on who he hired.

Then there was her father. When she didn't phone home on schedule, he'd start asking questions, and with his contacts, it would only be a matter of time before he found out she was in Puerto Jardin. From there, he'd pinpoint her location in the drug lord's compound and make calls. The first one would be to Dylan who'd take leave and find some friends to come along for the rescue.

Nyx looked out the window and saw the guards with their M4s, the wall with the razor wire and more guards, and beyond that, open land. Not a tree or bush to offer cover. Even her brother and his Special Forces buddies would have a hell of a time getting in here.

Swallowing hard, she squared her shoulders and returned her gaze to the mercenary. "How many months?" Her voice came out levelly and Nyx was grateful for that.

"Relax, Fireball, it won't be that long. I'll come up with a way to get you out of here quickly."

His voice was calm and easy. Nyx wanted to believe he'd manage it, but she knew better. The balance of power was firmly on the side of the drug lord. She nodded anyway. If he'd missed a camera or microphone, she wanted to appear in complete alignment with him. To show anything else was to display a weakness that Vargas could exploit.

"How are you supposed to negotiate with the arms dealer when Se?or Vargas took your phone?" If the mercenary had his mobile, she could contact Archer. Of course, calling for help was why his phone had been confiscated.

"Se?or Vargas is going to want a conversation with me. I'll find out more then. Stop worrying."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered.

For a moment, he studied her, and then the mercenary straightened and crossed to her. He took her hand, and the jolt was so strong, Nyx felt as if she held a live wire. She wasn't the only one who experienced the shock either. She saw his eyes widen.

He recovered quickly. "Come on," he said and tugged her into motion.

Curious, Nyx allowed him to lead her into the bathroom. Once the door was closed behind them, he turned on the shower full blast. As they stood next to it, he let go of her and said softly, "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I'll take care of you and I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of here."

Now she knew why they were in the bathroom. With the shower running, he must feel confident even if he had missed a mic that their conversation would go unheard.

"Why do you want to help me? I'm not rich. My parents aren't rich. I can't pay you anything." She remembered his reaction to taking her hand. The attraction was strong, and it went both ways. " Anything ," she repeated with emphasis.

He shook his head, his lips turning down slightly at the corners. "I don't expect you to pay me, not in money or anything else."

"Why?" Nyx couldn't help the suspicion. "Mercenaries don't tend to be altruistic."

Another one-shoulder shrug. "Chalk it up to wanting some good karma."

That was bullshit, but ultimately, it didn't matter. She was in over her head and the merc was her best chance at getting out of this mess.

"We're safe to talk?" she asked.

"As long as we keep our voices low, yeah." She nodded, but before she could say anything, he spoke. "What the fuck were you doing at the ruins today? Are you following me?"

"I'm not following you."

"Don't lie to me. I won't tolerate it."

"I'm not lying! I was out there at first light to hike into the ruins. You and the brute squad didn't show up until I'd been there for hours. Believe me, if I'd known you and your friends were planning a rendezvous, I'd have bugged out earlier."

"Which brings me back to my original question. What were you doing at the ruins?"

Nyx decided it was in her best interests to tell him. "My job. I'm working on my PhD in geoarchaeology. I was checking something out at the ruins."

"Geoarchaeology?"

She was used to the question. "Geoarchaeology combines earth sciences like geology and geophysics to answer questions about archaeological sites."

"Who do you work for?"

She waffled for an instant. Archer might not like her passing along the intel. Bottom line though, she needed the merc's help. "The Paladin League."

The man recognized the name. She could tell by the way he went still.

The Paladin League was a small nonprofit. "How do you know about the Paladin League?" she asked, her own suspicions raised.

He hesitated, and then said, "I have friends there. Who do you work for?"

The way he asked the question made her think he already knew the answer. "My boss's name is Archer."

Something in the mercenary's posture, in his demeanor, told her he recognized his name, too. She didn't like that he knew about Archer. His part of the League was covert. Nyx decided she better focus on more important things. Like carrying out this ruse. Vargas didn't seem like the forgive and forget type. If he found out they'd lied to him, they'd be in deep shit. "How are we supposed to play out a fake engagement when we know nothing about each other?"

"We'll have to manage. Your name is really Nyx? You didn't lie to Vargas, right?"

"It's really Nyx. I guessed his men would locate the Jeep I rented, search it, and find the rental paperwork. I thought it would go worse if I didn't tell the truth."

The merc nodded. "You're smart and able to think quickly. Good. We're going to need that to pull off this charade."

They needed a miracle to get through this, but she kept that to herself. "You know my name, but all I know is Vargas called you Se?or Case."

"I go by Charlie Case."

Go by. He might as well say he was using the alias Charlie Case. "Do you want me to call you Charlie?"

"No." The answer came immediately.

"Charles? Chuck? Chas? CC?" No response. Yep, Charlie was not his real name. "Do you have a nickname I could use?"

"I have a handle, but it'll sound strange to Vargas if you use it."

The man was annoying the hell out of her. "I have to call you something. Tell me the nickname and I'll offer my opinion on how usable it is."

Frowning, he said, "My buddies call me Lurch."

"Lurch?" It was sheer dint of will that kept her voice low.

Her brother's best friend was Lurch.

It was a Special Forces thing that everyone had a handle of some sort. Although she'd never asked, she suspected it was about security, but her brother went next level. He'd given her a nickname when they were kids—one she hated—and he used it all the time. She couldn't remember the last time he'd actually called her Nyx.

Was this the same Lurch? The one her brother trusted?

She'd only seen a picture of him once. Dylan with his three buddies. Nyx recalled him enlarging the image for her, pointing at them as he gave her their handles. "This is Ollie," he told her. "That's Mick, and that's my best buddy, Lurch."

Nyx leaned closer to the mercenary. The man in the picture had a military-short haircut and no facial hair, and she did her best to see through the merc's scruff.

"I told you," he said. "You can't use my handle."

Ignoring him, Nyx tried to superimpose the face of this man over her memory of that picture. Yes, this was Dylan's best friend.

As surprise gave way to certainty, she tightened her lips. She'd talked to Dylan a couple months ago. He, Lurch, Ollie, and Mick had gone on a fishing trip, and he'd made an offhand comment about it being touch and go that Lurch would get leave.

Dylan wouldn't be friends with a merc, especially one with loose enough morals to be a gunrunner. Mere weeks ago, Lurch had been in the Army. It didn't take much to connect the dots.

She couldn't tell Lurch she knew who he was, or that she was Dylan's sister. Even with the shower running, the risk was too great. Nyx would pretend his cover story was truth even when they were alone. It was the only way to protect his mission. It was the only way to protect him .

Because this man was not a mercenary.

He was US Army Special Forces, and he was on a covert op.