The Commander

Ignoring him, she came back down the aisle and rested on the arm of the seat opposite his. “Por favor, Andres, those guys are terrorists. They’re bad—”

“They’re leftover Communists and rejects from the islands who sell drugs. Don’t be confused about this, Carmen.” He narrowed his gaze. “They’re criminals and nothing more. If I let scum like that scare me, then I don’t deserve to be in this job.”

“They’ve threatened to kill you.”

“So what? They’ve done the same before and nothing has happened. We’ve ordered security at the airport. Let the Emerald Coast SWAT team handle this.”

He turned his eyes out the window of the plane. Destin was almost in view. What would Lena say to him? How would she react after all this time?

Carmen started to argue more, but the captain’s voice came over the intercom. “Two minutes to landing, folks. Everyone buckle up.”

“I’ll get the vest for you right now.” She tried one last time. “You can slip it on before we land—”

“No.” He slammed his files shut and pulled on his seat belt. “No one’s going to be shooting at anybody. Not the Red Tide. Not anybody. Not today.”

Carmen shook her head then sat down abruptly in the seat in front of him, the sound of her own seat belt an angry click as she buckled herself in.

But Andres hardly noticed. Once again, he wasn’t thinking about his assistant or the Red Tide or even the man he’d suspected all those years ago of backing them. His thoughts were centered on the only thing he really cared about in Destin.

Lena McKinney.

The woman he’d never stopped loving.

LENA STOOD beneath the overhang of Terminal A, her eyes scanning the buildings around her as the breeze tugged at her hair and pulled on her jacket. The sky was so blue, it almost glowed. Strong winds straight from the Gulf had blown away last week’s storm clouds and now it was clear, the sunshine warming the temperature to a balmy seventy degrees, the quick change typical for Destin’s weather. A salty tang hung over the blackened tarmac, as well. The airport was blocks from the beach, but the sea was always close in Destin. Even if it wasn’t in sight, you could either hear it or smell it.

Her earphone crackled suddenly and Lena put her fingers against the small black piece of plastic all the team members wore in order to communicate with each other. The words sounded faintly in her ear. Andres’s plane would be landing within minutes.

She lifted her gaze to the cloudless expanse. The aircraft was not yet in sight, but she could feel its nearness deep inside her. Ever since Sarah had given her the news, Lena had hovered between craziness and calm acceptance. One minute she’d tell herself she could handle Andres’s appearance. He no longer meant anything to her, anything at all. The next minute lunacy would take over and she’d start to recall everything about him—his black eyes, his heavy-lidded looks, the Latin sighs.

Standing on the asphalt, she told herself there was only one way this meeting would go. He’d arrive, she’d say a cool hello, then she’d concentrate on her job and nothing else. Keeping him safe was all she had to worry about and nothing could interfere with that goal.

Everyone gets out alive.

To maintain her calmness, she focused on her preparations. The airport was tiny and that made things simple. Their primary concern would be the deplaning. Passengers didn’t always go through jetways here; sometimes after the aircraft landed, they walked down exterior stairways. He’d be the most vulnerable right then. That was why she would go out and meet him personally. Her chest went tight at the thought, but she took a deep breath and concentrated on the details.

She’d put Ryan Lukas, their main sniper, on the center roof and his counterpart from the other team, Chase Mitchell, on the rear building. Peter Douglas and John Fletcher, the two rear entry men from Team Beta were manning security at the entrances inside and out. Cal Hamilton and Jason Field, the rear guys from Alpha were providing undercover surveillance inside the waiting lounges. She’d ordered dogs and handlers into the parking garage as a final extra precaution. The remaining team members she’d scattered about the airport, leaving only a skeleton crew in town under the control of her second in command, Bradley Thompson. Maybe she’d gone overboard, but she didn’t want to examine that thought too closely, so she told herself if nothing else, it was good training for the day when someone really important might show up.

The low, thrumming sound of a jet interrupted the expectant silence. When Lena spotted its blue-and-white logo, she reached up and adjusted her headset to bring the microphone closer to her mouth. “Head’s up, everyone. Package approaching.”

Her voice was level and constant. It’s just another job, she told herself. Another situation, another call-out, nothing more. Andres was coming to meet with the head of the new D.E.A. branch office that was opening in Destin. According to Sarah, he’d be in and out in one day. She’d see him for a total of ten minutes, coming and going, and that was it.

Everyone gets out alive.

The plane came into view and a few seconds later, the wheels touched down, their screaming protest louder than Lena was accustomed to from inside the terminal. In a matter of minutes, the jet reached the end of the blackened asphalt, then turned slowly and began to taxi toward her. Lena’s gaze went over the area one more time, checking and rechecking. Everyone on the field had gone through security, but a sudden edginess brushed against her. She didn’t believe in omens but all at once her instincts were screaming too loud to ignore. She concentrated a moment more, then her gaze homed in on the porthole in the aft section of the arriving plane, pinpointing the source of her discomfort. Her unease was coming from inside the aircraft, not out.

A face stared at her through the thick glass of the window. She caught only an impression—dark hair and a black suit—but it was enough. She knew it was Andres. The engines whined loudly and the plane ended up alongside the waiting stairway. A moment later, the noise from the turbines died, leaving only silence.

Lena walked into the bright sunshine and headed for the stairs.

CHAPTER TWO

ANDRES ROSE from his seat, nervous energy propelling him into the aisle before the jet had even stopped moving. Pacing the tiny walkway, he waited for the flight attendant to open the door, willing the man to hurry up, but without obvious results. A rush of humid air and sunshine flooded the cabin as the uniformed steward finally drew the door back.

He told himself he was prepared.

But he wasn’t.

Lena stepped inside and Andres’s heart stopped. He could actually feel it thump once then quit. A moment later, it started again, but for a second, he hadn’t been sure it would.

Her whiplike body filled the black SWAT uniform with unmistakable familiarity. She’d never had a voluptuous figure, but what she did have was perfect. She was fit and trim without an ounce of extra anything. Her brown hair, still shiny and smooth, was tinged with streaks of blond and cut shorter than he remembered. Her gray eyes weren’t as stormy as they’d been the last time he’d seen her, but there was something in her gaze that stabbed him, the pain unexpectedly pointed and physical.

“Andres.” She said his name with aloofness. “Welcome to Destin.”

“Thank you, Lena. It’s good to see you—”

She didn’t let him finish, her brisk response impersonal and distant. “We need to do this fast, Andres. The longer we take, the more opportunity for trouble there is.” Tilting her head, she indicated the stairs behind her. “I’ll go down first. You follow me. Scott will get your back. Everyone else comes off after you’re clear.”

He knew it was foolish but Andres found himself wanting something else from her, some-thing…more. The realization bothered him, but he put it aside and looked at the man behind her. He was young but had the hard air of a seasoned cop. Wearing the same uniform as Lena, black and tight, he acknowledged Andres with a quick bob of his head as Lena spoke again, her voice even more clipped and cold.

“You’ve got on the vest?”

“No,” he said brusquely. “The vest is not necessary.”

“We’re not deplaning until you have it on.”

“You’re wasting my time.”

“No,” she answered in a no-nonsense way. “You’re wasting it yourself.” Her eyes flicked over his shoulder and she spoke to Carmen, figuring out her status instantly. “Do you know where his Kevlar vest is?” Carmen apparently nodded, and Lena continued. “Go get it, please.”

Her manner brought forth another flash of irritation. She always did it by the book, no matter what. He glanced down at his watch then looked back up at her. “I have to be downtown in fifteen minutes.”

Carmen appeared at Lena’s side and handed her a small black bag. Without even looking at it, Lena handed the pack over to him. “Then put this on, and we’ll leave.”

He glared at her and she glared back, but a moment later, he snatched the bag from her hands and pulled out the black sleeveless garment. His eyes remained on her face as he ripped off his tie and began to unbutton his jacket. “This is ridiculous.” When he was upset a trace of Spanish inflection always came into his voice. He heard it now. “You’ve made the area safe, no? Why should I do this?”

“Because I’m not perfect,” she told him calmly. “And neither are the men who work for me. We’ve swept the terminal and have people in place, but you never know. Someone could have slipped through.”

He pulled off his black silk coat and shrugged into the Kevlar, the fabric stiff against his white, starched shirt. In the closeness of the cabin, he could smell her soap…or was he imagining it?

“I’m trusting you to have done your job right,” he snapped. “You should be flattered, not giving me a hard time.”

Her steady eyes revealed nothing in response to his words, but a vibration of energy came off her body, a low, silent humming that only Andres could have caught. His fingers stilled on the fasteners of the vest as she spoke.

“My job will be done when you’re off this plane and still alive.” A heartbeat passed as her gray eyes locked on his. “Trust has nothing to do with it.”

ANDRES GATHERED his briefcase and jacket while Lena stood at the door of the plane and surveyed the runway area one more time. Her eyes went slowly over the buildings in front of her, but in fact, she wasn’t really seeing them. The image coming to her instead was that of Andres and his hands. When she thought of him, she always thought of those hands. Other women might have noticed his trim stomach or the width of his shoulders or even his eyes as they’d stared at her, but not Lena. She’d watched his fingers move over the buttons of his blazer. They were long, his knuckles slim and well-formed, his wrists broad and strong-looking.

She’d noticed the rest of him, too, though. Above the collar of his pristine white shirt, the café-au-lait tone of his skin, that sweet, smooth color she’d always loved, was darker than before, the contrast of the material against his face and neck sensual and appealing. When he was under a lot of stress, he spent as much time as he could outdoors, playing baseball usually.

Beneath all the polish, though, he acted just as he always had—like a banked fire poised on the verge of explosion. She’d responded as she’d known she would, too, with the same mix of fascination and dread and anger he always created inside her. Nothing she could say to herself would make her heart stop crashing inside her chest. How could she do what she was supposed to do? How could she concentrate?

All she could think about was the last time they’d been together, when he’d shown up after the canceled wedding and told her about the special operation he’d had to run. She’d been a cop all her adult life and a good one; even though his distrust had hurt, she had understood the need for secrecy, the reticence to talk. But she was a woman, too. He’d broken her heart and destroyed her self-confidence. She could never forgive him for that.

As she always did when her thinking got too heavy, she turned to action, forcing herself to focus as she pulled her microphone closer. “L1 calling team leader. Package secure.”

“Gotcha, L1. We’re clear. Wait for final check then proceed.”

They transmitted on closed channels, but when doing protections Lena insisted on maintaining as much security as possible. With a precise, calm voice, she checked on each of the team members, using the code they’d already agreed on. Everyone was in place and ready to move. When Ryan, the sniper, issued a final clear from his vantage point, they’d go. She looked over her shoulder, past Scott to where Andres stood.

He was giving some last-minute instructions to the woman who’d brought Lena his vest. His secretary, his assistant, his lover? Lena wasn’t sure of her position, but she’d immediately known how the woman felt about Andres. Her adoration of him was obvious. It meant nothing to Lena, of course, yet she couldn’t help but notice. When they’d been together, he’d continually attracted women. They couldn’t seem to resist him.

Passing Scott, Andres moved to the front of the cabin and took up his position directly behind her. He’d donned his jacket again and the bulky vest beneath made his chest look vast. As he juggled his briefcase to his other hand, he bumped into her shoulder. “Lo siento,” he murmured. I’m sorry….

The Spanish was unexpected and somehow too intimate. She looked directly at him then, and in the closeness, all her senses, the ones she’d been trying to tamp down since she’d walked into the plane and into his presence, heightened, as if someone had turned up a volume knob until the sound was out of range. She could smell his aftershave, a scent she didn’t recognize, thank God, and even see the tiny flecks of gold imbedded in the iris of his right eye. She had on a SWAT jacket and vest as well, but the brush of his arm burned through the fabric like a lighted torch.

She couldn’t physically step away; she was trapped between him and the door, but she pulled into herself and shuttered her expression, turning her face away from him.

Her coldness didn’t stop him. Impulsively, it appeared, he reached out and drew a line down the side of her cheek. His touch was as smooth and sensual as ever and it left a trail of stunning memories behind. “Lena…” He gave her name the Spanish inflection. “Will you have some time for me later? To catch up?”

His stare was so black, Lena felt herself slide into its endless depths. She fought the sensation with everything she had in her, stopping the headlong disaster only at the very last moment. She spoke slowly, distinctly. “I’m here today because I have a job to do. And as far as I’m concerned, that job is the only reason I’ll be seeing you again. I have nothing else to say to you and I certainly don’t feel like going over old times.”

“And if I disagree?”

Her pulse jackhammered, but Lena had trained herself well. She knew her expression was neutral. “Feel free to disagree all you want. I don’t really care one way or the other.”

His eyes danced over her face, searching it for something, and she felt the plunge begin again. Before his inexorable pull could drag her any deeper, her radio sounded, Ryan’s voice in her ear. “This is G1. Area clear. L1 proceed.”

She acknowledged the call, then spoke to Andres, heading off whatever his reply might have been.

“The stairs are going to be our most open point. Stay as close to me as possible and keep your head down. Don’t look around. Just watch my feet and go where I go. Scott will be at your back. When we hit the ground, we’ll walk directly to the car. If anything happens, fall down. Understand?”

At her imperious tone, his own voice sharpened. “For God’s sake, Lena, I know what to do. I’ve done this before—”

“Good,” she broke in. “Then do it right, and we’ll all come out alive.”

He started to reply, but at the last minute he snapped his mouth shut and jerked his head toward the stairs in an impatient let’s-go motion. Lena caught Scott’s eye, spoke into her headset then started down the stairs.

AS ANDRES FOLLOWED Lena down the steps, he told himself to calm down, to act as if he didn’t care. It was an impossible order, though.

He’d never be able to do that, not as far as she was concerned.

When she’d made that crack about trust, Lena had been putting him on notice. There was no trust between them—not now. She would do her job but there would be no other contact. She wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.

Forcing himself to ignore his response, he discarded Lena’s instructions and looked around the tarmac, his stare quick and jumpy as it traveled over the jetway and to the buildings beyond. He saw nothing unusual.

To their right a mechanic in a set of blue overalls worked under the hood of a small Cessna, his tools laid out in a precise line at his feet. To his left, a man in sunglasses and a cap sat behind the wheel of a small motorized cart filled with luggage. In between them was the terminal, and through a wall of windows, Andres could see a group of passengers mingling and talking. Well-dressed and well-heeled, they matched the expensive designer suitcases on the wagon. They were probably waiting for one of the private jets that made up the majority of planes coming in and out of the airport.

By the time he finished his scan, they were at the foot of the stairs, and Andres took a deep breath, an unconscious sweep of relief hitting him hard. For the first time, he noticed the weather; the sunshine was almost blinding, the air warmer and softer than it usually was this time of year. Along the walkway, a row of sago palms swayed in the brisk breeze, their green fronds gleaming in the light.

A second later they reached a nearby SUV. The unmarked Suburban, painted black with darkly tinted windows, was so obviously a government truck it could have had the department’s seal on the side. The back doors swung wide, and Zack Potter stepped out. Potter would be running the Destin office Andres was here to officially open. A former D.C. policeman, the handsome man looked more like a bodybuilder than a federal official. They’d been friends a long time and Andres respected him greatly. Except for Andres himself, no one could run the office any better. With Zack Potter in charge, the Red Tides’s pipeline of drugs from Mexico to New York was about to hit a major roadblock.

Potter crossed the space between them and held out his hand, a wide grin splitting his face. “Casimiro! ’Bout time you got here.” He nodded toward the jet. “Nice ride, too!”

“Let’s save the greetings for later, gentlemen.” Lena glanced in Potter’s direction, then spoke quickly, her eyes studying the area around them as she motioned Scott to the other side of the car. “I need to get Mr. Casimiro inside, please….”

“Of course, of course!” Potter smiled again then stepped aside to let Andres pass. Lena stood at the door of the truck waiting for him.

He reached her side, threw his briefcase onto the seat, then turned to look at her. Just as in the plane, they were inches apart, her slim form backed up against the open car door, his body poised to get inside. Her gaze was serene and composed, the stone color of her eyes even more intense now that they were outside in the sunshine. It was crazy, but he had to try—and he wasn’t even sure for what—one more time.

“Lena…querida…”

Again the Spanish. Lena couldn’t believe it, but something curled inside her, a warm yearning for a time that was far behind them. The depth of pain that accompanied the craving surprised her, but she stiffened against it. She wasn’t his sweetheart and hadn’t been for a long time. How dare he use that word and that tone of voice? How was she supposed to deal with that?

Before she could form her angry reply, she caught an unexpected movement in her peripheral vision, a sudden motion that made her snap to, almost as if waking up from a dream. She glanced toward the area, already cursing herself for letting down her guard. Her profanity had barely cleared the air when the first bullet slammed into the Suburban.

A moment later, the second one came.

Beside them, Zack Potter collapsed onto the asphalt, his scream dying as the bullet ripped into his neck. Lena stared at his still-jerking body, then she yanked her head up and cried into her headset for backup. As she spoke, she whirled and Andres’s shocked eyes met hers. Grabbing his arms instinctively, she did what she was trained to do—she pushed him straight into the truck.

But he resisted her, and for one single second, they held on to each other, each trying their best to protect the other one first. Lena won—not by strength—but by doing the only thing she could. She went limp. Caught off guard by her action, Andres hesitated and that was all she needed. With a violent shove, she forced him down, then turned, thrusting herself in front of him.

The final shot was a direct hit. Lena crumpled without a word.

CHAPTER THREE

ANDRES REACTED instantly, old habits taking over as adrenaline kicked in. He grabbed Lena by the collar of her jacket and yanked her to him. Still trying to draw her weapon, she fought him futilely. “No,” she gasped. “You go! Get in the car and leave!”

“Not without you!” They wasted a few more precious moments, then too weak to do anything else, she gave in to Andres and allowed him to pull her into the truck. Before he tumbled inside the vehicle with her, Andres sent a quick glance in Zack Potter’s direction. The time to help his friend had passed. “Get us out of here,” he roared to the driver. “Now! Let’s go!”

The man needed no urging. The black SUV sprang forward, the tires squealing as he drove it down the sidewalk and straight toward a set of double gates. Only when she spoke again did Andres realize Lena had never released her grip of his arm. She pulled at him weakly, her voice fading but still urgent. “Stay down. We don’t know where the shots came from.”

Andres turned, but it was too late for her to hear his reply. Her eyes rolled back and she fainted without a sound. Her limp body started to pitch off the seat, but he threw himself on top of her and stopped her fall at the very last minute. Bracing himself, he fought the violent rocking of the truck and prepared for the crash of the vehicle as it went through the metal frame of the gate.

When it didn’t happen, he lifted his head and took a quick glance. A figure in black, one of Lena’s men, had swung back the iron grilles. The driver deftly maneuvered through the narrow opening, then bumped the speeding vehicle over the grooved tracks to a grassy swell just at the left of the runway. With the tires screaming even louder than before, the Suburban hit the pavement outside the terminal then turned right on two wheels. Within seconds they were on the main road into town, two black and whites escorting them, one front, one rear.

In the back of his mind, Andres realized what he had just witnessed. Lena had planned for this. She’d had a man stationed at the exit and an escape route in place.

The man behind the wheel said something about alerting the hospital, then spoke into a headset. “Let them know we’re bringing someone in,” he said shakily. His voice thickened as he answered an obvious question. “No, it’s not the package. It’s Lieutenant McKinney. She’s been hit.”

Beneath Andres, Lena groaned. He slid to the floorboard of the vehicle to give her more room, then he took a good look at her injury for the first time. The bullet had managed to go beneath her vest. It didn’t look good. His mouth went dry.

“Where’s the first aid—”

Before he could finish, the driver thrust a white metal box over the front seat. “There’s bandages and tape inside,” he said. “We’ll be at the hospital in five minutes.”

Andres ripped open the case and grabbed a roll of white gauze, but the material was woefully inadequate. It seemed as if blood was pouring from Lena. Yanking off his coat, he pressed it against the wound but the fabric was immediately soaked. He’d seen plenty of men shot, had even done the shooting himself more than once, but this was Lena, for God’s sake. She groaned and a sick feeling rose up in his chest to block his breathing.