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  He pulled back to look at her. Lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed with desire—she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he had the overwhelming wish to freeze this image, this moment, in his head so he could take a part of her with him when he left.

  Nine

  Mia knocked again and glanced at her watch. She tapped her foot impatiently. Finally the door swung back and her jaw dropped open at the sight of the gorgeous, half-naked man standing before her.

  She cast a glance over her shoulder. Yep, it was Kelsey’s Suburban, parked right in front of this motel room.

  “I’m sorry.” She turned back to face him, and he hadn’t somehow managed to put on a shirt in the intervening two seconds. She concentrated on not drooling as he looked her over with a calm, blue-eyed gaze.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I think I have the wrong room.”

  “Mia?” Kelsey appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  Mia took in the wet hair, the bare feet, the towel in her friend’s hand.

  Oh, damn. She cast an apprehensive glance at the parking lot. “Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know we’re here. Obviously.”

  The man’s eyebrows tipped up. “We?”

  “Yes, me. And some . . . colleagues.” She glanced at Kelsey.

  “It’s okay. He knows everything.” Kelsey made quick introductions, acting as if it made perfect sense for a naval lieutenant to be out here in the middle of nowhere providing security for an archaeology dig.

  “Kelsey, can I talk to you for a sec? Privately?”

  The lieutenant disappeared into the dim room as Kelsey stepped outside and pulled the door shut.

  “Oh my gosh, Kels.”

  “What?”

  “Where do I start? The FBI is here. The CT task force out of San Antonio. There’s a briefing in ten minutes and they want you there.”

  The blood drained from Kelsey’s face. “Blake’s task force?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what does counterterrorism have to do with this?”

  “Come to the briefing in ten minutes,” Mia said. “Behind the diner.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Mia was leaning against the fender of a black SUV as Special Agent in Charge Blake Reid updated his team. Kelsey and her lieutenant, both in jeans and T-shirts now, walked over and silently joined the group.

  Mia watched Blake’s reaction, but he didn’t miss a beat, probably because Mia had already let him know that his ex-girlfriend and the man providing her security would be attending the meeting.

  “I just got off the phone with San Antonio,” Blake said. “The remains sent to us by Dr. Quinn have been positively IDed as Khalid Rahim, who was working as a confidential informant for us before he went missing last January.” Blake glanced at Mia. “Dr. Voss is here today with a mobile DNA lab on loan from the Delphi Center. She’s going to try to get an ID on the second set of remains as soon as they’re pulled from the ground.” He glanced at Kelsey. “We’d appreciate your help with that.”

  “Of course.”

  “We expect to learn that the second body is that of an agent out of our Brownsville field office. He went missing at the same time as our CI while investigating a possible terrorist cell out of Mexico City.”

  Kelsey’s brow furrowed. “Mexican terrorists?”

  “Al-Qaeda,” Blake corrected. “We believe this particular group is a sleeper cell that we’ve heard rumors about for years. At the time of his disappearance our agent had a lead on an attack they’d been plotting from their base in Mexico. Our theory is that the CI’s cover got blown somehow, and then both he and our agent ended up murdered.”

  “Tell me about the attack.” This from the SEAL.

  For the first time, Blake hesitated. “We’re still running a background check on you, Lieutenant Brewer. Until that’s complete—”

  “Then let me tell you what I know,” he cut in. “Those two graves Kelsey found were located near a dirt road that makes a bend down near the border.” He turned and held his hand out to Mia. “Borrow your pen?”

  She handed him a ballpoint pen and the SEAL produced a small notebook from one of his pockets. He flipped it open to a page where he’d obviously been mapping something. Mia noted the GPS coordinates scrawled on the edge of the page.

  “Here’s the town.” He drew a straight line from a spot marked “Madrone” to a spot marked with an X. “Here’s where the road bends. Now watch this.” He extended the line north and south. To the north, the line followed a highway until it intersected Interstate 10. To the south, it intersected a crudely drawn picture of a rock and some trees.

  “What’s that?” Blake wanted to know.

  “The entrance to a tunnel.”

  Blake’s gaze shot up. “A tunnel leading—”

  “South, under the river. We were there last night, saw some traffic moving through.”

  “Foot traffic?” One of the agents asked.

  “Motorized traffic. This thing’s big enough for cars, SUVs, even a mid-sized rig.”

  “That fits with the intercept.” The agent turned to Blake, who was regarding Lieutenant Brewer with a wary look. Blake wanted the SEAL’s information, obviously. What he probably didn’t want was a reason to cooperate with this man, who clearly had been doing a very hands-on job of guarding Kelsey.

  Blake’s gaze moved from the SEAL to Kelsey. From what Mia knew of Blake Reid, she predicted his professional ambition would win out over petty jealousy.

  “We’ve intercepted communications about a truck bomb being smuggled into the U.S. via Mexico,” Blake said. “We believe the intended target is the global economic summit being held in Houston this weekend.”

  “It’s a straight shot to Houston on I-10,” Kelsey pointed out.

  Blake didn’t acknowledge her. “At first, we had intel the bomb might be coming through a border crossing in Brownsville. Then we had reason to believe it was coming through Del Rio.”

  “Maybe it’s not coming through. Maybe it’s coming under,” the SEAL said. “Whatever cartel controls the route could have granted access for a hefty fee.”

  Blake gave a curt nod. “Show me this tunnel.”

  Kelsey lowered her binoculars and sighed. Two hours and still nothing. How long did it take to map a tunnel complex? With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she trekked to the bottom of the hill and over to the mobile crime lab near the recovery site.

  Kelsey stepped inside the air-conditioned trailer, which put her dilapidated camper to shame. “Any word?”

  Mia glanced up from her work. Kelsey had excavated the skull first, and Mia now stood at a slate-topped table, extracting tooth pulp for her DNA test.

  “Nothing.” Mia glanced at the nearby sat phone. “That thing’s been quiet. Go back to work. It’ll get your mind off it.”

  Kelsey bit her lip. Nothing would get her mind off it. “I can’t concentrate. I tried.”

  The phone buzzed and she lunged to answer it.

  “Kelsey, it’s Blake. Is Brewer with you?”

  Her heart skipped. “I thought he was with you?”

  “He peeled off to install a surveillance cam for us at some manhole he knows about on the U.S. side.”

  “And where are you?”

  “On the Mexico side, checking things out. I just watched a convoy go in—three white delivery trucks—and I think one of them is our bomb.”

  “But why—”

  “Call it a hunch. Our bomb squad should be there any minute, but this convoy could be gone by then.”

  “Can’t your team just block them off at the exit?”

  “Yeah, and if all they’re smuggling is dope or people, we spook our terrorists and miss the chance to intercept the explosive. Listen, Brewer’s not answering his radio, which means he’s probably underground, but I need him to set up a diversion somehow so we can get a tracking device on these trucks. If you hear from him, tell him to get in touch ASAP.”

  “I’ll tel
l him,” Kelsey said, although she knew Gage wouldn’t call. But it didn’t matter, because she also knew exactly where to find him.

  Gage watched from the shadows as the men positioned the magnetic sign on the side of the truck: U.S. MAIL, complete with the official-looking eagle logo. As far as maintaining a low profile on American highways and maybe even pulling up to a government building, it was damn good cover.

  Gage made himself invisible as he eased along the wall and positioned himself near the back of those trucks. Two of the three were locked with a padlock. The middle one had had its cargo door open ever since the drivers had stopped to retrieve the signs and disguise the vehicles.

  Gage crept around back and peered inside. It was too dark to see, but his nose was giving him plenty of other information. He took out his penlight and shined it in the cargo space.

  Holy, holy shit. Whoever bankrolled this op wasn’t fooling around.

  Adrenaline hummed through Gage’s veins as he made his way back to one of the manholes he’d discovered today. He climbed the ladder and the instant he was aboveground he was on the radio with the leader of the FBI’s bomb squad. The guy was a former SEAL, which just proved Gage’s theory that every frogman was really just a highly trained kid who liked to blow shit up.

  “I got a visual ID on the cargo in one of those trucks,” Gage told the man now. “Twelve metal drums. And based on the smell, I’m betting they’re loaded with enough ammonium nitrate to wipe out a football stadium, over.”

  The team leader on the other end cursed.

  “They’re being disguised as mail trucks,” Gage added. “We clear to proceed with the plan?”

  “Affirmative. You got what you need?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Be careful.”

  Careful? This guy had been out of the teams too long.

  Gage dropped back down the rabbit hole and crept deeper into the tunnel, moving purely by feel. The wall curved as he retraced the same route he and Kelsey had taken last night.

  God, had it really been just a few hours since he’d flattened himself against her in a desperate attempt to hide her from that truck?

  Gage shook off the memory. He couldn’t think about Kelsey now. He couldn’t think about her arms around him or her soft skin or the fact that he was leaving soon, and that he might never get another chance to touch her. None of that mattered right now. Because Gage wouldn’t even be able to look at her, much less touch her, if he allowed some fucking al-Qaeda sleeper cell to slip through his grasp and kill a bunch of innocent people.

  Gage reached the designated setup point, unloaded his supplies, and quickly got to work molding C-4 and attaching fuses, doing everything by touch alone because he couldn’t risk a light. But he’d practiced this a zillion times. And less than a mile away, near the entrance to the tunnel, another guy who’d once worn the SEAL pin was busy doing the exact same thing. When Gage was satisfied he had enough explosive in place to completely seal off this tunnel and trap the trucks inside, he prepared to extract.

  A commotion behind him made him go still. Two men yelling, followed by silence. He crept closer to the sound and saw a man standing at the front of the convoy, an AK-47 raised and pointed at something.

  And then Gage heard a familiar voice that chilled him to the bone.

  Kelsey stared at the machine gun, willing her feet to move. She was pretty sure that’s what they’d said to her. Move, bitch! Or something equivalent in a language she didn’t understand.

  But their body language was loud and clear. And three nasty-looking guns underscored their point: Move your ass or you’re dead right here.

  Kelsey’s heart galloped as she turned and walked toward the blinding lights. When they’d blinked on suddenly, she’d been paralyzed, like an animal in the headlights. Yet an animal would have had a much better chance of sprinting to safety. Where had they come from? Kelsey hadn’t heard a motor, so they must have been parked there in the dark, not ten feet away from the ladder she’d climbed down looking for Gage.

  The man behind her prodded her with his machine gun and she quickened her pace. Would they take her with them or would they execute her right here in this tunnel? She focused on her Ruger, now tucked into the tallest one’s waistband. He seemed like the leader and she wondered how quick his reflexes were. Kelsey’s fingers itched. If she snatched the gun back, what was the likelihood of getting three shots off before one of them managed to shoot her? About a hundred to one, she figured.

  They passed the first truck. Kelsey glanced around for any sign of Gage or Blake or any of his agents. Were they down here or were they skulking around in Mexico?

  They reached the back of the second truck and Kelsey saw that the cargo door was up. The leader let his machine gun dangle at his side as he grabbed Kelsey’s arm and shoved her roughly toward the opening.

  “You! Go!”

  She glanced at the metal drums, lined up like soldiers. Her throat went dry. “You . . . want me to climb in there?” she croaked.

  She got her answer as three machine guns lifted and pointed at her face. She hefted herself up on the bumper and crawled into the truck. Three pairs of deadly cold eyes watched as she scrambled to her feet.

  The leader reached up.

  “Please. Let me just—”

  A rusty squeak, then the metal door crashed down.

  The first boom knocked Gage off his feet. He jumped up and made a lunge for the truck where they’d stashed Kelsey. Concrete rained down around him. Men shouted. Doors slammed shut and someone fired up an engine.

  Gage reached the second truck as it roared to life. He grabbed the bumper and hauled himself up. Clinging to the side of the truck, he pulled out his SIG and fired two shots at the crappy padlock, then jerked loose the remaining scrap of metal. He hefted the door just as the truck sped forward. Kelsey careened into him and he caught her around the waist an instant before she tumbled off the back. She was lit up by the headlights of the truck behind him, and Gage knew they made a perfect target. Would the driver dare shoot into a van full of explosives?

  A bullet pinged off the metal wall beside him. He grabbed Kelsey’s arm.

  “Jump!”

  He leaped from the truck, dragging her with him, then he hauled her out of the way and up against the tunnel wall. Dust and debris and truck exhaust swirled around them as he groped for the ladder they’d used last night. He spotted the telltale shaft of light coming down from the ceiling.

  “Here!” she yelled, running for it.

  “Go up!” Christ, he had to get her out of here. He boosted her up the ladder.

  “But what about you?”

  “Go!” He gave her one last shove, then dropped to the ground and fumbled with his pack. Thank God he hadn’t lost the detonator. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Kelsey popped up like a groundhog and squinted at the blinding sunlight. She glanced back down the ladder. Where was Gage? She stumbled to her feet as a muffled boom rocked the earth beneath her. She landed on her hands and knees in the dirt, coughing and sputtering as a plume of dust billowed out from the hole.

  “Gage!”

  She reached for the hole. A tremendous weight landed on her back. Something cool and metal pressed into her neck.

  “FBI! You’re under arrest!”

  Dust filled Gage’s lungs, his eyes. Wheezing and coughing, he yanked out a pair of zip-cuffs and wrenched back the arms of the man he’d just tackled to the ground.

  “Truck one, driver down! Brewer, where are you?”

  Gage recognized the voice of the bomb squad leader who had been on the radio with him just minutes ago. He must have come down the manhole.

  “Driver two, cuffed and disarmed!” Gage shouted. “Where’s driver three?”

  Pain ricocheted up his leg as his captive landed a kick. Gage jabbed him in the kidney, then secured his ankles and rolled him against the wall. Then he ran to help the bomb tech grab the third terrorist.

  “He’s gone!”
The bomb tech’s flashlight beam swept over the truck half-buried in rubble.

  Gage checked the cab. Even through the still-swirling cloud of dust and smoke, he could see it was empty. One by one, they scoured each truck from top to bottom. Shit, where would he go? Both ends of the tunnel had been sealed off by bomb blasts.

  “The ladder!” Gage jerked his SIG from its holster and dashed back toward the exit where he’d taken Kelsey. God, please don’t let this turn into a hostage crisis. He raced toward the faint band of light that shone down from the manhole, then took the rungs three at a time and erupted into the sunlight.

  It was mayhem.

  Every emergency vehicle in west Texas seemed to have converged on the scene. Gage spotted the missing tango facedown in the dirt, where a team of FBI agents had him pinned to the ground as they shouted commands.

  “Brewer!”

  He spun around to see Reid jogging toward him. Gage jumped to his feet and wiped the dust from his brow with the back of his arm. “Two tangos in the tunnel,” he told the fed. “One cuffed, one dead. Your bomb tech’s down there, too.”

  Several agents in SWAT gear pushed Gage aside and dropped down through the hole. Gage turned back to Reid. “Where’s Kelsey?” he demanded.

  At his blank look, Gage shoved past him and plowed through the sea of people. He saw firemen, federal agents, hazmat workers, but no baseball cap with an auburn ponytail sticking out the back. Cursing, he scanned the scene again.

  And then he saw her. She was yelling at some guy in an FBI windbreaker as another one tried to restrain her. Gage moved toward her, and her gaze landed on him just as she looked like she was about to deck the guy.

  “Gage!” She shook off the agent and charged toward him. “Oh my God! Are you okay? I thought you were dead!”

  “Goddamn you, Kelsey!” Gage caught her by the shoulders and shook her. “What the hell were you thinking jumping into an op like that?”