Page 29 of Buck
Avoiding her was out of the question, but interacting with her was problematic. He could see from the light in her eyes that she wanted to pick up where they left off. To gather intel, he needed to understand their process here. They were getting ready to finish up the harvest, and if one of the Navarro’s were involved in participating in Nacho’s transshipments through this region, then Buck needed to know who the players on the plantation were.
He looked at Mari again and cursed that he had to deal with all this subterfuge, going against his direct approach to life. It was too true that as SEALs, they did a variety of special operations in any environment. They often gathered intelligence behind enemy lines.
He didn’t want to look at Mari and see the enemy, but the reality of it was forced on him by the circumstances of the mission. He had gotten to know her. She trusted him because she had no reason not to do so. But he didn’t want to bend that trust this way. He wanted to tell her what was going on, but the CIA and Joker nixed it.
So, he was stuck with playing this game.
As the dinner broke up and several people started clearing, Mari’s sister, Anna, nudged her away from the table. It was clear she was steering Mari toward him. He was eager to talk to her again, eager to be with her, eager to be deep inside her. He didn’t want it mandated by his damn command.
“Buck,” she said, “I find myself saying once again. This is the last place I expected to see you. I’m thrilled, of course, but what is going on?”
He wished he could tell her everything, but he couldn’t. That made his mouth tighten.
“We’re here at the DEA’s request to protect you and your family from harm.”
Her eyes widened. “My sister said something about us being in danger. Truth be told, I’m glad you and your team are here to protect us.”
Buck wanted to shake her for being so trusting. She had no idea what she was up against. Or just how he was going to use her to get whatever dirt he could on her family. The thought, mingled with the realization of just how personal this job and Mari had become to him, increased the gut-twisting turmoil within him. His entire body was strung too tight; he felt as though he was going to snap.
“How was the rest of your trip?” he asked.
“Quite successful. I bought buildings all up and down the West Coast. The last one in San Diego.”
“In the Gaslamp Quarter?” he asked.
“Yes. It needs work, but the brick is beautiful, and the floors beneath the terrible linoleum are hardwood.” He loved the passion and the bold self-assurance in her. “I’m so excited about making it our headquarters there.”
Grateful for a conversation that kept his mind off the sensual chemistry between them, his smile was genuine. “Congratulations.”
She stepped closer, shooting everything to hell. “That means I will be making periodic trips to San Diego,” she whispered. She was standing so close, the urge to reach out and caress his fingers along her soft cheek, down the side of her neck, was nearly impossible to ignore. He slid his hands into his camo pants pockets, forcing him to keep his wayward hands to himself, and against his mission protocol, he stepped back.
Curiosity and confusion filled her blue eyes, and he wanted to break something with his bare hands. Her chin lifted, showing him that she wasn’t deterred by his behavior. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and exhaled a deep breath, then a light of understanding filled those crystal-clear orbs. She looked around. “I get it,” she added as a light, warm breeze ruffled through her silky, unbound hair. “This is too public.”
“Yeah,” he drawled. He scrubbed a hand along the evening's stubble on his jaw, hating that he had to be so…underhanded.
“Meet me in my room later. I’ll leave my French doors unlocked,” she whispered.
Heat shot to his groin, thick with the aching, pulsing need that constantly smoldered just below the surface when it came to her. Inhaling a steadying breath, he met her gaze. “Mari,” he said gruffly.
The youngest of the sisters—Carmen—rushed up to them in that barely contained energy most teenagers possessed. “I need you to help me pick out some shoes to go with my dress.”
“Carmen, manners,” Mari said.
“Oh, sorry.” She looked at him. Her mischievous eyes reminded him so much of Daisy, his heart softened. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I need my sister. It’s a matter of life or death.” She giggled as she pulled Mari away, and he watched helplessly as she sent a sizzling look at him before she disappeared inside.
He wrestled with his moral quandary all the way back to the small warehouse the US had partitioned out with small sleeping areas strung with hammocks, accommodating all of them, including Kat and Russ and their logistical people. There was a common area with couches and an entertainment center set up. The place smelled of home sweet home for now.
“Briefing,” Blitz said, poking his head into Buck’s cubicle.
They gathered in a good-sized room with a concrete floor, which must act as the office when the warehouse was actively storing coffee. There was a clean, cut-grass scent along with wood tones from the palettes, and a burlap smell from the bags they packed the coffee in. Luckily the place had environmental controls as coffee needed to be kept at a consistent temperature.
Folding tables and electronic equipment, along with a widescreen monitor had been set up and the team was used to these types of working conditions on the fly. The room also doubled as the TOC. They were also in direct contact with the DEA Office in La Cruz and the Costa Rican drug control police, Policía de Control de Drogas.
Buck took one of the folding chairs around the plastic table. Kat came in with Russ and Joker. Joker glanced at him, and Buck got the distinct feeling that he was pissed. He hadn’t been his usual self since the crash, and it was as if something was weighing on him. The other guys filed in with D-Day sitting next to Buck.
Kat stood and flipped on the screen with a remote. “Just a refresher to begin with.” She put up a picture. “This is our primary target—Ignacio ‘Nacho’ Siachoque, head of the cartel. We, at this time, don’t know what gang he might be working with.” A picture of a grayed-out face with a question mark came onto the screen. “His former second in command, Raymondo Casadas was killed in our raid on his compound in Nicaragua.” Casadas’s face came up on the screen. Bald head, empty brown eyes, and craggy features. Buck remembered him—he’d put a bullet between his eyes. “We’re working to identify this new threat and will keep you posted.”
“Is he in Costa Rica?” Blitz asked.