Wow, that one came out fast. Smith’s first thought about him. Nothing to do with successful missions or training. Just that big albatross hanging around more than his neck. It was chained to him for life.
Then he shrugged off the defensiveness long enough to realize a nuance to Smith’s words. “Recovering.” Rather than recovered or reformed because those words could never be assumed, not by someone walking the walk. “You know the lingo.”
Smith stared at the ground for a moment before answering. “My wife’s in the program.”
“I’m sorry.” Damn, he hadn’t wanted this kind of bonding.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s working.” He rubbed his empty ring finger. “She’s doing well.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The missing wedding band didn’t mean anything. Most agents and warriors out in the field didn’t wear one, preferring to keep their private life off the grid as much as possible. So why was Smith sharing?
Smith stared straight into his eyes. “Your file says you got your name because you nearly suffered alcohol poisoning from a bottle of Jose Cuervo the day your mother died.”
Fuck.
One look at Smith’s eyes told him he’d been played. All this sharing and bonding was just an act. Smith had played him, waiting to go for the jugular to get a real read off of him. What did the dude want from him?
How much of what Smith said had even been real? Had the story about the wife been fake, just to get him to loosen up and talk? “What is it that you really want to know?”
“Is your girlfriend through yet?” Smith asked, confirming Jose’s suspicions.
Nothing got past this guy. And while he respected the dude for doing his job well—intel kept them all from dying in this crazy-ass, mixed-up world—right now he was damn glad to be on the rescue side of things rather than living in that dark hole of secret ops.
Where Stella lived.
His stare-down with Smith lasted a good sixty seconds before the sound of someone approaching sent them both on alert. Steady footsteps echoed along the side of the hangar, not at all stealthy, which should be a good thing. Bad guys snuck up. Nonthreats just walked.
Still, Jose rested a hand over his 9 mm just as Mr. Smith did the same. The afternoon’s attack was still too fresh in his mind, the smell of the mortar exploding, the feel of Stella’s heartbeat against his.
The steps came closer and Jose realized he recognized the tread well. So well, it should have unsettled him all the more.
“Stella,” he called out, “Smith and I are out here just shooting the breeze.”
She probably already knew, but best to be sure.
A second later, she rounded the corner, fire shooting from her eyes. Her arms pumping, her braid swaying with her every determined step, she stalked straight up to Mr. Smith and said softly through gritted teeth, “When the hell were you intending to tell me they’re trying to set off a bio toxin in the middle of a diplomacy visit?”
Chapter 9
“Bio toxin?” Jose jerked to attention, his every instinct narrowing to block out anything that distracted him from Stella’s words.
Ironic as hell since Stella was a walking, talking distraction by just breathing the same air space.
But for now he blocked out the planes roaring overhead, the sun baking down, the overpowering urge to take Stella somewhere, anywhere, and hide her away safely. Instead, he zeroed in on the moment, one of those instances that battle-honed instincts told him was a crucial, defining instant. She smoothed her palms down the thighs of her jeans, leaving a hint of perspiration before tucking them in her pockets. She tugged the tunic, flipping back her braid nervously.
Shit. If Stella was sweating, this was beyond bad.
An angry tic twitching at the corner of one eye, Smith snapped the cigar in half. He stepped closer, his voice low. “Agent Carson, you’re going to need to be more specific with what information you’ve uncovered and how.”
Stella’s bracing sigh wasn’t reassuring. “I accessed the writing on the cloth and ran them through some programs. I’m assuming your programs didn’t decipher the pattern yet or you sure as hell wouldn’t be standing around shooting the breeze, taking a smoke. Bottom line, I realized I only have half the puzzle because there’s another cloth out there somewhere. But from what I can put together, the separatist group responsible for my capture has a nerve toxin. I believe it’s a variation of the tetanus toxin, one so intense a regular vaccination won’t do anything but delay the onset of symptoms for a few extra minutes.”
Jose closed his eyes for a long heartbeat processing what he’d heard. He didn’t doubt her conclusion for a second. They may have had their problems in the romance department, but when it came to her job, Stella was one hundred percent rock solid. He found that brilliant mind of hers sexy as hell most of the time. Right now, he’d wished like crazy that he could be wrong… That she could be wrong.
Cursing softly, Smith turned to Jose. “The symptoms of extreme exposure to tetanus are… what?”
Jose’s brain shifted into medical mode, but knowledge brought him little comfort. Horrific images filled his head. “Muscle spasms so intense they lead to paralysis, then suffocation.”