Enemy Infiltration Page 2

  “Really?” She crossed one leg over the other and took a sip of water. “What was the U.S. Government doing in that particular area of Nigeria?”

  “That is classified information. Your brother didn’t even know what they were doing there.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” She drummed her fingers on his desk. “I’m waiting for the Marine Corps to ship his belongings to me. They could even arrive as early as this afternoon. Gil always kept a journal. I can’t wait to read what he wrote in that journal.”

  “I’m sure it will be a great comfort to you, Ms. Moreno. Lo siento por su perdida.” He steepled his fingers and bowed his head.

  Tears stung her nose. “I don’t need you to be sorry for my loss. I need you to use your position on the House Foreign Affairs Committee to open up an investigation of what went down at that embassy outpost—a real investigation.”

  “The Committee has no reason to believe anything other than the initial report, a report I went out of my way to send you, by the way.”

  Uncrossing her legs, she hunched forward, the ends of her long hair sweeping the glossy surface of his desk. “A report so heavily redacted, I could barely read it through the black lines.”

  “A necessity, but I’m sure you got the gist of the information. A marauding band of...”

  “Criminals.” She smacked her fist on the desk, causing the pens in the holder to dance. “I’ve heard that line a million times. It’s a solid talking point, but why would common criminals attack a U.S. Embassy outpost? Do you think they were trying to steal computers? Watches off the embassy staff? Cushions from the pool furniture?”

  “They’re criminals.” Cordova’s left eyebrow twitched. “I suppose they’re going to steal whatever they can.”

  “Why choose a building guarded by U.S. Marines? And why do common criminals in Nigeria have RPGs?”

  The congressman shot up in his chair. “Where did you get that information?”

  “It wasn’t from the watered-down report you sent me.”

  “Ms. Moreno, Lana—” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath “—I truly am sorry for the loss of your brother. He was a hero.”

  “He was a hero for getting murdered during a common robbery?”

  “He was a hero for serving his country honorably, and I’m going to look into the possibility of naming a park...or something after him in our home town of Greenvale.”

  “A baseball field.” Lana gazed at the pictures of Cordova’s family that graced the wall behind him—his son in his baseball uniform and his daughter in a ballerina tutu. “Gil loved baseball and was a great player. He could’ve played some ball in college or the minor leagues, but he chose to enlist instead.”

  “Like I said, a true local hero.”

  Her eyes snapped back to Cordova’s face. “He was a hero because he and his brothers in arms tried to protect that outpost from a planned attack. Whatever was going on there required more than three marines to guard it, and they deserved backup, a response from other military in the area. I know about that, too.”

  “I’m afraid the Committee is not going to open up an investigation based on some half-truths you learned from some anonymous source and your brother’s journal that you haven’t even read yet.” Cordova’s jawline hardened. “I’ve given you all the time I have today, Ms. Moreno, and you can run to the press all you like and paint me as the bad guy, but there’s nothing more I can do for you.”

  She pushed out of the chair, her legs like lead beneath her, all the fight drained from her body. She automatically extended her hand across the desk. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  The congressman’s face brightened as he squeezed her hand. “Anytime, Ms. Moreno, but make an appointment with Tessa next time and come alone.”

  “I will.” When he released her hand, she avoided the temptation to wipe it on the seat of her jeans.

  He circled around his desk and showed her out of his office door, a big smile on his face in case a camera or two lurked in the waiting room.

  As she walked toward the exit, her knees weak and trembling, she nodded to Tessa behind her desk, clutching the edge, looking ready to bolt.

  When Lana reached the door, Cordova called after her. “A baseball field, the Gil Moreno Field. I’ll get right on it.”

  “Gilbert.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The Gilbert Moreno Baseball Field.” She twisted the handle and bumped the door with her hip, pushing through the double doors.

  The cold air slapped her face when she stepped onto the empty sidewalk and her nose started running. She shoved her hands in her pockets and turned the corner of Cordova’s office, which occupied the end spot of a newer strip mall. He probably had nicer digs in DC.

  Dragging her hand along the stucco wall of the building, she meandered toward the back alley. She couldn’t do this anymore. She had nothing. She was going to fail her little brother when he needed her most.

  She did a half turn and propped her shoulders against the wall, but her meeting with Cordova had sapped all her strength. Her knees giving out on her, she slid down the wall, the suede of her jacket scraping the stucco.

  She ended in a crouch, dipping her head, the tears flowing freely down her face. “I’m sorry, Gil. You deserve so much more than a baseball field. You deserve the truth.”

  A footstep crunched beside her and she jerked up her head. A tall figure loomed over her, the sunlight creating a bright aura around the stranger’s head.

  Slowly he crouched before her, caught one of her tears as it dripped from her chin and said, “The truth just might get you killed, Lana.”

  Chapter Two

  The raven-haired beauty in front of him dashed the back of her hand across her runny nose and smeared a streak of black mascara toward her ear, where a row of silver studs pierced the curve.

  “Who the hell are you?” The tough words belied her trembling bottom lip, full with a juicy cherry tint.

  Logan pulled back and blinked his eyes. He knew Lana Moreno was pretty, but he didn’t expect her attractiveness, slightly muffled by a red nose and puffy eyes, to hit him like a sledgehammer.

  He stuck out his hand. “I’m Logan Hess, your new best friend.”

  “I already have a best friend—” she narrowed her eyes “—and I already have a media contact. I’m working with Peyton Fletcher. She has my back.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” He dropped his hand onto his thigh, rubbing his knuckles across the denim of his jeans. “I’m not with any news organization.”

  The lips he’d been admiring flattened into a thin line. “Cordova’s office? Is that why you were warning me about the truth? You did warn me, didn’t you?”

  “C’mon.” He spread his arms. “Do I look like a politician?”

  Her dark eyes tracked from the top of his head, flicked sideways across his leather jacket and traveled down his jeans. When she reached the silver tips of his black cowboy boots, her nostrils flared.

  The inventory got him hot and bothered, and he willed Lana to keep her eyes pinned to his boots so she wouldn’t notice his response to her assessment a little higher up.

  He got his wish, as her eyes flew to his face. “As a matter of fact, you do kind of look like a politician—the smooth kind who tries to fit in with the locals with expensive designer duds no real Greenvale farmhand would ever wear...or could ever afford.”

  Ouch. His erection died as fast as it had come on.

  Logan tipped back his head and laughed at the sky, laughed so hard he fell backward, his backside, covered by his nondesigner jeans, hitting the dirt. His hands went out behind him, and he wedged his palms against the ground to keep from falling back any farther.

  “You’re a pistol, little lady.” He put on his best Texas drawl. “Would they say things like that, too?”

  One side of h
er mouth twitched. “Yes, they would. That accent though, it sounds legit. Where’d you pick it up?”

  “Same place I got these fancy duds.” He slapped the side of his right boot. “Dallas. So, if you think you Greenvale, California, cowboys are the real deal, you’re dreaming.”

  “Got me.” Lana held up her hands. “But if you’re not a reporter and you don’t work for Cordova, I repeat my question. Who the hell are you? And don’t say Logan Hess. That name means nothing to me.”

  He’d hoped she wouldn’t recognize his name, but no report would ever reveal the names of a military unit.

  “Let’s try this again.” Logan wiped his dusty palm against his shirt and held out his hand. “I’m Captain Logan Hess with U.S. Delta Force.”

  Her mouth formed an O but at least she took his hand this time in a firm grip, her skin rough against his. “I’m Lana Moreno, but you probably already know that, don’t you?”

  “I sure do.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I saw your little impromptu news conference about an hour ago.”

  “But you knew who I was before that. You didn’t track me down to compare cowboy boots.” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “Did you know Gilbert?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Lana didn’t need to know just how unfortunate that really was. “Let’s get out of the dirt and grab some lunch.”

  She tilted her head and a swathe of dark hair fell over her shoulder, covering one eye. The other eye scorched his face. “Why should I have lunch with you? What do you want from me? When I heard you were Delta Force, I thought you might have known Gilbert, might’ve known what happened at that outpost.”

  “I didn’t, but I know of Gilbert and the rest of them, even the assistant ambassador who was at the outpost. I can guarantee I know a lot more about the entire situation than you do from reading that redacted report they grudgingly shared with you.”

  “You are up-to-date. What are we waiting for?” Her feet scrambled beneath her as she slid up the wall. “If you have any information about the attack in Nigeria, I want to hear it.”

  “I thought you might.” He rose from the ground, towering over her petite frame. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and waved it at her. “Take this.”

  “Thank you.” She blew her nose and mopped her face, running a corner of the cloth beneath each eye to clean up her makeup. “I suppose you don’t want it back.”

  “You can wash it for me and return it the next time we meet.”

  That statement earned him a hard glance from those dark eyes, still sparkling with unshed tears, but he had every intention of seeing Lana Moreno again and again and however many times it took to pick her brain about why she believed there was more to the story than a bunch of Nigerian criminals deciding to attack an embassy outpost—a ridiculous cover story if he ever heard one.

  About as ridiculous as the story of Major Rex Denver working with terrorists.

  Her quest had to be motivated by more than grief over a brother. People didn’t stage stunts like she just did in front of a congressman’s office based on nothing.

  “Sure, I’ll wash it.” Lana stuffed his handkerchief into the pocket of her suede jacket.

  “My rental car’s parked around the corner.”

  “That’s nice.” She shrugged her shoulders off the wall. “I’ll take my truck over and meet you at the restaurant.”

  “Understood. You can’t be too careful...especially you.” Logan reached for his wallet. “Do you want to see my military ID before we go any further?”

  She whipped around. “Why’d you say especially me? Come to think of it, why did you say the truth could get me killed?”

  “I’ll explain over lunch.” He slipped his ID from his wallet and held it out to her, framed between his thumb at the bottom and two fingers at the top.

  Her gaze bounced from the card to his face. “Your hair’s shorter in the picture.”

  “Military cut.” He ran a hand over the top of his head, the ends no longer creating a bristle.

  “And lighter.” She squinted at the photo on the card. “Almost blond.”

  Logan felt that warm awakening in his belly again under Lana’s scrutiny. If this woman could turn him on just looking at his picture, he couldn’t imagine what her touch would do to him. He shivered.

  “This—” he tapped the card “—was taken in the summer. My hair tends to get darker in the winter. Any other questions? Do you want me to shed my jacket so you can check out my...weight?”

  Lana’s eyes widened for a second, and a pink blush touched her mocha skin. “I’m not questioning you. The ID matches the man. Do you like Mexican?”

  He blinked. He liked this Mexican. A lot.

  “Food. Do you like Mexican food?” She stomped the dirt from her boots like a filly ready to trot.

  “I’m from Texas. What do you think?”

  “I’ve eaten Mexican food in Texas before, and if you think that salsa is hot...you’re dreaming.”

  His lips twitched into a smile. If California salsa was as hot as Lana Moreno, he’d love it and ask for more. “Then I’m in for a treat because I like it hot and spicy.”

  Ignoring his innuendo, she turned her back on him and marched toward the street.

  When they turned the corner and reached the front of the strip mall, someone in Congressman Cordova’s office flicked the blinds at the window. Was the congressman afraid Lana would come storming back in?

  She hadn’t mentioned what she and Cordova discussed during their private conversation but judging from her tears after the meeting, it wasn’t what she’d wanted.

  She must’ve noticed the blinds, as well. Squaring her shoulders, she tossed her head, her dark mane shimmering down her back. “The restaurant’s about ten minutes away.”

  She gave him the name and address and then hopped into an old white pickup truck with a flick of her fingers.

  Could she reach the pedals of that monster? As if to prove she could, she cranked on the engine and rattled past him.

  Logan shook his head as he ducked into the small rental. He’d gotten more than he’d bargained for with Sergeant Gilbert Moreno’s sister. He just hoped they could help each other, and for that, he needed to stay on Ms. Moreno’s good side, which just might involve a little lying or at least some omission of the facts.

  He plugged the restaurant’s address into his phone and followed the directions that led him several miles away from the congressman’s office. The buildings and streets on this side of town lacked the spiffy newness of the other area, but the restaurant stood out from the rest. It occupied a Spanish adobe building with a colorful sign out front and a small line at the door.

  Logan parked his car and strode toward the entrance, his cowboy boots right at home with the ranchera music blaring from a bar two doors down from the restaurant.

  Lana waved from the arched doorway of the restaurant, and he wove through the line of people waiting for a table.

  “How long is the wait?”

  “I already have a table in the back.”

  Logan raised his eyebrows. “Are you a regular here?”

  “You could say that.” She turned her head over her shoulder as she led him to their table, a small one that looked like an afterthought, tucked in next to the bar.

  Logan reached past her to pull out a chair.

  Putting a hand on the back of the chair, she said, “I’m going to wash my hands first.”

  “Probably not a bad idea.” He turned his hands over and rubbed a thumb on his dirty palm.

  “This way.” She pointed down a short hallway behind the bar, and he followed her to the restrooms, his gaze slipping to her rounded derriere in her tight jeans.

  Several minutes later, he made it back to the table, where two glasses of water waited for them, before sh
e did.

  Lana strolled from the kitchen, chatting with one of the waitresses, and Logan had a second chance to pull out her chair.

  Lana thanked him as she took her seat. “Iced tea for me, Gabby.”

  “And for you?”

  “Water is fine.” Logan tapped the water glass on the table.

  As soon as the waitress left, a busboy showed up with a basket of chips and a small bowl of salsa.

  “Is the service always this good, or is it just you?”

  “The service is always good here. It’s one of the oldest Mexican restaurants in Greenvale, and one of the most popular—at least with the locals.”

  “And you’re a local? Have you always lived in Greenvale?”

  “My grandfather was a bracero in the Central Valley, worked the fields on a seasonal basis and then brought over my grandmother and their ten children. My father was third to the youngest.”

  “So, you have a big family here.”

  “Not here... Salinas. Most of them are still in Salinas. My father came to Greenvale to work with horses on a ranch. When the work became too much for him, he started cooking—here.”

  “Is he still in the kitchen?”

  “He died two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry. Your mother?”

  “My mother went back to her family in Mexico. My grandmother is ill and Mom takes care of her.” She picked up a chip from the basket and broke it in two. “And you? Dallas native?”

  “Born and raised outside of the Dallas–Fort Worth area.” He dipped a chip in the salsa and crunched it between his teeth. He waved his hand in front of his mouth as he chewed it. “You weren’t kidding. This stuff is hot.”

  “I can have Gabby bring a milder version for you, Tex.”

  He grabbed another chip and scooped up even more of the salsa. “Oh, them’s fightin’ words. Now it’s a matter of pride.”