The Commander

“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?