Last Spy Standing. Dana Marton

      “You two hike a lot in these parts?” she asked between two bites.

      “Here and in other places.” His missions took him all over the world.

      As far as the kid went, this was Zak’s first trip to South America. Based on the scant information he’d been given, Mitch knew Zak had graduated from being a pothead to more serious vices and decided that as long as he was using, he might as well get into the business. He’d probably taken one too many college business classes and fancied himself an entrepreneur. And since he learned from his father that when you wanted to get something done, you went to the top, he bought a ticket to South America.

      Big mistake.

      “How far is the nearest town?” Megan wiggled her toes in the sunshine. They were tipped with nail polish and looked like candy. Her pants were rolled up to above her knees.

      He looked away. Her dainty toes and long legs were none of his business. “We should be there by nightfall.”

      “Do they have an airport?”

      Sure. Right next to the day spa. “We’ll be lucky to find a phone and a shack to sleep in. We’re in a sparsely populated area. There isn’t any industry around here, and little agriculture. The natives farm a little, but mostly they live off the jungle’s bounty.” He didn’t mention the criminal element, didn’t want to remind her.

      In the morning, he would hook her up with a dependable guide who’d take her to the nearest city. She couldn’t come with them any farther. When he contacted the Colonel, they’d get a military transport out of the country, which wasn’t something she could be allowed to see.

      “But they have shops, right?” She tugged on her top, her eyes filled with embarrassment. “This outfit is completely ruined. Everything else I have is soaking wet from the river, too.”

      Educating her on the local realities didn’t seem worth the energy. She’d be out of his hair tomorrow morning. Simpler for him and safer for her. She was a babe in the woods. Megan Cassidy had no business being someplace like this, around men like him.

      TTHEY REACHED THE TOWN at twilight, walking out of the rain forest tired and dirty.

      Mitch wiped the sweat off his forehead as he led his small team toward the largest wooden building he could see. Kids ran around in the dust, chasing dogs and small, black pigs. The hum of generators filled the air, providing the few dozen houses with electricity. A couple of ancient bicycles leaned against crumbling walls. A beat-up, rusted-out pickup—probably the only car in the village—hid in the shade of a fruit tree.

      He scanned the scene before him carefully, but everything seemed as it should be. He couldn’t spot anyone paying them undue attention. Juarez’s influence may or may not extend as far as this place. But even if Juarez was looking this far afield, he’d have people watching for a young man, not two men and a woman. They had that going for them, a definite advantage.

      “Hola!” They reached the building, and he slowly pushed the door in.

      The local guesthouse had four rooms, the toothless old man who shuffled out from the back explained, but one had burned out and two were permanently occupied, so only one was free. He didn’t have a phone, but there was one in the next village, fifty kilometers to the east. Mitch paid in advance, took the key, then led the others down the hallway to the room the man indicated.

      “This is it.” The door stood ajar. He nudged it open with his boot, his hand near his weapon, ready for ambush, ready for anything. Juarez’s men could have cut in front of them.

      But as he looked around, it didn’t seem they did. Nobody waited for them in there save a handful of cockroaches that skittered across the floor. A single bed took up most of the room, covered by a torn blanket that might have had bright-colored stripes at one point in the distant past, but was now beyond faded.

      He could hear Megan swallowing behind him.

      “Didn’t the sign on the front say LUJO? Doesn’t that mean luxury in Spanish?” Her voice was a touch faint.

      He felt sorry for her. She was so far out of her element … “We have our own bathroom. And you’ll be in a nice hotel by tomorrow this time. Hang in there just a little longer.”

      She nodded bravely.

      He walked forward to the open door in the corner, and took in the small shower that probably had only cold water. The chipped toilet had no seat. The pipes were rusty, but none of them were leaking. And he didn’t have to worry about water quality as long as they had their filter bottles.

      Not that Megan appreciated their good fortune—having a roof over their heads and all. Her eyes were unnaturally wide and brimming with something that looked suspiciously close to tears. Even Zak was looking around with a dubious expression on his face.

      He couldn’t allow them to fall apart now. “Sit.”

      They both obeyed.

      “This is what we’re going to do. We’ll clean up then have a decent meal. Then we’ll get some rest.” He looked at Megan. “You should wait to report the attack until you reach a bigger place. The polizia in a village like this is probably one man. He won’t be able to do much. And he might even be in league with the bandits.”

      Plus, he didn’t want any part of the police report. If they were together when she went to the authorities, the police would also want to talk to him and Zak.

      She went a shade paler, probably remembering the attack, but she nodded.

      He couldn’t let her think too much. “All right. Let’s get on with the cleaning up. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty hungry. The sooner we get ourselves in decent enough shape to go out and look for food, the better.”

      Zak went first. He didn’t take long, then settled in front of an ancient radio bolted to the wall, trying to make it work while Megan took her turn. She didn’t loiter, either, confirming Mitch’s suspicions about the water being unheated. He was about to ask Zak, but then the bathroom door opened and she stood there wrapped in nothing but a worn towel.

      His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth.

      She had legs a mile long. Lean, pink thighs. Zak stared at her wide-eyed, with a stupid grin on his face. She tugged the towel down in a self-conscious gesture that nearly caused her breasts to spill out on top. She looked desperate and embarrassed, the hottest thing Mitch had seen in years. Or ever.

      Stop staring, get moving, he told himself, and after a few seconds he actually did it.

      He moved to grab his gun off the dresser, but she moved toward her bag on the bed at the same time, getting between him and his weapon.

      In nothing but a towel.

      Which would have been just fine—more than fine—if she were a different sort of woman, if they were alone and he wasn’t in the middle of a clandestine mission.

      He practically ran for the bathroom, needing that cold shower ASAP.

      “I’ll be out in a minute,” he called through the closed door, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

      He peeled off his clothes, stepped into the shower and let the cold spray hit his head. Exactly what he needed. He tried not to think of Megan Cassidy in that flimsy towel, those legs or those wet, soft locks framing her delicate face.

      Morning couldn’t come too quickly. She needed to get far away from places like this and men like him.

      He quieted the little voice in his head that said he should put Zak on the military transport then stay behind and personally escort Miss Cassidy back home to make sure nothing bad happened to her.

      That voice had nothing to do with her long, lean thighs. Rescue missions just ran deep in his blood. He couldn’t help it if his instincts were to rescue her, too.

      She was the proverbial damsel