—MADDIE, Kiss and Tulle
THE ENTIRE SEAL team had assembled on the beach by the time Mason reached base camp, geared up and ready for the Zodiac that would land in five minutes. It was a quick, rough ride out to the waiting Navy vessel, and then they would board a Black Hawk and fly forty minutes inland to the jungle compound the Marcos brothers had built on the Belizean mainland. Which gave them approximately thirty minutes of ground time to get in, search for Santiago Marcos and get out. Not that he had anything or anyone to rush back to. Not anymore.
He had no business thinking about Maddie when he was on a mission, but she was stuck in his head and under his skin. Would she miss him? Sure, things had ended about as badly as they could, but he’d never worried about the people he left behind. He had his family back in California, but they had lives and families of their own. They’d miss him, mourn him, but he wasn’t part of their everyday lives and they’d go on just fine without him. For that matter, so would Maddie. Maybe he’d been fooling himself, thinking what they had was love. He’d simply gotten caught up in the whole Fantasy Island thing and had turned a few days of sex into a relationship.
But, as stupid as it sounded even in the privacy of his head, this thing with Maddie had felt like a possibility. Not just a hookup, but a chance for something more. Clearly, she’d been thinking along the same lines, given the proposal that had come popping out of her mouth. And the stricken look on her face when he’d turned her down still gutted him. He’d hurt her when that was the last thing he’d wanted to do. But accepting was out of the question. Full-time relationships and SEALs didn’t mix well, although he liked to think that his older self could handle things better than the eighteen-year-old kid he’d been. Of course, Maddie thought he was a chef. She had no idea he wasn’t baking bread while she recovered from their marathon sex sessions. If she could see him now, face paint camouflaging his skin, geared up to assault a drug lord’s jungle compound, she’d probably KO any possibility of the two of them taking things to the next level.
The Zodiac flew over the calm surface of the lagoon, coming in fast and hard. The nose ran up on the sand; the SEAL at the motor easing up just in time to avoid beaching. Spray kicked up as the boat came to a temporary halt.
Gray signaled the go and Mason joined the others in running across the sand. Levi ran like a damned gazelle and not like a man with fifty pounds of explosives strapped to his back. Lips peeled back, Levi’s eyes lit up as his adrenaline started pumping. His buddy lived for this shit, and the chance to blow Santiago’s hidey-hole up would be the cherry on the mission sundae. They piled in, grabbing on to pontoon lifelines as their driver reversed hard and took them out to sea.
Eight minutes later, they approached the waiting Navy vessel. The Black Hawk waiting on deck was their ride. Sigma Team would be one of two six-man squads. Gray had brought a replacement for Remy and, after a quick round of meet-and-greets, they piled into the chopper and lifted off. Once they were outbound, they went over the forecasts, running through the expected weather, sunrise and tide times.
Gray passed around a photo of Santiago for a double-check of their target and Mason committed the face to memory. Santiago’s picture was followed by more pictures of known bodyguards and house servants. Like the rest of the team, he’d already memorized the descriptions of who did what. Santiago wouldn’t escape capture by pretending to be someone he wasn’t, and the SEALs wouldn’t accidentally take down the wrong man.
Levi eyed the approaching jungle cautiously. “You think they got snakes down there?”
Mason flicked him a glance. “You want me to lie to you? Or you want to just shoot anything that slithers?”
Levi shuddered. “I’ll take that as a hell yeah. And yes, please.”
“You got it.” He peered out at the approaching compound. “Almost showtime.”
Levi whistled. “Santiago’s squatting in a goddamned palace.”
The place did look pretty good. Since they were flying low, barely skimming the treetops to stay under any possible radar, their current view would have been a Realtor’s wet dream. In the predawn light, the walls protecting Santiago’s privacy were lit up with enough wattage to ensure no one got close without Santiago’s guards spotting them. The house was two stories with lots of windows and wrought iron French balconies. The Marcos brothers hadn’t skimped on the square footage, either, although jungle real estate probably came cheap. According to the plans Mason had reviewed, the mansion was eight thousand square feet. It had two pools, four guesthouses and a ten-car garage that housed a sweet collection of armor-plated Humvees. Cutting off Santiago’s access to that particular escape route would be a pleasure.