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Expecting Trouble
Delores Fossen
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.
To Tom, thanks for all the support.
A deafening blast shook the rickety hotel and stopped Jenna cold.
With her heart in her throat, Jenna raced to the window and looked down at the street below. Or rather what was left of the street, a gaping hole. Someone had set shops on fire. Black coils of smoke rose, smearing the late afternoon sky.
“Ohmygod,” Jenna mumbled.
There was no chance a taxi could get to her now to take her to the airport. And worse were rebel soldiers, at least a dozen of them dressed in dark green uniforms. She’d heard about them on the news and knew they had caused havoc in Monte de Leon. That’s why by now she’d hoped to be out of the hotel, and the small South American country. She hadn’t succeeded because she’d been waiting on a taxi for eight hours.
One of the soldiers looked up at her and took aim with his scoped rifle. Choking back a scream, Jenna dropped to the floor just as the bullet slammed through the window.
She scurried across the threadbare rug and into the bathroom. It smelled of mold, rust and other odors she didn’t want to identify, and Jenna wasn’t surprised to see roaches race across the cracked tile. It was a far cry from the nearby Tolivar estate where she’d spent the past two days. Of course, there’d been insects of a different kind there.
Paul Tolivar.
Staying close to the wall, Jenna pulled off one of her red heels so she could use it as a weapon and climbed into the bathtub to wait for whatever was about to happen.
She didn’t have to wait long.
There was a scraping noise just outside the window. She pulled in her breath and waited. Praying. She hadn’t even made it to the please-get-me-out-of-this part when she heard a crash of glass and the thud of someone landing on the floor.
“I’m Special Agent Cal Rico,” a man called out. “U.S. International Security Agency. I’m here to rescue you.”
A rescue? Or maybe this was a trick by one of the rebels to draw her out. Jenna heard him take a step closer, and that single step caused her pulse to pound in her ears.
“I know you’re here,” he continued, his voice calm. “I pinpointed you with thermal equipment.”
The first thing she saw was her visitor’s handgun. It was lethal-looking. As was his face. Lean, strong. He had an equally strong jaw. Olive skin that hinted at either Hispanic or Italian DNA. Mahogany-brown hair and sizzling steel-blue eyes that were narrowed and focused.
He was over six feet tall and wore all black, with various weapons and equipment strapped onto his chest, waist and thighs. He looked like the answer to her unfinished prayer.
Or a P.S. to her nightmare.
“We need to move now,” he insisted.
Jenna didn’t question that, but she still wasn’t sure what she intended to do. Yes, she was afraid, but she wasn’t stupid. “Can I trust you?”
Amusement leapt through his eyes. His reaction was brief, lasting barely a second before he nodded. And that was apparently all the reassurance he intended to give her. He latched on to her arm and hauled her from the tub. He allowed her just enough time to put back on her shoe before he maneuvered her out of the bathroom and toward the door to her hotel room.
“Extraction in progress, Hollywood,” he whispered into a black thumb-size communicator on the collar of his shirt. “ETA for rendezvous is six minutes.”
Six minutes. Not long at all. Jenna latched on to that info like a lifeline. If this lethal-looking James Bond could deliver what he promised, she’d be safe soon. Of course, with all those rebel soldiers outside, that was a big if.
Cal Rico paused at the door, listening, and eased it open. After a split-second glance down the hall, he got them out of the room and down a flight of stairs that took them to the back entrance on the bottom floor. Again, he looked out, but he must not have liked what he saw. He put his finger to his lips, telling her to stay quiet.
Outside, Jenna could still hear the battery of gunfire and the footsteps of the rebels. They seemed to be moving right past the hotel. She was in the middle of a battle zone.
How much her life had changed in two days. This should have been a weekend trip to Paul’s Monte de Leon estate. A prelude to taking their relationship from friendship to something more. Instead, it’d become a terrifying ordeal she might not survive.
Jenna tried not to let fear take hold of her, but adrenaline was screaming for her to run. To do something. Anything. It was a powerful, overwhelming sensation. Fight or flight. Even if either of those options could get her killed.
Cal Rico touched his fingers to her lips. “Your teeth are chattering,” he mouthed.
No surprise there. She didn’t have a lot of coping mechanisms for dealing with this