Yet the worst part was, she was drawn to him! Few men had stirred the flames within her as Joe did. Akiva tried to ignore her quickening heartbeat each time he gave her that gentle smile. Her yearning to know what it would be like to kiss his smiling mouth really shocked her. For all Joe’s gentleness, which in itself was a powerful beacon that drew Akiva, he stirred her womanly nature, too. Akiva didn’t like being drawn to an Anglo. No matter how personable Joe appeared to be, somewhere within him was the darkness all Anglo men carried. She knew it lurked within him, even if she hadn’t experienced it.
She glared at him for a moment. Why did he have to be so damned different? Was it because he was from Texas? She would feel a helluva lot less jumpy if she could only figure him out. Then she’d know what tact to take with him, her well-ordered world would once again fall into place and she could relax.
“And who’s the drug lord in the area?” Akiva demanded in a dark tone.
Morgan’s brows knitted. He replaced the map with a color photograph of an older man with silver hair. “Javier Rios. He’s the kingpin of drugs in southern Mexico. His son, Luis, is a helicopter pilot, and they have four civilian helos that Luis and his mercenary pilots use to fly. The helos have a fixed fuel range and Luis takes his helos to dirt airstrips in various areas along Mexico’s Gulf Coast, to fixed-wing planes that load it on board and fly it into the U.S. So Luis’s job is as a middleman on these flights.”
Akiva stared at the silver-haired gentleman, who stood against a background of whitewashed stucco arches overhung with hot-pink bougainvillea. It was a beautiful villa, the red-tiled patio behind him filled with several pottery urns holding blooming flowers.
Rios’s heritage was clearly Castilian, Akiva noted. He was dressed like a patron of old in a wine-colored, short-waisted jacket embroidered with gold thread, a starched white shirt, and a maroon neckerchief held by a gold-and-amethyst clasp. The man’s face was wide, and Akiva was sure that in his youth he’d been extremely good-looking. Now his silver hair was neatly cut and a small mustache lined his upper lip. But his eyes made Akiva shiver; a dark brown, they reminded her of the hooded look of a deadly viper getting ready to strike at its prey. Rios’s thin lips were smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was the lethal smile of someone who knew he had ultimate power over others. A chill worked its way through Akiva, though she tried to ignore it.
“Rios is well regarded in the archeological world,” Morgan noted. “He’s donated millions to a number of projects over in Italy and is on the board of a number of internationally famous museums. He has a penchant for Rome and loves all things Roman.
“The villa where this photo was taken is just outside San Cristobel. There is an airport near the town, and he routinely flies in and out.
“Javier Rios is a man of old world traditions. Those who know him say he’s a throwback to the days of Queen Isabella, when Columbus was searching for the New World. He’s highly educated, with a doctorate in history, and he sponsors worldwide workshops on Roman antiquity. His latest project is saving a number of mosaic walls and floors found in old Roman villas in northern Italy that are being threatened by rising waters from a nearby dam.”
“What a nice guy he is,” Akiva growled sarcastically. “The world probably looks up to him with admiration.”
Joe grinned over at her. He liked Akiva’s testy humor. Most combat pilots had a black sense of humor; it served to reduce stress during tense situations they often found themselves in. “My daddy always said that if it looks like manure, smells like manure, then it probably is manure.”
A sour, unwilling grin pulled at Akiva’s mouth. She met Joe’s smiling gray eyes, and try as she might, she couldn’t stop from grinning at his comment. “I like your daddy. He’s a smart dude.”
Nodding, Joe felt immediate warmth, soft and velvety, slip around his heart. It was the first time Akiva had actually been spontaneous with him. Maybe being a C.O. was going to change how she related to others. That possibility made him feel good inside.
“My daddy had a sayin’ for every occasion,” he assured her with a chuckle. Again, Joe saw a spark of warmth in her eyes. Joy deluged him unexpectedly. What would it be like to see that look in her eyes as he kissed her? The thought had heated promise. Joe carefully tucked that desire away in his heart, for now was not the time to pursue it—or her.
Morgan grinned over at Houston. “The world might see Javier Rios as an educated man of immense wealth who supports the arts, but beneath, he’s a drug dealer, pure and simple. So, Joe, I think your assessment has cut to the core here. Manure is manure—even if you dress it up and hide it under expensive clothes.”
Houston rubbed his chin and studied the two pilots who would be taking the mission. “Rios is a cultured man of letters and principles. He loves bullfighting, and supports the sport financially all over Mexico. At this villa he raises bulls that will be trained for the arena, not only in Mexico, but Spain as well.”
Akiva shivered. “The bastard,” she whispered tightly. “Treating those poor animals like that…”
“The bulls don’t have a chance,” Houston agreed. “If one is a little too frisky in the bullring, they drug it to slow it down, so the matador can plunge his sword into the animal’s heart.”
“And Rios does the same thing,” Maya told them grimly. “This dude may look nice on the outside, but he’s got a murderous heart. Morgan? Show them a picture of the son, Luis. He’s a piece of work, just like his daddy.”
Akiva’s eyes narrowed as a picture of Luis Rios flashed up on the screen. It was a color photo of him standing next to his civilian helicopter, decked out in a leather bombardier jacket, starched red shirt, a white silk scarf and tan chinos.
“Chip off the old block, I’d say,” Akiva growled, and she gave Maya a knowing look. Luis Rios was drop-dead handsome, with black wavy hair, wide brown eyes, a long, angular face, patrician nose with flaring nostrils and a thin, smiling mouth. In Akiva’s opinion he looked every inch the spoiled only child of a superwealthy family.
“This dog’ll hunt,” Joe muttered, more to himself than anyone else as they studied the photo.
Akiva turned and frowned. “What?”
Joe tipped his head toward her. “Texas sayin’. It means that the son is a sniffer-outer of the first degree.” He punched his index finger toward the photo. “I wouldn’t trust this guy at all. He’s a real predator. I see it in his eyes.”
Akiva agreed. “And he’s flying a helo. Weapons or not, it still makes him dangerous.”
“And,” Houston warned them darkly, “he’s got three other helos in his little ‘squadron.’ We don’t have any dope on him. The last person the Drug Enforcement Agency tried to put in the Rios camp was discovered. We never found his body. So we don’t know that much about Luis or his helicopters and pilots. That’s something you’ll be finding out as you go along. The Pentagon wants Luis’s movements charted. We need to know where he goes, where he sends these choppers along Mexico’s Gulf Coast and what kind of schedule he’s got worked up for them.”
“So he’s usin’ them to haul drugs out of the jungle,” Joe drawled, “and then off-loading them to fixed-wing aircraft sitting on dirt strips near the Gulf Coast on the eastern side of Mexico? He’s pretty sharp for a weasel.”
Grimly, Houston nodded. “Yes, he is, Joe. But a helo, if equipped for a larger fuel load, could fly into the Texas border area. And he may be doing that. You’re going to try and find this out.”
“A helo can dip in and out of a jungle pretty easily,” Akiva said. “Just chop trees in a fifty-foot radius and damn near any rotorcraft