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CHAPTER 8
“We need somegroceries,” Lauren told Alex at lunch, five days later. He’d wanted to remain indoors, not out in public where the Russians who were in town on R&R could identify him. This was the only group who could. As for the other four teams: he could pass right by any of them with impunity around Aguas Calientes and never be identified. “I’m going to walk down to the grocery store and get some stuff.”
Alex scowled. He hated being cooped up like a chicken in a henhouse for five days straight. Fresh air, sunshine and the elements made him feel alive. Vital. The only good thing about all this wait was that he had Lauren as his company. And, in those five waiting days, they’d settled into a companionable resonance with one another. They should leave tomorrow morning. He damn well didn’t want one of those ex-Spetsnaz men to catch a look at Lauren. It could mean trouble.
“Do you want dinner tonight?” she drawled. “We have NO food. And I’m not going to eat MRE’s if I don’t have too. It’s a short walk. Tons of tourists around. I’ll be okay.”
“I worry.”
She came and sat down opposite Alex at the table. He had his cleaning cloth spread out and was oiling his pistol with quick, familiar movements. “Now who’s the worry wart?” she teased. There was stubbornness in his face. She could feel him resisting her leaving the apartment.
Flicking a glance at her, Alex swallowed hard. Lauren was naturally beautiful. Her thick, red lashes were the frames around her large, intelligent, gray eyes that calmly studied him. She reminded him of a sharp-eyed eagle. “Yes, I am.”
“You’re a hen mother,” she teased, grinning, reaching out and touching his muscled forearm.
His heart opened. Lauren was smiling. Alex’s hands halted over the pistol as he stared at her. The corners of her mouth lifted, and that dimpled smile went all the way up into her eyes, which danced with amusement.
“What?” she demanded, removing her hand from his arm because, if she hadn’t, she’d have wanted to slide her fingertips up even higher, to feel his muscles leap beneath them.
“Your smille,” he said thickly. “I have never seen you smile like this before.”
Lauren felt her chest tighten. The look on Alex’s face was one of utter honesty, his eyes burning with desire—for her. Her smile dissolved and she whispered, “I guess I don’t smile very often, do I?”
Alex shook himself. He wanted to lay the pistol aside, wipe off his hands, and frame her face and take that lush mouth of hers. He dreamed of kissing her every night. He’d wake up on the rug, the blanket pulled over him, lost in some dream that involved her.
Forcing himself to continue cleaning the pistol, he rasped, “I wish you would realize how it makes me feel. It is as if the sun has come out from behind dark clouds. It makes me feel warm. Good.” Lauren’s smile told him how much she was relaxing and feeling at ease around him. It was a miracle in itself and for that, Alex was more than grateful.
“I guess I’ve always been too serious. At least, that’s what everyone tells me.”
“I feel here, in my heart, when you feel safe, you will feel more free. And when a person feels that way, a smile is easy to share with others. Yes?”
His simple words sank deep into her, bringing up both good and bad memories. Lauren stood up and said, “You’re probably right. I’m going to grab my civilian knapsack, play botanist, and go to the grocery store.”
Alex frowned. “Take a pistol.”
Lauren hesitated. “Alex, I don’t dare. The local police… if they see it or find it on me… all hell will break loose.”
He lifted his chin. “If Petrov or Volkov see you, approach you, you may not have a choice.”
“What?” Lauren scoffed lightly, trying to tease him, “they’re going to shoot me out in the plaza because I’m an American? There’s tons of Americans here in Aguas Calientes.” She patted his broad shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”
“At least take the radio.”
He was upset. His full lower lip was compressed, his voice a growl like that of a male wolf that had been disturbed and was close to biting anyone who got too close to him.
“Okay, a radio I can do.” she said.
Lauren looked forward to getting out of the apartment. She hefted the dark-green knapsack over her shoulders. And, wearing the same color cargo pants, a pair of hiking boots, and a black tee underneath her long-sleeved white blouse, she knew she’d blend into the tourist traffic. The radio was in her left cargo pants’ pocket, out of sight, but handy if she needed it. When she ambled by the kitchen, she saw Alex get up. His eyes were narrowed. And yes, he was clearly concerned for her sake.
He went to the door and opened it. Fresh, humid air tumbled languidly through it into the air-conditioned apartment. “You stay safe. All right?” Her hair was in a ponytail. She wore the kind of floppy hat that she’d thought a botanist out in the jungle might wear. No matter how well Lauren blended in, her beauty could not be hidden or dimmed. The men Alex had worked with for two years always went after the young, beautiful girls in the Quechua villages. Lauren far outshined them. She was a target of another sort.
“I promise,” Lauren said, slipping out the door. “This won’t take long…”
Descending the concrete steps, Lauren focused on the crowd below. Alex had taken photos of all five Russians. She’d memorized their faces. She knew their names. What they looked like, how tall they were, and their personalities. Being midday, tourists were pouring into the town after having just arrived off the Cusco train. Many different throngs of them were slowly snaking in and out of the plethora of shops. She chose the side of the street with the most people, and kept her pace slow. If she hurried, she’d stand out and possibly be spotted by someone, someone like a Spetsnaz operator. The sun was hidden behind the humid, fog-like clouds that drifted slowly across above the town. The humidity was always high. Lauren could hear the buses firing up, their diesel engines bellowing, preparing to take tourist groups up the winding dirt road to the top of Machu Picchu where the Incan temples were located.
Often, she was bumped, because tourists were looking everywhere except where they were going. With her dark glasses on, Lauren could swing her gaze around and no one would realize what she was doing. Sunglasses were a major asset in the field. Leaving the hill behind, she saw a group of Indians at the front doors of the Catholic church, waiting for the priest to open them. Mass was held at noon five days a week, she had discovered. On the opposite side of the street she was walking along was the hotel where the Russians were staying. Lauren looked long and hard, seeing none of them around the opened doors to the entrance. Maybe they were all sleeping? Or, as Alex had politely put it, daylight was for prostitutes, nights were for drinking beer, playing poker, and smoking their cigarettes.
The grocery store was opposite the church and she pushed her way inside, seeing that it was fairly crowded with tourists. Taking a small basket from the counter, she threaded in and out of people from many different nations. There was a group of Chinese. Rounding the corner, she ran into a cluster of Germans. In another aisle, Lauren could hear the musical lilt of French being rapidly spoken. Machu Picchu drew the world, and she could see why.
