Page 59 of Wicked Ambition

She pulled the covers over her head. When she was nervous, she rambled, and for damn sure she’d been anxious about going to his room. There was no guessing what else she told Oz on the way upstairs.

His chuckle reached her even under the makeshift blanket fort. “It’s okay, Pollita. Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would have figured out you didn’t have much experience. I know what you’re thinking,” he said, cutting off her question before she could ask it, “and it wasn’t because you were bad. I could tell because I have lots of experience. Maybe too much.”

Ayla peeked over the edge of the blanket. “Too much?”

Oz shrugged, and said, “Hookups are easier. I’m away from home for months at a time. Maintaining a relationship with thekind of schedule I have takes work. A lot of work. It never felt worth putting in the time and effort. Until now.”

Because of her? Or because of the baby? And did he mean his job as a mercenary or Green Beret? She didn’t dare ask, even with the hall and stairs as a buffer between their room and the mobsters. Maybe she’d been naïve when she came to Puerto Jardin, but she was learning. The potential for danger was too much to risk his life to satisfy her curiosity.

But what Señora Alvarez said made more sense.

His attention returned to the door and Ayla let her thoughts go down this path. If Señor Alvarez was retired Puerto Jardinese Special Forces like Oz said, then it stood to reason that his wife would be able to identify another Special Forces soldier, right?

Although Oz could be aformerGreen Beret. He’d still have the demeanor and the other characteristics but be working as a mercenary.

Except Ayla knew firsthand how honorable Oz was. There was nothing she was aware of about him, nothing she’d seen in him, that suggested he would ever work for a drug lord to earn more money than the Army paid. That knowledge felt rock solid in her mind. She knew this man—maybe not all the details—but she knew who he was at his core. Green Beret fit much, much better than mercenary.

A memory surfaced, stealing some of her contentment. He said his parents were in prison. She started to ask but then decided if hewasa Green Beret and he was on an undercover mission, talking about his family was probably dangerous, too. To protect him, she’d keep quiet.

She would postpone the questions until later when there weren’t mobsters around.

“Oz?”

“What, Pollita?”

“Do you really think they’ll try to break into our room tonight?” Ayla whispered the question, but this one needed to be answered.

“Probably not, but I promised to take care of you and our baby, so I’m on duty. If that worry is what’s keeping you awake, you can relax and go to sleep.”

He didn’t think there was a risk of a break-in, but he was parked in an uncomfortable wooden chair, prepared to stay awake all night to keep her safe.

If Oziah West wasn’t an active Green Beret, she’d never trust her instincts again.

“Oz?”

He sighed. “Pollita.” Oz’s voice held a note of warning.

Ayla ignored it. “This is going to sound strange, but here it goes anyway. If I had to have an unplanned pregnancy, I’m glad you’re my baby’s daddy.” He looked startled. She didn’t give him a chance to recover. “Good night,” she said, and turning on her side, away from him, she tucked the blanket under her chin and closed her eyes.

It was a while later, when she was nearly asleep, that she thought she heard him whisper, “And I’m glad you’re my baby’s mother.”

Chapter 24

Oz drove the two-lane highway back to Trujillo faster than he did on their way to San Isidro, but he wanted to get their vehicle off of it as soon as he could. With the five-foot berms on either side and the rainforest encroaching to the edge of them, he had no place to go if Petrova and his assholes came up on their tail. This was the only road back to the city, so the Russians didn’t have to make a guess about routes.

Ayla was oblivious to his concern, dozing in the passenger seat. She’d eaten crackers before getting out of bed today, but unless some smell set her off, her morning sickness seemed to be worse in the afternoons. Or when she was anxious.

He’d enlisted the aid of the three old men.

Señor Garcia’s reconnaissance turned up that Petrova was in town to meet with Señor Vargas this morning. Made sense. The Russian mob was heavily involved in the narcotics trade, and Vargas was a major player. The drug lord also would not look kindly on a missed or rescheduled meeting, so Oz estimated he had a short window to get Ayla out of town.

Señors Alvarez, Garcia, and Otero had taken turns keeping watch over Oz’s vehicle throughout the night. Two different tampering attempts were thwarted.

To keep his Pollita safe, Oz needed to reach the outskirts of Trujillo, where he could take random side streets and the Russians wouldn’t have any idea where they were. He estimated at least another forty, maybe forty-five minutes before that happened, and in the meantime, he was checking the rearview mirror constantly.

He hadn’t lied to her last night when he said they probably wouldn’t invade their room at the inn. Too messy. But taking them out on the highway? That worked.

Unless Petrova still wanted Iona Desmond alive for some reason.

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