Page 7 of Wicked Ambition

Oz didn’t breathe for a second. The Paladin League. For fuck’s sake, why was it always the Paladin League? He latched on to the most important word. “We? You work for the Paladin League, too?”

Ayla appeared uncertain. Definitely nervous.

“Pollita?” he prompted.

She nodded. Slowly. Hesitantly. As if she wasn’t sure she should share any intel with him. “Yes, I do.”

“You’re an archaeologist?”

“The Paladin League hires people besides archaeologists.” Ayla sounded irritated, but he didn’t know if that was adrenaline or if she was tired of people assuming what her job was. Her eyes widened almost immediately. “How do you know the Paladin League is involved with archaeologists?”

Her tone held suspicion, and Oz nearly grinned. Nearly, but he was pissed at himself for revealing too much. He knew better. Now he needed an explanation that allayed some of her distrust. “A friend of mine is married to someone who works there.”

“Really? Who?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sharing that.” If Ayla wasn’t on the up and up, that information could put his former teammate’s wife at risk. Not only was Oz not taking chances, but he didn’t want to face Stony’s wrath. “If you’re not an archaeologist, what do you do?”

Ayla stared at him as if trying to see into his soul. “I work in public relations.”

There was a snap in her voice that had Oz hiding his amusement. She wouldn’t appreciate it. Public relations. Yeah, he could see that. She had a polished, corporate kind of look to her. He wished shewerean archaeologist. At least then she’dhave some more scrappiness—at least going by the three he’d met.

How the hell did someone who worked in PR think she was going to rescue anyone? “Did your sister contact you from San Isidro to tell you she was in trouble?”

“I’m not sure where she was when I got the message she needed help.”

Of course not. Why would Ayla think to ask for that information? There was an odd note in her voice, but Oz couldn’t figure it out. In the meantime, on to the next question. “Do you have a plan?”

“Yes. I’m going to travel to San Isidro and talk to some of the people there. I’m sure one of them will know where I can find Io.”

“Io. That’s your sister?”

She nodded. “It’s short for Iona.”

“Do you really believe that if Iona got in too deep in San Isidro anyone would pass along that information to you?”

It was more likely that the elderly innkeeper and his two friends would take over the rescue. The three men had retired from the presidential brigade, Puerto Jardin’s Special Forces, and they saw themselves as the protectors of San Isidro. Stony would be majorly pissed off if anything happened to those old men.

“Why wouldn’t they tell me? Unless they’re involved. Do you think people in the town are involved?” She leaned closer as she asked the question.

Before he could come up with how to answer, a man wandered too close. Oz leveled a warning stare at him, and he immediately shifted course, giving them more space.

“Is he a threat?” Ayla whispered.

“Probably not.” Yeah, probably not, but Oz remained on high alert. He’d positioned them so they were near the statue. Noone was coming up on their backs, but scanning, assessing, and reacting were ingrained. He did it all the time without thinking about it.

The dude exited the park, but Oz didn’t relax. He couldn’t allow Ayla to go near those ruins. The only reason Lurch and his archaeologist had escaped from the drug lord’s compound was because he’d been there to help them. Without someone on the inside—and one hell of a diversion to keep Vargas’s troops busy—no one was getting out.

Had Ayla’s sister also been imprisoned by the drug lord? Was she still locked up inside the hacienda?

Chapter 4

Ayla had enough self-awareness to realize her mood swings were related to adrenaline, but no matter how hard she tried to curb her emotions, they continued to fluctuate wildly. She hated it, but she didn’t know how to regain control.

It didn’t help that Oziah—Oz—threw her off balance. She couldn’t forget the night they’d spent together. Couldn’t forget the things they’d done together. From the way he looked at her, it was obvious he was remembering, too. Remembering and thinking about doing it again. At least that’s where her thoughts headed, despite her determination.

She’d told him about her twin.

Ayla hated she shared anything with him. He was a stranger. She didn’t know him, not really. They had done some talking that night, but it had been surface stuff. Nothing deep or identifying. Nothing that should give her any confidence in his honor.

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