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tank!” she shot at him.
    He smiled, his teeth white against that olive tan. “You’re spunky, Gabby. I’m glad. You’re going to need spunk.”
    His words brought back the reason for their trip, and she frowned. The plane started to descend and she clung to J.D.’s strong fingers, wondering if in a few weeks this would all be nothing more than a memory. He’d said they’d have to seem involved; was this just a practice session? The frown deepened. She realized quite suddenly that she didn’t want it to be. She wanted J.D. to kiss the breath out of her, as he’d threatened, and mean it.
    They landed in Mexico City, and Gabby’s eyes widened as they walked into the terminal. She smiled, dreams of Aztecs and ancient ruins going through her mind—until she remembered poor Martina, and the fact that they weren’t here to look at tourist attractions.
    She looked at J.D., standing tall and quiet at her side. He stared slowly around the terminal while Gabby shifted restlessly beside him, their two small carry-on cases beside her.
    After what seemed like a long time, J.D. began to smile as a tall, devastatingly attractive man strode toward them. He was wearing a beige suit and leather boots, and he looked debonair and a little dangerous—like J.D.
    “Laremos.” J.D. grinned as they shook hands.
    “Did you think I’d forgotten you?” the other man asked in softly accented English. “You look well, Archer.”
    Gabby’s eyebrows lifted curiously.
    “Archer,” the man explained, “is the name to which he answered many years ago, during our…acquaintance. You are Gabby Darwin, no?”
    “Yes.” She nodded. “And you are Señor Laremos?”
    “Diego Laremos,
a sus ordenes,
” he said formally, bowing. He grinned. “A beauty, Archer.”
    “Yes, I think so myself,” J.D. said casually, smiling at her as he drew her unresisting body close to his side. “Did Dutch phone you?”
    The smile faded and Laremos was at once something else, something out of Gabby’s experience. “
Sí.
Drago and Semson and Apollo are here now.”
    “Good. How about my equipment?”
    “Apollo got it from Dutch,” Laremos said, his voice low and intent. “An Uzi and a new AKM.”
    J.D. nodded while Gabby tried to decide what in the world they were talking about. “We’ll need some RPGs.”
    “We have two,” Laremos said. “And eight blocks of C-4, rockets for the RPGs, assorted paraphernalia, jungle gear, and plenty of ammo. The border is a hotbed for drug and human traffickers these days—you can get anything if you have the money and the contacts.”
    J.D. smiled faintly. “Dutch said First Shirt has both. You made a smart move when you put him in charge of your ranch security.”
    “Sí,”
Laremos agreed. “It is why I survive and many of my neighbors have not. The
finca
above mine was burned to the ground a month ago, and its owner…” He glanced at Gabby. “Forgive me,
señorita.
Such talk is not for the ears of women.”
    “I don’t even understand it,” she said, studying both men. “What is an RP…whatever it was? And what do you mean, rockets?”
    “I’ll tell you all about it later,” J.D. promised. “Got the plane?” he asked Laremos.
    The other man nodded. “We will have to go through customs. I assume you have nothing on you that it would be embarrassing to declare when we land, otherwise you would not have made it through Mexican customs.”
    J.D. chuckled. “Even with you along, I doubt they’d look the other way if I boarded with an Uzi slung around my neck and clips of ammunition hanging out of my pockets.”
    Laremos laughed too. “Doubtless they would not. Come. We are gassed up and ready to go.”
    “Uzi?” Gabby queried as they followed him.
    J.D. pulled her against him briefly. “An Uzi is an Israeli-made weapon. It’s classified as a submachine gun.”
    “Did you use one in the Special Forces?”
    He laughed softly. “No.”
    “Then how do you…and why…and what…?”
    He