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Oz kept his expression even by sheer dint of will.

He wanted to scowl as he stalked back to the inn.

He wasn’t sure what he disliked most—that the old men didn’t know what was going on, or that the situation was more volatile than usual.

Given the normal level of chaos in Puerto Jardin, that was saying something.

It had to involve the fucking treasure.

He was jumping to conclusions, but Oz felt it in his gut.

Look at what happened a couple of weeks ago with Lurch and his woman.

Three-quarters of the team needed to launch a full-scale rescue to get her out of the hands of a group of men who’d been kicked out of the rebel forces because of the war crimes they’d been committing.

Okay, so Lurch’s cover as a gunrunner had been the primary reason Nyx had been held hostage. They’d been after the high-tech rifle the team was using as bait to get to Jorge Torres. But while they had her in their camp, their leader decided she might as well help them find the treasure.

That was after Vargas, the friendly neighborhood drug lord, also used her to research the Treasure of Trujillo. What had Lurch said? Something about how the treasure and the arms dealing were becoming more and more entwined.

No fucking joke.

Torres had his men surrounding the convent, probably because a brooch from the treasure had been located there, although the team didn’t know for sure if this was the reason. Even Cardozo, the damn president of the country, was interested in the cache.

A pair of children playing on the sidewalk took one look at him and ran inside their house. He hated that his cover as a mercenary was enough to scare kids.

If he was right about the treasure causing the uneasiness the old men had told him about, Ayla’s sister could have picked something up as well. She left on Tuesday after visiting the ruins and they reported her demeanor had been relaxed, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t discovered a clue.

Maybe a clue that needed to be investigated in Trujillo.

The captain’s woman believed the ruins were involved with the treasure. Lurch’s woman went to the ruins. Ayla’s sister went to the ruins. Coincidence or pattern?

Oz continued to mull over that question as he turned the corner to the inn.

His step faltered momentarily. There was a pricy SUV parked next to the vehicle he and Ayla had arrived in, and it was a sure bet it didn’t belong to anyone in town.

Unless Vargas had gone shopping since Oz was fired, it didn’t belong to the drug lord either.

He didn’t know who the fuck rolled into town, and he didn’t like it.

It took more self-control than he expected not to hurry, to continue at the same pace at which he’d been walking, but it was necessary. If someone was watching the outside of the inn, the last thing Oz wanted to do was show his uneasiness.

And he was past uneasy.

Ayla was in there, and the odds she was still napping were slim and none. About the same odds as her remaining inside their room, waiting for him to return before venturing out to talk to Senora Alvarez.

By the time he reached the inn, Oz was tense. There was nothing he could do about that. His woman was in there. He pushed open the door and scanned.

Petrova. Along with two of his assholes.

Oz took in the rest of the scene in a flash.

As far as diversions went, it wasn’t one he would have picked, but it was effective.

No one even glanced at Ayla. Petrova glared at Senora Alvarez, disgusted by the vomit on the floor.

One of the henchmen appeared ready to puke himself, and the other looked as if he wanted to escape.

His Pollita was white as a sheet of paper, and he thought she was on the verge of tears.

“I’ll clean it up, Senora Alvarez,” Ayla offered. He heard the embarrassment in her voice.

“You will not,” the older woman said.

“I’m the one who?—”

“Let the help take care of it,” Petrova interrupted, disdain dripping from each word.

He made a dismissive motion with one hand, and Oz recognized his watch.

The day he’d brought Ayla to Palacio Monasterio, there’d been a man in the lobby, reading a newspaper wearing the same brand.

It was European and it cost the fucking moon.

There was no chance in hell that was a coincidence.

Two flags of red blossomed on Ayla’s cheeks and Oz moved.

She was about to go off, and that was the last thing he needed.

“Sweetheart,” he said, as he reached her side, carefully avoiding the mess on the floor.

“You should go up to our room and relax. As pale as you are, your stomach must still be unsettled.”

“But I need to take care of this.” She gestured toward the puke.

“I’ll handle it. Go upstairs and rest.”

For a moment, Oz thought she was going to continue arguing, but the red faded from her cheeks, leaving her face ashen again. Yeah, his Pollita was fighting a hard bout of morning sickness and losing. “If you’re sure…” She let her voice trail off.

“Positive. Take the crackers with you.”

Senora Alvarez passed a bunch of the packets to Ayla. “Do as your husband says. You’ll feel better after a lie-down.”

Oz walked her to the foot of the stairs, and when she hesitated, he said softly, “Go, Pollita. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

He watched until she reached the second floor. Fuck. He’d brought her to San Isidro to keep her away from trouble. Instead, trouble had found them.

That Russian mobster had seen Oz escort Ayla to her hotel room three days ago when she wasn’t in disguise. There was no chance he hadn’t been noticed. There was no chance Oz hadn’t been recognized today.

They were in a shitload of trouble.

It was dark, the only illumination coming from the moonlight encroaching around the sides of the curtains. Ayla’s eyes had adjusted, and it was enough to give the small room a soft glow.

Oz sat in one of the hard wooden chairs, gun in his hand, and he faced the door to their room. That expressed his level of concern clearly. He didn’t want to waste even the few seconds it would take to draw the weapon from its holster.

She didn’t have to ask. Not when she already knew the answers.

If they left as soon as the Russians arrived, it would appear odd.

It was the same reason they’d remained at the café and eaten lunch the other day.

She and Oz had to stay the night or risk raising suspicion.

Senora Alvarez hadn’t been able to turn Petrova and his men away, and by the time Senor Alvarez returned to the inn, it was too late. The mobsters had rooms.

It was a minor miracle that Oz explained what happened without her asking. The dynamics were interesting. The innkeeper and two of his friends were retired from Puerto Jardinese Special Forces and they kept the town free from crime. They’d done so for decades.

Ayla turned on her side, toward Oz.

The motion, or maybe the rustling, caught his attention. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” When he continued to gaze at her, Ayla added, “I napped too long today. I’m not tired enough yet to fall asleep.”

He nodded. “You can sleep in the car on the drive back to Trujillo tomorrow, but try to get some rest tonight.”

“I’m trying.” But her thoughts were whirling.

Part of it was safety. Oz had escorted her to the bathroom earlier and stood guard while she used it. Now he was alert and ready to defend her should anyone try to enter their room. The guest rooms had locks, but they were flimsy. They wouldn’t keep anyone out, not for more than a few seconds.

The other topic making her brain work was Oz himself. His protectiveness, the way he watched out for her in little ways as well as big, and how he took care of her needs. He actually low-key fussed over her. It was sweet.

Ayla didn’t do casual when it came to sex, and with his appearance, Oz should have been the last person with whom she hooked up. And yet the more time she spent with him, the more she believed she was lucky this man was the father of her baby.

She considered the layout of the rooms. There were four, and a bathroom on the second floor with a front stairway that opened to the restaurant and a back staircase that went to the kitchen.

The room she and Oz had was in the corner with the hallway in front, the stairway to the kitchen along one side, and outside walls along the other two sides.

They should be able to talk if they kept their voices low.

“Oz?”

“What?”

“You’ve never asked if the baby is yours.”

His lips curved. “I know it’s mine.”

Ayla wasn’t sure if she was insulted or satisfied with his response. Her confusion must have been obvious on her face because his smile became a full-fledged grin. “How can you be so certain?” she finally asked.

“You mean besides the fact you told me about half a dozen times on the way up to my hotel room that you hadn’t had sex in so many years that you wouldn’t be surprised if your virginity had grown back?”

Her cheeks heated. Her entire face heated. “I said that?” Ayla barely remembered to whisper.

“The virginity part only once. The part about not having had sex in years? Yeah, probably half a dozen times.”

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 the kind 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 na?ve 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 Senora Alvarez said made more sense.

His attention returned to the door and Ayla let her thoughts go down this path. If Senor 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 a former Green 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 he was a 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.”