Читать книгу Bridal Op - Dana Marton - Страница 9

A few weeks later

She shouldn’t have agreed to the mission.

Isabelle Rush hung on to the rock ledge with the tip of her fingers, dangling over a 300-foot drop to the rocks below. A tangy scent from some small fern she’d inadvertently crushed in the last handhold tickled her nose. Would she fall if she sneezed?

She was secured with knots and ropes she didn’t understand and didn’t trust, petrified of slipping. The current of air that moved above the tree line seemed to pick up speed, the odd gusts pushing against her.

Please, don’t let there be a serious wind.

“A few more yards and we can stop to rest,” Rafe said from somewhere above her, barely breathing heavily.

She, on the other hand, was gasping for oxygen in the thin, high-altitude air, sweat running down her back from exertion.

She should have stayed in Miami.

He was the absolute worst man for her to be teamed up with. Of course she couldn’t refuse, not when a client’s life hung in the balance.

But, at the very least, when Rafe had said “shortcut” she should have run screaming into the night—in the opposite direction. What was it with men and their shortcuts? Like chasing murderous, kidnapping drug lords wasn’t enough excitement? They had to add getting lost in the Andes Mountains to the mix?

“This will save us a full extra day,” he said as he tightened the rope.

She hoped he was right and that her instincts, which screamed lost and on the brink of disaster, were sounding a false alarm. Speed was their only hope for finding Sonya Botero alive.

Isabelle clenched her muscles, having a foothold for one boot only and too much of a gap between the next indentation to push or pull herself up. She was five foot four. She could not stretch over the same distance as Rafe could.

Night was closing in on them—not dark yet, but the shadows were becoming long, which made judging distances harder. She had to do something before visibility became worse and her limbs grew even more exhausted. One… Two… She heaved her body upward, looking at the chunk of rock she was aiming for, shutting out the drop below. She grabbed on, and in that moment of truth that decided whether she would hold her grip or fall, a strong hand clamped around her wrist and held her steady.

“Easy now,” Rafe said. “Almost there.”

She allowed him to pull her up, only grunting in response although she had plenty to say. She was saving her breath for the climb. Rafe, having been born in Ladera, seemed used to the mountains that made up most of the country.

He helped her up to a ledge that was about six feet by four feet, small patches of moss growing in the scant dirt the winds had blown up there. The rock wall continued above it for another hundred feet at least, just as sheer as the section they’d already conquered.

“Nice climb.” A sense of relief was evident in his smile, the fact that he was immensely enjoying himself visible in his eyes—the color of cocoa powder the instant it melts into chocolate. “Piece of cake, didn’t I tell you?” His voice was rich with the flavor of South America, spiced with the slightest accent.

“Mmm.” She gulped the thin air. When he’d pulled her up she’d landed on her knees. She sat back onto her heels now and shrugged off her backpack, blew on her fingertips, which were raw and bruised from the sharp rocks they’d had to conquer.

“How is this better than taking a car up the road?” she asked, once she thought she could speak without gasping.

“Faster,” he said over his shoulder as he unhooked their ropes systematically. “I’m glad we picked the Maxim ropes—excellent hand, 48-sheath yarn, good twist level.” He was gathering up everything in careful coils. “Fine abrasion resistance, too. See this? Not a worn spot.”

Was that supposed to make sense? “So how come you’ve never mentioned anything about this climbing hobby of yours?”

He shrugged and tucked the equipment against the inside edge of the shelter. “Never came up, I guess.”

She didn’t mean to voice the thought that popped into her head, but it came out just the same. “We’ve worked together for three years and I barely know anything about you.”

Part of that was his own need for privacy, she supposed, and part that she had, on purpose, kept out of his way, not liking the physical attraction that drew her to a colleague, an infamous playboy at that. A brief and steamy relationship that would no doubt end in pain and embarrassment was not among her carefully crafted life goals.

He was unrolling his sleeping bag, saying something about the time they would save by climbing.

“Faster is not always better,” she snapped. Not if one of them got injured or fell.

“No, not in everything.”

When he looked at her like that, his full attention like a cocoon around her, his brown eyes fixed on her face, it made her want to squirm like some schoolgirl. She gathered her self-control and kept her poise as he went on.

“The road is probably watched. It’s not a bad climb, honestly. Just seems like it because it’s your first. We have good equipment. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Last I checked, we were here as teammates,” she said, testy that he made it sound as if he was babysitting her.

“Of course. And I hope you are not going to let anything happen to me.” His sensuous lips stretched into a smile, his even white teeth a contrast to his olive-colored skin. “Compadres. Buddies.”

That’ll happen. Partners, yes. Buddies, highly unlikely. She wasn’t optimistic enough to shoot for friendship. She wasn’t sure she could handle it, didn’t want to spend that much time with him outside the job. The forced proximity of the mission was plenty enough to drive her crazy.

None of that was his fault, though, to be fair. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just tired. It’s been a nerve-racking day.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked as he came closer.

She pulled her hands to her lap, but he caught the gesture and reached for them, took one in each of his and flipped them palm up.

His face turned grim as he swore softly under his breath in Spanish. He let her left hand go and reached for his backpack to extract a small tube of ointment from one of the side packets. “Why didn’t you say something? We could have taken more breaks.”

“Call me crazy, but I don’t consider dangling on a rope over the abyss a break. I’d just as soon get the climb over with as fast as possible.” She took a breath then held it as he squeezed some of the clear gel onto his fingertip and rubbed it gently over the pad of her thumb.

“Okay?” He glanced up, into her eyes, with concern.

She cleared her throat. “Good. Feels cool.”

“You should be fine by morning.” He moved on to the next finger, then the next.

When he was done, he took her hands one more time and pressed a warm kiss into each palm, sending some heat into her face that she hoped he couldn’t see in the twilight.

“How are your arms and legs?” He put away the gel. “A good muscle rub and everything could be as good as new by the time we get going again.”

“No. Thanks,” she said and fished out a jar of face cream from the bottom of her pack, something one of her friends was developing in a quest to build a successful cosmetics business.

Isabelle got free samples of everything, partially due to their friendship and partially, she suspected, because Sylvia was hoping to feature her products, for future brides, at Weddings Your Way. She dabbed the smooth, rich cream onto her wind-dried face with a knuckle and spread it around with the back of her hand, not wanting to mess up whatever potion Rafe had rubbed over her fingertips.

The scent of oranges soothed her. Sylvia used various essential oils in most everything she made.

Rafe sniffed the air appreciatively. “So we snuggle up for the night?” He flashed a sly grin and made himself comfortable.

“No. Again. But nice try,” she said while thinking a snuggle wouldn’t be that bad, for body heat if nothing else. August was a winter month in Ladera, a country in the Southern hemisphere. The weather wasn’t bad during the day but dipped into the forties at night. At least Laderan winters were generally dry, so they didn’t have to worry about being cold and wet.

The breeze ruffled his dark hair, putting the slight curls into disarray. “Men have fragile egos, you know,” he said, and his expression turned serious. “Too much rejection can be psychologically damaging. Emotional trauma and that kind of stuff.”

She drew up an eyebrow. “I don’t think you see enough rejection for that.”

He was unfairly good looking, something like she pictured Antonio Banderas would look like if he joined a gym today and kept going religiously. He had an easy smile, sexy, that matched his laid-back manner, and intense eyes that were sharp with intelligence. He was infinitely charming and, at the same time, commanded respect with ease.

And she was a fool for getting a secret thrill out of bantering with him like this, although she was smart enough never to take his advances seriously—nor did she think he expected her to. The man had an active social life. She always figured he flirted with her at the office out of boredom in between assignments.

“Someday…” he said, mischief glinting in his eyes, obviously not ready to give up yet “…all that pent-up desire will erupt. You will realize what you’ve been missing. The dam will break and—”

“Is this little fantasy going anywhere?” she asked in a voice as dry as she could manage it.

“I’m just saying. When the time comes… Be gentle with me.”

She smiled into the semidarkness despite herself. “I’m not someone you need to worry about.”

“It’s always the quiet ones who worry me the most.”

His voice vibrated through her the way bass chords did if you sat too close to the speakers.

Don’t think about it.

She half turned and dug through her backpack for food and water. Next time she agreed to go on a mission with anyone, she was going to insist on hotel rooms—separate ones. She glanced around their cramped shelter and considered it fully for the first time. Pitiful.

“Should have stayed a criminologist at the Drug Enforcement Agency,” she muttered.

“But isn’t this more fun?” A smile hovered above his lips.

“I liked symposiums and consultations with local police. Court appearances to give expert testimony definitely beat wondering if any poisonous bugs will crawl into my sleeping bag.” Or snakes. She swallowed.

She should have thought of that before she’d signed up to be an undercover agent at Miami Confidential. But she’d given up her comfortable job of profiling and in-house suspect interviews, partially because the offer from Miami Confidential had been hard to turn down and because she’d seen it as another new challenge to prove that she could stand her ground anywhere, do anything a man could. It was something her father had taught her at an early age, at times when having four brothers had overwhelmed her.

She thought of her work at the DEA then glanced around at the narrow ledge that was to be their resting place for the night. Now that she was with Miami Confidential, she had a feeling she could kiss assignments that came with room service goodbye.

“Snakes can’t climb this high, can they?” she asked, to be sure.

He was playing with the phone, trying to make a connection. “What would be the point? Nothing’s up here. They stay where their prey is.”

Damn smart of them.

“Okay. Good.” She nodded. “Anything?” she asked after a while.

He shook his head. “Even satellite phones don’t work everywhere.”

“We’ll report back once we reach the top.” She hoped and prayed they would make it that far.

“Not much left for tomorrow—an hour’s worth of climbing at best. But it’s tricky.”

Tricky? What the hell was the wall-of-death they’d just conquered? “Worse than up to here?”

“We’ll be getting to the part where the rock is covered with soil.”

And soil crumbled, slipped. “Great.”

“Plus we’ll be above the tree line,” he added. “We could be spotted.”

“All this good news is overwhelming.”

“We can handle it.”

Damn right they would. Failure was not an option. She wasn’t going to let Sonya die.

“She was still alive four days ago.” She kept telling herself that throughout the day, hanging on to the thought for hope.

The last time Carlos Botero had been contacted he had demanded to hear Sonya’s voice. The contact the kidnappers allowed had been brief but sufficient to reassure the father. “We have no reason to think anything has changed since then. Rachel will call us as soon as anything new comes in.”

The whole case was full of oddities, starting with the ransom note. It had been delivered to Sonya’s father instead of her fiancé, Juan DeLeon, a powerful politician. Why? Did that have significance or was it random choice? Both men were wealthy and powerful.

“I keep thinking there’s more at stake here than money. The kidnappers have to be from Ladera. Otherwise, why bring Sonya here? It only makes sense if they know the country like the back of their hands, if they’re sure they can hide out more effectively here.” She paused. “But if they’re Laderan, they have to be more familiar with Juan than with Botero. Why not send the note to him? Or why not kidnap Sonya in Ladera in the first place? Law enforcement is a lot more lax here. She’s been spending as much time here lately as she does at home.” They’d been over the same questions before. But maybe if they kept asking them, eventually one of them would come up with the correct answer.

“They want to keep the focus away from the country.”

She nodded, still agreeing with the conclusion they kept coming up with every time they talked about the clues. At least, as far as they knew, the kidnapers were not aware that Miami Confidential now had Sonya’s true location.

“I—” She fell silent then went ahead and, for the first time, voiced the thought she knew had been creeping around in both their heads. “I don’t think they’re bringing her back.”

His face darkened. “No. Transporting her across borders was way too much risk the first time around. They’d have to be stupid to try that again.”

“They never meant to return her.” Her words hung with a heavy finality in the air between them.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. They’ll keep her alive as long as they need her in case Botero asks to hear her voice. As soon as they have the money…”

He didn’t have to finish.

“It’s about politics,” he said with conviction. “Juan has a number of bills on the table, bills that would cut in to the drug trade, bills that would alter some political processes. The House is in session. His bills are coming up for a vote soon. Someone wants him distracted and far from Ladera. They know he’s not coming back from the U.S. as long as he thinks Sonya is still there. The longer he is away from home, the more time his enemies have to conspire against him and make sure his bills fail.”

“Maybe,” she said.

“But?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t feel right to me.”

“You don’t think Juan is the real target? Someone tried to shoot him a few weeks before the kidnapping. Hell of a coincidence.”

“Of course Juan is the target,” she said, agreeing with him up to that point. “I just don’t think the kidnapping is politically motivated.”

“Right. Because it doesn’t feel right.”

“I just think that the fact that whoever is trying to get to Juan DeLeon is doing it through his fiancée has some significance.”

“His ex-wife, Maggie, is locked up in an insane asylum,” he said, repeating an earlier argument. “Sean checked her out.”

Of course, he was absolutely right, frustrating as it was. And yet, her instincts were definitely pulling her in Maggie’s, the ex-wife’s, direction. “The only people caught so far that we know for sure were involved with the kidnapping were Maggie’s doctor, Dr. Ramon and her cousin, Jose Fuentes. The only reason we even know that Sonya is at the army base is because Fuentes confessed it before he bled out.”

“He never confessed a connection to Maggie.”

“He couldn’t very well tell his life story, could he? He didn’t live long enough, for heaven’s sake.”

“And if he worked for someone else?”

She considered that, determined to keep an open mind. Most of Maggie’s family were well-to-do, a few of them in politics, but there were a couple of black sheep, some with ties to the drug trade. Rafe had a valid point there.

Fuentes could have worked for one of Juan’s political opponents or one of his enemies in the drug trade. There were too many possibilities. His bills were making him unpopular with a lot of people.

“Anyway, the most important thing is we know where Sonya is right now,” he said. “First we get her to safety, then we can figure out who was behind it all.”

She nodded. If all went well, at one point tomorrow Rafe and she would see to it that Sonya Botero was freed from her captors, whomever they might work for. She hoped and prayed the woman was still alive when they got there.

“They’ll keep her around for a while yet,” he said, his thoughts apparently running along the same line. “For the money and because of Juan. She’s just a tool to hurt him, to distract him from his political agenda. If his young, beautiful fiancée died now, think of the headlines. Think of the outpouring of sympathy he’d get, the votes. No.”

She nodded. It made sense that whoever Juan’s enemies were, they would go for total destruction—messing up both his career and personal life. Distract him with the kidnapping to make sure his bills fail, then finish him off by murdering the woman he loves. The plan seemed diabolically thorough. She could definitely see Maggie, year after year in the insane asylum, plotting her revenge. “The fury of a woman scorned.”

“Somebody wants to go, you’ve got to let them. If that’s how they feel, no sense in them staying, is there?” he asked. “I never understood jealousy.”

“You might have to be in an actual relationship, you know, with feelings, to experience it.”

“Ouch,” he said, but grinned.

“Sorry.” She took a deep breath. What on earth was wrong with her? When had she sunk to petty needling? Rafe Montoya’s private life was none of her business. And it was certainly not her place to judge. She was an intelligent woman, she ought to be able to find a better way of dealing with her unwanted attraction toward him.

She refocused on the task at hand. “I’m concerned about how they are treating her.” If they planned to kill her all along, they wouldn’t worry about minor damage along the way, would they?

He nodded, sober now. He knew the criminal mind as well as she did, maybe better—from both sides of the law.

From what she’d heard when they’d worked for the DEA, he had left a rather dark past behind him when he’d moved to Miami from Ladera, although she didn’t know the details. They hadn’t known each other back then, worked different territories, but Rafe’s busts were legendary. Then they both left the agency, he a year sooner than she had, and by chance both ended up recruited by Miami Confidential, an undercover division of the Department of Public Safety.

“How long before the vote on Juan’s bills?” he asked.

“Seven days, I think.” A comfortable margin. They would have Sonya out of the country long before then and safely back in Miami.

“Do you think the kidnappers will try for the money again?”

She thought for a moment. “Fuentes had shown up for it twice.” And was fatally wounded by Rafe during the second handover attempt. “I’m not sure if the real mastermind who’s behind all this cares that much about the money, though. If it’s Juan he or she wants, then the fact that the kidnapping took place in the U.S. and that there was a ransom note to Botero—it might be all just to throw the police off the scent.”

“There might not be any of the kidnappers left in Miami, except for the ones who are in custody.” Two men who’d been with Fuentes had been apprehended the day he was shot. They hadn’t turned out to be all that useful. Isabelle had questioned them and was fairly convinced they weren’t lying when they’d claimed that they knew little of Fuentes’s plan other than day-to-day instructions and had no idea whether there was a boss above Fuentes or who had Sonya in Ladera and how big the home team was here.

Her gaze strayed to the half-eaten power bar in her hand that she’d forgotten as they talked. She had packed dozens of them in preparation for the trip. She finished this one now and washed it down with a few gulps of bottled water, then lay on her back and looked up. The stars were coming out. “We better get some rest.”

Rafe’s backpack rustled. He was probably going for his own supper.

She stared at the night sky but could not make the feeling of endlessness and peace settle into her tense body. Was Sonya looking up at the same stars? Probably not. She’d be hidden out of sight. But her kidnappers… How many were they? She figured on a handful of men. More than that would draw attention. There might even be just one at a time. They could be guarding her in shifts.

Would they hurt her?

Her jaw tightened at the question that kept her up at night. Because she knew they might. There were a lot of things they could do to her while still keeping her in a condition good enough that, when her father demanded to hear her voice, she could say a few words over the phone.

The strong smell of spices made her glance over at Rafe. He was chewing on some smoked meat he had bought at a local market before they’d begun their hike two days ago.

“God, I missed this.” He just about moaned with pleasure.

His joy seemed so complete, she couldn’t help but smile. “How long has it been since you visited?”

“Too long and not long enough.” He gave her a rueful grin.

“Is there— Would you be in trouble if we ran into…” She half voiced the question that had popped into her mind from time to time since they’d landed, then stopped. She didn’t want to offend him.

“Is there a warrant out for my arrest?” He drew up a black eyebrow, humor playing at the corner of his mouth. “No. Even in my most stupid younger years, I was always smart enough not to get caught.” He took another bite, chewed and swallowed.

“And your old…um…associates?”

His face turned serious. “We are nowhere near them.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then shook off whatever memories her questions had brought forth. “I’m not saying I won’t be happy to be back in Miami, though.”

Back to the parties, back to his women, no doubt. Oh, what did she care? “What do you tell your girlfriends when you have to leave at a moment’s notice like this?” She put forward another question she’d been successfully swallowing until now.

“Family emergency,” he said. “No girlfriend at the moment, if that’s what you’re getting at. I am conveniently available.”

Her polite upbringing didn’t allow her to snort or produce any other rude sound, despite the four brothers she’d grown up with—her grandmother had been a Southern belle.

As far as she could tell, Rafe was always “conveniently available” even when he did have a girlfriend, although that was a strong term for one of his temporary liaisons. Girlfriend implied commitment and some kind of semipermanence.

“Gone through the whole city already? I suppose you’re going to have to move.” She meant to sound humorous and winced at how bitchy her words came out.

“Very funny.”

“Not really.” It was sad that despite the type of man he was, she was still more attracted to him than to anyone she’d ever dated. But if they got involved and then split up, working in the same office would be murder. So she wasn’t going to go there.

“I’m hoping you’ll change your mind about me,” he said after a while.

At thirty-four, she really was old enough to know better. “Hope is good,” she said sweetly. “It’s a positive emotion.”

RAFE PACKED AWAY his food and lay on his back.

He would have liked to think if he really went after her, he could get her. Women had always come easy, one of the few areas of his life he never had to worry about. Isabelle, though… She was different. She was too smart by half, one of the things that attracted him to her. Probably too smart to get involved with the likes of him.

He enjoyed flirting with her at the office—gave him something to look forward to in the mornings. But he never hit on her seriously, despite that she was one of the most gorgeous women he had had the extreme good luck to meet. For one, she was a coworker. Two, he figured she deserved someone better.

In a different world, if he were a different man… No sense in going there, no matter how many times she’d got him hot under the collar.

“We’ll resume climbing at first light,” he said.

“I’ll be ready.” She pulled a straight face, pretending hard that she wasn’t petrified.

He found it fascinating to watch how she went ahead in the face of any fearsome task brought on by their mission so far. First there would be uncertainty and doubt in her eyes, then she would set those sexy lips into a firm line and seem to draw from somewhere deep within the courage necessary, pulling herself straight and unfailingly rising to the occasion.

Her sheer determination was a like a force field around her. With her normally soft, fawn-colored eyes turned hard as they were now, if she stood at the rim of their ledge, spread her arms and said that by God she was flying to the top, he would believe her.

She would conquer the rest of the cliff in the morning, he would bet his new boat on it. When the time came to climb, she would call forth the necessary strength. But for now, with a long uncomfortable night ahead of them, she looked like she could use some encouragement, a reminder of how close they were to their goal.

“If all goes well we should be at the army base by noon. We’ll do some recon, pinpoint Sonya’s exact location and move in as soon as it’s dark again,” he said, and gained heart from the thought as well.

In twenty-four hours, Sonya Botero would be safe.

She’d been nice the few times they’d met socially, long before she’d become a client at Weddings Your Way. They’d flirted once, briefly, at a party, brought together by their common Laderan heritage. Then she’d fallen for Juan DeLeon, one of Ladera’s more prominent politicians. The Laderan community in Miami was all abuzz with the news.

He felt responsible for her. Not only because he’d known her before, but because, as head of security for Weddings Your Way, securing her wedding would have been his responsibility. She was kidnapped right in front of his building, under his nose. It galled him.

He hated any man who would harm a defenseless woman, use her as a pawn. He made it his personal mission to bring Sonya back and keep his partner safe in the process. Not to mention keep his hands off Isabelle. Close proximity and overpowering temptation notwithstanding.

SONYA BOTERO SHIFTED as much as her ropes let her, allowing circulation to return to her left leg, which felt as if a thousand ants were crawling all over it. She held her gaze on the leg to keep herself assured the real army of ants, the ones that had marched right through her prison hut a few days ago, had gone. She saw them now only in her repeating nightmares and would continue to see them there for a long time to come. If she lived.

Don’t give up. Don’t give up. Don’t give up.

At least her feet had healed. She clamped on to the one positive thing she could think of. The jute sandals she’d been given at the beginning had rubbed her skin raw, and she’d been worried about developing some infection. But now that she hadn’t been allowed outside for days, her wounds had had a chance to scab over and start to mend.

She thought of Juan and focused on that. Juan would come for her, Juan and her father—both men formidable in their own right.

Just a little longer. Almost over.

Trouble was, she’d been telling herself the same thing for about five weeks now, believing it a little less each day.

She couldn’t give up. If she lost faith…

But faith was hard to keep when she was hurt and hungry, when her life was threatened daily. At the beginning she’d got regular meals and trips to a nearby waterfall in the evenings to clean up. Although at the time she’d thought of her captivity as unbearable, now she wished for those times back. She hadn’t eaten in two days, hadn’t bathed in four.

Were they growing bored with their task of guarding her? Or had something gone wrong with Miami? She’d overheard enough to know that she was being held for ransom. Where was it?

It’d be here. Soon. Juan and her father would see to it. She had to keep believing that.

Both men had lost so much already: her father losing her twin sister to leukemia at the age of six, Juan losing his unborn son to drugs and his ex-wife to insanity. She hated the thought that now they had to worry about her.

From where she was, she could see the small fire and the men who gathered around it, drinking, one of them shoving a needle into his arm deep in the shadows. She still thought of escape now and then but no longer had the strength to attempt it.

The money is coming.

The money is coming.

The money is coming.

She repeated that over and over in her head. She knew better than to even whisper when she wasn’t asked.