Читать книгу Not Without Her Son - Kay David - Страница 8

JONATHAN CRUZ HAD WORKED with the woman standing in front of him for five years. He felt as if he knew her but now, all at once, he wasn’t so sure. Meredith Santera wore an expression he’d never seen on her before.

“It’s better than we thought.” She paused then appeared to rethink her answer. “Or maybe it’s worse,” she said. “I guess it depends on your perspective.”

“I don’t want perspective,” he said. “I want the facts.”

She walked past the desk where he sitting, toward the couch. The third member of the Operatives team, Armando Torres, sat at one end of it, nursing a beer. There had been a fourth man in their organization, Stratton O’Neil, but he’d left several years ago under terrible circumstances. He’d cleaned himself up and solved his problems, but had chosen not to return, a decision his new wife had helped him make.

His loss had been a tough one. They were a tight group. Meredith and her father, a Navy Intel guy, had started the company and recruited the team right after she’d left the CIA. Cruz had heard all sorts of rumors about why she’d moved on, but he hadn’t asked. In their business, questions like that were frowned upon. She assigned the jobs, the team did them and that was that. Their clients came recommended or Meredith wouldn’t even talk to them, and the operations were solitary ones, completed with stealth and speed. They had no office and rarely saw one another, but all three of them had happened to be in Bogota at the same time, so they’d met to discuss this job. Cruz had wondered if Meredith had engineered the coincidence, though. The toughest of all of them, she usually made her decisions quickly and acted with confidence, but she was worried about her friend. In a way, her concern made him feel better about her. He’d wondered at times if she had any feelings left.

She kicked off her shoes then took the chair to Cruz’s left.

“The facts?” As she repeated his words, her voice was tight and angry with no sign of the drawl she could turn off and on. “The facts are very simple. Miguel Ramirez is a monster. He keeps his wife a virtual hostage by controlling her through their child. He beats her. She hates his guts and would like to see him dead.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But she’ll never leave him because, to do that, she’d have to abandon her child. I can guarantee you she won’t leave the country that way. Not without her son.”

Meredith made a visible effort to control herself. After a moment, she scrubbed her face with her hands, then she looked up at Cruz. “Julia Vandamme is the only friend I have. It killed me to see her tonight. I wanted to stick a blade right into that bastard’s black heart then grab her and get the hell out.”

“You would have ended up dead, along with your friend.”

She blinked, her eyes colder than Cruz had ever seen them. “Maybe, maybe not, but if I hadn’t known you guys were waiting for me, that’s exactly what I would have done.”

Cruz didn’t doubt a word of what she said, because Meredith Santera was a killer. Then again, so was Armando. And so was he. Killing was what the Operatives did.

They were assassins and Miguel Ramirez was their next target.

Cruz rose from his desk and walked to the bar. He took out three fresh beers, uncapped them and handed them out. Meredith’s was almost empty when he spoke again.

“Tell me more about the setup.”

She stared out the window. “The villa’s huge. It’s made up of one central building that contains everything but the bedrooms, which are in small casitas on either side. There are half a dozen smaller buildings scattered around the property and several patios. Needless to say, Ramirez has excellent security. There are guards around the fenced perimeter and dogs, too. Not to mention electronic sensors—motion, heat, noise detectors. You might get in, but you wouldn’t get out.”

“What about his people?”

“Very small inner circle. Has one guy who’s always close. His name is Jorge Guillermo. Hard to get a handle on him.”

Cruz nodded then switched topics. “Do you think she knows who her husband really is?”

Meredith’s expression twisted again, this time with such disgust that Cruz knew if he somehow failed to kill the man, the deed would be done regardless by the woman in front of him. For free. And with a cheerful heart.

“You told me what he did to her when she tried to escape. She has to be suspicious at the very least. She told me she knows he isn’t a diplomat, but before she could say more, she got spooked.”

“Did she say anything about her last attempt?”

“No.” Meredith shook her head slowly. “Julia’s a very private person and always has been. I was shocked she even told me what she did.”

By the time Meredith finished, an hour later, Cruz felt he’d been inside the Ramirez compound himself. Then Meredith looked at him and he knew trouble was coming.

“I know I handed this one over to you, Cruz, but I’m changing my mind. It doesn’t make sense for you to go in when I already know the situation. I’m taking this son of a bitch out myself.”

“No.”

“But Cruz—”

“You gave me the job for a very good reason, Meredith, and that reason hasn’t changed in the past twenty-four hours.”

“I understand,” she said evenly. “But Julia and I have been close for—”

“And that is exactly why you can’t do it. Personal involvement is too risky, for you and for the other party.”

“‘The other party’? She’s my friend, Cruz.” At her side, Meredith’s hands clenched. “If something goes wrong—”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Cruz promised. “But you won’t be the one doing the job and that’s for the best. You and your dad made that rule yourselves and it’s a good one.”

A stormy expression came into her eyes, but a minute later, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She and her father had made the rules, and she was too smart to let her emotions outweigh common sense.

“All right,” she conceded, “but you have to tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“There’s no figuring to it.” From the depths of the couch, Armando finally spoke.

His silences could stretch for days, so Cruz wasn’t surprised it’d taken him this long to join the conversation. Cruz looked at the Argentinian physician and raised an eyebrow.

“She gave you the answer already.” Armando tilted his beer bottle in Meredith’s direction, but his gaze stayed on Cruz. “You don’t have enough time to go about this your usual way. Ramirez is going to start his killing in a matter of weeks, maybe even days. When he’s done, he’ll go underground and you will have an even harder time finding the man. You need to do this one quick.”

“What’s your point, Armando?” Cruz’s impatience was clear, Meredith’s attitude making him unusually edgy.

“Let the wife kill him for you.”

Meredith was standing before Cruz even saw her move. “No! That’s not a possibility, Armando. Julia couldn’t handle anything like that.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. But that’s not what I meant. She can’t kill him—”

“How do you know that?”

“Dammit, Armando, I know, all right? I just know. Julia is different. She’s too fragile for that kind of thing—”

“That’s enough.” Cruz’s deep voice cut through the argument. “You’ve already done what I couldn’t and that’s get inside tonight. That’s all you’re going to do, though. This is my job and I’ll plan it myself.”

TWO HOURS LATER, Cruz was still thinking.

Sitting alone in his dark hotel room, he sipped his Club Colombia and stared at the newspaper article Meredith had left him. His only illumination came from the streetlamp outside the barely parted draperies, but he didn’t need more to see the small photo that accompanied the write-up.

Blond hair. Blue eyes. Straight nose. Full lips.

He emptied his beer then let the bottle slide from his fingertips to the floor beside his chair. Cruz knew her type inside and out because he’d seen them in every country he’d ever been in. From the plazas of Mexico City where he’d spent his childhood to the sandy deserts of the Middle East that he’d just left, they turned up. Women who owned the world, that’s how he always thought of them. Wealthy, self-confident, gorgeous. Meredith had implied that Julia wasn’t that way but Cruz had drawn his own conclusions. From experience.

Women like Julia Vandamme needed men like him to do jobs like this, but those kinds of women seldom allowed his kind of man to get too close. When the deed was done, so were they. Because men like Cruz weren’t pliable. And women who owned the world wanted men who did their bidding.

He stared into the darkness and considered his options. Because he was short on time, they weren’t as varied as he would have liked, but he’d been successful in tougher situations. Armando’s point could not be ignored, however. Miguel Ramirez was the largest drug dealer in Colombia and he was about to launch a bloody war to eliminate his remaining rivals. That roster included half a dozen carefully placed DEA men from the United States who’d been deep undercover for more than five years. They couldn’t be pulled or all the progress they’d made would be compromised. But they couldn’t be protected, either. Once the shooting started, their positions would be revealed. Getting rid of Ramirez was the only way to take care of the problem and keep their Intel network intact.

It was, to say the least, a touchy situation.

Armando’s words echoed inside Cruz’s head once more. Let the wife kill him for you.

Followed by Meredith’s fierce rejection of the idea. Julia is different. She’s too fragile for that kind of thing.

Julia Vandamme had gotten herself into a bad situation that could only get worse, but Meredith didn’t suffer fools. For that reason alone, Cruz knew there had to be more to the woman than what he assumed.

Still…

Cruz rose from his chair and parted the curtains to look outside. The lights of Bogota shimmered at his feet as brightly as the stars overhead. Somewhere out there, beyond the mountains that ringed the city, Miguel Ramirez and his beautiful blond wife slept. They had no idea their lives were about to be shattered.

Cruz stared out at the lights and pondered the best way to do so.

JULIA SET her alarm an hour earlier than usual, but something woke her before it had a chance to ring. Rolling over, she heard the sound again and realized it was a car’s engine revving. Immediately suspicious, she jumped from the bed, grabbed her robe and thrust her feet into her slippers. Running to her bedroom door, she jerked it open. The main house was lit up brightly, including the upstairs.

She hurried to the end of the walkway and walked quickly into the entry.

Miguel stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding Tomas in his arms as he spoke with Guillermo. All three of them turned as she came inside, Miguel’s surprised expression making it obvious that he hadn’t planned on her seeing them before they left.

She felt her whole body go tight with anger. He’d deliberately wanted her to miss saying goodbye to her son. In the beginning, she’d wondered what she’d done to deserve a man like him, but she’d come to realize she’d done nothing—he was simply a cruel son of a bitch.

Tomas began to squirm, but Miguel held on, returning to his conversation with Guillermo. As Julia got closer, however, Tomas took matters into his own hands. Wiggling away, the little boy half jumped, half fell from his father’s hold to race toward his mother. Her heart began to swell with love. She had to get her son out of San Isidro. He adored Miguel and mimicked everything he did. She couldn’t allow that to continue.

She swooped him up and he immediately began to talk excitedly. The words made little sense, except for “airplane” and “dog.”

Miguel dismissed Jorge and came to where they stood. Julia started to confront him about the early hour then she checked herself. Showing him how she felt just gave him more satisfaction.

“Tell your mother goodbye.” He smiled at his son to reassure him, but beneath the expression, his attitude was cold.

Tomas swung his face to Julia’s and gave her a very wet kiss. “Bye-bye, Mama,” he said. “I’m going bye-bye!”

She tried to hold on to him, but he escaped her embrace and ran to his father. “Go now, Papa? Go now?”

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Julia had started to worry. What if he didn’t bring Tomas back? The question was silly, she knew. Where would he take their son? This was home and Miguel would never leave San Isidro, but the possibility had begun to haunt her.

Despite her earlier stand, she felt herself weaken. Too much was at stake not to try. “Please tell me where you’re going, Miguel.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m his mother. I need to know.”

She never touched her husband voluntarily. He looked down at her fingers, pale and slim against his black leather coat, then he raised his eyes to hers. “You’re acting foolish. The boy will be with me. Do you think I’d let any harm come to him?”

His words made sense but her anxiety only grew. “Promise me you’ll be back in two weeks?”

“Of course, we’ll be back. When my business is finished, we’ll return.” He looked down at Tomas and loosened his grip on the little boy’s fingers. “Tell Mama adios, Tomasito.”

Julia bent down and held out her arms, but Tomas was too fast. Laughing, he darted in and out of her embrace before she could even grab him. He then headed for the front door. With a final look of satisfaction, Miguel followed.

She told herself to stay put, but she couldn’t. She ran to the nearest window, the urge to cry overwhelming before the car pulled out of the driveway.

She watched the vehicle until it disappeared, but she didn’t allow herself the luxury of tears. Instead, spurred by her fear and last night’s conversation with Meredith, she let her long-growing resolve burn just a little bit hotter. She clenched her fists, her arms going tight underneath the silk gown she wore.

She was almost ready. Soon, very soon, she’d try again. Maybe even when they got back. She had nothing left to lose but her life.

THE NEXT DAY, Cruz waited.

Meredith and even Armando often complained about this part of what they did, but not Cruz. He’d been known to sit quietly, without moving, for hours at a stretch. After a while, the stillness entered his mind as well as his body. And no one knew how much he needed that kind of rest.

But today he would not reach that point. He’d seen the man and the child leave. Julia Vandamme would be on the move soon. She visited only one friend nearby. A woman named Portia Lauer. A British expatriate, the older woman had been friends with Julia for quite some time.

After an hour under the brush halfway up the mountainside opposite Julia’s home, Cruz’s attention was drawn by a movement at the villa. He peered through his binoculars to see the gates to the compound swing back and a white Toyota Land Cruiser emerge.

As always, there were two people in the vehicle. The sunroof was open and blond hair glittered in the bright morning sun, confirming what he expected. She was in the passenger seat, Guillermo driving.

Crawling from his lair, Cruz took the branches off his motorcycle and started it. In five minutes, he was waiting for them at the first turn. As the SUV reached the incline, the engine whined like a recalcitrant child. Cruz counted down the seconds, then he gunned the bike’s motor.

The SUV came into view, and Cruz took off.

A moment later, he drove directly into the vehicle’s path and slid beneath its wheels.

GUILLERMO CURSED and Julia screamed. She’d been thinking of Tomas and worrying about him, but she’d gotten a glimpse of the man on the motorcycle before he went down. The sound of the impact was sickening, the screech of metal on metal and the cry of the rubber drowning out every other thought.

Before the Cruiser had stopped, Julia unsnapped her seat belt. Fumbling for the door latch, she was about to climb out when Jorge grabbed her, pulling her back.

“No, no! Stay here,” he commanded. “It might be a trap!”

“Are you crazy?” Julia shook off his arm. “It was one man on a motorcycle and he’s underneath our car, probably bleeding to death. We’ve got to see if he’s okay!” Without waiting for Jorge’s reply, she pushed open the door again and tumbled to the road. She heard him curse again and call her back, but she ignored him.

Falling to her hands and knees, she looked beneath the chassis. Wedged against one wheel, the motorcycle was a tangled mess, the metal handlebars twisted against their front bumper, the leather seat ripped halfway off. She caught her breath, the smell of gasoline and rubber strong as her eyes searched the wreckage. She spotted the driver on the side of the road, his leather pants and jacket torn, blood oozing down his right temple.

Scrambling to her feet, Julia ran to where the man lay. By the time she got there, Jorge had opened his own door and was now standing over him.

Holding a gun.

“Put that away,” she cried. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?” She dropped to the man’s side as his eyes fluttered open.

“Are you all right?” Without waiting for his answer, she turned back to Guillermo. He still held the pistol. “Find me the first-aid kit,” she said. “It’s under the seat in the rear.”

Clearly displeased with the turn of events, Guillermo hesitated. “I don’t like the way this looks,” he said nervously. “Return to the truck and let me call for help. This isn’t good—”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she said from behind clenched teeth. “Go get me the damn kit.”

He backed up reluctantly and she focused once more on the injured man.

“Can you hear me?” She couldn’t believe he was conscious, much less aware. With no helmet to protect him, she would have expected much worse than the raw scrape on one temple. “Are you okay?”

His gaze flickered to the SUV behind her then fastened on her face. That’s when she realized his fingers had formed a handcuff around her wrist. He yanked her closer before she could react.

“Meredith sent me.” His voice was a rasp that grated down her spine. “Act like you know me and I’ll handle the rest.”