Kitabı oku: «Bridal Op»
You are cordially invited to…
Honor thy pledge
to the
Miami Confidential Agency
Do you hereby swear to uphold
the law to the best of your ability…
To maintain the level of integrity of this agency
by your compassion for victims, loyalty to your
brothers and sisters and courage under fire…
To hold all information and identities
in the strictest confidence…
Or die before breaking the code?
Bridal Op
Dana Marton
I would like to dedicate this book to my friend Maggie Scillia.
Thank you for all your help and support! I would also like to thank my
wonderful editor, Allison Lyons, and the fabulous writers I was lucky to
be working with on Miami Confidential: B.J. Daniels, Kelsey Roberts
and Mallory Kane. My most sincere appreciation to Tracy Montoya, one
of my favorite writers, for helping me with those Spanish expressions.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author Dana Marton lives near Wilmington, Delaware. She has been an avid reader since childhood and has a master’s degree in writing popular fiction. When not writing, she can be found either in her garden or her home library. For more information on the author and her other novels, please visit her Web site at www.danamarton.com.
She would love to hear from her readers via e-mail: DanaMarton@yahoo.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Isabelle Rush—Miami Confidential agent and spokeswoman for Weddings Your Way. Used to doing things on her own terms, Isabelle refuses to let a man tell her what to do or how to do it. Including Rafe.
Rafe Montoya—A former DEA agent who is now working for Miami Confidential. He’s admired Isabelle Rush as a coworker, but now that they’re on a mission together, can he handle the sparks they’re igniting?
Sonya Botero—A society belle about to be married to Juan DeLeon. She was kidnapped in front of Weddings Your Way.
Juan DeLeon—Sonya’s fiancé wields considerable political power in Ladera, which earned him a number of enemies.
Maggie DeLeon—Juan’s ex-wife lives in an insane asylum. Is she as broken as she seems, or is she living for revenge?
Alberto Martinez—A political opponent of Juan DeLeon who would like nothing more than to see Juan crushed. But how far would he go to distract Juan from politics?
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Prologue
Miami, U.S.A.
June 20, 2006
Jose Fuentes waited in the back of the vintage limousine for his victim and watched the street, aware of a number of things at once: the expensively dressed man and woman exiting Weddings Your Way—looking less than happy—the few cars passing by, the comfort of the spacious backseat beneath him. His fingers fluttered over the black leather in a soft caress. Maybe when this was all over he would get his own limo. Or maybe not. Better not draw attention to his person or his wealth.
And when he was done with Botero, he would be wealthy.
Sunshine reflected off the pavement and the white walls of exclusive villas; palm trees swayed in the breeze coming off the bay. His window down a crack, he could smell the water. He liked Miami. Someday, he might come back here on vacation.
His phone chirped. Annoyance replaced his pleasant mood as he recognized the number.
Good work took time.
“Patience,” he said as he picked up the call.
“You don’t have her yet?” The voice was full of censure.
“She’s a few minutes late.” He pulled the cell phone from his ear to glance at the exact time displayed on its small LCD screen and caught sight of the white limo he’d been waiting for as it turned the corner.
Time to get the ball rolling.
“I’ll call you back.” He clicked off and nodded to Gordy behind the wheel, a man he trusted but would take care of afterward nevertheless. Gordy had a number of useful attributes, but the ability to rise above his circumstances wasn’t one of them. No matter how big a share of the money he would get, sooner or later he would find his way back to the booze and the drugs and the old friends he could get them from.
And then Gordy would talk.
That worried him, how the number of people involved was snowballing out of control. Why was Ramon in Miami, for example? To supervise him? The thought that he wouldn’t be trusted filled him with rage. Not that he trusted any of the men on either crew, the one he’d brought to Miami or the one he’d put together to stay in Ladera to wait for Sonya there, under Pedro Carrera’s direction. Pedro was going to be pissed after he figured out he’d been screwed over, stuck with a high-profile kidnap victim on his hands.
Jose shrugged off the thought. Carrera could be as pissed as he wanted to be as long as the man didn’t find him. And, with as much money as he was going to make on this deal, disappearing without a trace shouldn’t be too hard.
He glanced at the two men in the back of the limo with him. They were there for muscle—a kidnapping in broad daylight in the middle of Miami took more than one pair of hands. He wasn’t about to show himself. He was going to play this smart, planned and coordinated. This was his chance to break out, to leave small-time and give himself a promotion.
Once they had Sonya, these two would smuggle her out of the country, to Pedro in Ladera. Jose and the rest of the team would stay behind to tie up loose ends. He would pick up the ransom money and ditch the master plan at that point, start following his own path. He wasn’t going back to Ladera. Ever. He was going in the opposite direction. And when he got there, he’d buy himself the life he deserved.
“Get ready,” he said to the men as Sonya Botero’s sleek new limo pulled up to the curb.
Johnson, her driver, got out and opened the door for her. The rich bitch who’d exited the bridal salon a few minutes ago stopped to watch. What was she doing? Hoping to spot a celebrity?
Well, hell, he didn’t have time to worry about her.
“Watch for the security cameras. You know where they are,” he said.
Gordy pulled the car up behind Botero’s; his other two men jumped from the car and dashed for Sonya as planned.
What the hell was her driver doing? Why was he putting up a fight?
Okay, not much of a fight, just enough to make it look good. Stupid bastard still thought he’d do his part and get out with his pay. He’d be taken care of before the day was out.
Then Sonya was in the car, on the seat opposite from him, and the doors slammed shut.
“Who are you? What do you want? Why are you doing this to me?” She started on a tone of outrage but finished the last sentence on a sob, her eyes wide with panic. “Please—” She yanked her head around as a needle sank into her arm—along with a drug, courtesy of Dr. Ramon, the man proving useful for something after all. She tried to jerk away but was held firmly until she gave up struggling.
Gordy put the car in Reverse.
Botero’s driver was still on the ground, playing his role to the hilt.
Jose Fuentes considered him for a second. Might as well take care of him now. No sense letting the police have a go at him. “Run the bastard over.”
Gordy complied, but Johnson rolled out of the way.
The man who’d been there with his ritzy bimbo since before Sonya’s arrival was rushing toward them, looking hell-bent on playing saviour.
What the hell did he think he had to do with any of this? Had a hero complex, did he? Anybody that stupid didn’t deserve to live. “Get the bastard.”
Gordy turned the steering wheel and aimed toward the man, but he dove aside. Had pretty good reflexes, that one. The woman, standing a few yards behind him, wasn’t as nimble. She took the full brunt of the hit, bouncing off the hood with a satisfying thud.
One less witness. Jose clicked his tongue with satisfaction that was short-lived.
People were running from up the street and Weddings Your Way. He didn’t like the look of one in particular, a tall Hispanic guy who was pulling a small handgun as he ran. Probably their in-house security. Seemed like nobody could mind their own damned business.
“Go! Go! Go!”
Gordy aimed the limo into the city, toward the dark garage that was ready with another car to make the switch. Like clockwork, that’s how it would all go. The initial idea might not have been his, but by God he’d done the on-site planning. Their success would be due to him and no one else.
Gordy flew through the red light at the intersection, dodging cars like a pro, proving he was the right man for the job. A minute later they were lost in traffic, just a few blocks from being safe.
Jose Fuentes picked up the phone, ready to report now. Had to keep everyone happy and make sure nobody suspected a thing until after he’d gone his own way.
He bit back a smile as he dialed. The first part of his mission had been accomplished. He was eager to move on to the next phase.
Chapter One
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.”
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