Vestavia was one of those men who exuded power in silence.
Durand would not be intimidated, not even by a man whose money, contacts, and powerful organization could help him bring the Salvatore family to their knees. He would soon have the throat of that squealing Mirage pig in one fist and Dominic Salvatore’s cojones in his other fist.
But in the meantime, Durand did not want to create an enemy of this Vestavia.
“I provided projects to make you high profile for Mirage,” Vestavia offered in a conciliatory tone Durand knew better than to believe. “Kidnapping Mandy was moved up just to give you more exposure to Mirage since the informant seems to take a particular interest when a female and the Anguis are involved.”
“True, but our deal is not one-sided,” Durand cautioned. “My men have made two successful attempts on our oil minister’s life appear as if the Salvatore family is behind the attacks. Killing the oil minister would be much simpler than pretending to. I do not want the Venezuelan government on my doorstep. I admit I am happy to put Salvatore’s cojones in a vise, but these attacks are very risky. What is the purpose?”
“I don’t explain myself to anyone,” Vestavia warned.
Durand hid the urge to choke this man. To show anger was a sign of weakness. “I only suggest that if I understand your reasoning, I can better support your cause since I have a finger on the Venezuelan pulse.”
Vestavia studied on that a moment before speaking. “My organization was quite pleased with the results so far, but it’s imperative the pressure is kept up. The United States is under scrutiny for their attempt to secretly partner with Venezuelan oil production behind the Venezuelan government’s back.
“Both candidates for the next U.S. presidency are opposed to financing a partnership with Venezuela to produce more oil. Both are pushing the platform about America becoming a more green country since that’s the new hot button for voters. The media is fueling rumors that one of the two political parties is funding Salvatore to assassinate your oil minister. No one can figure out if the Democrats are behind the attacks to show how the Republicans are trying to partner with an unstable country for oil instead of going green or if the Republicans are behind this and plan to produce evidence the Democrats were behind the attacks simply to lay the groundwork for a major shift to going green.”
“How does Salvatore fit in your plans?” Durand leaned back, arms draped along his chair. A pose of confidence.
“It appears the Salvatore Cartel is sitting back until the elections are over to see if a coup does indeed overthrow the government. If so, that’s when we’ll find out if the new U.S. administration actually forms an agreement with Venezuela for oil. Salvatore can be an impediment in the oil ministry’s plans or the two could team up to form an agreement that assured the oil production industry was protected from rebel attacks as long as Salvatore’s drug shipments passed through safely.”
“Yes, yes, I stay informed through my contacts.” Durand tapped his cigar on the edge of a crystal ashtray. Salvatore had been an obstacle in his plans for many years. “I have no care what America pays for a gallon of fuel or the presidential election next week. I am concerned with the future of the Anguis and believe we can help each other.” He let that sink in.
Vestavia had come to Durand. Not the other way around.
When his guest didn’t comment, Durand repeated, “We both suffered a loss in France. The question is how will we both recover our losses? Someone will pay for mine. If we work together, we can recoup and make an example for others who might think to interfere again.”
“No one ever screws me over and lives to brag.” The brutal cold in Vestavia’s voice could freeze a hot ember.
“Then work with me to find these men who have killed mine and taken Mandy, because together we will find them.”
“You’re certain about Julio’s allegiance?”
Dios! This man had better be worth the aggravation he caused. Durand smiled. “Julio was the only person who knew about the chalet in advance and I stake my life on my cousin’s loyalty. Blood is everything in my family.”
“Did he get any good photos of the black-ops team?”
“Julio is processing everything now.”
“Send me what you have and I’ll put our people on identifying them.” Vestavia had said more than once he had limitless resources.
Durand nodded politely, but he would not share photos or anything else of significance until he could strike Vestavia’s name off the list of suspects for the ambush.
“Someone got the information to Mirage very quickly that you were behind the kidnapping,” Vestavia pointed out. “Sounds like a snitch inside your group.”
“I have people on that as well, but you also have a problem,” Durand countered in a calm voice. He suppressed a smile at his guest’s scowl. “My men did not know where they were taking the girl until they were in route, and since all were killed, is it not logical to assume their innocence?”
Durand paused to draw on his cigar, letting the rich tobacco flavor flow through his mouth. He exhaled and said, “Before you accuse me of failure, you must explain how anyone knew of the chalet meeting spot. The elite team who killed them showed up in less than eleven hours of my men arriving. How did the informant get that information so quickly?”
Vestavia didn’t answer for a minute, his tiny brown eyes shifting between narrowed slits. “If there is a leak in my organization, I’ll find it and deal with that person. But if I learn that someone in your camp betrayed us, my associates will expect his head or yours. And I mean that literally.”
Durand smiled conspiratorially. “If someone I know killed my men-one of whom was my younger brother-you may have the head and any other piece…once I am finished with him. You cannot have mine, ever. And if it is one of your people, I will expect the same courtesy in return.”
“Fair enough. In the meantime, continue as planned. I’ll personally interrogate Mirage once that informant is captured.”
Durand waved a finger back and forth. “Nada. The Mirage is mine. Delivered alive.”
Vestavia grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing and reached down into his briefcase. He withdrew a thick manila envelope. “Your next contract.”
Durand did not move to take the package. “I no joke about this informant.”
“Fine. Alive. No promises on the condition of the body.”
Durand took the package and opened it, withdrawing the photos. “Another female. No problem.”
“Maybe, but this one won’t be quite as easy to grab.”
Durand studied the teenager and wondered yet again what Vestavia’s purpose was for the teens, but his alliance with this strange Italian depended on better results with less questions.
“What is our time frame?” Durand lifted the photo sheets into view. Pretty, but nothing notable.
“Two days. Mandy was intended for a side project, but this girl,” Vestavia said, his eyes going to the photos in Durand’s hand, dark eyebrows dropped low over mean eyes, “is needed now. No missteps.”
Vestavia lifted his briefcase and turned to leave.
“It would be in your best interest to find the snitch before I hand over this girl,” Durand warned quietly.
Vestavia stopped, breathing slowly during the long silence. “Threatening me is not a healthy idea.”
“I only offer incentive to move as quickly as you expect my people to. If you do not locate this Mirage first, then you will owe me, yes?”
Vestavia left without another word.
Durand tapped his cigar. This would never be an easy alliance, but the truly strong ones took work and finesse. He pressed a button on the radio function of his cell phone, calling Julio, who answered immediately.
Durand asked, “How are the photos from the château coming?”
“Most are fair, but one is no bad. It is the man who I believe was in charge of the team.”
“Bring all the photos now.”
“Sí. I
am on the way.”
EIGHT
GABRIELLE CURLED CLOSER to the warmth, hugging the pillow. The cloth smelled so…masculine?
She kept her eyes shut, allowing her mind to sharpen while she mustered the energy to pull away from the deep sleep tempting her to stay.
Now that she could actually process information, she realized the pillow wasn’t soft at all. The surface was hard and carved.
Last night…they were driving somewhere…then nothing once she dropped over the edge into deep sleep.
Carlos had been talking to her. When did they get out of the car? Her face moved up and down when the sculpted surface rose and fell in a gradual motion.
Her senses sharpened all at once. She couldn’t be where she thought she was, or better put…on top of…him?
Gabrielle opened her eyes, peeking at the left side of her body, and found she was at least wearing her underwear. She’d been undressed. Not acceptable, by her rules, but she didn’t think anything had happened. She lifted her head slowly to figure her chances of sliding out of bed without him noticing.
Zero.
Alert dark brown eyes stared back from a shaved face so seductively male she couldn’t break her gaze. She was spread across Carlos’s chest, hugging him like a lover, and afraid to move or speak.
When was the last time she’d been in this position?
So long ago she couldn’t recall, and never with a man whose body turned her gray matter into complete mush.
He was propped up on pillows, right arm behind his head, studying her with a quiet gaze so unlike the deadly face she’d witnessed yesterday.
A strong arm banded around her, his hand rubbing along her back, slowly, soothing. She had to get out of this bed, clear her head, and figure out what the devil she’d got into.
But his fingers were gently kneading the tense muscles, turning her body to jelly. Her limp muscles lost all tensile strength. Moving from this spot would take a monumental effort.
Who was this bloody guy?
He winked. All thought of reprimand over this impropriety stuttered in her mind.
She sighed. Isn’t it against some set of rules to be in bed with the prisoner? His magical fingers dismissed that question. She should be ranting at him, but honesty forced her to admit she enjoyed his touch and wasn’t particularly distressed at the moment.
Considering what she’d experienced yesterday, this wasn’t that strange.
He stopped rubbing her back, but left his arm looped over her shoulder. The silence continued. The formidable gaze that swept through his eyes now was no softer than the hard chest beneath her. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
Was he laughing at her?
She narrowed her eyes into what she hoped sent back just as formidable a message, though she had a feeling his was better. He’d probably had more practice at looking intimidating.
“You’re much calmer than I expected.” His chest continued to move slowly up, then down. His breath smelled like mint. She’d noticed the tin of strong mints he kept in the car last night. Must keep them near the bed, too.
“Why am I here?” she finally asked.
“I told you I was taking you somewhere safe.”
“Don’t be obtuse. I mean here, in this bed.”
“You needed rest.” His eyes softened. Amused. “Trust me. Nothing happened.”
Why had that sounded so definite? As in, he wasn’t the least bit interested in her sexually.
That should be a relief, right?
It probably would have been if his deep voice didn’t engage the wrong part of her brain. The part that considered it a perfectly sound idea to lounge in bed with a sexy stranger who had kidnapped her. All right, yes, she did sort of trust him after he’d constantly protected her yesterday, but that didn’t excuse a lapse of sanity.
The point was to get out of this predicament, not feed his ego by remaining compromised.
He drew a deep breath quickly, lifting her up so fast she hugged her right arm to him out of instinct to maintain balance.
Not the message she wanted to send him, so she pushed up with the same hand to get away.
That’s when she realized she had a cloth wrapped around her right wrist. When she jerked her right hand up to inspect it, he scowled. Her wrist jangled.
“Wait a minute.” He grabbed her wrist with his left hand.
“You”-Gabrielle leaned her elbow on his chest, enjoying the grunt-“handcuffed me to you? Let me go.” She jerked away, but couldn’t get leverage from her position.
He rolled her over swiftly, pinning her with his body.
Any humor or concern had vanished. The black gaze raking her now stunned her into silence. Here was the man who had killed without hesitation yesterday.
“Don’t start this morning fighting me or today won’t go much better than yesterday,” he warned in a voice rough from deep sleep.
Think. Say something to back him off. She couldn’t process a thing with him so close. His eyes blazed with a different heat all of a sudden. The look was so charged with arousal her hormones went on alert for an early morning treat.
Now she was the one not thinking like a prisoner.
Carlos studied her with intense interest that left her feeling he could see right into her mind, then his gaze relaxed. He asked in a gentler voice, “How can you be afraid of me after yesterday?”
She worked on breathing steadily, in, out, in, out. When was the last time she’d been this close to a man in bed? Anywhere? One so overtly sexual she didn’t think he could prevent it. She swallowed, preparing to ask him, nicely, to let her up.
He must have misread the action and thought she still feared him when he lowered his head, those chiseled lips so close she could taste them. “Truce, remember?”
He kissed her.
The man had kissing down. He could give lessons. She’d sign up for an ongoing program. His mouth played across hers softly, teasing, then paused and sealed her lips with his. She sensed him holding back, then raw, masculine heat poured through the kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth, moving with slow erotic motions that sent a wave of lust spiraling down to pool between her legs.
His fingers drove into her hair, holding her.
She shivered and clenched with the raging need for more.
Years of hiding and loneliness interfered with the message from her brain warning her to stop now.
With her hands free, she reached for his shoulders to pull him closer.
One hand made it. The other slapped back to the bed, still handcuffed to his wrist. That broke through her erotic haze.
She stopped kissing, priding herself on that one feat since her lips didn’t want to leave a mouth like his.
“Let. Me. Up,” she demanded through clenched teeth, trying to regain some self-respect. She twisted her body back and forth to make it clear she meant now.
He scowled a curse, which she figured out a bit late. Moving her hips with their bodies so close had the opposite effect of what she’d intended.
His legs were on each side of hers, locking her into place. The only barrier between where their hips met was her lace underwear and his shorts.
And one impressive hard-on.
She was in no mood to be impressed right now. Her heart thumped so hard the beat should have been echoing off the walls, but she would not feed his ego by letting on how much he affected her. “Get off me.”
A weary sigh rushed out of him on another mint-flavored breath. He eased up on his elbows and knees, but kept her legs locked between his.
“Calm down.” His eyelids lowered in a droll frown. “I am not interested in taking advantage of you. I had to handcuff you to something last night. You kept sleeping on your stomach so I cuffed your right hand to my left hand but you scratched the hell out of me-twice-when you crawled up on my chest.”
She lowered her gaze to his shoulder and saw two red marks that disappeared inside the gray tank top he wore, then lifted her eyes to his. I am not apo
logizing.
“So I finally uncuffed you and waited for you to settle down in one spot before I cuffed us again.”
When she didn’t say a word, he snapped, “You picked the spot, not me.”
She shouldn’t feel embarrassed for climbing all over him, but couldn’t convince herself to take it in stride. He sounded put upon to wake up with her wrapped over him when it was just as much his fault as hers. She’d slept alone for so long she was used to having the entire bed at night and normally ended up on top of a big pillow.
Besides, she stung from how he was “not interested” in her body. He could have just said he’d kept his hands to himself. She knew she didn’t have some buff body.
“Don’t kick, hit, bite, or do anything else and I’ll uncuff you. Agreed?” He’d issued that offer as an order.
She nodded.
He just shook his head and reached over to the nightstand, returning with a key. He unlocked his wrist first. She noticed a red welt where he hadn’t wrapped his wrist protectively.
Her wrist was fine since he’d wound soft jersey material around it, taping the material in place. Or had he done that because her wrist was narrow and he thought she might slip out of the cuff during the night?
That made more sense.
She was his prisoner, not a kinky date.
The minute she was free, Gabrielle scrambled off the bed to stand.
He was still crouched on the bed. His gaze swam across her from head to toe. What was he thinking?
“The bathroom is over there.” He nodded to the left. “Get in there. I’ll bring your clothes.”
She went rigid at the disgust in his voice. As if he couldn’t stand the sight of her.
“Move. Now!”
Gabrielle stumbled trying to hurry to the bathroom, but caught her balance. His curse followed her into the room so she slammed the door. Childish, but it still felt good.
Whispered Lies Page 11