by Elle Kennedy
“No,” she murmured, spitting blood from her mouth. “No, please…”
But she’d thought Jeremy would touch her, hadn’t she? When he’d pulled Ted off her, when he’d scooped her up into his arms. No matter how many soothing words he’d murmured in her ear, she hadn’t seen him as her savior. Only a new enemy.
The memory of Jeremy’s shaved head and gentle hazel eyes flashed in her mind. He hadn’t been her enemy, though. He’d helped her become strong. Helped her put the past behind her. She could never repay him for everything he’d done.
“You know, you can’t hurt me with this,” she said before she could stop herself.
She immediately regretted the slipup, cursing her stupidity. No. She needed Devlin to think he was hurting her. She needed to keep him distracted until they managed to free the girls.
“I’m starting to think you’re right,” Devlin said slowly. He went quiet for a moment, while Abby resisted the urge to kick herself for her foolish error. “Drat. I guess I’ll just have to find another way to hurt you.”
A loud click sounded in her ear. He’d hung up.
She experienced a rush of self-reproach. She’d been supposed to play along, to let him think his little forays into her childhood were truly affecting her. Now he’d be searching for new ammunition, something else to hold over her head.
Damn it. She’d messed up.
With a sigh, she dropped the phone on the bed and left the room, heading for the small, tidy kitchen. Her stomach had been grumbling for the past hour, and she decided to quit ignoring it. Her body didn’t feel as bruised and ravaged anymore, but her injuries weren’t going to heal if she didn’t give them any sustenance.
To her dismay, D was in the kitchen when she entered, leaning against the sink as he ate a bowl of cereal. A pair of black pants encased his long legs and the muscles of his chest rippled beneath his black muscle shirt. He truly was a formidable-looking man, every inch of him hard and radiating danger. His gaze darkened the moment he saw her.
Abby squared her shoulders. Might as well get this confrontation over with. Kane had already noticed the deep animosity between her and D. The others would eventually notice too.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked breezily.
He made an unintelligible sound, which she decided to take as yes. She opened a few cupboards until she found a stack of bowls, grabbed one, then swiped the cereal box he’d left on the counter and poured herself a bowl.
“Look,” she said as she got a carton of milk from the fridge, “I don’t do this often, but I’m going to apologize, okay? I’m sorry about what I said the other day. It’s none of my business what may or may not have happened to you in your past.”
D didn’t respond.
She hopped up onto the counter and took a bite of cereal, then made a face. No sugary cereal in this house. Morgan apparently preferred tasteless lumps of bran. She chewed, then swallowed fast, trying to ignore the bland taste. “I get it,” she said when he remained silent. “You don’t like me. Most people don’t.”
D let out a harsh laugh. “Kane does.”
Discomfort climbed up her spine. “And that bothers you.”
“That you’re fucking our second in command? Yes, it bothers me.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re distracting one of our best men.” He scowled. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s sad, really.”
“Kane is a professional. Sex isn’t going to cloud his judgment.”
“It already has.”
Annoyed, she gave up on trying to convince him otherwise. She ate quietly while he stood there on the other side of the kitchen, looking equally annoyed to be sharing the space with her.
Abby took one last bite, then jumped off the counter and proceeded to rinse her bowl in the sink. “I won’t hurt him,” she said softly, keeping her back turned.
“Whatever you say.”
She spun around. “I don’t care what you believe, D. I was planning on rescuing those girls on my own, but the plan changed, all right? You guys interfered and now I’m stuck on the sidelines. You think I like this? I could easily sneak away in the middle of the night and try to do this myself, but it’s too late. You guys are involved now, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize your lives.”
He looked at her dubiously. “If you expect me to believe you’re going to sit in this house twiddling your thumbs and miss out on all the action…”
“Believe what you want,” she snapped. “You think I’m a loose cannon—I get it. But you’re wrong.”
“Am I?” he said coolly.
“You’re wrong,” she repeated. She shoved the clean bowl in the dish rack, dried her hands with the little towel hanging off the stove, and then walked out of the kitchen, leaving him to believe whatever the hell he wanted.
“Remember,” Trevor said as the car neared the long driveway leading to Blanco’s estate, “we’ll be watched at all times. And just because Abby said there weren’t any microphones doesn’t mean she’s right.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve done something like this,” Isabel replied, rolling her eyes. “In fact, I’ve probably done more undercover work than you.”
“Probably,” he agreed. His dark eyes studied her face. “I’m annoying you, aren’t I?”
“Nope. Actually, I think the constant reminders are kind of cute.”
Cute. Oh brother. Had she really said that? Funny, how a few days ago, cute would’ve been the last word she’d use to describe Trevor. Asshole, maybe. Lifeless robot, perhaps. But not cute.
She had no clue when it happened, but somehow, during the past couple of days, she’d actually started to like Trevor Callaghan.
Fortunately, Trevor’s cell phone began to vibrate before Isabel could dwell on the troubling thought. Trevor looked at the caller ID screen and answered the phone with a gruff “Yeah?” He listened for several moments, then hung up with a frown.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Trevor glanced at the partition separating them from the driver to make sure it was up. “That was Abby,” he said in a low voice. “She said Devlin is at the compound. She wanted to make sure I stayed out of his way.”
Isabel felt uneasy. “You said he wouldn’t recognize you if he saw you again.”
“He probably won’t. I look nothing like I did eight years ago, and I only met the guy once. I didn’t even go along on the mission Morgan took him on.”
“But there’s a chance he’ll remember you.”
“There’s a chance,” he conceded. “But I don’t think he will.”
Isabel hoped he was right. They couldn’t afford having their covers blown. Not now, when they were so close. The car neared the guarded front gate of Blanco’s property. Four dark-skinned men in navy blue uniforms promptly marched out of the security booth, signaling for the driver to halt. Four men—not the two Abby had warned them about. Security had been tightened, then.
After the car came to a stop, one of the guards tapped on the driver’s window. “Out of car,” the guard barked in broken English after the window rolled down.
“Here we go,” Trevor murmured.
The two of them exited the vehicle along with their driver. The guards swarmed them, demanding to see ID, then patted down their clothing and mumbled to each other in Spanish.
One of the guards frowned as he discovered the handgun tucked into Trevor’s waistband. He held it up in front of Trevor’s face, demanding, “¿Qué es este?”
Trevor shrugged. “Protection.”
The guards exchanged a look, and the one holding the gun disappeared into the booth with the weapon. Isabel saw him pick up the phone, his face expressionless as he informed the person on the other end of the line about the situation. A minute later the man returned, his eyes hard. “Gun stays here. You get back when leave.”
Trevor looked annoyed. “If you insist.”
The guard pointed to the car. “Drive. Park at house
.”
Isabel smothered a sigh of relief as they were allowed back into the vehicle. Their driver started the engine, and then they continued up the long driveway until the main house came into view. Isabel had seen pictures of it, but the elegance of the sprawling hacienda still surprised her. It had pale cream walls and a green roof, with a large plantation-style porch and an enormous pillared entrance. Abby had told them the house boasted two large wings—the east belonged to Blanco, and the west featured guest suites and the servants’ quarters. The prison was housed in a separate building at the other end of the compound, and beneath it would be the bunker where Blanco’s “merchandise” was being held.
Most of Blanco’s meetings took place on the rear terrace, according to Abby. Apparently the back of the property had a Playboy Mansion feel to it, the terrace overlooking a kidney-shaped pool surrounded by leafy palm fronds and a grotto that held a twelve-person hot tub. A tad over the top. Isabel preferred her surroundings to be cozy, simple.
Another uniformed guard greeted them at the end of the driveway. This one spoke English, and he was very polite as he informed them that his employer was waiting for them on the terrace. He was also very obvious as he scrutinized Isabel from head to toe, appearing very pleased with what he saw.
She’d chosen a skintight red dress for this meeting. The material barely covered her upper thighs, and her breasts practically popped out of the bodice. A pair of black stilettos completed the ensemble, and today she’d swept her hair up in a complicated twist. She barely glanced at the admiring guard as she linked her arm through Trevor’s and headed toward the front steps.
The interior of the house was as elegant as its exterior. Antique furniture and modern art made for an interesting combination, and the floor beneath her high heels was smooth white marble. When they finally stepped onto the terrace, Blanco was indeed waiting for them, and she was surprised by how short he was. Couldn’t have been taller than five-seven, yet he had a commanding air to him that made him seem larger. His skin had that leathery look, hinting at too many years in the sun, while his robust body boasted of at least a couple of sins—sloth and gluttony.
“Mr. and Mrs. Martin,” he said in surprisingly smooth English. His voice held only a trace of an accent. “I thank you for driving all this way to come visit with me.” He shook hands with Trevor, kissed Isabel on both cheeks, then gestured to the large glass table behind them. “Please, sit.”
Surprisingly chivalrous, Blanco pulled out Isabel’s chair for her before rounding the table to take his own seat. “I apologize for requesting that your weapon be confiscated,” he added, looking over at Trevor with a regretful smile. “I can’t be too careful. I hope you understand.”
“Perfectly,” Trevor answered.
“Rest assured, your property will be returned to you on your way out.”
Smoothing out the hem of her dress, Isabel settled in her chair and reached for the starched napkin on the table. Blanco’s cook had laid out a feast for them; the table was adorned with various dishes along with several bottles of wine. The aromas of grilled fish, rice, and a variety of vegetables filled her nostrils.
If she’d known lunch would be this elaborate she would’ve gone easy on breakfast.
Blanco gestured to the plate in front of her. “Eat. I know you Brazilian women are very particular about your food, but I am sure you’ll find Pedro’s cooking to your liking.”
“I’m sure I will.”
She hesitated only slightly before lifting the fork to her lips. The chances of the food being poisoned were slim, but she still felt apprehensive taking that first bite. She noticed Blanco watching her mouth, his dark eyes flickering with arousal as she wrapped her lips around the fork. His gaze dropped to her neck, then lower, to her breasts.
“You have exquisite taste in women, Mr. Martin,” Blanco said, smiling broadly at Trevor.
“Very exquisite,” Trevor agreed, his gaze appreciative as he looked at her.
The two men chatted about business as lunch progressed. Abby had warned Isabel that Blanco wasn’t fond of women joining in during business discussions, so she wisely kept quiet, eating the delicious food, which so far hadn’t made her drop dead. Trevor gave Blanco the same details he’d offered Bahar, though this time he spoke in more detail about his gentlemen’s lounge, which seemed to capture Blanco’s interest.
“I have been looking to invest in such an establishment,” Blanco admitted. “I’ve been told it’s a very profitable market.”
“It is,” Trevor confirmed. “As long as one pays the authorities to look the other way, it can be very lucrative.”
Blanco nodded fervently. “I would like to discuss this more, Mr. Martin. At a later time perhaps. As you know, I’m quite busy with other matters at the moment. Which brings us to the purpose of your visit.”
Isabel lifted her head. Finally. She pushed her plate away and joined the discussion. As she and Trevor had planned, she pasted a look of uncertainty on her face. “I’m afraid my husband and I are having some second thoughts,” she confessed.
Blanco’s dark eyes met hers. “Is that so, señora?”
“We have discussed it,” she went on, “and we are concerned about some of the details.”
Blanco turned to Trevor. “What kind of details?”
Trevor laced his hands together. “Travel issues, for one. I suspect there might be individuals looking for your merchandise—stolen goods are often hunted, no? My wife and I are avid travelers, and if we were to purchase one of your items, we are worried it might affect our lifestyle.”
“I can assure you, traveling will not be a problem. Passports and other identification papers have already been issued.” Blanco smiled graciously. “Adoption papers can also be arranged if you’d prefer to pass the item off as your child. I feel that would appeal to you, as a couple, and make it far easier to explain the sudden presence of the item in your life, particularly since you two enjoy the limelight.” He shrugged. “It is easier for the other buyers. Most of them are wealthy single men who prefer to stay in rather than socialize. But you and your wife… I believe adoption is a simple solution.”
Isabel swallowed her horror. Was this man for real? She casually placed her hands in her lap—it was the only way to stop herself from strangling him.
Trevor pretended to be appeased by Blanco’s speech. “That’s reassuring. We were also worried about the… the quality of the goods, if you will.”
Isabel wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don’t like dirty things,” she said petulantly. “And strong odors irritate my sensitive nose.”
Blanco gave her an indulgent smile. “Not to worry, señora. I’ve arranged for the goods to be taken into our servants’ quarters before the sale. They will be in pristine condition.”
She feigned relief. “Oh, that is wonderful. That was my main concern, I must admit.”
“What about security?” Trevor said sharply. “A contact of mine informed me you had a little… mishap here about a week ago.”
Blanco’s face darkened. “Yes,” he admitted. “That is true. But rest assured, my security is stronger than ever. My men will monitor the entire property, and I have a very close relationship with some very important government officials. They have assured me there will be no interference on their part.”
“Good.” Trevor leaned back in his chair. “I’d like to discuss payment now, if it suits you. Your solicitor was very vague about the actual cost of attendance.”
Isabel didn’t miss the brief smirk that graced Blanco’s mouth. Oh yeah, he was totally going to bleed them dry here. She wouldn’t be surprised if he demanded triple the regular fee from them.
“Because you expressed your interest at such short notice, the price will be higher, I’m afraid.”
Isabel stifled a laugh.
“How much higher?” Trevor asked.
“Seven hundred and fifty thousand.”
Trevor didn’t even blink. “I believe that’s fair.”
Blanco looked momentarily surprised, but he recovered quickly, clearing his throat. “Very well, then. I will have Bahar contact you with the details for the wire transfer. The funds will need to be transferred tonight. The sale is in two days, after all, and I’d like the attendance fee to be received well before then.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
The conversation came to a halt as a wiry man with a long scar slicing one cheek appeared on the terrace.
William Devlin.
Isabel didn’t need the black eye patch for confirmation. Abby had given a detailed description of Devlin, emphasizing the cold, emotionless face. As usual, Abby was right. The man in front of them looked completely incapable of feeling. There was something dark and evil emanating from his lean, muscular frame.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Trevor angle and bend his head slightly in a subtle attempt to shield himself from Devlin.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Devlin said in a British accent. “I wanted to inform you I spoke to Cortez. He will be attending as planned.”
Blanco picked up his wineglass, taking his sweet-ass time in answering. Panic jolted through her. The longer Blanco chugged on that wine, the better the chance that Devlin would pay closer attention to Blanco’s guests. Swallowing, Isabel reached for the tall water glass by her plate and scooped out a wet ice cube with her manicured fingers.
“My, it’s hot today,” she exclaimed, sending a sexy giggle in Blanco’s direction. Next to her, Trevor was chewing vigorously, as if the meal in front of him were the most interesting thing on the planet. Giggling again, Isabel brought the ice cube to her collarbone and moved it across her skin. A chill tingled her flesh.
Across the table, Blanco’s eyes widened in appreciation. His gaze followed the movements of her hands, and her peripheral vision caught Devlin glancing her way too. His expression revealed a hint of disdain, though. Looking annoyed, he flicked his eyes to his boss, who dismissed him with the wave of his hand.
“If Cortez changes his mind again, please reassure him. Now go check on the merchandise. I’ll send for you later.”