by Cindy Gerard
“De nada. It is our pleasure. Now, please,” Sofia said with a sweep of her arm, “let us move on outside so we can introduce you to everyone.”
“Actually,” Brittany said in an aside to Sofia, “I could really use a visit to the powder room.”
“Of course. I’ll show you—”
“Oh, no, no. I don’t want to take you away from the rest of your guests. Just point me in the general direction and I’ll find it.”
“Certainly.” Sofia gave her directions for both the downstairs and upstairs facilities in the event either was occupied.
B.J. leaned into Rafe, kissed his cheek, and winked at Emilio when she caught him watching her. “You go on ahead, baby. I’ll just be a minute. I’ll find you.”
“Don’t be long,” Rafe said, watching her walk away, that damn dress accentuating every curve. “And don’t get lost,” he added indulgently, planting the seed of expectation that she might be a while.
Then he did a little silent praying that she would find Emilio’s office right away so her absence wouldn’t be suspicious. And so help him, if she went solo on him again and broke into the office on her own, he was going to wring her gorgeous neck—provided Garcia or one of the many goons he’d spotted positioned discreetly around the villa didn’t beat him to it.
“Promise me,” he’d insisted last night as they’d finalized their plan. “You do nothing without me knowing it.”
“I already promised,” she’d said testily. “We both look for opportunities to get into his office. If I see one, I only take it if it’s possible to alert you. Just make sure you do the same.”
It was like planning an assault on a terrorist camp with firecrackers. All they had going for them was smoke and mirrors with no guarantee they’d find anything to help them even if they got out of there without being caught.
Desperate times. Desperate measures. He’d been there before—but never with a woman he cared about. And the thought of her doing something reckless and getting herself hurt or worse… God, it ate at his gut.
“Rafe,” she’d said when he’d pulled her against him last night, not giving a damn that he’d promised to keep his distance. “You need to trust that I can handle myself.”
Yeah. He had to trust in something. Just like he had to pray that they didn’t strike out. They were down to seventy-some hours and counting.
25
“There you are.” Breathless and full of herself, Brittany walked into Rafe’s embrace when she spotted him with Felipe and Rodrigo and their wives visiting around a poolside table. A small band played salsa music nearby. “My goodness. The Garcias certainly know how to throw a party.”
Rafe introduced her to Maria and Belicia as children squealed in the background. Another band at the far side of the pool with a Shakira wannabe at the mike entertained the teens. Not ten yards away, a beautiful couple dressed in brilliantly colored native Colombian costumes danced and swirled to a sultry rhythm, providing yet another form of entertainment.
Food and champagne and every other drink imaginable flowed like water. While they’d barely just arrived, it was clear to B.J. that several of the partygoers had been heavily partaking of the Garcias’ hospitality.
“It is so impressive that Emilio could gather so many guests on such short notice,” she observed as a continuous stream of laughter rang through the crowd of what B.J. estimated to be at least three hundred people. “And all for us,” she added, sounding beyond important and pleased.
Felipe smiled. “No one would think of missing one of Emilio’s parties.”
Yeah, B.J. thought. That was probably because their lives wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel if they declined an invitation from the drug lord.
“What is that music they’re dancing to?” she asked Rafe.
“Cumbia. It’s a mixture of Spanish and African.”
“You must teach me,” she insisted, using it as a ploy to get him alone so she could tell him what she’d discovered.
“Excuse us, please.” He grinned at his cousins. “It would seem my lady wants to dance.”
Instead of attempting the cumbia, however, Rafe twirled her into his arms and pulled her close. To anyone watching, they were lovers swaying to the beat of their hearts. And many were watching, she realized.
As Rafe turned his liquid brown eyes and seductive smile on her, she understood the envy in the eyes of the single—and some of the married—women in the crowd. She could almost feel the tip of the blade they’d have liked to shove in her back.
There was no denying that he was an incredibly beautiful man, a man who would turn heads no matter where he went or how he dressed. But never more so than in this setting, surrounded by powerful men and privileged women, had she understood the full impact of not only his physical appearance but of his bearing on both women and men. Everything about him said confidence, competence, and power.
“What did you find out?” he whispered close to her ear as his hard body moved sensuously against hers.
She leaned back, smiled into his eyes like a besotted lover, and reminded herself once again that this was all an act. “There was only one locked door on the main floor. Fourth door on the east side of the atrium. That has to be Emilio’s office.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead and she felt a shiver ripple through her despite the warm Colombian sun. “Guarded?”
“No.” She nestled her cheek against his chest and felt just a little too contented there. “Now that the party has moved outside, the house is practically empty.”
A shriek of laughter, followed by a loud splash, sounded from the adult pool. Someone had apparently fallen or been pushed in. “Everyone’s getting pretty happy.” Rafe took her hands in his, kissed them, then looped them around his neck. “Emilio’s parties are notoriously wild.”
Speaking of wild, all this close body contact and playacting was taking a toll. Her heart went crazy when his large, warm hands skated down her ribs, then lower to caress the small of her back. She felt the hard thickness of his erection swell against her belly.
“Sorry,” he murmured with a slow, sexy smile. “I don’t seem to be able to control myself around you, mi amor.”
“Um…”
He chuckled. “Blushing? How sweet.”
She couldn’t believe that he thought it was funny. “Will you just get your mind back on the operation?”
“Trust me, cara. I know what’s at stake. But you can blame yourself for distracting me. That dress … every man here is panting after you and calling me a lucky bastard.”
“Well let’s hope you do get lucky,” she said, needing to derail this line of conversation, “or that I do.” One of them had to get into Emilio’s office.
“Let’s let the party play out awhile longer,” he said, swaying to the music. “The mellower our host becomes, the easier it will be to get past his guard.”
“Speaking of our host,” B.J. said, spotting Emilio over Rafe’s shoulder, “he’s heading this way. Looks like he’s bringing a contingent of his lieutenants with him.”
“Must be time for the big talk.” Rafe smiled into her eyes. “You may be looking at the newest member of the Munoz/Garcia bank and drug cartel.”
“Either that or they’re going to fit you for cement shoes.”
“And would that bother you, cara?” His eyes searched hers, sober for a change, no hint of a smile on his face now. “If something were to happen to me, would that bother you?”
Yeah, it would bother her. Damn it. She had fought it every step of the way, but she would care if something happened to Raphael Mendoza. She still had too much of a self-preservation instinct, however, to admit that weakness to him.
“Depends on whether or not you took me down with you.”
One corner of his mouth tipped up in a crooked smile. “Such a hard, cold heart. And such a pretty liar,” he added, letting her know he was on to her. “You would care very much, I think.”
Then he kissed her and walked off
to meet Emilio.
Yes, she thought, watching him go, she would care very, very much.
Over two hours had passed since Rafe had gone off with Emilio, Cesar, and the other men. B.J. had kept a distant eye on them where they were clustered in a group at the far end of the paved terrazzo, cigar smoke rolling, heads nodding, a small contingent of muscle standing close by protecting their privacy.
B.J. had made Brittany-esque attempts to ingratiate herself with the women and flirt with the men, all the while watching the villa, looking for an opportunity to go inside and get into Emilio’s office. She’d managed to dump glass after glass of champagne into various potted plants while everyone around her was happily getting a party buzz on.
Even among the family and friends, however, there emerged a pattern of cliques as clusters of people mellowed out here and there on the lavishly appointed grounds. Many had changed into swimsuits and were splashing in the pool. The children were all in the care of nannies and twilight was setting in.
Now, B.J. decided, was the best opportunity they were going to get. She wandered as close to the men as she dared, laughing too loud as she visited, touching too easily—in short, apparently drinking too much and feeling the effects. She got Rafe’s attention, waved giddily, then blew him a kiss—her signal that she was going in.
She didn’t stick around to see his response. She already knew what it would be. He’d have given her a “no go” signal because he felt he should take the risk, but the bottom line was she had the opportunity and it was now or never.
She wandered aimlessly toward the villa, made a big production of snagging a full champagne flute from a waiter passing by with a full tray, then, with a tipsy walk, angled toward the far side of the villa where the landscaping was thick with tall shrubs, pineapple and coconut palms, and trellises lush with flowering bougainvillea. Careful to make sure she wasn’t being watched, she tucked in behind a trellis, then ducked around the side of the house where she’d spotted an entrance door on an earlier pass.
Without wasting another second, she hurried down the hallway, checked to make sure no one was inside, and entered the grand foyer. So far so good. If anyone did intercept her, she was simply admiring the waterfall.
Heart kicking up as the risk grew greater, she approached the locked door, slipped a pin out of her hair, and went to work. This lock was more stubborn than the lock on Cesar’s office—either that or her hands weren’t as steady.
“Come on, come on,” she pleaded as her hands started to sweat. Finally, the lock gave.
After one final look over her shoulder, she opened the door, slipped inside, and locked it behind her.
“Oh, yeah,” she murmured as she quickly scanned the room. This was Emilio’s private domain. Heavy glossy wooden furniture, imported Persian rugs, walls filled with erotica. Priceless erotica, she imagined, but porn just the same. No surprise there. Emilio had struck her as a pig at first sight.
In the center of the room was a desk roughly the size of a banquet table. Bookcases and pedestals were filled with more erotica, bronzes, ceramics, and earth-tone pottery that suggested they were possibly pre-Columbian artifacts. Among them were some compelling nudes but it went downhill from there to women on women, men on women, men on men … bestiality.
She shivered and quickly sat behind the desk. She opened up the laptop computer, desperately ignoring the nine-inch anatomically correct porcelain phallus perched on the edge of the desk near a silver tray that held a bottle of scotch and a single glass.
The screen came to life. No surprise that Emilio had chosen a graphic sex scene as his wallpaper.
“The man is a pervert,” she muttered, quickly opening up his document folder.
She scrolled through the folders, looking for something that might alert her to the one she was looking for. Her heart almost leapt out through her throat when a folder jumped out at her: URA.
It was the code word Stephanie had discovered. This had to be it. She opened the folder, every cell in her body tensed in anticipation of someone bursting into the room at any moment.
“Oh, my God,” she mouthed as she opened the first of ten documents in the folder and quickly scanned it. She didn’t have time to read it thoroughly but she knew that they would find everything they needed. The trick now was copying it and getting out of here so they could read the documents later.
Her fingers were trembling on the mouse as she closed the document, then the folder. She reached between her breasts, where she’d been carrying the flash drive all day, and hurriedly plugged it into a USB port.
“Hurry, hurry,” she whispered, waiting for the data to copy and breathing a serrated sigh of relief when it finally finished.
She tucked the drive back into her dress and returned the computer settings back to the desktop and closed it. Then she hurried around to the front of the desk, took one last look around to make certain she’d left no telltale signs.
That’s when she heard footsteps outside the office door.
Her heart stopped when she recognized the sound of a key in a lock.
Brittany was sitting on top of the desk, facing the door, her legs seductively crossed, her skirt hiked up high on her thighs when Emilio Garcia walked into the room.
He stopped abruptly when he saw her. And in his eyes she saw a killing rage.
“What took you so long?” she asked with a sly smile, then made an elaborate production of recrossing her legs and planting her palms behind her hips on the desk.
“What are you doing in here?” Rage cooled marginally to suspicious but intrigued anger.
“Emilio … Don’t be coy. You know why I’m here.” She tilted her head coquettishly and arched her back, a not so subtle attempt at seduction. “I’m waiting for you. Or did I read you wrong when we first met?”
She slid slowly off the desk, making sure he got a good eyeful. Averting her eyes, she reached behind her, ran her fingertip suggestively along the length of the porcelain phallus before looking back at him from beneath her eyelashes.
“I saw the way you looked at me,” she said. “I saw what you wanted to do to me.”
While he still looked suspicious, she could see the carnal heat in his eyes along with the effects of the scotch he’d been drinking all day. She turned her back to him, holding her breath, hoping that he was watching her ass instead of puzzling out her real reason for being there. She prayed to God that Rafe was on the way. He knew she was in here and he would have been watching Emilio. What they were going to do to get out of this, she didn’t know, but in the meantime, all she could do was stall.
Willing her hands not to shake, she uncorked the crystal stopper on the bottle of scotch and poured two fingers. Glass in hand, she turned back to him.
“I thought we could continue the party in private.”
Her mind raced a mile a minute as she dipped an index finger into the scotch, brought it to her mouth, and licked it.
He advanced toward her, lust in his eyes.
“Have you forgotten you have a fiancé?”
She smiled, shrugged. “Why settle for a foot soldier when I can have a general?”
He liked that. He liked it a lot. The bastard.
It took everything in her not to flinch in revulsion as he reached out, ran the tip of his finger down her cheek, across her jaw, then trailed it along the length of her throat. “So, you will fuck me while your lover waits for you.”
She affected a wounded look. “You make it sound so naughty.” Then she smiled, fighting panic as his hand slid around to the back of her neck. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her roughly against him.
His breath reeked of cigars and scotch. His body smelled of sweat and sickeningly sweet cologne. “I must ask myself, are you worth the trouble?”
Her breathlessness wasn’t an act. She was scared to death but she couldn’t let him see her fear. “Oh, I’m worth it. But if you like, take your time. Think about it. You know where to find me when you decide.”
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She started to move away, thinking maybe this was her ticket out of there.
His fingers tightened painfully in her hair.
“Or maybe you should prove your worth to me now.”
He reached for his belt with his free hand and pushed her to her knees. “Put that pretty mouth to work, puta. Then we shall see.”
26
Rafe was half out of his mind. From the moment Emilio had ended the meeting he’d been trying to wade through the throng of well-wishers and get to B.J.
Damn her! She’d gone Rambo on him again, refusing to wait for his okay. He knew what she was doing. She was in the drug don’s office—and Emilio was heading straight toward the villa.