by Debra Webb
Maggie tugged the hem of the blouse down over the waistband of the baggy slacks. She could do this. In her life before Chicago she had done harder things, if not more dangerous.
All she had to do was stay calm and wait until she heard the spray of water.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she finger combed her hair. She and her baby would be just fine as soon as they were back at the coffee shop where they belonged. Calling the authorities would be the best strategy. No matter what Slade said, she had to trust the law. The alternative was unthinkable.
She opened the door and a burst of cool air slid over her. The steam her shower had generated drifted from the bathroom with her. Slade stood at the window, watching through the narrow slit between the curtain panels. He turned to her.
“It’s all yours.” She dredged up a smile. “I feel tremendously better.”
He studied her a moment. A voice in her head screamed at her. Don’t act nervous! Desperate for something to latch on to, her gaze landed on the fruit lying on the table.
“Apples and bananas!” She moved in that direction, praying he wouldn’t notice the high pitch of her voice. “I’m starved.”
“There’s bottled water and juice in the fridge. There’s bread and an assortment of dry goods and snacks. Not exactly what you keep at home, but the closest offerings available.”
She held the apple she’d selected so tight in her hand she feared it might be crushed. “You’ve been shopping.” He’d left and she hadn’t realized.
He shook his head. “Lavena’s grandson, Ramondo, picked up a few things. Enough to keep you comfortable.”
He was leaving. All the plans and determination she’d set into place minutes ago drained out of her like freshly brewed coffee pouring unchecked from a machine missing its carafe. He had brought her here to tuck her away until he did what he had to do.
Maggie had no ID, no money except what he’d stuck in her pocket, no phone. She visually searched the room once more to confirm there was no phone. Nope. She had nothing but borrowed clothes and a few days’ food supply.
As if sensing her trepidation, Slade moved toward her. She told herself not to watch, not to react, but that was as impossible as telling herself not to breathe.
“Lavena will see that you have anything you need.” He stopped right in front of Maggie, so close she could smell the aftershave he’d used yesterday or the day before. The scent was one she knew as well as she knew her own. Maybe better.
“Do not attempt to call anyone until I give you the okay. At that time I’ll make arrangements for you to return to Chicago.”
Somehow she found her voice. “How can you be sure it’s safe for me to stay here?”
“Lavena has helped me out many times. She won’t let me down.”
Maggie swallowed back the emotion climbing from her chest. “So you’re leaving.”
“Before midnight.”
The nod of her head was a little stilted, but at least she managed a response.
“You will be safe here.” He gestured to the apple in her hand. “You should eat. I’ll shower and make preparations to move out.”
Maggie managed another jerky nod. She watched him cross to the bathroom, her knees threatening to give out any second.
At the door he paused.
Her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t hear herself think.
He turned back to her. “This will be over soon. You have my word.”
Chapter Eight
Central Mexico, 7:00 p.m.
Camille Marek stood on the balcony of her home and surveyed the vast land that sprawled lazily in front of her. She could just see the tiny peaks of the historic colonial architecture of San Miguel de Allende in the distance. The lush greenery interspersed amid the villages and farmland was some of the most beautiful in all of Mexico. Yet, out here, against the sage-blue mountains, she ruled without the interference of law or government. This rugged terrain had discouraged development, making it perfect for her.
Her fortress was like a castle sitting high above the rest, its position providing a strategic advantage.
The cool air filled her lungs with anticipation. She adored the darkness, relished the emptiness of the terrain that separated her from the populated cities and villages she rarely visited. All she required was here within her dominion.
Nothing could touch her here. Nearly three decades ago she had overseen the building of this fortress. Every detail had been accomplished beneath her watchful eye to provide absolute security and privacy. The position at the base of the mountains had provided numerous possibilities for unexpected egress, including air transport to her state-of-the-art yacht.
The cutting-edge surveillance system’s perimeter around the property was one hundred meters. Between the cameras, the motion sensors as well as the armed guards, there was little or no possibility of an unexpected breach.
Fury obliterated her sense of contentment. But he knew the security measures forward and backward. Though he had turned his back on her and his home a dozen years ago, he had made it a point to stay apprised of any changes. She had discovered this fact only recently. He monitored her moves in order to stay one step ahead. All these years she had known he was out there, despite his having faked his death in hopes of escaping her wrath.
Had she known thirty years ago what she knew now, she would have drowned him as an infant. What an infinite waste of her time and resources he had been. Her lips tightened in escalating rage. She had done everything for them, he and his sister. Only Alayna had properly shown her respect and gratitude. She lived to serve, as it should be.
Camille drew in a deep, resolute breath. Terminating his pathetic existence would move her as much as squashing a trespassing insect. He had been dead to her for many years. His own selfish motives had lured him to turn his back on her, despite all that she had given him. The sentence for such betrayal could be nothing less than death.
She would not allow him to destroy all that she had accomplished. The Code was an unmatched project. Others had tried and failed. They had not been willing to sacrifice as she had. Her entire life had been dedicated to this one cause. He would not take that from her.
Anyone who got in the way would suffer the same fatal destiny.
She thought of Lucas and a new fury ignited inside her. His tampering was a mistake. One he would regret very soon. A smile tipped her lips. She had so enjoyed the fascinating report of the events during Lucas’s recent visit to Mexico. Her loyal servant had relayed how Lucas and his wife had fought to save not only their lives, but those of others. It seemed Lucas had not changed. Too bad for him and his cherished wife. Unfortunately, loyal servant or not, the lone survivor of those she had sent to teach Lucas a lesson about interference had been exterminated. His allegiance had served him well until the very end. A quick message to the authorities where he was being held had resolved that loose end without the slightest delay.
Of all her sexual conquests, Lucas was the only one who had intrigued her so. Perhaps because she had sensed a like spirit in terms of relentless determination and the need to accomplish the mission no matter the cost. That had been their singular common conviction. Lucas Camp was plagued with the one weakness she had never possessed: the need for justice. Did he not realize that all were not created equal? There were three types of humans: prey, survivors and predators. If one was not a predator, then one was either merely a survivor or the food that fueled the top of the food chain.
Predator suited her perfectly.
Camille walked back inside, the heels of her stilettos clicking on the stone floors. She entered her chamber with the intent of checking the status of the numerous ongoing endeavors under her watch. An array of monitors lined one wall, each a running report on the missions under her dominion. Camille required constant updates. Therefore, similar monitors had been installed in every space she frequented. She hesitated at the towering mirror that stood against the wall at the entry to her private rooms
.
Maintaining her figure as she neared the mid-fifty mark had not been an issue. Immense self-discipline was one of her most prized assets. She trained as hard as any member of her team. No one was better. Strength was absolutely essential to remaining at the top of the food chain. Weakness, physical or mental, could not be tolerated.
She studied her face. Decades ago she had gotten used to this face. It represented one of her many masterpieces. Her greatest triumph despite the failure in the end. No matter, there would be other successes. She would need to stay at her very best. Meticulous care was necessary to stay youthful looking. She had changed her hair some years back. It no longer draped around her shoulders. The more sophisticated, shorter style was far more to her liking. Pleasing to the eye.
She touched her cheek, soft and supple. No matter the extent required to retain her youth. What would he think when they came face-to-face? And they would. She knew Lucas. He would not rest until he had confronted the threat to his perfect world. How would he react when she told him the truth he would not want to hear? She had watched him and his wife in Puerto Vallarta. He had seen Camille, but only for a second. Just long enough to make him sweat. A smile toyed with her lips. Oh, how she wanted him to writhe with worry. He and that precious wife of his, the esteemed Victoria Colby.
The smile teasing her lips stretched wide. She relished the thought of causing him pain. She held out her right hand and admired the beautiful ring she always wore. Ornate titanium setting with a massive rubylike stone. In the same way as her home, she’d had the ring designed especially for her. She never took it off.
Her gaze lifted to her reflection once more. Oh, yes, she looked forward with great anticipation to coming face-to-face with Lucas again. For all these years she had been satisfied with their brief encounter so very long ago. After all, she had accomplished the most important feat of her career. There had been no reason to end his existence. The need to utilize him again one day had always been a viable possibility. But he had interfered, trespassed into her world. For that transgression, he would pay. No one crossed the Dragon.
Alayna’s image appeared in the mirror. Camille’s gaze connected with her daughter’s. Generally, seeing her daughter, especially here, was a pleasure—one of the few she allowed herself. But if Alayna were here to plead her brother’s case yet again, Camille was not sure she could withhold punishment. She had her limitations, even with her most prized possession.
“You are so beautiful, Mother.” Alayna smiled. “Far more beautiful than me.”
Irritation sizzled inside Camille. Though sincere, the words were ultimately a precursor to the plea Camille would not again entertain. She turned to her daughter. “Do not test me, Alayna. I will not tolerate your continued obsession with your brother. He is dead to us. Terminating his existence will protect us. That is all that matters. Do you understand?”
Alayna nodded. “I understand.”
That she did not persist raised a red flag. Camille knew her daughter. “It is not wise to hide things from me, Alayna. You are my one and only. I do not wish to lose you as I did the others.”
Fear flared in Alayna’s eyes. This pleased Camille immensely.
“He has put us at risk.” Camille righted a single hair that had fallen out of place. “He has put everything at risk. He must be terminated. There is nothing more I can do except vanquish the risk.”
Her daughter nodded again. “You’re right, Mother, I know.” She looked away. “But you had such high hopes for him. It seems a shame to waste such assets.”
He was special, that was true. A relentless intelligence gatherer. A ruthless assassin. Fully capable of eluding the most dogged search. Those skills that Camille had once felt such pride at watching in action were now a threat to her work and to her survival.
Her son had to die.
Chapter Nine
Coyoacán Borough, 9:00 p.m.
Slade checked his backpack one last time. Ramondo had done well. Slade had everything he needed. Two handguns, sufficient ammo, a couple of surprises the Dragon would not be expecting and the necessary papers under a new alias. Not to mention he had ground transportation.
She would be watching, expecting him.
His mother. Slade hadn’t called her mother since he was twelve years old. That was the day she’d terminated the older of the other two. Slade’s brother, even if not by blood. She’d chosen Slade’s birthday so that he would not forget the price of failure.
“You have everything you need?”
Maggie hadn’t said much since his three-minute shower. He’d hurried through the task, leaving the door open to make sure she understood he would know if she tried to make a run for it. Ramondo would be watching, as well. This part was difficult for her, but she would be safest this way. Allowing her any closer to the danger could prove a costly mistake. Though he could not eradicate all risk, his confidence that she would be safe here was somewhat more solid. One day she would understand. Her friends at the Colby Agency would explain to her that he’d made the right decision.
He banished thoughts of the Colby Agency. There was nothing there for him. He’d made a mistake seeking them out. The past two years had been a calculated error. He dismissed the denial that nudged at him.
“Yes.” He faced the woman who stood in the middle of the room looking frightened and worried. The idea that her worry was as much for him as for herself aroused unfamiliar feelings in him. No one, except maybe Alayna, had ever cared whether he lived or died. The Dragon’s only concern had been whether or not he completed the mission. Whether he survived was irrelevant.
“Are you leaving now?”
The fear in her eyes prompted doubts he shouldn’t feel. He picked up his cell from the table where he had it charging, and checked the time, mostly to avoid looking at her. “I have a couple hours yet.”
“Why does she hate you so?”
Not responding, Slade crossed to the kitchenette and poured a cup of coffee. Again, more to prevent having to meet her gaze than for the caffeine. He was weak right now. Weary with changing lives too frequently and weak from the mistake of allowing himself to believe he could have what others had. What a joke. He had watched Maggie until his curiosity turned to admiration and then to yearning.
He was a fool to believe that kind of life could be his. The potential did not exist in him.
“You’re leaving,” Maggie went on. “What difference does it make if you tell me? I need to know since…I probably won’t see you again.”
The words echoed in his brain like the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun. They shook him to the core.
She wouldn’t see him again. That was what she wanted and it was the best decision for both of them. She deserved her life back. If he hadn’t been such a fool, this situation wouldn’t have happened.
Slade turned to her, leaned against the counter and elbowed aside the foreign emotions just looking at her generated. What was the harm in giving her a glimpse of the truth? Maybe he owed her that much.
“When I was six she taught me to disassemble and reassemble six different weapons, one for each year of my life.” He forced down a slug of coffee, the memories making the effort more than a little difficult. “Whenever I made a mistake, she held my head under the water. She would do a series of six dunks, five seconds more each time I screwed up.” Instinctively, he sought that place where he felt nothing—a place more familiar to him than his birth name. The first few times she’d dunked him, he had come up from the water screaming. Eventually he’d learned to utilize that fleeting moment to drag air into his lungs. His fingers clenched around the cheap stoneware cup. “It didn’t take me long to get it right every time.”
Horror gathered like storm clouds in her expression. Her arms visibly tightened around her waist. “You were just a child!”
He laughed, the sound dry and riddled with disgust, as much with himself as his so-called mother. “By the time I was ten I was an expert marksman on any weapon I was big enou
gh to hold. I learned hand-to- hand combat, the proper use and disposal of explosives. She had moved on, as well. To different techniques to punish my mistakes.” A smile edged its way into the corners of his lips. “You see, I learned to hold my breath so well and for so long that her water torture no longer worked. That she couldn’t use that to terrify me infuriated her.”
Maggie’s breath caught as realization dawned. “The scars.”
He downed more of the coffee. They had talked about the scars. He had told her he’d been in an accident, but that had been just another of his stock responses. “Torture techniques are one of her specialties. The slower the better.”
Maggie walked slowly toward him. He tensed. Having her touch him…having her make him feel anything else would be treading into dangerous territory. She reached out and placed the palm of her hand over his heart. “What about this?”
Heat from her palm warmed that icy place. “That’s where I had a tattoo removed.” The memory of that long-ago day, when she had branded him, caused his fingers to curl with the need to choke her. He would not fail with this last mission.
A frown furrowed her brow. “Why that one? You have other tattoos.” He did. Liberty or Death on his left biceps. Solitary on his back. But those were different. He had chosen those. The other had been her mark. “She branded some of us.” That was a monumental understatement but close enough.
“Us?”
“Her chosen ones.” His chest convulsed even now, after all these years. “The ones who made up the Code.” He clamped his mouth shut. That part he should have kept to himself. That single word could cost Maggie her life. But it was too late. He couldn’t take it back. She would never let it go so easily.
“What does that mean?” Her hand dropped to her side. “What kind of code?”
He finished off the coffee and moved around her. “I’ve already said too much.” What the hell had he been thinking? That he wanted her not to hate him…not to think he was a monster for no real reason. The truth was, he was more monster than man. Maggie James had merely seen what he’d wanted her to see.