by Cherry Adair
“Oh, but I wanted to call my aunt and tell her where I’m going,” Abigal said.
“Of course,” Giselle said. “As soon as your assignment is determined, we’ll return your cell phones to you so you can contact your families.”
Hilary reluctantly surrendered her purse and cell phone. She would have no tool except her brain after this.
The night wore on and Hilary’s nerves frayed. Every minute that passed represented another step that Christine took into the unknown. Impatient, she decided to chat up the guards for information. With the first two, she might as well have been talking to rocks. The third, however, responded to flattery.
“You must work out a lot,” she said. “You look like you’re all muscle.”
He shrugged. “I hit the gym when I can.”
“Well, it’s working,” she said, mustering an admiring gaze. “Where are my manners? I’m Hilary,” she said, extending her hand.
The man looked surreptitiously across the room and gave her hand a quick shake. “I’m Ivan. I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “They’re funny about us talking with the girls.”
“I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble,” she ventured.
He paused and gave her a long once-over. “Maybe later,” he said.
“Okay,” she said, and meandered to the table, feeling the gazes of John Harris and Giselle on her. She felt the walls start to close in and took a few breaths.
“Are you not feeling well?” Giselle asked. “You’re not smiling. We like to keep our candidates happy.”
“Oh, I’m thrilled. I think I’ve worn myself out with anticipation. Do you think it would be okay if I went to sleep early?”
“Sure. We have sleeping medication if you need it,” Giselle said, studying her.
“Oh, I won’t be needing that.” She gave a fake yawn. “Just a good night’s sleep so I won’t wake up with circles under my eyes.”
“Good girl,” Giselle said. “I’ll have Ivan escort you to your cabin.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
Ivan led her out of the room and down the hall. She deliberately stumbled so he would catch her. “Thank you. What a gentleman,” she said and righted herself. “So do you do this all the time?”
“Pretty much,” he said.
“How often?”
“It depends. We escorted another group of ladies from your area a couple of days ago.”
“I’m surprised they don’t use larger groups.”
“Security,” he said.
“Are we going to the same place as the group who left a couple days ago?” she asked.
“Same place,” he said with a nod. “Those girls will ship out with you soon. Nice place. You’ll get manicures and facials and the whole VIP treatment.”
“It sounds almost like a spa,” she said.
He looked at her and his mouth twisted slightly as he chuckled. “Yeah, a spa. Here’s your room. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said and entered the small cabin. She closed the door behind her and locked it, but she was certain Ivan had a key. She was in and tomorrow she would see Christine. Her task was to find Christine and persuade her to leave. She needed to be just as smart and deceptive as Giselle and John were. It went against her nature to play dumb and to lie. Her intelligence and lack of submissiveness had irritated more than one man she’d dated, but this once she needed to portray herself as eager to please. Her life and Christine’s would depend on it.
Sitting down on the small, narrow bed, she felt an ugly sense of foreboding. More than ever, her instincts told her these so-called positions involved prostitution.
Rick Santana signed for a package from the delivery man and heard the sound of “We Need a Little Christmas” blaring from another boat. He thanked the delivery guy but scowled at the holiday music. He hated Christmas. The only thing all the nonstop holiday music and repeated showing of It’s a Wonderful Life did was remind him that he had no family.
Except for his mistress, and heaven knew he spent most of his nonworking hours and nearly all his money on Mistress, his sixty-two-foot yacht. He had his own plan for the holidays: a Caribbean Christmas spent with Mistress.
Opening the box, he found cookies and knew his plans had just been changed. He often received cookies at the same time he received a new assignment. He went belowdecks, and within three minutes, he’d munched four cookies and was downloading a file from the Internet.
His cell phone rang and he noticed there was no ID. Probably Roz, but just in case . . . “Rick’s Yacht Service,” he said.
“Did you get my cookies?” A woman’s sultry voice heated up the line.
Rick felt his temperature slide up a degree despite the fact that he suspected Rosalind Donahue was old enough to be his mother and probably wore a girdle. After all, the woman held an advanced degree in library science and, apparently, mothering.
“Thanks, Roz. They’re great as usual. I’ve already downloaded the file for Hilary Winfree. Looks like another college kid who thinks she’s Jennifer Garner from Alias.” He shook his head, glancing out the porthole of his yacht. “That show has gotten more chicks in trouble.”
“Sorta like guys and Vin Diesel or the Rock or Superman or—”
“Okay, okay, I get the message,” he said.
“Pull in the reins on the macho attitude if you want Hilary’s cooperation. She may have allowed herself to get involved in a human-trafficking ring to find her missing friend, but everything I read about her tells me she’s very independent. She’s going to college on the opposite coast of where her parents live. She’s earned her master’s degree and is doing some postgraduate work.” Roz paused and sighed. “Just a little too impulsive at times. She tried to persuade her parents to help find Christine, but they told her it wasn’t their business, so Hilary took matters into her own hands.”
Rick nodded, skimming the e-mail Roz had already sent him. “Hilary’s been gone two days, so the clock is ticking.”
“All you have to do, Chameleon,” she said, calling him by his nickname, “is buy Hilary and get her home for Christmas. I can get a contact name for you within the next few hours.”
“Should be cake,” he said. “I’ll pull out my South American government official ID and accent. I should be able to take care of this within a week and be on my way to the Caribbean.”
“Don’t underestimate Hilary,” Roz warned.
“No worries, Mom,” he returned. “I can handle her.”
The guard at the iron gate scrutinized Rick’s ID while the engine of the chauffeured limousine purred in neutral. The guard gave a nod and waved him on, and Rick took a closer look at the southeast Texas estate that served as a compound for the human-trafficking ring. The ring, headed by a member of the Russian mafia, had escaped government intervention through frequent changes of location. And bribes, Rick thought cynically.
Indicating he could make cash payment immediately and that he preferred utmost discretion, he’d arranged for a semi-private meeting for the purpose of purchasing a pretty, well-educated American woman with eye color, height, and weight identical to Hilary’s. Money usually cut through a multitude of barriers, and Rick had learned a long time ago that an opponent’s greed could cause him to be careless.
The chauffeur pulled in front of a three-story brick building where a beefy man stood outside smoking a cigarette. Yes, John Harris Slavinsky kept his merchandise well-protected.
Rick clenched his jaw, itching to do more than just free Hilary, but one of the cardinal rules of the Agency was to stick to the case and go no further. His job was to free Hilary.
“When I come back, I’ll have the girl with me. Remember, she may fight leaving the compound,” he said to Jensen, the agent-in-training/driver. The driver had to be a professional in this situation. Especially if Hilary was a hysterical screamer.
“Got it,” Jensen said
. “I’ll be here.”
Rick slid his dark glasses in place and climbed the steps at an easy pace. He offered his ID to the beefy guy at the door, who searched him then pulled a two-way radio from his jacket pocket and announced him as Juan Castillo from South America.
The door opened and a striking woman dressed in emerald green silk greeted him. “You’re here for the party. Please come this way,” she said and guided him to a room with several women and two men. The women wore provocative dresses with plunging necklines, sheer tops, and short hems.
The air was charged with nerves and fear. Despite the Christmas music playing in the background and the sound of the men’s laughter, Rick could almost hear the crackle of unease.
He scanned the room and caught sight of Hilary. Her hair was lighter than her photograph, he noticed, and she had great legs. They looked especially great in those mile-high red heels. She stood in the far corner, her back to the room as she faced a window and tugged on her short red skirt with white fur around the edge. When she wasn’t tugging at the skirt, she was pulling at the neckline, trying to cover her shoulders. Even without the information he’d received about her, he would have guessed she came from a privileged background. Something about the set of her chin and her erect posture said it all.
A man approached him. “Mr. Castillo?”
Rick nodded. “Sí. Mr. Harris?”
“Yes,” the tall man with the laser gaze said. “Welcome to our estate. I’ll have one of the girls get you a drink. What would you like?”
“Scotch, neat,” he said, though he wouldn’t drink more than a sip or two.
Mr. Harris instructed a woman to get Rick’s drink.
“I arranged a gathering of some of our candidates for your inspection. We have another buyer tonight, too. Relax. Talk with the girls. They’re all beautiful and eager to please.”
“Gracias. I’ll do that.”
Rick made casual conversation with two women before he headed toward Hilary.
“Buenos noches,” he said to her.
She glanced around in surprise. “Oh, hi.”
Her eyes were wide and blue, her lips rosy red with lipstick. She looked him over then dismissed him in three seconds flat.
His lips twitched. “What is your name?”
“Hilary,” she said, returning her gaze to the window.
“I’m Juan Castillo. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She moved her head in a noncommittal response and looked at him suspiciously.
“Tell me about yourself, Hilary,” he said, shifting so he could watch her profile.
“What would you like to know?” she asked.
“I’m interested in finding a tutor,” he said and took a small swallow of his drink. “I’d like an attractive, intelligent woman for the position.”
Her eyes widened and she glanced away. “There are other more attractive women here.”
“Possibly,” he said. “But you intrigued me when I walked in the door.”
She bit her lip. “I’ll tell you the truth,” she said in a low voice. “I’m not your best choice. I look terrible without makeup. They had to do a lot of work to make me look this good. You wash all this off and I’m a real dog. And my hair. I’m not a natural blonde. This is out of a bottle and it took forever to fix it tonight.”
He resisted the urge to chuckle at her obvious effort to scare him off. “Is that so? Your figure must be beautiful because your dress doesn’t conceal much. Nice outfit,” he said of the provocative Santa suit.
She frowned. “We were told this was a Christmas costume party. That’s why we’re wearing these clothes,” she said, looking down at her outfit in disgust. “But you’re wrong again. No boobs,” she told him. “I’m wearing one of those long-line wonder bras and panty hose that suck me in from my waist to my thighs.”
“It’s working,” he said and grinned. “Appearance isn’t everything. There’s also intelligence and personality.”
“I’m very boring,” she said. “Terrible at dinner conversation. I have a condition called narcolepsy and I have no control over when I fall asleep. I’ve been known to fall asleep during dinner, while dancing, and always during sex.”
“What a shame. You should try medication. I’ve heard it can be effective.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “I’ve always considered it rude for people to wear sunglasses indoors.”
He nodded. “Unfair advantage. Because I can see your eyes, but you can’t see mine.”
“Yes,” she said and waited. “Are you going to take off your glasses?”
“Not right now,” he said.
She frowned and looked out the window again.
“Tell me how a beautiful girl like you ended up here.”
“The same way the other women ended up here. We answered an ad to become teachers abroad,” she said, her voice oozing cynicism.
“Now why do I think that you always knew that ad was too good to be true?”
She glanced at him sideways then shrugged.
Rick knew he needed to work quickly, so he had to scare her with the truth. “You know that the only way you’re going to get out of here is to be chosen and bought,” he told her.
She blinked. “Bought?” she echoed. “I didn’t know—” She broke off and looked away, alarmed.
Rick saw the light dawn on her face. So she hadn’t known exactly what she was getting into, he concluded. He considered telling her that he was here to rescue her, but she was still an unknown. Like Roz had said, she could be impulsive. He couldn’t allow her to blow his cover. Plus, someone could overhear. He had to persuade her to cooperate with him. He had to make her think going with him was a better risk than staying here. “The place might as well be Fort Knox for all the security it has.”
“What do you care about the security?”
“It’s just something you might want to think about,” he said. “Just as you may want to think about all the different kinds of men who could buy you and how they might treat you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean some men will treat you well and allow you a great deal of freedom. Other men will keep you locked in the equivalent of a dungeon until they’re ready for you to be—” He paused. “Used.”
She swallowed audibly and paused for a long moment. “And which are you?” she asked.
“The first,” he said. “I have no interest in locking up a woman and treating her like an animal.” He touched her hair. “In my social circle, a blond, intelligent American woman is the ultimate sign of prestige.”
“So you treat women like objects, too,” she said, clearly assessing him.
“Perhaps, but I take care of my objects.”
“If you wouldn’t want to treat a woman like an animal, why would you feel the need to buy one?”
Rick smiled. “I’m between mistresses and my position demands that I entertain constantly.”
She turned to look at him with her arms crossed over her chest, still protective as hell. “I have difficulty believing you have any problem finding a new mistress.”
He shrugged. “It’s the holidays. I need someone beautiful and well-educated immediately.”
“Just to hostess,” she said, doubt oozing from her voice.
He allowed himself to look at her for a long moment as if he were considering her physical assets. It was part of the act, he told himself. “Hostess first. Anything else can be negotiated later.”
“Negotiation suggests both parties have some say in the final outcome.”
“I assure you both parties would. I’ve never had to force a woman.”
Chapter Two
HER ONLY WAY OUT WAS TO BE CHOSEN AND BOUGHT? Hilary’s stomach clenched. She’d known the operation was shady, but she’d thought if she could get to Christine before she left the country, everything would be okay. Now she wasn’t so sure. She felt as if she was being watched every second, and the security worried her. She’d thought she could fi
nd Christine and persuade her to leave, but it looked as if a lot more would be involved.
Hilary studied Juan’s clothes. Just how wealthy was he? If he could buy her, could he also buy Christine? He wasn’t what she’d expected. Although he was obviously sexist, he had a sense of humor. He presented himself as if he would be reasonable. It could just be an act, though, to gain her willingness.
And why would he choose her? She wasn’t the prettiest woman in the room by far. Plus she’d given him a kooky story that should have scared him off and she’d made it clear that she wasn’t the submissive type because she didn’t want to leave before she learned something about Christine.
She was starting to get very nervous about this situation. Christine was nowhere on the estate and Hilary had gone over every inch of the place. She needed information and lots of money to buy Christine if that was the only way out. The only tiny piece of information she’d overheard was when Giselle said that occasionally one of the candidates needed special training that was handled at another location.
Hilary needed to find out where that other location was. Maybe Christine was there. Unless she’d already been sold to some sadistic monster and taken out of the country. The prospect filled her with guilt. She couldn’t help thinking that if she’d only taken some extra time with Christine, none of this would have happened.
She took a second look at Juan. Would she be able to persuade him to buy Christine, too? Would she have to trade sex? Her stomach twisted.
No, her instincts told her. She believed he’d told her the truth when he said he’d never forced a woman. He was good-looking in a dark, Latin way. If she weren’t in this situation, he would have caught her attention. Just his appearance, she told herself. His height and muscular body, however, made her a little nervous. If he wanted to physically force her, she’d really be screwed.