The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  “Your name doesn’t suit you. You should change it.” The kid didn’t mince words.

  Jessica had turned her attention to Frankie, who’d ignored them both completely, wandering toward the water’s edge where he’d whipped off his shirt and stretched toward the sun so that Marisela was the one inspired to whistle.

  “Rogelio, ven aquí. Es Jessica. La hija del Señor Perez.”

  He spared her a quick but cautious glance. “Hola.”

  Jessica waved, but Frankie had already turned before she completed the gesture, which made the young girl sigh. The bodyguards attempted to more effectively hide their appreciation of Frankie’s show, but Marisela would have bet all the money in Dolores’s briefcase that under their reflective sunglasses, they were ogling her “husband.”

  “How’d you land such a papichulo with such a protective father?” Jessica asked.

  Marisela watched as Frankie waded his impressive body into the water and then dove sleekly into the surf. “Actually, my father introduced us.”

  In fact, the former Dolores de los Reyes had been recruited into the service of Fidel Castro by her father, who served the dictator on his secret security forces. When Marisela had been talking about protective fathers, she’d been drawing from her own past, not the one she’d read about in Dolores’s dossier. She distinctly remembered the day she announced to her family that she and Frankie were dating. Surprisingly, her father hadn’t sent her to her room for thirty years—but he’d tried. Only Marisela’s concentrated skills in buttering up her Papi and the fact that Frankie’s family had known hers practically forever kept her from being banished. Not that her father hadn’t fought her romance with Frankie every step of the way, but at least she’d been free, relatively speaking.

  Jessica glanced at the bodyguards on either side of her, then shooed one aside because she was blocking her sunlight. “You’re so lucky. My father doesn’t let any boys near me.”

  Marisela lowered her sunglasses and gave the girl á quick once-over. “Do you blame him?”

  Jessica looked down at her one-piece suit, which while relatively modest, failed to hide the girl’s rather impressive curves. In fact, with the girl’s neckline practically plunging to her sternum, Marisela could see why Jessica’s father might be a tad overprotective.

  “He can’t blame me for these,” Jessica defended, buoying her breasts with her hands. “I have his genes.”

  “And your mother’s,” Marisela said, pleased she had such an immediate opportunity to inject the topic of Jessica’s mother into the conversation.

  The girl sneered.

  Not good.

  “My mother was supposedly a skinny gringa. No, its my father’s fault. You should see my tia Luli. She looks just like Angelina Jolie.”

  Marisela noted the same resemblance in her niece. Dark hair, hypnotic light eyes, pouty lips, and a body that wouldn’t quit. “There are ways to hide your curves, you know.”

  Jessica leaned back on her elbows. “You don’t look like the kind of woman who hides her body.”

  Marisela smiled, watching as the bodyguards widened their perimeter, not surprisingly, bringing them closer to Frankie. He suggestively invited them to join him for a swim.

  Marisela frowned. Cleared her throat. Loudly.

  The bodyguards backed off.

  Damned straight.

  What she didn’t know was if her jealous act was real or for show.

  “Well,” she said, saving that thought for another time, “I’m on a vacation on a tropical paradise with my muy caliente husband. I’m certainly not going to dress like a nun.”

  “Do you ever dress like a nun?” the girl asked, retrieving a fancy French brand of sunscreen from her tote and spraying the emollient lightly over her arms, chest, and legs.

  “Not if I can help it. But, I do deal with men all the time. Sometimes, the curves come in handy, mostly with Americanos. But with Latino men, if you want to be taken seriously, you have to dress differently. De-emphasize those assets that bring their machismo to the surface, if you know what I mean.”

  Jessica scooted nearer, listening with the same intensity as she might have if Marisela had been imparting the grand secret to the meaning of life. Which, she guessed, in a way, she was.

  “Do you know how to do that? Seriously. If my father maybe saw me more like a person rather than his under-aged hijita with the big boobs, he might loosen the leash a little bit.”

  Marisela doubted this so intensely, she’d bet her entire take from Titan that no change in Jessica Perez’s wardrobe would make any difference, but she liked where this conversation was heading. In a few short minutes, she and Jessica were bonding over fashion—one of the few topics Marisela could discuss with authority.

  “I can show you a few fashion tricks,” Marisela said, trying to sound somewhat bored with the prospect. She was, after all, supposed to be an assassin vacationing with her husband. She couldn’t seem too anxious to spend time with a teenager or she might blow her cover. “You got any magazines?”

  “Magazines? I could open a stand with all the subscriptions I get! Pero, let’s go one better. You’re a friend of my father’s, right?”

  “I work with him.”

  “But he trusts you?”

  “I can’t say,” Marisela answered, knowing Javier Perez would consider her suspect for a long time, even if the Toscas joined his organization soon, as they’d briefly spoken about at dinner the night before. Still, she couldn’t ignore the obvious. “But he did invite us here.”

  “Right,” Jessica said with a glowing smile. “And he, like, never does that. So what if you take me shopping?”

  Marisela plastered a doubtful look on her face despite the leap in her chest from excitement. Shopping! How perfect was that? With Jessica out of the fortress that was this island, they’d have a better chance of snatching her.

  “I don’t know,” Marisela said, gazing out toward the water as if the possibility wasn’t the least bit appealing, while joining her “husband,” who was swimming a rather sensual backstroke amid the turquoise waves, seemed forefront on her mind. “I don’t know any of the stores around here.”

  Jessica leaped up from the ground. “Look, I’ll find the stores if you’ll come and show me what to buy. I never have anyone to shop with!”

  “What about those two?” Marisela asked, leaning her head toward the increasingly annoying bodyguards, both of whom seemed more interested in Frankie’s body than Jessica’s, judging by how their tongues were practically wagging as Frankie swam in the surf.

  The girl sneered. “They’re protection, not company.”

  “Your friends from school?”

  Jessica frowned, bent down, and retrieved a cold bottled water from her bag. “They’re okay. They’re afraid of me, you know? I only go to school when my father is in the country. The rest of the time, I have a tutor here at home.”

  Marisela pressed her lips together, weighing the situation, unable to imagine the isolation of this kid’s life. Even when her family had moved into a new neighborhood, making her the outsider ripe for gang recruitment, Marisela had never been trapped on a tropical island with no one her age to talk to, surrounded by women who’d either taken vows of celibacy to God, or those like her father’s arm candy, who had strict orders to stay out of Jessica’s way.

  “That sucks;” Marisela said.

  “Sometimes. Alfredo has a granddaughter a little older than me,” she said of the family butler. “She’s older. Before she went to college, we used to hang our sometimes.”

  “When did she go away?”

  “Three years ago,” Jessica answered sadly. “She’s almost done. She’s studying physics at MIT in Boston. I’ve always wanted to visit her, but my father…”

  She didn’t finish the thought and from the look on her face and the knowledge Marisela had about Elise’s location, she wasn’t surprised. MIT was way too close to MOM.

  “Okay,” Marisela said, “you run the idea
past your father. If he says its okay, we’ll go. I’m really loving this beach mat. I think I’ll pick up a few.”

  Jessica’s pale eyes lit up like roman candles. She squealed and hopped in the air, then waved hurriedly at her bodyguards so they could gather her belongings. Neither one seemed pleased with having to leave Frankie, who’d kept their attention rapt while Marisela and Jessica talked.

  When one of them reached for the mat, Jessica shooed her away. “No, no. Dolores, you keep it. I have another one. In fact, I probably have a dozen. I’m going to go find my father.”

  The man didn’t stand a chance. If she possessed half of the talent Marisela had at manipulating her own father when important desires were the topic, she and Jessica would be off the island in no time.

  Jessica disappeared down the beach after reciting a half-dozen thank-yous. Marisela couldn’t help but grin after her. When Frankie approached, cooling her overheated skin by pressing his salty wet body against hers, her ire at his friendliness finally gave way in to a victorious smile.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “You’d know if you weren’t so busy flirting with those two machorras.”

  Frankie chuckled and nuzzled closer, bathing her skin in fragrant seawater. Are you jealous?”

  He’d know if she was lying, so she opted to change the subject. “I think I have a way to take the kid.”

  She explained quickly, snatching Frankie’s hand and drawing him into the water to finish the tale while she cooled off in the deliciously calm water. The sun and salt tingled on her skin and made her want to splash and frolic, but she contained herself. Dolores might take a lonely young girl shopping as a favor to her new boss, but she certainly wouldn’t whoop loudly in the surf.

  “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” she asked, anxious to hear his assessment of her first-ever attempt at putting together a plan. She was sure the scheme had flaws—she’d only had a few minutes to arrange it—but whatever weaknesses he found, they could fix.

  But Frankie had remained quiet as she’d laid out the plan, which included contacting Titan and giving them an approximate time and location of where they’d be shopping in San Juan. In a crowded mall or store, they could easily make the girl disappear and spirit her away before any of the bodyguards had a chance to report back to Perez. Yet despite Marisela’s enthusiasm, Frankie said nothing, his gaze masked by sunglasses he’d snatched from the hidden pocket in his loose-fitting swimsuit. He glanced once over his shoulder, then finally rewarded her fervor with a sly grin.

  “Only one problem, vidita.”

  Just one? The water felt particularly buoyant, so she executed a rather impressive twirl, splashing Frankie in the process. Maybe she would turn out to be good at this secret agent stuff.

  “I can handle one problem. Lay it on me.”

  “With your plan, one of us will end up dead.”

  * * *

  “Where are you?”

  Marisela turned so the nosy salesgirl couldn’t eavesdrop on her cell phone call quite so easily. For what she was about to drop into the cash register in this trendy San Juan boutique, you’d think she’d earned a little privacy.

  “A shop on Avenida Ashford.”

  From his location on Perez’s island, Frankie repeated the information to someone nearby—more than likely, the man who was financing this protracted trip into hip fashion. She heard various voices in the background, guessing Frankie was still in Perez’s war room, discussing the upcoming assault against Perez’s newest enemy—one that didn’t really exist, except in Titan’s carefully placed evidence. Under the tense circumstances, Marisela had to give Jessica some credit. She never would have guessed the girl could orchestrate the trip so quickly and without strong protests from her father. With only Marisela and her two bodyguards in tow, they’d hit the shopping avenues of San Juan just after nine o’clock the morning of the day after their first meeting. Now six hours later, Marisela’s legs ached, but likely not so much as Perez’s wallet would hurt when the bills arrived.

  “Señor Perez wants to know if he has any money left,” Frankie asked with a chuckle.

  Marisela glanced over at Jessica, who giggled as she modeled a pretty floral skirt that fit her trim body snugly around the hips, but loose and fluttering just above her knees. Paired with a luscious halter-top brimming with short ruffles that downplayed the young girl’s ample C-cups, the mixture of femininity and modesty elevated her from simply attractive to undeniably gorgeous. Marisela wasn’t so sure Javier Perez would be pleased with the results.

  “Just barely,” Marisela answered. “I hope he doesn’t regret turning over his credit card so willingly. He might have to sell that island and settle for a nice little cabana on the public beach.”

  Jessica slipped into a pair of slim-heeled sandals. A third salesgirl emerged triumphant from the back room with a matching purse. Her two cohorts applauded and Jessica beamed with delight.

  A rustling sound alerted Marisela that the phone had changed hands.

  “Is my daughter having a good time?”

  “Sí, señor” Marisela replied. “Spending your money does wonders for her attitude.”

  Perez chuckled. “Of course it does! She’s a good girl. She deserves some fun, Dolores. So do you, ¿verdad? But I didn’t invite you to my island to baby-sit. You have no idea how much I appreciate your offer to take her shopping. She doesn’t get enough female interaction.”

  The three salesgirls clucked around Jessica, offering a varied and impressive collection of earrings, necklaces, belts, and scarves. Nothing like a credit card with no limit to make Jessica the most popular girl in the shop.

  “She’s making up for lost time. You’re a very generous father.” Marisela didn’t know if Perez heard her as he’d handed the phone back to Frankie.

  “Everything’s okay, though, ¿sí?” Frankie asked.

  A subtle quaver in his voice caused a chill to snake up Marisela’s spine. Was something wrong? Something Frankie couldn’t discuss on the cell phone they now knew for certain was monitored? They’d spent a good portion of the afternoon yesterday touring Javier Perez’s security complex, housed in the building that circled the hacienda within. All communications, from cell and satellite phones to all radio transmissions within a three-mile radius of the island, were routinely monitored by Perez’s sophisticated system. Even though Titan was skillfully blocking the signal at irregular intervals with static that sounded like normal satellite interference, for now, what they said could be heard by others.

  Luckily, they’d prepared by setting up a simple code while they’d frolicked on the beach.

  “I found a beautiful leather coat,” she said.

  Frankie mumbled as if he didn’t believe her, not because she was talking about spending money, but because that was the code they’d established for an all-clear.

  The afternoon before, Frankie had pointed out the not immediately obvious flaw in Marisela’s kidnapping plan. Yes, a trip shopping in San Juan would provide the perfect opportunity for them to snatch Jessica and spirit her off to her mother, except for one detail—Frankie, as Rogelio, would have no reason to tag along. He and Javier Perez had already started plotting the first of three executions the Toscas would perform for the arms-dealer and no amount of lies or manipulations would convince Perez that Rogelio preferred browsing for bolsos above planning a good hit. Leaving him on the island while Marisela kidnapped the daughter of their host would be nothing short of a death sentence for Frankie.

  Even during their truncated communication with Ian courtesy of a timed system disruption in Perez’s listening devices, their boss had nixed the idea. With the reconnaissance information they’d relayed during the brief three minutes that Titan had scrambled the signals to Isla de Piratas, Blake expected his experts to soon formulate another scenario that would ensure his agents not only succeeded in their mission, but returned home safely.

  “You don’t need another coat,” Frankie said, the reply
meaningless. But his next words reinvigorated her initial chill. “I could use a new backpack, though.”

  The message was clear. Watch your back.

  Why was he so worried? Did he know something she didn’t? Something he couldn’t share through coded language?

  Unnerved, she walked toward the back of the store. Jessica had disappeared inside a dressing room just a few seconds ago. So why didn’t she hear the rustling of clothes?

  “Jessica? How’s it going?”

  Jessica opened the door a few inches and snatched a pair of jeans that had been dangling on a hook just beside the three-way mirror. “I’m going to try the casual look next. Could you grab that pink top you showed me earlier? I think you’re right. It will look good with my hair.”

  Completely ensconced in her own world of fabrics and color-schemes, Jessica shut the door and after a second, Marisela strolled back into the boutique and pointed to the pink blouse. One of the salesgirls immediately fetched the shimmery confection off the mannequin, and then hurried into the back to deliver it.

  “They don’t sell backpacks here,” she finally answered Frankie. She had to pull herself together. She could have been totally misreading Frankie’s meaning, but she wouldn’t be much good at controlling the situation if she wasn’t thinking clearly. “I don’t really think we need another backpack, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “Bueno. Call me if you find something you think I’ll like, okay?”

  Marisela agreed, then disconnected the call and shoved the phone in her pocket. Frankie didn’t spook easily, but he had a vibe going that Marisela couldn’t have misinterpreted.

  Marisela glanced around, suddenly noticing that none of the salesgirls had circled her in the last few minutes. One stood behind the cash register tallying a sale, the other showed a new customer a collection of blouses in yellow, coral, and bubblegum pink. Marisela glanced back at the dressing area, then at the door to the back, which was ajar. Was salesgirl number three digging into the new inventory again, desperate for another item to add onto her sales commission?

  And where was Jessica? How damned long did it take to try on a pair of jeans?