Under Fire

by Rita Henuber

  “It’s time to go, Rico.”

  He nodded and came closer. “Olivia.”

  “Yes?” She bit her lower lip.

  “We can stop this now if you aren’t sure.” He rubbed the back of his index finger down her cheek.

  “I’m sure. I have to do this—for Danny.”

  “Your brother is dead. This isn’t going to bring him back. You could end up dead for that matter. Why?”

  “That birthmark on my ankle,” she said, “that was from Danny.”

  “What?”

  “I’m a minute and twenty-seven seconds older than Danny. When I was born, his fingers were wrapped tight around my ankle, where the birthmark is. Daddy would say that before we were born, we had a fight over who would be the oldest. I won, but Danny didn’t give up. He held on and I dragged him into this world. When his fingers were pried off me, we both howled until we were touching again.” She paused. “Daddy told me with the privilege of being the oldest came the responsibility of watching over Danny. I took it very seriously.

  “As an adult I realize that story wasn’t true or even possible, but as kids Danny and I thought it was. We had a closer than normal bond. He had no mother. I stepped into that role. The birthmark is a constant reminder…” A shock wave went through her. Had she really said that about being a mother to Danny? Christ. She barely admitted that to herself, yet she’d blurted it out to Rico like some crazed motor mouth. Her fingers tightened into a fist. She took a step back and straightened in her best attention stance.

  “I know what I’m doing, what I’m up against, how dangerous what I’m going to do is.” The words came out steady and resolute. “I’m telling you—I can’t go on with my life until I find Danny’s killers.”

  The drive to Miami International Airport was silent. Rico stole sideways glances at Olivia. Other than occasionally pulling in her lower lip she looked calm, even relaxed.

  He’d been ready to pull the plug on the whole scheme—again—when she told him that fucking story. Shit. He could have said “no way, you’re not going.” But she needed this as much as he did, no matter how crazy it was.

  Rico pulled to the curb at the arrivals terminal, and the kid jumped out to retrieve her luggage from the trunk. Inside the airport, she would blend in with passengers arriving from Seattle. From there she’d take the rental company van to pick up a Jaguar. If Silva’s men did any checking, this was as far as they could go. Passenger records were strictly monitored by Homeland and even Silva wouldn’t risk broaching that security.

  “Olivia.” She removed her sunglasses and turned to him. Her eyes were different, softer. In his hesitation, she put her index finger to his lips and shook her head, an unmistakable sign that she didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. She replaced her fingertip with her mouth, giving him a soft kiss. He didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and closed her eyes. When she opened them he was startled at the change. The softness was gone. Her face told the story. No way would she be talked out of this.

  Mouse opened the passenger door. She covered her eyes with the glasses and exited gracefully from the Lincoln.

  The warning tickle in his throat made him want to haul her back, but he knew the only way to stop her was to knock her out. His jaw cramped and he moved it from side to side to relieve his tension.

  Outside, she straightened and ran her hands over her hips, smoothing out the slacks. Rico leaned across the seat to get a better view and watched Olivia give Mouse a kiss on the cheek. Her hands rose as if to hug him, but she hesitated. Instead she put a hand on the kid’s shoulder and said something he couldn’t make it out. Mouse nodded solemnly. She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, grasped the handle of her luggage and blended into the terminal crowd without looking back.

  “Get in, kid.”

  Mouse slid into Olivia’s empty seat and slammed the door. Silently, Rico moved the Lincoln into traffic and drove to where the rental company van would pick her up. Airport security was on the job. In less than five minutes he was forced to move on. Fighting terminal traffic, he came around to the arrivals gate again and didn’t see her. With no place to park, he made a second loop around. Mouse caught sight of her in one of the courtesy vans. Rico cut across two lanes, earning a few one finger salutes, and squeezed in behind the white van. At the rental office she and a man in a business suit exited the bus. The guy tried to help her with her luggage, but she shook her head and went into the office.

  Rico made a U-turn then parked halfway down the block, pointed in the direction she would drive to the hotel. Several minutes later she emerged, followed by a middle-aged man with a paunch and bad comb over. He had to quickstep to keep up with her. Rico couldn’t suppress a smile. He liked the way she walked. Long strides, confident and commanding—not that silly bouncy walk some women had.

  “Man down,” Mouse blurted.

  Rico sat up straight, snapping his head from side to side. “Where?”

  “You.” The kid pointed a bony finger at him.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, attempting to both keep an eye on Olivia and look at the kid.

  “Oh, maaan.” Mouse folded his arms and huffed. “You’ve fallen for her. Man down. Duh. You get it?”

  The kid was right.

  He started the car. He was going to get her out of this now while he could.

  “There she goes.” Mouse pointed.

  “Shit!” Rico slapped a palm against the steering wheel, watching Olivia drive off the lot in a silver Jag.

  They followed her to the small, very chic boutique hotel he’d chosen on Collins Avenue. The Obsidian Hotel was exclusive, with limited access. They employed an excellent security staff. No cameras inside, only at entry points and on the roof. Celebrities were frequent guests and they wanted their privacy protected. Each of the twenty-four rooms was a luxury suite. Olivia would be comfortable and safe. As they drove past, the doorman was helping her from the car. She didn’t even glance their way.

  Why should she? She was confident, focused. She could handle herself. She’d proven it over and over. He was trying to rescue her like he’d done the night they met. She didn’t want or need to be rescued. Mouse was right, he’d fallen for her and it was screwing up his thinking. Stretching him between his need for her and getting the job done. He had to focus. All he had to do was sit back, let her do her job and do his—wait. Problem was, he sucked at sitting back and waiting.

  Olivia felt like someone with a split personality using her newly minted IDs and credit card to check into the hotel. She’d found it easily using the rented Jag’s GPS. Hell, if she’d gotten lost all she would have had to do was stop and wait for Rico to pull alongside. The whole drive he was never more than two cars behind her.

  Expensive furniture and original paintings decorated the lobby and the hallway to her suite in the Obsidian, giving her the feeling she was a guest in a large home rather than a hotel. An attractive middle-aged Hispanic woman came to the room with her and neatly stored her clothes in the closet and drawers. Olivia set aside the package containing the disposable cells and handguns that had been waiting for her at the desk. The attendant left with a dress that needed pressing and two of Olivia’s twenties in her hand. Tipping generously was a way to be remembered and gain immediate assistance should it be necessary. Olivia opened the safe, stacking the guns, cells and jewelry inside. As per Rico’s instruction, she set the combination the same as the entry code to the garage.

  That done, she took time to examine the suite. A sitting area with a desk and a chaise positioned in front of the balcony doors. A small sofa and flat screen TV. The bed was piled high with pillows and wide enough for her to sleep sideways. The marble bathroom was absolutely decadent with a walk-in shower and an extremely large square tub. A careful examination of the tub confirmed she and Rico would fit. She found soaps, lotions and potions, soft towels and a robe.

  Stepping onto the suite’s broad balcony,
she was enveloped in the heavy perfume of tropical flowers rising from a lush interior garden where small colorful birds flitted in cages. Her third floor vantage point allowed her to clearly see the black-and-white tile design at the bottom of the pool. Yes, when this was over she would bring Rico here, her treat, and they would see how well they fit in that tub.

  The doorbell startled her. A doorbell in a hotel room was something else she would have to get used to. She admitted the attendant with her now pressed dress. In Spanish, she asked if her clothing was appropriate for the Miami club scene.

  The attendant ran a hand over the hanging clothes. “These are fine for most clubs, some others…” She shrugged. “What clubs will you go to?”

  “The Replay tonight.”

  The disapproving look told Olivia all she needed to know.

  “No offense, miss. For that club you want something better.”

  “None taken. When I packed I wasn’t sure. What do you suggest?”

  “There is a boutique connected to this hotel. You can get there from the lobby. Tell them you are going to the Replay. They’ll take care of you. Or, the concierge can order a car and driver to take you anywhere you like. A beautiful woman like you should look her best.”

  Olivia thanked her for the compliment and advice, and the woman let herself out. She really didn’t like to shop and had no desire to go all over Miami shopping for clothes. The boutique would have to do. She changed into shorts, put on a formfitting top similar to what she’d seen women in the lobby wearing and slipped into sandals.

  She had to admit the clothes in the shop were beautiful. The sales associate was a big help. Forty-seven hundred dollars’ worth of help. Olivia had the clothes sent to her suite and headed for the bar.

  “Tequila shot. Patrón Añejo,” she ordered as she dropped onto a bar stool. “Make it two.”

  The bartender raised an eyebrow. She put two twenties on the polished bar so he knew she was serious.

  A blond man sitting a few stools over held his glass up to her and flashed a “can I join you?” smile. The bartender put the shots and lime slices in front of her and palmed the twenties. She sighed and lifted a glass. Rico said to attract some attention. Make sure someone remembers your face. What the hell, might as well be this guy. She saluted him with her drink, nodded, tossed the tequila back and quickly sucked on a lime. Before she could get the lime slice out of her mouth, he was standing beside her.

  “Can I buy you another drink?” he asked in a thick German accent. He was good looking with strong features, well built and tall. Any other day she would have said yes.

  “Thank you.” She downed the second shot. Today wasn’t any other day. “But I’ve had two and that’s my limit.” His smile disappeared. “Please sit.” She patted the stool next to her. “We can talk while you have another. My name is Olivia.” She thrust her hand out to shake.

  When or if Silva’s men checked her out, a woman flirting with a good looking man would seem normal. For the better part of an hour she sipped Perrier and listened to Paul talk about his world travels, lamenting the fact he had no woman to travel along. She certainly knew why. The whole time, he never once asked about her. Why she was in Miami, where she was from. Nothing. She had hoped to practice her story on him. He was one narcissistic son-of-a-bitch and she had hardly been able to say more than hmm or nod her head. When he told her he wasn’t a guest of the hotel and had come to the bar in hopes of meeting a beautiful, wealthy woman she’d had all the attention she could handle. She stood and pulled several bills from a pocket.

  The bartender waved her off. “You’re paid up, ma’am.”

  She jerked her head toward Paul. “For the loser here. This enough?”

  The bartender gave her a wry smile and nodded.

  “Goodbye, Paul,” she said pleasantly and walked away. Glancing around, she half expected to see Rico lurking in a corner. Damn it, she missed him. She had accepted him into her life as comfortably as her body had accepted and accommodated his.

  In the suite, she found her purchases neatly hanging or in drawers. The bedside clock read five. She’d skipped lunch and was hungry. If she ate now she could sleep until it was time to go to the club. The Replay opened at eleven and Silva never arrived before midnight. She wanted to be there no later than one. Scanning the hotel’s room service menu, she was horrified to find a meal with wine and dessert plus tip would cost two hundred dollars. She ordered a fifty dollar seafood salad. No wine or dessert. A young man arrived with the tray in less than twenty minutes and set the table on the balcony.

  The salad was worth every cent. Chunks of crab, lobster, shrimp and scallops melted in her mouth. She now wished she’d ordered the carafe of Sauvignon Blanc that room service recommended. Stomach full, she stretched out on the chaise to nap. Thoughts about what was to come kept sleep at bay.

  Tonight she would come face to face with the man responsible for Danny’s death. She’d waited a long time for this. Keeping her emotions in check was not going to be easy. Rico had convinced her that killing him outright would serve no purpose but hers. Another man would step into his place before Silva’s body was cold. The most important thing was to find how the cartel was getting the information about undercovers. She wanted the person who had sold Danny out.

  Then she would kill them both.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She put the Jag in park and waited for the valet. A dark, handsome young man jogged to her door, pulled it open and welcomed her to the Replay. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she swung her legs out and stood gracefully. The valet was a good ten inches shorter and his gaze was plastered to her chest. Men. Slowly, she pulled a folded fifty from between her breasts and handed it to him.

  “Keep it close,” she said, referring to the Jag, “and there’s another one of those for you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took the bill and put it to his lips, nodding.

  Olivia had chosen a black dress to wear. The material clung to her like it had been made for her body. The front draped low on her breasts. Straps that looked more like tiny sleeves looped her broad shoulders. The back—which only began at her waistline—mimicked the drape of the front. The skirt came to her knees and flared when she turned. The clerk at the boutique had tried to talk her out of it, explaining women wore colorful short dresses to the clubs. Olivia didn’t want to look like the other women.

  Tonight Olivia wanted to stand out.

  The young woman had also suggested lingerie. When Olivia saw the cost of one silk and lace panty was seventy-five dollars she refused to look at the tags on the others. The best buy of all were the black dance shoes. They were comfortable and she wouldn’t go home crippled after dancing for hours. Silver jewelry completed the look.

  She walked to the front of the very long line, right past the gatekeeper, doing as Rico instructed. “Act like you own the place,” he’d said. She was stepping through the door before she was challenged. She turned, leaned her head to the side and gave the man a smoky look.

  “Ah, go ahead,” he said, waving his arm, gesturing for her to advance. For his generosity he was berated by several women waiting in line. Olivia blew the man a kiss and strode confidently into the club.

  Inside she fought through the mass of humanity to where Rico said Silva’s booth would be. From Rico’s description, she recognized the man instantly, but still, he wasn’t what she’d expected. Rico described him as forty-five, with dark curly hair, deep set eyes, a long hawkish nose and a strong jaw and chin, slender and always wearing expensive clothes. He exuded a presence—clearly a powerful man. He sat surrounded by three young women in what Danny always called the gunslinger seat. A position allowing him to see who came toward him and offering easy access to a back exit. In this case, through the kitchen.

  She made eye contact with Silva a second before a huge man blocked her forward progress. His massive chest filled her vision. Olivia had to look up to see his face. She stepped to her left and he made a counter step. Si
ghing dramatically, she put the tip of her right index finger on his shirt over his heart.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Silva,” she said, tipping her head in the direction of the booth. The huge man didn’t answer. He did put his hand to her shoulder, applying enough pressure to force her to take a step back.

  “Mr. Silva doesn’t see anyone without an appointment,” he growled.

  Reflexively, without thinking, Olivia grabbed the man’s thumb, twisting hard. Anyone else would have screamed in pain. He grunted, twitched his nose and gave her a menacing look. Still holding his thumb in her hand, she didn’t quite know what to do next. He apparently did.

  Using his free hand to grasp her shoulder, he propelled her toward the entrance. She quickstepped to one side and his hand slipped. No longer having her to lean against, he lost his balance, stumbling. Her arm shot out to steady him. He weighed as much as a Volkswagen. He was agile for a man his size and regained his footing quickly. She withdrew her arm. Her gaze went back to Silva, who watched the exchange.

  This wasn’t going the way she wanted. Not five minutes in and she’d already screwed up. She fought the urge to turn, run out and start again. Shit. Angry with herself, she regained her composure and took a step toward Silva. The big man didn’t stop her, in fact he moved his considerable bulk away, giving her the courage to take another step. This is it, Olivia. Act one, scene one, begins now.

  “I am Olivia De Levec.” She stuck out her hand to shake, addressing the man she knew ordered her brother’s death. “I’ll get right to the point. I’ve come here to make you a business proposition. I work for Snelling & Jones Import Company in Vancouver.” He made no attempt to rise or take her outstretched hand. She slowly returned it to her side. “I’m sure you’ve heard about our inventory problems. I’m here asking for assistance from other…import companies. You, your company, is our first choice.”

  Silva waved his hand at the big man in a dismissive gesture.

  “What makes you think we are in the same business and that I can help you?”