by Tara Janzen
Was it possible that he’d gotten lucky, while she’d tanked? If so, why come to see her?
No, she decided. If he’d gotten the Sphinx, he wouldn’t be here-that’s what the smart money said.
And if she’d gotten it, she’d be on her way out, too, one way or the other. So the question became-
“Señora?”
No question at all, she decided. If Killian had dragged his butt all the way out to the Gran Chaco to see her after seeing Beranger, she wanted to know why.
She checked her watch. She had at least ten minutes before he would get through the mandatory vehicle search. Explosives-that’s what the armed guards were looking for, which said plenty about Ciudad del Este.
“Yes, Rodrigo,” she said. “Have the guards pass him through, and call me when he arrives at the lobby.”
“Sí, señora.”
She ended the call and dialed another number. When the phone was answered, she keyed in a code and waited until General Grant’s machine picked up.
“Hi, Buck. This is Suzi. The party was a disaster. We got raided by the police. No confirmation on the item. Others in attendance were Levi Asher and Esteban Ponce, both of whom were on the guest list you gave me, so the intel is good. The guy who wasn’t on the list used to be one of yours, in a manner of speaking, Daniel Axel Killian. Check that out for me, will you? What’s Dax Killian doing here? I’ll call when I have more.”
She hung up the phone and headed into the bathroom, her mission clear-get rid of Jimmy Ruiz and his fake Sphinx, but keep him dangling, in case it turned out she needed him for something, like to help her set up a meeting with Esteban Ponce. She could find Levi Asher on her own. He was never more than a couple of phone calls away. Ponce, on the other hand, could easily be holed up at some local hacienda or estancia, or at someone’s big house near the country club.
In the bathroom, she quickly stripped out of her ruined suit and slipped into a pair of olive green cargo pants and a white T-shirt with her shoulder holster fitted snugly over the top. She finished the outfit with a black camp shirt printed with white and yellow orchids to conceal and camouflage the pistol and holster rig. The RFID scanner went into a pocket on her pants, along with her phone, some cash, and her identification. A few other necessities came out of her purse and went into a canvas fanny pack she buckled around her waist. Then she pulled a pair of low-heeled, brown leather boots out of the satchel.
With her boots tied, she was ready to face whatever the night brought on, including Dax Killian, she hoped.
Dinner in Denver?
And in the middle of a top secret mission she’d said yes? Good Lord, she didn’t know what in the world either of them had been thinking, or at least she wasn’t about to admit to anything, not even the obvious, not here.
A couple minutes later, when she opened the doors from the bedroom to the living room, ready to shoo Jimmy Ruiz out of her suite, she realized she’d been wrong about the night ahead, dead wrong-and Jimmy had not been fast enough.
He’d been shot, over and over again.
There was blood everywhere.
She clenched the doorknob, her knuckles white, her pulse suddenly pounding, her gaze riveted to the body on the floor for a long, endless, gut-wrenching moment before her brain and her training kicked in.
Geezus. Sweet geezus. She took a breath and drew her pistol, and began clearing the suite, just like Superman had taught her, starting with the bar area and moving to the patio. Coming back through the living room, she avoided looking at Jimmy and walked to the main door. It had been left open, and she quickly checked the veranda overlooking the lobby. It was empty. Whoever had killed Ruiz was gone.
They’d also stolen the Sphinx.
Geezus. She looked back toward the body and felt her breath catch in her throat, felt her chest tighten. Jimmy Ruiz had been killed for a hunk of plaster, shot multiple times in the torso-and the whole game had changed.
She started to close the door, then stopped with it still partway open. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t close herself in a room with a massacred body lying in a pool of blood. Not even Christian Hawkins, Superman, could teach her how to do that.
Good God. A wave of heat rose in her face, and she felt an edge of panic skitter across the base of her brain. Sweat broke out on her upper lip.
She took a breath, then another.
Jimmy Ruiz.
Dead. He was so still, so torn up, lying there with his blood and his insides spilling out of him, his blank eyes staring off into nothing.
He had a gun, and he’d drawn it, but he hadn’t used it. The.45 lying next to him on the floor didn’t have a silencer, and if he’d gotten a shot off, she would have heard it, even in the bathroom behind two sets of closed doors. The deed had been fast and effective, and she hadn’t heard a damn thing, no struggle, no cry for help, no shots, which meant that whoever had killed him had been using a suppressed weapon, and to her that meant one thing-professional killer, somebody who killed as part of their job or for hire, a gangster or somebody’s thug, which was just about everyone in the whole goddamn country.
She honest to God didn’t think it had been Dax Killian, and yet… and yet she knew he was more than capable of killing as brutally as necessary. He’d been trained for violence of a very high order. He was one of the world’s warriors, the one in a hundred who ruled in combat, the one in a hundred who did what had to be done-dispassionately, professionally.
But this wasn’t combat.
At least it hadn’t been until now.
So help me…so help me, God. Her gun hand started to shake, and her breath grew shorter, and she stood there, second after second, frozen in place, looking at Jimmy, at what was left of him.
It had been a long time since she’d seen a dead body, but not long enough. It would never be long enough.
Oh, Christ, please. She couldn’t do this.
A sob left her, and she clamped her mouth shut, holding everything inside. She couldn’t afford to fall apart, not here, not now.
A fake Memphis Sphinx.
Somebody was going to be very unhappy when they looked at the bottom of the statue and figured out they’d gotten exactly nothing for their trouble, and that very unhappy person might just decide to come back.
With the realization came a fresh wash of fear, born in panic and running like a streak of wildfire down her spine, all of it leading to one undeniable conclusion: She needed to get the hell out of the Gran Chaco.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dax saw the bad news the minute he pulled into the parking lot of the Gran Chaco-Esteban Ponce’s Range Rover parked in front of the hotel’s grand entrance with one of his boys standing guard.
Fuck. This was a party, and he most definitely should not have been late. Goddamn.
He braked to a stop and pulled the Jeep into first gear. Jimmy Ruiz’s Land Cruiser was sitting a few rows over, and he bet that guy wasn’t too damn happy to have Ponce show up at his afternoon soiree.
Guaranteed, nobody was going to be happy to see him either. There was nothing like bad odds and a dead body to put him into Don’t Fuck with Me mode, and while the Frenchman was going cold on the floor of his shop, Ruiz and Suzi’s odds at the Gran Chaco had laid out at two to one against.
He crossed the lot and the hotel’s drive, entered the lobby, and headed straight to the front desk.
Halfway there, he changed his mind and his direction, heading instead toward Esteban Ponce. The guy was crossing the lobby in his white sports coat and red silk shirt, with one of his bodyguards and one of the cops from the gallery, complete with carbine. To top the bad scene off, Esteban had Beranger’s damn messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
Sonuvabitch. The Sphinx. Somehow, some way, he was getting played on this deal every which way from Sunday, and just who in the hell was Suzi Toussi really working for here? The bulge in the bag was the right size, the right shape, and Esteban had the world’s most satisfied expression on his face, the asshole,
but Dax was just going to have to let it go.
Because everything that had happened this afternoon had happened way too damn fast to suit him, and he had this little problem. This little doubt eating at him, chewing him up in chunks and spitting him out with the last of his common sense and every step he took, and that little problem was all legs, slinky curves, and auburn hair, tearing him up and whispering her name in his ear-Suzanna Royale Toussi.
Truth was, he didn’t give a damn who she was working for in Ciudad del Este, a state of affairs he was not going to be analyzing anytime soon. She hadn’t gotten out of the middle of this thing, not by a long shot, and he needed to make that happen ASAP. Yeah, that was the smart move, go find the girl, the Sphinx be damned. Sweat out the deal for two years, bust his ass for four months, and then just walk on by and let the damn thing take a hike out the door.
Hell. It wouldn’t get far. Dax swore it.
But Suzi, dammit, if the Memphis Sphinx was heading one way, and she was heading the other, then chances were that things had not gone her way, and in Ciudad del Este that was a damn good way to get killed.
Another Ponce boy was standing on the wide, curving staircase that led up to the second floor. The guy was talking on his phone, but his attention was on his boss, and as soon as he closed his phone, he hurried the rest of the way down the stairs and caught up to the group.
Second floor, Dax thought, without slowing his stride, his gaze raking the veranda, looking for something… anything. The Gran Chaco had a glass elevator servicing the other seven floors of the hotel, but the courtyard stairs ended at the second-floor veranda. There were only five room doors on that level, on the side opposite the restaurant, and the door in the middle was ajar, which gave Dax a very cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Panic was against his nature, so he didn’t know what the fuck to call that cold feeling, but it definitely kicked his alert system up to code red.
He kept moving across the courtyard, passing by Ponce and crew and giving them a casual glance, before he headed up the stairs. When he turned to walk down the veranda, he checked the Brazilians’ location. They were heading toward the hotel entrance, their intent clear, and the best Dax could hope for was that they would leave with the prize. He could pick those pieces up later, including the statue and every single one of the bastards if he needed them. He had a license plate and photographs in his computer, and even in the short time that he’d been in his room at the Posada with Suzi, a couple of names had come up on his screen, matching up with the photos, and he’d sent it all to Colonel Hanson, the same way he would those scraps of paper and the lading document.
No, the Brazilians wouldn’t be hard to track, no matter how fast or how far they went with the Memphis Sphinx, but what he needed right now, right here, was to get his hands on little Miss Suzi Q-literally hands on, physical contact, under his control, and most importantly, under his protection.
This was not mission protocol, and he didn’t give a damn.
At the open door, he walked straight in, drawing his pistol as he entered, his strides long, his weapon up, his gaze cataloguing everything in the suite, searching for targets-clearing, moving-searching for Suzi.
Jimmy Ruiz dead.
Multiple shots to the chest and abdomen.
Dax kept moving, out of the living area, into the bedroom.
Bed a little rumpled, but still made.
Closet door open. Closet empty.
He didn’t hit pay dirt until the bathroom.
Peep-toe pumps drying on a towel.
Her suit lying on the vanity next to a brown leather satchel. Makeup, toothpaste, hairbrush.
But no Suzi.
He kept moving, straight through the bedroom to the French doors leading to the outside. On the patio, he stopped, his gaze quartering the gardens and pool area below. The pool was a gem, like an opal sparkling in the sunlight, set down in a jungle of green-and walking quickly through the jungle, following the path paralleling the pool deck, was the gazelle he was hunting.
The relief he felt was damn near overwhelming.
Geezus.
He cleared the stairs and took out after her. She was almost to the bougainvillea-covered wall separating the gardens from the parking lot. Ponce and his boys would be hitting that lot any time now, and whatever had happened in the hotel room, he didn’t think it was a good idea for her to cross Ponce’s path-unless she really was in cahoots with the Brazilian and not here working for the congressman.
Sure. Splitting up and everybody going their own way after the commission of a crime, especially one as heinous as cold-blooded murder, was always a good idea.
Shit.
He hated being so goddamned clueless.
She stopped for a moment at an ironwork gate in the wall and pulled a ball cap out of a fanny pack clipped around her waist. Her hair went up under the ball cap with a quick twist, and then she was gone. With one step, she passed through the gate and disappeared from view.
Goddammit.
He sped up, pushing himself harder, and ran through the gate in time to see her slip into the driver’s side seat of Jimmy Ruiz’s Land Cruiser, and he kept running, not stopping for a second.
Gazelle had been an understatement. She was moving with all the precision and efficiency of a cheetah, smooth and sleek, the fastest land animal on earth-but not faster than him.
With his heart pumping up into overdrive, and his adrenaline hitting on fight and flight, he came abreast of the Cruiser just as she started to pull out of the parking spot. He slammed his open palm down on the hood of the SUV, giving her only two choices, gas or brake, and brake won.
He didn’t second-guess his luck, and he didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. He jerked open the passenger door, jumped in, slammed the door shut, and gave a quick glance back behind him. Ponce and crew were just exiting the hotel.
Perfect. There were half a dozen Land Cruisers in the parking lot, and no reason to be noticing this one.
He turned to face her, and her moment of open-mouthed shock wore off the instant she realized who he was-not that recognizing him seemed to improve the situation. She did not look happy to see him.
Tough.
“Y-you-y-you…” She stopped cold and pressed her lips together, as if that could stop her trembling.
And the girl was trembling, one hand over her heart, the other clenching the steering wheel.
“Geezus, Dax,” she started in again. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Well, he was on familiar ground now-a beautiful, angry woman swearing at him.
“Hi,” he said, picking up the closest water bottle in the console cup holders. “This yours?”
She tightened her hand on the steering wheel and swallowed a hard breath before answering.
“Yes,” she said, still a little breathless, still obviously dealing with a pulse that must have red-lined at a hundred miles an hour.
“Good,” he said, unscrewing the lid on the bottle, looking her over a little more carefully-and then he grinned. “Practice will improve your draw.”
“No doubt.” She lowered her hand from her chest, where she’d been going for the pistol in her shoulder holster, not, as he’d first thought, simply holding her heart in her chest. Another split second of speed, and she could have gotten the drop on him.
“Put the car in park,” he said. “Sit back, relax.”
“Park?” She didn’t sound like she thought that was a very good idea. “I’m not… p-parking. I’m leaving.”
“Oh, no.” He reached over and held the wheel. “Not yet, sweetheart. Give it a minute, let the dust clear, then we’ll go.”
Her “you’re crazy” expression didn’t change, not an iota, but after a moment and a short, exasperated sigh, she put the car in park.
“Thank you,” he said.
Geezus. There was nothing like running in ninety-nine percent humidity at a hundred degrees to make a guy feel like somebody’s old beach towel
-and she didn’t look much better, with tendrils of hair curling out from under her ball cap and clinging to her cheeks and brow, her pale skin flushed with the heat, even with the air-conditioning blasting away.
Glancing in the side rearview mirror, he lifted the edge of his shirt and used it to wipe off his face. The Brazilians were getting in the Range Rover.
“When Ponce and his guys pull out, we’ll switch places. I’ll take over the driving.”
He saw her look past him, through the passenger side window, toward the entrance where the Range Rover was parked. She would recognize it from the gallery. It was unmistakable with all its bristling antennas, like the guy was the second coming or something.
“Ponce.” The name fell from her lips, her face paling even more. She looked plenty scared, despite the pistol and her willingness to draw it, and he couldn’t blame her for that. People were dropping like flies on this deal. “D-did you…were you-you must have seen…have-”
He took a quick drink of water and lowered the bottle.
“Yeah, I did,” he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Were you hurt?”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and shook her head, like she was trying not to see whatever image had popped up-and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what that had been. Ruiz had been a mess.
“So how did it go down in there? Ruiz brings you the Sphinx. Ponce crashes the party, kills Ruiz, steals the Sphinx, and you…what? Magically get away?”
“N-no,” she said. “I was in the other room, taking a phone call. When I came out, Ruiz was dead, and… and the Sphinx was gone.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” And he was. Terminal ballistics were kind of a specialty of his, of any soldier’s, and they were never anything less than gruesome in action.