by Kylie Brant
“I have. It is there for you, on top of the desk.” De la Reyes raised his own glass and drank deeply as he turned to face them. Lowering the glass, he added, “It includes every person in my government, along with their position. I do not like to suspect any of the names on it.” He gave them a grim smile. “Only one of them learned the date of my arrival from me.”
Cael crossed to the desk and picked up the paper, scanning it quickly before lifting his gaze to meet the other man’s. “The men you had in the States with you…I collected their cell phones prior to them boarding. It would have been nearly impossible for them to communicate our plans prior to boarding the plane.”
“So that means Rafael Gonzalez has betrayed me?” De la Reyes dropped heavily into an ornately carved chair that looked to be centuries old. “He has been with me since before I won the presidency. I would have trusted him with my life. I have done so, on countless occasions.”
Lifting a shoulder, Cael said, “We have to take precautions. I’ll want to interrogate him, of course. We’ve already got him placed under house arrest. He’ll be detained until we can be certain.”
Antonio’s head jerked up, the hopeful expression on his face impossible to miss. “You think he could be innocent? How can that be?”
“The pilot had to file a flight plan. It could be someone in the airport. Hell, someone in the tower might have been paid to tip off your enemies whenever your flight plan was received.”
“Then we still have no way to be certain who has been disloyal, or whom they alerted. I do not see that we are any further ahead then we were in Metro City.”
Cael gave a feral smile. “Leave it to me. Our investigation is already under way. I’ll need access to the bank accounts of every name on that paper you compiled for me, as soon as possible.”
De la Reyes nodded. “You shall have it. I’ll make the calls first thing in the morning.”
“Then I’ll have some answers for you in a matter of days.”
Antonio raised his glass in a silent salute. “I will wish you luck, then, Mr. McCabe, since your success may mean my survival.”
* * *
Sibbits drew duty outside de la Reyes’s quarters that night, so the rest of the crew gathered in a conference room on the first floor of the palace. While Benton and Cael swept it for electronic bugs, Ava mentally calculated the last time she’d gotten a full night’s sleep. Since the answer was too dismal to contemplate, she dismissed it. It didn’t appear to be changing any time in the near future.
Finally, everyone settled into a chair around the table. She was reminded of the briefing that had taken place after the shooting…was it only two days ago? Two and a half?
Cael made introductions. “Mike Reynolds and Luis Perez have made some inroads since they got here two days ago. I’ll let them bring you up to date.”
Ava turned her attention to the two men he indicated, the ones who’d had the vehicles and weapons waiting for them at the airport.
Both were swarthy and dark complexioned, although Reynolds was taller and leaner than the stocky Perez. She knew instinctively that McCabe had chosen them for their ability to blend in with the San Baltes residents. If they were fluent in Spanish, they wouldn’t raise suspicion mingling in the markets and cantinas ferreting out information.
Reynolds lost no time. “De la Reyes is highly unpopular with some factions.” He stood, handing out thick files to each of them. “Especially by those who support the deposed dictator, Alberto Martinez. But we don’t think Martinez is the threat. For one thing, he’s been in exile in Brazil for three years. His supporters don’t look good for the assassination attempt. We couldn’t find any indication that they have the organization to move in once de la Reyes is out of the way.”
He stopped, and Perez took over. “It’s more likely that the attempt was financed by this man.” He held up a picture. “Enrico Ramirez. He’s the leader of a very powerful drug cartel that operated out of San Baltes for two decades, apparently with Martinez’s knowledge and approval. Like most of the drug lords in the South American countries, he runs his drugs down the river systems in the jungle. De la Reyes has been cracking down on criminal elements in the country, and although he hasn’t managed to catch Ramirez, his efforts have seriously curtailed the man’s activities, and profits. He’s had forensic accountants secretly going through the banks’ records for months, hoping to find those Ramirez is funneling his money through.”
Ava studied the man in the picture. Plump and avuncular, he looked more like a favorite uncle than a ruthless drug dealer.
“Ramirez went into hiding two years ago, but it’s believed that he’s financing the rebel contingent that has been causing such unrest in the country for the last eighteen months.”
“He’s using them to get rid of de la Reyes so he can go back to business as usual,” Cael surmised aloud. “Does he want Martinez back in control?”
“We don’t think so.” Reynolds spoke for the two of them. “Apparently Martinez got too greedy. It’s more likely that Ramirez will just install a puppet president that will do his bidding while he gets his drug trade moving freely again.”
“So if this attempt wasn’t politically motivated,” Ava said, “that means Cabrerra’s betrayal was bought and paid for by Ramirez. That doesn’t help us protect de la Reyes, but it might make it easier to determine if anyone else in his government is prepared to turn on him.”
Cael nodded. “We follow the money. Did anything come up on the rest of de la Reyes’s security contingent he brought with him to the States?”
Perez shook his head. “No. But that doesn’t mean they’re in the clear yet.”
“Follow up on them, then. Also the pilot of the presidential jet.” Cael gave them the man’s name and Reynolds jotted it down. “Find out who was working the control tower today. Any one of them could have accessed the flight plan and alerted a third party.”
Sibbits spoke up. “Did you get any information from the occupants in the Jeep today?”
McCabe shook his head grimly. “Ava took out the driver and Perez got the passenger in the front seat. The two in the back were trapped inside the vehicle. Identification of the bodies will be difficult.”
Remembering the flames that had engulfed the Jeep, Ava felt a quick shudder. It would have been a grisly death. But she wasn’t going to waste sympathy on the unknown assailants. Not when she knew their intent.
“De la Reyes will elicit the cooperation of the banks in the country. A little forensic accounting will tell us if anyone working in his government is sitting on some unexplained piles of cash. That will help us eliminate people quickly.”
He slid a gaze around the table. “Sibbits, Carter and Benton will take turns protecting de la Reyes, in eight-hour shifts. You’ll be backed up by his guard detail, but don’t trust any of them until they’ve been cleared. When you’re not on duty, you’ll be at my side assisting in the investigation. De la Reyes will be changing his schedule of public appearances and conducting business out of the palace until further notice.
“Reynolds and Perez will follow up on the pilot and the airport tower personnel. Stay on top of the local police. We need IDs on the occupants in that Jeep.”
“There’s one more thing.”
All eyes turned to Reynolds. “Perez and I have both heard talk about the rebels’ jungle camp. I think if enough money changed hands, we might be able to get its location.”
Cael thought for a moment. “How reliable is this information?”
The two operatives looked at each other. “We both heard the same rumors,” Reynolds said. “The guy who claims he’s been there…” The man lifted one shoulder. “I’d make sure he showed me sort of proof before I gave him any cash.”
“How much?”
He named a price that seemed ridiculously low to Ava. But, she reminded herself, she was in a country with a per capita income of three thousand American dollars a year. Where allegiance could be bought if pockets were dee
p enough.
And where lives could be snuffed out for the price of a week’s groceries.
“If you can verify the location and the function of the camp, go for it. These places tend to be portable, though. Find out if he knows other sites they’ve maintained.” Seemingly finished, Cael looked at each of them in turn. “I don’t have to remind you to be careful. Our mission is to keep de la Reyes alive long enough to find out who he can trust. After that he can better protect himself. But if we can point him in Ramirez’s direction before we leave…” He gave a ruthless smile. “That will be gravy. Maybe he’ll be able to clean up the country for good.”
* * *
Cael had insisted on accompanying Ava to her room. And after her initial protest—one that had done very little good—she gave in. She still hadn’t gotten her bearings. The place looked more like an estate than a palace, but the interior was certainly lavish enough to qualify as palatial.
“We’re on the second floor, in the back of the building,” he told her. She heard weariness in his voice, although there were no visible signs of it. His shoulders were still straight, his gaze alert as he assessed their surroundings. “Our quarters are directly above the kitchen area.”
“Where are we located from the president’s quarters?”
“He has the entire floor above us. Not ideal, but at least we don’t have to fear infiltration through the windows. If someone wants to get to him at night, they’d have to get through several layers of security.”
“Security that we can’t trust,” she reminded him. The precariousness of their situation was disquieting. If Cabrerra had been acting alone, de la Reyes was as safe in his palace as he could be anywhere. But if his superior was involved…“If Gonzalez turns out to be dirty, the entire presidential guard is suspect.” And if the drug dealer Ramirez had gotten to two individuals so close to the San Baltes president, it was a wonder de la Reyes had survived this long.
She made a mental note to mention the drug dealer’s name to Samuelson when she returned. If Ramirez was intent in keeping the region unstable, he might not be above financing terrorists acts toward that end. Not for the first time, she wondered how much the DHS agent already knew. He hadn’t told her all the details in his possession. She could figure that much.
“We assume nothing,” Cael agreed. He stopped before a door and reached to open it for her. “But I thought the attempt today by the men in the Jeep was encouraging.”
Ignoring the opulent bedroom before her, she stared hard at him. “Encouraging. The way an earthquake is encouraging? A train wreck?”
He didn’t smile, but his face lightened a fraction. Leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, he folded his arms. “Poor choice of words, maybe. But the fact that another attempt was made before de la Reyes made it to the palace makes me think this place isn’t seen as vulnerable. Either Ramirez doesn’t have anyone else with easy access to de la Reyes, or the president’s security makes an attempt here seem high risk. Either would be good news for us. Even if Gonzalez is involved, perhaps Cabrerra was his only accomplice.”
Although she didn’t share his optimism, she didn’t contradict him. “I’m assuming you’ve taken precautions with the guard personnel since we haven’t cleared any of them yet.”
He stifled a yawn. The gesture made him seem a bit more human. Up until now, she’d been half convinced the man was part machine. “Gonzalez is bound and confined to quarters. One of us will have to be posted outside until the evidence condemns or clears him. We’ve got nationals at every entrance of the palace, stationed three deep every twelve feet. If someone got past the outer perimeter of security, he’d have to get past a slug of armed guards. The chances are minimal that every one of the guards stationed at a given entrance is corrupt. I feel good about our security for the short term.”
She looked at him with renewed respect. “You’ve had some experience with this sort of thing.”
Cael crossed one booted foot over the other. “Five years.”
“And before that.” She didn’t know what made her continue to press. “Navy SEALs or Marine Recon?” There was a flicker in his eyes, his only reaction. “Could be Rangers, I suppose, although you don’t strike me as the army type.”
“Thank God for that,” he said feelingly. “I was navy for twelve years. A SEAL for ten.”
She nodded, ridiculously pleased that she’d guessed correctly. His training showed. And he looked far more at home in the black khakis and matching polo shirt he wore than he had in the suit he’d worn in Metro City. He’d look even more natural in combat fatigues, face smeared with camo paint. There were some men who never lost the edge acquired in active duty. On Cael McCabe, she had a feeling that edge went bone deep.
When his look turned appraising she had to suppress the urge to fidget like a schoolgirl. “So my background’s an open book. You’re more difficult to read. You didn’t acquire your marksmanship in the military.”
Wariness reared, an innate defense whenever conversation turned personal. “No.” Moments passed and it was apparent that her answer hadn’t appeased his curiosity appreciably. So she gave him a carefully edited form of the truth. “I learned from my dad. He had me shooting by the time I was six. Competing at ten.” Her skill had been the only thing that had ever won his approval. An approval that had been just as quickly withdrawn a few years later. Forever.
“Let me guess.” A corner of his mouth curled. “He wanted a son.”
There was a kick in her chest at the accuracy of his words. Funny how even a sliver of the truth could still sting, after all these years. She hadn’t seen her father since before Alex was born, at his insistence. It was shaming to recall how long it had taken her to realize that was for the best.
“He wanted someone other than me.” The note of finality in her tone was meant to close the subject. She’d already shared far more than she had with most people. The past could only trip her up. Slow her down. She lived her life in the present. Alex. Her job. Her friends. Most of the time—almost always—it was enough.
His half smile faded. “Yeah.” There was a note of something unidentifiable in his tone. “I have a father like that myself.” Now he was the one who seemed eager to change the subject. Pushing away from the doorjamb, he half turned to view her bedroom through the open doorway and stilled. Wondering at his reaction, she peered around his shoulder, scanned the room again.
It was unmistakably a woman’s space. The marble floors were smudged with light rose, the walls blushed with the same color. The drapes had been pulled away from the windows so the sheers moved lazily in the air stirred by a trio of overhead fans. The furniture was feminine and fussy, with lots of dark wood and carving, all balanced on delicate legs.
There were more sheers surrounding the enormous four-poster bed. And once her attention turned to it, she, too, stared, nonplussed.
It was more like a lake than a bed, far larger than any standard size. It was covered in shimmering silk the color of the pale turquoise waters that edged the San Baltes shores. There were throw pillows the size of couch cushions arranged invitingly along its headboard. Gilted mirrors lined the ceiling above the bed, faithfully reflecting the surface beneath. Her bag sat on the rug beside the bed, looking utilitarian and out of place.
It was a room meant for a woman, but one used for entertaining a man. Ava wondered for the first time at the age of the building, and the occupants the room had been meant to house. It looked like the place the earlier dictator would have stashed his mistress, while he slept overhead with his wife and children. She turned to say as much to Cael, but found his gaze on her, alight with intensity. And the words slid down her throat, unuttered.
She’d seen his expression shrewd. Grim. But she’d never seen arousal there, though it was instantly recognizable now. The skin pulled tightly across his cheekbones and his mouth looked fuller somehow. More sensual. And the glint in his pale green eyes was predatory and intimate at once.
A silent moment
stretched, a thrumming beat filled with a single unspoken thought. Images swarmed her mind, sexual and stimulating. Of bodies pressed against each other on the silk, limbs entwined, the reflection of flesh on flesh replicating the sensual scene. A visual echo of every touch. Each stroke and kiss. Enveloping the couple on the bed in a cocoon of intimacy.
She saw his gaze go past her, linger on that bed for a long instant before returning to her. She read his intent in his eyes. The slow descent of his mouth toward hers gave her plenty of time to move away. To say something to break the moment.
She did neither. Instead she closed that last small space between their lips and tasted him.
His hand snaked out to cup her nape, to urge her closer while his mouth twisted over hers. There was nothing tentative about his kiss. It was bold and compelling, much like the man himself. His tongue pressed her lips apart and swept into her mouth as if staking a claim. She pressed a bit closer and answered his unspoken demand with one of her own.
Her job often called for subterfuge. Hiding her past certainly did. Which was why she tried to be frankly honest in the rest of her life. So she didn’t try to hide the heat that balled in the pit of her belly, rocketing through her system with tiny spirals of fire. She savored his flavor, rife with sexual promise. Even as she knew she’d never allow that promise to come to fruition.
His taste was darkly sensual, and it was all too easy to imagine the two of them moving just a few more yards to the bed a slight distance away, silent and beckoning. To unleash the desire sprinting through her veins and ride the passion until they were both spent and weak.
Just the glimmer of the idea was terrifying. Especially with this man. Under these circumstances. She was shocked at the totally inappropriateness of her reaction. She hadn’t allowed her hormones to rule her common sense in over fifteen years. And there was too much at stake to do so now.
But there was a tiny part of her that was elated at the evidence that her sexuality wasn’t dead after all. Just buried and dormant. And apparently just waiting to spring forth at the least suitable moment.