“Anything else?” she asked.
“Bring Finn into the loop on this,” Nathan said. “I don’t know if he's even reachable right now, but he's privy to information no one else will have.” Finn McIntyre was a Teamguy and currently working for the CIA in a role similar to Cam.
Twitch hadn’t mastered the poker face of the men in the office. She scowled.
Nathan sighed. “Look. I don’t know what went on between you and Finn, and I don’t want to know. Your personal life is your business.”
Tox signaled his agreement by holding up both hands in an I’m-staying-out-of-it gesture.
Twitch nodded.
“However,” Nathan continued, “your work life is my business. If Finn can help, you need to set aside your differences.”
Twitch swallowed thickly. “Of course, I’ll get on this right now.” She turned and hurried out. Mumbling her discontent, she ducked around Steady, who was standing in the open doorway leaning against the jamb.
“Tell him hi for me,” Steady quipped.
“What? How?” Twitch looked at him, puzzled.
“You only mumble to yourself when you have to deal with Finn.”
She turned on her heel and fled the room.
Steady directed his attention to Nathan, who had returned to his computer. “Any developments?”
Nathan tilted his head, bemused.
“Twitch filled me in when I was in her office. Actually, she was talking to herself, but I got the gist. Cam's MIA?”
Steady entered and flopped into the chair that Twitch had vacated. Nathan scrubbed a hand down his face then filled in the blanks. “It's impossible to investigate this with the layers of secrecy involved. I spoke with the DDO. She set up a meeting with Cam's former handler on Friday. Feel like taking a quick trip to DC?”
“Absolutely. Nathan, do you know what Cam was doing for the year after Sava was killed?” Steady asked.
“Only what wasn’t classified. It's pretty clear he was chasing down Sava's merchandise,” Nathan replied.
“I think he was chasing down a person, not a weapon,” Steady said.
“What gives you that impression?” Tox asked.
“You know Cam. The guy's a vault. You could pump him full of scopolamine, and you still wouldn’t get anything out of him.” Steady crossed an ankle over his knee.
Nathan nodded.
“A couple months ago, I asked him if he liked living here after his European tour.” Steady continued, “He said he loved it here, but any place was better than running around the world chasing a ghost.”
Nathan sat back in his chair and ran his hand over the journal containing the notes Cam had compiled on The Conductor. “I’ll fill you in on the flight.”
“Copy that.”
Steady and Tox stood to leave just as Nathan's cell phone trilled. Nathan shot to his feet and answered before the completion of the first ring.
“Hey, Emily. What's up?” After a moment, he eased back into his chair.
Nathan glanced up and saw Steady and Tox waiting, eager for news. Nathan shook his head in the negative and continued talking. “I don’t know if the guy at the sandwich shop can make a Reuben like Carnegie Deli, but I’ll figure it out.”
Tox jerked his head to the door, and Steady waved over his shoulder as they left.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Miramar, Mallorca
December 3
C
am's first thought when he awoke was, what the fuck did I drink last night. A small man with a jackhammer was going to town on his brain, and his mouth tasted like an old sock. The cloying scent of Stargazer lilies in the vase next to the bed was making him sick. He rolled away and nestled into the luxurious bedding, lowering his head to block out the sliver of sunlight peeking through the drapes.
He tried unsuccessfully to clear his head, his consciousness fighting a losing battle with the bed. He remembered walking into the bar in Spanish Harlem, meeting with a man. Before he could analyze the situation further, he was asleep.
An hour later, Cam opened his eyes to a glorious morning. Sun poured through open french doors, and a breeze tinged with the scent of the sea billowed the sheer curtains. He sat up fighting nausea, noting he was wearing a new plain white T-shirt and boxer briefs. His head was still in a fog as he glanced around the luxurious room with blurry eyes. It was on the main floor, and glass-paned doors led to a flagstone terrace where a table was set with a silver coffee service, a bowl of glistening sliced fruit, and a pastry tray. Beyond the patio lay a lush lawn leading to a vineyard and neat rows of orchard trees. He furrowed his brow; he could be gone from this place in an instant, but curiosity kept him rooted in the room. There were two open doors: one led to a walk-in closet at least half the main room's size and filled with men's clothing. On the opposite wall, double doors led to a marble-tiled bathroom. In his fieldwork, Cam had experienced the full lavatory spectrum; this one buried the needle. On the far side of the jetted shower and soaking tub, a retractable wall was open, and the space extended out to a Marbella stone deck and rectangular swimming pool.
Then, as if his mind had completed the fantasy, the head of a woman appeared from the water, coming up the submerged concentric steps at the near-end of the pool—head, shoulders, breasts, stomach, and mile-long legs. Gloriously nude, glistening water sluicing down her blonde hair and bronzed body, the woman walked straight toward him. She stepped into the open bathroom and plucked a sleek robe from a hook but didn’t put it on; she dragged it behind her as she continued toward him. All Cam could do was sit in the massive bed and watch.
“Hello, Miguel. It's been a long time.”
Her words had Cam jerking his eyes up from her flawless body to her bewitching face. Yes. Even through the haze, he knew that face. He had been with a lot of women over the years, and while he had felt no deep connection to this woman a year ago, a man didn’t forget Gemini March. Even if the sex had been forgettable, the pages of fashion magazines and designer ad campaigns were an ego-boosting but regrettable reminder. Her temper tantrum over the hotel's available selection of champagne at 3 a.m. certainly didn’t help. Cam was wary of the temptress before him, but Miguel Ramirez would have no such reservations. With his head still heavy on the pillow, he licked his lips.
She spoke with the confidence of a woman who had never been looked upon and found lacking. “Cat got your tongue?”
He thought about pretending not to know who she was, but his face had given him away. Instead, speaking in thickly accented English, he went with the truth.
“What the fuck is going on?”
She laughed then. “So much. Don’t worry, Miguel, it's all good.”
“Where am I? Because I know I wasn’t good enough on earth for this to be heaven.” Cam licked his lips.
She giggled. “We are not far from the place we first met. Do you remember, Miguel? Do you remember my shoes? My dress?”
Oh, he remembered.
“Because I do. I remember grabbing fistfuls of that auburn hair and licking the tattoo of the cross that I know is on your back.” Her face morphed into an affected moue. “And I remember waking up all alone.”
“Ibiza?” he guessed.
“Close. We’re about ten kilometers outside of Palma,” she replied.
“Mallorca?” Cam confirmed.
She clapped little, girly claps, the robe resting over her forearm.
Cam scanned the room again, then returned his gaze to Gemini's perfection. Had he been abducted by a supermodel? God, it sounded like the title of a bad porno. Something was going on, and he intended to find out what. “Why?” he asked.
He attempted to sit up, but dizziness overtook him.
Gemini donned the robe but didn’t tie it, then sauntered over to him. She leaned over and placed her full lips to the shell of his ear. “Because today is your lucky day.” She moved her face an inch in front of him. “When you’re up and changed, my cousin would like a word.”
Cam couldn’t
miss the sudden ice in her voice.
“Your cousin?” he repeated.
She gave a hum in confirmation. “Atlas March.”
Slowly the pieces were fitting into place, but Cam couldn’t make out the picture that was being revealed. “Atlas March is your cousin?” Now he remembered. Atlas March was the head of a mining conglomerate based in Mallorca.
He was also on the CIA's radar for some suspicious activity when he had lived and worked in Colombia.
A sultry smile touched her lips. “Mmm-hmm.”
She crossed the room and struck a seductive pose in the doorway, the open robe exposing a swath of tan, lustrous skin. “I’ll see you for lunch by the pool.” And with that promise, she was gone.
Cam flopped back on the bed and ran a hand down his face muttering a string of Spanish expletives that would have his grandmother swatting the back of his head.
He had met Gemini March just over a year ago at a club on the neighboring island of Ibiza. He foolishly had chased a lead on The Conductor and had been left high and dry waiting for an informant who had either been killed or had never existed in the first place. Just when he thought the night was a complete bust, in a hail of camera flashes, in walked Gemini March.
He didn’t know much about the cousin. Atlas March had taken over the March Conglomerate last year when the senior March, Ulysses, if Cam remembered correctly, died in a suspicious plane crash.
Maybe Cam simply didn’t want to face the fact that a spoiled, possibly unhinged princess had kidnapped him in the hope of making him her lover, but something deep in his gut told him there was more going on than the state of play indicated.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Miramar, Mallorca
December 3
B
uilt in the mid-sixteenth century for a valued advisor of King Philip II, the March family estate, Villa Marzo, sat on just over ten thousand hectares on a high plateau between Port des Canonge and Valdemossa overlooking the Balearic Sea. Over the centuries, various occupants had added and changed the original home—wings and cloistered walkways grew from the central structure like limbs. As a result, the pale stone estate sprawled amid olive and fruit orchards and grazing fields like a giant reclining in a meadow. The current occupants, the new head of the March Mining Conglomerate, Atlas March, and his cousin, Gemini, a famed fashion model, rarely spared the palatial interior a glance, so accustomed to opulence that it seemed almost mundane.
Joseph Nabeel sat at the dining table that seated thirty and watched his new boss over the edge of The Financial Times. Atlas March was picking through a fruit platter with a fork, inching undesirable slices of papaya and pineapple to the edge of the plate. Joseph returned to his newspaper.
With the senior March's untimely death, the bylaws of the privately held company clearly stated the blood relative with the largest percentage of holdings would take over as Chief Executive. That person was Atlas March. Within a week of Ulysses's funeral, Atlas had moved into the villa, redecorated the master bedroom, and taken over March Mining's Mallorca operation. After three decades, Joseph Nabeel had a new employer. That was a year ago.
In the intervening months, Atlas had been applauded by the international community for converting the mining operation from the environmental blight, brown coal, to copper. Environmentalists may have hailed the young CEO as a visionary, but Joseph was well aware the refitting of the mine served more than one purpose for the cagey young man.
Joseph had been the loyal adjutant to the company's founder, Ulysses March, for nearly thirty years. While Ulysses was no angel, he at least conducted himself with a refinement that suited his position. Atlas, on the other hand, was a spoiled upstart with little concern for the consequences of his actions.
The silence in the room was rent with an ear-splitting shout.
“You idiot!” Gemini March charged into the room, picked up the fruit platter, and dumped it into her cousin's lap.
Atlas shot to his feet. “God damnit, Gemini!” The resemblance between the cousins was obvious; they both shared the same narrow upturned nose, cerulean eyes, and blond hair. The effect, however, was quite different. The refined features gave Atlas the look of an aristocratic prig, while Gemini had a face that felled men the world over. She could have any man she wanted, but she only wanted one.
“I asked you to go pick up Miguel Ramirez. Not drug him and abduct him!” she shouted.
“You asked me to get him. I got him. What's the problem?” Atlas ran a napkin over his ruined suit.
“Well, for one thing, you’ve managed to squeeze every drop of romance from the situation. The man can barely lift his head!” She looked around for something else to throw at him.
“Relax, darling. It was just ketamine. Give him a couple of hours, and he’ll be lifting his head just fine.”
Joseph continued to observe. For the most part, Gemini hid her loathing well. She had adored her father, and he equally prized her. She didn’t give a fig about the company, but Joseph knew Gemini suspected Atlas March had had a hand in her father's death.
“All you had to do was tell him Gemini March wanted to see him.” She balled her fists at her side. At the far end of the table, Joseph braced himself. Gemini had a temper and a half, and he had a feeling she was just getting started. “A year, Atlas. I’ve been looking for him for a year! I finally track him down, and he's so out of it he can barely speak.”
Atlas wiped away the last of the fruit and retook his seat. He spoke with deceptive calm. “Let me make something clear to you, cousin. March Mining is mine. This house, which is owned by March Mining, is mine. The jets, the cars, the yachts are mine.” He refolded his napkin and set it beside his plate. “A week ago, you asked me to do you a favor. A week ago, you told me that a man you thought could be “the one” needed to be flown from the States to my home.
“But guess what, princess? Unlike most men who blindly obey your orders, I had some questions. So I looked into this Miguel Ramirez.” Atlas brought the Brunello Cucinelli leather portfolio at his feet to the table, snapped open the latch, and withdrew a file.
“Do you know who this man is? Do you know what he does?” he pressed.
“He's a businessman.” Gemini busied herself, pouring a glass of orange juice from the pitcher on the sideboard.
“He's not a fucking businessman, Gemini. Miguel Ramirez is a lieutenant for an arms dealer. Well, he was anyway. His former employer, Dario Sava, was killed last year. This is no Armani-wearing, snort-a-line-at-a-party asshole. You have brought a very dangerous man into my home.”
“Well, technically, you brought a very dangerous man into our home.” She gave him a mock toast with her drink.
“This is not a joke, Gemini. This man is a brute.” Atlas banged a fist on the file.
Her voice turned sultry. “I’m well aware.”
“Oh, for God's sake. He lit your fuse for one hot night, then vanished. I hate to burst your bubble, but that happens all the time.”
Gemini snapped, “Not to me, it doesn’t.”
Joseph continued to observe the pair, saw the moment Atlas realized he needed another way to push her buttons. Probably wise. Atlas wouldn’t get anywhere insulting her allure; Gemini knew better.
Atlas didn’t look up from the paperwork that had stolen his attention. “Maybe he should come work for me. I could use someone with his… qualifications.”
“No.” Gemini turned to face her cousin.
“Why not?” Atlas continued to flip through the pages.
“I don’t want him working in some filthy mine.” She wrinkled her nose. “I just wanted to bring him here for a getaway. For a reunion. You’ve botched my entire plan.”
“If I want him to work for me, he’ll work for me. You don’t make the decisions about my business. Are we clear?” Atlas said.
“Perfectly.” Gemini huffed her reply, but as she turned her attention to Joseph, he saw the Mona Lisa smile ghost her lips. Gemini was a master manipulator. She had w
anted Atlas to hire Miguel Ramirez, and she had not only done it, she’d made him think it was his idea.
“Joseph, good morning. I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier. I was…distracted. You know how long I’ve been looking for Miguel.” She bent down and pecked her late father's loyal assistant on the cheek.
“Well, the heart wants what it wants, I suppose.” Joseph patted her hand.
“Yes. You understand.” Gemini rested a hand on his shoulder.
“May I see the file? I’m curious about this young man of yours.” Joseph folded his newspaper and set it to the side.
“He's dark and dangerous. Atlas better not make a miner out of him. I think I would lose interest immediately.” She gave a dismissive wave to her cousin.
Atlas stood and walked the length of the table. He handed the file to Joseph but spoke to his cousin. “Not everyone who works in a mine is a miner.”
Joseph cleaned his wire-rimmed glasses with a handkerchief, replaced them on his nose, and opened the file. “Gemini, this man is a criminal.”
“I know. Isn’t it exciting?” She beamed.
Joseph eyed her over his glasses.“I feel obligated to discourage you from pursuing a relationship with him.”
“A year, Joseph. I have been looking for him for one year.”
Atlas took the chair next to Joseph and lit a cigarette. “Perhaps he didn’t want to be found.” He puffed a smoke ring across the table.
“I’m sure he didn’t want some people to find him, and I’m also sure that list does not include me,” Gemini insisted.
“How did you suddenly discover his whereabouts?” Atlas prodded. “I imagine men of his ilk are probably very good at disappearing. Or dying.”
“The planets finally aligned. Out of the blue, someone I employed to find Miguel managed to track down a former colleague who was able to get a message to him.” Gemini plucked a grape from Joseph's plate. “What can I say? It's fate.”
Atlas grunted his disbelief.
Joseph continued paging through the file. He held up a grainy color image and inhaled sharply. Miguel Ramirez was undeniably handsome with an imposing build and chiseled features, but that wasn’t what had elicited the gasp. “Those eyes,” Joseph said.
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