Buried Beneath

by Debbie Baldwin

  “Hello again, Miguel.” She plucked a strawberry from the fruit plate and made a show of taking a bite.

  Cam strode to the table, took a seat, and began filling a plate, taking mouthfuls of food directly from the platters as he loaded up. Behind him, a servant appeared with a wine bucket.

  “Champagne?” Gemini nodded to her glass, and the young man filled it with the Roederer Cristal Rosé.

  “Beer,” he commanded, mouth full.

  She stiffened but nodded to the servant, who hurried off.

  “So… I imagine you have questions.” Gemini toyed with her champagne flute.

  Cam merely shrugged. “What's to question? A job, a nice place to stay.” He met her gaze then as he cracked a lobster claw with both hands. “You.”

  She paused a strawberry at her full bottom lip. “Aren’t you wondering why you?”

  Cam extracted the claw meat and ate it in one bite. Then he sucked the juice from the pad of his thumb as he shamelessly stared at her flawless breasts beneath turquoise silk that failed to mask her pleasure at his perusal. “No.”

  She shivered at his confident reply. “That night on Ibiza was…” She searched for one word that could accurately describe their encounter. When she couldn’t find one, she settled on “unforgettable.”

  He met Gemini's gaze then, knowing exactly when to play into her hand. “Yes, it was.”

  “What were you doing in the club that night? Who were you waiting for?”

  Cam chewed thoughtfully. Then his golden eyes met hers with a predatory gaze. “You.”

  Her full lips tipped. “Right answer.”

  She plucked a mussel from the paella and fingered the morsel in the shell. Gemini March was not yet willing to cede control. “I’m eager to see if the present is as satisfying as the memory, but our reunion must be postponed.”

  The news that delayed their rekindling excited her. Cam waited, slowly chewing his food.

  “I have been selected as one of Couture Magazine's Most Beautiful People on Earth. It's a distinction I’ve wanted for three years, and it's not something one declines.” She scanned his body. “No matter how tempting the reason.”

  “They chose correctly.”

  “Thank you, Miguel. I don’t fish for compliments. They simply jump out of the water and land in my lap. But it's nice to hear your lover finds you desirable.”

  Cam met her gaze. “Desirable isn’t the word I would use.”

  Gemini flushed from her cleavage to her ears. “I leave tomorrow morning. I’ll be gone for four days. But we have tonight.”

  Cam stood and rounded the small table. Towering over her, he ran the back of one finger down her cheek. “I’m not fully recovered from the drugs, but I have many ways to bring you pleasure we have yet to explore. Tonight will be for you, querida.”

  He held his hand flat, and she slipped hers into his palm. Banishing every shred of Camilo Canto from his mind, Miguel Ramirez led her into the bedroom.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Miramar, Mallorca

  December 4

  A

  soft knock preceded the door's opening, and Cam lifted his head from the intoxicating pillow to spy a young man in black trousers and a short white jacket holding a breakfast tray.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  Cam hadn’t been asleep, but he sat up and stretched. After leaving Gemini, he had gone straight to his room, mapping out scenarios and exploring possible ways to contact his team. More than once, his thoughts had strayed to the woman he had pulled from the ocean. Everything about her rescue had been painful and unappealing, and yet, something about her—that strange mix of feistiness and compliance made his blood pound. As quickly as the images appeared, he dismissed them. More pressing issues were at hand.

  “English?” Cam questioned.

  “Sí. Yes,” the boy corrected himself. “Mr. March insists on English.”

  “Well, good morning then,” Cam said.

  “I have the breakfast, and I will clean the room while you dress.” He gestured with his head toward the bathroom.

  Cam signaled his agreement by throwing back the covers and swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. “What's your name?”

  “Tomás.”

  Cam rubbed a hand down his face. “You’re straightening the room? There are maids all over the place.”

  Tomás busied himself, setting the tray laden with fresh fruit and pastries on a table by the doors leading out to the terrace. “Miss Gemini,” he mumbled, “she doesn’t want the women in the room.”

  Cam rolled his eyes and pushed to his feet. “All right then.”

  As he reached for the bathroom doors, Tomás added, “Mr. March will be ready to leave at noon. You are to meet him in the front hall.”

  Without turning back, Cam acknowledged, “Thanks, Tomás.”

  Cam started the shower and surveyed his surroundings. The retractable wall was closed, but he could see the pool and property beyond through the large windows. At the edge of his sightline, he could just make out the trunk of a limousine, heavy with luggage. He blew out a sigh of relief.

  Gemini March was trying to master him, and her attitude strangled his arousal. For Cam, it wasn’t about dominance and submission or winning and losing. When it came to sex, he wanted a partner, not an opponent. Gemini was a competitor, and she wasn’t about to concede defeat in this war of wills. The thing she failed to realize was that Cam wasn’t even on the battlefield.

  He had been granted a four-day reprieve from her seduction. When the time came, he would play his part. Until then, he had ninety-six hours to figure out if there was more going on here than an overindulged woman in need of stud services. This was the part of the world where he had last had a lead on The Conductor. Cam didn’t have the first clue where to begin, so he’d do what he always did. Pay attention.

  Cam was dressed and ready when Atlas March sauntered into the front hall at ten past noon; another man, older and smartly dressed, was a half a pace behind. Atlas gave two firm claps and gestured to Cam. “Punctuality. Excellent, Miguel.”

  Cam remained impassive. Working for his former employer, Dario Sava, the penalty for tardiness was a beating, usually administered by him. Men were never late twice.

  “Miguel,” Atlas continued, “this is Joseph Nabeel, my second in command. You will defer to him in all matters.”

  Cam gave an abrupt nod in acknowledgment.

  Atlas thrust an index finger into the air. “To the car.”

  Cam sat up front with the driver and observed the route as they cut across the island. The trill of a cell phone in the back of the town car broke the silence. Atlas listened to the caller and replied, “Wait until I get there.”

  He ended the call and spoke to Joseph. “A woman has been poking around in the caves near the shoreline. One of the guards thinks he's spotted her little boat again.”

  Atlas sent a text, then informed the driver of the change in destination, and the car continued on.

  Their first stop was a low cliff overlooking a small cove about ten kilometers from the March villa. Another car pulled up behind them, and two mine security guards stepped out. Atlas exited the sedan, and Cam followed.

  Atlas spoke as he walked to the overlook. “Joseph, in his infinite wisdom, has this shoreline regularly patrolled. March Mining owns the mineral rights all the way to the water. We want to guard our interests but also keep people safe. There is no limit to the dangers in those caves. Ah, Franco was right. There she is.”

  The small Zodiac puttered around an outcropping of rocks and headed toward the secluded shore. The woman piloting the craft gave a tentative look around, then focused on the beachhead. Suddenly, Cam recognized the woman he had pulled from the ocean the day before. Her slight limp as she pulled the boat to shore confirmed it.

  Atlas was nearly outraged at the sight. “That woman has returned.” He raised a hand to the two guards flanking him, and both men withdrew their sidearms from their hols
ters.

  In an uncharacteristically forward move, Cam raised a hand. “Sir, allow me. It is not necessary to shoo away a fly with a cannon.”

  Seemingly pleased with his initiative and the metaphor, Atlas extended his arm to allow Cam to impress him. “By all means, Miguel.”

  Cam knew the woman would not recognize him. She had been delirious, and her dive mask had been fogged. Moreover, when he had rescued her, he had been Cam, a charming, kind-hearted good Samaritan. Now he was Miguel, a callous, menacing enforcer. A man even Cam himself didn’t recognize when he looked in the mirror.

  As he made his way down the sandy path, he knew the exact moment she spotted him. Before his very eyes, she transformed from a determined, competent professional into a naive, ditz. She spun her ponytail around the tip of her finger and turned in a slow circle as if lost.

  When his feet hit the flat of the beach, she pretended to see him then, her face forming a comically exaggerated expression of relief. She waved both arms over her head like she was signaling a plane.

  “Hello! Hello! Hola!!” She pronounced the “h” in hola. “Can you tell me how to get to Port de Sóller? I think I’m lost.” She spun around again for good measure. Cam fought the urge to laugh. Miguel, however, was not amused.

  She stopped her twirl and faced him. Her cocoa-colored eyes widened, and she took a half-step back. Cam was used to the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling across her face—dread, apprehension, fear.

  He walked over to the Zodiac and looked down, spying a professional-looking pack, a flashlight, a first-aid kit. The woman wasn’t here to sunbathe.

  Cam spun to face her. “This beach is restricted. Go. Now.”

  He watched as the eddy of emotions swirled and drained, leaving one: fear. It peeked out from behind her mask of self-assurance, but it was there.

  “Okay, okay. Jeez. You guys aren’t big on hospitality,” she mumbled.

  Cam stepped forward to match her retreat. He was a mere foot away when he explained, “Parts of the island are dangerous, chica.” He touched the placket of her blouse, and she recoiled. “Now, thank me for keeping you safe, then go.”

  “Um,” she hesitated.

  He took a half step closer until they were toe-to-toe.

  “You heard me,” he said.

  “Thank you?” she squeaked.

  “You’re welcome, mouse. Now go before a cat comes and eats you.”

  Without a word, she spun on her heel, hurried to the Zodiac, and shoved it into the water. She attempted poise, but her fear had her stumbling as she threw herself into the boat. As she piloted out of the bay, she turned back to Cam and yelled her thanks again—while flipping him the bird.

  For the second time.

  The March Mining operation was nestled deep in the Tramuntana mountains in the northern part of Mallorca. The main office was in a Mediterranean-style building on a tree-lined street in Palma. At the actual site, a renovated farmhouse served as the foreman's home base and business office. Low grass, brown for the winter, blew gently around the quaint structure. A blanket of dormant poppy fields lay in the distance. Only the stacked interlocking “M”s above the door, the March Mining logo, gave any indication this was a place of business.

  The sedan coasted to a stop in a paved parking area, and Atlas, Cam, and Joseph emerged.

  Men milled about, some eating lunch, some laughing and talking on a smoke break. Two Andalusian mares frolicked in the field, the sounds of machinery merely a distant grumble. It was… idyllic.

  Cam had a hard time imagining anything nefarious going on in this utopia. Hell, he had a hard time imagining a mining operation here. When he thought of mines, he pictured the coal mines from his high school history classes—men with dirty faces and troubling coughs pushing coal carts and riding in deathtrap elevators deep into poorly ventilated shafts. This place was a pair of animated birds away from mining paradise.

  A hundred yards behind the farmhouse office, the entrance to the mine was large and well lit. Broad stairs led into a cavernous mouth, and men filtered in and out in gray coveralls with white helmets. Off in the distance, terraced land led down to an open quarry.

  Cam was taking it all in when Atlas slapped a hand on the roof of the car and announced, “Welcome to March Mining.”

  Under normal circumstances, Miguel Ramirez would remain silent, perhaps acknowledge the declaration with a nod, but Cam sensed Atlas March's need for validation, so he spoke up. “Very good.”

  Puffing at the affirmation, Atlas continued. “Just wait, Miguel. There's more to see. Much, much more.”

  Entering the converted farmhouse, Cam was impressed with the state-of-the-art equipment. One section was set up to oversee health and safety; the mines were outfitted with security cameras, emergency tunnels, and devices to monitor oxygen and carbon dioxide levels. Another area was administrative, and another—based on the satellite imagery of shipping and trucking routes—looked like logistics.

  Atlas stopped to question something he saw on a monitor, and Joseph indicated Cam should move to another area. “Security is this way.” They moved into a large room that Cam imagined must have once been a dining room. The setup was equally impressive. Two men sat at L-shaped desks with three monitors on each.

  Joseph continued the tour. “Security cameras are located at various checkpoints in the tunnel systems. There are also emergency phones and safety boxes throughout, containing everything from first aid kits to fire extinguishers. If a box is opened, a notification comes here, and the foreman dispatches security to investigate.”

  Cam listened along. Joseph gave him a probing look. “I don’t imagine you have any experience with this sort of thing.”

  “I do,” Cam countered. “Señor Sava's compound was well-guarded. I handled security when it was required.”

  “I see.” Joseph nodded, impressed. “I get the feeling many of your talents have yet to be revealed.”

  Before Cam could contemplate the comment, Atlas joined them. “Ready to tour the mines?”

  “Yes,” Cam replied.

  Atlas led them into the mouth of the mine, and again Cam marveled at the clean, bright space. As if reading his thoughts, Atlas remarked. “It gets a bit more claustrophobic the farther we go. Some of the tunnels are quite narrow.”

  They stepped into an elevator just slightly smaller than a standard building elevator and descended. “You can walk this way as well; the tunnels lower in elevation as they move away from the mountains. The elevator is just faster.” Atlas commented.

  Cam carefully mapped the maze they walked as Atlas and Joseph pointed out oxygen saturation devices and security cameras as well as the safety boxes and emergency phones Joseph had mentioned earlier. Atlas spoke with pride about ore extraction and new methods of transport. Cam couldn’t muster the enthusiasm Atlas seemed to expect, but he rationalized that Miguel Ramirez was nothing if not inscrutable. Finally, they rounded a corner and arrived back at the elevator.

  “Here we are.” Atlas dusted off his hands. “So, Señor Ramirez, have I impressed you?”

  “More than impressed,” Cam replied.

  “Excellent. Let's head back to the villa for a late lunch.” Atlas clapped him on the back and walked into the elevator car, Joseph falling in step.

  “Sir,” Cam halted the men, holding the door open with one hand. “If it's all right with you, I’d like to stay and observe, maybe look around a bit.”

  Atlas grinned, “Of course, of course. Take all the time you need. Keep track of where you are; I don’t want to discover you lost and starved in a week. To the left, toward the shore, are currently unused tunnels and storage. Keep to the right, and you’ll see a lot of work.”

  Cam stood stoic as the elevator door slid closed and, like the smoke from a magician's flash paper, all that remained of Atlas March's presence was a cloud of expensive cologne.

  Cam turned and headed left. Something he had seen on the tour had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He wo
und through empty shafts, passing a break room and a storage room that was actually a cave. They must have broken through into a cave system while excavating the mine. A few yards past the storage area, a tunnel was chained off. A sign hung from the middle:

  No Entrar. Perill.

  Do Not Enter. Danger.

  Cam wouldn’t have looked twice, but for the man he had seen look around carefully, then duck under the chain and disappear. Shielded by the break room door, their group had gone unnoticed by the man, but Cam had noticed him. Stepping over the barricade, Cam wandered through the empty tunnels until he came to a locked steel door, a digital keypad on the wall.

  Turning back, he filed the information away, made note to keep an eye on that area, and continued exploring the mine. Hopefully, there were no more surprises.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sa Calobra, Mallorca

  December 5

  E

  van had waited, bobbing in the bay behind an outcropping of rocks. When the men drove away and the guard who had reported her left to patrol another section of the shoreline, she stashed the Zodiac, grabbed her gear, and disappeared into the caves.

  She would have thought familiarity with the confining space would have eased her irrational anxiety. Turns out, not the case. Knowing a pitch-black stalactite cage lurked at the end of her path did little to soothe. Nevertheless, determined, she crawled through the last opening, yanking her canvas supply duffle behind her. Skirting a puddle, Evan settled next to what she had surmised was a small sealed ingress marked by one of the low stone stacks.

  She tackled the marker first, a miniature snowman of limestone rocks melded by water and time. Separating the small middle piece from the base, Evan once again discovered two gold chain links. They could have been part of a substantial necklace or a chain from a lock. She carefully marked and bagged the pieces. Next, she addressed the closed hole in the cave wall. After taking photographs and measurements, Evan withdrew a small geological hammer from the duffle and gave the surface an experimental tap. She brushed away the detritus, checking for more chain links or other concealed objects, and continued.