The fork stopped halfway to Turner's mouth. “Cam told you about The Conductor?” He pinched his eyes closed. Steady suspected he was scolding himself for using Cam's real name.
“He did,” Nathan confirmed. “And you know our clearance.”
Turner resumed eating and spoke as if he were chatting about the weather. “The Conductor is a theory, a suspicion that there is a force that controls all illegal global shipping in the world. Everything. Exotic animals, conflict diamonds, chemical weapons, you name it.” He mopped up the sauce on his plate with a dinner roll.
“And The Agency thinks it's one man?” Nathan asked.
“The Agency thinks it's a myth. An all-powerful man with a contraband toll booth who neither steals nor manufactures, doesn’t buy or sell. He simply ensures safe passage. It's quite the niche career. If The Conductor did exist, he’d be busier than a moth in a mitten. We’re talking hundreds of billions of dollars of contraband annually.”
Steady gave a low whistle. “Damn.”
“Makes the biggest online retailers in the world look like mom and pop stores.” Turner sighed. “Look, there have been rumors about this for years: some Russian oligarch or Italian underworld don. Nothing has ever produced any concrete evidence. Why Miguel Ramirez latched onto this conspiracy theory…” He shook his head. “Waste of time.”
Nathan slid his plate to the side and rested his forearms on the table. “Got any theories? Who was looking for Miguel Ramirez?”
Steady noted that Nathan, for whatever reason, had not shared the information about Cam's journal or Harlan Musgrave's interest in acquiring it.
Turner tapped the flat of his fork on the table. “That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question. We monitored chatter about Miguel; that's protocol. Nothing set off alarm bells. After Dario Sava was killed—congratulate your sniper for me by the way, one less scumbag in the world—a few of his soldiers were sniffing around. Most likely recruiting Sava's men, trying to snatch up the remnants of his empire. As expected, some people Miguel encountered ran background checks on him. Oh, and there's the woman.”
“Who?” Steady asked.
Turner opened the briefcase on the seat beside him and withdrew a file. “As I said, over the past year, there have been numerous inquiries about Miguel Ramirez.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t a laughing matter, but a woman who made no attempt to disguise her actions has also been looking for him. I don’t know what the hell our boy does in the bedroom, but it seems he makes a lasting impression.” He slid the file to Nathan. “All relevant chatter is detailed and without redaction.”
Nathan tapped the file. “Mind if I borrow this?”
“It's all yours,” Turner complied. “Makes for some fascinating reading.”
“Thanks.” Nathan slipped the file into his briefcase.
Turner stood and threw some cash on the table. “This situation has spawned one hare-brained theory after the next. If you come up with a dog that will hunt, let me know.” With that, the CIA handler shook both men's hands, gave a small salute, and left.
“You really think some whacko broad kidnapped our boy?” Steady asked.
“I don’t know what to think, but I have a feeling there's more going on here than meets the eye.” Nathan added some money to Turner's contribution and stood. “Let's head back to the plane and take a closer look at this file.”
“Copy that.” Together the two men walked out into the cold Washington day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Miramar, Mallorca
December 9
G
emini had returned. Cam sighed as he slicked back his hair. He straightened the collar of the charcoal-gray dress shirt, adjusted the cream jacket of the suit, and assessed himself in the full-length mirror. He looked tired. His little late-night excursions were taking their toll, but it was a price he happily paid. He couldn’t explain why, but his treasure hunt with Evan made him feel more alive and purpose-driven than he had in years. To what purpose, he had no idea, but every time they met in those mysterious dark caves, he had the unshakable feeling everything was leading up to something.
Laughter from the front of the villa pulled Cam from his room. He followed the voices. The grand living room was aglow with candlelight. French doors opened onto the cloistered walkways that ringed the home. To balance the cool breeze, a fire crackled in the elaborate mosaic hearth.
He stopped in the arched entrance at the top of the two wide marble steps that descended into the room. Gemini turned from the group and took the spotlight, as was her nature, standing before him in the center of the room. She was wearing a Mediterranean blue sheath that perfectly matched her eyes; her pleasure at his choice of attire evident.
“Miguel,” she purred. “Come join our little party.”
Gemini March seemed to emit a glow that obscured everything and everyone else. Nevertheless, as Cam took the first step into the room, his eyes found her. Standing behind Gemini and speaking with Joseph and two other young people was Evan. His Evan. She was wearing cropped black trousers, loafers, and a lightweight black turtleneck. Her cinnamon hair—the same shade as her eyes—was pulled into a low ponytail. Her makeup was minimal, just pale-pink lip gloss and mascara. She was unobtrusive and demure, and she had his full attention. So much so that Gemini March glanced over her shoulder to see who had dared to usurp her stage.
Cam quickly corrected his error. Making a beeline for Gemini, he kissed first one cheek, then the other, and whispered, “The only place I can imagine that dress looking better is on my floor.” Irritation forgotten, she placed a hand on his chest. “Come meet our guests.”
Gemini pulled him to the fireplace, where Atlas was speaking with a distinguished man in his mid-fifties. Dressed to impress, or more likely, fundraise, the man wore a natty suit with a perfectly tied pale-blue bowtie at his neck. A pair of round-rimmed glasses with tortoise-shell frames sat perched on his aquiline nose. The man spared Cam a glance, his eyes briefly widening upon inspection of the new arrival. He quickly schooled his expression and returned his attention to their host.
Atlas was, as always, impeccably dressed in gray trousers and a double-breasted navy blazer. He extended his hand to Cam with a welcoming greeting.
“Miguel! Glad you’re joining us. Omar, this is Miguel Ramirez, Gemini's…” He paused for a moment, stymied by word choice. “… date. And you know Gemini.” The man, Omar, extended his hand. “Pleasure.”
Cam reciprocated. “Likewise.”
“Dr. Omar Emberton is heading up the archaeological expedition in Valldemossa. They’ve made some fascinating discoveries.”
Emberton gave a respectful nod. “Thanks in large part to our benefactor.”
Atlas waved him off. “Thank Joseph. He's the history buff. More importantly, he decides how March Mining allots its charitable donations.”
Joseph, Evan, and the other two guests Cam assumed were also graduate students joined the circle. Joseph chimed in. “Our small island holds untold riches. Thousands of years before the birth of Christ, people were inhabiting Mallorca.”
Atlas held out his arms. “Wouldn’t you choose to live here?”
Evan smiled at the quip.
“And this young lady,” Atlas continued, “Is Omar's most trusted Gal Friday.”
Cam correctly guessed Atlas had used the moniker because he had forgotten her name. Evan extended a hand to him, looking so conspicuously nonchalant, it made him want to laugh.
“Evan.” She spoke without inflection.
“Miguel.” Cam nodded. He placed a hand on the small of Gemini March's back in a gesture of possession. Gemini was no fool. If there was the slightest tension between Evan and him, Gemini would notice. As if sensing the heat between him and her rival, Gemini moved into the nook under his extended arm. Cam jarred himself from mapping the swath of freckles across Evan's nose he hadn’t seen in the dim light of the cave and returned his attention to the woman at his side.
A s
ervant appeared and announced dinner.
Cam walked into the dining room with Joseph at his side. When he reached the end of the table, he paused under the portrait of Ulysses March that hung above the fireplace.
Joseph spoke reverently. “I miss the old bastard.”
“He died last year?” Cam asked.
Joseph rested a hand on the mantle. “Plane crash. It was a painful blow, especially for Gemini. She adored her father. He was a brilliant businessman. A strategist. He wanted to take Gemini under his wing, but she never seemed to show any interest. It seemed the more he pressed, the more flighty and unmotivated she became. Then she discovered modeling, and the glamour and attention snared her. Ulysses always used to say, ‘Gemini is the star of the show.’”
“It is the truth,” Cam agreed.
“She doesn’t like to be ignored, Miguel. You’d be wise to remember that.” Joseph patted him on the shoulder as he moved to the table.
Ten minutes later, they were all seated, and the first course served. The conversation returned to archaeological finds and current events.
Evan sat at the dinner table and tried to ignore the golden-eyed Adonis across from her. The dining room was massive. She could have directed her attention to any of the dozen portraits that graced the walls or the spectacular explosion of crystal above her head lighting the room. She could have admired the meal of rack of lamb prepared in a Mediterranean style with olives, capers, and tomatoes. She could have listened to Atlas March tell a story of speaking at an environmental summit of world leaders to discuss clean mining. None of those held even a sliver of the appeal of the man opposite her. He practically smoldered. Evan had to fight to look away. He, on the other hand, was enduring no such hardship, captivated by the seductress all but sitting in his lap.
And yet, as Evan examined him, she saw something else in that golden gaze, a distance, a deadness. It was the same look he had the day he scared her off the beach. The man across from her was not the kind, gruff, funny Miguel from the caves. He was robotic and intimidating. Evan almost laughed at the idle thought that perhaps he was a gigolo. She shook herself from her irrational justifications. Miguel was on a date, and he was enjoying it.
Gemini March fed Miguel a bite of her lamb, uncaring that the man had the identical meal on the plate in front of him. Miguel's lips closed around the fork and pulled the morsel into his mouth. He wiped the juice from the corner of his lips with his thumb then watched while Gemini sucked the pad. Every bite, every lick, every swallow was like some erotic dance.
Thankfully, Evan's mentor didn’t seem to mind interrupting the show.
“Gemini is an unusual name, Miss March. Is there a story behind it?” Dr. Emberton inquired.
Clearly annoyed at being torn from her lover, Gemini turned to Omar Emberton and explained. “I ate my twin.”
Emberton sputtered, “What?”
“In the womb. My mother was pregnant with twins, but the other baby died, and I absorbed her. Dad used to say that's why I’m a lot to handle. There are two people inside me.” She cupped Miguel's face and returned to her seduction.
Evan hid a smile. Emberton had never looked so sorry to have asked a question.
Jamal, her friend and fellow doctoral candidate, leaned his head next to Evan's and whispered conspiratorially, “I’d say get a room, but it's too fucking hot. My friends are never going to believe I’m having dinner with Gemini March.”
“Eat your dinner and stop trying to take her picture. It's so freaking obvious,” she scolded.
Jamal scoffed. “Gemini doesn’t care. All she does is get her picture taken. Besides, she's too busy letting that guy grope her to notice.”
Jamal leaned in and placed his hand on the back of Evan's chair. Movement across the table had her glancing up. Miguel had snapped the stem of his wine glass, and Gemini was sitting on his lap, dabbing the stain on his shirt. He held Gemini's hand as she blotted the wine, but his honey-colored eyes were on Evan. She averted her gaze.
Evan's own aggravating issues with intimacy smacked her in the face, and she gripped her fork like a vice as she chased a pea around her plate. She had never felt jealousy, never even felt arousal outside of those fleeting moments in the caves with Miguel. Yet when she returned her attention to him, watched him slowly chew his meat, a fresh glass of red wine poised at his lips, she felt her breasts grow heavy and her body heat. Shaking off the unwelcome attraction, she diverted her attention to her meal.
It was an unforgivable sin in this region to dislike olives, but Evan had always hated them. She had tried dozens of varieties to no avail. Moreover, when she left them on her plate, it was frequently an irritating topic of discussion. Employing the diversionary tactics she had learned as a young magician, she spun her wine in her glass on the table with one hand and deftly hid the olives under the parsnip puree with the other. Pleased with her subterfuge, she glanced around. Across the table, Miguel gave her a knowing glance, popped an olive into his mouth with a wink, then returned his focus to his lover.
Gemini March beamed her satisfaction. She appeared as pleased with Miguel's attention as she was with Evan's deprival of it. The model seemed to view their frottage as evidence of a battle she had won. Evan almost laughed out loud. She couldn’t imagine Gemini March ever losing such a contest. Evan quickly turned to listen to her mentor discuss the excavation.
“Evan, tell Joseph about your discovery in the caves.” Omar Emberton encouraged his protege.
“Oh, well, I’m not quite sure what it is I have discovered, if anything,” she stalled.
“Please tell us,” Joseph urged.
“Well, some boys near the dig site…” She stopped and started again. “Let me back up. At our excavation, we have discovered small stacks of stones the Talaiotic people used to indicate areas of importance: grave sites, ceremonial centers, places of worship, et cetera. A child of one of the local archaeologists told me he had seen similar markers in the caves near the shore.” She had the full attention of the table as she continued. “The boy and his friends imagine themselves young treasure hunters,” she laughed. “They guided me to the spot in the caves where they had seen similar markers.”
“That was you!” Atlas exclaimed with dawning realization. “You were the young woman Miguel shooed off the beach last week.”
Evan felt her face heat. “Yes, I am fascinated by the small stacks of stones the boys found. While they are not Talaiotic, they are of significance. Probably late fourteenth or early fifteenth century.”
“Ah-ha!” Emberton pointed his fork at Joseph. “Now she has your attention.”
Evan looked between the two men. Then she glanced across the table at Miguel, who was giving her his undivided attention. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. His face was so beautiful, his eyes so predatorial, yet somehow kind. It was as if there were two men inside of him.
Gemini shook her empty wine glass like a bell demanding a refill.
“Please continue,” Joseph repeated.
Evan explained how she discerned the age of the markers and how many she had found. She told them about the gold links and the sealed-off entrances to various caves deep in the system. Her tale enthralled the men. Gemini March had pulled out her phone and appeared to be checking social media.
“Do keep us apprised,” Joseph insisted. “Omar and I are North African. The Moors have a long, troubled history on Mallorca. I would be most interested in anything you find.”
“He speaks without hyperbole, my dear,” Emberton added. “The most insignificant relic of the Moors is intriguing to my old friend.”
Joseph sipped his wine. “It is our history.”
“Indeed.” Emberton toasted his friend across the table.
Cam stood in the grand front hall with Evan, Atlas, and Omar Emberton. The other graduate students had puttered off on a Vespa, Gemini had excused herself, and Joseph had retired for the evening. Atlas opened the massive front doors and led Emberton to the waiting chauffeured car.
Cam guided Evan after them at a slower pace.
Dinner had been hell. He sat there while Gemini finger-fed him like a toddler and ran her bare foot up his calf. The only sensation she managed to elicit was a mild feeling of nausea. Meanwhile, Evan chased a pea around her plate with her fork, and he was hard as a lead pipe. That little trick with hiding the olives on her plate? Why was that sexy? And when that other student bent his head next to hers to share a secret, Cam had broken his wine glass trying to keep himself in check.
“Did you enjoy your meal, little mouse?”
Ignoring the endearment, she replied, “Yes, everything was lovely. Thank you for asking.”
He leaned into her. “So formal,” he scolded. “This is our first time breaking bread at an actual table. Above ground. Just imagine the possibilities.”
“Oh, I am,” she deadpanned. “Although I imagine your girlfriend might not be too happy about your exploring them.”
He leaned down as they walked, their feet producing a rhythmic crunch on the gravel. “She's not my girlfriend, querida. She's not even my friend.”
Evan stopped and turned to him. “I don’t think she's aware of that fact.” Then she cast her eyes upward, and Cam turned to follow her line of sight. Gemini March stood on a balcony wearing a black silk robe. Her arms were crossed as she observed them.
Cam looked up at the Siren, then he leaned down and placed a kiss on Evan's cheek and whispered, “See you in a few hours.” She stepped back with her hand to her face.
“What about those men we heard?” she asked.
“We’re far enough away to be safe. We’ll meet just as the last shift is ending. I won’t let anything happen to you” Cam rested a hand on her back.
“I know that,” she said, the reply a simple statement of fact.
The three innocuous words fed a very hungry piece of his soul.
She turned without a word and hurried after her mentor, who was now waiting in the back of the car.
Cam shoved his hands in his pants pockets and turned back to Gemini. She had taken a step forward and now was leaning both arms onto the low wall that bordered the balcony. She looked like Juliet leaning down to her lover. Cam almost laughed. His current situation certainly had equal potential for tragedy. He looked up at her and grinned.
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