“Twitch, you’re a pro.” Steady bumped her fist with his.
She beamed at the compliment. “I was so nervous; vodka kept sloshing out of my martini glass.”
“From where we were sitting, you looked like a regular spook,” Steady continued.
“I don’t know how those guys do undercover work. I’d constantly worry I was saying the wrong thing,” she said.
“That part's easy.” Herc buckled his seatbelt. “Any time someone asks you a question you don’t know how to answer, you just…” He held up a finger and scrunched his nose as he looked at the ceiling. “Pretend you have to sneeze. Then you change the subject. Watch. Steady, ask me a question I don’t want to answer.”
“Okay, on the beach last week, that woman who walked up and slapped you, what was that about?”
Herc repeated the action, holding up his index finger and scrunching his face. After several seconds he addressed the car. “Ren, did you clock the guy who was watching Cam?”
Behind them, Ren cleaned his glasses with the tail of his shirt. “Yeah, he left after Cam. Got into a blue Renault and followed… Hey! That actually worked.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Steady laughed. “Maybe this covert ops shit is easier than we think.”
From the front passenger seat, Tox scolded, “Yes, it's a walk in the park. Cam's just one fake sneeze away from bringing down an entire global trafficking organization. Twitch, everything set for tomorrow?”
“Almost. Just confirming the timing to commandeer the Zodiac.” She tapped out a text to Evan and immediately received a thumbs-up emoji.
“Is the locator working?” Steady asked.
“Got a beautiful little red dot on my screen moving toward the March villa,” Twitch confirmed.
A maid was waiting when Cam entered the villa. She took the bags containing the meals and instructed, “Dinner will be served on the terrace off of your bedroom.” He acknowledged her comment and headed that way. As he entered the bedroom, a soft, salty breeze wafted by, and the sheer curtains billowed. Through the open french doors, he spied Gemini March on the terrace. She was dressed in a blood-red peignoir and matching silk robe. The evening chill appeared to have no effect as she casually sipped champagne from her flute. Cam noticed the first micro-expression to cross her face when she spotted him was anger which almost instantly morphed into a seductive gleam.
He crossed to the open doors and stood on the threshold.
“Men don’t keep me waiting,” she said, her smile masking her irritation.
Cam took the seat across the small wrought iron table and examined the label on the beer bottle at the top of the place setting. “They have to prepare the food.”
“And the woman who kept you company while you waited?” She set her glass down and ran her finger along the rim.
Ah, now Cam understood her anger. He stood and circled the table. When his hips were in front of her eager face, he bent down and caught her earlobe between his teeth. “What woman?”
She released a husky laugh. “Very smooth, Miguel.”
The same maid who had met Cam at the door silently approached and set down their plated fish. Once she had retreated, and Cam was back in his chair, Gemini continued.
“Between women in bars and archaeologists in caves, I’m beginning to feel neglected.” She pouted prettily and poked at her food.
Cam chewed with methodical bites as he stared at her. His outward appearance gave no indication of his fury at the mention of Evan. Where had Gemini watched them? How much had she seen? Her affected jealousy implied that she was probably only aware of their encounters outside the caves: the stingray rescue and the dinner party. Had she known the way Cam had touched Evan, he had a feeling her temper would flare with a bit more intensity.
Rather than defend innocuous actions, Cam smirked. “It's hard to imagine you feeling insecure, hermosa.”
“I didn’t say insecure. I said neglected,” she pouted prettily.
Cam set his fork down, wiped his mouth, and met her gaze. “Come here.”
Gemini March was not one to take orders, but at his imperious command, she stood and came around the table. Cam grabbed her by the waist and guided her onto his lap. He then snagged her champagne and fed her a sip. “Are you feeling neglected now, mi belleza?”
The endearment felt thick on his tongue, but Miguel Ramirez played his part.
She grabbed his wrist and returned the glass to her pouting lips. “Less so.”
Cam ran a hand up her thigh, pulling the silk from the negligee across her skin. She tipped her head back and rested it on his shoulder, the move lifting her breasts like an offering on a platter. He ran the backs of his fingers over the swell and down her side. “We can’t have the princesa feeling neglected.”
“No, we cannot. Let's go inside. I’d like you to not neglect me all night.” She ground her hips into his lap.
On the surface, Miguel Ramirez was inflamed. Lust sparked in his golden eyes as his conquest ground against him. His powerful body stood with Gemini in his arms, skimming every inch of her body as he set her on her feet.
Inside, there was nothing. Cam wasn’t there. He had trained himself to switch off during moments of profound discomfort: beatings, executions, and, yes, sex. In rare times of reflection, Cam thought these situations mirrored a porn movie—two attractive people performing a sex act for a purpose other than attraction or pleasure. His actions would be proficient, even passionate, but there would be no emotion at all.
Miguel fisted her hair and exposed her neck. He licked a path to her ear lobe then took it in his teeth. She reached for his fly, palming the outline of his erection. He removed her hand and used it to pull her toward the bedroom.
The sound of a throat clearing had him looking up. Joseph stood in the open doorway. “Forgive me for intruding. Gemini, I need a word.”
“Now?” she all but shouted.
“I’m afraid so. It's a rather pressing matter,” Joseph insisted.
Gemini turned to Cam. “Don’t move.”
He kissed her cheek and spoke into her ear. “I’ll be right here.”
She swept from the room with Joseph in tow.
Cam was tempted to follow, then rethought. What qualified as an emergency in Gemini March's world hardly mattered. He sat on the bed and turned on the television, grateful for the reprieve.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Palma, Mallorca
December 14
T
he following evening, after a calming walk on the beach, Evan tucked into an early dinner at a quaint pub near the marina. She knew she shouldn’t be here, but she couldn’t help her natural curiosity. The text from the girl named Twitch, confirming her people would be borrowing her Zodiac, had Evan's instincts aflutter. She wanted to watch this secret spy mission and see that man, Cam, take her Zodiac and escape. What harm could it do? She was just a patron at a local bar enjoying a quiet dinner. No one would be the wiser. Moreover, she justified, the man had rescued her after the stingray attack, possibly saving her life. It was natural to want to make sure he made it to safety.
Who was she kidding? She wanted to spy on the spies. See the good guys win.
Her thoughts wandered to another man, a man who most definitely was not a good guy. She hadn’t given herself time to process the events in the cave—neither the discovery nor the self-discovery. She had experienced pleasure at the hands of a man. What's more, she had wanted to take it further. She almost couldn’t admit to herself her uninhibited desire to push Miguel Ramirez onto his back and fuck his brains out.
It was crass. It was primal. It was dirty. And it was a massive breakthrough for her. Evan had downplayed the impact of her first sexual encounter. She was shy as it was, the date rape driving her further into her shell. She forced herself to be social, even date, but when all was said and done, Evan always seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when she entered her quiet bedroom at the end of the day. In that cave, however, the sigh of
relief came when Miguel touched her, not when he stopped.
The memory flowed through her like warm whiskey. She shuddered. God. Of all the men in the world, why him? He was dark and threatening and most certainly some sort of criminal. And yet, as she recounted the event in her mind, Evan felt neither shame nor recrimination. He had been a study in duality: kind yet fierce, considerate but passionate, protective yet threatening. The combination was… intoxicating.
She glanced up from her food, and through the window, she saw a man prowling toward the dock: his build and gait familiar. It was not, however, the man who was supposed to be there.
It was Miguel Ramirez. Heading straight for her Zodiac.
Evan jumped from her seat and tossed all the Euros in her wallet on the table without bothering to count. She burst out the doors of the restaurant.
Moving like a jungle cat, Cam loped across the wet sand and climbed up onto the wide wooden dock. There. Just as Twitch had said, the Zodiac bobbed in the water a safe distance from the larger boats, a pink beach umbrella poking from the sand on the nearby shore. He started to move again when quick footsteps coming up behind him had him spinning, his hand reflexively reaching for his holstered Sig that was not there.
Evan. Suddenly it became clear. This was her boat. She must have been watching from a distance and assumed Miguel Ramirez was up to no good. His suspicions were confirmed when she stage-whispered, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You need to get out of here right now. There are, er, officials in the area who won’t like you poking around down here. If they find you here, you’ll be in big trouble.”
He started to approach her, to deliver a threat and scare her off when suddenly his eyes locked with her steely gaze, and he realized something. She wasn’t reprimanding him. She was warning him. Yes, she wanted him gone, but it was as much for his safety as the integrity of the op. He grinned.
“What are you doing?” She whisper-yelled again
Cam knew what he had to do. Despite being utter anathema in his world, he felt the impulse with the certainty of a sunrise. For the first time in all his time with the CIA, he did it.
He broke cover.
“Relax, Evan. I’m Cam. You’re the one who needs to skedaddle.” He spoke in his ordinary, American voice.
Cam leaned forward, and, with a gentle finger to her chin, he closed her mouth.
“But…but…oh.”
“I don’t have time to explain,” he continued, “but thank you. For the boat.”
“Oh, ah, okay.” Evan stared at him in a daze, processing the ramifications of his admission.
Without thought or hesitation, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. It lasted only a second, but Cam felt it to his toes. It was as if someone had struck a tuning fork, and whatever note his body emitted matched perfectly with her note. He pulled away, his lips clinging to hers, and breathed her in. Then he turned and made his way to the Zodiac. Only once he had released the boat from the cleat and silently paddled away from the dock did he turn back to Evan.
There she was, still as a statue, a torrent of emotions on her beautiful face.
There he was, in uncharted waters, watching her as the small boat drifted.
There it was.
Zing.
At the edge of the beach, standing in the mist next to the man who had been following Miguel Ramirez since he arrived, Gemini March stood in a trench coat and fedora, looking like a World War II spy.
She was displeased.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
One nautical mile off the coast of Palma, Mallorca
December 14
C
am navigated the boat out into the Mediterranean. Minutes later, he spotted the cabin cruiser.
Thirty minutes later, he was standing on the deck, being greeted by his impromptu family. Cam took a minute to bask in the sanctuary of friendship, then he turned to Tox.
“Got a place we can talk.”
Tox circled a finger in the air to corral the group, grabbed Calliope by the hand, and said, “Follow me.”
In an interior room of the vessel, Steady rested his booted feet on the empty chair next to him. “This may be the first mission in history that started with a psycho model stalking an operator.”
“Who she thinks is an arms dealer,” Ren added.
“Yeah, Gemini had me brought to her.” Cam sighed. “She's not used to being blown off, and I guess she wanted to explore the possibilities.”
“Dude, what do you do to these women? You need to write a book,” Steady mused.
“There's more going on here, fellas. Her cousin Atlas took over the company a year ago.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “He's running a heroin operation out of the mine.”
The group nodded.
“How could you possibly know that?” Cam asked.
Tox and Ren spoke at the same time. “Finn.” Ren continued, “He's heard chatter about Atlas March's extracurricular activities.”
Cam confirmed, “Yeah, he was on The Agency's radar when he was working in Colombia.”
“Is it possible someone was pulling Gemini's strings? I mean, you’re a strapping man and all, but that's a bit extreme for anyone.” Tox rubbed the back of his neck.
Cam shook his head. “I don’t think anyone pulls Gemini March's strings. She's used to getting what she wants.”
Tox rested his hand on his wife's back. “Well, psycho supermodels aside, there is definitely more going on here than meets the eye.” He leaned forward. “Cam, The Conductor is somehow involved in all of this.”
Cam shot to his feet. “How do you know about The Conductor?”
Ren answered, his face serious. “Nathan filled us in.”
“Good, because I think I know why The Conductor is interested,” Cam said. “Atlas March is not only manufacturing heroin; he acquired a shipping company and plans on moving the product himself. The Conductor doesn’t take too kindly to traffickers trying to circumvent him.”
“There's another reason,” Tox added.
Cam heard the trepidation in his friend's voice. “What?”
“When you were with The Company, did you cross paths with an officer by the name of Raymond Greene?” Tox asked.
“Yeah, why?” Cam replied warily.
“His body was discovered washed up on a beach in Crimea two weeks ago. According to the local authorities, the water had done its worst, but it was pretty clear he had been tortured before being shot. That ship you documented in your notes? The Maestro? It was docked at a marina in Sevastopol four days before Greene went missing.” Tox explained.
“I got a call on my agency phone three or four weeks ago. It didn’t connect, but the call originated in Crimea, where Greene was stationed. I wondered if it was Greene. Maybe he was trying to warn me.” Cam hung his head. “Greene wouldn’t have broken. He was solid.”
Tox spoke quietly. “He also had a daughter. If The Conductor knew…”
Cam understood instantly. “Greene would be vulnerable. Shit. For about a year, I kept a log of notes on The Conductor—anything that pointed to a commonality in different smuggling or trafficking operations. Greene knew about it,” Cam explained.
Tox took over. “Then, a year ago in Rabat, you tracked an arms dealer and recorded his activity on The Maestro. We have to assume someone saw you taking the video, and you landed on The Conductor's radar.”
“I left the CIA shortly after that and came to work here.”
“If The Conductor broke Raymond Greene, that means you’re blown, and you have to get out,” Tox said.
“Not yet,” Cam insisted. “I don’t think any of the immediate players know that Miguel Ramirez is a cover. Certainly not Atlas March, who is bringing me into his heroin operation. As long as I know, I can be prepared.”
“Tread very carefully, my friend,” Ren cautioned. “The Conductor may want to bring down Atlas March, but he wants to bring you down, too. The gauntlet's been thrown.”
Cam gave a wicked grin. “Challenge accepted.”
“What do we have on the yacht, The Maestro?” Tox asked.
Twitch looked up over the screen of her laptop. “It's owned by a retired Russian oil executive who keeps it docked in Odessa. According to his people, he leases it out and loans it to friends but rarely uses it himself.”
“Let me guess,” Tox interjected. “He keeps no paperwork, and these quote-unquote leases and loans are handshake deals.”
“The good news for us is because The Maestro is a legitimate purchase, so it has GPS tracking. It's in the area, currently docked in Ibiza.” Twitch said.
“The Conductor's keeping watch.” Tox drummed his fingers on the table.
“And there's nothing suspicious on that video?” Ren asked.
“Not that I saw,” Cam replied.
“What happened after you recorded it?” Tox urged.
Cam recounted the events.“I received intel that the arms dealer I was after had another meeting with The Conductor on Ibiza. I needed to head south, but I was getting fixated on catching him, and I was practically in the Mediterranean. I should have thought it through. The Conductor would never be that careless.”
“What happened?” Herc asked.
“I went to the nightclub and knew almost immediately I’d been played. The arms dealer I was tracking did business in warehouses and hotel rooms, and The Conductor has never shown his fucking face. I sat at a table with my thumb up my ass for three hours. Around midnight, Gemini March showed up with an entourage from a photoshoot.” Cam rolled his hands as if to say, you know the rest.
“I once saw Betty White at an airport.” Herc gestured with a tortilla chip. “That's the closest I’ve come to seeing a famous chick.”
“Moving on.” Steady sat up.
Chat leaned forward. “I think The Conductor knew exactly what went down between you and Gemini March. I think The Conductor did show up that night, and you were being watched.”
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