Dying for You

Dying for You BEVERLY BARTON It was the job of her dreams. . . but it became her worst nightmare. . . All private security agent Lucie Evans wanted was a fresh start—and the chance to show Sawyer McNamara, her ex-boss, that she no longer craved his absolution for a crime she didn't commit. So when the offer of a trip to South America as the personal bodyguard to a billionaire heiress came up, Lucie jumped at the prospect of leaving the Dundee Agency behind. Then the nightmare began. Kidnapped in a case of mistaken identity, suddenly Lucie's only hope of survival rested with the one man she never wanted to see again. . . .Sawyer had spent years convincing himself that all he felt for Lucie was contempt—but with her life at stake, he was forced to face his true feelings. Though it may be a case of too little, too late. Because Lucie's captor wouldn't rest until she was silenced. . . once and for all. About the Author An avid reader since childhood, BEVERLY BARTON wrote her first book at the age of nine. She wrote short stories, poetry, plays and novels throughout high school and college, and is now a New York Times bestselling author, having written over sixty books since she was first published in 1990. Beverly lives in Alabama with her husband. Dying for You Beverly Barton www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk) Other Books By Also available by Beverly Barton A TIME TO DIE DANGEROUS DECEPTION WORTH DYING FOR This book is dedicated to my readers, especially those who have followed THE PROTECTORS series over the years. Thank you. I appreciate each of you so very much. Prologue ARTURO TORRES-RIOS killed his first man when he was fourteen, his first woman when he was seventeen and his first child when he was twenty. Some would call him a murderer. He disagreed. He was an executioner. In his thirty-two years, he had acquired many useful skills that he used for profit and occasionally for pleasure. As an assassin, he had few equals. He preferred jobs where he had little or no personal contact with the victim, but on occasion and for the right price, he used his talents as a torturer or a kidnapper or a thief. He disliked Americans, especially the owners and employees of wealthy companies here in South America like the ones who were making deals with Ameca’s government to go into partnership with his country’s oil tycoons. Ameca was oil-rich, but the people lived in poverty, as Arturo had lived as a boy. His dislike for Americans was well-known and although he had been hired by more than one American to do their dirty work, Arturo never had direct contact with the bastards. Josue Soto, a lawyer and long-time friend, brokered all of Arturo’s deals, working as a middleman. Josue was well worth the ten percent Arturo paid him. His childhood friend could be trusted. They never met at Josue’s office or his home, nor did they meet at Arturo’s home. Instead, whenever a new business deal was in the works, they met at St. Salvatora, the old mission church in Puerto Colima, the fishing village where they had both been born. “If you accept this assignment, you will be paid a quarter of a million dollars, then another quarter million after Phase One and the final million and a half at Phase Two when the assignment is completed,” Josue told him. “Two million dollars makes this a tempting offer.” “You don’t even have to get your hands dirty. All you have to do is oversee the job and make sure nothing goes wrong. I am certain you can put together the right team for an assignment such as this.” “Is the person hiring me for this job an American or someone from Ameca?” Arturo asked. Josue sighed heavily. “Why do you ask when you know it is better for you and for our client if that information is not shared, to protect both your identity and the client’s?” Arturo smiled. Josue was right. It did not matter to him who wanted to employ him. His skills were for hire on the open market. “Forget I asked.” “You have less than a month to prepare. Everything must be in place by the fifteenth of September. It will be up to you to choose the exact time and place, but the opportunity to act is brief, a few days at most.” “That is not a problem.” He eyed the thin folder in Josue’s hand. “This contains all the information and instructions?” Josue nodded. Arturo took the folder, opened it, scanned the three pages several times, and then returned the folder to his friend. Arturo had taught himself to memorize data quickly, to keep information in his head. It was safer for him that way. No paper trail. “Then I can make contact today and say that we have accepted the assignment?” “Yes. Tell them to wire the money to our account immediately. Once that is done, I will formulate a foolproof plan and assemble the perfect team.” “No one is to be killed,” Josue reminded him. “Not until the order is given.” Arturo and Josue rose from the wooden bench and shook hands. Josue left first, exiting through the front doors. Arturo slipped out the back door, put on his sunglasses and, after checking the debris-strewn alley, walked briskly to his parked car two blocks away. Chapter One DAISY HOLBROOK PRIDED herself on doing her job as Dundee’s office manager with expertise and finesse. She kept up-to-date on dozens of cases and, at present, twenty full-time agents, numerous contract agents and six members of the office staff. The Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency handled assignments within the United States and internationally and was known worldwide as one of the premiere agencies of its kind. Sam Dundee, the owner, visited their sixth-floor office complex in downtown Atlanta annually and was only a phone call away in emergencies. But CEO Sawyer McNamara oversaw the agency, hired and fired personnel, assigned cases and ruled Dundee’s with an iron fist. His word was law. Many agents became friends and fraternized while between jobs. Not Sawyer. He maintained a professional distance between himself and the employees. Even if all the agents didn’t like Sawyer, to a person, they respected him. The office staff, except for Daisy, trembled in fear whenever the big boss came anywhere near them and all the female staffers had secret crushes on him. Daisy understood why. Sawyer was not only intimidating, thus causing apprehension, but he also dressed like a GQ model, was tall, dark and handsome, and oozed sex appeal. Daisy had to admit that when she’d come to work here, straight out of college, and met him for the first time, she’d had a bit of crush on him herself. She’d gotten over it. As she turned on lights, checked to make sure the cleaning crew had left each private office in perfect condition, and put on two pots of coffee in the staff lounge, Daisy briefly recalled her first day on the job eight years ago. She had been nervous and unsure of herself, but determined to do her best. Within two years, the office manager had retired, leaving the position open. Daisy had been surprised, to say the least, when the then new CEO, Sawyer McNamara, had promoted her to the coveted position. “You’re intelligent, efficient and levelheaded,” Sawyer had told her. “And you don’t tremble in your high heels or swoon like a love-struck teenager when I speak to you.” After eight years in Dundee’s employ, Daisy had gained the nickname Ms. Efficiency, of which she was extremely proud. She considered most of the agents to be her friends, some even close friends, and one in particular had stolen her heart several years ago. Everyone at Dundee’s, except the man himself, knew that Daisy was in love with the rugged former SAS officer, Geoff Monday. Not only was he a womanizer, a confirmed bachelor and fifteen years her senior, but Geoff also treated her like a kid sister. Not once had he ever looked at her as if she were anything other than a buddy. Unrequited love was a bitch! Marching down the hall toward her workstation in the center of the main office, Daisy checked her wrist-watch. 8:10 a.m. She arrived promptly at eight each morning, an hour before the other members of the staff. As a general rule, unless there was some type of emergency, the boss arrived anywhere between nine and ten. The agents who were not on assignment came and went from headquarters at various times. Just as she approached her desk, the distinct sound of the elevator stopping and the doors opening alerted her that someone was coming into work early. It would be either the boss himself or one of the agents. The office staffers usually rushed in at the last minute. Daisy looked down the short hallway and watched while Lucie Evans exploded from the elevator, her long, curly red hair bouncing on her shoulders as she stomped her sandal-clad size-nines up the carpeted corridor. Uh-oh. Daisy knew that look. Spiting mad, fire shooting from her dark eyes, cheeks flushed and determination in her stride. Lucy was pissed. Royally pissed, and there was only one person who could make her that angry. “Is he in yet?” Lucie demanded when she neared Daisy’s workstation. “No, I’m afraid not.” “Call him and tell him to get down here as fast as his half-million-dollar Mercedes will go.” “Is there some type of emergency?” Daisy knew better than to disturb Sawyer at home without a very good reason. “Oh, yes, there’s an emergency.” Lucie snarled. “I’m the emergency. Tell that son of a bitch that unless he wants all those pretty paintings and sculptures in his office destroyed, he’d better be here in twenty minutes.” “Lucie, you aren’t threatening to—” “Damn right, I am.” Her lips curved into a wicked smile, one that told Daisy she meant business. “If you start tearing up Mr. McNamara’s office, I’ll have to call security.” “Call Sawyer instead,” Lucie said, as she moved past the workstation and headed farther down the hall. “I promise not to touch a thing for the next twenty minutes.” “Where are you going?” “To get a cup of coffee first, and then I’ll be waiting in the big man’s office.” Daisy followed Lucie into the staff lounge. “Whatever it is, do you want to talk about it? Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll—” Lucie turned on her. “You’ll what? Try to calm me down? Play interference between me and Sawyer? Sorry, sweetie, not this time. It’s gone beyond anything anyone can say or do.” “All right. I’ll call Mr. McNamara and let him know you’re here and that you’re upset.” “Tell him he’s got twenty minutes.” Daisy paused in the doorway. “You promise that you won’t do anything destructive for the next twenty minutes.” Using her index finger, Lucie marked her chest with an X and said, “Cross my heart.” As she made her way back to her desk, Daisy heaved a worried sigh. This was far from the first time Lucie Evans had been upset with Sawyer. Except for one incident when she had actually broken Sawyer’s Water-ford crystal paperweight, she had never been destructive. Whatever had happened to push her to the edge had to be worse than anything that had occurred in the past. In the eight years she had worked at Dundee’s, she had watched the war between Lucie and Sawyer with as much interest and morbid fascination as the rest of the staff and all the agents. No one understood why, although the animosity between the two could easily set off World War III, Sawyer hadn’t fired Lucie or why Lucie hadn’t quit. Daisy didn’t know for sure, of course, but she suspected that since both of them were as stubborn as mules, neither would back down, or give an inch. Sawyer was waiting for Lucie to resign; and Lucie was waiting for Sawyer to fire her. Stalemate. When she returned to her desk, Daisy called Sawyer’s private home number. He answered on the third ring. “Good morning, Daisy. Is there a problem?” “Yes, sir, I’m afraid there is.” She dreaded telling him. Usually just the mention of Lucie’s name could alter his mood from positive to negative. “Well?” he asked impatiently. “Lucie Evans is here.” Daisy waited for his reaction. “Ms. Evans is supposed to be on assignment. Did she give you any explanation for why she walked out on a client?” “No, sir, she didn’t mention the client, but she demanded that I contact you and ask you—” Daisy cleared her throat “—actually tell you that if you’re not here at headquarters in twenty minutes, she is going to wreck your office.” “Call security and have her—No, wait. Tell her I’ll be there. And if she’s touched even so much as a paper clip in my office, I’ll have her butt hauled off to jail.” “Yes, sir, I’ll inform Ms. Evans right away.” Daisy found Lucie in Sawyer’s office, sitting behind his desk in his plush leather chair. When Daisy walked in, Lucie swiveled around and smiled at her. “Well?” “Mr. McNamara will be here in twenty minutes.” Lucie lifted the glass paperweight from Sawyer’s desk, a replacement for the one she had broken a couple of years ago. Daisy hurried into the room, reached out, took the paperweight from Lucie’s hand and set it back on the desk. “Promise me that you’ll be a good girl.” Daisy looked right at Lucie. Lucie glanced at her wristwatch, tapped the face and said, “I’ll be as good as gold for the next twenty minutes.” SAWYER POURED the contents of his cup into the sink, rinsed out the sink and placed the cup in the dishwasher. His coffeemaker would shut off automatically, so he left the half-full pot on the warmer. Mrs. Terrance, his housekeeper, would arrive at ten and tidy the kitchen. He went to his bedroom, put on his jacket, picked up his briefcase and headed straight for the garage. Usually, it took him thirty minutes to drive from his home to the downtown office building that housed Dundee’s. This morning, he had to find a way to cut that time by ten minutes, if possible. He had known Lucie Evans long enough to know that the lady didn’t bluff. And he also knew Daisy Holbrook well enough to know she would not call security until the last possible moment, which meant that Lucie could wreck his office before the guards arrived to stop her. After getting into his Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren, one of his most prized possessions, Sawyer put his Bluetooth earpiece into place, backed out of the driveway and onto the road. Once in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic, he placed a call, which after six rings went to voice mail. “You’ve reached Lucie Evans. I’m not available to take your call. Please leave your number and I’ll get back to you as soon a possible.” “Damn!” Sawyer muttered under his breath. She wasn’t going to answer her cell phone. She wanted to make him squirm. He called her again. Once again, she didn’t answer. After her recorded message ended, he said, “Touch one thing in my office and I’ll contact the police.” Lucie was a loose cannon. If he’d been smart, he would have fired her when he took over the CEO reins from Ellen Denby six years ago. Actually he had thought she would resign once she realized she’d be taking orders from him. But in typical Lucie fashion, she had dug in her heels and stayed on at Dundee’s. For six years, she had done everything humanly possible to make him fire her; and he had done everything within his power as CEO to make her quit. Lucie wasn’t cut out for the line of work she had chosen. Not now or in the past. Whatever had possessed her to think she would make a good FBI agent, he’d never understood. She’d had the intelligence, the grit and the determination, but not the temperament. Lucie had always been volatile. Even as a kid, she’d been high-strung and emotional. There had been a time when they hadn’t been enemies. When they were teenagers, he had looked out for her the same way he’d looked out for his kid brother, Brenden. But that had been a long time ago. A lifetime ago. Sawyer placed a call to the security office in the building that housed Dundee’s. When one of the officers on duty answered, Sawyer said, “This is Sawyer McNamara. Send someone upstairs to the Dundee Agency on the sixth floor. Have him go to my office and wait there with one of my agents, Lucie Evans, until I arrive.” “Yes, sir. Is there some problem we need to know about?” “Ms. Evans has threatened to wreck my office if I don’t arrive there within the next fifteen minutes. I prefer not to contact the police, but handle this internal problem myself.” “Yes, sir. I’ll send someone immediately.” “Thank you.” The next call Sawyer made was to Lucie’s abandoned client who had hired Dundee’s for a bodyguard assignment. Taylor Lawson was a has-been TV star whose claim to fame was a role as a brash young space cadet on a futuristic drama that ran four seasons some twenty years ago. He had been invited to act as host for this year’s TV Sci-fi convention in Las Vegas. “I want a capable bodyguard,” Lawson had said. “But I want a woman. A good-looking woman that I can pass off as my girlfriend.” “I know just the agent.” Sawyer had known immediately that it was the type of assignment Lucie would hate. And whenever possible, the cases she hated were the ones he chose for her. “Yeah, who the hell is this?” the man bellowed and Sawyer realized he had no doubt disturbed Taylor Lawson’s sleep. “Mr. Lawson, this is Sawyer McNamara from Dundee’s. I’m calling in reference to—” “That crazy bitch you sent me tried to murder me,” Lawson said. “I’ve got a good mind to sue Dundee’s and you and her.” “Exactly what happened?” Sawyer asked. “I told you, she tried to kill me.” “Why would Ms. Evans try to kill you? Her job was to protect you.” Lawson coughed a few times, and then grumbled several obscenities. “She was supposed to play the part of my girlfriend. That was understood when I hired her.” “Yes, sir, that’s correct.” “Well, apparently you didn’t make that part of her assignment clear because she sure as hell refused to act the part.” A nagging suspicion tightened Sawyer’s gut. “Precisely what did Ms. Evans refuse to do?” “She refused to sleep with me. I paid top dollar for her services and I expected her to be worth every cent. But when I told her to strip and get in bed, she refused, so I took matters into my own hands.” “And did what?” Sawyer swallowed hard. “I slapped her and the crazy bitch sucker punched me. Knocked me on my ass and—” “Mr. Lawson, Dundee’s provides bodyguard services, nothing more. I thought I made that perfectly clear to you. If Ms. Evans had to defend herself, then consider yourself lucky that she didn’t kill you. Believe me, the lady is more than capable.” “Hell, you’d think she would have been thrilled to have Lieutenant Jack Starr fuck her. Most women would be.” “Then there’s your problem. You see, Lucie Evans is not like most women.” “I figure she’s a butch, despite the way she looks. You should have warned me. You’ll definitely be hearing from my lawyers. I’ve got a broken nose, a couple of cracked ribs and a black eye.” “Unless you want Ms. Evans to file charges against you for attempted rape, then I’d think twice about siccing your lawyer on us. Now, you have a good day, Mr. Lawson.” Son of a bitch! That over-the-hill has-been had tried to rape Lucie. No wonder she was pissed at him. He’d known Lawson was a sleaze, but he’d also known that Lucie could handle him. And she had. What he hadn’t considered was that the man might actually try to rape her. LUCIE EYED THE security guard with disdain. Don’t blame him. He’s just doing his job, doing what Sawyer told him to do. Watch her and make sure she doesn’t follow through with her threat to demolish the CEO’s office. Even though she had no intention of actually wreaking havoc on Sawyer’s expensive sculptures and paintings—she had too much love and respect for good art to destroy such beauty—he had no way to know for sure what she might do. Yes, she had, during one of her classic hissy fits, broken a Waterford crystal paperweight, but the piece had not been one of a kind. A duplicate now resided on his desk in the precise spot where the original had sat. She would no more toss one of his Salvatore Fiume or Marino Marini pieces on the floor than she would take a knife to his Charles Ginner or Clare Avery paintings. One of the things she admired about Sawyer was his eclectic tastes in art, music, food and sports. He was a man who enjoyed the good things in life and appreciated them to the nth degree. He possessed a suave sophistication that disguised the primeval warrior beneath his Reuben Alexander suits. Lucie knew how ruthless he could be. She had seen the man in action and had been the recipient of his cold, relentless retaliation for the past nine years. If she had thought time would soothe his inner demons, she had been wrong. Like Jane Austen’s fictional Mr. Darcy, Sawyer’s favor once lost was lost forever. Even now, despising him for the way he’d treated her—the way she had allowed him to treat her—Lucie could not deny that some small part of her still held on to a tiny shred of hope. Someday Sawyer McNamara would forgive her. But before he could forgive her, he would first have to forgive himself. No, she wouldn’t have harmed his expensive artwork, but if not for the ever watchful guard she would have dearly loved the chance to do some damage. Maybe she could have removed the contents of his desk and scattered it all over the floor. Or better yet, she could have tossed his laptop out the window. A six-floor fall onto the solid concrete below… “He should be here soon,” Daisy Holbrook said, breaking the awkward silence. “While we’re waiting, would either of you like coffee? Or maybe a Danish or muffin?” “No, thank you, ma’am,” the young, intense guard replied. “Nothing more for me, thanks.” Lucie offered Daisy a don’t-worry smile. “Then if you’ll excuse me…” Daisy looked pleadingly at Lucie. “If you need to talk afterward, I’ll take an early break.” “Okay. I’ll stop by your desk on my way out.” Daisy tried to smile, but the effort failed. Lucie genuinely liked Daisy Holbrook and the two had formed a strong friendship over the years despite the difference in their ages. But she supposed a seven-year gap wasn’t a great barrier between women over twenty-one. If they were ten and seventeen, it would matter. But at twenty-nine and thirty-six, they were contemporaries. As the minutes ticked by, Lucie sat behind Sawyer’s massive desk, occasionally tapping her foot on the floor or drumming her fingernails on the desktop. She checked her watch. It had been twenty-one minutes since Daisy had called him. Unless she missed her guess, he would arrive sometime within the next few minutes. Brace yourself. Gird your loins, Miss Lucie. Thisday has been a long time coming. If you want to walk out of here with your pride in tact, keep your emotions under control. And whatever you do, don’t cry. God in heaven, do not cry. TWENTY-THREE MINUTES from when he’d taken Daisy’s call, Sawyer entered Dundee’s sixth-floor office complex. Daisy hopped up from her workstation chair and rushed toward him as he made his way down the corridor toward his office. “She hasn’t touched anything,” Daisy assured him. “The guard is keeping an eye on her.” Sawyer paused, patted Daisy on the arm and assured her, “Everything is going to be all right. I spoke to the client personally and understand why Lucie left her assignment without notice. I’ll talk to her privately.” “She was fit to be tied when she first got here, but now she’s calm. Much too calm.” “I don’t think you need to worry as long as Lucie’s not armed.” Daisy gulped. “I’m afraid she is.” Sawyer tried not to grin. “She won’t shoot me, if that’s what concerns you. If she were going to shoot me, she’d have done it before now.” “Yes, sir, I’m sure you’re right.” The door to his office stood ajar, the security guard standing at attention a few steps over the threshold. Sawyer cleared his throat. The young man turned, looked at him and seemed to instantly relax. He entered his office, shook the guard’s hand and effectively dismissed him. “Thank you,” Sawyer said as he glanced around the room, noting that nothing was out of place. “I’ll take over from here.” Once they were alone, Sawyer closed the door and faced the woman who had been tormenting him for the past nine years. Lucie rose from his chair to her full five-eleven height, a look of pure defiance on her face. Her long, curly hair hung in loose disarray over her shoulders and down her back. Apparently, she had forgone refreshing her makeup and had combed her hair with her fingers. Only a hint of eyeliner remained and that was smudged. The only color on her lips was a naturally healthy pink. She walked out from behind the desk and glared at him, her two-inch wedge sandals lifting her almost to his eye level. He noted the bulge her shoulder holster made beneath her gray cotton jacket that covered her white T-shirt and skimmed the top of her faded blue jeans. “I appreciate your giving me fair warning,” Sawyer told her. “You could have come in here and ripped the place apart before Daisy could have stopped you.” “Believe me, I thought about it. On the flight from Vegas, I not only envisioned tearing your office apart, I plotted how I could kill you and get away with it.” “I understand your anger.” She lifted her brows in surprise. “Do you really?” “I spoke to Taylor Lawson. He told me what happened. I’m sorry, Lucie. I had no idea—” “Bullshit. Don’t tell me that you didn’t know the man’s reputation before you assigned me as his body-guard. You didn’t give a damn what I had to put up with. You never do. As far as you’re concerned, the worse my assignments are, the better. But this time, you reached an all-time low, even for you, Mr. McNamara.” He surveyed her from head to toe. “You don’t look any worse for wear.” “You don’t think so?” She lifted her T-shirt high enough to reveal the white lace bra beneath and the bruises on the swell of her breasts. “Pretty, aren’t they?” “Lucie—” “Would you like to see the others—the ones on my hips and butt?” “I’m sorry things got out of hand, but I never doubted for a minute that you could take care of yourself. You’re a trained professional.” She hissed like a snake preparing to strike. “You son of a bitch. You heartless, uncaring, unforgiving son of a bitch.” She reached out and slapped him. The force of her open palm against his cheek sent him reeling backward. The lady packed quite a punch. He stared at her, oddly surprised by her physical attack. “I’ve put up with your crap for nine years,” she told him, her voice deceptively calm. “I’ve jumped through hoops for you. I’ve taken every assignment you’ve given me, no matter how unpleasant, stupid or demeaning. I’ve taken and taken and taken, all in the hopes that one day you’d give me a chance to explain, to listen to my side of—” “There is nothing to explain. There’s no your side or my side. We both know what happened and why. And do you honestly think you’re the only one who’s been put through the wringer day after day for the past nine years? Lady, you’ve put me through hell.” “I’m glad to know that I haven’t been the only one suffering.” They stood no more than two feet apart, their gazes riveted with mutual anger and distrust. “This is your lucky day,” she told him. “I’m going to give you something you’ve been wanting for a long time. Let’s call it a Get Out of Hell gift card.” He eyed her quizzically. “What are you saying?” “Mr. McNamara, I quit. I’ll submit a written resignation later, but consider this my official notice.” Chapter Two “CARA, SWEETHEART, ARE you listening to me?” Grayson Perkins asked. “Huh?” She wasn’t paying any attention to Gray. She was too busy watching Bain Desmond, sitting three tables over, and hating the way he was smiling at his companion. She wanted to scratch the petite brunette’s eyes out. “I said we need to finalize plans for your trip to Ameca.” “Ameca?” “Are you feeling all right? You don’t seem to be yourself this afternoon.” Forcing her gaze away from the ruggedly handsome police detective and that brunette hussy, Cara Bedell turned to her brother-in-law. Former brother-in-law actually. Grayson Perkins had been married to her older sister, Audrey. “I’m fine, just preoccupied with business.” The business of keeping tabs on Lt. Desmond. She had lunch every Friday at the Hair of the Dog pub because she knew Bain would be there and it was her only chance to see him, even if from a distance. “If there’s something wrong, something bothering you, and you want to discuss it, you know you can count on me to listen.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You must know how much I care about you.” She eased her hand from his. “It’s nothing, really.” She looked directly at Gray. He was much too handsome, too tanned, too buffed and polished. He had the same kind of old-time movie-star good looks that had made her grandmother’s generation swoon over matinee idols. “But I suppose we should discuss my trip to Ameca.” “Good, good. You realize that if you can pull off this deal with either Senor Delgado or Senor Castillo, you’ll prove once and for all that you’re definitely Edward Bedell’s daughter.” Cara offered him a halfhearted smile. She knew he’d meant it as a compliment, about being Edward Bedell’s daughter. Her father had been a genius at the art of making money, as had generations of Bedell men before him. But the patriarchal line had ended with her father. She was the last of the Bedell line and she had been trying for the past few years, since taking over the reins at Bedell, Inc., to give back to the world instead of simply taking, as her family had been doing for the past hundred-plus years. The pending oil deal promised a new source of oil to the United States and would no doubt make hundreds of millions for both Bedell, Inc. and whichever Amecan oil company she chose. If Cara had her way, one fourth of the profits would be reinvested in the people of Ameca. The country’s population was divided into the haves and have-nots, but in unequal proportions. The haves who ruled the small South American country consisted of less than three percent of the population. There were two major oil producers in Ameca: Delgado Oil and Castillo, Inc. Both were eager to do business with Bedell, but Cara was leaning toward Delgado because of the owner’s sympathy for the people of his struggling nation. Of course, Cara wouldn’t have known anything about either Delgado or Castillo without the input of Lexie Murrough Bronson, who headed the international charity organization Helping Hands, which Bedell, Inc. funded. Lexie had done her homework and presented Cara with the facts several months ago. “Your meeting with Senor Delgado is set for mid-September,” Gray reminded her. “That gives you only three weeks to pull together all your facts and figures, arrange for me to take over your duties while you’re away and decide whether or not you’re going to meet with Senor Castillo while you’re there.” “You think I should set up a meeting with Tomas Castillo, don’t you?” Gray nodded. “You could at least listen to what he has to say. After all, you owe it to the shareholders to broker the best deal possible for Bedell, Inc.” Cara heaved a resigned sigh. “I know you’re right. It’s just that Castillo has a reputation, if true, I can’t condone. But if I meet with him, I can report to the board that I met with the heads of both oil companies. That should satisfy them.” Gray grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “I’ll miss you terribly while you’re away, but someone has to stay here and keep the good ship Bedell afloat.” She wiggled her hand, trying to free it from his tight grasp. He gave it a gentle squeeze as he looked longingly into her eyes. “You know I adore you, Cara. When are you going to put me out of my misery and marry me?” Oh, God, not again! For the past few months, Gray had begun pursuing her relentlessly, begging her to marry him. For nearly a year after Audrey died, he had asked her at least once a month. The second year, he had pulled back and reassessed the situation, proposing only three times. As time went by, his pursuit became more subtle and the proposals diminished to no more than three a year. She had hoped he had finally given up and accepted their relationship for what it was, and for what it would always be—a friendship based on family ties and a business association. But a few months ago, he had once again declared his undying love for her and since then hadn’t given her a moment’s peace. Cara managed to free her hand. She looked at Gray with what she hoped was warmth and caring. After all, she was fond of Gray and oddly enough felt sorry for him. She knew he didn’t love her, that although he had loved her sister in the early years of the marriage, what Gray loved most in this world was Gray. His love for the Bedell sisters was rooted in his love for the Bedell fortune. But Gray was family. Her father had loved him like a son. And at one time, when she’d been younger and very foolish, Cara had thought she was in love with him. Despite all his faults, she still had a soft spot in her heart for him and always would. And because of her father’s training, Gray was a good businessman and had become an asset to Bedell, Inc. Why couldn’t Bain Desmond be lured by the Bedell billions the way most other men were? Why was it that she could probably have any man she wanted—correction, she could probably buy any man she wanted—except the one man she loved? She glanced across the room. Bain and his date were leaving. Her gaze took in every inch of the brunette. Five-three, slender, delicate and totally feminine. “Cara, sweetheart.” Gray wanted an answer to his proposal. How many ways can a woman say no? She supposed telling him that she wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth wasn’t really an option. She would never hurt Gray that way. The words No, Gray. I’m very fond of you, but I won’t marry you were on the tip of her tongue. But before she could speak, she sensed someone approaching their table. When she looked away from Gray, she saw Bain and the brunette coming toward them. Her heart did an erratic rat-a-tat-tat just because he was so close. She could easily reach out and touch him. “Afternoon,” Bain said, his expression totally emotionless as he glanced from Cara to Gray and back to Cara. “How are you, Ms. Bedell?” “I’m fine, Lieutenant. How are you?” “No complaints.” He cupped his companion’s elbow. “Ms. Bedell, Mr. Perkins, I’d like y’all to meet my sister, Mary Ann Nelson.” His sister! Cara could barely contain her joy. She wanted to jump up and hug Mary Ann. Gray rose to his feet and nodded curtly to Bain’s sister. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Nelson.” “Thank you,” Mary Ann replied. Cara smiled warmly at the attractive brunette. “It’s very nice to meet you.” Mary Ann returned Cara’s smile. “Bain speaks very highly of you, Ms. Bedell. I’m happy that I finally have this chance to meet you in person.” Apparently Bain had confided in his sister. But exactly what had he told her? There’s this billionaire heiress I’ve got the hots for, but because I’m an old-fashioned, macho kind of guy, I could never get seriously involved with her. And God forbid that I marry her and adapt to her opulent lifestyle. I’m the kind of man who needs to be the breadwinner, to wear the pants in my family. “Are you staying in Chattanooga long?” Cara asked. “Just for the weekend. Keith and I brought the children to visit their Uncle Bain and while we’re here we’re taking in some of the local attractions. Keith has them at the aquarium right now, giving Bain and me a chance for some brother-sister time. Tomorrow, we’re going to Rock City and riding the Incline.” If she and Bain were actually a couple, she would invite his sister and her family to her home for dinner. Heck, she’d invite them to stay with her. God knew she had more than enough room at the Bedell estate. “I’ve got to be back at headquarters in fifteen minutes,” Bain reminded his sister. Mary Ann smiled warmly, offering Cara an I-know-how-important-you-are-to-him farewell glance. Bain’s gaze connected with Cara’s for a millisecond, just long enough for a current of electricity to pass between them. Then the moment ended and Bain and Mary Ann were gone, heading out the door. As he sat down, Gray watched her watching Bain. “He’s the reason we have lunch here every Friday, isn’t he?” Gray said, a resentful tone in his voice. “Ever since he came into our lives to investigate Audrey’s disappearance and murder, your feelings for me have changed.” “I’m not going to discuss Bain Desmond with you.” “Why not? It’s more than obvious that he’s the reason you won’t marry me.” Gray shook his head in disgust. “What you see in that uncouth ruffian, I’ll never know. It’s apparent he doesn’t return your feelings and it’s rather pathetic the way you moon over him. I’d think you had more pride and dignity than to—” “Shut up, Gray.” “I’m sorry if—” “My feelings for Lieutenant Desmond are my business, not yours. And the reason I won’t marry you is because I’m not in love with you.” “Yes, I know.” Gray heaved a deep, dramatic sigh. “But we could have a marriage based on other things. Love is highly overrated. I loved Audrey and see how that turned out?” She looked right at him. “You need to be satisfied with what you have. You’re a VP at Bedell, Inc., with a high six-figure salary and an almost limitless expensive account. None of that will change if you find yourself a lovely woman to marry, someone who’ll make you happy. So, please find someone else. Someone who would love to be Mrs. Grayson Perkins.” “Perhaps I’ll do just that.” Gray shoved back his chair and stood. “And when you finally realize that you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with Lieutenant Desmond, you may regret that I’ve moved on and found someone else.” She sighed. “Anything is possible.” Anything except my regretting not marrying you. “LUCIE HANDED IN her resignation?” Geoff Monday shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think anything he did would ever make her quit.” “Believe it,” Daisy told him. “She packed up all her stuff and made three trips to her car. Then she gave me her letter of resignation to give to Sawyer.” “Did she share any of the particulars with you?” “Not really, only that this last case he assigned her was the final straw. When she arrived this morning, she was ready to kill Sawyer, but when she left she was as cool as a cucumber. I’ve never seen Lucie that calm.” “Do you think the boss might need a pal about now? He did call me personally and asked me to meet with him.” Geoff winked at Daisy, who blushed sweetly. He supposed he shouldn’t flirt with her, especially since he knew she fancied him. But she understood that it was all in fun. He kept things between them friendly, but never romantic. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her appealing. He did. A bit too appealing. But good God, he was practically old enough to be her father. A pretty little thing like Daisy needed a young, reliable fellow, not a battle-scarred old warrior. “I wouldn’t enter the lion’s den if I were you, not until he tells me to send you in. He knows you’re here.” Daisy shook her head sadly. “He’s in a bad way. When I delivered Lucie’s letter, he practically bit my head off. And he had a bottle of whiskey on his desk. I’ve never seen him take a drink this early in the day. It’s not even three o’clock.” “Well his high-and-mighty sent for me,” Geoff said. “He said he had a one-day assignment for me, something that required my expert skills.” Daisy lifted her brows in an inquisitive manner. “I certainly don’t like the sound of that.” “Think he wants me to kill someone?” Geoff chuckled when he saw the shocked expression on her face. “I was joking, love. My solider-of-fortune days are long behind me.” Apparently realizing she was staring at him with a hungry look in her big brown eyes, she dragged her gaze away from his. “You’ll stop by on your way out and give me details, right? I’ll need to know where you’re going, make your flight and hotel reservations and—” “Monday, what’s holding you up?” Sawyer shouted from where he stood outside his office door. “See what I mean,” Daisy said quietly. “He’s like a bear with a thorn in his paw.” “Already missing our Lucie, no doubt.” He leaned over and tickled Daisy under her chin. “See you on my way out.” Geoff whistled as he walked down the hall. From his experience, he had learned that when there was as much animosity between a man and a woman as there was between Sawyer and Lucie, it usually meant they’d had a personal relationship. A sexual relationship. It certainly didn’t take a genius to pick up on the vibes between the gorgeous Amazonian redhead and Dundee’s CEO. And it was a lot more than the fact that they seemed to hate each other. By the time Geoff reached Sawyer’s office, the boss had gone back inside, but had left the door open. Geoff paused, peered into the office and grunted. He watched while Sawyer downed the last drops of liquor from his glass: then he picked up the open bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and refilled his glass with the two-hundred-dollar-a-bottle scotch. “Monday reporting for duty, sir.” Geoff clicked his heels and saluted. Sawyer glared at him, his hazel brown eyes narrowed to mere slits. “I’d like for you to talk to a man named Taylor Lawson. He’s in Las Vegas right now. You can get the information on where he’s staying from Daisy.” He took a hefty swig of whiskey and made a face as the liquor burned a trail down his throat. “Yes, sir. Would you mind defining exactly what you mean by talk to him?” “Scare the shit out of him. Leave a few bruises. But I want this done discreetly. I don’t want any repercussions. Understand?” “Yes, sir.” “When you finish talking to him, leave him a parting message.” “And that message is?” Geoff asked. “Tell him to think twice before he tries to rape another woman.” Geoff sucked in his breath. Was that what had happened to Lucie? Had a client tried to rape her? “May I ask if this has anything to do with why Lucie resigned from Dundee’s?” Sawyer’s sharp gaze nailed Geoff to the spot. “That’s none of your concern.” He put the glass to his lips and swigged down another large gulp of scotch. “You’re knocking back the booze a bit heavy, aren’t you, sir? You don’t want the office staff to see you totally pissed, do you?” “When I want your advice, Mr. Monday, I’ll ask for it.” “Yes, sir. I’ll get the information I need from Daisy and take the first flight out—” “Take the Dundee jet. Have Daisy authorize the flight. I want this taken care of tonight.” “Do you want me to report in directly to you when the mission is accomplished?” “Yes. You have my home number. I don’t care what time it is.” “Yes, sir, I have your home number and your mobile number.” With a half-full glass of whiskey in his hand, Sawyer turned his back on Geoff and walked to the wall of windows that overlooked the town center, effectively dismissing his employee. LUCIE EVANS WAS the only person on earth who could drive him to drink. The last time he had gotten fall-on-his-face drunk, Lucie had been the cause. Sawyer stared at the bottle of Johnnie Walker on his desk, then down at the empty glass in his hand. He’d had enough, more than enough. He probably couldn’t walk a straight line and he sure as hell couldn’t drive himself home, but he was sober enough to feel guilty. Damn her for making him feel this way. He had sent her off on her latest assignment, as he had many times over the years, knowing full well that she’d hate every minute of it. But if he’d had any idea that Lawson would try to rape Lucie…He wanted five minutes alone with the guy. Five minutes. But he didn’t dare handle this himself. He might actually kill Lawson. No, better to allow an expert like Monday to put the fear of God into the scumbag who had attacked Lucie. She’s gone for good, now. You finally got what you’ve wanted ever since she followed you here to Atlanta and Ellen Denby hired her as a Dundee agent. When he had resigned from the FBI and Sam Dundee had offered him a job, he had believed he would be starting a new life, a Lucie Evans-free life. He’d been in California on an assignment when Ellen hired Lucie, otherwise he might have been able to dissuade her or perhaps convince Sam that Lucie wasn’t any more Dundee material than she’d been FBI material. “Why are you doing this?” he had asked her. “Why can’t you leave well enough alone and stay out of my life?” “Because I love you,” she’d told him. Straightforward and to the point. “And I believe that deep down under all the pain and guilt you feel, you still love me.” She’d been wrong. He didn’t love her. He had never loved her. Sawyer set the glass on his desk, flopped down in his leather chair and huffed out a deep, exasperated breath. He loosened his silk tie and undid the top button of his linen shirt. If he knew Lucie, she didn’t have a nest egg socked away for a rainy day. She lived in the moment. Always had. She was generous to her friends and a sucker for every sob story she heard. She gave away too much of her hard-earned money to charities she believed in, those for women, children and animals. He’d see to it that she received a generous bonus from Dundee’s. He could also shred her letter of resignation and have Daisy report that she was laid off, that way she could at least draw unemployment. You can do better than that. You can give her a glowing recommendation. Or he could make a phone call and get her a new job. “That’s it.” When he tried to snap his fingers, he realized he was drunker than he’d thought. He couldn’t seem to make his fingers cooperate. He picked up the interoffice phone and hit the office manager’s number. When she answered on the second ring, he said, “Daisy, look up Cara Bedell’s phone number for me. Her office number. She should still be there.” He waited while Daisy found the information he had requested. When she recited the number, he jotted it down quickly. After taking a steadying breath, he dialed Cara’s number. Her secretary answered. “This is Sawyer McNamara from the Dundee Agency. I’d like to speak to Ms. Bedell.” “Just a moment, sir.” A couple of minutes later, Cara came on the line. “Mr. McNamara, what can I do for you?” “You can tell your new security chief to hire one of my former employees.” “I take it that you didn’t fire this person, otherwise you’d hardly be recommending him to me.” “Her. It’s Lucie Evans. You remember Ms. Evans, don’t you?” “Yes, I remember her.” “Lucie needs a job. I thought perhaps as a favor to Dundee’s, you might consider hiring her.” “Fax her resume first thing in the morning. Send it directly to me and I’ll hand deliver it to Deke.” “Thank you.” He swallowed. “Just one more thing.” “Yes?” “I’d prefer that Ms. Evans not know that I had anything to do with her being offered the job.” “All right. I’ll have Deke fabricate a white lie to cover for you, if necessary.” “I’d appreciate that.” Sawyer hung up the receiver. There, that was done. Lucie had a job. She’d be moving two hours away, from Atlanta to Chattanooga. Two hours, twenty miles, a hundred miles or a thousand, it was all the same. It meant that, if he were lucky, he’d never have to see Lucie Evans again as long as he lived. TOMAS CASTILLO met privately with his friend, President Emilio Ortega, to discuss Cara Bedell’s upcoming visit to Ameca. He and Emilio had known each other for quite some time and he had contributed generously to his friend’s campaign for reelection against the opposition leader, Naldo Salazar. Salazar was a man of the people who wanted all kinds of ridiculous government reforms. Felipe Delgado, Tomas’s rival in the oil business, had campaigned for Salazar. “Ms. Bedell is set to arrive in San Luis in three weeks,” Emilio said. “I plan to host a dinner here at the palace for our American friend and hopefully your new business partner.” “I understand she has been invited to stay with Delgado and his family while she is here. Perhaps you should make a counteroffer. After all, if she refused the president’s request for her to stay at the palace…” Tomas smiled. “Ms. Bedell is unmarried, I believe. It would be my great pleasure to be her devoted servant while she is in my country.” Emilio laughed. “Ah, Tomas, you wicked devil. You intend to seduce the American senorita, no? She may have great respect for Delgado and like his ideas of returning a portion of the profits from any deal they make to the people of Ameca, but I would lay odds that once you romance Ms. Bedell, she will sing whatever tune you want to hear.” “Indeed. I admit that I do have a way with the ladies. But if Ms. Bedell can’t be charmed, then all is not lost. There is more than one means of persuasion, is there not?” “Enough.” Emilio held up a hand in a stop signal. “What other plans you may have, I do not want to know them.” “Of course, my old friend, the less you know, the better. But be assured that I will not fail. I intend for Bedell, Inc. and Castillo, Inc. to become partners in a lucrative deal that will benefit both parties. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to secure that bargain.” Chapter Three LUCIE SLEPT UNTIL ten o’clock that Saturday morning. After glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she rolled over into the center of the bed and sprawled out on her stomach. Yesterday, after lugging five boxes of personal stuff from her office to her car and then from her car to her apartment, she had dropped onto her comfy old sofa, slip-covered in a stain-resistant cream fabric, and sat there for nearly an hour. Most of that time had been spent staring out the southwest windows directly across the room as the afternoon sun slowly sank lower and lower. The harder she had tried not to think about what she’d done, naturally, the more her mind had focused on the fact that she had resigned from the Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency. The rest of the evening she had simply gone through the motions: eaten a salad for supper, taken a long soak in the bathtub, brushed her teeth, watched the late night news, and gone to bed. The only problem was, she hadn’t slept more than two hours straight and not more than four and a half all night. That might be enough sleep for some people, but not for Lucie. She was an eight-hour-a-night kind of gal. Groaning at the thought of getting out of bed this morning and facing her first full day of unemployment, she lifted her arms, balled her hands into fists and beat furiously against the two stacked feather pillows. When she wore herself out pummeling her grandmother’s old pillows, she picked up one of them, covered her face with it and screamed. She had learned at an early age what great sound buffers feather pillows made. After tossing the pillow aside, she took a deep breath and got out of bed. Standing there on the wooden floor in her bare feet, she squared her shoulders. There, she felt better. A mini-hissy fit had done the trick. Whenever she tried to control her emotions instead of releasing them, she wound up making herself sick. If Lucie had learned anything about herself, it was that she should never try to repress her emotions. She just wasn’t geared to calm internalizing. No sirree, in order to function, she needed frenzied externalizing. Five minutes later, as she emerged from the bathroom, face washed and hair brushed, she heard her doorbell ring. Who on earth? It was ten fifteen on a Saturday morning. She made her way out of the bedroom and through her combination living room/dining room. When she reached the front door, she peered through the view-finder, then grinned broadly and unlocked the door. Daisy Holbrook held a drink caddy in one hand and a small white sack in the other. “I come bearing gifts. White chocolate lattes and sinfully decadent cream-filled doughnuts, two for each of us.” “Well, get in here, girl.” Lucie issued the invitation with a sweep of her hand. “Put the goodies on the coffee table and we’ll dig in.” Lucie smiled at her next thought. Daisy looked fresh as a daisy. But then she always did. Dundee’s Ms. Efficiency had the wholesome good looks of a healthy farm girl, bred for marriage and birthing babies. Young, pretty, slightly plump, Daisy dressed in classic clothes. Sweater sets, pearls, tailored slacks. Today, away from the office, she wore jeans and a cotton sweater. But the jeans weren’t low-cut, faded, or ragged-hemmed; instead they were pale blue stone-washed, neatly pressed, and accented with a small pink belt that matched her sweater. She had her long, chestnut-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and her only makeup consisted of light blush and lip gloss. Lucie curled up on the sofa. Daisy lifted each of the coffee cups from the carrier and placed them on hand-painted metal coasters atop the coffee table. Then she removed several large paper napkins from the sack and put two sugar-glazed doughnuts on the napkins. “You do realize that after we consume this sinful food, our hips will expand at least half an inch and we’ll have gained no less than three or four pounds,” Lucie said, as Daisy sat down beside her. “I’m willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for a friend.” Daisy grinned. “After all, I couldn’t think of anything else that might cheer you up this morning.” “Just seeing you cheers me up.” “But seeing me with lattes and doughnuts makes my visit even better, doesn’t it?” Lucie reached for the latte. “I can certainly use a little caffeine and sugar this morning, something to perk me up as well as wake me up.” “Rough night?” Daisy lifted her doughnut, napkin and all, from the table. “I spent most of the night arguing with myself, part of me convinced I’d done the only thing I could possibly have done by resigning and another part of me convinced that quitting one job before I have another is a definite sign of mental instability.” “You’ll get another job without any trouble.” Lucie eyed her friend speculatively. “Without a recommendation from Dundee’s—” “That’s not a problem.” “Really? Hmm…Tell me, Daisy dear, just what have you done?” “Nothing. I simply asked Sawyer about including a letter of recommendation in with your severance package and he okayed it.” “Did he?” Don’t read anything into it. He’s glad to be rid of you. He’s simply doing what he considers the honorable thing. You know how Sawyer is about right and wrong, all black or all white, no shades of gray. “I should have known that since I wasn’t fired, he probably thought giving me a recommendation was the right thing to do.” “He got drunk yesterday afternoon,” Daisy said between sips of latte. “I had to drive him home.” “What!” “He made a big dent in a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.” “So, Sawyer really got drunk? I haven’t seen him drunk since—Not in nine years. Not since his brother died.” “I didn’t know Sawyer had a brother, but then none of us really know him, except maybe you.” When Daisy took a large bite out of her doughnut, the cream center oozed out and stuck to her mouth. Looking right at Lucie, waiting for a response, she licked the gooey filling off her lips. “I used to know him. Or I thought I did. But I guess everything I thought I knew about him turned out to be wrong.” Except his innate sense of right and wrong, good and bad, innocence and guilt. “Look, I’m not asking you to betray any confidences. You don’t have to tell me anything. We’ve been friends for years and I’ve never asked, have I?” “No, you haven’t and I appreciate that. What happened between Sawyer and me…well, it’s better to stay just between the two of us.” “Sure.” Daisy popped the remainder of the doughnut into her mouth. “I may ask you about him every once in a while. You won’t mind, will you?” After she swallowed, Daisy replied, “I’ll give you a weekly report, if that’s what you want.” Lucie forced a smile, knowing if she didn’t, she would wind up crying. Damn Sawyer McNamara! “No, I don’t want to hear about him that often.” “Oh, Lucie, honey…” “It’s not what you think. I’m not in love with him or anything like that.” “Of course you’re not.” “I’d be a fool to still care anything about him. And I’m certainly not a fool.” “No, you’re not.” “Actually, if I feel anything for him at all, it’s…it’s…Damn! I hate him. I swear I hate him.” “Yeah, I can tell how much you hate him.” Lucie glared at Daisy. She grabbed her doughnut off the table and ate it in three huge bites. She washed it down with the latte, then reached over and grabbed the bakery sack. “I wish you’d bought a dozen of these things.” She opened the sack, stuck her hand in and brought out another doughnut. “Some people use whiskey to drown their sorrows,” Daisy said, far too all-knowing. “And then some of us prefer dulling our pain with sugar.” “He hates me,” Lucie said. “He can’t bear to be in the same room with me. Every time he looks at me, he has to face his own guilt. Now, he won’t have to do that, not ever again.” She set the latte and doughnut on the table. “Let’s go shopping.” She jumped up and planted her hands on her hips. “Give me thirty minutes to get ready and we’ll head out to Lenox Square. My Macy’s credit card is paid off, so I can buy myself a new outfit for job hunting.” “What are you waiting for? Go, go. Get ready. Shopping is the next best thing to overdosing on sugar.” LUCIE HAD SPENT all day Saturday with Daisy. The name Sawyer McNamara had not crossed their lips again. They had shopped until they dropped, had eaten an early dinner out and then seen a movie. Sunday, she had awakened early, dressed and gone for a long walk. Later, she had stripped her bed and remade it with fresh linens, done all her laundry, cleaned the entire apartment and called her grandmother. Nonna lived in Florida, in a retirement village. “I’m surrounded by the sun, the sea, and lots of senility,” Nonna had joked the last time they’d talked. She adored her paternal grandmother, Molly O’Riley Evans, from whom she had inherited her height, her curly auburn hair and her Irish temper. Her nonna had raised her while both of her parents worked in the mill, her mother as a secretary and her father as a midnight-shift foreman. And when her parents had died in car wreck when she was twelve, Nonna had packed their bags six months later and moved them to her hometown of Wayside, Mississippi, where Nonna’s three other children lived. It was there that Lucie had met Sawyer and his younger brother, Brenden. And she had fallen in love with Sawyer the moment she saw him. Twenty-three years ago. Last night she had taken an over-the-counter sleeping pill, so when she woke this morning, she’d had a too-much-sleep hangover. Now, on her second cup of coffee and with her brain starting to function, she sat down in front of her laptop, which was situated on the dining table, and stared at the screen. Even though Daisy told her that she would receive one month’s salary in her severance package, she knew that wouldn’t last more than a couple of months. She had exactly one thousand four hundred and twenty-six dollars in her checking account and many of her monthly bills would come due on the first. Unless she had no other choice, she didn’t want to dip into her retirement fund, which was the only savings she had. Lucie wasn’t good at saving money. She was good at spending it and giving it away. She needed to find a job, sooner rather than later. She hadn’t worked up a resume in years—nine years to be exact. So, what were her qualifications? High school degree, college degree, six years with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, nine years with Dundee’s. She supposed she could go into law enforcement again, something local maybe. Or she could check out other private investigation and/or bodyguard firms. Maybe she could move to Florida, somewhere near Nonna. One thing she knew for sure—she was leaving Atlanta. She would do what she should have done nine years ago and put some distance between her and Sawyer. As she finished off her coffee and was considering a third cup, her phone rang. When she stood up, she glanced at the wall clock. Nine thirty-two. She hurried to pick up the receiver, taking only enough time to glance at the caller ID. Bedell, Inc. Who from Bedell, Inc. would be calling her? “Hello.” “Ms. Evans, Lucie Evans?” the baritone voice asked. “Yes, this is she.” “Lucie, this is Deke Bronson.” “Oh, Deke, hi there. How are you doing? How are Lexie and the baby?” “They’re fine. Emma weighs twenty pounds and is almost as beautiful as her mama.” Deke cleared his throat. “You probably know that I took over as head of security at Bedell, Inc., last year when Larry Nesmith retired.” “Yes, I’d heard. Congratulations.” “Thanks. Look, Lucie, the reason I’m calling is because I heard through the grapevine that you’ve left Dundee’s and might be looking for a job.” He’d heard that through the grapevine? What grapevine? The Daisy Holbrook grapevine, maybe? “That’s right,” Lucie said. “I am looking for a job.” “Would you be interested in working security for us? The pay is probably not quite what you were making at Dundee’s, but we provide a nice package, including three weeks paid vacation after the first year, excellent health care, retirement benefits and bonuses.” “Yes, I might be interested.” “Good. Why don’t you drive over to Chattanooga tomorrow and meet with me, say around ten-thirty.” “Yes, thank you. I’ll be there. Ten-thirty sharp.” Lucie replaced the receiver, released a deep breath, spun around a couple of times and laughed out loud. Daisy, if this was your doing, then you, sweet girl, are my guardian angel. Bedell, Inc. was a multibillion-dollar conglomerate with branches worldwide. Maybe she could get Deke to assign her to one of their foreign offices in some exotic locale. The farther she was from Sawyer McNamara, the better. For both of them. “WHAT DID SHE SAY?” Cara Bedell asked. “She’ll be here for an interview at ten-thirty tomorrow,” Deke Bronson replied. “Good. Put her through the regular interview process, then call her Wednesday morning and tell her she got the job.” “Yes, ma’am. You’re the boss.” “And hurry her through the indoctrination process. I want her assigned as one of my personal bodyguards when I go to Ameca. With Wanda on maternity leave, I’ll need a seasoned female bodyguard on this trip and Ms. Evans has nine years experience with the premiere firm in the nation.” “You’re right. Lucie will be an asset for our security team.” “Start Ms. Evans out at top level pay. With her background, she shouldn’t be starting at the ground level.” Deke nodded. “I agree. Anything else?” “No, that’s all. Just remember that Lucie isn’t to know who recommended her for the job.” “She won’t hear it from me.” Smiling, Deke turned around and exited Cara’s private office. As soon as he closed the door behind him, she picked up the phone and dialed Sawyer McNamara’s cell number. “It’s done,” she said. “Ms. Evans is coming in tomorrow for an interview and she’ll start work on Wednesday.” “Thanks,” Sawyer said. “I owe you one. By the way, my name wasn’t mentioned, was it?” “No.” “Good. I’d like to keep it that way.” “Sounds to me like you’re losing a good employee. I’m surprised you didn’t try to persuade her to stay.” “Lucie needs a change.” “Well, she’ll get a big change soon. I’m taking her to Ameca with me in three weeks to act as one of my personal bodyguards.” Having learned in the past that Sawyer wasn’t a man who indulged in idle chitchat, she didn’t prolong their conversation. Still holding the receiver in her hand, Cara considered making another phone call. Since seeing Bain this past Friday, she hadn’t been able to get him off her mind. Why she put herself through the torment of going to the Hair of the Dog pub every Friday just to get a glimpse of him, she didn’t know. Liar. You do know. She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him. Better a few stolen glimpses from across the room than nothing at all. How pathetic was that? About as pathetic as finding reasons to call him occasionally, just to hear his voice. Cara replaced the receiver, walked across the room and stood in front of the windows that overlooked downtown Chattanooga. She was standing in her plush office suite inside the Bedell Building, headquarters for Bedell, Inc. How many people would kill to be in her shoes? She had wealth, power and an unequaled social position. She had everything that money could buy. Unfortunately, the one thing she wanted more than anything else in the whole wide world was not for sale. ARTURO TORRES-RIOS paid the men in cash, a down payment, one-fourth of what they would earn if they did their jobs well. He had hand-picked these men, as he did whenever he needed a team. Each of them had worked for him before and although he knew better than to blindly trust any of them, they understood one another. In his business, betrayal was punishable by death. Usually a slow, painful death. These men knew his reputation, had seen him in action, and were familiar with how he dealt with anyone who wasn’t loyal. “We will go over the plan again and again until every man knows his job perfectly. There is no margin for error.” He glanced around the room. Four men. He could have used six. But the more people involved, the more chances for mistakes. The odds were better with only four. Manuel would be the driver. Hector and Pepe would take possession of the package. Rico would safeguard the hideaway. And then the four would alternate twelve-hour shifts, two working together. They would report in to him at the end of each shift. “Travel the route in a different car and at a different time each day. We may not know until the last minute exactly when to strike. I’ll make arrangements tomorrow for the hideaway and I’ll see to it that the place is well stocked. I don’t know how long it will take to accomplish the mission. Maybe only a few days, but more than likely, a week or more. I don’t want any of you making trips into town and drawing attention to yourselves.” “This package, it is very valuable, yes?” Rico asked. “Very valuable,” Arturo agreed. “Must it be returned in perfect condition?” The other men laughed. Arturo sliced his sharp gaze from one man to the other, effectively cutting off their laughter and silencing them. “Your assignment is to take possession of the package, guard it and return it to its rightful owner when I give the order. Is that understood?” “Yes, yes,” they all said in unison. “Good. You may look, but do not touch,” Arturo told them. “What happens if anything goes wrong?” Hector asked. “Do we dispose of the package?” “No. I will take charge of the package and dispose of it myself.” These men did not know her name nor had he shown them a photograph of her. That would come later, when it was absolutely necessary. The less they knew beforehand the less chance of anyone accidentally leaking any information. To a trusted friend. To a lover. To a family member. Arturo wanted this assignment to go off without a flaw. If it did, a month from now, he would be a very wealthy man. Chapter Four ONE OF THE three Bedell private jets, this one kept in a hangar in Chattanooga for the exclusive use of Cara Bedell, landed in San Luis, Ameca, a little over two weeks after Lucie hired on with Bedell, Inc. Deke Bronson, who had also once been a Dundee agent, had rushed Lucie through the orientation process and prepared her for her duties as Ms. Bedell’s bodyguard. Whenever she traveled, a female agent traveled with the Bedell CEO. “Cara wants you to accompany her and Jason Little to Ameca as her personal bodyguard,” Deke had explained. “Wanda Marcum, who usually travels with Cara, is on maternity leave. At present we don’t have another female guard with your credentials.” Ameca was a small, oil-rich country on the eastern coast of South America. Settled by the Spanish, who had intermarried with the natives, the country had seen an influx of various nationalities during the past sixty years. Although Spanish was the official language, more than half the population spoke fluent English. From her crash course in the country and its economic, political and social structure, Lucie had learned that the vast majority of Amecans lived in abject poverty. Governed by an elected president, the country boasted of its democratic principles; yet every president for the past half century had emerged from the Amecan army to run for the highest office in the land. As they disembarked, Lucie breathed in the warm, tropical air. The San Luis airport ran parallel to the coastline and the Atlantic Ocean could be seen from the tower. Thankfully, the flight had proven to be uneventful in any negative sense. Lucie had flown on the Dundee jet numerous times and had been duly impressed during her first flight. But as luxurious as the Dundee jet was, it paled in comparison to Cara’s private plane. Other than the Bedell jet being larger, one of the obvious differences was the fact that on the Dundee jet, the occupants prepared their own meals, whereas on the Bedell jet, a chef prepared four-course meals. Tugging on the lapels, Lucie pulled her beige blazer together as she emerged from the plane, making sure her shoulder holster wasn’t visible. Cara followed her, with Jason Little directly behind her. Diplomatic arrangements had been made to allow the CEO of Bedell, Inc. and her bodyguards to forego the usual entrance procedures at the airport. Instead, a representative of President Ortega was there to expedite matters and officially welcome Senorita Bedell to Ameca. A bodyguard should always be as unobtrusive as possible, keeping a low profile. By doing this, it allowed the principal—in this case, Cara Bedell—and those with whom she came into contact to feel comfortable. Although Lucie loved clothes—bright colors, frills, dangling earrings and heels that lifted her to a towering six-feet-plus—whenever she was on duty, she dressed accordingly. Today she wore brown dress slacks, a sleeveless, pale yellow tank and a beige cotton blazer, sensible brown flats, and no jewelry except tiny gold studs in her ears and a wristwatch. Her unruly curls were subdued in a thick, loose bun at the nape of her neck. By dressing in a nondescript manner, she didn’t draw attention to herself. She and Jason had done their homework well in advance, familiarizing themselves with the layout of the airport and the route they would take to Senor Delgado’s home. They had requested and received a blueprint of their host’s hacienda and surrounding estate grounds. Although they had no reason to suspect that Cara might be in danger during her visit to Ameca, a woman worth billions should always be considered a target. Senor Vito Aguilar-Vega, a small, dark man in his late forties, welcomed Cara to his country and presented her with a bouquet of white roses and lilies. After making a glowing speech in Spanish, he translated a few words into English, telling Cara that the president was eager to meet her and wished to host a ball in her honor during her visit. A tall, distinguished gentleman, with thick salt-and-pepper hair and a generous mustache, spoke to Senor Aguilar-Vega, who frowned disapprovingly, but stepped aside to allow the older man to approach. “Senorita Bedell, I am your host, Felipe Delgado. Welcome to Ameca.” He bowed with a quick snap of his head. “My car is waiting. I have arranged for someone to pick up your luggage later.” He glanced from Cara to Jason and Lucie, who were posted on either side of her, Jason slightly behind her, Lucie a few steps ahead of her. “There are three of you, yes?” “Yes, thank you.” Cara took Senor Delgado’s arm. Lucie and Jason fell into step, Jason ahead of them and Lucie behind them. Lucie slid into the backseat alongside Cara while Jason climbed in the front with the chauffeur. Once on the road, making their way through downtown San Luis traffic, Cara introduced her two bodyguards to their host. During the twenty-minute drive from the airport to his home, Senor Delgado kept the conversation light and casual, speaking of his wife, his three children and five grandchildren, his love of sailing, his hobby of stamp collecting and his stable of fine Arabian horses. The estate bordered the ocean on one side, with the two-story, salmon-pink stucco, red tile-roofed hacienda built on the rocks overlooking the pristine beach below. The well-manicured lawns were a luscious green, no doubt watered daily. Bougainvilleas draped the fencing, a combination of stucco and black wrought-iron. Flowering shrubbery, neatly maintained, grew in abundance, adding to the tropical-paradise aura of the estate. When the chauffeur parked the Rolls-Royce on the circular brick drive in front of the house, a small, plump woman with a mane of black hair arranged in a soft bun atop her head came out of the house and stood on the veranda. When Senor Delgado exited the car, he reached in to assist both Cara and Lucie. “Your guards may relax somewhat,” Delgado said. “I have my own guards here at my estate and my home is quite safe for me, my family and my guests.” The small woman, dressed impeccably in a lavender linen skirt and white silk blouse, came forward and draped her arm through her husband’s. “My dear,” Delgado said, “may I present Senorita Cara Bedell, Senorita Evans and Senor Little.” She smiled at each of them in turn, but her dark eyes returned to Cara when she spoke. “Mucho gusto, Senorita Bedell. Welcome to our home.” Her English was not as smooth as her husband’s, but fluent enough so that she didn’t struggle with her words. “Senorita Bedell, this is my wife, Suelita.” The mistress of the house herself showed Cara to her room, which turned out to be a beautiful suite with a balcony that faced the ocean. Jason was given a room across the hall and Lucie the room next to Cara’s. “They seem very nice, don’t you think?” Cara asked Lucie when they were alone. “Yes, quite nice.” “I’m seventy-five percent decided about choosing Delgado Oil over Castillo, Inc.,” Cara said. “I hope you don’t mind my thinking out loud and using you as a sounding board. Wanda’s accustomed to listening and giving me her honest opinion. I hope you’ll do the same.” “Yes, ma’am. If that’s what you want.” “It is. And please, dispense with the ‘ma’am,’ and except when it seems inappropriate, call me Cara.” Lucie smiled. Cara retuned her smile. “I’ve received proposals from both Delgado and Castillo. On the surface they seem equal in benefits to Bedell, Inc., but from my reports, personally, the two owners are vastly different. Delgado grew up poor. He’s one of the people. And ever since he became a multimillionaire, he has helped with various charities, and in the last election, he worked to get Naldo Salazar elected president. Salazar is a reformist. Since the election, he has kept a low profile because there are rumors his life could be in danger. On the other hand, Castillo came from wealth and privilege. He’s a playboy who lights his cigars with hundred-dollar bills, as the old saying goes. He backed President Ortega and supposedly the two are very close. Ortega represents the status quo.” “If your goal is profits for Bedell, Inc., and nothing more, than I’d say all things are equal.” Lucie wondered if Cara realized that by giving her permission to speak her mind, Lucie wouldn’t hold back or sugarcoat anything. “But if your goal is profits for Bedell, Inc. and to help the people of Ameca, then you have only one choice. Isn’t Senor Delgado proposing that his company and yours invest between a sixth and a fourth of the revenue from this joint deal in programs for the needy citizens of his country?” “Yes, that’s part of the deal, and it’s tempting to simply sign the contracts with Senor Delgado now and deal with my board of directors later. But I think I owe it to my stockholders to at least meet with Senor Castillo and find out if he’s interested in making a counteroffer that includes a similar provision to help his fellow countrymen.” “Is meeting with him your idea?” Lucie asked, somehow doubting it was. “Actually, Gray suggested that my meeting with Castillo might appease the stockholders and the board, some who will definitely not be happy giving away such a large percentage of our profits.” “I guess it’s true.” Cara looked at Lucie quizzically. “Enough is never enough. And you can’t be too rich or too thin.” Lucie chuckled. “Well, at least too rich.” “I know that I make the Bedell board members sound like a bunch of greedy, heartless millionaires, but they’re not. At least most are not. But in order to do my job representing Bedell, Inc., I have to appease the board of directors and the shareholders, even if I am the majority shareholder.” Lucie laughed. “Poor little rich girl.” Uh-oh, she’d done it now. Let her big mouth get in her trouble again. “I’m sorry. That just slipped out.” Cara smiled. “Don’t apologize. I appreciate your honestly. Besides, that’s exactly what I am—a poor little rich girl. You have no idea how well that term fits me.” JOSUE SOTO entered the church shortly before sundown. There were three other people there; one old man lighting a candle and a young couple kneeling in prayer. After slipping into one of the back pews, Josue sat, closed his eyes and pretended to pray. Ten minutes later, when the young couple had left and only the old man remained—he was now seated on the front row, his white head bowed reverently as he mumbled to himself—Arturo eased in beside Josue. “She arrived today,” Josue said, his voice little more than a whisper. “She is staying with Felipe Delgado. As you know, his estate is practically impregnable. She brought two personal bodyguards with her, one man and one woman.” “I need to know when she will be outside the estate, when she will be on the road and in town.” Josue nodded. “I am working on acquiring a copy of her itinerary, but as you know, information such as that does not come cheap.” “Do not squabble over money. Pay whatever is necessary.” “Yes, of course.” “She will be in Ameca for two weeks, yes? That has not changed, has it?” “No, not as far as I know. Her plans remain unchanged. I have heard that President Ortega plans to have a ball in her honor while she is here. And there is speculation that she may meet with Naldo Salazar, as well as Tomas Castillo.” “Good. Good. This means she will not remain in seclusion at Felipe Delgado’s estate. At some point during her stay here in Ameca, she will become accessible to us. It’s only a matter of choosing the right moment.” “The only way to do that is by keeping her under surveillance.” “Do not try to tell me how to do my job,” Arturo said, a tinge of anger in his harsh voice. Josue knew better than to upset his friend. Where he, Josue, was a businessman, a lawyer, merely a deal broker who was smart enough to keep his own hands clean, Arturo was a killer. He enjoyed what he did. He was truly a man without a conscience. “I would never tell you what to do, old friend. I spoke out of turn. Forgive me.” “You are forgiven.” Arturo rose to his feet. “Contact me as soon as you have her itinerary and any other information of importance.” “Yes, of course.” Josue stayed for fifteen minutes after Arturo left the church. This time, when he closed his eyes, he prayed in earnest. Despite how lucrative his business association with Arturo was, there were times when he wished he could free himself of their arrangement. He feared that someday, in some way, he might offend his old friend and not be forgiven. FOUR DAYS INTO her trip to Ameca, Cara attended a gala ball at the presidential palace, an invitation she could not refuse because she was the guest of honor. She knew that for her security team of two, a social engagement such as this one could be a nightmare; but with security already at maximum for the president and other officials, that reduced the responsibility for her bodyguards to a minimum. Keeping an eye on her, the surroundings and anyone with whom she came into contact was essential. Understanding that bodyguards needed to fit in and be inconspicuous, especially at gala events such as this one, Bedell security guards dressed according. Male Bedell guards wore a simple black tuxedo with a plain white shirt. Female agents wore black, unadorned, floor-length gowns and carried their weapon in an evening bag. Cara had chosen a pale yellow silk sheath with a side leg slit that ended midthigh. Yellow was a color she wore often, because it complemented her red hair and hazel eyes. She wasn’t overly bosomy, but her breasts were full and high, so she could wear gowns such as the one she had on tonight, cut to her waist in the back and draped in folds across her collarbone in front. She had chosen her golden topaz and diamond earrings and matching bracelet and a small bag covered in topaz crystals as her accessories. She wore flats tonight, as she often did because of her nearly six-foot height. President Ortega was short and stout, with jet-black hair and a pencil-thin mustache. He spoke English with a heavy accent and danced as if he had two left feet. Cara had danced the first dance with the man who insisted she call him Emilio, and not Mr. President, and found him to be rather charming. She guessed his age to be somewhere around fifty, but estimated his wife, the luscious first lady, to be no more than twenty-five. When she had seen her in the receiving line, Cara had mistakenly assumed she was the president’s daughter, but he had introduced her as his wife, Carmela. Later in the evening, Suelita Delgado explained that the president’s first wife had been discarded, along with his two daughters, when the present Mrs. Ortega became pregnant with Emilio’s son, now four years old. Cara had discovered that Suelita was a fount of San Luis gossip. The lady knew everyone and delighted in sharing dirty little secrets and scandalous rumors. During the past two hours, Cara had met the cr?me de la cr?me of Ameca society, the wealthy and powerful. Just as she finished a second glass of excellent champagne and had downed two shrimp-and-crab canap?s, Emilio approached her, but not alone. His companion was a tall, elegant gentleman in his early forties. He was rather handsome in a sleek, slick, dark and dangerous sort of way. Clean-shaven, his black hair salon-styled and his bronze skin natural and not the result of a tan, he had rich Latin Lover written all over him. “Senorita Bedell,” the president said. “May I introduce my good friend, Tomas Castillo.” Senor Castillo bowed curtly, then reached out, took her hand and kissed it before she could say “pleased to meet you.” “Senorita, I am honored,” Castillo said, his accent discernable but light. “How is it possible that someone so young and beautiful can command all of Bedell, Inc.?” She realized he’d meant his comment to be a compliment. First of all, she might be young, but she was not nor had she ever been beautiful. Passably attractive thanks to the trappings of great wealth, but short of plastic surgery on her face and body, beauty was unobtainable for a large-boned, wide-hipped, freckle-faced redhead whose greatest asset was her brains. But she was willing, up to a point, to play along with Mr. Smooth and pretend she’d bought his line of bull. “Why, thank you, senor. You’re too kind. And I am in charge of Bedell, Inc. because, as I’m sure you know, I inherited the family business.” “As did I.” Tomas Castillo smiled, revealing a set of perfect sparkling white teeth. “Would you honor me with a dance?” he asked, and without giving her a chance to respond, he slipped his arm around her and waltzed her onto the dance floor. Apparently Senor Castillo was a man accustomed to having his way, especially with the ladies. “Ah, the rumba. A sensuous dance, is it not? Perfect for us, yes?” For you, maybe, Cara thought. If his intention had been to impress her and possibly titillate her, he had achieved the first and failed at the second. His dancing was as smooth as his tongue and by the end of the hot, tempestuous rumba, Cara was thankful she had chosen to wear topaz crystal-encrusted sandals that matched her evening bag. Not the most graceful person in the world, she might not have managed to keep up with Tomas’s passionate dance steps if she’d worn heels. As far as arousing her, unless you counted being damp with perspiration, a bit out of breath and having a face flushed with warmth as titillation, then he hadn’t accomplished that goal. She supposed if she hadn’t already experienced being infatuated in her past with a suave, sophisticated, egomaniac by the name of Grayson Perkins, she would be more susceptible to Tomas’s undeniable charm. But her taste in men these days ran to the strong, rugged, hard-working type, like a certain Chattanooga police detective. For the remainder of the evening, the handsome oil tycoon showered attention on Cara, but not once did he mention business. If she hadn’t known better she would have sworn that he was infatuated with her. But despite his expertise as a seducer, she knew that what he wanted was a deal between Castillo, Inc. and Bedell, Inc. If he thought bedding the CEO of Bedell would gain him the upper hand over Delgado Oil, he would make mad, passionate love to Cara whenever she snapped her fingers. Four hours into the gala, Cara had had more than enough. But when she said good-night to Tomas, he begged her not to go, then begged her to allow him to escort her home. “I have my own transportation,” she told him, then glanced from Lucie to Jason. “And my own private-duty guards to escort me.” Tomas grasped her hand, kissed it and looked longingly into her eyes. “Tomorrow night, you must dine with me on my yacht. Or better yet, pack a bag and we’ll take a short cruise.” Easing her hands from his possessive hold, she smiled warmly. “I’m afraid this trip to Ameca is more for business than pleasure. Instead of dinner tomorrow evening, why don’t we meet for a business lunch tomorrow and you can tell me why Bedell, Inc. should sign with Castillo, Inc. instead of Delgado Oil.” “Ah, I see you are a woman who prefers to put business before pleasure.” He shrugged dramatically. “So be it. Lunch tomorrow to talk business. But afterward, I hope that I can persuade you to indulge in something that will give us both far more pleasure.” Barely managing to keep her smile in place, she replied, “We’ll see, senor. We’ll see.” Lucie fell into step alongside her as they made a hurried exit. Cara grumbled. “Deliver me from a guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.” “Senor Castillo seemed quite smitten,” Lucie said, humor in her voice. “Seemed being the operative word. I swear, I believe if I’d given him the least bit of encouragement, he would have made love to me on the balcony, under the stars.” Cara laughed. Lucie laughed, too. “A prospect many women would have found irresistible.” “Not this woman.” When they reached the front entrance, Lucie halted Cara while Jason walked down the steps and requested their car, another Rolls-Royce from Senor Delgado’s collection of five. When the valet brought the car around, Lucie followed Cara down the steps, but just as they reached the driveway, a slender, bearded man in a sport coat and slacks came out of nowhere and called Cara by name. Lucie stepped in front of Cara while Jason made a mad dash toward them. “Senorita Bedell, I must speak with you,” the man said. “Hold up,” Jason called to him, his hand on his shoulder holster. “Who are you and what do you want?” Suddenly two men, both with rifles over their shoulders, slipped out of the darkness and came up behind the other man. Jason pulled his Beretta from the holster. Lucie snapped open her evening bag and retrieved her weapon. Chapter Five “I AM NALDO SALAZAR, Senorita Bedell,” the man told her, his voice deep and soft. “I mean you no harm. But I must speak to you. Privately.” “Then why not set up an appointment with me?” Cara asked. “You’re a friend of the Delgado family. You could visit with me at Felipe and Suelita’s home—” “No, that is no advisable. At present, I am—” he searched for the correct term “—persona non grata. Since losing the presidential election, it has become necessary for me to, as you Americans say, go underground. I do not wish to create problems for my friends, those such as Felipe and Suelita, who might put themselves in danger by welcoming me into their home.” “I don’t pretend to understand the complexities of Amecan politics, senor,” Cara said. “But accosting me in this manner is hardly the way to gain my approval.” “I apologize, but I had little choice. If perhaps you will allow me to ride with you for a few miles and my men follow in a separate car, I can explain. You may have your guards check me for weapons, if you like, before we leave.” Lucie could tell that Cara was considering this man’s request. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Before she had a chance to voice her opinion, Cara instructed Jason to frisk Salazar. Once that was done, she invited the man to join her. He ordered his guards to follow; or at least that’s what Lucie thought he said. Her command of Spanish was so-so, enough to get by, but she certainly wasn’t proficient in the language. Jason remained outside the Rolls until Cara, Senor Salazar and Lucie were seated in the back, then after scanning the area, he slipped into the front with the driver, one of Delgado’s trusted employees. Once outside the gated palace grounds, Salazar faced Cara in the semidark interior, the only illumination coming from the lights of San Luis as the car eased through the late-night traffic. “I wish to plead my case in person,” Salazar said, his dark eyes searching Cara’s face for any expression of understanding. Lucie eased her handgun back into her evening bag, but kept the bag open. She studied the man who had made a reputation for himself worldwide as a radical reformist, a man intent on dethroning Ameca’s privileged kings of finance. He didn’t look dangerous; if anything, he looked like the stereotypical mild-mannered professor with his graying hair, his outdated black-framed glasses and his seen-better-days suit that was slightly too large for his tall, lanky frame. “I am certain that you have much information about Ameca at your fingertips and you have, no doubt, investigated both Felipe Delgado and Tomas Castillo and their oil companies,” Salazar said. “I also know that you are the chief benefactor of Helping Hands, yes?” He nodded, but didn’t pause for her reply. “You are a very wealthy woman, but one with a big heart who wishes to do much good with your money. My people need the kind of help that a contract between Delgado Oil and Bedell, Inc. will provide. If you sign a deal with Tomas Castillo, there will be no benefits for the poor and needy of Ameca.” “Senor, I assure you that I will make an informed decision, one that will benefit both my company and the people of Ameca.” “I had hoped that while you were staying with Felipe and Suelita, they could sway you to our side. But I was informed that you spent a great deal of this evening with Senor Castillo. He can be a charming man, one very popular with the ladies, and when he wants something, he goes after it without thought of the consequences to anyone involved. I warn you, Senorita Bedell, you cannot trust this man.” Lucie noted the way Cara didn’t respond immediately and knew she was thinking, going over everything in her mind. No doubt, she was wondering just how Salazar had known that she had been in the company of Tomas Castillo for a large portion of the President’s ball. And how Salazar and his men had managed to get past the guards at the gate. Just as Lucie surmised that Salazar had spies within the palace walls, she knew that Cara would come to the same conclusion. “I appreciate your concern,” Cara said. “And I realize you took a risk by coming here tonight to plead your case and warn me against Senor Castillo. But as a business-woman who must consider all aspects of any deal I make with an Amecan oil company, I intend to have lunch with Senor Castillo tomorrow and listen to his proposal.” “Por qu??” Salazar asked, obviously upset. “I tell you that he cares nothing for others. He is not a good man.” “I understand what you’re saying. And if Tomas Castillo is not willing to include provisions in the contract that will return a portion of his profits to Ameca, then I won’t—” “To Ameca? No, senorita. Be careful. He may agree to your terms, but giving profits to Ameca through the government will help only Castillo and Ortega and their kind.” When Cara reached out and touched Salazar’s hand, Lucie sucked in a deep breath. The opposition leader, the radical reformist, tensed at Cara’s touch, but did not withdraw his hand. “I promise you that any decision I make will benefit those in greatest need here in Ameca, as well as make profits for both Bedell, Inc., and either Castillo or Delgado.” Cara lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “Unless Tomas is more convincing at our lunch tomorrow than he was wooing me tonight, then I can promise you that Bedell, Inc. will be signing with Delgado Oil.” Salazar sighed heavily, but he didn’t smile. Nor did he thank Cara. He merely spoke to the driver in Spanish, asking him to pull over as soon as possible. The driver asked Cara for permission, which she gave. When Salazar got out of the car, he turned, leaned into the backseat and looked directly at Cara. “I will be waiting to hear about your decision. For all our sakes, I pray it is the right one.” He walked away and got in the car that had pulled in behind the Rolls. Cara glanced at Lucie. “Should I take what he said as nothing more than him stating his opinion or should I take it as a threat?” “With a man like Salazar, it’s difficult to know,” Lucie replied. “But from what I’ve read about him, he’s a man who backs up his words with actions.” THE RESTAURANT WHERE Cara met Tomas Castillo for lunch the next day was no doubt one of the most elegant and expensive in all of San Luis. Cara wasn’t surprised. After all, Tomas would want to impress her. The tile-roofed building faced the bay, and the tropical garden patio, shaded by enormous umbrella-covered tables and towering palm trees, was bright and airy and caught the afternoon breeze off the ocean. In typical old-world macho style, Tomas ordered for both of them. She smiled indulgently, fully aware that objecting was not worth the effort. It was obvious that this man had no idea what it took to truly impress her. He ordered cream of prawn soup, a seafood mousse, veal chops with shitake mushrooms and an excellent wine to complement their meal. In true gentlemanly fashion, he complimented her in every way possible and refrained from mentioning business until the end of their delicious meal. As they sipped on hazelnut daiquiris, he said, “Castillo, Incorporated has much to offer, far more than Delgado Oil. You received our initial proposal, yes?” She smiled. “Yes, but I must admit that it lacked a great deal of what I need to see in such a monumental deal, one that will have long-range effects on both my country and yours, as well on both of our companies.” Tomas frowned, but quickly erased the negative reaction, once again smiling cordially as he reached for her hand. What was it with this guy? Did he actually think that kissing her hand would affect her ability to reason? As soon as he planted a featherlight kiss on the top of her hand, she eased out of his grasp. “Simply tell me what you require and it will be done,” he said. “Other than the fact that I don’t care for a few of the minor particulars about percentages and just whose oil tankers would be moving the product, my chief concern is that there are no provisions to provide any financial benefits to the people of Ameca.” Tomas laughed, the sound hollow. “I promise you that regardless of what you may have been told about me, I care deeply for Ameca and want only good things for our people. If funneling some of our joint profits to Ameca is, as you would say, a deal breaker, then I will make sure my attorneys include a clause stipulating a generous percentage—say one-sixth of our profits—is to be invested in Ameca.” “Invested in what way?” Cara asked. He eyed her curiously, as if surprised she would question him about details. Hadn’t he ever dealt with a woman whose business sense was as sharply honed as any man’s? Was she actually a first for him? It was all Cara could do not to laugh. “There are government agencies that could easily handle overseeing the funds,” Tomas told her. “As my personal friend, Emilio Ortega would exert his influence to make sure the money was channeled properly.” Yes, of course, President Ortega would most definitely handle the money exactly the way Tomas told him to. He’d put it right into his own pocket! “I prefer that the profits we donate to Ameca be channeled through charity organizations such as Helping Hands, headquartered in the United States, and your country’s relief association, supervised by the church.” Was that another vaguely disguised frown she saw marring Tomas’s handsome face. A smile twitched the corners of her mouth, but she managed to keep her expression placid. “Now that I fully understand your desires, I am certain we can come to an agreement that will be good for both of us,” Tomas said. “I will need a few days to discuss all the particulars with my lawyers, but if you will be kind enough to grant me the necessary time, I am sure I will be able to make Bedell, Inc. an offer it cannot refuse.” Interesting. Unless she had seriously misjudged Tomas Castillo, she didn’t think he would ever agree to turn over even a small percentage of his profits to his impoverished countrymen. No, he had something else in mind. The problem was Cara didn’t know what his next move would be. “Of course, feel free to present Bedell, Inc. with an offer to equal Delgado Oil’s offer and I will certainly consider it,” Cara told him. “Muchas gracias. Now that our business for the day is concluded, allow me to be your tour guide and show you around San Luis.” “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I have other plans,” Cara said, fabricating a white lie in order to escape an afternoon of pretending she enjoyed being with Tomas. “Perhaps some other time.” “May I see you to your car?” he asked. “No, thank you. I have my people here with me.” She inclined her head toward the table across from theirs where Lucie and Jason kept watch. Tomas rose to his feet swiftly, bowed, forced a smile and said, “I shall count the hours until I see you again, senorita.” After he left the restaurant, Cara finished her delicious daiquiri, then motioned to her bodyguards. “I have the afternoon free. I’d like to go shopping in the market. I know my being in the middle of a crowd is something y’all would rather avoid, but if I don’t take the opportunity now, I may not get to soak in any of the authentic atmosphere of San Luis before I leave Ameca.” “You’re the boss,” Jason reminded her. “But I’d suggest you try to pass yourself off as a tourist.” “I suppose that means ditching the Rolls and either walking or taking a taxi or bus, right?” Cara wanted a few hours free from business. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell Felipe Delgado that Bedell, Inc. would be going into a lucrative partnership with his oil company. Whatever repercussions she’d have to face before leaving Ameca and then once back in Chattanooga, she didn’t have to deal with them today. “I suggest that you and Lucie change clothes,” Jason said. “Go to one of the local boutiques first and buy items that tourists would buy and wear. Lucie can stay at your side and the two of you will appear to be two American women on vacation. I’ll keep a low profile, but remain close by. Lucie will be the frontline defense in case of trouble. I’ll be monitoring the crowd and alert her to any sign of trouble.” “I want a floppy straw hat, some big sunglasses and flip-flops,” Cara said. “What about you, Lucie?” “No flip-flops for me, but I’ll take a big straw hat and a colorful outfit.” Cara draped her arm through Lucie’s. “Then let’s go. And buy whatever you want at the clothing boutique. Don’t even look at the price tags.” WHEN HIS CELL PHONE RANG, Arturo glanced at the caller ID. Josue did not telephone him unless the matter was urgent. “Good day, my friend.” “The package must be obtained today,” Josue said. “The client insists that this matter cannot wait.” “I will not take undue risks, but if it is possible to collect the package this afternoon, we will do so.” “Our client will wish to be informed. Once the package is in your possession, please contact me and I will inform the client.” THE PLAZA BAZAAR was two blocks south of the trendy boutique where Cara and Lucie purchased their new attire, so they walked to the open-air market that boasted a vast range of wares and supposedly the best bargains in San Luis. Cara had changed into a flowing, green cotton skirt, lemon-yellow blouse and cushioned green flip-flops. Lucie had chosen the same colors, but in reverse. She wore a yellow skirt, a green blouse and sandals in a soft yellow leather. She had removed her shoulder holster and placed it in the open-top shoulder bag she carried. As they weaved in and out of the crowd, stopping at various booths in the market, Jason kept a discreet distance, all the while staying in bodyguard mode. Anyone seeing him wouldn’t suspect he was tailing the two attractive American redheads in their bright attire and large sunglasses. “Look,” Cara said. “There’s a booth with nothing but hats. Maybe we can find what we’re looking for there.” Lucie followed her boss, who was acting more like a friend this afternoon, someone Lucie could learn to like a great deal. They had stopped at numerous booths—pottery, guitars, mirrors, rugs and wooden masks—but this was the first booth containing hats, and already Lucie saw the one she wanted. Yellow straw with a green grosgrain ribbon tied in a loose bow around the crown of the wide-brimmed hat. When they stopped at the booth, Cara reached up and grabbed the exact hat Lucie had chosen, plopped it down on her head and turned to Lucie for approval. “What do you think?” Cara asked. “I think it’s perfect. It matches your outfit and suits your coloring.” Cara studied Lucie for a moment, then reached up, pulled down an identical hat and placed it on Lucie’s head. “There. It’s perfect for you, too.” They both laughed as Cara turned to the vendor and asked the price. When he quoted the amount, not outrageously expensive, but apparently more than Cara thought they were worth, she began haggling with the vendor. Lucie grinned as she tried to keep up with the conversation taking place in a mixture of Spanish and English. Finally Cara and the vendor agreed on a price. The afternoon passed quickly while they explored the market, and by early evening they both carried large cloth sacks filled with a variety of purchases, everything from silver bracelets to heavily embroidered white blouses. “I’m starving,” Cara said. “Didn’t we pass a couple of restaurants about fifteen minutes ago, just before the pottery display?” “El Recoveco looked like a nice place,” Lucie said. “I think there was a buffet on the patio.” “Perfect, but first I need to make a stop at the ladies’ room. What about you?” “Yes, definitely,” Lucie replied. “I imagine Jason could use a short break, too.” “El Recoveco was an indoor-outdoor restaurant, with a buffet meal served on the patio, but they probably have an order-from-the-menu three-course dinner available inside.” “I vote to eat inside where it’s cool.” “Sounds good to me,” Lucie said. Jason followed them as they backtracked through the market until they reached the restaurant. Using her wireless communication device, Lucie contacted Jason to explain that she and Cara were going to the restroom, so he should take this opportunity for a break. “I’ll be waiting for you outside the restrooms,” Jason said. After ordering drinks and putting their names on a short wait list, Cara and Lucie asked about the restroom and were given directions. The men’s was on the left side and the women’s on the right, both marked with cute primitive drawings, one of a man and the other of a woman. The poorly lit interior of the restroom was like a stucco cave, the walls painted a cinnamon-red, the two stalls a dark green, and the ceiling a mustard-yellow. There was an out-of-order sign nailed to one of the stall doors. “You go first,” Lucie said, as she removed her sunglasses and hung them on the elastic neckline of her blouse. “No, go ahead.” Cara removed her hat, fanned herself and then shoved her sunglasses up on top of her head. Then she put her heavy bags on the floor, laid her hat on top of the bags and removed her cell phone from her purse. “I should call Suelita and let her know not to expect us for dinner. I’ve been having so much fun that I forgot about our host and hostess.” Lucie placed her shopping bags on the floor beside Cara’s, but she carried her purse with her as she shoved open the door of the in-working-order stall. “Don’t leave the restroom.” “I won’t,” Cara said, then Lucie heard her begin a conversation with Senora Delgado, explaining where they were and what they were doing. HECTOR AND PEPE entered the men’s restroom directly behind Cara Bedell’s bodyguard, the man who had done a good job of stalking his employer without being obvious about it. They each smiled and spoke to the American as they approached the urinals. After he finished and washed his hands, Pepe walked out of the restroom a couple of minutes ahead of his companion, just as they had planned. Their instructions had been clear. They had to do the job today. Pepe lay in wait for the bodyguard. When he saw the man exiting the restroom, he went over to him, keeping his broad, toothy smile in place. He tapped his naked wrist. “I do not have a watch. Do you know what time it is? My wife will be angry if I’m late.” Although it was obvious that the man was uncomfortable with Pepe’s friendliness and probably suspected him of being up to no good, he didn’t immediately reach for his concealed weapon. While Pepe tried to distract the bodyguard, Hector came out of the restroom, moved in behind the man with silent precision and before he could react, Hector drove his knife into the man’s back, puncturing a kidney. Pepe grabbed the man as he slumped forward, holding his body upright. Hector assisted Pepe and together they dragged the dying man out into the alley behind the restaurant. Chapter Six LUCIE CAME OUT of the bathroom stall and went straight to the single decorative sink to wash her hands. When she turned on the faucet, she discovered there was no warm water, so she hurried through the process. At least there was a stack of paper towels on the tiled shelf above the sink. “I spoke to Suelita to let her know not to wait dinner for us.” Cara hung the strap of her small leather bag over Lucie’s shoulder. “Keep that for me, will you?” Then she disappeared into the stall. Lucie checked her makeup in the mirror and decided that since they were going to eat soon there was no point in applying lipstick until later. Just as she readjusted her straw hat and removed her sunglasses from where she’d hooked them on her blouse, she heard the bathroom door squeak open. In her peripheral vision, she noticed a dark figure, and then suddenly realized a man had entered the ladies’ room. Immediately sensing danger, she reached down for the Glock in her shoulder bag, but before she could reach it, the man wearing a fake beard and mustache lifted his foot and knocked her hand away from the purse. Pain shot through her hand and up her arm, but she jumped back, hurriedly assessed the situation—one man, no visible weapon—and prepared to defend herself. “Do not fight me, Senorita Bedell,” the man said, in heavily accented English. “I do not wish to hurt you.” “What’s going on out there?” Cara called from inside the stall. “Stay where you are, Lucie,” Lucie said to Cara, realizing that this man believed she was Cara Bedell. “Don’t come out. Please, stay there. Do you hear me? Stay where you are. That’s an order.” “You do not wish your bodyguard killed,” he said. “That is good. You will cooperate, yes?” The door opened again and another man, also wearing a fake beard and mustache and with a 9mm pistol pointed directly at Lucie, entered the room. He spoke rapidly to the other man in Spanish. Lucie wasn’t able to make out everything he said, but she got the gist of it. They were going to kidnap Cara and kill her bodyguard. Only they thought Lucie was Cara and vice versa. Damn, where was Jason? He was supposed to be waiting outside for them. If she hadn’t been confident that he was watching their back, she wouldn’t have been caught off guard this way. “Wait,” Lucie said, speaking directly to the two men. “Don’t harm my bodyguard and I’ll go with you without putting up a fight. Both of us will cooperate.” Lucie glanced toward the stall door, which was easing open. God, she had to stop Cara. As long as these men thought she was their target and Cara stayed put, they both had a chance of coming out of this alive. “No, Lucie, please stay there and don’t come out. Do as I say. I’m bargaining with these men for our lives.” “Uh…all right…Ms. Bedell,” Cara said, her voice trembling. Thank God, Cara had realized these men had mistaken Lucie for Cara. The unarmed man grabbed Lucie, yanked Cara’s shoulder bag down her arm and then tossed it on the floor. It took all her willpower not to fight him. If Cara’s life wasn’t on the line, she wouldn’t hesitate to defend herself. “You understand Spanish, senorita? I must remember that.” He tugged on her arm. “Come with me.” He glanced at the closed stall door. “Please stay there and do not try to follow us. If you disobey, it can mean death for you and Senorita Bedell.” “I—I’ll stay here. I swear,” Cara said. Lucie knew that the only way to keep Cara safe was to continue the pretense and allow these men to believe that she was Cara Bedell. It was her job as Cara’s bodyguard to be prepared to lay down her life, if necessary. They hurried her out of the bathroom, down a poorly lit back hallway and out the door leading into the alley. A few feet away, shoved up against a row of stinking garbage cans, lay a man’s crumpled, lifeless body. Now she knew why Jason hadn’t come to their rescue. As they hurried her past the bloody corpse, she glanced back, praying that Cara could handle herself on her own and make the right decisions about what to do next. If Cara made even one mistake, Lucie was as good as dead. CARA COUNTED to a hundred. Her hands shook. Her stomach churned, creating a bout of nausea. She had obeyed Lucie’s orders, knowing her bodyguard’s training served them both well. She had listened to the two men speaking in Spanish and realized that they believed Lucie was Cara and they intended to kidnap the American heiress and kill her bodyguard as they had killed the other one. That meant Jason was dead. And if she hadn’t done exactly as Lucie had instructed, she, too, might be dead. Or she would be the one they had kidnapped and Lucie would be dead. Cara eased open the stall door and peered out into the bathroom. Empty. She walked out into the room and took a deep, calming breath. Stay here, think, reason this out and make a logical decision. Jason was dead. Those men had killed him. She couldn’t look to him for help. Oh, God, poor Jason. He had a wife and teenage son. She was on her own. She could call the local police. Absolutely not. The San Luis police were part of the Amecan government, which was run by Ortega and his kind. She could call Felipe and Suelita. Maybe. She trusted them. No, I can’t call them. I can’t risk having the truth about the abduction leak out here in San Luis. I have to buy time. I have to keep up the pretense as long as possible. Apparenty the kidnappers think Lucie and I look enough alike that, at least for now, they don’t know the difference. If they discover that they’ve abducted the wrong woman, that they took Lucie Evans instead of me,they’ll kill her. I have to contact Deke. He’ll know what I should do to help Lucie and keep myself safe. She looked down at the floor beside the sink and saw her shopping bags and Lucie’s, too, side by side. They had enjoyed their afternoon jaunt through the market. Cara couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. She liked Lucie so much. She had to find a way to save her. She scanned the restroom and saw her purse lying on the floor, as if it had been tossed aside. Cara bent over, grabbed the purse and unzipped it. She rummaged around inside until she found her cell phone. She checked the information bars. Batteries fully charged. But she couldn’t stay here. Someone could come in at any moment. Leaving the shopping bags where they were, she opened the bathroom door. When she peeked out into the hall, she heard the hum of voices and music coming from the restaurant, but she didn’t see anyone. She slipped out into the hall. Now what? Find a back entrance and leave quietly. Once you’re outside and in a safe spot, call Deke. She made her way quietly down a back hallway and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a door that she thought probably led to the alley. After glancing over her shoulder and seeing no one, she shoved open the door and entered the putrid-smelling alleyway. Early evening shadows fell across the dirt-and-gravel path. The sun would set soon and it would be dark. She had no time to waste. Covering her nose with her hand as she approached the trash cans, she gasped when she saw the man lying on the ground. Jason! She stifled the scream that vibrated in her throat. Oh, God. Oh, God! There’s nothing you can do for him now. Keep moving. Get away from this place. But where can I go? The church. On their way here, she’d seen a church half a block from the Plaza Bazaar. She could find sanctuary there. Cara removed her hat, threw it in one of the open trash cans and then ran her hand through her shoulder-length hair. Perspiration bubbled on her forehead and upper lip and rivulets of sweat glided from between her breasts to her belly button. All but running down the alley, away from Jason’s body and the sickening garbage odor, she stayed in the back alleys as much as possible, but had no choice but to slip in and out of the marketplace, which amazingly was still crowded with people, mostly tourists. She could see the entrance to the plaza. Safety was nearby. The church was close. After slipping into the alley behind a pottery shop, she sucked in deep breaths of semifresh air. With twilight fast approaching, she hit the number that put her directly through to Deke Bronson’s cell phone. He answered on the third ring. “Good evening, Ms. Bedell.” “Deke, we…I have a situation here. I need help and I need it immediately.” “Where are Jason and Lucie?” “Gone. Jason’s dead and Lucie has been kidnapped.” “Are you all right?” “For the time being, but I won’t be for long and neither will Lucie.” She hurriedly explained what had happened, not pausing until she had given Deke all the details. “You have no idea who these men were or why they kidnapped Lucie…that is, why they kidnapped Lucie thinking she was you?” “No idea whatsoever.” “For your safety and Lucie’s, we have to keep the fact that they kidnapped the wrong woman a secret,” Deke told her. “Yes, I’ve already figured that out. So how do we do that?” “Do you have somewhere you can go for a few hours, somewhere no one will notice you or bother you? A movie theater or—” “A church,” Cara said. “A church would be perfect.” “There’s one nearby. I can go there. But what then?” “I’ll get in touch with Sawyer McNamara. Dundee’s has contacts all over the world. My guess is that they have someone there in San Luis. I’ll try to call you back and give you the name and a description of your contact person, but I’m going to give you an ID phrase you can use and the response to expect from your contact.” He recited the comment and the response. “This person will take you somewhere you’ll be safe until we can get to Ameca, hopefully by early morning.” “Whoever kidnapped Lucie kidnapped her thinking they have a billionaire to bargain with,” Cara said. “I’m authorizing you to do whatever is necessary to meet their demands. Gray will be in charge of Bedell, Inc. temporarily and he and the board can authorize the release of whatever ransom is requested.” “Let’s not put the cart before the horse,” Deke told her. “We don’t know for sure money is the reason she was abducted. Don’t forget that Cara Bedell is supposed to make a multimillion-dollar deal with one of two oil companies vying for her favor.” “Oh, God, I as good as told Tomas Castillo today at lunch that I would probably sign with Delgado Oil. You don’t think Castillo ordered my kidnapping, do you?” “There’s no way to know for sure. Not yet. That’s why you cannot trust anyone down there and it’s the reason no one, and I mean no one, even Grayson Perkins, can know that you weren’t the one kidnapped.” Cara started to protest, and then in a clearly lucid moment, she realized that Deke was right. Gray might let the truth slip and if he did… “I understand,” Cara said. “I’ll go to the church and wait for your call or for a person who can reply correctly to my comment.” “Repeat it for me.” “I’m not Catholic. I hope it’s all right that I’ve come here to pray. That’s what I say. And the correct response is I’m not Catholic, either, but I come here every night and pray to live to be a hundred and three, just as my grandmother did.” “Cara, be careful. For now, you’ve got not only your own life in your hands, but Lucie’s, too.” “Do you think they’ll hurt her?” Deke cleared his throat. “That depends.” “On what?” “On the reason they kidnapped her.” LUCIE DIDN’T STRUGGLE against the ropes that bound her hands and feet nor did she try to chew through the rag effectively gagging her. Her kidnappers were not amateurs. It was obvious that they had done this type of thing before and were taking no chances. Shoved into the trunk of an older model Ford Taurus, she had no idea in which direction the driver was headed. They would take her somewhere isolated and secluded, which meant in the basement of a building or out in the country. She estimated that they’d been on the road for nearly an hour, but she couldn’t be sure of the time. An hour’s drive meant that they had left San Luis. Since the ocean was to the east and the border was less than fifty miles north, that meant either south or west. The nearest village to the south was…? Think, damn it, Lucie, think. Mundaca. If they went west, there were miles of tropical forests and dozens of small villages. But what if, for some reason, they hadn’t left San Luis and were simply driving around the city? Either way, it didn’t matter. She had no way to contact anyone. She was on her own. Escape might not be an option, so she had two immediate goals: stay alive and keep her abductors in the dark about her true identity. She had to count on Cara knowing what to do. Please, God, let her call Deke. And let her stay out of sight until he sends help. SAWYER FINISHED his workout in the basement gym, which he had designed himself. He prided himself on staying in tip-top physical condition and he had to admit that every year past thirty-five had increased the struggle. He stripped out of his jogging shorts and stepped into the steam room. He sat down, leaned back and relaxed as the warm steam enveloped him. Nothing of any importance in his life had changed in the past few weeks. He had maintained his routine—work five days a week, personal time on the weekends. For the past three weeks, he had taken a different lady out every Friday and every Saturday night, dating more often than he usually did. At forty, he went in for quality over quantity in most aspects of his life, including sex. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/beverly-barton/dying-for-you-39773669/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.