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“Let the wife kill him for you.”
Meredith was standing before Cruz even saw her move. “No! That’s not a possibility, Armando. Julia couldn’t handle anything like that.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. But that’s not what I meant. She can’t kill him—”
“How do you know that?”
“Dammit, Armando, I know, all right? I just know. Julia is different. She’s too fragile for that kind of thing—”
“That’s enough.” Cruz’s deep voice cut through the argument. “You’ve already done what I couldn’t and that’s get inside tonight. That’s all you’re going to do, though. This is my job and I’ll plan it myself.”
TWO HOURS LATER, Cruz was still thinking.
Sitting alone in his dark hotel room, he sipped his Club Colombia and stared at the newspaper article Meredith had left him. His only illumination came from the streetlamp outside the barely parted draperies, but he didn’t need more to see the small photo that accompanied the write-up.
Blond hair. Blue eyes. Straight nose. Full lips.
He emptied his beer then let the bottle slide from his fingertips to the floor beside his chair. Cruz knew her type inside and out because he’d seen them in every country he’d ever been in. From the plazas of Mexico City where he’d spent his childhood to the sandy deserts of the Middle East that he’d just left, they turned up. Women who owned the world, that’s how he always thought of them. Wealthy, self-confident, gorgeous. Meredith had implied that Julia wasn’t that way but Cruz had drawn his own conclusions. From experience.
Women like Julia Vandamme needed men like him to do jobs like this, but those kinds of women seldom allowed his kind of man to get too close. When the deed was done, so were they. Because men like Cruz weren’t pliable. And women who owned the world wanted men who did their bidding.
He stared into the darkness and considered his options. Because he was short on time, they weren’t as varied as he would have liked, but he’d been successful in tougher situations. Armando’s point could not be ignored, however. Miguel Ramirez was the largest drug dealer in Colombia and he was about to launch a bloody war to eliminate his remaining rivals. That roster included half a dozen carefully placed DEA men from the United States who’d been deep undercover for more than five years. They couldn’t be pulled or all the progress they’d made would be compromised. But they couldn’t be protected, either. Once the shooting started, their positions would be revealed. Getting rid of Ramirez was the only way to take care of the problem and keep their Intel network intact.
It was, to say the least, a touchy situation.
Armando’s words echoed inside Cruz’s head once more. Let the wife kill him for you.
Followed by Meredith’s fierce rejection of the idea. Julia is different. She’s too fragile for that kind of thing.
Julia Vandamme had gotten herself into a bad situation that could only get worse, but Meredith didn’t suffer fools. For that reason alone, Cruz knew there had to be more to the woman than what he assumed.
Still…
Cruz rose from his chair and parted the curtains to look outside. The lights of Bogota shimmered at his feet as brightly as the stars overhead. Somewhere out there, beyond the mountains that ringed the city, Miguel Ramirez and his beautiful blond wife slept. They had no idea their lives were about to be shattered.
Cruz stared out at the lights and pondered the best way to do so.
JULIA SET her alarm an hour earlier than usual, but something woke her before it had a chance to ring. Rolling over, she heard the sound again and realized it was a car’s engine revving. Immediately suspicious, she jumped from the bed, grabbed her robe and thrust her feet into her slippers. Running to her bedroom door, she jerked it open. The main house was lit up brightly, including the upstairs.
She hurried to the end of the walkway and walked quickly into the entry.
Miguel stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding Tomas in his arms as he spoke with Guillermo. All three of them turned as she came inside, Miguel’s surprised expression making it obvious that he hadn’t planned on her seeing them before they left.
She felt her whole body go tight with anger. He’d deliberately wanted her to miss saying goodbye to her son. In the beginning, she’d wondered what she’d done to deserve a man like him, but she’d come to realize she’d done nothing—he was simply a cruel son of a bitch.
Tomas began to squirm, but Miguel held on, returning to his conversation with Guillermo. As Julia got closer, however, Tomas took matters into his own hands. Wiggling away, the little boy half jumped, half fell from his father’s hold to race toward his mother. Her heart began to swell with love. She had to get her son out of San Isidro. He adored Miguel and mimicked everything he did. She couldn’t allow that to continue.
She swooped him up and he immediately began to talk excitedly. The words made little sense, except for “airplane” and “dog.”
Miguel dismissed Jorge and came to where they stood. Julia started to confront him about the early hour then she checked herself. Showing him how she felt just gave him more satisfaction.
“Tell your mother goodbye.” He smiled at his son to reassure him, but beneath the expression, his attitude was cold.
Tomas swung his face to Julia’s and gave her a very wet kiss. “Bye-bye, Mama,” he said. “I’m going bye-bye!”
She tried to hold on to him, but he escaped her embrace and ran to his father. “Go now, Papa? Go now?”
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Julia had started to worry. What if he didn’t bring Tomas back? The question was silly, she knew. Where would he take their son? This was home and Miguel would never leave San Isidro, but the possibility had begun to haunt her.
Despite her earlier stand, she felt herself weaken. Too much was at stake not to try. “Please tell me where you’re going, Miguel.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m his mother. I need to know.”
She never touched her husband voluntarily. He looked down at her fingers, pale and slim against his black leather coat, then he raised his eyes to hers. “You’re acting foolish. The boy will be with me. Do you think I’d let any harm come to him?”
His words made sense but her anxiety only grew. “Promise me you’ll be back in two weeks?”
“Of course, we’ll be back. When my business is finished, we’ll return.” He looked down at Tomas and loosened his grip on the little boy’s fingers. “Tell Mama adios, Tomasito.”
Julia bent down and held out her arms, but Tomas was too fast. Laughing, he darted in and out of her embrace before she could even grab him. He then headed for the front door. With a final look of satisfaction, Miguel followed.
She told herself to stay put, but she couldn’t. She ran to the nearest window, the urge to cry overwhelming before the car pulled out of the driveway.
She watched the vehicle until it disappeared, but she didn’t allow herself the luxury of tears. Instead, spurred by her fear and last night’s conversation with Meredith, she let her long-growing resolve burn just a little bit hotter. She clenched her fists, her arms going tight underneath the silk gown she wore.
She was almost ready. Soon, very soon, she’d try again. Maybe even when they got back. She had nothing left to lose but her life.
THE NEXT DAY, Cruz waited.
Meredith and even Armando often complained about this part of what they did, but not Cruz. He’d been known to sit quietly, without moving, for hours at a stretch. After a while, the stillness entered his mind as well as his body. And no one knew how much he needed that kind of rest.
But today he would not reach that point. He’d seen the man and the child leave. Julia Vandamme would be on the move soon. She visited only one friend nearby. A woman named Portia Lauer. A British expatriate, the older woman had been friends with Julia for quite some time.
After an hour under the brush halfway up the mountainside opposite Julia’s home, Cruz’s attention was drawn by a movement at the villa. He peered through his binoculars to see the gates to the compound swing back and a white Toyota Land Cruiser emerge.
As always, there were two people in the vehicle. The sunroof was open and blond hair glittered in the bright morning sun, confirming what he expected. She was in the passenger seat, Guillermo driving.
Crawling from his lair, Cruz took the branches off his motorcycle and started it. In five minutes, he was waiting for them at the first turn. As the SUV reached the incline, the engine whined like a recalcitrant child. Cruz counted down the seconds, then he gunned the bike’s motor.
The SUV came into view, and Cruz took off.
A moment later, he drove directly into the vehicle’s path and slid beneath its wheels.
GUILLERMO CURSED and Julia screamed. She’d been thinking of Tomas and worrying about him, but she’d gotten a glimpse of the man on the motorcycle before he went down. The sound of the impact was sickening, the screech of metal on metal and the cry of the rubber drowning out every other thought.
Before the Cruiser had stopped, Julia unsnapped her seat belt. Fumbling for the door latch, she was about to climb out when Jorge grabbed her, pulling her back.
“No, no! Stay here,” he commanded. “It might be a trap!”
“Are you crazy?” Julia shook off his arm. “It was one man on a motorcycle and he’s underneath our car, probably bleeding to death. We’ve got to see if he’s okay!” Without waiting for Jorge’s reply, she pushed open the door again and tumbled to the road. She heard him curse again and call her back, but she ignored him.
Falling to her hands and knees, she looked beneath the chassis. Wedged against one wheel, the motorcycle was a tangled mess, the metal handlebars twisted against their front bumper, the leather seat ripped halfway off. She caught her breath, the smell of gasoline and rubber strong as her eyes searched the wreckage. She spotted the driver on the side of the road, his leather pants and jacket torn, blood oozing down his right temple.
Scrambling to her feet, Julia ran to where the man lay. By the time she got there, Jorge had opened his own door and was now standing over him.
Holding a gun.
“Put that away,” she cried. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?” She dropped to the man’s side as his eyes fluttered open.
“Are you all right?” Without waiting for his answer, she turned back to Guillermo. He still held the pistol. “Find me the first-aid kit,” she said. “It’s under the seat in the rear.”
Clearly displeased with the turn of events, Guillermo hesitated. “I don’t like the way this looks,” he said nervously. “Return to the truck and let me call for help. This isn’t good—”
“Don’t be an idiot,” she said from behind clenched teeth. “Go get me the damn kit.”
He backed up reluctantly and she focused once more on the injured man.
“Can you hear me?” She couldn’t believe he was conscious, much less aware. With no helmet to protect him, she would have expected much worse than the raw scrape on one temple. “Are you okay?”
His gaze flickered to the SUV behind her then fastened on her face. That’s when she realized his fingers had formed a handcuff around her wrist. He yanked her closer before she could react.
“Meredith sent me.” His voice was a rasp that grated down her spine. “Act like you know me and I’ll handle the rest.”
CHAPTER THREE
JORGE ROUNDED the fender and the man dropped his hand from her wrist. Blinking in confusion, Julia didn’t have enough time to make sense of his words before Jorge was at her side.
“Here.” He thrust a small white box in her hands, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the stranger by her feet.
Julia took the first-aid kit numbly. Meredith had sent this man to help her? Who was he? What could he possibly do? Had he really come from Meredith or was this some new kind of cruel trick Miguel had dreamed up to test Julia?
She stared at the man and he stared back at her, pushing a strand of his long, brown hair out of his face as he did so. His hazel eyes held a toughness she couldn’t ignore, their severity a match to the muscular body his shredded clothing revealed. Because of his body, he looked to be in his twenties, but the resolution in those eyes told her he was much older. Several days’ worth of stubble covered his lower jaw and she guessed his last bath had occurred about the same time as his last shave. He seemed poised, as if waiting for her to make the first move, but his look told her she didn’t have long.
Afraid something even more dangerous would happen if she stayed quiet, Julia spoke recklessly, spewing out the first thing that came into her mind. “I don’t believe this! What on earth are you doing here? My gosh, is this crazy or what—”
The stranger shot her an approving look then he struggled to sit up, extending a hand to Jorge as he did so. “Stan MacDuff,” he supplied, looking at Jorge as he spoke. “How ya doing?”
His hands at his side and his gaze never leaving “Stan’s,” Jorge spoke to Julia. “You know this man?”
“I’m Portia Lauer’s nephew from Austin.” His drawl became more pronounced as he seemed to mock the bodyguard’s concern. “That’s in Texas, you know.”
“Julia?” Jorge’s voice deepened as he said her name, his voice wary.
A wave of unease rolled over her as she glanced at Jorge, who continued, “I asked you a question. Do you know this man?”
The biker looked at her, as well. She sealed her fate with three words. “Yes, I do.”
Jorge’s suspicious expression deepened but, after a heart-pausing moment, he tucked his weapon into his belt and put out his hand. The injured man winced and let out a sharp exhalation as Jorge pulled him to his feet. Julia stood, too.
Ignoring the man’s exclamation of surprise, Jorge patted him down with efficient thoroughness. He finished and stepped back, his wariness marginally less visible. Stan winked at Julia before straightening his shirt. “You guys get real friendly around here mighty fast.”
“This is a dangerous place.” Jorge’s reply sounded like a warning instead of an answer. “It is necessary to take precautions.”
“That may be true,” Stan drawled, “but where I come from, we at least know each other’s names when we get that close to someone’s cojones.”
Julia felt as if she should be able to see the tension it was so thick. Her pulse racing, she spoke quickly. “Of course. Where are my manners? Stan, this is an associate of my husband’s. Jorge Guillermo.”
The two exchanged a handshake as Stan glanced toward the SUV. “Damn, Julia Anne, I’m sorry about your vehicle there. You okay?”
The use of her middle name startled her. He was trying to prove he knew Meredith.
“We’re fine.” Her voice was a little strained, and she hoped Jorge thought it was caused by shock from the accident. “But I’m not so sure about you. Why don’t you let me look at that scrape? It’s bleeding pretty badly.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that serious. We can clean it up at Aunt Portia’s. That’s where you’re heading, right? She told me you were coming over later today. Didn’t know I’d run right into you on the way!”
What on earth was happening? How did this total stranger know she was going to Portia’s? Julia hadn’t told Meredith her plans, had she?
“Portia’s is exactly where we were going,” she acknowledged. “But are you sure? I think a trip to the clinic might be in order first—”
“No way,” he interrupted. “It’s nothing but a scratch. Don’t think I can say the same for the bike, though.”
The three of them looked at the crumpled motorcycle.
“I could probably pull the cycle out from underneath if you could back up the SUV.” He turned to Jorge. “What do you think?”
Jorge’s expression remained guarded. Miguel surrounded himself with smart people and Jorge was no exception, despite his frequent employment as Julia’s babysitter. He and Miguel were as close as brothers and had been ever since soon after they’d met at the University of Texas where they’d both been business majors.
The connection registered immediately. There was no such thing as a coincidence. What did it mean that this man was from Austin, too? Her earlier apprehension returned. What was going on?
Interrupting her thoughts, Jorge handed her the keys. “Back up the truck,” he ordered. “I’ll help him remove the motorcycle.”
He didn’t trust her to be alone with the man—not even for the short time it would take to reverse the SUV. Or was it vice versa? While considering, she hesitated for less than a second, but Jorge noticed regardless.
“Is there a problem?” he asked sharply.
“No,” she said. “Absolutely not. I just don’t want either of you to get hurt. Is it safe to do this? We could call a wrecker—”
“We’ll be fine,” the biker said with a slow smile, his eyes locking on hers. “Just fine. Don’t you worry.”
Once, when she’d been six years old, Julia had left the back door of their Mississippi home open and a rattler had slithered inside. When she’d seen the snake in the kitchen a few minutes later, she’d screamed so loudly the yardman had run into the house without even knocking. He’d compensated for his lapse in protocol by dispatching the unwanted guest.
Since her marriage, she’d often thought she’d let another snake into her life.
Suddenly Julia had the feeling she’d done it again.
THE TWO MEN YANKED the remains of the cycle from beneath the SUV, the Harley’s fender screeching a shrill protest against the pavement. They proceeded to gather up the bits and pieces scattered around the road and put them in a pile to one side.
“There’s a decent mechanic in town,” Guillermo said when they finished. “But I don’t know if he’s good enough to handle this.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands with it. “He’ll need parts from Bogota. If I were you, I’d start looking for another mode of transportation.”
