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Isabelle clenched her muscles, having a foothold for one boot only and too much of a gap between the next indentation to push or pull herself up. She was five foot four. She could not stretch over the same distance as Rafe could.
Night was closing in on them—not dark yet, but the shadows were becoming long, which made judging distances harder. She had to do something before visibility became worse and her limbs grew even more exhausted. One… Two… She heaved her body upward, looking at the chunk of rock she was aiming for, shutting out the drop below. She grabbed on, and in that moment of truth that decided whether she would hold her grip or fall, a strong hand clamped around her wrist and held her steady.
“Easy now,” Rafe said. “Almost there.”
She allowed him to pull her up, only grunting in response although she had plenty to say. She was saving her breath for the climb. Rafe, having been born in Ladera, seemed used to the mountains that made up most of the country.
He helped her up to a ledge that was about six feet by four feet, small patches of moss growing in the scant dirt the winds had blown up there. The rock wall continued above it for another hundred feet at least, just as sheer as the section they’d already conquered.
“Nice climb.” A sense of relief was evident in his smile, the fact that he was immensely enjoying himself visible in his eyes—the color of cocoa powder the instant it melts into chocolate. “Piece of cake, didn’t I tell you?” His voice was rich with the flavor of South America, spiced with the slightest accent.
“Mmm.” She gulped the thin air. When he’d pulled her up she’d landed on her knees. She sat back onto her heels now and shrugged off her backpack, blew on her fingertips, which were raw and bruised from the sharp rocks they’d had to conquer.
“How is this better than taking a car up the road?” she asked, once she thought she could speak without gasping.
“Faster,” he said over his shoulder as he unhooked their ropes systematically. “I’m glad we picked the Maxim ropes—excellent hand, 48-sheath yarn, good twist level.” He was gathering up everything in careful coils. “Fine abrasion resistance, too. See this? Not a worn spot.”
Was that supposed to make sense? “So how come you’ve never mentioned anything about this climbing hobby of yours?”
He shrugged and tucked the equipment against the inside edge of the shelter. “Never came up, I guess.”
She didn’t mean to voice the thought that popped into her head, but it came out just the same. “We’ve worked together for three years and I barely know anything about you.”
Part of that was his own need for privacy, she supposed, and part that she had, on purpose, kept out of his way, not liking the physical attraction that drew her to a colleague, an infamous playboy at that. A brief and steamy relationship that would no doubt end in pain and embarrassment was not among her carefully crafted life goals.
He was unrolling his sleeping bag, saying something about the time they would save by climbing.
“Faster is not always better,” she snapped. Not if one of them got injured or fell.
“No, not in everything.”
When he looked at her like that, his full attention like a cocoon around her, his brown eyes fixed on her face, it made her want to squirm like some schoolgirl. She gathered her self-control and kept her poise as he went on.
“The road is probably watched. It’s not a bad climb, honestly. Just seems like it because it’s your first. We have good equipment. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Last I checked, we were here as teammates,” she said, testy that he made it sound as if he was babysitting her.
“Of course. And I hope you are not going to let anything happen to me.” His sensuous lips stretched into a smile, his even white teeth a contrast to his olive-colored skin. “Compadres. Buddies.”
That’ll happen. Partners, yes. Buddies, highly unlikely. She wasn’t optimistic enough to shoot for friendship. She wasn’t sure she could handle it, didn’t want to spend that much time with him outside the job. The forced proximity of the mission was plenty enough to drive her crazy.
None of that was his fault, though, to be fair. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just tired. It’s been a nerve-racking day.”
“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked as he came closer.
She pulled her hands to her lap, but he caught the gesture and reached for them, took one in each of his and flipped them palm up.
His face turned grim as he swore softly under his breath in Spanish. He let her left hand go and reached for his backpack to extract a small tube of ointment from one of the side packets. “Why didn’t you say something? We could have taken more breaks.”
“Call me crazy, but I don’t consider dangling on a rope over the abyss a break. I’d just as soon get the climb over with as fast as possible.” She took a breath then held it as he squeezed some of the clear gel onto his fingertip and rubbed it gently over the pad of her thumb.
“Okay?” He glanced up, into her eyes, with concern.
She cleared her throat. “Good. Feels cool.”
“You should be fine by morning.” He moved on to the next finger, then the next.
When he was done, he took her hands one more time and pressed a warm kiss into each palm, sending some heat into her face that she hoped he couldn’t see in the twilight.
“How are your arms and legs?” He put away the gel. “A good muscle rub and everything could be as good as new by the time we get going again.”
“No. Thanks,” she said and fished out a jar of face cream from the bottom of her pack, something one of her friends was developing in a quest to build a successful cosmetics business.
Isabelle got free samples of everything, partially due to their friendship and partially, she suspected, because Sylvia was hoping to feature her products, for future brides, at Weddings Your Way. She dabbed the smooth, rich cream onto her wind-dried face with a knuckle and spread it around with the back of her hand, not wanting to mess up whatever potion Rafe had rubbed over her fingertips.
The scent of oranges soothed her. Sylvia used various essential oils in most everything she made.
Rafe sniffed the air appreciatively. “So we snuggle up for the night?” He flashed a sly grin and made himself comfortable.
“No. Again. But nice try,” she said while thinking a snuggle wouldn’t be that bad, for body heat if nothing else. August was a winter month in Ladera, a country in the Southern hemisphere. The weather wasn’t bad during the day but dipped into the forties at night. At least Laderan winters were generally dry, so they didn’t have to worry about being cold and wet.
The breeze ruffled his dark hair, putting the slight curls into disarray. “Men have fragile egos, you know,” he said, and his expression turned serious. “Too much rejection can be psychologically damaging. Emotional trauma and that kind of stuff.”
She drew up an eyebrow. “I don’t think you see enough rejection for that.”
He was unfairly good looking, something like she pictured Antonio Banderas would look like if he joined a gym today and kept going religiously. He had an easy smile, sexy, that matched his laid-back manner, and intense eyes that were sharp with intelligence. He was infinitely charming and, at the same time, commanded respect with ease.
And she was a fool for getting a secret thrill out of bantering with him like this, although she was smart enough never to take his advances seriously—nor did she think he expected her to. The man had an active social life. She always figured he flirted with her at the office out of boredom in between assignments.
“Someday…” he said, mischief glinting in his eyes, obviously not ready to give up yet “…all that pent-up desire will erupt. You will realize what you’ve been missing. The dam will break and—”
“Is this little fantasy going anywhere?” she asked in a voice as dry as she could manage it.
“I’m just saying. When the time comes… Be gentle with me.”
She smiled into the semidarkness despite herself. “I’m not someone you need to worry about.”
“It’s always the quiet ones who worry me the most.”
His voice vibrated through her the way bass chords did if you sat too close to the speakers.
Don’t think about it.
She half turned and dug through her backpack for food and water. Next time she agreed to go on a mission with anyone, she was going to insist on hotel rooms—separate ones. She glanced around their cramped shelter and considered it fully for the first time. Pitiful.
“Should have stayed a criminologist at the Drug Enforcement Agency,” she muttered.
“But isn’t this more fun?” A smile hovered above his lips.
“I liked symposiums and consultations with local police. Court appearances to give expert testimony definitely beat wondering if any poisonous bugs will crawl into my sleeping bag.” Or snakes. She swallowed.
She should have thought of that before she’d signed up to be an undercover agent at Miami Confidential. But she’d given up her comfortable job of profiling and in-house suspect interviews, partially because the offer from Miami Confidential had been hard to turn down and because she’d seen it as another new challenge to prove that she could stand her ground anywhere, do anything a man could. It was something her father had taught her at an early age, at times when having four brothers had overwhelmed her.
She thought of her work at the DEA then glanced around at the narrow ledge that was to be their resting place for the night. Now that she was with Miami Confidential, she had a feeling she could kiss assignments that came with room service goodbye.
“Snakes can’t climb this high, can they?” she asked, to be sure.
He was playing with the phone, trying to make a connection. “What would be the point? Nothing’s up here. They stay where their prey is.”
Damn smart of them.
“Okay. Good.” She nodded. “Anything?” she asked after a while.
He shook his head. “Even satellite phones don’t work everywhere.”
“We’ll report back once we reach the top.” She hoped and prayed they would make it that far.
“Not much left for tomorrow—an hour’s worth of climbing at best. But it’s tricky.”
Tricky? What the hell was the wall-of-death they’d just conquered? “Worse than up to here?”
“We’ll be getting to the part where the rock is covered with soil.”
And soil crumbled, slipped. “Great.”
“Plus we’ll be above the tree line,” he added. “We could be spotted.”
“All this good news is overwhelming.”
“We can handle it.”
Damn right they would. Failure was not an option. She wasn’t going to let Sonya die.
“She was still alive four days ago.” She kept telling herself that throughout the day, hanging on to the thought for hope.
The last time Carlos Botero had been contacted he had demanded to hear Sonya’s voice. The contact the kidnappers allowed had been brief but sufficient to reassure the father. “We have no reason to think anything has changed since then. Rachel will call us as soon as anything new comes in.”
The whole case was full of oddities, starting with the ransom note. It had been delivered to Sonya’s father instead of her fiancé, Juan DeLeon, a powerful politician. Why? Did that have significance or was it random choice? Both men were wealthy and powerful.
“I keep thinking there’s more at stake here than money. The kidnappers have to be from Ladera. Otherwise, why bring Sonya here? It only makes sense if they know the country like the back of their hands, if they’re sure they can hide out more effectively here.” She paused. “But if they’re Laderan, they have to be more familiar with Juan than with Botero. Why not send the note to him? Or why not kidnap Sonya in Ladera in the first place? Law enforcement is a lot more lax here. She’s been spending as much time here lately as she does at home.” They’d been over the same questions before. But maybe if they kept asking them, eventually one of them would come up with the correct answer.
“They want to keep the focus away from the country.”
She nodded, still agreeing with the conclusion they kept coming up with every time they talked about the clues. At least, as far as they knew, the kidnapers were not aware that Miami Confidential now had Sonya’s true location.
“I—” She fell silent then went ahead and, for the first time, voiced the thought she knew had been creeping around in both their heads. “I don’t think they’re bringing her back.”
His face darkened. “No. Transporting her across borders was way too much risk the first time around. They’d have to be stupid to try that again.”
“They never meant to return her.” Her words hung with a heavy finality in the air between them.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. They’ll keep her alive as long as they need her in case Botero asks to hear her voice. As soon as they have the money…”
He didn’t have to finish.
“It’s about politics,” he said with conviction. “Juan has a number of bills on the table, bills that would cut in to the drug trade, bills that would alter some political processes. The House is in session. His bills are coming up for a vote soon. Someone wants him distracted and far from Ladera. They know he’s not coming back from the U.S. as long as he thinks Sonya is still there. The longer he is away from home, the more time his enemies have to conspire against him and make sure his bills fail.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“But?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t feel right to me.”
“You don’t think Juan is the real target? Someone tried to shoot him a few weeks before the kidnapping. Hell of a coincidence.”
“Of course Juan is the target,” she said, agreeing with him up to that point. “I just don’t think the kidnapping is politically motivated.”
“Right. Because it doesn’t feel right.”
“I just think that the fact that whoever is trying to get to Juan DeLeon is doing it through his fiancée has some significance.”
“His ex-wife, Maggie, is locked up in an insane asylum,” he said, repeating an earlier argument. “Sean checked her out.”
Of course, he was absolutely right, frustrating as it was. And yet, her instincts were definitely pulling her in Maggie’s, the ex-wife’s, direction. “The only people caught so far that we know for sure were involved with the kidnapping were Maggie’s doctor, Dr. Ramon and her cousin, Jose Fuentes. The only reason we even know that Sonya is at the army base is because Fuentes confessed it before he bled out.”
“He never confessed a connection to Maggie.”
“He couldn’t very well tell his life story, could he? He didn’t live long enough, for heaven’s sake.”
“And if he worked for someone else?”
She considered that, determined to keep an open mind. Most of Maggie’s family were well-to-do, a few of them in politics, but there were a couple of black sheep, some with ties to the drug trade. Rafe had a valid point there.
Fuentes could have worked for one of Juan’s political opponents or one of his enemies in the drug trade. There were too many possibilities. His bills were making him unpopular with a lot of people.
“Anyway, the most important thing is we know where Sonya is right now,” he said. “First we get her to safety, then we can figure out who was behind it all.”
She nodded. If all went well, at one point tomorrow Rafe and she would see to it that Sonya Botero was freed from her captors, whomever they might work for. She hoped and prayed the woman was still alive when they got there.
“They’ll keep her around for a while yet,” he said, his thoughts apparently running along the same line. “For the money and because of Juan. She’s just a tool to hurt him, to distract him from his political agenda. If his young, beautiful fiancée died now, think of the headlines. Think of the outpouring of sympathy he’d get, the votes. No.”
She nodded. It made sense that whoever Juan’s enemies were, they would go for total destruction—messing up both his career and personal life. Distract him with the kidnapping to make sure his bills fail, then finish him off by murdering the woman he loves. The plan seemed diabolically thorough. She could definitely see Maggie, year after year in the insane asylum, plotting her revenge. “The fury of a woman scorned.”
“Somebody wants to go, you’ve got to let them. If that’s how they feel, no sense in them staying, is there?” he asked. “I never understood jealousy.”
“You might have to be in an actual relationship, you know, with feelings, to experience it.”
“Ouch,” he said, but grinned.
